Read Online Lord and Lady Spy by Shana Galen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shana Galen
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he sought.
She forced her stiff fingers to tug the mantle’s cords again then allowed the garment to slip from her shoulders. She would have turned away from him, but she didn’t trust him enough. As the heavy garment slid off, revealing her evening gown, she realized how seductive the gesture probably appeared.
She hadn’t meant it to be so, but Adrian’s eyes grew dark. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this room,” he said, voice low and husky. Her throat went dry, and she tried to ignore the blood pounding through her veins. Suddenly, she was too warm, scorched by Adrian’s hot gaze.
“A long time,” she agreed, fumbling with the mantle. “Um, eleven months, two weeks, and four days.” She dropped the mantle. “Or something like that,” she added, knowing it was too late, knowing she had given herself away.
Adrian tensed then moved closer. “I had no idea you were counting.”
She shook her head, angry at herself and angry at him. She supposed he was laughing at her now, imagining her to be some pathetic, needy woman. In the months since their last encounter, he had probably bedded every barmaid from London to Rome, while she had been faithful to him.
The more fool she, to honor marriage vows that were little more than lies.
“I’m good with numbers,” she said flippantly. “I remember dates and times whether I want to or not.”
She bent to retrieve her mantle, and he moved closer. She could feel the heat of his body and her own body tingled in response to Adrian’s nearness. She rose slowly, taking the time to breathe deeply. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to bed now, my lord.”
“Oh, really?” He raised a brow.
She gave him a tight smile. “Alone.”
“Ah. That might have to wait. I have several matters I’d like to discuss with you, not the least of which is your running off tonight and—”
She raised a hand to silence him. “I don’t want to discuss that or anything else tonight.” She moved past him on the pretense of shaking out her mantle. In truth, she needed space so she could catch her breath and form a coherent thought. She tossed the mantle over a mahogany armchair upholstered in pale lavender and ivory silk. Wonderful. Now the chair’s upholstery would need to be cleaned, as well. She sighed. Taking a moment to glance about the room, she tried to see it as he might: the lilac walls, the lavender coverlet and curtains, the silver knobs and accents. The violets in a pretty pot on the windowsill—at least she’d succeeded in growing something.
“I-I don’t want to argue with you,” she said, keeping her face averted. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”
It was true. She was weary in body and spirit. She didn’t think she was up to yet another battle of words and will.
She felt Adrian’s solid presence behind her, his heat tickling her back. “Then let’s not fight.”
His fingers traced a lazy path down the back of her neck, and she couldn’t stop a delicious shiver from zinging through her body. Lord, but his hands were so warm. She hadn’t realized she was cold until he’d touched her. Then again, his touch had always been a revelation to her.
She was a confident, happy, independent woman. She had more money than she needed, servants to cater to her, and she was one of the best operatives in England.
But whenever Adrian touched her, her cloak of lies was ripped away. She was lonely; she was cold; she was desperate for affection—no, desperate for Adrian’s affection.
Much as she denied it, even to herself, her husband was a glaring chink in her armor. When Adrian touched her, she forgot how much her work mattered to her. She forgot she was supposed to be happy and independent. She forgot everything but the need to turn into him, to embrace him and give herself to him.
Of course, she’d never allowed herself to do it. To give herself to him would make her vulnerable—very well, more vulnerable than she already was to
She forced her stiff fingers to tug the mantle’s cords again then allowed the garment to slip from her shoulders. She would have turned away from him, but she didn’t trust him enough. As the heavy garment slid off, revealing her evening gown, she realized how seductive the gesture probably appeared.
She hadn’t meant it to be so, but Adrian’s eyes grew dark. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this room,” he said, voice low and husky. Her throat went dry, and she tried to ignore the blood pounding through her veins. Suddenly, she was too warm, scorched by Adrian’s hot gaze.
“A long time,” she agreed, fumbling with the mantle. “Um, eleven months, two weeks, and four days.” She dropped the mantle. “Or something like that,” she added, knowing it was too late, knowing she had given herself away.
Adrian tensed then moved closer. “I had no idea you were counting.”
She shook her head, angry at herself and angry at him. She supposed he was laughing at her now, imagining her to be some pathetic, needy woman. In the months since their last encounter, he had probably bedded every barmaid from London to Rome, while she had been faithful to him.
The more fool she, to honor marriage vows that were little more than lies.
“I’m good with numbers,” she said flippantly. “I remember dates and times whether I want to or not.”
She bent to retrieve her mantle, and he moved closer. She could feel the heat of his body and her own body tingled in response to Adrian’s nearness. She rose slowly, taking the time to breathe deeply. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to bed now, my lord.”
“Oh, really?” He raised a brow.
She gave him a tight smile. “Alone.”
“Ah. That might have to wait. I have several matters I’d like to discuss with you, not the least of which is your running off tonight and—”
She raised a hand to silence him. “I don’t want to discuss that or anything else tonight.” She moved past him on the pretense of shaking out her mantle. In truth, she needed space so she could catch her breath and form a coherent thought. She tossed the mantle over a mahogany armchair upholstered in pale lavender and ivory silk. Wonderful. Now the chair’s upholstery would need to be cleaned, as well. She sighed. Taking a moment to glance about the room, she tried to see it as he might: the lilac walls, the lavender coverlet and curtains, the silver knobs and accents. The violets in a pretty pot on the windowsill—at least she’d succeeded in growing something.
“I-I don’t want to argue with you,” she said, keeping her face averted. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”
It was true. She was weary in body and spirit. She didn’t think she was up to yet another battle of words and will.
She felt Adrian’s solid presence behind her, his heat tickling her back. “Then let’s not fight.”
His fingers traced a lazy path down the back of her neck, and she couldn’t stop a delicious shiver from zinging through her body. Lord, but his hands were so warm. She hadn’t realized she was cold until he’d touched her. Then again, his touch had always been a revelation to her.
She was a confident, happy, independent woman. She had more money than she needed, servants to cater to her, and she was one of the best operatives in England.
But whenever Adrian touched her, her cloak of lies was ripped away. She was lonely; she was cold; she was desperate for affection—no, desperate for Adrian’s affection.
Much as she denied it, even to herself, her husband was a glaring chink in her armor. When Adrian touched her, she forgot how much her work mattered to her. She forgot she was supposed to be happy and independent. She forgot everything but the need to turn into him, to embrace him and give herself to him.
Of course, she’d never allowed herself to do it. To give herself to him would make her vulnerable—very well, more vulnerable than she already was to
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