Love and Let Spy Read online

  “Excellent notion, Mr. Griffyn,” Lady Melbourne said. “You have my consent to dance. Go ahead. I will return in one moment.” She glared at her niece. “I am going to fetch Lord Melbourne.” And she hurried back into the ballroom.

  “That sounded like a threat,” Dominic drawled. He was surprised when she moved quickly to his side and gestured for him to follow her out of view of the ballroom.

  “I do not know who you are or what sort of hold you have over my aunt and uncle, but I will find out, and I will take you down.”

  She actually looked as though she meant it, and Dominic did not know why that should arouse him. Her face was inches from his, her gaze boring into him, and all he could think was he wanted to kiss those pursed lips. Strange thought. He did not kiss. Ever. “I take it you are not overly fond of dancing,” he drawled.

  “No.”

  “Good. Let’s walk.” He moved in the direction of the doors open to the lawns, but just as they reached the exit, a footman rushed through, almost knocking them down. The glass on his tray wavered and then toppled, the dark red contents aiming for Miss Bonde’s sapphire-blue gown. She moved rapidly, faster than he’d ever seen anyone move, and caught the glass without spilling a single drop. With her left hand, she steadied the tray and righted it. The footman began to apologize profusely, promising to fetch her another ratafia or a cake or anything she desired.

  Miss Bonde sipped the drink and smiled. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

  “I’ll fetch you another, miss. Ratafia. Shaken, not stirred, correct?”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” And he rushed away.

  “Do all men react to you like that?” Dominic asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That is answer enough. Come.” He offered his arm. He would have preferred she not touch him, but in this situation he knew the protocol. Even so, she looked as though she might refuse, but then she narrowed her eyes at something she saw in the ballroom and laid her hand on his sleeve. He waited for the shudder of revulsion at her touch, but it never came.

  He was still standing there, looking at her arm on his like an idiot, when she said, “Proceed, Mr. Griffyn. I think I would like a walk.”

  He led her through the ballroom. A better man would not have noted how many heads turned and how many raised brows accompanied those turned heads. A better man would not have felt a rush of triumph at having the woman every man wanted on his arm.

  Dominic was not that man.

  They stepped through the doors and into a garden lit by torches and lanterns. The breeze caused the flames to twinkle and flicker, and he could smell the fragrance of summer flowers. The air was cool, but Miss Bonde did not seem to mind it as they made their way past the small crowd of men and women just outside the doors. She paused to sip her beverage once again before setting the glass on a short stone column. He led her down a gravel path, toward the edges of the glow from the ball. Dominic had thought to keep quiet and allow her to speak. In his experience, ladies rarely remained silent for long. But Miss Bonde surprised him, yet again, by keeping her own counsel. She surprised him further by not objecting when he turned down a long aisle enclosed by tall, manicured hedgerows. Most well-bred ladies would have objected, concerned for their virtue. But she seemed…distracted.

  Was his company that tedious?

  “I have been to far more events this Season than I like to admit,” she said. Dominic was relieved. He had actually been contemplating speaking first. “And I have not seen you before. Have you recently returned from abroad?”

  “No.” He expected some show of annoyance from her for his brief answer, but she was peering up at the hedgerows and seemed not to mind. In fact, she seemed not to notice him. He actually peered at the hedgerows himself to see what intrigued her so.

  “Do you live in London?” she asked, dragging his attention away.

  “When obliged.”

  She smiled at that. “You prefer the country?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “My lord—” she began, looking up at those blasted hedgerows again.

  “I’m no lord.”

  “Of course not. I do believe we have satisfied the requirements of our respective guardians.”

  “Hardly.”

  She glanced at him then, giving him her full attention for the first time since they’d stepped outside. Her eyes, he now noted, were so blue as to be almost violet, and the effect of those stunning eyes focused solely on him was a bit unsettling, which must have accounted for why he wanted to kiss her. Again.

  Unprecedented.

  “No, you are correct. That was poor wording. But you must agree we have at least made a start. If you’d like to return to the ball, or perhaps slip away, I am perfectly capable of finding my own way back inside.”

  Dominic stared at her. She was trying to rid herself of his company. He should have been offended, but he’d been offended too many times, and this woman was a contradiction. She’d followed him down a dark path in a garden and then tried to persuade him to leave. What was she about?

  “I don’t even merit a kiss?” he asked. He had no bloody idea why he’d said it. He really did not intend to kiss her.

  Her gaze, which had now strayed to some point behind him, snapped back. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I do not desire…” She trailed off and gazed above his head again. Dominic turned quickly, to peer behind him, but saw nothing except the hedgerows and darkness.

  “What are you looking at?”

  His attention was jerked back to her when she grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face her. He barely had time to sputter a curse before her hands were on opposite sides of his face, and she was pulling him into a kiss.

  His first instinct was to push her away, remove her hands from his face. But to his surprise, her touch was actually light and pleasant. Her gloved fingers were warm, her lips silky, and her breath slightly minty. Why push her away if he was enjoying this?

  Because she wasn’t really kissing him.

