Page 29 of Tempting the Marquess

Samantha twisted away from him to smooth her gown, her shoulders rigid. “Do not worry, Lord Standish. Your secret…no, our secret…is safe. No one will ever know you kissed a lowly Buchanan.”

“Lady Samantha…”

“Please don’t say another word. I understand, my lord, I trulydo.”

You understand nothing! I’m goddamned filth. Spying on you. Interrogating you. Using you. Finding out whether or not you have knowledge of or are involved in the activities of your father who may well be a bloody traitor.

“No. You don’t,” he bit out, running angry fingers through his hair. Thanks to his utter lack of control and weakness, he’d not only hurt her, he’d probably destroyed any chance of being able to complete his assignment. White would be furious and forced to assign a new operative to the task. That was, if Lady Samantha hadn’t already alerted her newly attentive father during one of their daily meals that others were interested in his activities.

Christ. Hell. Damnation. Fuck. The groaning scapegrace over in the corner had nothing on William Hastings when it came to bad behavior.

“Oh?” Lady Samantha snapped, her brown eyes flashing. “Exactly what is it that silly little me doesn’t understand, mylord?”

Good. Temper was far better than the hollow emptiness he’d seen in her eyes before. That stoic acceptance as a person braced themselves for yet another extended period of crushing loneliness, which he knew far toowell.

“At age twenty, a great many things, my lady,” he said, forcing the words to be deliberately goading.

“I see,” she laughed, a horribly brittle sound that roiled his gut. “You want me to slap you. Will that make you feel better? A suitable punishment for your fall from grace?”

William stilled as the arrow found its mark. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“AmI?”

“Completely. And might I also suggest, Lady Samantha, that in future you avoid accompanying men like Sir Francis Quinn onto private balconies? Next time my fists might not be around to provide assistance.”

“Quite. Nor your lips to kiss me. Or your fingers to pinch my nipples, I daresay,” she replied softly.

He looked away and cleared his throat, anything to banish the memories of Lady Samantha in his arms, the feel of her satiny skin, and the taste of her mouth, from his mind. “We need to return to the musicale. Go to the powder room—it is three doors down from here—and pretend you have been attending to a torn hem. I’ll go now and find Tony Hartley, inform him of Sir Francis’s misfortune in being too intoxicated and tripping over furniture.”

“You have it all planned out. What skills of deception you possess, mylord.”

You have noidea.

“I am truly sorry, Lady Samantha. It won’t happen again.”

She lifted her chin. “Thank you for the clarification. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and attend to that, er, troublesomehem.”

William clenched his fists as she swept past him like an empress, lest he pull her into his arms again. Once she was safely gone, he walked over to where Sir Francis still lay prone on the floor.

“Sir Francis.”

The baronet’s eyelids fluttered. Eventually one eye inched open, and when the man saw who was looming over him, he flinched. “Don’t…hit me…again.”

“That depends entirely on you, sir. If you go straight home, and never speak a word of this to anyone, you will be quite well. If, however, you feel compelled to speak of me, or worse, Lady Samantha, things will go very, very badly for you. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” croaked Sir Francis. “I was an idiot. Too much brandy.”

“Indeed. In future, I suggest that you never again venture near Lady Samantha. You know she has friends who care a great deal about her wellbeing? Rest assured those friends would think nothing of eliminating any threat to her happiness.”

Sir Francis went parchment pale. “I believe I shall go on a voyage. Several interests in India and Ceylon that need checkingon.”

“A sound idea. Good evening toyou.”

And with that, William turned on his heel and left the antechamber.

He had a host to apologize to. Thank God Tony had worked at the Home Office for many years before his forced retirement thanks to a leg injury sustained in a successful raid on some French smugglers. He would accept an explanation short on facts and long on words unsaid. Actually, speaking with Tony would be the easiest part of his evening.

Speaking with White, and indeed, his next encounter with Lady Samantha Buchanan—those were different matters entirely.