One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,83

were really a tutor, and not an intelligence officer. An intelligence officer in danger of forgetting his mission.

“Now,” she said, dangling her corset from her fingers. “Let’s see how clever you really are.”

Though every part of him rebelled against the unnatural act, he managed somehow to lace up the corset and then fasten her dress—in short, he made himself hide from view everything he knew he’d never tire of looking at.

When he was done, she ran a hand down her side, gave a satisfied nod at the job he’d done, then lifted that same hand to her hair. “I’ll need even more help for this.”

Wordlessly, he stepped toward the shapeless mound of holland cloth draped over the wash stand and caught the corner of yet another covering between his fingers, looping it back to reveal a pier glass. She hurried forward, investigated her reflection with a frown, and began to pluck the pins from her hair. He held out one palm to collect them, which earned him a grateful smile. Watching her, knowing he was responsible for that well-tumbled look she was struggling to disguise, was yet another of the day’s unexpected pleasures.

“That will have to do, I guess,” she said at last. “Thankfully, my bonnet will—oh, what did I do with my bonnet?”

“Downstairs,” he reminded her as he let the cloth drop and turned to make a cursory attempt at straightening the bed, while uttering a silent apology to Mrs. Morris. “We’ll pick it up on our way out.”

In the sitting room, he handed the bonnet to her, wanting to sneak one last kiss before she donned it and its wide brim put her lips quite out of reach. But he settled for tying the bow beneath her chin at a jaunty angle. “There. No one need suspect a thing.”

He’d hidden away so many parts of himself, he hadn’t expected that speaking of concealment could be painful. Or that his last look around the house would be infused with new memories—of where she had stood, the places her hands had rested. He hadn’t felt this confused in thirty years.

“Amanda,” he said quietly as he turned the key in the lock, uncertain what his next words would be.

But she was already down the steps, too far away to hear them anyway.

No more than a quarter of an hour later, they were crossing the Hursts’ threshold, and Mrs. West was coming toward them.

“We decided to discuss the boys’ lessons while taking a stroll.” Amanda offered the explanation without prompting. He suspected she had been rehearsing it in her head, as they’d walked all the way home in silence. “So as not to waste the lovely afternoon.”

Mrs. West nodded. “Did you pass the boys on your way back?”

Instinct, experience—he hardly knew to what he ought to attribute the shock of sudden awareness that passed down his spine. “The boys?” he echoed.

Now Hurst stepped into the entry hall, an open book in his hands. “Ah, there you are,” he said, hardly looking up. “Mrs. West has told you, I suppose, that Lord Dulsworthy called not an hour ago, asking to take the boys for a drive.”

Familiar guilt slammed into him like a well-aimed punch, and he had to struggle to right himself in time to catch Amanda as she slumped to the floor in a faint.

Chapter 16

Someone was shaking Amanda’s shoulder, rousing her. Was she to be allowed no rest at all? She couldn’t quite remember why she didn’t want to wake up—something hovered at the edge of her consciousness, something she couldn’t bear to examine. No, no. That was just Mama, leaning over her, saying something about the heat, the sun. Muttering under her breath about the tutor presuming to give orders to her and to Mr. Hurst.

The tutor…

“Jamie! Pip!” Amanda sat bolt upright and almost fell back again when the blood rushed to her head.

Mama was fanning her with the brim of her own bonnet—when had it been removed? And there was Rebecca hurrying toward her with a pillow in one hand and a glass of something in the other.

“A cordial,” she explained, pressing the little glass into Amanda’s hand. “To help revive you. You must’ve walked quite a long way. This heat is extraordinary.”

“It’s not—it’s not the heat.” She struggled free of their hands and tried to rise. Just a few yards away, Langley stood speaking to Mr. Hurst in a low but urgent voice; Mr. Hurst was shaking his head in disbelief. “They’re gone. I should never have left