Chapter Six
Lucas jolted awake with the same jarring suddenness that he had in the past six months. Today, though, something was different. And he realized with a start that it was the pain. It was there, yes, still burning and clawing, but it had lessened. He did not want to wrench his shoulder from his body, at least.
And that was a positive thing.
There was something else that was different too. He could smell Diana’s perfume on his pillow, that sweet vanilla scent of her hair that made a man mad. That proved their night of passion had not been an addled dream brought on by laudanum and pain.
It had been real.
And yet he woke alone. That scent was the only indication she had been in his bed.
Slowly, he sat up, bracing for increased pain. It came, but it was still less than usual. “She truly is a witch,” he mused aloud, then threw off the covers and gingerly stepped from the bed. He wanted to find her. To talk to her. To make certain she was not troubled or pained by what they’d done.
And that required putting on his clothes. Always a challenge.
He moved to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and opened it. At some point Diana had placed his few shirts and trousers in the closet, folded neatly. When did she have time to do the laundering with all the other things she did?
He lifted the shirt and stared at it. His old nemesis. It required moving in ways that did not make his shoulder happy. But he gritted his teeth and slowly put his arm through the hole. Reaching back made the pain double, and he let out his breath through his nose with a low moan of discomfort.
“Would you like some help?”
He pivoted and found Diana at his door, tray of food in her arms. She was wearing a simple gown and her hair was half down around her shoulders, framing her face and making her even more beautiful than normal. He found himself wondering what she’d look like in a ball gown, done up like the queen that she was.
Of course, that would never happen. They would never go to a ball together, that wasn’t possible. He shook away the errant thought.
She was looking at him. She’d looked at him before, but now her gaze swept over his nearly naked body and her eyes lit up with knowing pleasure. Suddenly dressing didn’t seem all that important.
And yet having her help him felt like a loss. A surrender.
“I hate being so useless,” he admitted as he looked at the shirt hanging from his arm.
She set the tray down by the door and moved to him. She took the shirt from his arms and pulled out a pair of trousers. He balanced on her to step into them and held his breath as she began to fasten the flap.
“Useless again, is it?” she said softly. “You will relearn these things. Though I would think, as a duke, you would be accustomed to having help. You have a valet, don’t you? In some other life?”
“Another life.” He pursed his lips. “That is the way to put it. Yes, I did have a valet then. Very long ago. I have not had help dressing myself since I was…God…nineteen? Twenty?”
She glanced up at him. “That was when you joined the War Department?”
He nodded. “I’d been an officer, too, in the army. Briefly. But I did have a valet there.”
“A duke in the army,” she said. “Most do not pursue such things.”
He looked away. “I had my reasons.”
She returned her attention to what she was doing. He was pleased for that. He didn’t want to talk about the past.
“I want to look at the wound,” she said, unwrapping the bandage on his shoulder. He steadied himself on the back of a nearby chair as she did so.
“It feels…better,” he admitted. “Though perhaps that is wishful thinking.”
She looked at the now uncovered wound, wiping away what was left of the salve she’d put on it. Although he was untrained, he could see the injury appeared less angry.
“It looks better,” she said with a nod. “We’ve a long way to go, but I think there’s progress. Let me get my bandages and I’ll redress it. Sit in that chair, will you?”
He did as she asked, watching as she gathered her materials. She returned with them and with a cloudy drink that she handed over to him. “Drink this.”
He eyed and smelled it. It seemed benign enough. Smelled a bit floral, but nothing terrible. He took a sip. “Good God, that’s awful,” he said, glaring up at her.
She laughed, the music of the sound filling the room and warming his heart in ways he did not particularly like. “It is that,” she admitted. “But it’s an old recipe meant to help you regain your strength. Drink it all, please.”
He made a face, but downed it in a few long gulps. As he made little sounds of displeasure, he set the glass away. “How do I know you’re not trying to kill me?”
Her laughter increased as she began to rewrap his shoulder. “If I were trying to kill you, I assure you, you’d be dead.”
He wondered at her bright tone, at how easy the teasing was and how much lighter it made him feel. He’d spent half a year wallowing in physical and emotional pain and here…here it was different.
And he was just as taken aback by the fact that she was not mincing or simpering about what had happened between them. And yet it was a subject that needed addressing. He watched as she caught up his shirt and shook it out, then came around behind him to help him slide his arms into the holes. With her assistance, there was far less pain, though he still gritted his teeth against it.
“Diana,” he managed to grind out as a way to distract himself from the discomfort. “Are we going to talk about what happened last night?”
Diana froze, her body suddenly unsteady. Being near this man was hard enough, thinking of every moment that his hands had been on her skin and their bodies had been joined was distracting to the furthest degree.
And now he wanted to analyze those moments out loud. Like a good spy would.
She let out a long sigh. “I-I suppose we should,” she said.
