The Edge of Desire (Bastion Club 7)

Letitia sat transfixed. One o’clock?

“Thank you, Wilkes.” Christian’s voice came from above her. “It was good of you to spare us the wait.”

Letitia felt his fingers close about her elbow; inwardly moaning, she surrendered and got to her feet.

Christian nodded to Hambury and Wilkes. “Gentlemen. We’ll be back before one o’clock.”

Letitia waited until they’d gained the pavement to give voice to her impatience. Christian let her grumble as, her hand anchored on his sleeve, he led her along. When she finally wound down and disgruntledly asked, “What the devil are we to do until one o’clock?” he hailed a hackney.

He took her to the museum.

They wandered around the exhibits, but there was nothing there to catch her eye—or his, for that matter. He was wondering how on earth to keep her occupied for the next two hours when she said, “Tell me about your life as a spy.”

He felt his brows rise, but…“What do you want to know?”

She made an all-encompassing gesture. “Start at the beginning. I recently learned that Dalziel recruited you to his little band. When was that?”

“Within a month or two of me joining the Guards. He had his pick of the Guards, from any regiment.”

She was frowning, looking down as she walked beside him. “But you didn’t immediately go to France.”

“No. Because I spoke so many languages, at first he had me go in and out of various countries, getting a sense of the lie of the land, and laying down a background as the wealthy bastard of an ex–French nobleman engaged in trade. Later, when I went over and stayed, I was stationed in Lyon. It was the hub for the manufacture of machinery and heavy equipment—such as artillery. Even if it wasn’t made there, most of the components came from there. So…”

To his surprise, the words flowed easily. She listened, nodded, and asked questions—questions rooted in her knowledge of him and therefore easy to answer, even if sometimes both her questions and his answers surprised him.

Only when he looked up and found they’d wandered all the way back to the museum’s door, and the clock above it declared the time to be nearly noon, did he realize just how much he’d talked—and how much he’d revealed.

More than he had to any other living soul, Dalziel included.

He glanced at Letitia; she was still frowning over his last answer—an explanation of how Napoleon’s reign had affected the people of Lyon. That she’d even thought to ask it, that he’d answered without reserve, telling her about the resistance and the heartbreak of lost comrades who hadn’t even been British…

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Beneath the blatantly sexual attraction that had always flared between them ran another, deeper bond. One of shared background, of common understanding born of the fact they hailed from the same, very narrow social stratum. They shared the same sensitivities, looked on the world from much the same perspective, held to the same tenets of honor, loyalty, and courage. And stubborn determination, that never-accept-failure arrogance that permeated their class.

Looking at her, her brow furrowed as she digested all he’d said, all he’d revealed of himself along with the facts, all he could think of, all his mind could see, was the rightness of having her as his wife—of seeing her in his houses, surrounded by their children.

It was a vision that stole his breath.

It was a vision his never-accept-failure arrogance would never let him surrender….

And she wouldn’t expect him to.

He suddenly knew how St. Paul had felt on the road to Damascus. He wanted to convince her that he truly wanted her as his wife; if he did feel that way, she would expect him to pursue that goal, and her, relentlessly. Stubbornly and doggedly.

She looked up at him, saw the smile on his face, frowned. “What?”

He let his smile widen. “Just…this.”

With one hand, he tipped up her chin and brought his lips down on hers.

A quick, swift kiss—in the middle of the foyer of the museum in full view of any who might be passing.

He drew back before she could react.

Stunned, she stared up at him. “What was that for?” Then glancing left and right, and realizing they were now the center of attention for a number of other museum patrons, she swore beneath her breath, grabbed his arm and tried to tug him to the door.

He consented to move, a satisfied smile on his lips. “That,” he informed her as he held the main door back for her, then followed her through, “was just to confirm that when it comes to you, to my plans for you, I fully intend to succeed.”

She looked at him, then snorted. “Naturally.”