Page 38 of After the Spy Seduces

“Better ask Spalding to raise your allowance!”

That last barb irritated the hell out of him, considering that his government salary was more than enough to provide a fine West End London living.

But all he could do was flash a bored expression and send a jaded glance around him. “Plenty of hours left before dawn. Why waste them here with the likes of you?”

Hoots and howls went up from the room in reply.

Kit slipped on his coat and walked out the door and into the damp air. Since the day he joined the Home Office, he’d let the world think whatever they wanted to about him. Cultivated that scoundrel persona, in fact. But he’d taken comfort in knowing the truth about himself. That had always been enough.

Until now.

Now, the pretense grated, and he had no idea how much longer he’d be able to continue this act.

He tossed a coin to a groom waiting on the footpath. “Fetch my horse.”

It was time to pay the Morgans another visit.

Chapter 11

“Hello there.”

The deep voice played down Diana’s spine like seeking fingers. She didn’t have to look up from her book to know—

“Christopher.”

Not daring to glance up from where she sat on a blanket spread across the lawn near the old dovecot, from where she could watch Meri as she played, she felt him approach and stop just behind her. He was near enough that she was certain she would feel his boots against her back if she simply leaned backward.

With a bored sniff belying the way her body tingled at his presence, she turned the page in her book and refused to look over her shoulder at him.

“If you spend any more time here at Idlewild,” she warned, “we’ll have to start charging you rent.”

She heard the rustle of fabric and the faint creak of his leather boots as he squatted down behind her. “I’d make a fine tenant farmer, I’ll have you know.”

“AndI’dwager that you don’t know the first thing about farming.”

She could almost feel his grin against her nape as he leaned closer to look over her shoulder at her book. “But I know a great deal about farmers’ daughters.”

She rolled her eyes and volleyed, “AndIthink you—”

“But not so much about generals’ daughters.”

Her heart stuttered. Then it turned somersaults against her ribs when he eased down to sit behind her on the edge of the blanket.

“Well, you’re in luck then,” she said coolly, “because there’s not much to learn.”

But her comment only caused him to chuckle in reply.

She grimaced. The man had been a downright nuisance lately. When he hadn’t been popping in for unannounced visits since the party to speak to the general, he’d been on her mind as she’d replayed all of their stolen kisses in her head. And dared to dream about doing more with him than mere kissing. Even when she’d been awake, the rascal had given her no peace, sending little gifts for apparently no reason…flowers for her, toys for Meri. She wasn’t certain if they were meant to be an apology or an attempt to charm her into his good graces so she’d more easily share whatever new information she might discover about her brother.

But it was the gift to her father that had made her speechless. Christopher had purchased a cabinet to replace the one that the Frenchman had smashed and had it delivered to the general, complete with a secret compartment.

When she thanked him by sending a note to his rooms at Albany in London, he replied in typical Christopher Carlisle fashion by sending her a second piece of furniture—a little wooden step stool. The attached message claimed that it might be of use the next time fireworks were shot off at a party and windows had to be used instead of perfectly good doors. She nearly chopped it into firewood right there in the front hall.

She could just see him from the corner of her eye, not daring to look fully at the devil, as he surely wanted. His leg was bent, his forearm resting across his knee. He must have come straight from the stables because he still wore his riding gloves, smelled deliciously of leather and horse, and the knee of his tan breeches was dusty from the road. Curiosity pricked at her to see if he wore a hat or if his dark blond hair was messed by the wind, his cheeks colored from the fresh air and sunshine. But she didn’t dare give him the satisfaction of turning to look.

The rascal leaned closer, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “Something tells me that there’s a lot more to you than what you’re sharing.”

Her breath hitched, yet she kept her gaze glued on the book, although she couldn’t have repeated a word of what she read. He was far too close for comfort, and in more ways than just his physical presence.