A Secret in Her Kiss (7 page)

“I find I don’t actually need all those supplies,” Mari confessed quietly. His reminder had been sobering. This false relationship was almost at an end.

The ambassador would be furious when he heard that she had quit again, and the odds were good he would follow through with his threat. Mari picked up her ink and sketchbook, ignoring the ripple of muscle over Bennett’s shoulders as he stacked the supplies. It didn’t matter. When they returned to the inn, she was finished working for the British.

B
ennett leaned against the craggy rock as Mari dipped her quill into a pot of ink and continued her sketch. The butterfly she’d chosen had long since flitted away, but it appeared as if she’d somehow convinced its soul to remain behind. Unlike her earlier drawing where the creature prepared to flee, this little fellow reposed on a rock, his wings spread to the warmth of the sun, basking in it. With each flick of her wrist, she entrapped it on the paper. Hell, in an earlier age he might have been ordered to burn her as a witch.

Her process baffled him. He’d thought perhaps if he watched her create one of her works, he’d understand how she captured the vitality in her art, but his study left him more awed than before.

It was yet further proof that his silly poetic blatherings should be left in the darkness of his closet or better yet, burned at the first opportunity. Still, Mari’s creative energy taunted him and he couldn’t resist pulling his notebook from his pocket. Before opening it, he made another quick sweep of the area, ensuring they were still alone. Then he waited several heartbeats until he was sure Mari’s work absorbed her.

He opened the slim volume and read his entries from the night before. More of the lines were crossed out than remained. Even the short phrases that lingered suffered from multiple corrections and alterations. His creations never flowed from him as they did with Mari. More like they stumbled out like a bunch of drunken recruits returning from a night of revelry.

Mari straightened slightly, the graceful curve in her neck disappearing. He glanced over her shoulder to the paper on her easel. She’d finished the body of the insect and now began the details of the wings. She kept her shoulders and head facing her work, but her energy changed. Not with a single twitch or turn did she betray her interest in the military encampment visible through the cleft in the honey-colored rock, but she’d begun her true work.

Her lines appeared in no apparent order, nothing he could identify as a walls or armaments. She leaned forward, closer to the paper as she added intricate detail. Her hair tumbled forward and she absently tucked it behind her ear. He really should encourage her to put her bonnet back on. She’d burn quite terribly in the sun. But he liked her bonnet off and her hair down, wild and untamed. The bright light teased out unexpected colors, chestnut and gold—

The hair on his neck rose. Every sense sharpened.

Under the pretext of a yawn, he stood and turned. Nothing unusual. But adrenaline hummed in his veins. Something had changed. He slipped his book back into his pocket.

There. The crunch of rock on rock. Footsteps. The slight syncopation told him more than one person approached. Measured steps, not hurried. Their guests made no attempt to muffle them. Still about a minute away.

He stood behind Mari and placed his hand on her shoulder. She gave no indication that anything was wrong. Good girl.

“What is amiss?” she murmured.

“Visitors approaching.”

“Is there time to avoid them?”

He smoothed her hair back over her shoulder. “No, I think it would attract more attention at this point.”

She nodded slightly. “Shall we be lovers then?”

His body went hard at her words.

“Because I think we are too dissimilar to pass for brother and sister.”

He forced himself to focus on the advancing footsteps rather than the lust raging through him. Ten seconds until they were discovered.

Mari chuckled, a deep, throaty sound designed to carry, then whispered, “Probably best not to look like we are trying to hide. We don’t want to surprise men who could be armed.” In a louder voice she added. “You know quite well that the
Spialia therapne
only migrates within Sardinia.”

Startled voices sounded and a few seconds later, two soldiers appeared, a tall, young officer and a portly, middle-aged one. Bennett relaxed a fraction. While he had little experience with Janissaries in particular, soldiers he knew. Simple infantry. Not too ambitious. Fairly reliable if assigned to scout this far from the base. Neither had a demeanor of insolence or dissipation, probably both had families stashed away somewhere.

They asked something in Arabic and he didn’t have to feign his incomprehension. They tried again in Turkish.

