Page 116 of His Wife, the Spy

Annabel stopped in the street, her mouth open in a most unladylike fashion. An island. An honest-to-God adventure.

“I thought we might enjoy seeing real sharks.” He put his hand on her back to urge her to resume their walk. “And whatever exotic thing we might find.”

They reached the coach, and he helped her inside. She dropped against the cushions with a sigh.

Jasper sat beside her and lifted her foot to his lap to remove her boot and massage her swollen ankle. “The queen has asked us to look in on some of her property while we’re there. Perhaps poke around in the caretaker’s records.”

No titled lady in London, or elsewhere for that matter, should get a thrill from the idea of breaking into someone’s private chambers. They certainly shouldn’t wonder if they could learn to pick a lock in two weeks’ time.

“Maybe we could tour a sugar plantation or two,” Annabel added. “There might be a good opportunity there.”

“There might indeed.” His fingers left her ankle to travel up her calf. The carriage rocked forward with a jolt.

Annabel pulled the pins from her hair. “How exciting.”

“I warn you.” He caressed her knee. “Sailing means narrow beds and thin walls.” His fingers curved to the shape of her thigh. “We won’t have a great deal of privacy.”

“Then we’ll have to be quiet.” Annabel undid the buttons on his waistcoat. His broad chest was warm and solid under his fine cotton shirt. His shoulders gave easily as she pulled him down for a kiss.

She pulled away to gasp as his fingers reached her center. The smile on his face was wickedly glorious. “I think we should practice.”

The End