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‘T he list you gave me...well...’ She raked a hand over her face, then seemed to deflate into the collar of her dark coat. ‘The truth is I haven’t read it because...’

‘Because?’ She looked so bereft it was worrying him, although for the life of him he couldn’t understand why talking about a simple list should fill her with dread.

‘Can you keep a secret?’

‘A stupid question. I’m a spy, remember.’ As she seemed to need reassurance he reached out and used one finger to turn her head to face him. Lord, she was beautiful. ‘You can trust me with anything, Gem.’

She searched his face, then looked away, her words tumbling out. ‘The truth is I can’t read properly.’

Seb blinked twice, then ruthlessly forced his eyelids to remain static. He hadn’t expected that, but knew instinctively that if he said or did the wrong thing in response it would break her heart. He had never seen her so vulnerable. ‘Ahhh.’

‘I know that probably makes me stupid. I mean I know I am stupid. I can read a little bit. Painfully slowly as long as I put a ruler or my finger beneath the words, but the letters always seem to spin and swirl in front of my eyes and then I panic and they make no sense.’ There were tears glistening on her lashes now. Tears of shame which tugged at his heartstrings. ‘I’m not very bright.’

Utter nonsense. She was brighter than the sun and the moon combined. ‘I don’t think you’re stupid. Far from it, in fact. Actually, if you must know...’ He took a deep breath. Now might well be the opportune moment to bare his soul and admit his feelings. ‘I actually...’ Tell her, you useless fool! ‘...think you are fabulous.’

‘Now you are just being kind.’ The telescope went back to her eye in a brisk, no-nonsense, I-would-prefer-not-to-discuss-this-further way, but not before the single, fat tear she had intended to hide shimmered as it rolled down her cheek. ‘But I would appreciate your absolute discretion.’ She swiped the tear away with the back of her hand and the well-practised haughty tone she had first used to put him in his place replaced the uncertainty. ‘Nobody else knows. Not even my family. I’ve managed to convince them all I’m simply flighty since I was ten. Incomparables aren’t supposed to be illiterate.’ For her own protection she shuffled away and focused on the task in hand. That stoic bravery, buried in dismissive humour, was killing him. The knowledge she had entrusted the truth with only him humbling. And touching.

She had chosen him.

Above all others. Seb decided to take that as a very good sign.

‘You can’t read. So what? You are good at so many other things such a tiny flaw hardly matters in the grand scheme of things.’

She snorted her dismissal, shaking her head emphatically as if she firmly believed she was worthless, but was determined to rise above it. ‘Unfortunately I merely put on a good show. It’s all a facade. I can’t paint or embroider. I have no musical talent aside from the ability to butcher any piece I attempt to play. Obviously, I’m no scholar, which makes learning things impossible. I’m good at nothing aside from being pretty. That is the only talent God gave me and thank goodness for it, else I really would be done for.’ The saucy smile was all bravado and all credit to her acting skills, it almost reached her eyes.

Suddenly the vanity and the need to be admired made perfect sense. In her world, where the measure of a woman was determined by her accomplishments , Gem felt she had little to offer. She didn’t see what his heart saw clear as day. His arms ached to hold her so he could kiss the doubt away.

‘You are brave and tenacious. Maddening. Obviously, but only because you have a canny talent for being right more often than you are wrong. You have a way with people which I envy. A natural charm that makes them want to be with you. I’ve never known a person be able to think on their feet as quickly as you do, or to come up with excellent solutions so fast. The fake tryst when we were about to be discovered, for example, was the perfect ploy. You saved the mission. A mission that would have been shot in the paddock had you not stepped in and saved me from the outset. You keep saving me, whether that be navigating me through society or saving me from murdering my brother. You might not be an accomplished young lady, Gem, but you are a damn good spy. One of the best.’ She seemed to light from within at the compliment, dazzling him and knotting his damn tongue. ‘And...’ I think I might be falling in love with you . ‘His Majesty’s government owes you a huge debt of gratitude.’

The smile that bloomed on her lovely face warmed him, then her fingers touched the back of his hand and his common red blood burned hot with instant desire. ‘I suppose it does. Thank you, Seb. You always manage to make me feel better. You are a good friend.’

* * *

‘If they are going to offload tonight they had better be quick.’ Seb turned away to stare back through the telescope, his expression unreadable. The abrupt change of subject a definite reminder that he was keen to focus on his mission, not her problems and certainly not her conundrum over Westbridge.

And him. It was plainly obvious her growing confusion since the Duke’s unromantic proposal was mired in her feelings for Seb. Feelings so intense, Clarissa had to confront them.

She had certainly never confided her innermost secrets to another living soul before. Never dared! But for some reason she had just confessed everything. Had needed to confess everything, but only to him. A test perhaps to see if he could truly be trusted with all of her. Now she knew she could trust him, implicitly, there was more that urgently needed considering. All-encompassing and overwhelming new feelings. Was this born out of physical desire? Or was that desire, fuelled further by his sweet and loyal defence of her abilities, scrambling her wits and clouding her judgement?

‘The wind is picking up.’

Was it? Clarissa hadn’t noticed. She was too busy trying to make the most important decision of her life and the current situation wasn’t helping her do that. With hindsight, coming here had been a mistake. He was plainly too much of a distraction. How was she supposed to consider the Duke’s proposal with him lying beside her? Now that she had unburdened herself of her darkest secret and had been delightfully relieved at his calm reaction, she was becoming supremely aware of his big body next to hers with each passing minute. The clean scent of his cologne. His strong, capable shoulders. His clever lips. Kind, generous heart.

