Page 59 of The Scholar’s Spy

He stroked her back, grabbing the material up so it did not fall down and impede their activities. She was glorious, provocative and clever.

“You are everything to me,” Robert said. His hips tensed as he continued to pump into her. Never had intimacy felt more thrilling or erotic, and this was only their second time together, they had so much more to discover. With one free hand he maneuvered closer, reaching between her legs, finding the pearl of her sex. Stroking at it, and feeling the reaction writ in her body’s response.

He watched Abigail’s hands clamp and twist on the divan’s cushions. A hearty sound raspy in her throat. Catching. Calling. Finding her release. As her body started to shudder and press back against his.

Robert shifted his fingers through the folds of her skirt, seeking out the pearl of her sex. Pressing, capturing, torturing her flesh. Until he felt the slippery slick between his fingers. He rested his head against her neck, as her sex tightened, and Abigail started to moan. Stars bright and sharp burst through his head, as his own release coincided with Abigail’s own.

They collapsed down onto the carpeted floor, their breaths mixing as they laughed.

Abigail rolled over and looked into his face. Her fingers reached out and stroked his cheek. They grinned at one another, words unnecessary as it seemed as if they knew how to speak without them.

*

At some point during their time together, over in the intervening hours, Robert had picked Abigail up, and carried her through the hotel. He had been lucky that no one had seen them. Down the corridor to his bedroom, he had gone. Kicking open the door and taking her to his bed. In the midst of the tousled sheets, doomed beddings and disordered pillows, they had whispered secrets, kissed and made love again.

“We won’t be able to stay here forever,” Robert said. He wasn’t certain why he needed her to know this, but between the cost of the Fladong’s Hotel, or because it was important that Abigail knew there was going to be a permanent place for her in his home. Of course he didn’t have a home yet. But he would do.

“I didn’t expect us to stay here,” Abigail said. She stifled a small yawn and leaned up against him. “If nothing else I must fit Mr. Buckhurst and ensure he has rescued our skull.”

“You say the sweetest of things to me, my love,” Robert said, kissing her forehead.

Out of the hotel window, behind the partly pulled curtains there was the faintest of pink light to the sky. Dawn had arrived.

“Where do you want to get married?”

“I must say, I’ve never given it much thought.”

Despite himself, Robert laughed. “You are so damned romantic.”

“I will be happy to bow to my husband’s wishes,” Abigail said, there was a sweetness to her voice to highlight the teasing note of her comment. Rolling onto her elbow she kissed first his cheek and then his lips. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing, not a thing,” Robert told her, stroking her cheek. There was nothing wrong, not when she was lying on top of him. Not when she was talking about the possibility of him being her husband, with that gleam in her eye. He could get used to that brightness shining back at him.

“Perhaps we should elope—” he said, about to launch into the suggestion of travelling up to Gretna Green. It would not be likely to cause any uproar, but the fact that his real name was not known in Lyme Regis, the ease of marrying without all of the paperwork or the calling of the banns. However, his suggestion was cut short because someone was at the door. There was a sharp knock of the kind that was unpleasantly familiar, that broke no refusal. The door swung wide, giving Robert just enough time to throw the covers over Abigail and launch himself forward, despite knowing who was going to be standing in the doorway, threatening all of their happiness.

Montacute.

The baron.

Somehow in the early morning light, he looked all the more severe and grim faced. Fleetingly Robert wondered if the baron had ever smiled. Certainly, Montacute showed no sign of having done it recently.

The baron’s dark eyes flick hurriedly away from the bed to settle on Robert. “You surprise me, Davenport. This is not your normal style. Does this perhaps explain your behavior over this mission?”

“Indeed, my lord?” Robert said. He tried to inject a question into his reply.

Thankfully, he had managed to snatch up a coverlet from the bed, which Robert had swung around his hips, but had little else to hide his modesty.

“Yes,” came the dry, cutting response, “even your colleagues have even remarked upon in their correspondence to me. In fact, I had to cut my trip to the continent short, in order to return early to see what was afoot.”

So much for the blasted man being in Brighton, that had been a ruse.

And now the game was up. The pretense that he had not inevitably altered by his time in Lyme was an illusion. The impact of Abigail. It was better to be done with the façade, and come clean. Or as clean as he could. Robert might doubt any mercy he could receive from his employer.

“Miss Fossey is to be my wife.” Emotions rocketed through Robert, and he tried his best to keep them in check. To suppress them. Bury them down far, so that the baron would not detect them. There was nothing that Montacute hated more than an excess of feelings.

There was a tiny movement—a twitch—around the baron’s left eye. A normal man might have raised an eyebrow. But there was very little that was normal about Montacute. “I see.” Each word seemed to carry weight and meaning, although Robert was not certain quite what Montacute saw, as the baron was famed for seeing far more than just the surface level. Thankfully, Montacute stepped away and turned his back on both Robert and the bed. Away from Abigail.

Behind him, Robert could hear Abigail moving, presumably quickly trying to put on some clothes. This was the moment he had been waiting for, preparing for. He knew he would need to tell the baron of his intention of quitting the service. Yet. Yet it had been years of his life, and as he looked up into Montacute guilt, anxiety pulsed through him. Still, it meant that Abigail and he could start anew and that was worth any brief discomfort. She was worth the consequences.