Mari placed her hand on his. He’d quite forgotten his hand still rested on her shoulder. She peered up at him with her hazel eyes wide. Her incomprehension matched his, even though he knew hers to be completely feigned. “What are they saying, darling?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest.”

The soldiers looked at each other. The taller of the two stepped forward. “What are you doing in this area?” His English was heavily accented but understandable.

Mari gestured to her work. “I’m a naturalist, soon to be famous I hope. Although I can’t find the last two specimens I need to complete the study. I haven’t seen any in the area, but I was assured this was the best place to find them. Have you gentlemen perhaps seen any butterflies of the
Hesperiidae
family?”

The English-speaking man looked overwhelmed and his compatriot glassy-eyed at her speech. Their interest dimmed. Yet as Bennett had anticipated, they were thorough. They advanced on Mari and peered at her easel. Seeing nothing unusual, they glanced at the objects around her. “Open the box, please.”

Mari complied with a beguiling smile. “Are you two interested in art then? You’ll see I use the finely tipped quills for the detail work. Some prefer to use a metal stylus but I find it more difficult to control the flow of the ink.”

“Thank you, miss, for your help.” They turned to him next. “Remove your coat.”

They’d find his book.

Suddenly, he was a green lieutenant again who’d had his book snatched away by a pompous and domineering colonel. At least this time his hand didn’t shake as he complied. It hardly mattered. The book was of no import to anyone. He handed over the jacket.

The soldiers searched through the pockets. With an excited exclamation, the shorter man pulled out the book and began thumbing through it. Bennett recognized the animation fueling their gestures. A break in the monotony of scout work. A chance to discover something that would bring them recognition in an otherwise uneventful outpost.

The tall soldier unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Bennett while his friend flipped through the pages. The steel glinted in diligently polished glory.

Mari sucked in an outraged breath. “What is the meaning of this? I am quite offended that you would treat us this way. I was told this was a hospitable country but I am beginning to think I was mistaken. Darling, he has a sword. Can you even imagine such a thing?”

If it came down to it, Bennett had a knife hidden in each boot and a pistol in the small of his back. The man holding the sword kept adjusting his grip, betraying his discomfort with the weapon. He’d likely never killed more than a rabbit for his supper. Bennett, on the other hand, could gut him before he landed his first strike.

Mari whispered to him, although her lips didn’t move. “They think your book is some sort of code.”

A stone dropped in his gut. It was foolish to have brought the book. Hell, Mari had been right. His stupidity might get her killed.

After a few moments, the soldiers evidently decided it would be better to have the English speaker reading, so after a menacing thrust with his sword, the tall man joined his friend. They conferred in hushed tones with frequent glances at Bennett, then finally asked, “What is this?”

Embarrassment lodged in his throat but he managed to speak past it, keeping his tone light. “Poetry.” No one else was supposed to see that book. It was his alone, damn them.

Mari blinked once at his statement and then turned her head and kissed his knuckles where they’d tightened on her shoulder. She shot him a besotted grin. “He is quite fabulous.”

The Janissaries studied the book again and resumed debating, then burst into laughter, pointing at a page in the book.

Mari cleared her throat with progressively louder coughs. He glanced down and noted his fingers digging into her shoulder.

He dropped his hand before he could do further damage.

The tall soldier closed the notebook and tossed it next to Mari’s things. “You are free to go, but please continue your drawing somewhere else.”

Mari smiled. “Of course, sir. We’ll leave immediately.”

The soldiers bowed and continued on.

Mari removed her picture and folded her easel. “I think I have what I need, darling. Shall we go?”

Bennett nodded once. He bent over and picked up his book, dusting off the cover. Pausing, he shook his head. Would it never penetrate his thick skull? The blasted thing was nonsense. He was a soldier, not a poet. With a disgusted sound, he tossed it back on the ground.

He kept his eyes trained on the horizon as he retrieved Mari’s things and strode back the way they had come.

Chapter Eight

“O
h, Mari.” Achilla shook her head. “You have to stop. First the gunshot, now this. It isn’t safe. Good thing you had Major Prestwood.”

