Chapter 10 #3
She stared up at him, the hurt in her eyes shifting to something sharper. “Wilson, Blake,” she whispered. “I believe Nurse Wilson may be the Midnight Angel.”
He breathed out his held air, grateful for the shift even as part of him mourned the switch from her vulnerability. “And Smith is working with her.”
She nodded. “Which I didn’t realize until I overheard Mr. Brandon revealing what he’d seen to Lady Astley earlier today.”
His brow rose. “Ah, so that’s why you’re in the west wing tonight.”
“Follow a lead as quickly as possible. Isn’t that the way of it?”
His lips curved into a smile, partly because she’d found her humor again and partly because she’d failed to release her hold on his shirt or step from his arms. “Very sound strategy. I’d like to add another.”
“Yes?” She tugged at his shirt, her look of hurt giving way to a softening warmth inviting him forward.
His heart thundered in reply. “A partnership. Working together.”
Her breath caught. “Stephen—”
A sudden sound outside the door made them both freeze. The door clicked fully closed.
The distinct click of a lock turning followed.
“What—” Evie rushed toward the door, hand going to the knob.
It didn’t budge.
Blake joined her, trying it himself. Pushing harder.
Nothing.
Had the traitors caught them? Blast. They’d been too obvious. Too unguarded.
And now the mission was compromised. God, forgive me!
“I know you’re both in there,” came the most unexpected voice from the other side of the door.
And the shock not only loosened his jaw but nearly shocked a laugh from him.
Grace.
“And I heard part of what you were fighting about,” Grace continued, her tone remarkably cheerful for someone who’d just locked two spies in a closet.
“Grace?” Blake barely managed the name.
“It sounds as if the two of you are working together for the same purpose.” The sound of something scraping across the floor before pressing against it came next. “Whatever that fully is.”
Had she just put a piece of furniture against the door? “So it doesn’t do any good not to talk about how to help each other, especially when we are inside a house of very brave and wounded soldiers.”
Blake and Evie exchanged glances in the darkness.
“My lady.” Blake tried for an entreaty.
“Don’t ‘my lady’ me, Blake.” Determination rang in her voice. “I know that if you’re both spies you could get out of that closet in no time at all, but I’m determined to at least try to make you see sense if I can.”
“Grace, this is hardly—”
“And now that I know I’m not going mad imagining mysterious goings-on,” Grace said, still sounding entirely too pleased with herself, “I’m going to bed.
I’ll see you both in the morning. Try not to kill each other—or break any more furniture.
Mrs. Powell and Mr. Brandon would be very upset about it. Good night!”
Her footsteps retreated down the corridor, leaving behind a silence so profound Blake could hear his own heartbeat.
And then, despite everything—the suspicion, the fear, the five months of grief—the laughter released from somewhere deep in his chest.
“Your cousin’s wife just locked us in a closet,” Evie said in bewildered tones.
“Yes.”
“And you’re laughing about it?”
He snickered again. “I am.”
“She’s …”
“Yes.” Blake reined in the laughter a little, searching for an adequate description for Lady Astley but coming up empty.
“I like her.”
His laugh escaped fully then. “So do I. Which is why we should probably sort this out before she comes back and does something even more dramatic.” He sobered slightly. “Or before she needs us and we’re stuck in a closet like a pair of amateurs.”
He felt Evie shift in the darkness, turning toward him. “So partners again, are we?”
“Sounds like the wisest option for this mission.”
Silence. And then she stepped nearer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her, towing him and his heart toward her like a magnet pulls metal.
“And after the mission? What do you want then, Stephen?”
She knew him too well. Knew his tells, of which he was certain there were too many to name at the moment.
And she was going to make him say it. To his own surprise, he wanted nothing else. Candor. Directness.
They’d had enough doubts.
He reached out in the darkness and claimed her hand. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly. Her? This force of nature and courage? Trembling.
“I want,” he said slowly, “to stop pretending I’m not utterly mad about you.
I want to reorder my future so that you will be in it.
I want”—He drew in a breath and took the risk, bringing her cool fingers to his lips and pressing a kiss against her wrist—”to woo you properly, in truth, with my unadulterated adoration, so that you’re fool enough to love me back. ”
Love. He’d said it.
“Stephen—”
“It was a wish of yours, I believe you said.” He searched her face in the dim light.
“Though I would do a far better job of wooing you if I wasn’t wearing this deplorable patient’s suit.
Gratefully, we’re in the dark, so if you would be so kind, imagine me donning my navy, three-piece Henry Poole & Co. ”
A surprised laugh burst from her, but she didn’t release her hold. In fact, her palms pressed against his chest.
“I know it’s complicated,” he rushed on, sobering.
“I know you’re grieving your brother. I know you’re broken and hurting and probably not ready for whatever this is between us.
But I’m tired of pretending, Evie. Tired of watching you from across rooms and not being able to touch you.