She could feel him watching her as she walked away to open the curtains and let some light into the dim room. The view of the garden below helped a little, so she focused there and tried not to let her emotions swell up too high or too far. It wasn’t that she regretted what they’d done. She refused to be judged for something they had both participated in equally.
“Did I take advantage?” he asked softly.
She swung around in shock at that question. It was not what she’d expected, especially considering her lack of virtue had been clear in so many ways.
“You are the one who is incapacitated,” she said.
A little smirk lifted one corner of his distracting lips. “Am I?” he teased, and some of the tension left both the room and her body.
Still, she felt heat flood to her cheeks. She was not one to blush often—her vocation had hardened her in some ways. And yet her cheeks burned like an innocent hardly out of the schoolroom. “You’re teasing.”
His smile widened. “I am. But my question is a genuine one.”
She swallowed hard before she whispered, “You didn’t take advantage, Lucas. I could have stopped what happened between us half a dozen times last night, but I didn’t, because I wanted it as much as you did. Wanton as that sounds.”
He held his gaze on her, his expression unreadable once again. And she hated that. Hated his ability to turn off emotion, to withhold it with such ease. It brought back such memories and such pain to go with them.
“And now?” he asked at last. “In the cold light of morning, do you feel differently about what we did?”
She turned her back on him again, clenching her fist against the cool surface of the window. This was harder than it should be. “I know the dangers of such a thing. The consequences.”
“So do I,” he said, and she started because his voice was right behind her now even though she hadn’t heard him rise from the chair or hobble over to her. He touched her arm and she turned toward him, staring up into his eyes. “But that wasn’t what I asked. What do you want, Diana?”
She could not say those words, express what she wanted out loud. Want had gotten her into so much trouble in the very recent past. This felt different, though. She was older, wiser. And Lucas was not like the man before. He was not like anyone she’d ever known at all.
He reached out and took her hand. His fingers were rough on her palm and sent a shiver through her that likely made her continued desire for him very clear. He smoothed his thumb over her flesh gently, rhythmically. “If you cannot or will not say it, then I will. I wanted you like I’ve never wanted another person, Diana. It’s disconcerting, actually, to feel so much physical draw to someone hardly more than a stranger to me. But that want is far from sated. I still want you.”
She jolted at the confession, so plainly and gently said, without false promises or manipulations that she would expect of a man trying to get his way. Especially a spy.
“And what does that mean?” she asked, her voice shaking.
He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, and it took everything in her not to lean into it with a sigh of pleasure and surrender. He had too much power. Power in general. Power over her. She should run from that, but she didn’t.
“I don’t know,” he mused. “But…you asked me for a month, Diana. Could I not ask you for the same?” he asked. “There is more than one way to heal a wound, and I think we could both benefit from it.”
She paused, for that phrase—more than one way to heal a wound—was exactly what she’d thought to herself the previous nights, when she was trying to justify a night of pleasure. Now he was using the same logic to offer a month of it. A month in this man’s arms and in his bed. Without promises or strings attached. Without anything but pleasure.
It was shocking, of course, to be made such an offer. Scandalous, even, though she did not feel scandalized as he looked down at her, very patiently waiting for her response.
“Unless you don’t feel the same draw I do,” he said, his tone unreadable.
She swallowed hard. “I think it’s clear I do. I…do. I’m just not…sure.”
“I understand,” he said, and touched her cheek again, this time tracing it with his fingertip. “It’s not something a gentleman should ask a lady. Not something I ever would have pictured asking you, but here we are.”
She nodded. Oh yes. Here they were. “If we’re going to do this…this thing,” she whispered at last. “You must make me one promise and one promise only.”
He nodded slowly, his expression not changing so that she could tell how he felt about her demand.
She drew a deep breath that felt like it shook through her lungs. “You must do everything in your power to make certain I never get with child.”
Now he could not control his expression. Shock flowed over his features before he said, “I assure you, I would never be so careless as to do such a thing. Though you must know that I would take responsibility if you did—”
“No!” she interrupted sharply, disinterested in hearing his lies on a subject that cut her down to the very heart. “No child, Lucas.”
He examined her face for a beat and then nodded slowly. “I’ll be careful.”
She tensed, for his curiosity about her request and the strength with which she demanded it was evident on his face. He had questions, ones she had no intention of answering now or ever.
“Diana,” he began.
She silenced him by lifting to her tiptoes, cupping his face and kissing him. It worked, because of course it did. He was a man before he was a spy, and need would destroy curiosity every time. He slanted his mouth over hers, opening and claiming as his arms came around her and held her close.
She found her tension fading as the kiss swept her away. Thoughts and memories melted, leaving only sensation and desire. She slid her hands up to his chest, still bare, for neither of them had fastened his shirt after she helped him with it. She bunched her fingers against the muscles there, tracing light patterns on his skin with the edge of her short nails. He grunted in the back of his throat and his hands traveled down to her backside to grind her against him.
