Meriel blinked, then burst into laughter. The man was jealous, of all things! It practically made her giddy. It didn’t change her reasons for not marrying him, but . . .

Well, perhaps it changed them a little. It gave her a measure of hope she hadn’t had before—that he might really care for her.

She certainly cared for him. Her feelings for Quinn were entirely different from the affection she’d felt for John. Her husband had been rather like an overgrown boy, always frightening her by leaping into danger.

Quinn was a man. She could rely on him to do what he said and be what he was. There was no subterfuge, no secrets. And nothing was more devastatingly attractive than that.

Couldn’t he tell how she felt about him? Here she was, caressing his magnificent chest and wondering what the rest of his body looked like, and he was worried she was in love with Gregory, of all people.

The very thought made her laugh again.

“It’s not funny,” Quinn grumbled as he caught her hand.

She forced a sober expression to her face. “No, indeed. Not funny at all. Except for the fact that I’m not remotely interested in marrying my brother-in-law, even if I could, which I can’t.”

“There are ways to get around the church’s rules.”

“Perhaps, but I wouldn’t. And trust me, Gregory wouldn’t marry me in a million years.”

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t in love with him,” he persisted, his dark eyes shadowed. “Even if you feel the situation is hopeless, you might not be able to help desiring the man.”

“I don’t desire Gregory, for pity’s sake,” she said, growing irritated now. “He really is like a brother to me. We squabble like siblings, we aren’t the least attracted to each other, and—”

“You’re not attracted to him?” Quinn asked. “At all?”

That would be what he focused on. He was a man, after all.

Her gaze drifted over him. He was a very finely crafted man, too, judging from the well-defined muscles and lovely sprinkling of dark curls on his chest. Not to mention the pronounced bulge in his trousers.

Well, well. He’d clearly forgotten all about his knife wound.

With a burst of feminine satisfaction that she could so easily arouse him, she dropped her hand to cover him there. “Would I touch you like this if I were pining after Gregory?”

He hissed through his teeth and hardened even more beneath her hand. “Perhaps you’re just trying to distract me—again—from discussing marriage.”

“No,” she said, though he was partly right. “I’m trying to distract you from discussing Gregory. Whom I don’t love or desire at all, and never have—just to be clear.”

She started to unbutton Quinn’s trousers, but he caught her hands. When she lifted an eyebrow at him, he stared at her with a grim determination that worried her.

“Why are you always dashing off to do his bidding, then?” he asked.

Oh, dear. This was veering into difficult territory. “Why does it matter? I already told you I have no designs on him. Why isn’t that enough for you?”

“Because you’ve given me no other sound reason for your avoiding the subject of marriage.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “Here’s a perfectly sound reason: If you knew more about me, you’d never want to marry me.”

Lord, she hadn’t meant to say that. But he’d driven her to it with his nonsense about Gregory and his refusal to just let her seduce him so she could delay ending things with him.

His black gaze narrowed on her. “I can’t believe that. What could you possibly have in your past to make me not want you as my wife?”

A curtain of silence dropped between them, pierced only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the quickening beat of his heart beneath her hand.

Devil take him. “You’re going to make me say these things, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Jerking her hands from his, she rose. “Fine.” She walked over to the brandy decanter and poured some.

“I don’t want any more brandy,” he said.

“It’s not for you.” She took a swig, then faced him defiantly. “And that should be your first clue. I am not the fine lady you apparently think I am.”

“I was already getting that impression from the whole knife-in-the-reticule thing,” he said dryly. “And your not being a ‘fine lady’ is precisely what appeals to me.”

“Really? So it wouldn’t bother you at all to hear that I’m an orphan, left at the Foundling Hospital by who knows whom? That I don’t know the exact date of my birth or where I came from or who my parents are? That they might well have been criminals or madmen?”

“I don’t care,” he said as he rose from the settee.

“You haven’t heard all of it. Before I met my husband, I served as a lady’s maid in a merchant’s household in Edinburgh. I used to be a servant, Quinn.”

Eyes blazing, Quinn walked toward her. “I don’t bloody well care.”

