Chapter 8

Eight

A urora appeared so engrossed in the book she was reading that she failed to hear the faint creak of the hinges.

“Ah, how gratifying to see that you have actually obeyed my request to keep out of mischief,” murmured Alex.

Her head jerked up.

He stepped closer to the table and set down a small package of supplies wrapped in oilskin. His boots were spattered with mud, his jacket beaded with a light mizzle of drops and his body ached with the fatigue of hours in the saddle. Still, a faint smile came to his lips at the sight of her lovely neck arched in such studious concentration over the open pages. “Let me guess—the latest treatise from Mary Wollstonecraft?” he joked, making an effort to glance at the pages.

She tried to bury the volume in the folds of her skirts as two distinct spots of color rose to her cheeks. “N-no! That is, it is none of your business, sir, what sort of things I choose to r-read.”

His brows drew together, first at the sharp edge of her tone, then at the sight of a corner of the book’s weatherbeaten cover protruding from the dark muslin. It looked familiar.

Too familiar!

He reached for it, nearly causing Aurora to fall off the crate in an attempt to elude his hand. It was clear, however, that he did not mean to be denied and aside from trying to squirm away in a most undignified manner, she was left with no choice but to surrender the item in her possession.

Alex took his time in regarding the pages she had been studying, his expression of bemused puzzlement slowly heating into one of scalding anger. It was not just the discovery of the racy book among his belongings that had his cheeks taking on the same guilty hue as Aurora’s. There was a reasonable explanation for its presence among his belongings. Hidden among the graphic pictures were a set of coded ciphers, used to communicate with other clandestine agents. The trick had proved useful on more than one occasion, for an enemy searching his things had been far too distracted to recognize its real significance.

The real source of his embarrassment lay in wondering what else she had seen while rummaging through his bag. A muscle twitched, despite the clench of his jaw. There were copies of several recent letters between himself and his man of affairs that discussed his nominal wife and the terms of her quarterly allowance. Everything about them—their tone, the actual facts—would cast a less than favorable light upon him. Indeed, given her own rather strong sentiments on the subject, she would think him the worst sort of scoundrel if she had read them.

A wave of self-loathing washed over him, followed by one of righteous anger. However unwittingly, she had scraped up against a wound that was, after all these years, still raw and festering beneath the scab. It hurt even more to think it might have been exposed to her, of all people. In retaliation, he parried with a thrust at what he knew was her own vulnerable spot.

“Indian fare is rather spicy, even for a married lady.” His words were edged with a sardonic drawl. “Or perhaps your tastes run to the exotic. After all, you gallivant across the length and breadth of the land on your own, flaunting every dictate of propriety while undertaking your outrageous endeavors, so it seems likely you crave the sort of excitement most gently bred females would never dream of. Was that why your husband left you, because of such ungovernable behavior?” He thumbed through several more drawings before adding roughly, “But it’s nothing to worry on. I should be happy to take his place if you see anything that particularly whets your appetite.”

Alex instantly regretted his crude comment as he watched her face go very pale, then color to a scarlet nearly as bright as the peppers used in a Madras curry. She turned away, but not quickly enough to hide the wounded look in her eyes. Well skilled in the art of attack, he had known just where to strike with greatest effect.

“I suppose I deserve to be the object of such scathing words, sir.” Aurora drew in a deep breath, trying to steady the tremor in her voice. “But you may be assured, I need none of your mocking insults to remind me I lack the sweet manners, as well as the physical charms, of a normal female.” Her hands twined into a knot in her lap. “I seem to engender a disgust in every man I meet, so your scorn hardly comes as a surprise.”

Muttering something under his breath, he reached out and took hold of her chin, turning her around to face him despite her struggle to push away his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to say such despicable things. It was the shock of seeing my belongings had been searched.”

“I d-didn’t look through the rest of your things, truly I did not! I saw the corner of the book sticking out from your bag and did not think you would mind if I borrowed it for a bit.” She bit at her lower lip. “I-I thought it might be poetry, or at least a treatise on battlefield tactics.”

Alex gave a harried smile as relief and remorse surged through him in equal measure. “Some might consider the relationship between men and women to be something akin to war,” he said with a wry grimace. “But I’ll have you know, the real reason this book is in my possession is that it hides a set of military codes.” There was a slight pause as he drew in a breath. “I do not wish to be at daggers drawn with you, Aurora. I hope that you will forgive my cutting words.” His grip softened to where it was almost a caress. “You remember that we agreed to avoid any personal questions? Well, there are things in my bag that I would prefer remain private.”

