Sweetest Little Sin (5 page)

Jardine could have any woman for the asking. It was an embarrassment, the way ladies of the highest breeding threw themselves at him.

Louisa’s heart stamped like a spoiled child, cried that he
had
wanted her once. He
had
!

She might not be his equal in looks and social status, but Jardine had made promises to her. He had committed himself.

Perhaps he’d regretted it later, but no one had held a gun to his head all those years ago. Just because she felt inadequate, undeserving, didn’t mean she needed to accept her congé and scuttle back to her hole like a frightened mouse. He’d made promises and he’d broken them.

She summoned all her strength to stop her voice shaking. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

Furious, defiant, she lifted her chin, stared straight into those brimstone eyes.

“You utter scoundrel, Jardine. I am your wife.”

SILENCE spun between them, and it seemed to Louisa that her heart cringed and cowered, withered just a little, while she waited for his answer.

When Jardine spoke, he seemed to choose his words carefully. “
You
would be wise to forget that circumstance, Louisa.”

“Strangely, it is not the sort of thing one forgets.”

His lips twisted into a smile that mocked her cruelly. “I will try my utmost to do so, I assure you.”

The blow almost felled her spirit entirely. But she couldn’t bear to become pitiable in his eyes.

From somewhere, she managed to dredge up a thin thread of pride. “You have denied our connection and I have borne it for years. I kept this marriage a secret because I didn’t wish to suffer the humiliation of an abandoned bride and I knew my brother would hunt you down and kill you if he heard how you used me.”

She paused, ignoring the insolent lift of an eyebrow that disputed Max’s ability to carry out such a plan. “But that is over now.”

She drew herself up so straight that she might shatter from the tension in her spine. “I want a family of my own, Jardine. Acknowledge me as your wife, give me a child, and I will agree to live separately from you.”

“And if I don’t agree to this?”

What then? she wondered. Remain in this shadowy state for the rest of her life? Divorce was out of the question.

Abruptly, he said, “Is there someone else, Louisa?”

Louisa nearly slapped his face. “No!” How could he ask that?

At her answer, his body relaxed a little. But he remained implacable, his voice taking a harsh note. “Understand this, my dear: You and I never married.”

She fell back apace. “What? What are you saying?”

“There is no evidence of our marriage in existence. Even if you told the world you are my wife, you could never prove it.”

“But . . .” Inside, she was falling, flailing as if she’d toppled from a cliff. “All these years? Are you saying the ceremony was a sham?”

He seemed to take more interest in inspecting his fingernails than in their conversation. “Oh no, the wedding was real enough. But you’ll never be able to prove it occurred.”

“Never? But the parish register . . .”

He spread his hands. “Regrettably, the register was lost in a fire.”

“The vicar who married us . . .”

“I believe he moved to America upon receiving an inheritance.”

“You paid him to go, you mean.” She sucked in a breath. “But there were witnesses. My maid and your valet.”

“My valet will deny the marriage ever took place. And who will believe your maid, even if you can find her after all this time?”

Sally had been offered a better position and taken it. Louisa wondered now if Jardine had engineered that defection. He must have, the swine!

But name-calling brought no relief from the corrosive disillusionment that ate at her heart. Clearly, she’d been wrong about many, many things.

She struggled to catch her breath, turned away to hide the pain. Shaking with the need to dam the sobs that flooded her chest, she bent to pick up her mask and her cloak.

He didn’t offer to assist her, so she shrouded herself in the voluminous blue domino, tied the strings, and quickly secured her mask. Thus disguised, Louisa raised her gaze to Jardine’s face. He swayed slightly, white to the lips.

Anger shot through her despair. Charming! He looked like he might cast up his accounts any minute. Now that would be a perfectly styled finis to their . . . entanglement.

But his eyes . . . Did she imagine a look in them so lonely and lost that her heart squeezed with helpless pity? Despite her crushing disappointment, she had a fierce urge to stay and take care of him, to smooth a gentle hand over his brow.

How could she even consider it? How could she have so little pride? Repressing the sudden impulse, she headed toward the door where he stood, her gaze lowered so as not to meet his eyes. Her farewell was a soft choke in her throat.

“Let my man drive you home,” said Jardine, halting her. “He’ll take a roundabout way, just in case.”

Nodding her acquiescence, she wondered vaguely that he could think of such minor details as her physical safety when her world had fallen apart.

Louisa paused, drew her underlip between her teeth, then let it go. “Jardine—”

She looked up to see his gaze fixed on her mouth. His dark eyes had the Devil in them, hot with intent. He gripped her chin between his long fingers to hold her steady.

Faint inner warnings told her to pull away. It was undignified to crave his kiss when he’d dismissed her so cruelly.

But she stood willing, yearning to have his lips on hers one last time, whatever the cost to her pride. His head dipped lower, his hair falling forward over his brow. She tensed, then softened, her lips ripening with longing for the kind of ravishment his darkened expression promised. If only she could make him want her again.

