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“You involved my sister in your espionage?” John accused when the spymaster arrived.

The old man waved him to silence.

“My house is as safe as yours, if not safer,” John said. “Every servant here has someone in peril now that Napoleon has escaped.”

The old man sighed. “Your sister is the best decoder I’ve ever had in my employ,” Lord Vernon replied. “Besides, she came to me. I’m an intelligent man. I know not to waste talent. Our country’s longevity relies on making use of its natural resources.”

“Am I one such resource?” Birdie asked. “I don’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted.”

“Be flattered, my dear, for I meant only to imply that you are a treasure,” the older man soothed.

Birdie rolled her eyes and handed Vernon the decoded message.

“Belgium, we suspected as much.”

Birdie deflated. She’d thought she had helped stop a war, but it seemed her contribution was negligible. As the men conversed around her, Birdie kept her thoughts to herself. It came as a surprise when they confided in John about the fake engagement.

“Father is unaware?”

She blushed. “We thought it best,” she replied, her voice subdued.

Thorne reached for her hand under the table and gave it a squeeze.

She met his eyes, giving him a shy, reassuring nod.

John did not agree, but he let his argument drop when Lord Vernon pointed out that they could not risk it becoming common knowledge. “The engagement is key to Thorne’s mission, and we both know how important his contacts are to our war intelligence.”

“Very well. I will keep quiet on this matter, but I do not approve.”

Each absorbed with their own thoughts, Birdie and Thorne rode home in Lord Vernon’s carriage. The spymaster waited in the carriage as Thorne escorted her to the door.

Exhausted herself, Birdie felt sympathy for her weary maid and sent her off to bed after she helped her undress. “Go, Tillie, get some sleep. I am sorry to have kept you out so late. I can get myself ready for bed.”

“My lady, I am at your service,” Tillie protested.

“I know, but I may have need of you in the morning and I would prefer you rested. You know what a stickler Mrs. Madison is. She will have you up at dawn.”

Tillie thanked her and hurried to her room.

Birdie, feeling once again the limitations of her gender and station, shed her multitude of petticoats until she wore only her chemise. She sat at the vanity and began pulling the pins from her hair.

“I always wondered how long your hair would be when it was down,” Thorne said from the heavy curtains.

She stared at his reflection in the mirror and shook her head. “If Papa catches you here, I’ll be a fake widow before I’m a fake bride.”

“Birdie…”

“What are you doing here, Thorne?” She turned to face him.

He swallowed, his eyes straying to her full breasts. He blushed and struggled to look away.

Birdie chuckled. “The notorious rake is blushing at the sight of a half-naked woman?” She stood and walked towards him.

Thorne swallowed hard. “You know it’s only a persona.”

“You are a fake rake as well as a fake fiancé?” she whispered and put her hands on his chest. “Why are you here, Thorne?”

He caressed her face, leaning close to brush his lips against hers. He whispered, “I don’t want our betrothal to be fake.”

She stared into his eyes, making a decision. She plucked the buttons of Thorne’s waistcoat.

He placed his hand over hers. “Birdie?”

“We do not know what the future holds. I will have my wedding night tonight.”

“Ah Birdie,” he breathed her name as he kissed the tears from her eyes and helped her with his buttons.

Thorne locked the door and shed his clothes.

They met in the center of the room, touching, kissing, exploring until their passions were too out of control to stop.

They fell together on the bed, joining bodies and souls in the heat of passion.

Beatrice bit Thorne’s shoulder to keep from crying out with her climax.

Thorne’s own climax threatened to expose them.

When they lay spent in each other’s arms. Birdie turned to him. “Is it always like that?”

Thorne shook his head. “I do not know.” He grinned. “I told you I’m only pretending to be a rake.”

“But surely you’ve…”

He shook his head. “I have seen too many suffering from disease transmitted from bed sport.”

“But your mistress?”

“Was just another lie I had to tell for my cover.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t very well be a rake without at least having a mistress.”

Tears filled Birdie’s eyes, and she stifled a giggle. “I was so angry with you that you could forget me so easily…” her voice cracked.

He pulled her close, kissing away her tears. “Never, sweet bird. I could never forget you. I told you long ago you were the only woman for me.”

She giggled against his chest. “We were six.”

“Yes, but I still feel the same way.” He kissed her. “I love you, Birdie.”

She sighed. “You must leave before they catch you.”

“And we are forced to wed?” He chuckled. Birdie helped him to dress interfering as much as assisting, until after several distractions, he was finally on his way.

Alone and bombarded by doubt, she could not help but wonder how she would trust a man whose very job depended upon him being a liar?