“You have a right to be furious with me, sir,” she answered quietly. “I had no business touching your things.”

“I’m not angry,” he replied. His hand was still resting against her skin and he was strangely loath to pull it away. “Not with you.” Her eyes flickered in question at his enigmatic meaning, but instead of making any explanation, he gave voice to his own query. “You really think you lack any attraction for the opposite sex, Aurora?”

She wrenched away from his touch. “You needn’t keep teasing me, sir. I look in the mirror every day, and I don’t need a pair of spectacles to see quite clearly what stares back.”

“And what is it you think you see?”

“The same reflection as meets your gaze,” she replied. “That of a female well over the first bloom of youth, with only passable features and hair a drab color, neither blonde nor auburn.”

Alex wished he might do something—anything—to wipe the look of haunting vulnerability from those features. Most of all, he wanted to stop the slight tremor of her expressive lips by covering them with his own and kissing her thoroughly. So thoroughly that she would cease to think that the only reaction she inspired in a man was disgust. However, given what he had just said, she might misinterpret such an action.

Besides, he reluctantly reminded himself, he had promised not to attempt another embrace without her consent and despite his execrable conduct so far, he was determined to retain some shred of gentlemanly honor.

So instead, he decided he must be content with simply taking up a ringlet of her curls and gently rolling the silky strands between his thumb and forefinger. “I believe I shall have to order up a pair of special lenses if that is truly the image you see.” There was a slight pause. “Blond would be insipid and auburn too garish. Your hair has a subtle complexity that is infinitely more intriguing. It is quite unique—like the rest of you.”

Aurora blinked, too startled to react with anything more than a stare of disbelief. It took a few long moments before she finally regained some mastery over her emotions. “Back to your usual bald flirtations, I see.” She leaned back slowly, disengaging her hair from his grasp. “You are a strange man, Alex Woodmore. One moment you are like one of your military sabers, all honed steel and sharp edges, hacking a swath through whatever stands in your way. Then the next you are …” Her voice faltered.

“Are what?” he demanded softly, wishing that he might slice off his own tongue for having brought such a look of hurt to her eyes.

“You are …”

The sound of hurried steps approaching the cottage caused her voice to cut off again. “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she whispered as Jack threw open the door and made for the table, his eyes alight with unconcealed excitement.

“The deuce take it, Aurora, you were right!” he announced. “She was cunningly disguised, but I recognized the profile. It’s Dearborn’s ladybird. And she’s with a man who fits the description of your nocturnal visitor, Alex.” He consulted a pocket watch he had drawn from his coat pocket as he spoke. “No vessel will be able to venture close to shore until the tide turns, and that won’t be until after ten o’clock tonight.” Looking up, he finally paused long enough in his eager explanations to sense the tension in the small room. “Er, is there something amiss?—”

“Not at all,” answered Alex through gritted teeth. “We were merely discussing my own unsatisfactory efforts of the day.” Restraining the urge to vent his frustration at the untimely interruption by taking hold of Jack and tossing him back out the door, Alex forced his mind to attend to what the other man was saying rather than to dwell on the words that might have come from Aurora’s lips.

He satisfied himself with kicking one of the crates a little harder than necessary in order to position it closer to the table. “It seems you have had a good deal more success than I in discovering something of importance. Now, we had better get to work in refining our plan of attack.”

He dared only an occasional sideways glance at Aurora as he and Jack began to discuss the details of their strategy. It took all of his considerable control to maintain a facade of rigid concentration, but in truth, half his mind was engaged in wondering what emotions were hidden beneath the lowered lashes rather than what perils lay ahead in coming hours.

Damnation , he railed ay himself, hurling one curse after another upon his mutinous thoughts. He was a seasoned soldier, not some moonfaced halfling! How could he let his attention wander from his duty?

Clenching his jaw so hard that his molars threatened to crack, he shifted in his seat so as to avoid all view of her shadowed face. That helped somewhat and he finally managed to marshal his senses into some semblance of order.

