Five

Pierce stood outside her door and took a shaky breath. He was glad to leave the stables for the warmth of Eliza’s rooms. Of course, the heat of the fire was not the only reason he wanted to see her or the only warmth he craved. He’d lain on his cot in the cold stall, the sound of those dreadful horses all around him, and thought about what he would do to her when he was with her. Those naughty books had given him so many delicious ideas, but he knew the one he wanted to try most of all.

He raised his hand and paused. What if she didn’t want him any longer? She’d been about to argue something when they’d heard that shot. Were his efforts to seduce her into agreeing to marry him all for naught? He couldn’t stand the thought of that. He couldn’t stand the thought of living the rest of his life without her.

Was that love? Was fear at the prospect of losing her the same thing as love? Perhaps it was, but he felt there should be something more. Some sort of deep, accompanying emotion. He wasn’t an emotional man. Perhaps he couldn’t feel love. Did Eliza feel love? She said she wanted him to marry her for love, but she’d never said whether or not she loved him. The thought of Eliza loving him, being in love with him, made him feel as though he could take on anything—a band of pirates, a horde of thieves.

No one loved him.

Surely his parents had, but they were dead now. Who loved him now?

He was still standing outside her door—careless that—when it opened suddenly. Eliza stood in the frame, hands on her hips. “Will you ever knock?” she hissed.

“I was just about—”

“Then come in before you’re seen.” She grabbed him and yanked him inside.

“How did you know I was out there?”

She closed the door quietly and locked it. “I’ve worked with spies for years. I have ways.”

That was intriguing. What was also intriguing was that she’d changed into her nightgown and wrapper again. Did that mean she wanted him to ravish her?

“I think we should discuss our mission and nothing else.”

“Very well.” He caught a glimmer of disappointment on her face, but then she offered him one of the two chairs by the fire, taking the other. Her feet were bare when she curled her legs under her. Trying not to think about how much he wanted to see those bare toes again, Pierce reiterated the coachman’s description of the highwayman. “That description fits any number of men.”

“Yes.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Only two of our original suspects were not accounted for at the time of the attack—Wilson and Freeland.”

“I agree. I would suggest we focus our efforts on those two, but I worry we might be ignoring other suspects. What if it’s not someone who frequents The Duke’s Arms at all? It might be one of the men who lives in Hopewell-on-Lyft.”

“I’ve thought of that,” she admitted. “The coach does travel directly through the village.”

“All mail coaches travel on regular schedules. Everyone has access to that information and might lie in wait.”

“True.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Pierce could not stop his gaze from traveling to her legs, where those pink toes were safely tucked out of sight. It appeared they would need to investigate the townspeople and make a list of possible suspects there as well. They might be here days or weeks more. That thought cheered him. He had plenty of wicked pleasures to show her to fill up the nights of those days and weeks, if she’d allow it.

“He took that older woman’s ear-bobs,” Eliza said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

She lowered her leg, and Pierce followed the movement. When her toes peeked out from the hem of her nightgown, he pulled at his cravat. The damn fire was too hot.

“That older woman and...was he her husband?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Howard? Passengers on the coach today?”

“Was that their name? She told me the highwayman took her ear-bobs. She was quite distraught because they had once belonged to her grandmother.”

“That is too bad.” Pierce admired Eliza’s tender heart, but what did she expect a thief to do? Of course he would take a woman’s ear-bobs.

“No, don’t you see?” she said, her hands fluttering with animation. “The Howards had to have been traveling inside the coach, and when the highway man ordered the coachman to stand and deliver, Mrs. Howard would have clutched at her husband and sought his protection. She was doing so when I spoke with her.”

“And so the ear-bobs would have been difficult to see.”

“If not all but impossible inside the dark coach.” Her voice had risen in volume and pitch, and she bounced in her chair. “Our man had to have been at the inn at some point when the passengers either arrived or withdrew in order to know to demand the ear-bobs.”

