My Lord and Spymaster by Joanna Bourne

as if one of the shadows had stepped off the wall and gone walking around. He was that good.

    “Drunk. Asleep. Hurting. Not sure where she is or why. That crack on the head has her confused. She’ll be better when she wakes up in the morning.”

    “Good.” Adrian’s voice was cold. “Now tell me why she’s naked in bed with you, you rutting bastard.”

    Hell . He rolled off the bed fast. His feet thumped to the boards, and he stood, confronting his friend across the dim cabin. There was no trace of amusement in Adrian’s expression. He was dead serious. Angry. Very angry. This was Adrian as his enemies saw him.

    He remembered Adrian kneeling over Jess in the alley, smears of her blood on his hands. Quick, clever Jess, with the Cockney accent and pockets of surprising knowledge. She was Adrian’s match in so many ways.

    He should have known a girl like this would belong to somebody. The certainty hit him like a blow.

    I’ve taken Adrian’s woman to bed.

    Adrian said tightly, “What have you done to Jess?”

    There was a time for truth. It was not now. “Nothing. I didn’t do a thing to her you couldn’t have watched.”

    “Nothing?” The blanket had slipped. Jess was showing a yard of wanton golden skin. “Why do I find that so hard to believe? Gods in Hades, she’s stone cold unconscious.” For an instant, Adrian looked as dangerous as he was. “I wouldn’t have thought you were a man for complicated revenge. What are you doing?”

    “What revenge?”

    A stark minute ticked by. Adrian said, “You don’t even know who she is.”

    “Your woman? Tell me, goddammit. Is she your woman or not?”

    “You don’t know.” Adrian’s face was utterly unrevealing. “You took one look at Jess and tumbled her into bed. Why didn’t I see that was going to happen?”

    “I didn’t tumble her anywhere. I was keeping her warm.”

    “How very gullible I must look these days.”

    The bloody-minded, antic bastard was laughing at him. “She’s not yours.”

    “I should make you sweat, Bastian. I really should.” Slowly, his friend’s face changed. Unholy amusement gleamed in his eyes. “You can stop looking like I’ve gut-shot you. She i Chotlows not, as you so engagingly put it, my woman.”

    His breath loosened. “She’s not one of your agents?”

    “Not remotely.”

    He hadn’t realized how rigid he was till his muscles loosened. Relief swept through him, amazingly strong. It was an emotion he set aside to analyze later. “Who is she?”

    “Ah. That is the question of the hour, isn’t it?” Adrian stood beside the bunk, watching the girl, a complex, unreadable expression on his face. “The last time I spoke to her, she was fourteen, skinny as a lamppost, and flat as a board.”

    “She’s changed. Now tell me who she is.”

    Jess turned onto her side and moaned softly. They both looked down. Adrian was there first, pulling the blanket to cover her, lifting her hands and tucking them inside . . . a protective gesture, but curiously detached. “Let’s take this up on deck. She sleeps light, and I don’t want her to see me.”

    “She doesn’t sleep light with a mug of brandy poured down her throat.” He shouldered past and sat back on the bed beside Jess. She’d got her hair caught under her arm. He set it free, spread it over the pillow so she’d be comfortable. She didn’t wake up. She nestled into his hand, putting her breath into his fingers. “She’s not hearing a thing. What the deuce is going on? Who were those men?”

    “Let me think about this for a while. Do you have any brandy left, or did you waste it all knocking Jess out?”

    “Talk.”

    “I’m thinking.” Adrian picked up the glass Jess had used and sniffed at it. “You drugged her.” He held it up in the light. “What did you use? I’m always willing to try new things.”

    “The powder I picked up in Alexandria. Just medicine.” He held on to his patience. When Adrian was like this,