Chapter 10

10

the misery of joy—a dangerous conversation— one bed too many—private eyes—rude awakenings

There is an order of mortal on the earth who do become youthful in their old age, and around whom everyone else is at risk of dying before middle age from sheer exhaustion. The Wisteria Society ladies were such an order—or, more accurately, disorder.

Alice had never met people so dedicated to the pursuit of happiness. She could not approve of this, nor of their determination to drag her along—literally, in the case of the conga. Oh sure, when off duty she enjoyed such pleasurable activities as giving the bedroom a good sweep and rubbing the entire body of her silverware collection until it shone. But wanton cheerfulness was like reading a book without first checking how it ended. The risk of surprise was simply too great.

Therefore, she was relieved when the pirates’ conga line finally ran out of steam and she could sneak away with Daniel. Being alone in a bedroom with him would secure against any form of pleasure.

They were almost to their door when a pair of housemaids, laden with folded sheets, noticed them. Gasping excitedly, the young women hurried over.

Alice and Daniel frowned with automatic disapproval. “Is what true?” Alice asked.

Alice glanced around to ensure they were alone in the corridor. “You are being indiscreet,” she chided.

But neither woman listened. Indeed, she’d barely finished speaking when the first said, “We heard you hijacked Miss Darlington’s house on the way here.”

Suddenly, Daniel reached out and removed the topmost sheet from the laundry of the woman nearest him. As everyone watched nervously, he unfolded it by half, realigned the corners, and refolded it with such precision its edges could probably be used to slice bread. He set it on the stack once more.

Pallid and trembling, the maids hastened away without another word.

Entering the bedroom at last, Alice locked the door and stood just soaking in the dimly lit quiet. As she inhaled on a slow count to three, she heard Daniel do the same. Together at four, they exhaled. Then Daniel checked behind curtains while Alice inspected under the bed, looking for thieves, tigers, or dust balls.

Eventually Daniel turned and, pressing the heel of his hand against his brow, looked at Alice in a way that suggested he was still seeing Mrs. Ogden’s bustle jiggling as the elderly pirate conga’d in front of him.

They both shuddered.

He looked back at her with an astonishment she had not thought him capable of. “What? No. Thank you, but I am familiar with their style of wit.”

His expression shut down, shoved a series of deadbolts into place, and set a stone atop itself. “It’s late. We should go to sleep in preparation for . . . God only knows what tomorrow.”

Alice could not argue against that. Taking her duffel bag into the washroom, she performed the usual ablutions and changed into a nightgown. She then paused for a series of deep, calming breaths.

Forget tigers and terrifying pirates—in a moment she would have to get into bed with Daniel Bixby. While she had earlier felt entirely untroubled by this, the stresses of the day—not to mention Daniel having kissed her, a kiss she could still feel, as if it had seared right through her tranquil layers to the very core of her being—made the prospect of sleeping next to him rather daunting.

She breathed in, breathed out. I am a professional woman, she reminded herself. Besides, lying next to a man in bed is the same as standing next to him in a public room, only horizontal.

And alone.

And significantly less dressed.

Finally, becoming dizzy from all the calm breathing, she re-entered the bedroom.

And halted so fast, her heart reverberated.

Daniel stood with his back to her, folding clothes. He appeared to be wearing some species of undervest that clung to his body and left his arms exposed to view. Not that Alice was viewing him. As a lady, she did not do such things. As a lady, she stared determinedly into the middle distance. The tiny brown specks in her vision must have been dust motes and not the freckles on his shapely bicep. Fiddlesticks!

Then he turned toward her, and the bold contour of his groin beneath long, tight underwear took her fiddlesticks, snapped them into pieces, and made of them a roaring bonfire.

Daniel had sensed Alice enter the room and had taken longer than usual folding his shirt, so as to ensure the aforementioned contour did not develop too steep an angle. Never mind her prettiness—the very aura of her, so determinedly tranquil, lured him out of cool professionalism and into the fires of lust. He’d been struggling ever since kissing her in the parlor, a kiss that had left his lips feeling bereft and his body murderous. To be alone with her now was proving harder than he’d expected—in more ways than one.

There was really no point in him wanting the woman. A.U.N.T. would never let him have her. They would see him almost self-destruct rather than allow him to fulfill any personal desires that might intrude upon his effectiveness as their agent. And although lust had always before been about scratching an itch, nothing more, in this case he feared it might take him somewhere deeper, somewhere painfully impossible. So he would just—not—want. Simple as that.

Getting his body to understand proved less simple.

Finally, by dint of careful breathing, ruthless self-control, and envisioning Mrs. Kew in a fluffy pink bed jacket, he was able to turn and look at Alice.

And hastily allowed the shirt in his hands to unfold, its length falling like a protective shield, since his body considered the idea of self-control for all of two seconds before rejecting it utterly.