An hour passed, maybe more. The two men spread out several sheets of paper and eventually covered them with a number of scribbled diagrams as they debated the best way to construct a trap for the spy and her accomplice. Aurora made a terse response to the occasional question tossed her way, but other than that, she made no effort to join in the effort. Withdrawing deeper into the slanting shadows, she set about coaxing the coals in the hearth to life, then put some water on to boil. The rest of the vegetables and mutton were added to the remnants of last night’s meal, along with the last of the herbs, and the pot was hung above the flickering flames.

“I imagine you could use a bit of sustenance before you leave,” she murmured, setting a bowl of the steaming stew in front of each man. Clearing her throat she added, “Perhaps I might of some use if I came along and?—”

“No!” Alex’s voice came out harsher than he intended. “You would only be a … distraction,” he added haltingly. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how they only compounded the coldness of his initial exclamation.

Lord, perhaps she was right, he thought with an inward grimace. Perhaps he was the most bumbling agent in all of Christendom, for at the moment he was certainly doing nothing to gainsay such a low opinion of his adroitness in dealing with any matter of a sensitive nature.

Aurora had turned a shade paler at his response, but made no argument. Jack merely arched his brows in vague reproach.

Drawing in a deep breath, he sought to salvage something of the situation. “You have been put in quite enough danger already,” he growled. “I cannot in good conscience allow you to take any additional risk. You will remain here.”

Her eyes refused to meet his. “Whatever you say. After all, you are the one in command, Major.”

Why was it that her refusal to fight back left such a bitter taste in his mouth? He had become so accustomed to her feisty spirit and to the martial spark that flared in her eyes when she was ready to do battle, that this quiet surrender left him feeling more like a bullying lout than an officer deserving of respect.

Jack cleared his throat and sought to blunt the edge of sharp order. “Alex is right, Aurora. Your contribution has already proved invaluable, and to put you at physical risk would be unconscionable.”

Alex gave an inward wince at the choice of words.

“Besides, I assure you that despite your initial impression, Alex and I are not quite so bumbling as you might have thought,” he continued with a forced grin. “I promise we will manage not to make a mull of things on our own.”

She didn’t look up from tending the dying fire. “Of course.”

Leaving his meal untouched, Alex rose abruptly and retreated to the corner of the room where his bag lay. He put away the book that he had kept carefully hidden away in his coat, then withdrew several other items. A slender sheathed knife went into his boot while the extra pistol was tucked in one of his pockets after the priming and flint had been checked.

A strained silence had descended over the room, save for the crackle of the burning kindling and the scrape of Jack’s spoon against his bowl. Grimly aware of how badly he had handled things since his return to the cottage, Alex began to pace before the meager fire, wondering with each step how he had come to lose his bearings in such a precipitous fashion.

Come to think of it, he realized with a start, he hadn’t been able to hold a steady course since that fateful day when he had learned he was no longer Major Lord Fenimore but the new Earl of Woodbridge.

Such disquieting thoughts were interrupted by Jack, who finally spoke up after making a show of consulting his timepiece. “I had best be off, as we planned.”

Alex gave a curt nod. “I will follow shortly. You know where we are to meet up.”

“Aye.”

“Godspeed, Jack,” called Aurora softly. “I wish you well.”

He shuffled his feet in some embarrassment. “The same to you, Aurora, though of course we shall be seeing each other shortly.”

“Of course,” she murmured. “Still, have a care.”

“I will.” Slanting a quick glance at Alex, he hurried to add, “Er, may I say now, it had been quite an experience working with a female such as yourself.”

She smiled. “And one I doubt you care to repeat.” The wry note of humor was unmistakable. ”But you may breathe easy. I daresay you won’t have to encounter many others like me.”

“More’s the pity,” he said under his breath before slipping out the door.

Alex listened to the footsteps fading away into the gathering mist, feeling even more unsure of his own direction. His brooding gaze strayed from the dying flames to the swept hearth to the neatly arranged blankets—anywhere but to the young lady still seated in the shadows.

Suddenly he pivoted on his heel and made for the door.

“Alex—”

“Aurora—”

They both spoke at once.

She had risen, with a movement as just as jerky as his, but before she could say another word he covered the space between them in three quick strides and was at her side. “Before you begin to ring a well-deserved peal over my head, let me apologize for my unforgivable conduct. Once again, you’ve seen a side of me that I am hardly proud of, but I …” His lips compressed in a tight line. “I can offer no excuse.”