She was clever, very clever. He’d always known that. She had to be to design the weapons she crafted. Now, watching her mind at work fascinated and aroused him.

“And that brings us back to Wilson and Freeland,” he said.

She sat forward. She was so far forward in her chair now, he half-worried she would topple out of it. Or perhaps he hoped. She would fall directly into his arms.

“I would wager all on Wilson.” She cut her hand across the air. “Remember I saw him in the yard before the coach departed. He had no reason to be out there unless it was to take a look at the passengers. He never came in to visit with his aunt. The poor woman sat coughing by the fire for most of the morning.”

“Then we have our man.”

She rose. “Shall we bring him in for questioning? Perhaps we could use one of the inn’s outbuildings? I could develop several devices that would be beneficial in an interrogation.”

Damn fire was definitely too hot. “Torture?”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Stop crafting medieval devices that belong in a dungeon for a moment and consider we might be better served simply by catching the man in the act. We follow him.”

She slumped. “That isn’t very exciting.”

“Field work rarely is. Or so I hear.” He stood and moved back from the hearth. The conversation was almost at an end, and now was the time for him to take his leave. Except he didn’t want to leave. How would he find a way to take her in his arms and then to bed?

“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “The excitement comes with the capture and the mission’s success.” Suddenly, she embraced him. “We almost have him, Pierce!”

“Oh! I beg your pardon.”

Embracing him had been a mistake. One moment, Eliza’s mind was on the highwayman and the accolades they would receive when they completed the mission. The next moment, all thoughts of the mission had fled, and she could think of nothing but the way Pierce’s body felt pressed against hers.

“Anything but my pardon.” His arms came around her, slid up her back, and enveloped her in his warmth. She was already surrounded by his scent. In London, he had a sophisticated scent—bergamot mixed with the aromas of ink, fine paper, and antique books. She could still detect those scents.

“You smell all wrong,” she said. “Like...horses and leather.”

“Is that why your breathing is so fast?”

Was she breathing fast? That scent... It made her think of danger and intrigue and forbidden passion.

His hand slid to the nape of her neck, his fingers caressing the sensitive, almost ticklish, flesh there. She hadn’t taken her hair down, and now his hand dove into those upswept tresses, loosening them, and relieving the ache.

“You are so proper,” she whispered. “So correct except...when you’re not.”

“You have that effect on me. I love how you”—he lowered his lips to hers—“taste.”

The first touch of his flesh to hers always excited her. When he kissed her, he lost all formality. She knew the real man, and that man burned with need and desire to rival any man.

He teased her lips open with his tongue—when had he learned that little trick?—and at the same time pulled pins from her hair, catching them before they could fall to the floor. Her hair tumbled down, and that first feeling of release was wonderful. And then his tongue mated with hers. She didn’t know how else to think of it. The way he stroked and teased mimicked lovemaking perfectly. She must have made some small sound of approval, because he nipped at her lower lip.

“You like that?”

Her ears rang like they did after a particularly violent explosion. She opened her eyes, dismayed to find the room seemed to tilt. “Have you always kissed me like that?”

“I’ll always kiss you like that from now on.” His hand cupped her jaw, and his thumb slid along her cheek, the friction warming her skin.

“From now on? Is there more?”

“Much more. In fact, there’s something I want to show you.”

The books again. She did not know if she could survive more of his book learning. She did not know if she could survive without him showing her. He bent, and before she realized what he was about, he had his hands behind her knees. She almost toppled over but clutched him just in time. “What are you doing?”

“Sweeping you off your feet,” he said, sounding annoyed. He tried it again and all but sent her sprawling on her arse.

“Wait!” she called before he injured her or the noise from her fall woke the entire inn. “Try it this way.” She put her arms about his neck and stepped up onto one of the chairs by the fire. “Now.”

He took a moment to figure out the logistics, and then he cradled her in his arms. He staggered a little, which did nothing to boost her confidence, but then he gained his feet and carried her to the bed.

