“For God’s sake, man, put some clothes on. I ordered us breakfast.”
He came into the room. “Oh good. I’m starving.” Claire was thankful that he stopped and grabbed a dressing gown from the same chair where he’d draped his outerwear last night. She watched, her breath held as he lifted his arms and slid them into the arms. The muscles in his stomach shifted. Any second that towel was going to let go. . . . The heavy velvet brocade settled across his back, hugged his shoulders, and tied snugly about the waist.
Relief and disappointment drifted through Claire’s mind. “Did you drop something in the bath earlier?”
Alastair removed the silver cover from a plate and sat down at the table. “No.”
“Oh, I thought I heard you cry out.”
He hesitated, just for a second, as he reached for the salt. “Not that I recall.”
“My mistake then.” Was that a flush in his cheeks? What the hell . . . ? Oh. To her astonishment, heat flooded her own face as well. She sat down opposite him and busied herself with her own breakfast. Men. Couldn’t keep their hands off themselves.
She was so tempted to tell him she would have gladly taken care of that for him, just to see his reaction. He didn’t seem the type to blush often, but given what she’d seen, he was magnificent when he did.
Instead, she poured a cup of coffee for them both from the silver pot. It was hot, and she had to pull the sleeve of her wrapper over her palm to keep from getting burned.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” she said.
He barely glanced up from slathering strawberry jam on his toast. “What’s that?”
“The woman you were involved with. Why did she try to kill you? If she got the information she wanted, why not just leave?”
He looked as though he’d rather chew nails than discuss it. “I didn’t give her any information during our affair. I’m better than that. And she wasn’t the one responsible for the carriage falling on me. He was.”
Claire nodded. “That makes more sense to me.”
“Oh? Pray, then explain it to me.”
She plucked up a piece of crispy bacon with her fingers and took a bite. Heavenly. “Obviously he was jealous. She probably started to fall in love with you, if she hadn’t already. She had to go along with him to save face and her relationship.”
“She didn’t care about me. It was her idea to leave me with the carriage.”
Clearly he didn’t like this turn of topic, but he hadn’t told her to shut up, so she pressed on. “I reckon he wanted to put a bullet in your skull?”
“Yes. She said leaving me as I was would make it a slower death. A more painful one.”
Claire snorted. “Or give you plenty of time to be discovered.”
He frowned at her crowgiv. “You women will look for a shred of romance in anything, won’t you? Leaving me for the buzzards was not an act of feeling.”
She pointed the bacon at him. “When you made love, did she let you kiss her?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Claire smiled, not the least bit offended. Oh, but she loved poking him. And maybe she wanted to show him that not all women in her profession were untrustworthy, as easily bought as a three-cent whore. “She did. Women do not kiss men they don’t like—not much. Did she look at you when you made love?”
It was temper, not embarrassment, that flushed his cheeks now. “Have you no shame whatsoever? Not even a shred of decorum?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a prude. I’m an actress, remember? And a spy. I know all the lies and truths women use. If she looked into your eyes while you were inside her, she cared about you, my lord. You were not the one who made the mistake. It was her.” She bit into the crisp bacon.
“I’m not a prude,” he grumbled. “I don’t want to discuss it because I’m mortified of having made the mistake of believing her affection for me was true.”
She made a face. “Because that was her job, and she was good at it. Then she began to believe it as well. That was when she should have gotten out. You would not have been hurt, and she and her lover would not have been hunted by the fox like baby rabbits.”
Alastair set aside his toast as she devoured another piece of bacon. “Does the Company train its women agents to be skilled in seduction?”
“Yes. Some of the men as well. It’s not all about sex, you know. It’s about making the target feel good when you’re around. It’s about making them want to connect with you, think about you, even when you’re not there. You become what they need you to be.”
“Like a well-trained whore.”
Ah, who was poking at whom now? “Doesn’t pay as well, though.”
“Have you been trying to seduce me?” His lips tilted mockingly. “Because you’re doing an excellent job of it.”
Both of her brows rose, but she refused to be baited. “You told me you’d rather stick your cock in a rudder than in me, remember? No, I’m smart enough to know better than to try to seduce a man like you.”
“But you pity me for being stupid enough to be seduced by her?”
“No, because you’re the kind of man who makes it easy for a woman to lose her wits. You try to be so hard and tough, but beneath that you are a good man, and no woman can resist that. I don’t care how well-trained or determined she is. You will make her want to please you, to win your trust and the ultimate prize of your heart, and then she’s lost.” It was an honest answer to his question, but he looked as though she had slapped him. “That’s not an insult. Merely an observation from a woman who has met enough bad men to know a good one when he takes her shackles off.”
“I . . .” He ran a hand through his damp hair. “I know it’s not, but the Warden in me can’t hel ce cno Lp but see it as a fault.”
“Then the Warden in you is an ass,” she retorted, strangely angry at him. “If you can’t bring yourself to use it as a weapon, then you need to avoid missions that put you up against women.”
His gaze was the color and intensity of a thunderstorm. “Such as this one?”
“Well, yes.” She spread jam over her toast. “I asked for Huntley, remember?”
“Huntley has retired and has a pregnant wife.”
“She’s pregnant?” The news surprised her, but that was the extent of it. “Well, he’s come out of all this all right then, hasn’t he?”
“You’re not jealous?” He sounded surprised.
“Of course not.” Claire picked up another piece of bacon and placed it on the toast; then she took a bite of both, savoring the sweet and salty delight on her tongue. “I’m happy for him.”
Alastair didn’t look convinced. Claire regarded him as she chewed. “Why don’t you just ask me what it is you want to know?”
His eyes narrowed as he lifted his toast. “And just what is it I want to know, oh omnipotent one?”
She moved forward, leaning over the table. “If I loved him.”
He leaned closer as well. “Did you?”
Where was all this anger coming from? How did they inspire each other to such intensity? “No. I never loved him, and he never loved me. We were both too good at the game. Does that make you feel better? Or do you feel even guiltier about wanting his wife?”
For a second she swore she saw lightning in his eyes, but it was more likely a flash of sunlight coming in the window. “Woman, you need to learn when to shut that fucking mouth of yours.”
A thrill—perverse and hot—raced through her once she knew she had inspired such coarse language. For a moment, she’d made him forget honor and duty and propriety. She pushed harder, knowing full well she might push him way too far. “You’d like to teach me, wouldn’t you, Lord Wolfred?”