Jenna Petersen - [Lady Spies] (12 page)

Tristan’s mouth thinned as he let his gaze slip to Meredith a second time. “Meredith is difficult to overlook.”

Devlin barked out a triumphant chuckle. “You are correct on that score.” He paused. “I’m surprised you have not made your affections more known if you truly have a claim on the lady.”

Tristan’s scowl deepened as Meredith bowed to her partner with a light laugh and pushed a strand of hair that had pulled out of her elaborate style away from her eyes. He didn’t make his “claim”
on her more apparent because if he touched her once more, he wouldn’t stop. Because every moment he was near her, he walked a fine line between all the dangers he could expose her to with his presence.

Devlin continued, “You have walked together and you rode out a few mornings ago…but only briefly.”

Tristan’s gaze shot to Devlin. So, he had been collecting information on Tristan’s activities. Briefly, he thought of Philip’s warning that Meredith might be a test created by Devlin. No. It couldn’t be true.

“If your affection for the lady has waned, I would be happy to—”

“No!” A few people nearby swiveled their heads at his loud voice. Tempering his tone, he said, “No. In fact, I am dancing the next with her.”

He watched the other man carefully. Normally, his every move toward Devlin was carefully calculated. When it came to Meredith, though, he had to act on his feet. Devlin’s smirk broadened.

Bastard.

“A shame,” he sighed. “But I told you I’d stand clear of the lady while you were involved. It is my token of trust.” Now the smug enjoyment left his tone and his stare was more focused. “What will you give me in return?”

Clenching his fists tighter, Tristan spun on his heel and started across the ballroom. Anger tin
gled in every nerve ending, fed each blood vessel and vein. It coursed through him, bubbled at the surface. Only years of practiced control kept the emotion from overflowing.

Control and the sight of Meredith. Her latest dance partner had left her side. For the moment, she was alone, looking around, her blue eyes soaking up every part of the scene as if she were storing them in her memory for later.

He glanced over his shoulder. Devlin was watching, arms folded, his smug expression visible even from a distance. Without a word, Tristan clasped Meredith’s elbow. She gasped at the contact, and he had to hold back his own breath of surprise when electric heat snapped between them. Just this slight touch set his body at the ready. He could only imagine what the slide of her naked skin against his while he made love to her would incite.

He dragged her onto the dance floor and pulled her into his embrace just as the orchestra played the first lilting strains of the waltz.

Though she couldn’t see his face clearly behind the dark mask, Meredith had no doubt that the person who hauled her to the dance floor as if she were his to command was Tristan. She felt it in the spark that flickered between them. In the way her body swayed toward his, even though she
should have resisted his brute demands. In the heat of his body, which seemed to suffuse her pores.

Without a word, he caught her hand in his larger one. The fingers of his other hand spanned her hip, possessive as they spread and pressed against her body. She was branded by the burning heat of his touch, even through so many layers of silk and satin.

Catching her breath, she gathered her composure. She could not make a scene, but she had to regain some control over herself. For propriety if nothing else. By the curious glances in their direction, it was clear others had noticed the powerful way Tristan claimed her…and the way she did nothing to resist.

“Wh-What are you doing?” she gasped.

The heat of his breath stirred her cheek as the music began and he glided her into motion. Why did this dance have to be a waltz? At least in a country jig she would have space from him, not this tantalizing grazing of bodies with each and every step.

“You’re dancing the next with me,” he said in an even, matter-of-fact monotone. His voice said he didn’t really care. His eyes told a different story. Beneath the protection of his mask, desire flamed in the green of his stare. Could he see her answering need as clearly?

“I—” she began, intent on scolding him. On reminding him that he had not asked for such liberties and she was not his to claim whenever he had the urge.

“Shhh.” A smile tilted his lips beneath the mask edge. Something she so rarely saw that it halted her protests. “Dance with me. Don’t argue or analyze or bargain. Just dance.”

Her lips parted, but she stopped herself from retorting. This might very well be her last chance to be so close to him. To feel his touch.

If he was proven a traitor, he would be put away, or worse. Even if he wasn’t…even if all her hopes and desires came true and it was proven he had nothing to do with the painting’s disappearance, she wouldn’t find herself living the happily ever after existence of a fairy tale. She would know she’d lied to this man. She would know she used his family, suspected and investigated him and his friends.

That was too big a secret, too big a lie to keep between them. Not to mention the fact that she was an active spy. And she wanted to remain active. There was no way that would happen if she entangled herself with this man.