“Am I heavy?” she asked.

“Light as a feather,” he said, sounding strained.

Poor Pierce. He really was trying. Perhaps he’d always wished to be a strapping sportsman, whereas she had always dreamed of being a diamond of the first water. But here they were—Eliza and Pierce—two very ordinary people...well, except for the espionage bit.

He tried to set her on the bed, but stumbled at the last moment, and she went toppling down. His face went white, but she laughed. He colored, and she feared it was from embarrassment, but then he moved over her, kissing her, and she knew he wanted her far too much to be embarrassed. The kiss was unskilled, all passion and longing, and she couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her arms around him and kissing him back.

This was folly. Involving herself further with him would only make it more difficult when they had to part. But she wanted him so much. How could she not want him when he was so sweet and clumsy and—how could she forget—so newly skilled in the arts of pleasure? Just for tonight, she wanted to ignore the fact that she was Eliza Qwillen and he was Pierce Moneypence. She wanted to be just a woman who needed the comfort of a man.

He drew back and tugged at her wrapper, and she felt bold. She rose to her knees and stripped it off, then discarded the nightgown too. “I love how you look at me. Your eyes turn so dark and lovely.”

“I love to look at you. I can’t drink my fill.” His gaze roved over her, taking her in slowly, and the reverence with which he reached out to stroke her left her breathless.

She was no great beauty. Her hair was too curly and wild. Her arms were too skinny, her breasts not full, her hands scarred and red from her work. She had decent legs, but one couldn’t exactly show them off. But Pierce looked at her as though she were the highest-paid courtesan. He looked at her as though he wanted her. He did want her, and that made it all the sweeter.

“Take your coat off,” she said. He obliged. He didn’t wear his coats cut as close to his figure as many men did, and he easily shed it. “Now your neckcloth.”

He loosened it and tossed it aside.

She unfastened the buttons at his throat. Pressing her lips to his skin, she kissed and then licked, tasting him. The flavor was uniquely Pierce, masculine and refined and with that hint of foreignness that was horse and leather and which she found so erotic tonight.

Her hands slid over his chest. His body was slim and elegant but also firm and strong. She loved his long, lean lines. She dipped lower, feeling his erection and grasping the length in her hand. She stroked him, but he pulled her hand away.

“Not yet,” he murmured, kissing her again. She thought of protesting, but why should she when he was lowering her to the bed again, settling his weight pleasantly over her? She abandoned herself to the sensation of his linen shirt against her sensitive breasts and the wool of his trousers sliding over her bare legs. She wrapped her arms around him and tightened her legs about his waist.

He inhaled sharply and seemed to struggle for control. His kisses grew more insistent, more passionate, and then he retreated from her lips and tended to other parts of her. He kissed the line of her jaw, the tender skin just beneath it, the ticklish part of her earlobe, and the hollow at the base of her throat.

He worshipped her, kissing and tasting her. She thought he might linger on her breasts, but he surprised her by moving lower and sliding his tongue over her abdomen.

Hot and insistent need flared in her as his tongue dipped lower. “What are you about?” she gasped.

He looked up at her, his head almost at the juncture of her thighs. “More wicked suggestions from my naughty books. Do you mind?”

“I...” Did she mind? She had never dreamed a man, much less Pierce Moneypence, would even consider doing what he was about to do—or at least what she thought he was about to do. As if reading the uncertainty in her eyes, he moved lower and used one hand to part her legs. Oh, she had little doubt what he had in mind, especially when he leaned down and his warm breath tantalized that most intimate part of her. She shuddered and squirmed, but his weight held her in place.

“I want to taste you,” he said. “I’ve read it can be extremely pleasurable when a man applies his lips and tongue to this part of the female anatomy.”

His words were so scientific, and yet, they aroused her more powerfully than anything else he’d said.

“I don’t mind,” she squeaked.

“Good,” he said, his words vibrating against her inner thighs. “Because I’ve been thinking a lot about this.”