Her eyes dropped to the ground. “None is necessary. There must be something about me that brings out the worst in men,” she said in a small voice. As if realizing that the tone seemed to verge on self-pity, she immediately forced her mouth to quirk up and added, “No doubt a temperament befitting a mule and tongue more suited to a shrew have something to do with it.”

Alex uttered a low oath, then tilted her chin up so that he could study every nuance of her mobile features. “Only a fool would fail to see the heart and courage of a lion.” A harried sigh accompanied his whisper. “If, for some reason, things go badly tonight, there is an extra purse sewn in at the bottom of my bag.” He essayed a grim smile. “Do not hesitate to retrieve it and take yourself off to safety.”

“Oh, Alex, promise me you will be careful!”

His expression was searching, though his words appeared to make light of the matter. “I would have thought you wouldn’t mind in the least if someone put a bullet in my heart.”

“N-no! That is …” A ragged intake of breath ended with an odd little sniffle.

It was with some shock that Alex realized that the watery catch in her voice was caused by a tear. His own throat tightened. The devil take it! To his memory, no one had ever really cared what became of him, much less cried over the thought that some harm might befall his person. Touched in a way he could not begin to explain, he pulled her gently toward his chest. Her chin was still cupped in his hand, and it took all of his wavering resolve to keep from using his lips to blot the salty drops from the arch of her cheekbone.

“Come now, sweeting. I shall reserve the right of putting the period to my existence just for you. Lord knows, you have first claim to it.” His head was bent as he spoke, so that the warmth of her breathing tickled his skin.

With a movement so quick that it took him an instant to be sure he hadn’t imagined it, she raised on her toes and feathered her lips against his.

The kiss—if kiss was what it had been—left him not merely shocked but stunned. He tried to swallow, but somehow a lump had formed that was impossible to dislodge. Good Lord, was he really about to turn into a veritable watering pot himself? Such a lowering thought helped him choke down his emotions enough so that he could reply with dry humor.

“I seem to recall a certain statement concerning flying pigs,” he said with a rather crooked grin. “Am I hallucinating, or do I truly see swine soaring on gossamer wings?”

Aurora thumped a fist against his chest. “Wretch,” she murmured. ”Please don’t remind me of such impetuous words. I-I sometimes say things I don’t mean when I am angry.”

“Don’t we all?” He put his arms around her, drawing her so close he could feel the thud of her heart through the thick wool of his jacket. “Do you think that perhaps the porcine creatures might stay airborne long enough for you to grant me one more embrace? For luck.”

This time it was more than a momentary brush. She lifted her head and the sweet curves of her lips, softly pliant and willing, molded to his. The taste of her was a subtle, shifting warmth, like early morning light. Thirsting for more, his tongue delved deeper, and when her mouth offered sustenance, he plunged into its depth with the desperation of a man finally escaping from years of drought.

She was more intoxicating than aged brandy, more potent than malt whiskey. With a low groan, he sought to drink his fill of her liquid fire. The heat was flooding every fiber of his being, from the tips of his fingers entwined in her curls to the throb of his groin pressed hard up against the softness of her middle. Her molten cry of his name nearly caused his knees to buckle. Why, in another instant, he would be drunk to all reason?—

It was Aurora who helped to sober his spinning head. Stumbling back a step from his embrace, she drew a ragged breath and whispered, “I-I think you had better be going. It wouldn’t do be late for your rendezvous with Jack.”

A glib rejoinder floated toward his lips, but at the sight of what was swirling in the depth of her emerald eyes, it stuck in his throat. In answer, he pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Yes,” he sighed. “Duty must come before all else.

“When duty is done, come back to me, Alex Woodmore.”

“Of that you may be sure, sweeting. Haven’t you learned yet that I am a deuced difficult fellow to get rid of?”

The echo of his horse’s pounding hooves had long since died away, yet the thumping in Aurora’s chest was still like thunder in her ears. She ran her tongue over her swollen lips, only to find that the taste of him lingered as well. Like a liberal shot of spirits, it was doing strange thing to her equilibrium. Her legs seemed to be tilting at a most peculiar cant while her stomach was engaged in a series of odd somersaults that left her breathless and a little dizzy. Taking her head between her hands, she sunk down onto one of the crates and tried to make some sense of what had just happened.