She moved to unfasten the trousers she had just helped him with when there was a sound from the lower floor of the house. Banging on the door. They broke apart and their eyes met. His were lit with concern, and he backed up.
“Will you fetch the pistol I have under my pillow, please?” he asked, calm despite the horrifying question.
Her eyes went wide, but she did as he asked, moving to the bed. “You keep a pistol under your pillow?” she asked.
He stepped to the window. “I do, I must since—” He stopped and turned to her with a hand lifted. “You may put it back. It’s Stalwood.”
Diana’s eyes went wide and she lifted a hand to her loose hair. She felt like last night had branded her somehow. That this bargain they had just struck to continue the passion between them branded her even more. Stalwood would see, wouldn’t he? He was too clever not to.
“Are you going to answer it or should we hide until he goes away?” Lucas teased, but Diana saw the steadiness in his stare. The gentleness she didn’t expect but that drew her in whenever he revealed that side of himself.
“Hiding does sound lovely,” she said. “But I should let him in. I fear he’ll break down the door if I do not. Can you manage the rest of your dressing yourself?”
He nodded and waved her toward the door. “Go ahead, go ahead.”
She drew a few long breaths as she hustled down the stairs. Stalwood was knocking again, this time more strenuously. She rushed to the foyer and threw open the barrier, her breath coming short as she did so.
Stalwood stood there, of course. His face was lined with concern that gave way to relief as he looked down at her. “Good morning, Diana. I was beginning to get worried when you did not answer.”
His gaze flitted over her, and Diana could not help a blush as she stepped aside and ushered him into her parlor. “I apologize. When one keeps no servant, sometimes one takes a bit longer to respond.”
Stalwood nodded. “I see. Does that mean you would like a servant? I could find someone trustworthy to—”
“No!” Diana interrupted, perhaps a bit more strenuously than she should have if Stalwood’s delicately raised eyebrows were any indication. But the idea of having someone else come into this little bubble she had created with Lucas was not a pleasant thought. “I only mean that I manage well enough. I like the cooking, the wash is sent out. There is no trouble.”
He inclined his head. “As you wish.”
She shifted. “My manners, I’m sorry. Will you join me in the parlor?”
Stalwood followed her to the little parlor. She stirred the embers of the fire and threw on a log to warm the room further. Drawing a long breath for calm, she pulled open the curtains to let more light into the chamber.
“How is your patient?” he asked as he settled himself into a chair. He was watching her. She felt it with every movement.
She forced a bright smile as she faced him once more. “Well. Improving with each passing day.”
“He has settled in then. Not giving you too much trouble?”
Diana almost laughed as an image of Lucas flashed through her mind. He was leaning over her, his fingers pressing deep inside of her, coaxing out intense pleasure as she cried out his name over and over.
“None,” she croaked out.
“I am shocked,” Stalwood said with a shake of his head. “The others who worked with him complained endlessly about his moods.”
“They were not as talented as Diana.”
Both Stalwood and Diana glanced to the door as Lucas eased inside. Stalwood was on his feet in an instant, examining his employee with eyes of concern. Diana smiled. She had always liked Stalwood despite it all. He truly cared about those who risked their lives for the safety of king and country.
“Good to see you, Willowby,” Stalwood said, and held out a hand.
Lucas shook it with his good arm and then made his way to the settee. He sank down, and Diana could see that finishing his toilette and coming down here had been taxing for him. But he wiped the exhaustion away and smiled at Stalwood.
“Come to check up on me and warn Diana about my poor attitude?” he asked.
Stalwood glanced up at her and motioned her to sit next to Lucas. She hesitated before she acquiesced. Sitting next to him seemed dangerous. Stalwood was a spy, too, after all. He could see signs as well as anyone could.
But she couldn’t exactly go against his request without making a scene so she sat, trying to keep a proper distance between herself and her lover.
“Diana will see enough of your attitude, even if she is too polite to complain to me about it,” Stalwood said with a falsely stern tone. “But it is good to see you with a bit of color in your cheeks.”
Lucas nodded and sent Diana a bit of a knowing look that made her blush. “It’s good to feel a bit more alive again.”
“Well, I hope I will see continued improvement. I would very much like to have you back in the field when you are able.”
Diana watched as Lucas’s entire demeanor shifted. He leaned forward, his face hardening, his body going to a ready position. Gone was the gentle lover or the broken man attempting to heal. Here was the spy. She shivered at the shift. She quaked at how much it affected her when she knew it should not.
After all, Lucas wasn’t hers. They had both made their boundaries very clear. Even if they shared pleasure for the next few weeks, his destiny would not be tied to hers.
And she needed to remember that so she would not become too involved and risk her heart. That was the one thing she could not lose. Not again. Not ever.