Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
He was losing his mind. There was no other explanation for it. How had he gone from hardened spy for the Lion’s Watch, sensible in every aspect of his life as the Duke of Hampton, and yet, he seemed to lose all semblance of sane thinking when in the proximity as Miss Smith?
Astara…
She was truly as enchanting as the stars her name would indicate.
And likely just as deadly as one that fell from the sky to torch the earth.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t thinking of the danger when he touched his lips to hers, only the sheer desire that coursed through him the moment their mouths fused together.
It was as if lightning had struck between them, the charge that shot through his entire body to center on his cock the most enticing of all.
He’d had several mistresses in the past who, with all their expertise and willingness to please, had not come close to causing such a strong reaction in him.
It truly was as if Astara had the power of the universe wrapped up in her presence as she wound a spell around him.
If he believed in witches, he might imagine that was the cause, that he’d fallen prey to some sort of love potion, but he knew it was nothing more than her essence, her feminine charm that both frustrated and intoxicated him.
She was better than the smoothest brandy, more potent than wolfsbane—and likely just as toxic.
He pulled back as she started to melt into his embrace. He had to put some distance between them or he might recall exactly the sort of torrid affairs he’d conducted under this very roof. That somehow sullied whatever magic had erupted between them.
Her eyes were heavy lidded, her lips parted slightly, as if in silent plea to continue the devastating kiss.
“I will see you this evening.”
With that, he took his leave and did not dare to hesitate in his departure, or glance back at her, for fear that he would be tempted to linger after all.
Once he’d hailed down a hackney and climbed inside, he gave the driver his direction and sat back against the squabs.
He clenched a fist and slammed it against his thigh and then screwed his eyes shut.
He had been too long without any feminine company.
That was the problem. And yet, when he considered laying with any other woman right now, they all paled in comparison to that luscious dark hair and those glorious green eyes.
He could not possibly visit anyone until he’d found a way to purge Astara Smith from his system and that might be difficult to do since his blood was still boiling with unmet desire.
When the carriage finally stopped in front of his destination, Knox knew that the only thing he could effectively do to rid his thoughts of Astara was to visit the Lion’s Watch headquarters and see if there were any updates from the continent, more accurately, the covert mission that Scarsdale had decided to undertake.
When he walked into the outwardly dilapidated warehouse, the interior changed drastically to one of a perfectly manicured sanctuary for intrigue.
Everything one might require to take on the guise of a new identity, or explosives that might make a bit of noise if needed, the Lion’s Watch had it at their disposal.
The Duke of Lionston had spared no expense, nor those of his original compatriots, when it came to ensuring that England was safeguarded against any outside threat.
At the moment, that enemy was Napoleon and his French army.
He wasn’t surprised to find the Marquess of Blackton there. He was there nearly as often as Knox these days, but then again, they were perilous times and he was the acting superior with Scarsdale out.
Anson glanced up and when he smiled, his bushy sideburns twitched along with his beard. “Hampton,” he murmured a greeting. He straightened from where he’d been overlooking the same map Scarsdale had been perusing the last time Knox had seen him.
“Any updates yet?” Knox gestured to the map.
The marquess sighed. “Not that I am aware, but I hope we shall soon enough. It could still be too early, but I daresay my patience is eager for news on the continent. What about you? Has your ‘cousin’ proved her worth yet?”
“It was one night,” he felt he needed to remind Blackton. “But it could be. She does not think Midvale is who we are looking for, and after today I am inclined to agree with her.”
“Yes, I heard of his unfortunate splash in the park. It shall be difficult for him to live down that embarrassment anytime soon.”
“Indeed,” Knox agreed. “Tonight, we attend the Lavingstone musicale in an effort to target Lord Montrose, but she is convinced he is not the spy either.”
He lifted a curious brow. “Is she? And who does she believe is the culprit?”
“That is yet to be determined,” Knox reluctantly admitted. “She does not know him, and I have not yet seen him.”