“No? You will when you hear the rest of it.” She gulped more brandy, just for emphasis. “I am a disgraced servant, dismissed from my post.”

That seemed to give him pause. “Does Fulkham know?”

She nodded. “He was there when it happened.”

Quinn searched her face. “Tell me all of it.”

Her throat tightened and she turned away, afraid to see the look on his face when she revealed the rest. She shouldn’t tell him all her secrets; Gregory wouldn’t approve.

But she was tired of the secrecy. “Gregory was in Scotland to meet some dignitary when he happened to attend a party thrown by my employer. One of the male guests caught me alone and attempted to have his way with me. Gregory stepped in to prevent it.”

“As well he should have. I hope he broke the fellow’s nose.”

Quinn’s fierceness startled her, then warmed her. “Most men would blame me for what happened, not the man.”

“As you said, I am not your typical Englishman. And clearly, neither is Fulkham.”

That brought a brief smile to her lips. “True. He defended me to my employer when the guest claimed I’d tried to seduce him. Sadly, my employer didn’t care who was at fault. He dismissed me without a reference for making trouble involving two of his prominent guests.”

“Bastard,” Quinn muttered.

Heartened by his response, she faced him. “Indeed. Edinburgh was so small a community that I would never have found another respectable position if Gregory hadn’t offered to find me one.”

A cloud descended over Quinn’s features. “As what?”

“Not what you’re thinking, apparently. Gregory wanted me to serve as a lady’s maid to a new English colonel’s wife, who was moving to Gibraltar, where her husband was to be the commanding officer of the regiment.” She swallowed. “Gregory wanted me to . . . er . . . report to him about the officers who came in and out of their house.”

Quinn blinked. “You were Fulkham’s spy?”

“Not were.” She steadied her shoulders. Gregory would never forgive her, but how else could she make Quinn see how hopeless this was? “Am. I’m his spy still. He saved my life that day. If he hadn’t stepped in, you know perfectly well what would have happened to me—either that night or later, after I lost my position.”

She could see in his face that he did know. Such women invariably ended up as kept women . . . or worse. No one would hire a servant dismissed for lewd behavior. “So in exchange I . . . ‘do his bidding,’ as you put it.”

Quinn gaped at her. “That’s why you canceled our engagement tonight?”

“Yes. Gregory wanted me to observe a foreign princess at a ball and report back to him.” She scowled. “I was none too happy about it, either. I was looking forward to that exhibit.” She flashed him a soft smile. “To seeing you.”

For some reason, that sparked Quinn’s temper, for he glared at her. “Then why didn’t you just tell Fulkham that? For that matter, why do you insist on keeping our relationship secret?”

“Because I know nothing can come of this . . . this thing between us!” she said, exasperated that it wasn’t perfectly clear to him by now. “First of all, I have an obligation to Gregory that I must repay—”

“Does he say that?”

That stopped her in her tracks. “Well, no. But neither has he said I could stop anytime I want. And if he needs me to continue, I could never do it as . . . as your wife.”

“True,” he said baldly, confirming all her fears. “I could not worry that every time I have guests, my wife is trying to elicit their secrets.”

“Exactly,” she choked out. “And I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to live that way myself. I want . . .” She halted before she could admit just how much she wanted what a life with him could offer.

“What do you want? To be his spy forever?”

She chewed on her lower lip. “No. But I . . . I . . .”

“Then tell him. Because I want a wife who can be happy with me. And I gather that you would be, if not for him.”

It was true, but Quinn didn’t know how difficult it was to tell Gregory anything. Gregory always thought he knew best. He didn’t listen. Besides . . . “It’s not just Gregory that’s a problem,” she said. “You’re rich and important and well-respected in society. And I’m probably some by-blow, whose background is murky at best.”

Her vehemence seemed to give him pause. “That didn’t keep you from marrying John Vyse.”

“No, he was a poor soldier, and also a spy for Gregory during his posting in Gibraltar. That’s how we met. Indeed, we married because of some scheme involving army officers that Gregory had John investigating, which required John to be married.”

