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“We won’t be much of a partnership if I don’t know the truth about what we’re doing.”
Her heart beat wildly beneath his fists. Her jaw clenched.
She nodded. “You’re right. I’ll tell you everything.”
Once Mina made the decision to tell him, some of the weight lifted off her shoulders. He’d proven himself to be a powerful, formidable ally. She needed his help on this mission.
He deserved to know.
“I haven’t been lying to you... exactly.”
“Never a good way to begin a conversation.”
“There’s another layer, a secret layer.”
She began circling Lord Rafe’s bedchamber, lifting paintings and examining the walls for small holes.
“What are you doing?” Drew asked.
“Shhh.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. She flung the door wide. No one was outside listening. She shut and locked the door. “I was checking to make sure that no one was listening. What I’m about to tell you can never leave this room.”
His eyebrows rose. “Sounds like this confession might be eased by a brandy and a warm fire.”
“That might help,” she admitted. She was so tense that she felt as though her shoulder blades might knit together permanently.
When the fire was crackling and the lamp trimmed, Drew led her to an armchair and placed a glass of brandy in her hand. Then he pulled another chair close to her and folded his long body into a seated position.
“Take your time,” he said gently. “We have all night.”
We have all night.
Did he know what those four words did to her? How they made her heart stutter and her insides melt?
A whole night for talking... for touching. She could keep her secrets hidden and give him her body instead. Demand that he take what she willingly offered.
She wanted him. He wanted her. But would he still want her after she told him the truth?
She sipped the brandy, welcoming the sting and then the softening in her belly, the loosening of tension.
What she was about to do frightened her. Once she confessed her deepest secret, he would know everything about her. And he could reject her, shut her out, refuse to partner with her anymore.
Remove himself physically and emotionally as her parents had done, as her uncle had done, leaving her alone again. Alone and longing for connection, to be a part of something larger than herself.
He could send her right back to Sutton Hall. She wouldn’t stay, of course—she’d run away. But her fate, once again, was in his hands.
He’d lied for her, to give her freedom from Uncle Malcolm. She owed this to him.
She gulped the rest of the brandy in one fiery swallow. Best to have done with it, to brave the sting of his reaction in one quick sentence.
“My uncle is a spymaster who trains an elite force of agents for the Crown,” she blurted, the headiness of the brandy spurring the rush of her words. “Your brother is one of Sir Malcolm’s spies.” She stared into the empty bottom of her glass instead of at Drew.
“Rafe is a spy?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “Drunken, disorderly, promiscuous Rafe?”
“All part of his cover. He masquerades as a rake in order to extract information from criminal elements.”
A snort. “Are you sure about that? Seems more like he might be masquerading as a spy in order to justify his life of debauchery.”
“There was an incident. He was supposed to be investigating a gambling house suspected of being a cover for a ring of counterfeiters, but he ended up gambling away all the money and producing no information.”