  She held his face between her hands and pressed her lips to his firmly, and after a few moments of this, Dominic narrowed his eyes at her. Her own eyes were open and staring above his head. “What the devil are you doing?” he mumbled against her rigid lips.

  She pushed back, and now she looked annoyed. “You said you wanted a kiss.”

  “Is that what you call this?”

  She gave him a look designed to make ordinary men quake in their boots. But he was not ordinary, and he was not affected by some chit’s regal glare. He cocked a brow. “Is that the best you can do?” Not that he had any experience kissing women—not on the lips, at any rate—but he could do better than that.

  “You said you wanted a kiss.”

  “I repeat, is that the best you can do?”

  She turned on her heel, throwing her hair over her shoulder in a gesture he found both annoyingly childish and strangely erotic. He wanted to catch that tail of hair and wind it around his hand, pulling her back for a proper kiss. “You’ll never know,” she tossed back at him, stomping away.

  Well, he couldn’t let that challenge go unanswered, could he?

  It took two long strides before he caught her arm, but when he yanked her against him, she surprised him by thrusting an elbow in his belly. He doubled over, and she caught him in the jaw with her elbow, then spun around and kicked him in the chest with her slippered foot.

  The slipper saved him. If she’d been wearing boots, he’d have fallen flat on his arse. As it was, he stumbled back and caught her ankle before losing his footing, so she fell too. They tumbled down together in a heap of arms and legs and the frilly things ladies wore under their dresses. What the hell was happening? Had she been training with Gentleman Jackson? Most—no, all—ladies he knew w
ould have fainted rather than fight back. But she had not only fought. She had fought well.

  She was not going to win.

  When the world stopped spinning, he turned his head to the side and was rewarded by having it trapped thus. She crouched above him, looking little worse for the tumble they’d taken, and dug her forearm across his throat. “You are going to stay down for the count of ten, and I am going to walk away. Understand, Mr. Griffyn?”

  “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

  She grinned. “Want a lesson?”

  “No, but I’d like to breathe again.”

  Her arm came up. “You can breathe while I walk away.”

  “I don’t think so.” She might have more skills, but he had more strength. He grasped her wrists and pulled her down on top of him. He expected her to kick, so he shifted to the side and rolled over, pinning her beneath him. He straddled her, his knees on either side of her ribs and her hands pinned beside her head. This was much better.

  “Move off me before I scream,” she seethed.

  “Go ahead. That would make your aunt and my mother very happy indeed. We’d be forced to marry.” Her breath puffed in and out in quick bursts, and from this vantage point, he had a nice view of the curve of her breasts as they rose and fell at the low neck of her bodice. They were both wearing gloves, which meant he couldn’t feel her skin, but he could feel the pulse in her wrist racing. Or perhaps that was his own pulse?

  In the moonlight and shadows, her skin was almost iridescent, and her eyes a shade of unearthly blue. She looked like some sort of mythological sprite brought to life from the pages of a storybook.

  “You’d run if I screamed,” she said confidently.

  “Would I?”

  Their gazes met and held, and he saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes.

  “Have I done anything you expected?”

  “I could throw you off.”

  “Maybe you could, but I’m willing to bet the effect on your hair and dress would be about the same as if you screamed.” He should release her. He’d made his point, and he’d more than paid her back for the insult in the supper room. He didn’t really intend to ravish her. Despite the rumors, he was no barbarian.

  “Off!” she yelled.

  He almost released her. His fingers flexed, but he simply could not do it. “I don’t think so.”

  “Irritating man! What do you want?”

  “I believe I was promised a kiss.”

  “That is not at all how I remember the conversation. Now allow me to go, or I will be forced to—”

  He liked the sound of her voice. It was low and seductive, but he could not bear to hear another word from her lips. He lowered his mouth to hers and cut off her protests. She tensed beneath him, her lips going rigid again, but he found that with gentle pressure he was able to coax them into softening. He brushed his mouth over hers, prepared for the velvet softness of her lips, but not for the taste of her. She was honey and cherries and the slightest hint of something darker. He’d intended to kiss her lightly, leave her wanting, but once he had a taste of her, he had to know more.

  He teased her lips open, kissing her deeply, releasing her wrists and locking his fingers with hers. He was painfully aware that he was straddling her. That he was leaning over her, holding her down. He was in control, and he liked it that way. She moaned slightly, and he was instantly hard. He knew he should release her. They’d been missing far too long, but he could not seem to stop touching her. And then he did the unthinkable, something he had never done before.

  He dipped his tongue between her lips and met her tongue with his. The effect was electric. She jumped beneath him, and the shot of arousal he felt was all but dizzying. He knew he must stop. This was a gentlewoman, the niece of Lord Melbourne. He could not kiss her this way.

  But there was that dark, erotic taste of her, hovering just out of reach, pulling him deeper and deeper until he was on the verge of losing control.

  That realization finally cooled his ardor. In one motion, he released her, stood, and backed away. She lay on the ground below him, her eyes closed, her hands on the ground where he’d pinned them, and her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen. She was the picture of debauchery. Slowly her eyes opened, and she stared at him. Looking down at her, he should have thought she was the one who was completely vulnerable and completely at his mercy.

