Sweetest Little Sin (37 page)

A face appeared at the window. Louisa gasped. “It’s Faulkner.”

Of course. It had been Faulkner who had told him of this place, after all. Grimly, Jardine said, “He’s got a hide showing up here.”

“I suppose I ought to be glad that he got the list, even if he did leave me for dead at that confounded temple.”

Grimly, Jardine jerked his head, opening the door. “Come on. By the time I’m through with that bastard, he’ll . . .”

Left her for dead . . .
Jardine froze on the threshold. He had wanted to tear Faulkner apart with his bare hands for that piece of callous stupidity. Why bring someone like Louisa into the middle of that business? Why ask for her help in the first place?

Faulkner always had a reason for everything. Nothing he ever did was on a whim.

What if involving Louisa in this mess hadn’t been stupidity at all? What if . . . ? What if Faulkner had delivered them both to Smith in exchange for that list?

“Jardine, what is it?”

Smith’s final words, his smug laughter. That’s what he’d meant. Lord, why hadn’t Jardine seen it for himself? Faulkner had involved himself personally in this business because that list was his death warrant. He’d written it. He’d been one of the few men in a position to know the information it contained.

“Bloody
hell
.”

“What?” Louisa stopped, and Jardine turned her in his arms so that he was between her and the small entryway.

He pretended to kiss her, whispering in her ear. “Faulkner betrayed us all. He wrote that list. He’s here to find out what we know. He might be here to kill us.”

A rumbling cough sounded from beyond the open doorway. “When you’re quite finished, Jardine, I’ll have my report.”

So this was how he was going to play it. Jardine took his time finishing the kiss. Then he lifted his head. Ignoring Faulkner, he said to Louisa, “I’m famished. How about some more of that soup, darling?”

His voice was light but his eyes were fierce on hers.

For once, she obeyed him, moving quickly toward the kitchen.

With a short exhalation of relief, Jardine turned and went to lean on the doorjamb of the small parlor where Faulkner sat.

The place no longer seemed cheerful and cozy; the lengthening shadows as much as the man who sat there in the semidarkness made Jardine’s hackles rise.

Faulkner’s brows lifted. “It seems you and Lady Louisa are better acquainted than I was aware.”

You know exactly what our relationship is, you bastard.
Jardine had had enough of talking. He went to Faulkner, picked him up by his shirt, and planted him a facer that sent the older man hurtling back into his chair.

Hell, but Jardine wanted to kill the traitor then and there. But all he had was suspicion, circumstantial evidence. Without proof, he had no recourse against Faulkner. Better to let him think them both ignorant, then Louisa would be safe.

He gripped Faulkner’s coat in his fists. “You took Lady Louisa into a hopeless situation and left her there. What the hell were you thinking of?”

Jardine saw the exact moment when Faulkner registered that Jardine had failed to make the connection between him and that list.

Satisfaction burned in those hard gray eyes. “You, of all people, know that we do what must be done, no matter what the personal cost.”

Not anymore.
With a contemptuous sneer Jardine loosed his grip on Faulkner’s coat and let him fall back in his chair.

The older man warmed to his theme. “The trouble with most failed operatives, Jardine, is that they want a private life. They want family, a safe haven from the ugliness of corruption and betrayal. You and I both know that simply isn’t possible. Once you have soiled your hands with the blood of your own countrymen, you can never live in innocence again. Everyone you love leaves, or is lost, or damaged or tainted.” Faulkner smiled grimly. “Just look what happened to Lady Louisa.”

Rage boiled inside Jardine at this blatant attempt at manipulation. Corrosive remorse and anger had been wearing at his soul ever since Radleigh had made that terrifying incision on Louisa’s face. Faulkner sought to capitalize on that weakness, just as Jardine had taken advantage of Radleigh’s social ambitions to bargain for the agent list.

But for the first time, underlying all the guilt and self-recrimination was a sweet, wholesome sense of certainty. Louisa had not only survived the past few days but emerged stronger, his wonderful warrior woman. Strong and steadfast. She would not fail him. Her innocence was gone, and he would never forgive himself for it. But while she loved him, he had hope of forging something good and lasting between them.

Faulkner gave a snort and half closed his eyes. “Ah, you’re all the same.”

That cynical complacency galled Jardine so much he wanted to rip the man apart. Quietly, he spoke. “Do not rest easy, old man. For what you did to Lady Louisa, I will make it my life’s work to bring you down. Now get out.”

Faulkner sneered. “Might I remind you that this house is Crown property—”

“I said get
out
!”

Louisa returned at that point with brandy and glasses. She handed a glass to Jardine and glanced inquiringly at their unwanted guest.

Faulkner rose a little unsteadily, but Jardine just knew the bastard was dancing a jig inside.

