A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

“I think we can take that as read.”

Jack’s dry tone registered. She met his eyes. “Is it always like this in spying? That you assume the other side has no real morals?”

He considered, then said, “It’s safer to work on that basis.”

She inwardly frowned, wondering what working constantly within such a framework, where you didn’t dare trust in anyone or anything, would be like. “Lonely” was the word that leapt to her mind.

But such thoughts were a distraction. Glancing at Jack, she was about to ask what next they should do when she saw pain fleetingly fill his eyes; it was gone in an instant as he focused on her

. “Is your head hurting?”

He hesitated, then his lips thinned. “Yes.” Dispensing with all pretense, he raised his hands and massaged his temples. “The carriage journey…”

Alarm of an unfamiliar sort lanced through her. “You need to see your doctor.” She stood and headed for the bellpull. “What’s his name?”

“No, no.” He waved her back to her seat, away from the bellpull. “I’ve already seen him. Yesterday, after I left you.”

She sank back, reluctantly, into the armchair. “You were in pain then?”

He grimaced. “It was building.”

Now he’d been forced to admit it, he seemed less reluctant to discuss his state. She pressed. “What did your doctor say?”

Jack continued to massage his temples. “Actually, he was highly impressed by my progress.”

She humphed dismissively. “You’re in more pain now than you have been since you returned to Avening.”

“Pringle said it was because of the long hours in the carriage, compounded by not having—”

The look that crossed his face as he broke off was as close to self-conscious as she imagined he ever got, like a guilty little boy having let out some secret. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Not having what?”

He glanced at her, but didn’t meet her eyes. “Exercise of a certain sort. Apparently, it reduces the incidence and possibly the severity of head pain.”

“Well, then!” She straightened. “You clearly need to attend to this exercise before we do anything else.”

His lips weren’t straight, but she wasn’t sure if he was grimacing, or, strangely, struggling not to laugh. She frowned. “What is this exercise?”

“Don’t worry about it—it’s not a ride in the park or a stroll around the garden.” Lowering his hands, he met her eyes. “If you must know, I plan on taking care of it tonight. I’ll just have to suffer until then.”

“Don’t be nonsensical!” She studied his eyes. “You’re in pain—you look like your head’s splitting. You can’t possibly think clearly, and we—James, me, the Altwoods, and the government—need you functioning at the top of your bent. So what is this exercise? Can it be performed at any time, and if so, why not now?”

When he simply looked at her—that stubborn look she now knew meant he wasn’t going to fall in with her demands—and kept his lips firmly shut, she sighed. “Very well.” Rising, she reached for her reticule. “I’ll just have to visit this doctor—Pringle, I think you said?—and ask him what sort of exercise you need.”

The look on his face was priceless, horror and disbelief mingling. “You can’t do that.”

His tone was flat, a statement of reality as he saw it.

Looking down at him, she raised her brows. “Of course I can.” And would. The fact she could actually see the pain clouding his lovely hazel eyes worried her more than she cared to admit, shook her in some way she didn’t fully understand. She told herself it was because the long carriage drive had been undertaken on James’s behalf, and so ensuring he recovered swiftly from any ill it might have caused was the correct and honorable thing to do.

Head back against the chair, he stared up at her. His expression had turned impassive; it no longer told her anything. Yet despite the dulling pain, she could see the thoughts passing through his mind, him weighing up telling her against her asking Pringle. Then his chest swelled as he drew in a breath. “Lovemaking.”

She blinked at him. For one instant she was totally unsure what her own expression was: stunned amazement, most likely. “That’s the exercise that eases your head?” She dropped her reticule back on the table.

“Apparently.” Jaw tight, he waved her to her chair. “So I’ll just have to bear with my headache until this evening, then we can attend to it. I’m sure I’ll be well again by tomorrow morning.”

She stood her ground, frowning down at him. “There are times when your mental processes defy my comprehension. There’s no reason we need to wait to ease your head.” With a swish of her skirts, she turned and sat on his lap.

He jerked upright, stiffened, but his arms instinctively rose to hold her. “Clarice—” He seemed shocked.