The tenderness in his gaze made the lump grow larger.
“That you’ll always put us—Sophie and me—first.”
“Done.”
She raised a brow. “Just like that?”
“Yes,” he said. “Perhaps you need something more tangible?”
Catherine could do nothing more than stare like a young miss right out of the schoolroom.
“Reeves offered me the under-superintendent position.” He fanned her hair over her shoulders. “I would be required to stay in London—no jaunts to the continent, no covert missions. My responsibilities would include coordinating the Nexus’s efforts with those of the Foreign and Home Offices.”
“Does this position interest you?” Catherine tried to keep the budding hope from her tone.
“Oh, yes.” He kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “It would allow me to get started.”
Her breaths came in short bursts. “Started on what?”
“A family.”
Warmth encased her heart. “I believe such a task requires a wife.”
“Indeed, it does.” He whispered the words near her ear a moment before his lips closed around her earlobe.
Tingles raced down her spine, and she arched her lower body into his hardness.
“I believe one will become available next summer, after a certain mourning period has elapsed.”
He worshipped her throat with slow, openmouthed kisses. Stopping only long enough to say, “Perfect. I have much to settle in the intervening months.”
“Like locating Lord Latymer?”
“Yes,” he said. “Before this incident, he was nothing more than a French pawn, for reasons I still don’t understand. Now he’s an active participant, which makes him a great deal more dangerous.”
“Who will replace you as chief?”
“A good question,” he said. “Helsford, Cora, and Danforth are the most experienced of my agents. All three are trustworthy, intelligent, and strong.”
“Whatever choice you make will be the right one.” She could see the decision troubled him, so she redirected their conversation back to a topic of great importance to her. “You will visit us often?”
“No.”
“No?”
He kissed her forehead. “I will have no need to visit, because you and Sophie will be with me.”
“In London?”
“Yes, or Bellamere. Or Winter’s Hollow. We can divide our time between the city and the country. But no matter where we settle, we’ll be together. So much so, you will become sick of me and beg a reprieve.”
She snaked her arms around his neck, more happy than she’d been in years. More complete. “Never, my lord.”
“That’s what I was hoping you would say.” He pulled her closer. “Now, have I ever told you about the delights to be found in this particular section of the garden?”
He backed her into the shadows until the ground beneath their feet softened and the sweet scent of freshly shorn grass reached her nose. Then slowly, inexorably, he lowered her to the velvety carpet and proceeded to show her how a spymaster loves his lady: Above all else.
In case you missed it, here’s an
excerpt from Tracey Devlyn’s debut
A Lady’s Revenge
Available now from Sourcebooks Casablanca
***
1804
Near Honfleur, France
Guy Trevelyan, Earl of Helsford, stopped short at the sharp smell of burning flesh. The caustic odor melded with the dungeon’s thick, moldy air, stinging his eyes and seizing his lungs. His watery gaze slashed to the cell’s open door, and he cocked his head, listening.
There.
A sudden scrape of metal against metal. A faint sizzling sound followed by a muffled scream.
He stepped forward to put an end to the prisoner’s obvious suffering but was yanked back and forced up against the dungeon’s cold stone wall, a solid forearm pressed against the base of his throat.
Danforth.
Guy thrust his knee into the bastard’s stomach, enjoying the sound of air hissing between his assailant’s lips, but the man didn’t release his hold. Nearly the same size as Guy, the Viscount Danforth wasn’t an easy man to dislodge. Guy knew that fact well. For many years they had tested each other’s strength.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” the viscount whispered near his ear. “We’re here for the Raven. No one else.”
Guy stared into Danforth’s shadowed face, surprised and thankful for his friend’s quick reflexes. What would have happened had he stormed into the cell to save a prisoner he knew nothing about, against odds he hadn’t taken time to calculate? Something in the prisoner’s cry of pain struck deep into his gut. His reaction had been swift and instinctual, more in line with Danforth’s reckless tendencies than his own carefully considered decisions.
“Leave off,” Guy hissed, furious with himself. He pushed against Danforth’s hold, and the other man’s arm dropped away.
He had to concentrate on their assignment, or none of them would leave this French nightmare alive. The mission: retrieve the Raven,