unexpected thrill of anticipation. He had flirted with her, yet kept a distance.
His eyes studied her with uncompromising intimacy. His smile promised and denied at the same time. Sometimes she was positive he wanted her. At other times, she wasn’t sure who he even was. He wasn’t the man who had chased and caught her in Spain.
He was far more dangerous.
But then again, according to the London newspapers, so was she. But she wasn’t really. Her monstrosity was a myth. While certain people in Society might attribute dangerous motives to the Mayfair Masquer, the truth was that her other identitybalked at even swatting a fly. She fed stray cats in the street. Granted, she carried a pistol during her undertakings for the duchess. Heaven only knew what would happen if she needed to use it. She had never deliberately hurt anyone or anything in her life.
Sebastien had. But his actions had been such a protected secret that even the duchess’s contacts couldn’t uncover them.
Eleanor hadn’t tried to stop him when he’d accepted his nefarious assignment in France shortly after their wedding. It was obvious that he was relieved to be back in action and that he couldn’t stand feeling useless. What else could she do except let him go?
But since then, she often wondered what it had cost him to return to service. And as to the exact nature of his work, whenever she asked him, he replied, “I prefer not to talk about it.”
“Are you a spy, Sebastien?”
“Not exactly,” he would answer with a mordant laugh that made her think he was doing something worse.
“Well—are there other women involved?”
“Not in the manner you’re thinking.”
“What does
that
mean?”
“It means there are certain government concerns of which a lady should not be aware.”
She had never been much of a lady, she wanted to shout. She was certainly strong enough to accept what ever the truth was.
How many ladies had held their bare hands overthe perforated intestines of a surgeon’s patient in a midnight emergency? Or had assisted in numerous bloodlettings? Or who loved to play with leeches?
Or, the very worst, who wanted to grab her husband by the shoulders and kiss the devil until he begged for mercy?
No, she had never been much of a lady in Society’s sense of the word.
She made a better gentleman.
“We’re almost home,” he said genially. “And about time, too. I’ve waited forever for this night.”
She narrowed her eyes at his cheerful announcement. He’d been back in London for three months and hadn’t spent more than an hour or so in their town house. The way he acted one would think that their attendance at the masquerade tonight signaled the resumption of wedded bliss.
“I think we ought to go straight to bed,” he added, in case she had misunderstood him.
“I
am
tired,” she admitted, lowering her eyes. “I could sleep for a week.”
“I found the evening to be invigorating.”
“But you just said that you—”
“Yes. I did.
We’re
going straight to bed. We’ve waited long enough. We’re reacquainted, partners in this mission of yours. It
is
time, don’t you agree?”
Her throat closed with a pleasant sense of panic. She wondered what he would do if she refused him outright. Had she deceived herself into thinking he would quietly accept a rejection?
Or that she would be able to deliver one?
His smile acknowledged her uncertainty.
Perhaps this wasn’t her husband at all. Perhaps he’d had an evil twin hidden away that no one knew about. He had brothers he’d never discussed. Maybe one of them had snuffed out Sebastien, stolen his title, and returned to London to wreak havoc.
The carriage wheels hit a rut. She cursed Will inwardly for his reckless driving, then bounced forward. Sebastien’s muscular arms enclosed her. He murmured soothing words in her ear. Before she could assure him she was fine, he seized the advantage. His mouth covered hers in a dizzying kiss.
Or had she kissed
His eyes studied her with uncompromising intimacy. His smile promised and denied at the same time. Sometimes she was positive he wanted her. At other times, she wasn’t sure who he even was. He wasn’t the man who had chased and caught her in Spain.
He was far more dangerous.
But then again, according to the London newspapers, so was she. But she wasn’t really. Her monstrosity was a myth. While certain people in Society might attribute dangerous motives to the Mayfair Masquer, the truth was that her other identitybalked at even swatting a fly. She fed stray cats in the street. Granted, she carried a pistol during her undertakings for the duchess. Heaven only knew what would happen if she needed to use it. She had never deliberately hurt anyone or anything in her life.
Sebastien had. But his actions had been such a protected secret that even the duchess’s contacts couldn’t uncover them.
Eleanor hadn’t tried to stop him when he’d accepted his nefarious assignment in France shortly after their wedding. It was obvious that he was relieved to be back in action and that he couldn’t stand feeling useless. What else could she do except let him go?
But since then, she often wondered what it had cost him to return to service. And as to the exact nature of his work, whenever she asked him, he replied, “I prefer not to talk about it.”
“Are you a spy, Sebastien?”
“Not exactly,” he would answer with a mordant laugh that made her think he was doing something worse.
“Well—are there other women involved?”
“Not in the manner you’re thinking.”
“What does
that
mean?”
“It means there are certain government concerns of which a lady should not be aware.”
She had never been much of a lady, she wanted to shout. She was certainly strong enough to accept what ever the truth was.
How many ladies had held their bare hands overthe perforated intestines of a surgeon’s patient in a midnight emergency? Or had assisted in numerous bloodlettings? Or who loved to play with leeches?
Or, the very worst, who wanted to grab her husband by the shoulders and kiss the devil until he begged for mercy?
No, she had never been much of a lady in Society’s sense of the word.
She made a better gentleman.
“We’re almost home,” he said genially. “And about time, too. I’ve waited forever for this night.”
She narrowed her eyes at his cheerful announcement. He’d been back in London for three months and hadn’t spent more than an hour or so in their town house. The way he acted one would think that their attendance at the masquerade tonight signaled the resumption of wedded bliss.
“I think we ought to go straight to bed,” he added, in case she had misunderstood him.
“I
am
tired,” she admitted, lowering her eyes. “I could sleep for a week.”
“I found the evening to be invigorating.”
“But you just said that you—”
“Yes. I did.
We’re
going straight to bed. We’ve waited long enough. We’re reacquainted, partners in this mission of yours. It
is
time, don’t you agree?”
Her throat closed with a pleasant sense of panic. She wondered what he would do if she refused him outright. Had she deceived herself into thinking he would quietly accept a rejection?
Or that she would be able to deliver one?
His smile acknowledged her uncertainty.
Perhaps this wasn’t her husband at all. Perhaps he’d had an evil twin hidden away that no one knew about. He had brothers he’d never discussed. Maybe one of them had snuffed out Sebastien, stolen his title, and returned to London to wreak havoc.
The carriage wheels hit a rut. She cursed Will inwardly for his reckless driving, then bounced forward. Sebastien’s muscular arms enclosed her. He murmured soothing words in her ear. Before she could assure him she was fine, he seized the advantage. His mouth covered hers in a dizzying kiss.
Or had she kissed
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