So this dance could very well be a dance of farewell.

She glanced up into his eyes and shivered beneath the burning focus of his scrutiny.

“Are you cold?” he whispered.

She shook her head, eye contact never breaking. “No.”

The music around them faded and the crowd on the dance floor began to thin. But Tristan stayed where he was, staring down at her in the middle of the floor, seemingly oblivious to the scene they were creating.

“Tristan?” she whispered, and her voice cracked with the feelings she was being forced to crush down. The hopes she couldn’t dare have for this man and her future.

He glided his hand to her face and his fingertips slipped beneath the edge of her mask to stroke her cheek. The touch was so intimate, so pleasurable, that she shut her eyes for a brief moment and held back a moan.

Before her shuttered lids floated images of everything she knew. The carriage with Tristan’s crest driving away from the scene of the robbery, his refusal to cooperate with an investigation, the encoded letters from Augustine Devlin and his suspicious private conversations with the man, the flyer from the auction house…they converged in her mind as one giant arrow pointing toward Tristan’s guilt.

Her eyes flew open and she pulled back from his embrace. “Thank you, my lord. Good evening.”

Turning, she bolted from the ballroom onto the
terrace outside. As the night air cooled her hot skin, she glanced up at Tristan’s bedroom window. She could not avoid her duty any longer. Not if it helped her distance her heart from the man and the damage he could do if she let herself care for him any more than she already did.

T
ristan’s door was unlocked. Meredith’s heart swelled with irrational joy at that fact. An unlocked door could mean he was a man with nothing to hide.

“Or,” she muttered as she closed the door behind her and pushed the mask she’d worn during the ball away from her face. She slipped it up to perch on the crown of her head. “It could mean he’s so sure of his cleverness, he feels no need to hide his misdeeds.”

With a sigh, she looked around. The sight of Tristan’s chamber gave her a shock. It was so
him.
Dark green paint graced the walls, a color not dissimilar from its owner’s eyes when they darkened
with desire. Certainly, she’d seen that desire a great many times since her arrival. And she ached for it, even though it was to her detriment.

Firelight flickered off the beautiful cherrywood furniture and drew her attention to the big bed that was the centerpiece of the room. With high pillars and a draping canopy above, it wasn’t something anyone could ignore. It was difficult not to imagine Tristan sprawled across the sheets with an inviting look in his eyes.

Or better yet, imagine them together on that bed with nothing between them. Lies. Investigations. Clothing.

She shivered. Those thoughts wouldn’t help her. She had to banish them from her errant mind. Now that she had made a cursory sweep of the chamber, it was time to deepen the search.

She moved to the chest of drawers, trying to ignore the reflection of that distracting bed in the mirror above the piece. Along the top were a collection of miniatures in gilded frames. She recognized the one of his mother first, done recently, judging from the style of her hair and gown. Next to it was another of a man she guessed was Tristan’s father. She had only met the man once very long ago, but she saw Tristan in his face.

There were three more young ladies represented in the little pictures. Tristan’s sisters. Each was wearing the white gown of a debutante, though
she knew them all to be married now. They were a handsome family. The only one missing was—

From the corner of her eye she caught sight of a little elevated platform on the corner of the chest of drawers. Edmund’s miniature was there, set off from the rest. She lifted the picture and examined the image more closely.

Unlike the portrait in Tristan’s office, Edmund wasn’t wearing regimentals. He seemed younger. This miniature was done in an earlier time, a happier time.

She set the picture back in place, but couldn’t tear her eyes away. What did Tristan see when he looked at his brother? A life taken too soon? Or one stolen by the government? Did he feel only regret, or a drive for revenge?

With a shake of her head, she turned away. No manner of investigation would ever tell her those things. They were matters of Tristan’s heart, his soul. Hidden in places she couldn’t touch…no matter how much she wanted to.

Her gaze flitted back to the bed. Her troubled thoughts faded as she moved toward it, trying to convince herself it was only to determine if any evidence was hidden there. But that was a lie.

She glided her fingertips from the foot of the mattress to the head of the bed, memorizing the feel of the soft silken coverlet that matched the green walls. When she came even with the pillow,
she found herself reaching for it as if she no longer had control over her limbs.

Slowly, she lifted it and breathed deeply. It smelled of Tristan. Clean and masculine, a mixture of potent male and fresh springwater. The combination made her knees go weak.

“What are you doing to me?” she whispered as she rested her forehead on the pillow in her hands.

