Page 83 of Undercover Infidel

“God, yes.” I turned from the window, admiring how at home she looked in my—our—bedroom. She wore one of my jumpers over her trousers, the sleevesrolled up to her wrists, her dark hair pulled back in a loose knot.

She set the tray on the bedside table and pressed her palm to my forehead. “No fever. That’s good.”

“I told you I was fine.”

“The same way you told me you were ‘fine’ when you were bleeding internally?” Her tone was light, but I caught the shadow that crossed her face whenever she referenced those harrowing moments.

I cupped her cheek. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She leaned into my touch. “You’d better not.”

The domesticity that had developed between us over the past fortnight still astonished me. Lex had slipped into my life at Blackmoor as though she’d always belonged here—charming my staff and transforming my bedroom into a functional workspace when I insisted on reviewing intelligence reports despite her objections.

We took our cups to the sitting area by the fireplace, where I’d been reviewing the latest reports on Orlov. My muscles protested as I lowered myself on the sofa, a reminder that my recovery remained incomplete.

“You’re overdoing it,” Lex observed, curling up beside me.

“I’ve been sitting for hours. Walking to the window hardly counts as exertion.”

She raised a brow. “Those stairs to the battlements yesterday?”

“Needed fresh air.”

“And the inspection of the east wing renovations the day before?”

I grinned. “Architectural interest.”

“Stubborn man.” Her fond exasperation warmed me more than my coffee.

“You knew that when you agreed to stay.”

“I did,” she conceded. “Though I expected at least a pretense of following medical advice.”

Before I could counter, Bastion appeared in the doorway. “Lord Blackmoor, your guests have arrived.”

“Show them into the upstairs drawing room, please.”

Minutes later, we entered the room filled with the familiar voices of Tag, Ash, Sullivan, and Gus. The sight of them—my closest friends, my brothers in all but blood—brought a sense of completion to my recovery that medicine couldn’t provide.

“You’re looking less corpse-like,” Tag observed, dropping into a chair without waiting for an invitation.

“Charming as ever,” I replied.

Gus approached more cautiously, eyeing my bandaged torso visible beneath my unbuttoned shirt. “How’s the wound?”

“Healing. Doctor says another month before I’m cleared for field work.”

“Which he’s already ignoring,” Lex added, accepting a hug from Sullivan.

“Of course he is,” Sullivan said with a knowing smile. “Did you expect anything less?”

“I live in hope.” Lex’s dry tone made even Tag chuckle.

As they settled around the room, Mrs. Thorne arrived with refreshments—tea, coffee, and a selection of pastries that reminded me I’d barely touched breakfast.

“So,” Ash began once we’d been served. “I assume you want an update?”

I nodded, setting down my cup. “Someone mentioned new information on Orlov.”