Jonathan wound his arms around Audrey, pulling her to him. She tasted so sweet, and he knew he was making a dangerous move by kissing her now. The last thing he wanted was to make her regret being with him. He had no title and only a small estate to offer, yet she was the daughter of a viscount. Audrey acted quite forward in her thinking, but he didn’t trust that if it came down between her place in society and love that she would choose him.

And yet he couldn’t stop kissing her. She gave a soft purr that made him rigid with need. He wanted to see her come apart in his arms as she had that night at the Midnight Garden. He’d been brave enough to touch her then, to show her what could exist between them. To do wicked things without truly compromising her. He’d seen the startled look of dazed pleasure on her, and it had nearly destroyed him with desire. Audrey in the throes of passion had been perhaps the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen.

His kisses turned soft, then hard, then soft again as he explored her in ways he’d only fantasized about. Their lips parted briefly, and he tried to catch his breath.

“Please, don’t stop.” Her whisper was a ragged pant that set his blood on fire. Surprise fluttered through him. It was almost too good to be true.

“You don’t want me to stop?” He nuzzled his nose against hers. She smiled up at him, making him feel like a king.

“No, I don’t. Please…” She gripped his waist and pulled him back down. Their mouths met, more gently but no less urgently. He took his time, letting her tongue play against his. He wasn’t sure how long they kissed before he finally raised his head.

“You kiss like a dream,” she said.

“As do you,” he replied.

She stroked a fingertip along his jaw. “Thank you for bringing the doctor.”

He shifted his body so that they lay cuddled up, limbs entwined. “I’d do anything for you.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Would you?”

“Yes.” If only you really knew how I felt.

“I want to believe you.” She sighed, her hand dropping from his face. He nuzzled her cheek, holding her close.

“Audrey…” Jonathan breathed her name, but when she didn’t respond, he glanced at her face. Her lashes had fallen upon her cheeks, and her body grew languid in his arms.

She’d fallen asleep. Of all the gods on Mount Olympus, which one had he angered to allow this to happen?

He stared down at her, asleep and smiling faintly like a contented kitten. She must’ve been exhausted after the events of the day. Her sister’s frightening labor, their quarrel, and her fighting lessons had all taken a toll on her.

He let go of her, sitting her gently on the bed. She stirred a little and reached out to him.

“Don’t leave me tonight,” she pleaded.

Jonathan cupped her face with one hand and brushed a thumb over her cheek. “I have no intention of doing so. Do you want me to call for a maid?”

“No.” She pouted and struggled a little, trying to offer her back to him. “You may undress me.” Her sleepy tone was still as imperious as a princess’s, but he couldn’t resist grinning.

“As you wish.” He gently unbuttoned her gown and slid it off her. Then he unfastened her stays and helped her out of her slippers and stockings. The rogue in him wanted to enjoy every moment of this, but he did it quickly. If he took his time, he might get carried away.

When he was down to her chemise, she slipped back under the sheets and fell asleep almost instantly. Her trust in him at that moment stunned him. He was going to stay, though not only because of their agreement, or because he had vowed to be her shadow. It was more than that. His brother, Godric, would have a good laugh if he ever learned just how hopelessly smitten he was with Audrey.

He made sure to lock the door. The last thing he needed was for them to be unexpectedly discovered together. Audrey’s marriage to him had to be by her choosing, not forced by scandal.

He removed his clothes except for his smallclothes before he climbed into bed beside her. She rolled into him as the mattress dipped, and he cradled her against his body. Her hair was still bound, and he carefully extracted the pins and set them aside. Her dark brown hair was like silk on his chest, and she snuggled closer.

This… This was what he would give anything to have. A lifetime of nights with her, just like this. And still he feared that it wasn’t possible. She might not want to give up the life she knew to marry down. And if she refused him, it would break his heart.

Avery Russell stood in the hall of a townhouse in Mayfair, his hands twitching nervously. He’d received a coded letter with instructions to report to Sir Hugo Waverly, the man he now answered to as a spy for king and country.