The sound of the door opening behind her made her spin. Tristan stood in the doorway, his big, strong body framed by the brighter lights of the hallway lamps and candles. His hair was slightly disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it, and his mask dangled from his hand. He stared at her, eyes wide and wary. And wanting.

The pillow in her hand swished to the floor as their gazes locked. His lips parted and his eyes widened. And then they darkened, not just with surprise, but with that same desire that she feared beyond all measure. Especially now when she was standing in his chamber, touching his bed.

And she had no good explanation for why she was here.

“Meredith?”

The word was a question, but it was also a caress. The rough sound of his whisper reverberated down her spine, making every nerve tingle. She clenched her fists as if she could bodily fight the need he inspired.

When she didn’t answer, he took a slow step toward her. He left the door behind him open, the light from the hallway brightening the room and also offering her safety. As long as the door remained open, nothing could get too far out of hand.

“Why—” He cocked his head. “Why are you here?”

She swallowed hard as her mind went wild trying to find an answer to that question. What could she say? That she’d come to search his room for incriminating evidence but she’d be going now? Oh yes, that would be just perfect.

And there was no use pretending to be lost either. The family quarters were not housed in the same wing of the residence as the guest rooms. She would have to be a complete idiot to roam aimlessly into the wrong place and happen to stumble into his private chamber.

Aside from which, it wouldn’t explain why he had caught her with his pillow in her hand.

She sighed. There was only one reason she could give that would ring true. And it was the most dangerous explanation of all because it would force her to call upon the honest truth.

“There is something between us, Tristan.”

Her voice trembled, a reaction that was anything but forced. Saying those words out loud terrified her. And she hated herself for using the real, pure attraction she felt for him against him
for the sake of her investigation. It cheapened the feelings in her heart. It cheapened
her
in a way she never thought she would do for her country.

He stared, his face unreadable. Her heart pounded.

“Please tell me I’m not alone in feeling it,” she whispered, and this time her words had nothing to do with her case. She couldn’t bear it if she had misread his intentions, his kiss. Couldn’t bear it if he pushed her away as he had all those years ago.

“You are not alone,” he whispered. His voice was rough and husky with need.

Her relief at his words made her knees weak. She hated herself for it. For giving this potential traitor, this suspect, this man, so much power over her.

She took a deep breath. What she was going to say next was the most dangerous confession of all. She only hoped that when she said it, she could control what would happen afterward.

“I—I’m here because of that. I came because I can’t deny that attraction any longer. I don’t
want
to deny it any longer. Tristan—” She hesitated. “I want you.”

A breath, silent, dark, and deep passed between them as Tristan allowed Meredith’s shocking statement to sink in. Then a thousand thoughts assailed him. There were too many reasons why he should gently refuse her offer and send her to her room.

Instead, he reached behind him and placed a palm on the door. Without looking, he pushed it shut with a loud, echoing bang. Thoughts and reason faded, replaced by a clarity he hadn’t experienced since long before his brother’s death. For the first time in a long time he knew exactly what he wanted. Not what he needed. Not what circumstances or plans dictated he do. Just what he wanted.

Meredith. He wanted her to help him remember. To help him forget. Mostly he just wanted to lose himself in her touch, her scent, her taste.

Moving toward her, he drank in every detail. The way her eyes widened, the way her breath hitched as he stopped in front of her and tossed the mask in his hand toward the table beside the fire. He missed and didn’t care.

Slowly, he reached down to thread his fingers through the silk of her chestnut hair. Her own mask, which was perched so charmingly on her head, as well as a few hairpins that held her elaborate style in place, slipped away as he cupped her scalp and tilted her face up.

His last breath was a shuddering sigh as he let his lips meet hers. Her taste was familiar, warm. He nibbled her mouth, tugging her lower lip until she gasped with pleasure and deepened the kiss. He forced himself to take his time, matching his breath to hers as their tongues tangled and dueled. Her hands, which had been clenched at her
sides, relaxed as she lifted them and wrapped her arms around his neck. She rose to her tiptoes, taking the kiss even further and putting a sizable chink in the armor of his control.

“Slow,” he whispered against her mouth.

It was as much a warning for himself as a promise to her. He couldn’t remember the last woman he had in his bed. He certainly couldn’t remember a time when he desired one more. Perhaps because he had never wanted a woman like this. To the point where he would throw everything away for the solace she offered in her arms. Once he had feared that. Truth be told, he still did. But he couldn’t deny himself. He’d done so too long.

