Part of Roselyn melted inside at the delicious passion of Spencer’s kiss, the weight of his body pressing her into the door. Another part of her wanted to bite his lip for his betrayal and for running away from her.
She pressed her hands against his chest to push him away, but it was like trying to move a wall. She was finally able to turn her head aside, and as she gasped for breath, she felt his lips nibbling on her ear.
“Spencer, stop this,” she said with a stern voice, while visions of their joined naked bodies flashed through her mind.
“I’m trying, believe me,” he murmured, his mouth on her throat.
“Not hard enough.”
He gave a low chuckle. “But I’m already hard enough.”
“Stop!” She ducked beneath his arm and whirled away to face him, her hands on her hips, fighting her own need to fling her arms around him. She had felt so alone all day—the only woman on the ferry, the only woman in the tavern—that just seeing him made her want to sink into him with relief. But she refused to give into such weakness.
Spencer picked up his cane and came toward her. She could see the dark clouds of anger rising in his black eyes.
“Roselyn, you should not have followed me,” he said, wearing a thunderous frown.
“That kiss did not come from a man who wished I wasn’t here.”
He scowled. “What I wish I could have and what I deserve are two different things. Thank you for stopping me.”
I didn’t want to, a sly voice whispered inside her.
“You would have stopped yourself,” she said. “After all, it was easy enough to take what you wanted from me and then leave without a word of explanation.”
Spencer pierced her with his gaze. “I didn’t mean it to be like that.”
His low voice still sent shivers through her, and she had to fight the tears stinging her eyes. “Then how was I supposed to interpret it?”
He reached to cup her cheek. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the moment I left your side.”
“That comes from not having relations with a woman in at least a year.”
Roselyn waited for him to deny it, but when she saw the pain in his eyes, she enveloped his hand with her own and held it tightly to her face. “Spencer, tell me!”
Across his face flashed more emotions than she’d ever seen from him. There was a war inside him, and she so wanted to be one of the victors. She held her breath, keeping his warm hand in hers, begging him with her silent gaze to finally tell her the truth.
“There is such danger to you,” he whispered, drawing her up against him.
She looked up into his face, clasping his shoulders in her hands. “Please, tell me. I can’t go on thinking what I’m thinking.”
When he released her to pace away, she felt cold with fear. Did she really want to hear all of this? Could she even believe him after all his lies?
But he’d been worried about the danger to her…
He gave a tired sigh. “’Tis a long story. Seat yourself and I’ll try to explain.”
There was only one stool, so he took that and she perched on the end of the bed.
“I’m not certain where to begin.” He ran his hand down his bearded chin and closed his eyes.
Roselyn held her breath. Below her she could hear the boisterous noise of a party, while outside the open window came the clanging of bells from the docks. But when Spencer began to speak, all of that faded away beneath the images conjured by his words.
“This last year and a half, I’ve been a spy.”
She closed her eyes and felt despair tighten her throat and sting her eyes.
“Before my father died, the queen approached him about sending one of his sons to Spain. Since I speak Spanish more fluently than Alex, he asked me to do the queen’s bidding.”
She opened her eyes, feeling hope flood through her. The queen’s bidding?
“It gave me a reason to escape London; our botched wedding was proving too much to deal with.”
When she tried to offer an apology, he raised a hand. “That’s behind us now; let me finish. You have to understand what it felt like to be an asset because of my heritage, and not scorned. I thought maybe I could prove myself to everyone at court, to be of use for something besides a scandal.”
“Oh, Spencer,” she whispered. “I do understand what you mean.”
“I sailed with Admiral Drake early last year, and while he raided the Spanish coast, I was left off near Cadiz. I spent the next year among the soldiers of the armada. They were a sad, desperate lot, with not enough food to eat or garments to wear. When we sailed up the English Channel, I had already planned to leave the ship near Wight, to bring my information to London. But on the journey, the other British spies began to turn up murdered.”
Roselyn felt a lump of fear in her chest at the thought of what he must have gone through. But still, her doubts would not leave her.
“The murderer was Rodney Shaw, the last British spy but for me. On board ship, I discovered his plot to blame me for everything. He and his henchman beat me, but before they could kill me I threw myself overboard.”
“And washed up on Wight,” she murmured. His story fit perfectly—too perfectly? She didn’t dare bring up the pouch. How could she hand it over if she wasn’t certain of his loyalty—certain of him?
“Needless to say,” he continued dryly. “You and I did not get along. At first I couldn’t trust you with this—and then later I realized I couldn’t put you in danger by telling you.”
“But I was always suspicious,” she said coolly. “When you were delirious, you spoke in Spanish.”
