Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord
Page 85
“I never told anyone that I found that diary. Not my brother, certainly not my father. But I kept it for years, until I finished with school. By then, my father was dead and Gabriel was the marquess, and I was nothing.” He shook his head. “And so I took to the Continent.”
“To find your mother,” she whispered.
He nodded at the words. “Of course, by then, we were in the thick of the war and any means that I might have used to track my mother had long disappeared. But I was young and strong and had a brain in my head, and a high-ranking official in the War Office—whom I’ve always thought Gabriel had paid off to ensure that I would be safe traipsing through a war zone—noticed my obsession and took me under his wing to teach me to track.”
She watched him as he ran his fingers over the candle flame once, twice. He could tell that she was curious—desperate to ask questions. He waited out the silence until she could bear it no more and said, “Whom did you track?”
One shoulder lifted in a barely perceptible shrug. “Whoever needed finding. I specialized in people who went east. I cared little about what I was doing, and far more about where I was doing it. My work proved a means to a very satisfying end. I was seeing the world, and for the more than fair price of a few days’ work whenever the Crown was seeking someone.”
“Did you …” She paused, clearly uncertain of her next words. “Did you ever hurt anyone?”
He considered the question for a long moment. He did not want to lie to her. He did not want to lie to himself. He looked away from her when he answered, becoming lost in the words. “Never on purpose. My task ended when the missing person was found. They were no longer my concern after that.”
“So they might have been hurt.”
He looked to her. “They might have been.”
She pressed on. “And you could have been hurt, as well.”
“Yes.”
She held his gaze for a long moment before she stood, crossing the room to stand before him. She faced him head-on, and Nick was struck once more by her strength. “Why did you stop?”
He was silent for a long while. He knew the answer would mean something to her—that she would find some measure of understanding in the words. He wanted them to make sense. But, more than that, he wanted them to be true.
“I don’t know. Perhaps I stopped because I became too good at it, because I liked it too much. Perhaps I stopped because I did not care about the people I sought. About the ones whom I found.” He met her gaze, wishing that he could make her understand. “Or perhaps I stopped because they did not care about me.”
The words hovered in the air between them and he took a step closer to her, narrowing the distance between them. “I should never have agreed to this mission … but Leighton is an old friend, and I could not deny him. I swear, Isabel. I did not come to hurt you, or Georgiana, or James, or any of the other girls. If I had ever thought I might do damage to you … I would never have come.”
He bent his head to meet hers, their foreheads nearly touching. “I want nothing but happiness for you. Nothing but pleasure. Please, give me another chance.”
She closed her eyes at the whispered words, and he watched as the emotion played across her face. He held his breath, hoping that he had told her enough to win her over.
A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips, gone so quickly that if he had not been watching so closely, he would not have seen it. She opened her eyes, her lovely brown gaze honeyed in the flickering golden light. “I am scared and worried and not at all certain that I should trust you … but … I am rather happy that you did come. To Yorkshire,” she qualified on a whisper, “and tonight.”
He released the breath he had been holding on a rugged exhale and, in the pleasure that coursed through him, he reached out to pull her into his arms. And then he did the only thing he could think to do.
He kissed her.
Eighteen
The had vowed not to fall victim to his pretty words and his alluring promises.
But when he had confessed his past, she had been won again. Even as she berated herself for believing him, she could not stop herself from wanting to trust him again—to believe in him. And then he had kissed her, and her mix of emotion was distilled into a single, powerful thought.
She wanted this man in her world.
The words, combined with the irresistible caress, unlocked something deep inside her, the place where her most secret desires had been ferreted away never to be seen—never to be shared. But now, here was this man who seemed able to tear down her carefully erected defenses with a single word. A single touch.
She sighed against his lips and he deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth with a rough tenderness that sent a current of pleasure through her. His kisses came harder and deeper, each one headier than the last, punctuated by long, lush pauses during which he whispered her name like a benediction. She clutched his arms, strong and warm beneath his shirtsleeves, and held on to him—her rock in a storm of sensation.
His hands were everywhere, stroking across her shoulders, down her arms, finally lifting her until she had no choice but to wrap herself around him. He clasped her to him for a long moment, burying his face in her neck and making small, unbearable circles against the soft skin there with his tongue. Isabel cried out at the pleasure of the caress, and he lifted his head, his blue eyes gleaming in the dim light.