“You have?” He thought about doing things like this to her? How often? When? And then she could not think at all, because he pressed his mouth to her and the feeling was so delicious, she couldn’t form a coherent thought for several long, long moments. He had an aptitude for this, or had studied his books diligently, because he quickly brought her to a fierce climax. She cried out, and then covered her mouth in embarrassment.

Pierce slid beside her and nuzzled her neck. “You enjoyed that.”

“I’ve probably woken the entire inn.” She rose on her elbows to ensure the door was locked. “I do hope the maid doesn’t come to check on me.”

“Just tell her it was a nightmare.” He was still nuzzling her neck, which was distracting, especially when his hands wandered to her breasts. She pulled at the tails of his shirt.

“Why don’t you take this off? Take everything off while you’re at it and show me what else you’ve learned from that naughty book.”

“Oh, no.” He captured her hands in his. “There are far too many other pleasures I’d rather show you.”

“But what about your pleasure?”

“Time for that when we marry.”

She sat up abruptly, and he lost his balance and toppled over into the indention she’d left in the bed. “So this is all some ploy to convince me to agree to marry you, and then once we’re married, you’ll have no use for seduction.”

He sat, looking bewildered. “No, not at all—”

“So you don’t want me to marry you.”

“Of course I do, but I’ll still seduce you after we’re wed.”

She rose on her knees, hugging the sheet to her. “Why?”

“Why?” He looked close to panicking, but she was not going to give him the correct answer. “Because you like it? Because I enjoy it?”

“Get out.”

“What? Eliza, no, let’s talk about this.”

She was already up and out of bed. She stomped to the door then paused, looking back at him. He was climbing slowly off her bed, looking as though he’d lost his puppy. “Very well, let’s talk. Do you love me?”

There was the shocked-deer look she remembered so well. That was answer enough, but the foolish man stammered and stuttered and attempted a reply anyway. She was patient. This might at least be entertaining.

“I feel—that is to say—I care very much about you. In my heart—the warmth—t-truly I do esteem you, I am very fond—”

“Fond? You are fond of me? How romantic. A man who is fond of me. Do you do”—she gestured to the bed—“that with all the women you are fond of?”

“No! Eliza, you know there is only you.”

“But I don’t know that, Pierce. I am certain you could find any number of other women you are fond of who would be happy to go with you to Switzerland.”

His chin notched up. “Is that what this is about? You think I want you to abandon your work for the Barbican group. I don’t. You can design weapons in Switzerland.”

“What if I enjoy my life here? What if I don’t want to go to Switzerland?” A pregnant silence filled the room, and she knew, quite suddenly, that this was the moment she had been waiting for. She held her breath with anticipation, willing him to say the words she wanted. If he couldn’t say I love you perhaps he could show her.

“It’s only for a few years. We would return...”

He was still speaking, but she wasn’t listening any longer. He wouldn’t even offer to forgo his plans for her. She wouldn’t have made him give up his ambitions, but she would have known that he was willing to make the sacrifice. If he only cared for her that much, then she thought he might fall in love with her, given time. But he was like every other man, thinking himself better and more important than any woman.

Better to remain a spinster, a bluestocking with a shocking expertise in weaponry, than trade her soul for a warm body beside her night after night.

“Out,” she said, pointing to the door. “Take your coat and go.”

He lifted his coat as though it was laden with bricks. “Eliza, please.”

“We’ll have to meet elsewhere to discuss the mission from now on. Don’t come here again.” She opened the door.

She thought he might bow his head and scurry away. Instead, he stepped into the corridor and looked her directly in the eye. “This isn’t the end.”

She closed the door on him and locked it. “Oh, yes, it is.” She was done behaving as a foolish girl would, hoping he would come to love her, hoping he might change. She had to stop being swayed by her baser instincts. He’d certainly learned new bedsport, but marriage was more than a romp in bed. She had to remember that. Most important, she had to forget the promise of all the other tantalizing talents he’d learned.