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A slow smile spread across his face. “There will be more than one time?”
She couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Come to my chamber tonight.”
He shook his head. “You’ll be tired.”
“Then I’ll send you away.” She frowned. “That won’t work. The queen is very strict about her ladies. Men aren’t allowed in our wing.”
“Then come to my chamber. If you don’t come, I’ll know it’s because you’re sleeping. The choice is yours.”
Emily rather liked having the choice. She’d loved her husband, but she’d never been the one to initiate lovemaking or to go to his bed. He’d always come to her when he wanted her. Now she had that power. Just the idea of it made her want Will all the more.
He gave her a wary expression and pushed up. “When you look at me like that, I can’t resist you. Here, sit up and I’ll help you...” He gestured to her disheveled clothing.
She laughed. “I fear there’s no help for it. I want to burn this dress when I return. Shall I burn your coat too?”
“God, no. Surely my valet can salvage it. And if not, I’ll keep it to think of you.”
His words reminded her that this—whatever was between them—was temporary and fleeting. They would go their separate ways in a week or a month or two. She only had this little time with him, and she wanted to make the most of it.
“Rest now,” he said. “We should be in London within the hour.” He pulled her against him and settled her comfortably. She was surprised at how well she fit against him and how perfect she felt in his arms. It was as though they had always known each other. As though she was meant for him.
AS SOON AS THEY ARRIVEDat Buckingham Palace, Emily had been swept away. The queen had wanted to see her, and Emily had been engulfed by a froth of women in large skirts and lace. Five minutes after they’d arrived, all that remained of Emily was the fading heat of her body where it had pressed against him in the coach.
Will scrubbed his face, feeling the stubble. He needed a bath and a shave and a nap. After that, he wouldn’t mind a large quantity of food. He didn’t remember when he’d last eaten, and it was early evening now. But before he could start for his chambers, the Foreign Secretary and the prince strode down the corridor, looking grim.
There would be no meal or bath for him yet.
An hour later he finally stepped into his chamber and allowed his valet to strip off his clothing. He dismissed the man and stepped into his bath, leaning his head back on the tub and letting the tension in his muscles seep away. Lord Palmerston and Prince Albert had asked dozens of questions. Will wished he’d had answers for them, but he had nothing. He was no closer to sabotaging the separatists’ assassination plans now than he had been when he’d arrived at the palace. In fact, now he didn’t even have a suspect. The more he came to know Emily, theless he believed she could have anything to do with the plot. It wasn’t solely intuition, though he had excellent intuition. He would never have been considered good enough for the Royal Saboteurs if his intuition wasn’t nearly always spot on.
But even more than intuition was careful investigation, including surveillance, at which he excelled. So far all Emily Blythe-Coston had been guilty of was standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d been shot, ambushed, and then kidnapped. It was more than most people experienced in a lifetime, and yet she hadn’t broken. She was an extraordinary woman, and she was no traitor.
The water had cooled, and Will climbed out of the bath and dressed in loose trousers and a robe. He rang for a tray and sat by the fire to devour the food that arrived. He doubted Emily would come to him tonight. She’d have a bath and probably fall into bed. He couldn’t blame her. And perhaps that was for the best. In his mind he’d dismissed her as a suspect, but that didn’t mean Baron or the Foreign Office believed her innocent. Until they had found the true traitor, she was still under investigation, and it was best if he did not involve himself with her personally.
Which meant he would almost certainly never touch her again, kiss her, hold her. There were only two ways the next few days could go. One, he’d leave the palace and start searching elsewhere. Or two, she’d find out who he really was, and no woman wanted to be lied to. Either way, it was better that he hadn’t taken her to bed.
A soft knock on the door made him jerk to his feet. Holy hell. She’d come. He should turn her away, but he damn well knew he would never turn Emily out of his chamber or his bed. He crossed to the door, his heart pounding, and opened it.
But it wasn’t Emily on the other side. It was a footman with a silver tray. “I’m sorry to disturb you so late, sir. This came for you, and the delivery boy said it was urgent.”
Will took the folded white paper and closed the door. He recognized the hand who had written his name on the front. Bridget Kelly. He should have written to Cal as soon as he’d arrived, but it had slipped his mind. That was unforgivable and extremely unprofessional. No doubt the Kellys wanted an update on his progress to pass on to Baron.
Unless they had discovered something in his absence.
Will carried the letter to his desk, took out another sheet of paper, and began to decipher the code. As he’d expected, the Kellys had been concerned about him and had heard of the assassination attempt. Though the queen had kept it out of the press, even the palace was no match for the talents of Cal and Bridget Kelly. Cal requested a meeting at the coffee shop tomorrow. He wanted to know what Will had learned of Lady Averley’s role in the plot. And the Kellys hinted they had news of their own to share.
Will set the decoded letter aside and pulled out another sheet to write his response. He’d be at this half the night as he first had to write the thing and then code it. He’d better ring for tea. He stood to cross to the bell pull when another soft tap sounded on his door. Will frowned. Another letter? Or perhaps Palmerston wanted to see him again.
Will pulled the door open and any thoughts of work flew from his mind. A woman in a cloak stood on the other side. He stared at her for a long moment, until she pushed the hood off her pale blond hair and looked up at him.
“May I come in?”
Chapter Eleven
Will couldn’t have refused Emily if he’d tried. He didn’t think; he simply stepped aside and swung the door wide. She moved past him, bringing the fragrance of lavender and of the scent that was indefinably her.
She turned back, and he realized he was staring at her. Will closed the door and leaned against it, needing the support.
He hadn’t thought she would come. He hadn’t dared hope. But now she was here, and he had to clench his hands to keep from grabbing and kissing her. He had to at least pretend he was civilized. He couldn’t throw her over his shoulder and toss her on the bed. No matter how much he wanted to.