She forced a smile. “John liked me well enough, and he fancied the danger of spying. I had no hope of ever marrying anyone else. John knew his work would be more difficult with any other sort of wife, and Gregory had offered us a nice annuity, so . . .” Bitterness had crept into her voice without her realizing it.

“Anyway,” she went on, “it was a practical arrangement. But I could never relax and settle into marriage with John. I was too busy fretting over when he would end up dead. When it finally happened, it was almost a relief. I felt as if I’d been living on a tightrope for years and could get off at last.”

“Except that you couldn’t, really,” Quinn said softly. “Because you’re still working for Fulkham.”

Wincing, she chided herself for being so disloyal as to imply her benefactor was unfairly using her. Even if sometimes she felt that way.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t do the same dangerous kind of work I did before. Just some . . . social events here and there where I keep my eyes and ears open. It’s not like when John and I pretended to be selling British secrets so we could unmask a traitor, or—”

“Good God!” Quinn threaded his fingers through his hair. “I had no idea that Fulkham was so devious as to use you and his own brother in such a manner.”

“He has to be devious, in his position. And to be honest, I think he and John rather enjoyed all the sly machinations and secrets.” She scowled. “I tolerated them at first, but I hate them now. Indeed, that’s what I love about you. You’re exactly what you seem—a decent man devoid of schemes.”

An odd expression crossed his face but was gone so quickly she was sure she imagined it. “Then you should marry me. Get out of spying completely.”

She huffed out an exasperated breath. “Haven’t you been listening, Quinn? You and I are from different worlds. If we married and anyone found out who I really was, it would ruin your family. Why, your mother is the daughter of a count!”

He burst into laughter. “My mother is a former opera dancer, darling.”

She gaped at him. “But . . . but that’s not what I heard.”

“And I heard you were the daughter of an army captain. But Fulkham isn’t the only one who can spin a good tale on behalf of someone he cares about.” He walked up to take her in his arms. “My father met my mother when he saw her in an opera in Madrid. And I hope I can trust your discretion about that, since no one other than my parents and I know the truth about her.”

That completely flummoxed her. “Still, the fact that your family have kept it secret proves that you are all concerned about appearances.”

“As are you and Fulkham,” Quinn pointed out as he clasped her head so he could scatter kisses over her brow, her cheek, her ear, making her ache for more. “Neither of you have ever revealed your past. We all have secrets, dearest.”

“Yes, but . . . but your father might disinherit you for marrying a woman so far beneath you.”

“He’d better not, given his own tendencies,” he whispered in her ear. “But he wouldn’t. I come from a family of men who follow their hearts.” He pressed her hand against his chest so she could feel the frenzied thudding there. “Nothing you say will prevent me from following mine.”

He’d never spoken of his heart before. It made her yearn and burn and want what she knew she shouldn’t—Quinn . . . and everything he represented: a happy, regular life where she didn’t have to creep around like a ghost at parties and worry about being caught—or having her husband caught. Where the only secrets she had to keep were her own. And his, of course.

What if she could have a regular life with him? Wouldn’t that be worth whatever difficulties there might be? If he didn’t care about her past, should she?

As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, he kissed her mouth. Hard. Brazenly. Thoroughly. And as always, her bones turned to jelly. His hands moved over her neck and shoulders, stroking a curve here, a sensitive expanse of skin there, setting her aflame with each caress.

The heat from the fireplace was nothing compared to the heat from his hands. It was all she could do not to strip her clothes off and let him have his way with her right there. The man had a decided talent for temptation.

Oh, what if she could have a regular life with this as part of it? Him taking her in his arms and making her feel special for reasons beyond the information she could glean.

Did she dare try? And if she did, would Gregory ever forgive her?

“I want to make love to you,” Quinn whispered. “Here. Now. I want to show you how it could be between us.”

A thrill coursed through her. “Are you sure? You’re hurt.”

His laugh was free and full. “I’d walk through the fires of hell to have you, my darling. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

She was beginning to. And the thought of it made her as giddy as a child in a sweets shop. “Then take whatever you want of me,” she said, looping her arms about his neck. “Just make sure you lock the door first.”