Page 16 of How to Seduce a Viscount (Wed Within a Year #3)
‘I certainly could get it for you. Step aside with me for a moment.’ Wren tugged him into a short alley between shops and pushed him up against the brick wall while she had him off balance. She reached up on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, her tongue dispensing of the icing in a wicked flick.
His hands were at her waist and laughter, low and masculine, rumbled in his chest. ‘I did not see that coming.’
She laughed up at him, her arms about his neck. ‘Maybe you should have. It was exactly what you asked for.’
‘You make me want to forget about the dressmaker’s.
’ His eyes were dark, as they had been last night.
Full of want and desire. His mouth quirked in his devastating smile.
‘But I am on to you, Minx. That’s probably what you want.
Your seductive wiles are no good on me,’ he joked.
They both knew that wasn’t true. Even now, she could feel his arousal press against her.
‘Off to the dressmaker’s with you. We are not leaving here without a gown or two. ’
She turned serious. ‘Truly, Luce, I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather not be fitted for gowns, not with my stitches and scar,’ she confessed quietly. ‘It will be noticed. There will be questions and that can lead to talk.’
He nodded and she felt herself breathe easier. ‘Perhaps a compromise then. Ready-made? Will you tolerate that, Wren?’
‘Yes, readymade. Shall we seal the accord with a kiss?’ She gave a throaty laugh and he indulged her most delightfully. They were extraordinarily wicked together, kissing in an alley in broad daylight, but oh how fun it was.
They made short work of the dressmaker’s with two gowns packed in a box beneath Luce’s arm. They stopped to admire the window at the milliner’s who was also enterprising enough to sell gloves and other winter accessories. ‘Those shearling lined gloves would be good for sleigh riding,’ Luce noted.
‘They would be.’ Wren cocked her head to take him in. ‘Which brings me to something I’ve been wondering about all day. How is it that you have a sleigh? And don’t tell me it was just sitting in storage at the estate. This is not usually snow country.’
‘I brought it back from Sweden on my grand tour,’ Luce answered easily.
She wrinkled her brow in question. ‘Is that where you went? It’s an odd choice. Gentlemen usually go to France and Italy for the tour.’
‘War on the Continent made leisure travel difficult for several years. But Sweden was getting interesting and we had no eyes up there. Napoleon’s one-time marshal, Bernadotte, was king of Sweden, at Napoleon’s pleasure of course, until Bernadotte broke with him and joined the anti-Napoleon Alliance two years prior to my visit.
Grandfather felt it would be in our interest to cultivate a relationship with Bernadotte for the immediate future and beyond.
’ He slid her a look. ‘Grandfather believes foreign policy interests will shift northward in the coming years and we need to have strong relationships in place with our northern allies.’
‘So you went as a scholar and as an ambassador.’ She was doing the math in her head. Luce would have been nineteen, nearly twenty, in 1814. Fresh out of university and ready to join the Horsemen. ‘Your first mission was Sweden, although it looked to be something else entirely.’
He’d been up north working against Napoleon while his brothers, Kieran and Caine, had been on the Continent, working behind the scenes in the eye of the conflict.
Everyone in such covert circles knew the latter.
But Luce had been making vital alliances in Sweden—no one knew that.
Just as no one really understood his contributions to code cracking and the many lives his efforts had saved over the years.
Much like her own work. Unsung. They were alike that way.
Inside the shop, she settled on the shearling lined gloves but declined a winter bonnet on the grounds she had the hood of her cloak, much to Luce’s disapproval. But pretty bonnets were conspicuous.
‘I doubt you are this stubborn with my grandfather. He would not tolerate it,’ Luce scolded, moving her to the inside away from the curb as they made their way back to the livery. He was always protecting, even in small ways. Did he even realise he did it?
‘That’s different. He’s responsible for me.’
‘And I am his grandson, an extension of him. When he is not able to look after you, then it falls to me to act on his behalf.’ Luce adjusted the packages beneath his arm. If only all men were raised with these ingrained manners.
‘Do I need “looking after”? I knifed two men on your doorstep. I’m hardly in need of protection and gentlemanly manners.’ Nor was she terribly used to either. It was frightening new territory.
‘You are entitled to both, regardless,’ he replied tersely. He might have said more but at the moment three men came around the corner. Luce apparently recognised the bluff man in the middle immediately. ‘Vicar Paterson. These gentlemen must be the guests Lepley was telling me about.’
Wren froze, grateful for the anonymity afforded by her hood.
Her grip on Luce’s arm tightened in warning.
These men weren’t guests. They’d been in the pub with the others who’d followed her when she’d stopped to warm herself the night she came to Tillingbourne.
She regretted that decision. As a result, she’d been followed and stabbed.
Now the consequences of her mission continued to follow her here into this bucolic winter paradise, where just a few hours ago she’d foolishly felt safe.
It was a sharp reminder that her work wasn’t done, she hadn’t retired yet and the holiday was over.