One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,31

roses that echoed the gown she had worn to the ball. Amanda wondered whether they had been chosen for that purpose, and if so by whom, for George was unlikely to make the connection. Their heavy perfume had done nothing to alleviate her headache.

Lord Dulsworthy’s call late in the afternoon had been mercifully brief, to enquire after her health and to return her hot, tired sons to her care. But his parting request for a private audience with her in the morning—“to discuss young Kingston’s future”—had left her palms as damp and her mouth as dry as they had been when she’d first waked. As they would have been if he’d got down on one knee right then.

Worst of all, though, were the memories that nipped at her heels, undiscouraged by an occasional kick.

Once, in her first season, she’d allowed a notorious rake to maneuver her onto a secluded terrace and pretended to believe his whispered promises, hoping he would teach her what the matrons whispered about and the wallflowers would never know. Mama had discovered her missing before any damage had been done—and before any real knowledge could be imparted. In all the years of Amanda’s marriage, in Kingston’s kind but dispassionate embrace, she had refused to let herself remember the possibility that there might be something more. Until last night…

Kiss me, Major Stanhope had commanded, and it had taken but half a moment for her to understand why: such a pose would both excuse their presence in the darkened room and persuade the other couple to leave them in peace.

And as a result, Amanda did not think she would ever know peace again.

Because she had kissed him with the hunger she had pushed down, deep inside herself, so deep she had almost forgotten its existence.

But oh, she remembered it now.

It still quivered in parts of her body she generally tried to ignore.

“Amanda, dear, are you feeling all right?” Rebecca Hurst leaned toward her in the carriage, concern etched onto her delicate features. “You’re quite flushed. Open a window, Charles,” she urged her husband. “She needs fresh air.”

“I’m quite well, thank you,” Amanda insisted, though not quickly enough to forestall Mr. Hurst’s efforts. The pane of glass slid down into the door, and a warm breeze gusted into the carriage, scented strongly of horse.

“Now, where did I lay my fan?” Rebecca patted the seat around her until Amanda reached out a staying hand.

“Truly, I’m fine. I seem to be compelled to keep remembering last night’s embarrassment, that’s all.”

“The spilled wine, you mean?”

Amanda mustered a tinkling laugh at her own expense. “What else? Now, Mr. Hurst, tell me about the play, if you would.” She needed to turn the conversation and give everyone in the carriage something else to think about.

As Mr. Hurst began to sketch out the story—involving a wicked queen, a duped king, a daughter denied the right to marry her true love, and two sons, kidnapped in their infancy and restored to their places in the succession to the throne at last—Amanda fought to keep her attention from wandering back over the various plot twists in her own life. Despite her careful upbringing, the girl of nineteen who had once so enjoyed an outing such as this had been ill-prepared for the life—and death—that had followed. But what she’d lacked in wisdom she had gained in strength, the strength required to be a countess, to bury her husband, to shield her boys. If she hadn’t the savvy to spy on behalf of the Crown, she at least had what little wit it took to outmaneuver Lord Dulsworthy.

“I am so glad you’ve joined us at last, Amanda,” Rebecca said as the carriage rolled to a stop near Covent Garden. Her voice dropped a note lower. “I’d begun to think you’d decided to mourn Lord Kingston forever.”

She had the grace not to sound skeptical, though she certainly had reason to be. Though over the years she had developed an affection for the man she had married, Amanda had never pretended to be making a love match. No one would have expected it of her—least of all her husband.

“Mama has been very protective of me,” Amanda answered after a moment.

Her friend nodded, a knowing expression in her eyes. “Mrs. West always was, as I recall.”

Amanda only smiled. Mama still wanted to shelter her, to give her the best, by which she meant the safest—and the dullest—life possible. If she knew about Amanda’s involvement with a codebook, a secret mission, a