Avery hadn’t always been a spy. He began working at the Home Office in 1816, a young man fresh out of Cambridge, but it hadn’t taken long for his talents to surface and his path to become clear.

“Sir?” The butler approached him. “The master will see you now. Please, follow me.”

Avery handed his hat to a footman and followed the butler up the stairs. He was directed to a large study. His brows rose, taking in the yellow wallpaper and rococo plasterwork on the ceiling. A tall crystal chandelier hung above a Rosewood desk, creating an even more elaborate and elegant appearance to the room.

Hugo sat at his desk and glanced up when Avery entered. “Have a seat, Russell.”

Avery took the offered seat, his well-trained eyes noting Waverly’s clean-cut appearance. The man’s dark hair and eyes often made him seem threatening in the darker meeting places where Avery had met him, but with the early-morning sunlight coming through the window, the man merely appeared to be an ordinary nobleman, handsome enough to fit in well with the beau monde, but not so handsome as to leave an impression upon many people. The perfect look for a spy. Avery wished he looked more like Waverly, but with his somewhat red-gold hair and hazel-green eyes, he was quite unforgettable. There had been a number of times he’d had to color his hair or wear wigs to go undetected.

Waverly set a stack of letters aside a folded his hands, studying Avery. “Glad you got my letter.”

“I’m at your service. You mentioned a mission, sir?”

“Yes.” Waverly continued to watch him. “You started your career at the Home Office, did you not?”

“I did.” Avery glanced at the window behind Waverly at the sight of movement down in the gardens below. Some distance away from the house, a woman was walking in the gardens, a little boy following behind her, catching her skirts. It was a woman he recognized - Melanie Burns. At least, that had been her name before she married Waverly. Melanie had been briefly engaged to Avery’s eldest brother, Lucien. The engagement had been broken off, much to the relief of the Russell family.

“What was the nature of your work for the Home Office?”

“I was a precis writer.” That was a clerical position. His job had been to prepare a brief abstract of all important dispatches sent or received by the Home Office. He’d also entered the dispatches and abstracts into a book for clerks to consult when required.

“Ah, yes, that’s right. And moved up the ranks to a decipherer?”

“That’s correct.” It turned out he had an aptitude for decoding messages and ferreting out hidden meanings in intercepted correspondence.

“And then you were trained in following, reporting, and infiltrating groups that the Crown deemed a threat?”

Again, Avery nodded. Waverly had to know his background, so he wondered why the man was questioning him.

“I have a mission that is rather precarious. We have received word that a small sect of men, revolutionaries, have been gathering in France. Do you remember when the Duke of Berry was assassinated?”

“Yes, last year at the Paris Opera.” Avery remembered that incident all too clearly. The Home and Foreign Offices had been abuzz with the news. The Duke of Berry was the younger son of the Count of Artois, the brother of Louis XVIII.

“And what is your assessment of the situation in France?” Waverly asked.

“Well,” Avery said as he leaned back in his chair, “the French succession has been put into question. The count’s oldest son, the Duke of Angouleme, is childless. The lack of any male heirs might mean that the throne could pass to the Duke of Orléans and his children. But the Duke of Berry’s widow gave birth to a child last September.”

“We have reason to believe that if Louis XVIII dies, the Count of Artois will succeed him, and then his grandson through the Duke of Berry won’t matter to succession.”

“And you think he won’t be as accommodating to the liberal government?” Avery speculated. He’d come across enough reports in recent years to sense that the Count of Artois would likely ruffle the feathers of many and might cause another revolution.

“That is exactly my fear. And having an unstable French government puts ideas into the heads of radicals, like the reformists we’ve recently learned about. We can’t do much to stabilize the French court itself, but we can suppress revolutionaries while their activities are still in the cradle, as it were. The last thing we need are for those ideas to be successful and catch on over here.”

Avery leaned in, his voice lowering. “What is the mission?”

“I would like you to take a small team to France and see what you can learn from the French court firsthand. There is also the small matter of a reformist group of English traitors near Calais. We need that group infiltrated as quickly as possible and brought down. I want names and locations of meetings. Once you’ve done that, you’ll move on to Paris and the royal court.”