He was so close, his warm breath caressed her sensitive skin until it tingled. Everything inside her opened, pulsed, rushed with heat and powerful excitement. She didn’t want to move or make a sound in case she broke the spell. But she couldn’t control her ragged breathing or the small sob that caught in her throat as he hesitated that short distance from her mouth.

At the sound, he blinked, as if he were the prince of a fairy tale suddenly waking from enchantment. Long black lashes swept downward over the dark heat of his eyes and his sensual mouth curved into a sneer. At her or at himself, she didn’t know. He drew back, letting cool air rush between them.

“Jardine?”

“Go, Louisa.” His harsh voice ripped her in two. “Get out.”

With a vicious curse, Jardine turned on his heel and strode away, leaving her to find her own way to the door.

Louisa remained where she was. Her hands were shaking, she realized. The rest of her trembled, too.

Suddenly, she felt weak, hollow with grief. She spent moments in that room gathering the shreds of herself together. Made herself wait until she could summon the appearance of calm. She would not slink out of here like a whipped cur or run like a thwarted child.

“Madam?” The imperturbable Emerson entered quietly. “The carriage awaits.”

She managed to steady her thoughts, her voice. “Thank you.”

Pressing her mask firmly in place, Louisa picked up her skirts, threw her shoulders back, and swept from the room.

A small, pitiful part of her hoped Jardine would regret his atrocious behavior once he’d slept off his overindulgence.

It wasn’t until she stepped into his carriage that she realized.

She hadn’t smelled alcohol on his breath.

“HELL and damnation, it’s the middle of the night.”

Jardine put his hand up to shield his stinging eyes from the light.

Emerson set the candle he carried beside the bed. “Mr. Faulkner’s here, my lord. You said I was to let him up.”

Jardine grunted, shifting a little against the bank of pillows behind his head, trying to find a cool space. His injuries had resulted in a fever that had simmered for three days. He felt weary to the bone, and irritable as hell, but as soon as he’d regained his wits, he’d sent for Faulkner.

“Bring him in.” He scowled down at the nightshirt some idiot with a sorry sense of humor had put on him. The effort of donning a dressing gown seemed beyond him.

When Faulkner entered, Jardine didn’t bother with pleasantries, nor did Faulkner ask after his health.

“You were right,” said Jardine. “Radleigh is the one putting that list up for sale.”

“Ah.” Faulkner drew a chair toward the bed and sat, tossing his hat and gloves onto the counterpane. “Who told you that?”

“Never mind who told me. My informant’s dead anyway. They killed him and then they started on me.” Jardine frowned. “But Radleigh’s not the man I want. I hear our friend Smith has been busy running guns all over Europe.” He raised his gaze to fix on Faulkner’s world-weary eyes. “But now he’s back in England.” His hand clenched around the bedclothes. “I want Smith’s balls on a platter, Faulkner. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.”

“What have you got?”

Jardine had surprisingly little, in fact. A whisper here, a rumor there. But he had a highly developed intuition where his old nemesis was involved. “A feeling in my gut.”

“This feeling wouldn’t have been what clouded your judgment that night?”

Jardine’s head jerked up. “What?”

Unabashed by Jardine’s flat tone, Faulkner cocked his head, considering. “Uncharacteristically careless, weren’t you? Getting captured and almost killed? I wonder why.”

Louisa
. Jardine didn’t allow himself to think of her, didn’t let the pain of that final meeting show on his face. “Happens to the best of us. I got away, didn’t I?”

“Your cover is blown. They delivered you to your own home, Jardine. They know who you are. You’re no good to me as an operative anymore.”

Jardine repressed a sneer. Faulkner ought to know that it had been many years since Jardine acted for love of Crown and country. He cooperated with Faulkner when it suited him to do so. What was Faulkner up to now?

“I never worked for you, old man.” He smiled, showing teeth. “I’m going after Smith.”

The older man shrugged. “Oh, by all means. It’s your funeral, of course.”

“You know you need me to get to the bottom of this,” Jardine pursued. “A full list of operatives working for the British secret service . . . If that got into the wrong hands, there’d be hell to pay.”

“It already has,” said Faulkner heavily.

Jardine frowned. “The question in my mind is how complete is the list and who made it? Heads are going to roll over this if I can’t get it back. It might already be too late.”

“The list is in code—”

“Yes, and that’s what code breakers are for. How did such a document ever come to be made?”

Faulkner cleared his throat. Even in the mellow candlelight, his face appeared pale and strained. “Money. Someone followed the money, traced payments. It must have taken years and a lot of patience to build that list.”

Jardine leaped on that detail. “But I’m not paid by the government so I’m not mentioned, correct?”

“Forget it, Jardine. They know who you are. You’re finished.”

Not by a long shot.
But Jardine merely shrugged. If he had to work alone, so be it. He needed to get that list.

The head of operations put on his hat, took up his gloves, and slapped them in his open palm a couple of times. A hint of emotion glimmered in his eyes. “I won’t say au revoir. I doubt we’ll meet again.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked out of Jardine’s life.