“Ah. Then it could be nothing more than a misinterpretation.” He effectively discounted the notion, but Knox was not so quick to dismiss it.
“She has appeared rather shaken by both encounters, both last night and today at the park.”
Blackton narrowed his gaze. “I daresay this does not sound like you, Hampton. Normally, you do not concern yourself unnecessarily. I would encourage you to do the same in this instance. Miss Smith is a woman with delicate sensibilities. Not many of her sex are able to undertake such harsh tasks when assigned. Tonight will tell the tale if she is worthy of keeping on or not. We cannot tarry with training new recruits who do not prove their value.” He returned his attention to the map, effectively ending the conversation. “Now, if there is nothing further?”
“No.” Knox clenched his jaw. “Nothing at all.”
He left feeling more frustrated than when he’d arrived because now he had another problem to solve. Astara would not like it if he told her the Watch was no longer interested in pursuing her abilities.
Tonight, they both needed a miracle.
* * *
Astara was pacing her chamber while she waited for the duke to arrive to escort her to the musicale. She could not bear to receive him in the parlor after the abrupt way they’d parted. Better they would have hurled words at one another, rather than the sharp way he’d left her burning for him.
She wrung her hands together and forced herself to stop and clutch the back of her dressing table chair.
She wondered if his other mistresses had been this overset over his attentions and decided that he was probably a lot more forthcoming with them.
They were supposed to be nothing more than casual acquaintances as far as the Watch was concerned, and relations for society’s sake.
There should be no middle ground, but she was finding that to be a rather slippery slope.
And she was certainly not to blame. She’d practically begged him to kiss her and to what end?
Nothing but heartbreak and misery at the end of the day.
Because that was surely all that would result.
A brisk knock at the door had her jumping. “The duke is here, Lady Astrid.”
“Thank you,” Astara murmured.
She was far from ready to engage in conspiracy of any sort this evening, but she forced herself to look in the mirror and paste a smile on her face because succeeding was the only way she could hope to accomplish the one goal that had always eluded her—to discover her parentage.
She must not forget that while she was busy flitting about society as if she truly belonged.
At the ball, conversation and comportment did seem to come naturally to her, but it was an illusion, a fool’s guise.
She had been raised in an orphanage and taught how to behave properly, and that was it.
She might feel different in her heart and soul, but it did not change her circumstances in the least. The sooner she was finished with this extravagant lifestyle, the sooner reality would return to her.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and greeted the duke with a slight curtsy. “Good evening, Your Grace,” she murmured.
She wasn’t sure how he might respond, but she was grateful that his expression was one of calm acceptance. “Lady Astrid.”
Astara was swiftly coming to despise that nom de plume.
He held out her cloak to her, and she accepted it.
She tried not to feel slighted that he did not remark upon the light blue gown she wore and how she felt it changed the color of her eyes when it reflected the cornflower shade.
But then, she held her tongue when she would have complimented him on his blue and brown attire, the crisp, white cravat at his neck making quite a statement with his own dark coloring.
As they sat in the carriage and waited for the ride to the entertainment, Astara kept her focus outside the window, her hands clasped easily in her lap. She wanted to yank her gloves off, but she forced herself to remain serene and poised, as was expected of her.
However, as the silence stretched out, she realized that she could not take the tension any longer. “Is Lord Montrose our sole target this evening?”
“Unless you can point out the gentleman from the park, yes.” His eyes were direct, as if he were trying to solve a particular puzzle.
She drew herself up slightly, not that she needed to prove anything. “Of course. I told you before that he is dangerous enough that he could easily be the French spy.”
“Let us hope you are right on that account.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
He folded his hands over his trim stomach. “Merely that I have been told that should you fail to garner sufficient information for the Watch this evening, your services shall no longer be needed.”
Her mouth fell open, shock and indignation winding through her. “It was not enough that I was nearly accosted in broad daylight today?” She waved a hand toward the window, which was now dark, the sun having long since set.