“Whom will I be working with?” He began mentally assessing a list of individuals he’d worked with before.

“I would like Sheffield to go with you, and I’ve been hearing that Miss Sheridan is proving to be a worthy asset. What’s your opinion of her?”

“She’s still somewhat inexperienced,” Avery said cautiously, “But she has talent.”

“A lady is always a useful spy, especially in France. The gentlemen of the court are easily distracted by fluttering skirts and pretty smiles.”

Avery tilted his head, considering Waverly’s choice. “We do have several people in our employ with more experience. Miss Mirabeau, for example…”

“I won’t deny Mirabeau’s considerable skills,” said Waverly. “But she is French, and this opening gambit will require the appearance of a youthful outsider. Our other current assets are either already engaged or, shall we say, too seasoned?”

Avery considered this. It could work, but it was not without complications. “Miss Sheridan is unmarried. She will need a chaperone, a female to come with her or her brother, but given that her brother’s new wife is expecting, I doubt he’d wish to run off to France.”

“I’ve already come up with an idea. Miss Sheridan will travel as Sheffield’s wife. He’s young and attractive and will make a convincing husband for her. They need not share rooms; it is common enough that married couples sleep apart.” Waverly then looked out the window where they could see his wife. Melanie was now seated and watching the small boy toddle about on chubby legs. She likely had no idea they could see her from the second story of the house.

“You said Sheridan’s wife is expecting?” Waverly’s voice was quiet now.

“Yes, she is. Now about this Sheffield marriage, I’m not sure her brother would approve. What if word reached London and people assumed it was true?”

“It won’t be under their real names. An alias will be provided, of course. And they can always divorce.” Waverly chuckled as though at some private joke.

Avery balled his hands into fists and rested them on his knees. There was something not right about this, but he couldn’t place what was bothering him. Waverly must have noticed, because his tone turned somewhat condescending.

“Now, now, none of us do our duty without some degree of risk. If Miss Sheridan wants to play the spy, she must be ready to face the consequences of her deception. I’m sure nothing will come of it. We wouldn’t be doing our jobs correctly if it did.” Waverly pushed his chair back and stood. Avery did the same.

“When is this mission to begin?” Avery followed Waverly as the other man walked through the door of the study.

“Soon. Less than a week. I will send for you once I have everything in place. I will provide more detailed instructions regarding your French contacts and the revolutionaries you will be engaging with.”

“Understood. Thank you.” Avery shook Waverly’s hand, and they headed back down the stairs to the hall.

He glimpsed Melanie again through a window before he left, and for a moment he froze. She was still in the garden, but she was no longer alone with her child. Daniel Sheffield, the man who would play Audrey Sheridan’s husband, was there in the garden with her. To the untrained eye, it looked completely innocent. They stood close together, speaking to each other. But Avery had learned from the best and could read their body language. The way he leaned in, the brief caress of her hand on his chest before it dropped away. Avery ducked behind the edge of the window. There was some intimacy between them, but Avery couldn’t tell how far it went.

Good God. Waverly’s wife is…

He didn’t finish the thought. He took one more glance their way and saw them break apart. Sheffield reached down to ruffle the hair of the little toddler, a toddler whose looks favored his mother and not Waverly.

Surely not…

Avery was relieved to see the butler waiting for him, who handed him his hat, and then he stepped outside was to his waiting hackney.

If Sheffield was romantically entangled with Waverly’s wife, he would likely not be a threat to Audrey. Waverly had already chosen Sheffield for his team, and Avery would respect that, but he would still need to keep an eye on Audrey. None of her recent training had been put the test, and sending her on a foreign mission like this was highly unusual. If anything were to happen to her, he would never forgive himself, and Lucien would put him in an early grave. Lead knots formed in Avery’s stomach. This mission to France could be very dangerous. More so than Hugo had led him to believe.

It will be up to me to ensure that Audrey returns safely to England.