Mari nodded and sat on the lumpy bed the inn had provided. As much as it galled her to admit it, she was infinitely grateful that Bennett had been there this afternoon. Perhaps it was his hulking presence, but she’d felt safe. “I will tell him tonight that I’m finished gathering information.”

She hoped he wasn’t held accountable for her quitting, but for the first time in a month she felt like herself again. The crushing weight was gone from her chest.

Mari tucked the small volume she’d retrieved from the dirt under the pillow. Despite her curiosity, she found herself loath to read it with anyone else about, even Achilla. She sensed Bennett wouldn’t want it seen. She ignored her guilt at having taken it. He’d left it behind, after all.

“Good, you never should have given in to the ambassador. Our cause will survive no matter what he chooses to do.” Achilla paused. “But if I were you, I’d wait until the morning to tell the major your decision.”

Mari frowned. “Why the morning?”

Achilla raised her eyebrow. “Because there is no reason you shouldn’t enjoy the attention of that glorious specimen for a night.”

Heat spread to the roots of Mari’s hair. She had enjoyed him quite well this afternoon. Too well, in fact. But as much as her body ached for him, she had no desire to become entangled. Both English and Ottoman societies dictated that a woman be subservient to her husband. She refused to risk her heart in a relationship where the man had complete control and the woman was powerless to curtail his actions. Never again.

She stood. “I’ll speak to him.”

Achilla’s mouth dropped open. “You will?”

It was Mari’s turn to grin. “About stopping my work, not about enjoying him.”

Achilla sighed. “Fine, at least make sure you’re a tad rumpled when you return. And if I end up sleeping in this room alone tonight, not another soul will ever discover it.”

“Achilla!”

“What? You are the one who insists you’ll never marry. I hardly see what good your virginity is doing you as an old maid. And the major is not indifferent.”

Why couldn’t she have a meek, docile maid? “Of course not. He’s assigned to protect me.”

“While you tortured him with edifying lectures on tree moss in the coach, he couldn’t keep his eyes from your lips.”

Mari’s hand flew over the offending body part before she could stop herself. “He most certainly did not.”

Achilla shrugged. “Believe what you will. I will be in the kitchen, so I won’t overhear anything.”

Mari hurried out before the conversation rendered it impossible for her to form coherent sentences in Bennett’s presence.

Her footsteps echoed in the blessedly empty corridor, her excitement building as she walked the five paces to Bennett’s room. Excitement over ending this farce. Not at seeing him again.

She never should have met him anyway. If she’d been strong from the onset, he never would have been forced to come to Constantinople.

The thought was more disturbing than it should have been. She wouldn’t have chosen to bring him here herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret knowing him. Even though she knew his words from this afternoon would haunt her dreams and fantasies for the rest of her life.

She knocked, eager to be done.

“Enter.”

She opened the door. Bennett sat leaning over the table near the window, his gaze on the task in front of him as well as the movement in the courtyard below. He’d removed his coat and cravat. The top two buttons of his shirt hung open and he’d rolled his sleeves to the elbow.

Heavens, she thought men were supposed to look good in uniform. Why did Bennett’s appeal increase the less of it he wore? The muscles in his forearms corded and rippled as he carefully twisted a rag in the barrel of a pistol.

Another pistol and two knives rested in front of him, cleaned and waiting.

She sucked in a breath, her head clearing as the reality of who he was to her returned.

His head snapped up. “Mari.” He grabbed his coat and rose to his feet. “Is aught amiss?”

“Nothing’s wrong. There is something I must discuss.”

He started to put on his coat, but she stopped him. “Please enjoy the cool while it lasts.”

He hesitated, then hung the coat over the back of the chair next to him. “I apologize, I was expecting the maid. Although it’s convenient you’ve come. I have items to discuss with you as well. Have a seat.” He glanced into the hall and shut the door.

“No one saw me.” She searched for a place to sit. The tiny room left few options. Her gaze landed on the bed a few feet away. Why had her mind led her there first? She flinched and dragged her eyes back to the table.