The old man gave one of his rare smiles. “That’s quite all right, Lady Louisa—or should I say, Lady Jardine? I have what I came for.”

He left the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

Jardine hurled his glass at the wall.

LOUISA left the mess. She poured a brandy for herself and sank into an armchair, took a long, fiery gulp, and rested her head back against the chintz-covered cushions.

She ached in every conceivable part of her body. The wound in her cheek throbbed like the Devil. At least she seemed to have escaped infection. That was a boon, indeed.

Her mind drifted, and the events preceding this night seemed to haze and blur into unreality until her brain couldn’t grasp even the merest wisp of reason. She needed to think, but that required too much effort. She needed to talk to Jardine, too, but he’d gone off somewhere, too furious for company, even hers.

Perhaps he was avoiding her. It was possible, after all, that he still thought they had no business being together. How like him to withdraw from her after they’d faced such a danger, even though they’d won.

But she was tired, battle-weary, and sore, and she couldn’t deal with him now. It was getting harder to think every moment.

She closed her eyes, and at the last instant before she slept, Louisa knew a deep satisfaction.

Everything would be all right. This time, she would fight for him. This time, she’d win everything she’d dreamed of for so long.

WHEN Louisa roused, there were hands on her body. Large, elegant hands, gentle hands, smoothing away her clothing, releasing her torso from stays, easing her shift over her head.

She lay on sheets that smelled of sunshine. She murmured and turned her face into the pillow. Strong arms dug into the ticking beneath her and lifted her up, and her heart swooped and soared.

She opened her eyes and saw a steaming hip bath before the fire. Turning her head, she looked up at the stern, troubled face of her bearer and couldn’t stop her smile bursting forth.

He’d done this for her. While she’d slept he’d built a fire, drawn water and boiled it, carried it to the bedchamber so she could sink into this delicious bath.

A lift of his lips acknowledged her smile, but his eyes remained dark and bleak.

He lowered her gently into the bath, wetting his own cuffs as he did. He was travel-stained and rumpled, yet he exuded masculine beauty so vivid and powerful that it hurt her to look at him. Yet, she couldn’t look away.

“Soap,” he muttered, hunting around in her discarded garments. “Here. I couldn’t find a flannel or a sponge.”

She thought he’d give her the soap, but instead, he dipped the small cake in the water and lathered it between his hands.

“Hold this.”

She took the slippery cake and watched as his hands slid over her, giving particular attention to her breasts, laving their peaked nipples, skating over their swells, palming them, squeezing gently.

She arched back with a cry, her lips parted and moist. He touched her, skillfully, sinfully. He parted her legs and used his fingertips inside her and out until she shuddered and gave a gasping cry.

Later, warm and dry in those sun-drenched sheets, she felt the mattress depress as he climbed in next to her.

She ran her hand over his chest.
My love
. She smiled.
You don’t have to be alone anymore.

He rolled toward her and sighed, and he slept in her arms like a dead man until morning.

JARDINE woke and found himself staring directly into a pair of startling blue eyes. No matter how often he looked at her, every time, those eyes pierced him anew.

They were fierce, those eyes, and he couldn’t quite believe he was waking up with them and the person who owned them next to him. Perhaps it was selfish, but nothing would stop him claiming her now.

“I owe you an apology,” she said, and with delight, he realized why she looked particularly fierce this morning. Louisa hated to admit she was wrong.

He lifted himself on one elbow, and his gaze dipped. For a moment, he was distracted by the lushness of her mouth. Her lips pressed together in a determined line.

Jardine forced himself to raise his eyes to hers, dutifully ignoring the stir in his nether regions. He didn’t want to miss this. “Yes?”

“I—I never quite understood what it was that you did. When he forbade us to marry all those years ago, Max told me you were a cold-blooded killer.” Her brow puckered. “But that’s not the case, is it?”

He said nothing, merely waited for her to go on.

“All I knew was that your Home Office work stood between us. Like a child, I only thought of myself and what I wanted. I wanted you to stop.”

“Understandable. Louisa, really, you don’t have to—”

She held up a hand. “Don’t interrupt me, Jardine. You know how I hate to be wrong, so let me get this over with.”

She snagged her underlip between her teeth, then released it. “I know now that your work is important and worthy of respect, that you have killed, but it wasn’t easy and never cold-blooded.”

She paused. “I know you didn’t murder that boy. I knew it in my heart at the time, but I was so furious and hurt that you continued to choose this life over me . . . Everything became hopelessly tangled.”

She raised her eyes to his. “I won’t be so selfish again. Let me share your life in any small part I can. You need to do this work, I understand that. I won’t stand in your way if only you will let me in.”

Jardine took an unsteady breath. He’d never even registered the shame he’d felt at her accusations until now, when it lifted. “It means a lot to me to hear you say that.”