One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,64

be so foolish, so selfish, as to hope the book stayed missing, just to keep him here. She wanted it to be found. Of course she did. For everyone’s sake. For the poor soldier being held captive over it. For the welfare of the nation.

For her own peace of mind.

Because it wasn’t only Langley’s handsome face and strong arms that drew her. Because the risks of wanting him for more than those superficial charms were too great.

Before he could make his answer, Jamie interrupted. “I’m not hungry, Mama. If it’s all right, I’ll stay in the schoolroom with Mr. Stanhope.” He sent a questioning glance between the two of them. It could not have been clearer that he had something he wished to say to—or ask of—his tutor.

Amanda understood that a boy of almost twelve might have concerns he would prefer to share with a man, and unlike his brother, Jamie had never warmed to Lord Dulsworthy as a sort of friend. She could hardly protest that the boys’ tutor was not an appropriate confidante, could she?

It seemed that intimacy was one of the dangers of which Langley had tried to warn her.

As she stood in the bright light of day, watching him with his hand on the shoulder of one of her sons and his head bowed earnestly toward the other, she understood anew, with painful clarity, that her craving for adventure and excitement had put all of them at risk.

Risk of heartbreak.

Because when his mission was over, Langley would leave.

“Yes, of course,” he was saying to Jamie, surprise and uncertainty wrinkling his brow. “With your mother’s permission.”

She started to nod her assent, then clawed back the gesture by twisting her neck in an awkward manner. She had reassured herself with the knowledge that his presence in their lives was only temporary, had seen it in truth as an advantage. By design, theirs could be nothing more than a temporary liaison. Her heart need not be involved.

But her sons’ hearts were another matter.…

She shook her head. “I don’t want you to miss luncheon, Jamie. A growing boy needs food.” That stubborn lock of hair fell over the boy’s eyes, not quite soon enough to hide his frustration at her answer. Langley’s frown deepened. Her heart gave a fearful twinge. “I will tell Mrs. Hepplewythe to hold the meal until you arrive.” A compromise—the best she could offer.

She’d given Langley her body. She could not afford to give him everything.

“All right, Mama.” A rare smile lit Jamie’s face. “I shan’t be long.”

He turned toward the door, while Philip slipped from beneath Langley’s hand to say something to a departing Mr. Jacobs.

For just a moment it was only the two of them again, meeting one another eye to eye, standing closer together than was wise. Awareness zinged through her like the flash of a fencing foil, and when he drew a sudden, sharp breath, she knew he felt its danger too.

“Amanda,” he murmured, so quietly that she saw her name on his lips rather than heard it.

Before either of them could say more, however, Jamie called over his shoulder. “Are you coming, sir?”

Just like that, the Magpie’s bright eye darted to focus on a new object. He shook out his feathers, smoothing them into their usual order, and spoke in the tutor’s clear voice to her elder son.

“Let me fetch my things, and I’ll be right behind you.”

But for just a moment, she had caught another glimpse of the man who lurked behind all those layers of masks. The vulnerable one. The passionate one.

The man she’d met last night.

The man, God help her, she longed to have an excuse to meet again.

* * * *

At least I didn’t kiss her.

Small consolation, given how close together they had been standing, how easy it would be for even two not-so-young boys—to say nothing of the fencing master—to notice the hungry way they’d been eyeing one another.

No consolation at all, given how much Langley had wanted—still wanted—to cup the back of her head in his palm and bring her lips to his to put the seal on his victory.

Instead, he found himself dutifully following the young earl up two flights of stairs to the schoolroom, trying not to imagine the sort of questions a boy of that age might have for him.

He very much doubted they involved either algebra or Latin.

“Well, Lord Kingston?” he asked when he reached the top step and found the boy staring out a window overlooking the front of Bartlett