Bennett moved his coat from the chair and offered the space to her. The slight crook on the left side of his mouth betrayed that he’d noted the direction of her gaze. She hurriedly sat. When he followed suit, only a few inches separated their knees.

She cleared her throat. “I’m finished working for the British government.”

Bennett stilled. “I beg your pardon?”

“I will finish the sketch from this afternoon, but then I am done.”

Bennett studied her. “I cannot allow that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You have no say. I am not a soldier. I’m free to come and go as I please, and now I choose to go.” She stood.

Bennett rose as well, stepping around her to block her exit.

Why hadn’t she allowed him to put his jacket back on? Now that enticing bit of skin at his neck taunted her. She had kissed that skin.

And he had liked it.

She retreated a step so her glare would reach his face.

His brows were drawn together in a fierce line. “It cannot happen.”

“You have no choice.”

He rubbed his eyes. “The British government requires one more drawing.”

They required it, did they? They had no right to require anything from her. She owed them nothing. “Of where?”

“They need an accurate drawing of the fortifications in Vourth.”

Vourth. The name cut through her indignation. Not only was the area a lawless waste, but the fort was on the Black Sea rather than the Mediterranean. She’d discussed it with Nathan, and they’d agreed the danger outweighed any strategic benefit to the Greeks. Her concern was Russian and Ottoman attempts to control Greece, not Russia’s attempt to expand its territory around the Black Sea. “I was told not to attempt it.”

Bennett’s lips pursed momentarily. “Orders change.”

Why had she expected Bennett to understand? “The area is deadly. Why should I risk my life again?”

A muscle ticked in Bennett’s jaw. “The risk will be minimal. I will keep you safe.”

Mari clenched her hands into fists. “Your promise is worthless and you know it.” Nothing guaranteed safety and security. They were illusions that could quickly and easily be ripped away. Her mother, a fearless rebel, had died at the hands of the British weather. The bloody weather. It was senseless.

She hadn’t even been there when her mother died. No, she had been sent to the home of a woman who’d claimed she’d wanted to keep Mari safe, when all she’d really wanted to do was beat the Catholic blood out of her.

“Why not send another agent?”

Something dark flashed in Bennett’s eyes that he did not hide.

“What are you not telling me?” Mari asked.

“Two agents already have been lost trying to obtain information on the fort.”

Her breath escaped in a rush. Nathan hadn’t been exaggerating the danger then. She laced her fingers in front of her as she processed the new details. She studied the sculpted planes of Bennett’s face, now marked by exhaustion.

“So I’m more expendable than one of your agents? Is that why they want me?”

Bennett’s voice was cold. “I don’t know.”

And he didn’t care enough to ask, apparently.

She rubbed her eyes. She’d known the ambassador would have a fit over her leaving, but she had thought— hoped—Bennett would understand. “If you wanted to convince me, why not lie?”

“I promised Abington you’d know the whole truth.”

What if he hadn’t made the promise? Would he have lied to her then? She hated herself for being weak enough to wonder.

“There is another reason you must continue.”

Mari raised an eyebrow. She could think of no inducement that could convince her to agree.

His gaze bored into hers. “I can only remain if you agree to complete the final drawing.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Why would I desire you?” She cursed her choice in words.

“I’m the only one who can identify the man following you. If I return to England, he continues to be a danger.”

Her lustful imaginings halted abruptly. Not romance—threats. This was familiar terrain. “If I stop my work, they will lose interest.”

“We don’t yet know who is having you followed. An enemy of your father? A spurned beau?”

She shook her head. “I think we both know that is not the case.”

“Then we must assume it relates to your work for the British government. We do not know how they discovered your activities, so unless you announce the termination of this assignment from the street corner, it is unlikely they’ll know. You’ve been marked as a spy. Once enemy spies cease being of interest, they are eliminated.”

She shivered. She hadn’t considered that.

Bennett continued, “Until we know their identity, you not only put yourself at risk, but your entire household.”