Alice was dressed in a voluminous white nightgown even the most censorious observer would deem puritanical. But it was Daniel’s job to be highly observant, and he needed only one glance to appreciate that the nightgown was not so much puritanical as oh damn, sinfully tempting. White roses embroidered on the bodice seemed to flutter and sway against the gentle swell of her breasts as she breathed. And the heavy drape of linen did not prevent him from being all too aware of what lay beneath, or how easily it might be accessed, one hand reaching under the loose garment while his other plucked the roses . . .

Their eyes met, then looked away, leaving Daniel feeling blistered.

Daniel glanced at her. She had plaited her hair, and he wanted to untie the ribbon holding it together and slip his fingers between the twisted strands, feeling the braid come apart for him . . .

Hastily, silently, he recited several mathematical theories until his blood cooled. Then he ran a weary hand over his head and down to the nape of his neck, massaging the taut muscles there.

Alice, staring at his bicep, reiterated firmly, “I will sleep on the sofa.”

She frowned. “I will not. Gender has no role here. The senior officer makes the sacrifice.”

Daniel had never heard anything more ominous.

The bedroom’s sofa was an elegant Georgian creation, mahogany framed with scrolled ends, stiff cushioning, and such richly embroidered upholstery that it made a person scratchy just looking at it. Alice and Daniel arranged themselves upon it as comfortably as possible—which is to say, not at all—wedged at either end.

He raised an eyebrow (and tugged the quilt once more). “Are you calling my legs gross?”

And an abrupt silence stunned them both. They stared at each other with a kind of primitive shock that slowly, inexorably, became electric.

Alice hated to agree with him, but in fact she felt exhausted. Determined, however, to maintain at least one point of superiority, she claimed the final word: “Good night.” And she reached for the nearby table lamp to extinguish its light.

Her hand paused, mid-reach. “Sleep well,” she said emphatically. After a moment’s silence, she took hold of the lamp’s valve.

Alice frowned. “Pleasant dreams,” she snapped, and plunged them into darkness before Agent B could say one more thing.

For a long while thereafter, the quiet swayed with their rhythmic breathing. Rain against the window whispered gently; the fire was no more than a heap of smoldering coals. Finally, Alice sensed Daniel had drifted into sleep, and she exhaled with relief. (Internal relief, that is. Externally, her hip ached, her shoulder was angled uncomfortably, and there was no easing the hot ache between her legs.) Now at last she might rest.

She almost fell off the sofa. Good grief, what on earth were the pirates doing out there?!

Hhshhh.

Now her heart was the one to fall. The soft noise at the other end of the sofa alarmed her more than the scream in the corridor. Was Daniel awake again? What was he doing? Adjusting his pillow, or turning so he faced her?

Fiddlesticks. She was never going to sleep tonight.

Dawn eased into the rooms of Starkthorn Castle like a witch come to tidy away the darkness and, while she was at it, steal a few dreams. Daniel woke abruptly, completely. His mind recollected the locations of his weapons even before it emerged from its usual vague nightmares. It straightened the files of his existence, bookmarked a few bodily needs, then opened his eyes.

And pieces of cognition flew everywhere.

He was crammed into the very end of the sofa, his torso tilted awkwardly back, his feet on the floor where the quilt had fallen, and Alice curled up with her head resting in his lap. Daniel could feel her slow, warm breath through the linen of his underwear. Instantly, the pillow she had made for herself became rock-hard.

Damn. He needed to get distant from the woman, and fast. Attempting to slide a hand beneath her head, he froze as she cuddled one of his legs with the endearing warmth of a woman and the strength of a well-trained assassin. He tried to count, but what the hell were numbers again? Alice murmured in her sleep, nestling closer, and he groaned.

At the sound, Alice jolted suddenly. She was upright on the floor before Daniel even processed that she was moving. A bare, rose-scented foot set itself against his throat, and only the fact that she was English, and therefore sporting, saved Daniel from the disagreeable effects of her applying a fatal pressure at once.

She blinked dark, heavy eyes, her vision coming into focus . . .

This sudden cheerful call was followed by a violent hammering upon the bedroom door. Daniel and Alice stared at each other for one frozen moment. Then a mutual realization of what they must do blossomed wordlessly between them. Daniel clutched both hands around Alice’s ankle and twisted.

She collapsed facedown on the quilt. As she began turning over, Daniel dropped from the sofa to join her, and instinctively, briefly, they wrestled. Within short order, Daniel found himself lying atop her, gripping her wrists over her head.

He frowned. This situation was as opposite to “getting distant from the woman” as possible without him actually being inside her—and that was a thought he did not want to be indulging right now.

Alice’s face reddened as she looked up at him. Daniel watched her expression flash bright for one moment with caution—then shyness—then stark, desperate yearning. The pulse in her wrists began shuddering against his palms. The swelling between his legs throbbed. He lowered his head toward her, and she rose to meet him.

In aching silence, their lips touched—

The bedroom door slammed open.

Daniel forced a piratic smile on his lips, although they were tingling so much from their brief touch upon Alice’s, he struggled to control them. But he must have been successful, for the two ladies began backing toward the door.

Mrs. Rotunder muttered something under her breath as she pushed Mrs. Ogden out the door and closed it behind them. Laughter could be heard trilling in the corridor.