There was so much to like about her spy. Too much if she was being brutally honest. It both excited and befuddled her in equal measure.

They watched the rapidly brewing storm for several minutes in an odd, tense silence which seemed to weigh down the oilcloth which cocooned them. If Clarissa had to take a stab at gauging his mood, she would have to say he was angry, but whether that was at her babbling, Westbridge, the rain or the smugglers she couldn’t be sure. She wanted it to be about Westbridge because she was angry at him herself. Only a small proportion of that was down to his assumptive proposal. The rest was for all the things which had been quietly bothering her, but which Seb had succinctly put into words. Vocalising her doubts cast them in sharp relief.

Westbridge didn’t know her at all because he had never taken the trouble to learn. He did lack compassion and an overall awareness of anything outside of the bubble he lived within. He had left her dangling on the hook for months and was not the least bit remorseful for openly courting another woman while he made up his mind. She could never envisage confiding her darkest secrets to him because...well a duke who prized perfection above all else would be horrified to have been tricked into marrying a mirage. He was dull and cold and pompous, and she didn’t find him the least bit attractive. The idea of intimacies with him was distasteful and she was suddenly glad he had never bothered trying to kiss her.

Unlike the man lying next to her.

The one her errant body ached to kiss again. Why, if her heart’s desire was to marry a duke, was she so infatuated with Seb? And was it fair to dismiss what she was feeling as mere infatuation when both her head and her heart were screaming differently? The overwhelming need to be with him tonight, the worrying when he wasn’t around, the confessions, the scandalous thoughts involving his mouth and hers, the comfortable sense of rightness in his company, the complete immersion in him to the exclusion of everyone else when they were together... What did all that mean?

If all that was between them was a growing friendship, why was her body now reacting in a manner which suggested blatant carnal desire? The rapid heartbeat, skin newly sensitive and desperate to be touched, an intoxicating awareness of her own womb—all evidence of a woman who wanted a man. Should she be wanting another man when considering marriage to someone else? And more importantly, exactly what did she feel for Seb?

Gratitude?

Kinship?

Lust?

There was no denying the lust. While Westbridge might well be a stickler for propriety, Clarissa was prepared to concede that with Seb right at this moment, or during their one incendiary kiss, she had no such qualms. Lying next to each other almost touching, nothing but stark honesty and a few layers of clothes between them, every nerve ending was positively humming with lusty curiosity for this man who knew the real her and accepted her regardless. To truly be herself for the first time in years...

That was a heady aphrodisiac.

Should she tell him she had a tendre ?

Yes!

No.

Maybe... Just not now. He was working. Doing his duty—but once they were done Clarissa made up her mind to confess the final secret as yet unsaid. She wanted him. And she didn’t want Westbridge. There was no way she could settle for the sort of marriage the Duke offered, not when she would always yearn for her spy and those laughter lines.

‘I can see movement.’ Seb’s voice cut through her thoughts. He pointed to the furthest visible edge of the cliffs. ‘Look. Is that a ship?’

Clarissa stared intently, trying to separate the waves from the shadows in the blur of the rain. With no moonlight and the dense blanket of low clouds, visibility was poor to non-existent. It was the brief bright flicker which confirmed it, casting the bottom of the sails and the rigging in an eerie, lacy light for just a second before the sky was plunged into blackness once again. After that, it all happened quickly.

The answering flash on the cliffs was less than half a mile from where she and Seb were hidden, followed by the ghostly spectre of a ship gradually looming closer to the shore until it weighed anchor and bobbed several yards from the cliff on the storm-whipped waters below. From their vantage point it was impossible to see the thin strip of beach which separated the cliffs from the sea without emerging from their cocoon and risking being seen. There was no movement above, suggesting that whoever was waiting to meet the vessel had not come by route of the Downs. But their view of the ship was spectacular. Like ants, the crew swarmed across its deck. It was difficult to make out exactly what they were doing, suffice to say whatever it was it was being done in a great hurry. Within minutes, three large rowing boats drew up alongside the ship and were quickly involved in receiving whatever was being winched down to them.

Almost as quickly as it had arrived, the ship began to sail away while the men in the smaller boats rowed to shore and out of sight. ‘Stay here. I’m going to see if I can get a better view.’ Crouching low, Seb took himself to the edge of the cliff face and peered dangerously over the side to the steep drop beyond. The dratted man knew no fear, yet his carelessness terrified her.

‘Come back here!’

The wind ruffled his dark hair and blew her whisper back into her face.

‘Seb!’

Either he couldn’t hear or he was purposefully ignoring her, crouched as he was on the precipice while the weather billowed around him. There was nothing for it, she was going to have to drag him back. The wind, the cliff edge, the perilous rocks and churning water below were all too dangerous and making her nauseous. Things he appeared blissfully ignorant of. At the same moment she scrambled out of the oil skin, Clarissa felt all the tiny hairs prickle on the back of her neck a split second before the enormous fork of lightning split the sky overhead. The image burned itself on to her eyes, forcing her to blink to clear it, while the wind plastered her hair against her wet face. She swiped it away and then suffered the agonising pain of her heart ripping in two.

Because the edge of the cliff was eerily empty and the love of her life was gone.