  But that was not the case at all. In fact, it was very much the reverse.

  Dominic walked away without looking back.

  ***

  Jane lay on the ground, a half-dozen tiny pieces of gravel digging into her back. What had just happened? Why had she allowed that…brute to kiss her, hold her down, make her feel…how did she feel? Out of sorts?

  “Well, that was interesting.”

  She sat and cut her eyes to the hedgerow above her. Blue was still there, smiling at her with that sort of knowing smile she hated. “Are you still here?” she barked, rising and brushing her skirts off. She could not return to the ballroom. She would raise every eyebrow in the house.

  “I have yet to pass on the intelligence you seek.”

  “As I tried to indicate a few moments ago, this is not the time or the place. Could it not wait?” She’d all but jumped when she’d seen the other spy in the garden. He was following her from the top of the hedgerows, and she had to do everything she could think of to keep Mr. Griffyn from looking up and seeing Blue.

  Griffyn continued to frustrate her all the while Blue was trying to capture her attention. She was an expert at reading lips, but with the darkness around her and the distraction of Griffyn, she had not been able to make out a thing. And then Griffyn had almost spotted Blue, and she’d had no choice but to kiss the infernal man.

  “I am sorry to interrupt your tête-à-tête with your lover.” Blue hopped down, and she was annoyed to see how perfectly pressed and unrumpled he looked, although the orange waistcoat he wore clashed monstrously with his gray coat.

  “He is not my lover. I met him only a few moments ago.”

  “Well, I had no idea you were so friendly.”

  “Stubble it, Blue. Why were you sent to give me intelligence? I thought you had retired.” She glanced down at her gown and brushed at the dirt where her knees had hit the path.

  “I am merely developing my other interests.”

  She frowned at the recalcitrant dirt. “What other interests?”

  “I have a keen interest in opera. In fact”—he consulted his pocket watch—“I am due back at Covent Garden momentarily, so let me be brief.”

  “Please.”

  “One of Agent Wolf’s contacts sold him information on Foncé’s whereabouts.”

  Jane blinked. “Wolf? I thought he retired.”

  Blue shook his head. “No one sleeps easy while Foncé is still walking free. Your uncle will order a report from Wolf, but it would be more expedient if you actually talked to Wolf face-to-face.” He handed her a slip of parchment. “You will find him here.”

  Jane frowned. “You know M frowns upon this.”

  “You cannot remain the Barbican’s secret forever. He already has you training Butterfly.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He gave her a bemused look. “We are running out of operatives. If anyone can apprehend Foncé, it’s you.”

  She took a breath and nodded. Blue stepped forward. “It’s an enormous responsibility, I know, but I have worked with you before. You can do it. Now, turn around and let me do something about your appearance before you embarrass yourself and Melbourne.”

  He tugged and he poked and he fussed with her hair until she wanted to scream, Enough already! Finally, he turned her in a circle and pronounced, “You’ll do.”

  “Thank you.” She headed back toward the ball.

  “I had
better not catch you in the garden again!”

  “Don’t you have an opera singer waiting for you?”

  He grinned. “As a matter of fact…” And he was gone.

  Jane knew he’d merely cut around one of the shrubs, but he did it so skillfully he seemed to disappear.

  With a sigh, she made her way back to the lights and music of the ball. She skillfully evaded the half-dozen or so of her acquaintances who attempted to detain her and made her way through the throngs until she found the card room. She stepped inside, spotted her uncle, and met his gaze. When she stepped back out again to wait, a footman with a tray of champagne passed, and she snatched a glass and downed it.

  She pressed her hand to her belly and attempted to still the fluttering. It bothered her how much Griffyn’s kiss had affected her. She’d been kissed before. True, she had never been kissed on the gravel path in a garden before, but she’d been kissed in far more romantic places—Venice, Paris, the Egyptian pyramids at dusk. And all of those kisses had been bestowed by men she liked, and none of those kisses had made her feel even one one-hundredth of what she’d felt when Griffyn but brushed his lips over hers. Her whole body had seemed to come alive. It was as though she’d never smelled flowers before, never felt the cool evening breeze, never noticed how bright the stars or how vast the heavens.

  Another footman passed, and she grabbed another glass of champagne. She downed it as well. She didn’t even like champagne, but her belly was still fluttering and her pulse was still racing and she needed to be calm and collected for what was to come. She closed her eyes and saw his eyes dance before her. They were dark and sensual and promised he could make her feel oh, so much more than she had experienced even tonight.

  The air around her stirred, and she opened her eyes to find her uncle standing before her. “You should at least give him a chance,” he said.

  Jane would have staggered back had the wall not been at her back. “How can you say such a thing?” Her uncle had always been her protector, her confidant, her ally. How could he betray her like this?

  He beckoned her toward the library and away from the rest of the ball-goers. “You have to marry at some point, Jane. You know it as well as I do,” he said when they’d stepped inside the library and ascertained they were alone.