Tired of fighting when what I really want is—”
She pulled him forward, her lips fully capturing his, cutting off his rambling confession with the kind of directness he’d always admired in her.
Yes, indeed. Straightforward. Right to the point.
Absolutely devastating.
And for a breath, Blake was too astonished to respond.
For all the times he’d feigned romantic situations in his career, he remained relatively untried in the art of true romance.
Love … like this.
But then his brain caught up with reality, and the parched or inexperienced places of his heart began to soak in the realization of the remarkable opportunity.
His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him, as he reveled in the taste of her full, delightful lips.
It was ridiculous and dangerous and wholly ill-advised, but nothing in his life had ever felt as perfect as Evie Montgomery in his arms, leaving an impression on his lips and his life from which he’d never recover.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, holding on as if he were the only solid thing in a world gone mad. His fingers slid into her hair, dislodging pins he couldn’t see, answering her ardor with a certainty he felt in every fiber of his being.
She tasted like salt from tears and something sweeter beneath, and her initial control bent to him.
Giving to him. And he took the surrender with unhurried reverence, running his palm from her cheek down her neck and back.
Feathering kisses across her full lips before delving into something more thorough.
Drawing her against him and investigating the warm skin of her ear and neck until she released the sweetest sound of pleasure—half appreciation, half benediction.
And time suspended with words still to be said and hardships still to be faced, but one perfectly clear understanding crystallizing between them.
Evie Montgomery was his future.
Whatever that future looked like from this point forward.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Evie pressed her forehead to his, palms warming his cheeks. “That was a very horrible idea, you know.”
“The best horrible idea I’ve ever experienced.”
“It will make us distracted.” Though she didn’t seem overly concerned, given the way she drew him into another kiss.
His lips curved against hers. “Or create incredible focus in the best of ways, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart?” She whispered the word as if it surprised her … yet she smiled before sighing into him, resting her head against his once more. “I’m not the sort to lower my guard.”
“I know.” Which made it even more powerfully tender.
“Which means …” Her finger traced his lips before she pressed another kiss to them. “You cannot die on me. You understand? Those are orders from your partner.” She looked up, searching his face in the darkness. “I could not bear it.”
Those eyes, so large and fathomless, spoke sentences more. Depths more. Pleading, promising, giving her heart in a way he was certain her words could never match. “As far as it is within my power to control, dearest, I will endeavor to comply with your wishes.”
One of her dark brows rose along with a corner of those fantastic lips of hers. “The word dearest and that very clever response are remarkably dashing, Mr. Blake. I like the sentiment behind both exceedingly.”
And then the vulnerability returned, and he thought for a moment she might pull away. But she didn’t. Only stared up at him, searching. “I’m not good at this, you know.”
“What? Kissing?” He shook his head with mock solemnity. “You are quite mistaken. You are remarkable. I assure you I shall never recover.”
The comment softened her frown slightly. “At feelings. At letting people in. I’m broken, Stephen. Even more so now.”
“I know.” His hands cupped her face gently. “I don’t care.”
“I killed my brother.”
“I know that too.”
“I shot you.”
“Arguably your most sensible decision that day.” He felt her huff of surprised laughter against his palm. “Everything after that went rather pear-shaped.”
Evie was quiet for an instant. Then, “After we stop Wilson … or whoever—after this is finished, I want to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere far from wars and spies and danger.”
All spies? He hoped not.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere with a garden, maybe. And books. And …” She hesitated, her fingers curling against the back of his neck into his hair. “And you. I want you there.”
His chest expanded with emotions beyond words. “Again, I will be happy to comply with your wishes, pet.”
“Even though I’m broken?”
“Because you’re broken. Because I’m broken too. Because maybe two broken people can build something whole together.” His thumb trailed to her chin. “And understand each other in ways no one else could. Accept each other in those ways too.”
She made a sound that was half sob, half laugh, and burrowed closer to him, allowing him to be her strength. Her refuge.
He accepted—nay, reveled in—this new assignment.
Blake leaned back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, pulling her with him. His ribs ached where she’d hit him, but he didn’t care. The heart behind those ribs pulsed with a deep and resonating awareness of belonging.
With her.
And he was determined to survive Pennington, Wilson, and even Grace’s well-meaning interference to make that happen.
“Now, my dear …”
She pushed back slightly, looking up at him with mock severity. “Are you going to test every endearment you know?”
“Until I find the one I like best.” He stole another taste from her lips. “Now, moppet—”
“Absolutely not.”
He grinned against her mouth. “Poppet?”
“No.”
“Darling?”
“Better.” Her fingers traced his jaw. “Though I reserve the right to veto any that sound ridiculous.”
“Fair enough.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Now, tell me everything you know about Wilson and this assignment so we can plan our next moves. Properly this time. Together … dear heart.”