A Wedding In Springtime(40)

His arms around her rubbed her back. He wished to reach further down but dared not; he could not let this get out of control. Yet in plain truth, it was already out of control. Genie sighed and melted into him. There was no other word for it. She fit with him—warm, soft, perfect.

Genie looked up at him, her blue eyes deep and inviting. “I am quite warm now, thank you.”

Grant was beyond warm. He prided himself on his ability to avoid complications with the gentler sex, but with Genie, he was a stupid schoolboy.

“I think it is letting up a bit. Perhaps we should try again to make it to the carriage?” Her voice was airy, her breathing fast, and he could feel every time she inhaled, pressing her bosom against him.

“Perhaps,” murmured Grant. He did not care about the carriage or his reputation or anything except the blue of her eyes and the rose pink of her lips. He leaned down closer, slowly. This was the time she should pull away, but instead, she tipped her head up to him. This could not happen; it must not. He stopped moving and yet still drew closer. As if moving of their own accord, their lips met. For one beautiful moment, he pressed his lips to hers and a tingling shock coursed through his body, energizing, waking parts of him, stinging him to life.

He pulled back slowly, taking a gulp of cool, moist air. What was he thinking? “I should not have done that.”

Genie pulled back from his embrace and turned from him so her ugly bonnet hid her face. “I do apologize.” She ducked under the branches out of the protection of the tree.

“No, it was entirely my fault,” said Grant, though he did not wish to apologize for doing something he enjoyed, something he felt must be done. He followed her out from under the tree, where he was greeted by brisk winds and more rain. She would not look at him, keeping the brim of her bonnet down to hide her face.

He offered his arm and they walked briskly down the path, yet something sick and uncomfortable turned in his stomach. He stopped short, holding her hand. Still she did not look at him.

“It may not have been the right thing to do, but I will never regret having done it,” said Grant.

Genie turned to face him, her eyes liquid blue. “Me neither.”

He smiled at her.

She smiled at him.

And they both scampered to the carriage.





Fourteen





“You must understand that the code needs to be kept safe,” said Mr. Neville.

What the Duke of Marchford understood was that government agent Edmund Neville was terribly dull and fatally repetitive. Perhaps that was his training—drone on until his victim conceded just to make him go away.

“The document is safe, Mr. Neville.”

“But where is it? I must know!”

“The admiral has asked me to keep it safe and so I shall.”

“Is it in this study?” Mr. Neville glanced around at the mahogany paneled walls and scarlet brocade curtains until his eyes came to rest on the large mahogany desk. “At least assure me that it is kept locked.”

Marchford sighed. The man would never let him be until he got the information he wanted. He was irritated, but he understood the concern. The stakes were high, Napoleon was on the move, and so far he appeared unstoppable. Information about their enemies’ movements and plans could make the difference between success and defeat.

“The code is safe.” Marchford showed Neville a picture on the wall of a landscape and removed it. Behind the picture was a hole in the wall in which a metal box was kept.

“But what keeps a thief from simply removing the box?”

“Give it a try.” Marchford stepped back to allow Neville access to the box.

Neville cautiously gave the box a tug, but it did not move. He pulled with more force, but the box did not budge.

“Bolted to the wall,” said Marchford. “Designed it myself.”

“And the key? Where is it kept?” Neville examined the lock on the box.

“I keep it on my person at all times.”

“Even when you are entertaining a certain opera singer?” asked Neville.

“At all times. Anything more than that is not your concern.”

“Marchford, you are in the service of the Crown. I appreciate that you have done your best to protect them, but I must insist that the codes be handed over to me immediately.”

Marchford stiffened at the familiarity of the man’s address and the imperialist demands. He stood still, looking down at the man without speaking until the government agent squirmed in his oversized coat.