The enormity of her naïveté washed over her. Not about her work, but about Bennett. She braced her hand on the table for support. He wasn’t different from his cousin after all.

Her knuckles whitened. They were doing it to her again. The obligation. The fear for the ones she cared about.

Where was the strength she was so sure she could reclaim moments ago?

He reached out and cupped her chin. “I’m sorry to frighten you.”

She slapped his hand away. “No, you’re not.” An ache lodged in her throat. “It was a tactic you employed to gain my acquiescence. An effective one, I might add.” She trembled, whether from his touch or his apology she did not know. “I will sketch Vourth.”

“G
ood.” Yet Bennett couldn’t stand the stricken look he’d put on her face. Had he really gloried that she’d awakened his soul? Now he longed for the return to its former numb, deadened state. “I do regret having frightened you.”

“So you say, but not enough to keep you from coercing me.” Fury still simmered in her gaze.

He’d been ordered to gain her compliance with the project, and he had done so in the most effective manner open to him. Every word he’d told her was the truth, no half-truths or lies. That didn’t mean it was kind or gentle. But then again, neither was picking off French officers one at a time from the bushes to demoralize their troops. He’d become accustomed to handling unpleasantness in the line of duty. Why did it suddenly become as critical as breathing that she know he didn’t enjoy frightening her?

“I have my orders.”

Her jaw set in a mutinous line. “Ah, so that is supposed to make me excuse your actions? I’m to forgive you because someone told you to do it?”

“I follow my orders to serve a greater good.”

“But what of the good of those directly involved? Do we count for nothing?”

Her disdain goaded him, its sentiment far too similar to his own thoughts. “I don’t make that determination.”

“What
do
you determine?” Her lips quirked in a contemptuous manner.

Frustration spurred him to action. “This.” He caught her around the waist, unable to stop his yearning to reclaim the ease she’d felt with him earlier.

She stiffened, as always, some of her curls escaping her attempt to constrain them. “I fail to see how this is for the greater good.”

He freed the rest of her curls with a few quick tugs. The pins clicked as they hit the wood floor. Her hair spilled over his hands and down her back. He caught a tendril in his fingers. “You don’t have to fight to keep it arranged. And I can determine if it’s truly as soft as I remember.” But this time her face wasn’t flushed with innocence and desire.

“My hair has nothing to do with this.”

He buried his hands in the strands, marveling at the way they twisted and coiled like living silk. “Wrong. I have every intention of keeping it safe.”

“Safe would be far away from Vourth.”

He couldn’t deny her words. “You will have all the protection I can provide.”

She snorted in response.

“I do what I must,” he bit off, tiring of her disbelief that he would protect her.

“Do you ever do what you want?”

Not in a long, long time. Duty always came first. A sudden spurt of anger surprised him. Anger at her for making him prove he was the monster he’d always feared himself to be. Her eyes widened slightly as she realized his intent, but before she could protest he tucked his finger under her chin and set his mouth on hers.

Her lips were motionless beneath his. Damnation, what had he proved other than that he was the brute she thought him? But as he straightened, her hands fisted in his shirt, denying his retreat. Her lips fought his, refusing him the forgiveness he sought. But she hadn’t pushed him away, and that simple fact was a ray of hope he didn’t deserve. She suckled his bottom lip into her mouth, her teeth scraping over the sensitive skin. He growled, tightening his arm around her waist, unable to resist claiming more. Her lithe body pressed against him, her body arching. Hell, he hadn’t known how much he’d needed this until this very moment. He tried to tell himself that any woman would have inflamed him like this, but even in his addled state he couldn’t believe the lie.

Bennett slipped his hand down the delicate curve of her spine, ensuring every inch of her molded to him. Yet that wasn’t enough. He needed to be inside her, to have her fire enveloping him, burning him. His hands swept down to the curve of her buttocks, lifting her against him so her hips ground against his.

Bennett was an expert at control. Once an observation point he’d selected turned out to be lamentably close to an anthill. He’d spent four excruciating hours tracking the movement of French troops while thousands of insects swarmed over his unmoving form.