Page 28 of After the Spy Seduces

“Not that way!” She stopped him with a panicked grab at his arm. “Or through the French doors. Someone on the terrace might see.” She gestured toward the casement window that led out to the side garden, where the light of the torches and lanterns didn’t reach. “Through there.”

He shot her a look of complete aggravation and loss of patience. Yet he blew out a breath as he gave in to her wishes and turned toward the open window.

“I usually sneakinthrough windows to scandalously embrace women, I’ll have you know,” he muttered half to himself and put his leg out the window. “This is the first time I’ve been forced to leave through one.”

“You’re planning on becoming a vicar.” She refused to feel guilty about his ignominious exit, even as goosebumps still dotted her skin at the heat of his embrace. “So this won’t be the last time you’ll exit through windows after embracing a woman. You’ll need to get used to it. Might as well start now.”

He harshly muttered something beneath his breath about Russians, brothels, and Sir Robert Peel that she didn’t understand and stiffly slipped out the window.

“Wait!” Impetuously, she ran to the casement and leaned out into the night. “That kiss—” She drew in a ragged breath. Doubts and longings all churned inside her, so fiercely that she couldn’t find any words of explanation. Except… “I’m sorry.”

He slipped his hand behind her nape and pulled her halfway through the window toward him. His mouth came down upon hers in a kiss so heated, so filled with raw desire that she whimpered.

He drawled wickedly against her lips, “I’m not.”

Then he was gone, vanished into the darkness.

She stared through the open window after him, lifting her hand to her kiss-hot lips and trying futilely to sort through the riot of emotions flaming up inside her. How could it be possible that the man who uncaringly bedded society widows and foolishly gambled away his allowance could be the same one who saved her at the tavern, the same one whom the general thought so highly of? The same man who kissed her with so much tenderness yet so much longing that he set her head to spinning?

Christopher Carlisle… Who on earthwashe?

The door opened behind her. Heavens, his departure had been close! Taking a deep breath to gather herself, she slowly lowered the sash and turned to greet the guests—

A hand clamped over her mouth. Beneath the noise of the exploding fireworks, no one heard her scream.

Chapter 8

Kit strolled casually through the dark garden to rejoin the party, taking the long way back in order to give himself enough time in the cool air to collect himself. Theverylong way. But overhead, blue and red flashes boomed into the sky. He snapped out a curse at the fireworks, at the men who had chosen that perfectly wrong moment to set them off, and at all of China for inventing them in the first damned place.

But the flashes of light and noise reminded him of cannon fire from his days in the army, which worked wonders in tamping down his lust. So did his chagrin over kissing Diana.

Again.

Just as she’d warned, the crush of partygoers had spilled outside to watch the fireworks, along with a small army of footmen who were carrying trays of champagne for the guests to toast Britain’s recent victory when the fireworks ended. They were all smiling and pointing at the sky, except for those few couples who had already used the excitement to slip away unseen into the dark recesses of the gardens for a few stolen moments. Most likely none of them had even given the drawing room a single thought as a place to view the fireworks. Most likely that had been nothing more than an excuse by Diana to send him away.

He didn’t blame her. Whenever he was around her, he behaved no better than the scoundrel he worked so hard to convince the world he was. Why she hadn’t slapped him yet, he had no idea. But if she kept letting him kiss her like that, the pleasure would be well worth the pain.

Grimacing at himself for his loss of control, he strode inside through one of the open doors framing the ballroom and made his way down the hall to the front stairs that twisted in gracefully carved mahogany up toward the first floor, where the general kept his study. He knew this house well, having studied it for hours tonight through the windows before he’d slipped inside to join the party, until he knew the location of every main room and hallway, every way out, and every guest who went in. He’d planned for all contingencies tonight.

But he sure as hell hadn’t planned on her.

Driven on by his frustration, he took the stairs three at a time to the first-floor landing, then hurried down the hallway toward the study. The floor was empty.Good.With his wits dulled by Diana’s kisses, the last thing he needed right now was another distraction.

Of course, it didn’t help that before he’d entered the party, he’d watched from the garden as she’d danced with one of the officers, how she’d given the man friendly smiles at his flirtations and moved gracefully in his arms. It might have been her third London season, with the gossips blathering on about how she was rapidly approaching spinsterhood, yet she was still an Incomparable, still coveted by society gentlemen across England.

He hadn’t been able to fathom the sensation he’d experienced when he’d watched her dance, but now he recognized it. Jealousy. And he felt like a nodcock because of it.

Concentrate, damn it!He had to get into the study, get the diary, and then get the hell out. Andstopthinking about Diana.

Replaying that mantra ceaselessly in his head, he cast a glance over his shoulder to make certain no one had followed him and opened the study door.

Inside, the room was lit by the glow of a lamp and the dying coals of a fire. Two half-filled glasses of port sitting on the desk and the lingering odor of cigar smoke told him that the room had recently been used, most likely by the general in some private conversation with one of his fellow officers. It also told him that he had to hurry so he wouldn’t be caught in a room that was off-limits to guests. That—coupled with his lack of invitation in the first place—would bring down a fierce interrogation by the general that he had no intention of experiencing.

Kit scanned his eyes around the room, searching for the cabinet where the general kept his papers, where he would most likely also find the diary.

He bit back a curse. He’d arrived too late.

He crossed to the tall hutch, with its glass doors holding stacks of books on the shelves above and rows of drawers with their brass locks forming the base below. Rather, what had once been brass locks but were now broken and wrenched from the front boards, the letter opener that had been used to stab and twist at them lying discarded on the rug. The drawers had all been ripped open, and now half of them dangled, warped and splintered, from being sprung open. Books had been knocked to the floor, with sheaths of paper strewn around them. The general’s manuscript pages. With all the noise and music from the party below, no one had heard the destruction.