Surely her innate common sense, advanced years and previous experiences with the predatory nature of the opposite sex should have combined to make her immune to any amorous advances from a gentleman. Yet here she was, in danger of falling into a swoon at a mere kiss. One would think she was an innocent schoolgirl, who had never been kissed before!

She had, of course. Twice to be exact, counting this one.

Her lips gave a wry quirk. No matter that she hadn’t experienced the sensation with great regularity, she still should not be feeling as if her limbs had been turned to blanc mange nor should her insides be sliding around as if they were jellied aspic on a platter. And above all, she most certainly should not be wishing that Alex had made a complete meal of her.

But she was. With a tiny gulp, she realized she had wanted nothing so much as for his mouth to have continued its ravenous plundering, his hands to have shredded her willing body into a thousand little morsels, to be consumed one by one. He had made her feel delicious. Was it any wonder that she had wanted to be devoured?

Silly goose!

Adding a rather more descriptive phrase she had overheard the coachman mutter, Aurora righted herself and began to pace before the dying embers. All men had strong appetites. Hadn’t her investigations revealed that time and again? So she must not be so bird-witted as to think that Alex’s hunger had been for her in particular.

But that did not account for her own sudden cravings. She had never before felt that anything was missing from her comfortable existence. Her little household—Robbie, Alice, even Homer, the calico cat—had provided companionship, while her hobby had kept her wits exercised and her days from becoming too flat. What more was there to wish for in life?

Alex Woodmore , she answered with a sigh and a scrunch of her lips.

Oh, at times he could be as annoying as most men, showing the usual male penchant for overbearing arrogance and petty tyranny. But such glaring flaws paled in light of his other qualities. He had also shown himself to be kind, strong, clever and—wonder of wonders—willing to listen to another opinion, even that of a female.

No matter that their exchanges sometimes involved a few thrusts and parries. She enjoyed crossing verbal swords with him, for he had a honed intelligence and a sharp sense of humor.

Add to all that the fact that his piercing sapphire eyes and lithe, muscular form caused her insides to spark and quiver in a reaction that no aging female companion or furry feline creature seemed to elicit.

She paused in her pacing and stared at the narrow gold band on one of her left fingers. Worn to avoid tiresome explanations or prying queries, it now raised some disquieting questions of its own. Had such a sham arrangement deprived her of what a real marriage might have offered? She had always scoffed at Robbie’s suggestion that a man might inspire her to dream girlish dreams. Or, even more improbably, to fall in love.

But was it such an absurd notion?

A sigh escaped from somewhere deep inside as she thought about the encircling strength of Alex’s arm around her shoulders. It had been comforting to nestle up against his chest, savoring the corded ripple of muscle, the texture of his dark locks against her cheek and the faint woodsy tang of his person. He made her feel safe. Yet at the same time, he also stirred strange longings that were decidedly dangerous to her old way of thinking.

All of a sudden, Aurora found she wanted someone to lean on when clouds threatened to obscure Orion and all the other constellations. More disturbing yet, the mere thought of his touch was causing her to grow warm in places she had never thought about before. The physical aspect of marriage, as described by the women of her acquaintance, had always sounded more of an onerous chore than anything that might prove a pleasant experience. But now, she found herself curious—insatiably curious—to know what it would be like to have Alex do some of the things she had seen depicted in that enticing little book of his.

It was all so very confusing! Robbie’s novels had made love seem simple and straightforward. What she was feeling was neither, so she couldn’t possibly be in love with Alex Woodmore.

The devilish question was …

Enough! Even an idiot could see how hopelessly foolish it would be to let her thoughts keep wandering in such a direction. She prided herself on possessing at least a modicum of intelligence, and it was clear that if she was going to fall in love with any man, it had better be her husband, else the consequences would only lead to disaster.

And since the chance of that happening was only marginally greater than that of her replacing Perceval as Prime Minister, her heart had best remain unmoved! No matter what turmoil the rest of her body and brain were in.

A squall of wind suddenly caused the rough planked front door to fly open, and Aurora hurried over to close it. As her fingers worked to secure the rusting latch, she warned herself that she must do their same with her own unsettled emotions. They must be locked away, at least for now.

There would be plenty of long, empty nights to think about what sweet dreams might have been possible, had the cards that life had dealt fallen in her favor.