He set his forehead to hers. “Isabel, you should tell me to leave.”
Her eyes widened at the words. “Why?”
“Because if you do not, I am going to stay.”
“To find your mother,” she whispered.
He nodded at the words. “Of course, by then, we were in the thick of the war and any means that I might have used to track my mother had long disappeared. But I was young and strong and had a brain in my head, and a high-ranking official in the War Office—whom I’ve always thought Gabriel had paid off to ensure that I would be safe traipsing through a war zone—noticed my obsession and took me under his wing to teach me to track.”
She watched him as he ran his fingers over the candle flame once, twice. He could tell that she was curious—desperate to ask questions. He waited out the silence until she could bear it no more and said, “Whom did you track?”
One shoulder lifted in a barely perceptible shrug. “Whoever needed finding. I specialized in people who went east. I cared little about what I was doing, and far more about where I was doing it. My work proved a means to a very satisfying end. I was seeing the world, and for the more than fair price of a few days’ work whenever the Crown was seeking someone.”
“Did you …” She paused, clearly uncertain of her next words. “Did you ever hurt anyone?”
He considered the question for a long moment. He did not want to lie to her. He did not want to lie to himself. He looked away from her when he answered, becoming lost in the words. “Never on purpose. My task ended when the missing person was found. They were no longer my concern after that.”
“So they might have been hurt.”
He looked to her. “They might have been.”
She pressed on. “And you could have been hurt, as well.”
“Yes.”
She held his gaze for a long moment before she stood, crossing the room to stand before him. She faced him head-on, and Nick was struck once more by her strength. “Why did you stop?”
He was silent for a long while. He knew the answer would mean something to her—that she would find some measure of understanding in the words. He wanted them to make sense. But, more than that, he wanted them to be true.
“I don’t know. Perhaps I stopped because I became too good at it, because I liked it too much. Perhaps I stopped because I did not care about the people I sought. About the ones whom I found.” He met her gaze, wishing that he could make her understand. “Or perhaps I stopped because they did not care about me.”
The words hovered in the air between them and he took a step closer to her, narrowing the distance between them. “I should never have agreed to this mission … but Leighton is an old friend, and I could not deny him. I swear, Isabel. I did not come to hurt you, or Georgiana, or James, or any of the other girls. If I had ever thought I might do damage to you … I would never have come.”
He bent his head to meet hers, their foreheads nearly touching. “I want nothing but happiness for you. Nothing but pleasure. Please, give me another chance.”
She closed her eyes at the whispered words, and he watched as the emotion played across her face. He held his breath, hoping that he had told her enough to win her over.
A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips, gone so quickly that if he had not been watching so closely, he would not have seen it. She opened her eyes, her lovely brown gaze honeyed in the flickering golden light. “I am scared and worried and not at all certain that I should trust you … but … I am rather happy that you did come. To Yorkshire,” she qualified on a whisper, “and tonight.”
He released the breath he had been holding on a rugged exhale and, in the pleasure that coursed through him, he reached out to pull her into his arms. And then he did the only thing he could think to do.
He kissed her.
Eighteen
The had vowed not to fall victim to his pretty words and his alluring promises.
But when he had confessed his past, she had been won again. Even as she berated herself for believing him, she could not stop herself from wanting to trust him again—to believe in him. And then he had kissed her, and her mix of emotion was distilled into a single, powerful thought.
She wanted this man in her world.
The words, combined with the irresistible caress, unlocked something deep inside her, the place where her most secret desires had been ferreted away never to be seen—never to be shared. But now, here was this man who seemed able to tear down her carefully erected defenses with a single word. A single touch.
She sighed against his lips and he deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth with a rough tenderness that sent a current of pleasure through her. His kisses came harder and deeper, each one headier than the last, punctuated by long, lush pauses during which he whispered her name like a benediction. She clutched his arms, strong and warm beneath his shirtsleeves, and held on to him—her rock in a storm of sensation.
His hands were everywhere, stroking across her shoulders, down her arms, finally lifting her until she had no choice but to wrap herself around him. He clasped her to him for a long moment, burying his face in her neck and making small, unbearable circles against the soft skin there with his tongue. Isabel cried out at the pleasure of the caress, and he lifted his head, his blue eyes gleaming in the dim light.
He set his forehead to hers. “Isabel, you should tell me to leave.”
Her eyes widened at the words. “Why?”
“Because if you do not, I am going to stay.”
