Chapter 21

I've learned there's someone I love more than Wallace. My son. I want a true family.

~ The Duchess of A

A s usual, Cadogan didn't bother with sleep.

The evening had been a productive one—at least, as far as work went.

As soon as he'd accepted his latest assignment, Cadogan poured himself into drafting a series of interview questions for his newest client and preparing for his meeting with the nobleman later that morning.

He'd already met with three of the men he'd taken from the Home Office. Per his instruction, each had gone in quick search of whatever details they could ascertain about his latest client: the man's family, his friends, and any and every secret, scandal, or peccadillo carried by the lot of them.

Unlike in the past, even this particularly ruthless, campaign, hadn't posed enough of a distraction.

Then again, he'd not required distractions. Nothing but his craft and killing had occupied his thoughts.

In one fell swoop, almost overnight, however, Raina Goodheart had swept into his life, and nothing had been the same since.

Not Raina Goodheart: Raina Cadogan, Countess of Killburn.

His bride.

His wife.

Is she really your wife, if you haven't seen to the exquisite business of bedding her? The devil on his shoulder nudged. She's up there, waiting for you, there for the taking.

Teary-eyed though she may have left, she'd proven time and time again, how easily she'd surrender to desire.

His cock hardened…as it would until he'd finally buried himself ballocks deep inside her.

And he wanted her, somehow, with an even greater ferocity.

The forbidden, at last, belonged to Severin; the apple, free to sample and devour.

Bloody, bloody, hell.

All intentions of work at an end, Cadogan cursed and tossed his pen down. Ink splattered upon his hands and the stained surface of his desk.

He did not need these complications. He did not need Raina. He did not need any of this.

He'd made it a point to continue the Cadogan family ways—one lived one's own life, without inside or outside interference from anyone. Be it those who shared one's blood or one who pledged fealty, one didn't let them close or in—for the simple fact, he didn't need it.

Now, there was, Raina.

Splendorous, breathtaking, Raina who was his for better or worse, richer or poorer, sickness and in health, until death did part them.

Lust. It was the only thing he felt for this woman.

Lust could be slaked, and it would.

If that was the case, however, why did he find himself besieged by the memory of her exquisite features, twisted in shock and pain?

For the dozenth time since she'd tiptoed into his office and then quietly marched out, the memory of their exchange, possessed his thoughts.

"…You'd accuse my brother of making a whore out of me for his own gains…"

"…He wouldn't…"

Every question, statement, and demand rolled together.

"…Surely you do not believe I helped him, Severin?"

"…Gregory did use me, but I did not willingly or knowingly help him in his deception against you…"

"Fuck," he thundered, hurling a folder.

Cadogan surged to his feet and began to pace.

She'd intended to make him feel guilty, and guilt was a bloody emotion he needed even less than love.

His strides took on a greater urgency.

She was a liar. An actress.

But was she really? All the skills he'd attained as an agent for the Crown spoke to the contrary. Her eyes revealed too much, as did her lips.

The alternative, however, that she hadn't—

Knock-Knock—

He stopped in his tracks.

"Enter!" he boomed.

His secretary stepped inside.

"Mauley," he said, stupidly.

"These have already arrived, my lord," the other man said, coming to meet Cadogan.

Cadogan took the folios his efficient staff had already put together. He proceeded to sift through the first information to come in.

Yes, this was good; a productive diversion Cadogan needed from his bride.

"This also came," Mauley handed over a thick sheet of ivory vellum. "A note from Lord de Grey, indicating he is available to meet with you now."

Perfect. He could start—this is what he wanted. This is precisely what he needed.

Cadogan braced for the familiar rush that accompanied the most mercenary jobs—which, strangely, did not come.

Why? A jittery panic formed in his gut. Why wouldn't he want to immediately commence an actual assignment? One that didn't include watching over young ladies or chasing down debts, but real, actual work to address an injustice.

"Or…later," Mauley, murmured.

Unnerved, Cadogan picked his head up and looked at his inscrutable secretary. "Hmm?"

His secretary gave him a peculiar look.

Bloody hell. Get your wits about you, man.

Cadogan grunted. "Reply to the marquess. Inform him I intend to review the information I have and…"

And, then what?

Going over the folders his men already supplied him with, hardly take him any time, at all.

The most important details Cadogan could gleam rested with the gentleman, not only ready but so eager to meet, he'd grant Cadogan an audience in the dead of night.

This night, however, also happened to be Cadogan's wedding night, which should mean less than absolutely nothing; which did , mean, absolutely less than nothing.

"Inform the marques I'll call at the specified location thirty minutes past five, Mauley," Cadogan said, with a cool he didn't feel. "As soon as I finish reviewing the notes assembled thus far, I'll pay him a call."

Mauley nodded and then let himself out.

Only after he'd gone and closed the door behind him did Cadogan scrape an uneven hand through his hair.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Here he was, presented by his secretary with an opportunity to set to work immediately on a new—and involved interesting—assignment. What had he done instead? He'd opted to remain here and delay his work.

From across the room, his gaze caught and locked on the harried figure reflected in the walnut gilt, Chippendale mirror— Cadogan's eyes bloodshot. His cheeks covered in a day's worth of growth. His hair disheveled and out of place.

That mirror which he'd directed hung so he'd have eyes on the front and back of any guests who stood before him, now exposed Cadogan as a man no different than the listless, ineffectual people he'd come across in his career.

" Fuck ," he shouted, uncaring the guards carefully stationed around his office and connecting parlors heard.

Gritting his teeth, he sat down hard and dragged over the folders his men had left.

He made an angry grab for the nearest one and snapped it open.

Cadogan proceeded to read.

"…During the marquess's disappearance, his younger brother, ascended to the title, where he accumulated a sizeable debt…"

He flicked his gaze quickly over the page—rapidly taking in each word.

"…betrothal between the marquess's brother and former betrothed…"

"…wedding to take place…"

Wedding.

His mind strayed.

There'd been a wedding this day—his and Raina's. And with each wedding came the wedding night.

Abandoning all intentions to work until his meeting, Cadogan snapped the folder closed, stacked all the materials for his new case, and deposited them in the top, right-hand drawer.

Yes, I am going mad.

Cadogan knew as much, just as he knew the source of his insanity—the five-foot, seven-inch, Junoesque woman; a woman who at this very instant occupied the chambers across from his.

Waiting.

Alone.

The man of logic within him warred with the man of lust who wouldn't be sated until he'd devoured and consumed his wife.

Cadogan set his jaw. He'd never be weak for anyone, not even, Raina, a goddamned queen in her own right.

With that, he gave up on work and went to find his bride.

It was time they had their wedding night.