She smiled against his mouth and the urgency faded, though it still throbbed in the background like an ever-present heartbeat keeping time. Eventually he wouldn’t be able to ignore it and it would take over.

But not yet.

He gathered her closer, resting one hand in the curved small of her back while the other slid lower. Caressing, massaging as he cupped her hip, then around to stroke her backside through the maddening layers of her ball gown.

Meredith groaned low in her throat as he brought her hips flush to his own and let her feel the power of the desire burning in his chest. It was a feral, intense sound that seemed to vibrate through his entire being and send hot blood
pulsing even harder to the erection that now nudged her stomach.

Her fingers bunched in his hair as her kiss grew wilder. Tristan reached for the buttons and ties that held her dress together in the back. One by one he released the little rose-shaped buttons, feeling her skin heat as his hands stroked down. Finally her dress sagged and he peeled it forward until it dropped in a pool around her feet.

He sucked in a breath at the sight of her. He’d spent an inordinate amount of time imagining what Meredith would look like in this state, but the reality was even better than his most scandalous dreams.

Her chemise was the same pale pink of her gown’s underskirt, but it was nearly sheer, revealing the dark peaks of her nipples and hiding no curve of her body. When he reached for her, pure silk covering heated skin greeted his rough hands.

Meredith arched, lifting her breasts in mute offering. An offering he didn’t refuse. Meeting her bold stare, he gently cupped one breast, massaging the already taut nipple as her head dipped back and her body tensed with pleasure.

“Tristan,” she groaned, clenching his jacket as he lowered his lips to capture one thrusting nipple.

Meredith uttered a helpless cry as Tristan suckled her breast. Sensations she had all but forgotten roared through her, weakening her knees and sending hot desire to pool low in her belly, between
her thighs, at every sensitive nerve ending and in every heated part of her.

This was what she had feared. That her explanation that she wanted to give in to their mutual desire would spiral out of control before she could pull back. But it was also what she’d secretly hoped for. She recognized that now as his tongue did wicked things to her nipple and made her hips rock helplessly.

“Please,” she heard her voice whisper, but it seemed distant, foreign in its huskiness, its desperation. “Please.”

He drew back from her aching breasts to meet her eyes. The look he gave her was one of pure possession. A promise of pleasure. A pledge of fulfillment she had never truly experienced.

Dropping his mouth to hers, he guided her to his bed in stumbling steps. Then she was off her feet as he lifted her onto the mattress. Without arguing, she settled back on the pillows and watched him.

Through her hooded gaze she took in every moment. Tristan shrugged from his jacket and made swift work of the cravat knot at his throat. In an instant he stripped away his shirt, and her heart stopped.

She was no blushing virgin. She had seen a naked man before. But never had she looked at one and marveled at the beauty of his body. His shoulders seemed impossibly broad, strong and muscled, as were his arms. His entire upper body put
ancient statues of Rome and Greece to shame. None could live up to the specimen before her.

“I take it that stare is a compliment?” he asked with a low chuckle as he took a spot on the bed beside her and gently shut her gaping mouth by placing a finger beneath her chin.

“Touch me and see,” she whispered.

Tristan smiled, and just before he took her in his arms, she saw the flicker of a long forgotten rake in his eyes. Demanding. Powerful. Full of sexual need and energy.

And all hers.

His arms came around her, his mouth came down, and she melted. Every feminine part of her wept with anticipation, ached with a need that would be finally fulfilled. She hadn’t known she wanted to have a man hold her so badly, but when Tristan brought her close and she felt his heart pound against his chest, she realized she
had
missed this. The warmth and intimacy of a man’s embrace.

She explored, running her fingers through the fine dusting of hair on his chest. She smoothed her palms against the flat muscles there and smiled when his nipples hardened and he groaned into her mouth.

“Careful,” he whispered, catching her earlobe with his teeth and giving a gentle nip that made lightning bolts of pleasure burst before her eyes. “I might take that as a challenge.”

“This?” she asked, wicked as she grazed a thumb over his nipple again.

Before she could tease him further, Tristan pulled her into a seated position, grabbed the edging of her flimsy, pink chemise and pulled it over her head. She was bared to him. Naked as she hadn’t been for a long time.

And she loved it. Surrendering the careful control she had mastered over the years was terrifying and exhilarating at once. Especially when Tristan’s green eyes devoured her nude form as if he were a hungry man being presented with a never-ending feast.