“My mother is Spanish—why should this alarm you?”
“You wanted no one to know where you were; you didn’t even want me to send a message to your family.”
“But—”
“And you wanted to remain with me, a woman you despised, in a humble cottage instead of at the grand manor you considered yours by betrothal contract.”
“I never despised you,” he said softly. “It just took me a while to get over my anger.”
Spencer studied Roselyn’s calm eyes by candlelight. She’d become a part of him, someone he would sense even in the dark, even when he was lost.
“You stayed in my cottage,” she continued. “Why?”
“I couldn’t risk being seen. The more people who knew where I was, the more danger I was in. And I must admit, I took some satisfaction in forcing my presence on you.”
She arched one eyebrow. “And then the Spaniard came. Did you know him?” she asked softly.
Ah, she still had her doubts. But now that he was telling her everything, she had to believe him. She needed to understand the danger there could be for her in London; she needed to return to her island and let him finish the mission he’d begun.
“I knew who the Spaniard was. He was in the employ of my enemy, Shaw. He was one of the men who held me while Shaw beat me.”
She touched his arm, and he felt the shudder that moved through her. He put his hand on hers and she didn’t pull away.
“Shaw sent the Spaniard to finish the task, but instead he hurt you,” he said.
Though Spencer knew Roselyn didn’t want his touch, he couldn’t help sliding his arm around her waist, pulling her close. She didn’t resist, nor did she relax against him.
He pressed his lips to her temple and closed his eyes, inhaling the smell of her, feeling the blood speed through his veins as he remembered her welcoming body beneath him in the garden. It had been so difficult to leave her, even though the danger to her frightened him.
He tilted her chin and loosened the clasp on her cloak. As it fell from her body, he noticed that her widow’s weeds were gone.
He smoothed his hand up her waist, then gently cupped her breast. “You’re wearing new garments.”
He could feel her heart flutter near his fingers, felt the beat pick up and match pace with his own.
“These are for traveling,” she countered, whispering.
Spencer watched her lick her dry lips; just the sight of her pink tongue made him stir to life. His hand on her breast trembled, and he could no longer control the longing that swept through him. “You would have traveled more safely as a widow.”
When she didn’t answer, he tipped up her chin. Her wide eyes gazed at him, and her lips were parted with her rapid breathing.
“Are you finished with mourning, Rose?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“No.”
“Yes,” he whispered, then leaned down to press his mouth to hers. Roselyn was trembling, ready to flee his embrace, or perhaps wanting to stay. It was as if he was being given one last chance to make amends the only way he knew how.
He gently parted her mouth with his tongue, willing her to receive him, to receive all of him. He stroked the roof of her mouth, her teeth, her tongue, each time probing deeper until her head was pressed to his shoulder, her body quivering in his arms. He slid his hands down her back and cupped her backside, pulling her hips hard against his.
He groaned, wanting to grind himself against her, to be a part of her, to surrender to these new feelings that swept through him.
Only Roselyn had ever made him feel like this; only Roselyn could make everything else go away but the two of them.
With a little cry, she turned her head from his kiss and buried her face in his shirt.
“We must stop,” she said haltingly.
He brought his hands back up to her breasts, caressing her through her clothing. “Rose—”
“But there is more you must know!” she cried, tipping her head back.
For just a moment he saw her hunger for the pleasure he could give. He let his thumbs rub her pointed nipples in little circles. “Tell me later,” he whispered.
She broke away from him, bumping into the beams that supported the roof. “No, you must hear it all now. A man came looking for you yesterday.”
Spencer felt as if he’d jumped headfirst into an icy pond as he stared at her flushed face. “Who was it? Did he ask for me by name? By God’s precious soul, did he hurt you?”
“I am fine. He didn’t give his name, and made me feel suspicious. After I brought Francis to him I hid nearby to listen. He never said your name outright, but he had heard about the dead Spaniard, and was looking for another Spanish spy. He left soon after.”
Spencer sat down heavily on the stool and rubbed his hands down his face. Weariness crept over him, but he could not give in to weakness, not with Roselyn in harm’s way. “You’re certain he never said his name?”
“I’m certain. But he wore the clothing of a gentleman, not a soldier—which I found peculiar—and he had brown hair and an arrogant manner.”
“It must be Shaw. Did he say where he was going next?”
“To ask questions in Bonchurch, farther south on the island.”
“I was worried my broken leg would enable him to catch us, but there’s still time—perhaps even a day or two,” he said, swiftly coming to his feet. “I was going to send you back to Wight for your safety, but that would put you right into his path. We have to go—tonight.”