Page 33 of Touched By a Traitor
“What about what you want, Charlotte? Not what’s practical or safe or proper—what do you want?”
The question hung in the air between them, weighted with possibility and peril. Charlotte stared into his eyes, seeing her own longing reflected there, and felt the last of her defenses crumble.
“I want,” she whispered, “to stop pretending that what’s between us doesn’t exist. Even if it’s only for tonight.”
Andrew’s breath caught, and for a moment that stretched like eternity, they simply looked at each other. Then his free hand rose to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her skin with devastating tenderness.
“Then don’t pretend,” he murmured, leaning closer until his breath mingled with hers. “Not tonight.”
The carriage rolled on through the London streets, carrying them toward an uncertain future, but for now, in this moment, nothing existed but the space between their hearts and the promise of what might be possible if they were brave enough to reach for it.
Obsession
1 December 1836—London
The taste offorbidden fruit lingered on Andrew’s tongue, a phantom sensation that haunted him still. The memory of Charlotte’s lips refused to fade, tormenting him with exquisite clarity. In the sanctuary of his mind, he found himself once again in that fateful library, her lithe form pressed against him, her clean scent intoxicating his senses.
With each passing day, the certainty grew within him—a possessive, almost primal urge that whispered he could never let her go. The thought of another man holding her sent a surge of determination through his veins, hardening his resolve.
As the clock struck nine, a looming figure darkened Andrew’s office doorway. Adams, an exiled foreign nobility and his friend, now served a more complex purpose in Andrew’s intricate web of surveillance including watching over Daisy. Despite his imposing stature, Adams possessed an uncanny ability to blend into the shadows—a talent that had kept Daisy blissfully unaware of his presence.
Andrew’s lips curved into a wry smile as he contemplated his sister’s obliviousness. If Daisy had even an inkling of Adams’s watchful eye, her inability to keep secrets would have surely betrayed her. But today, Andrew’s thoughts were consumed by a far more pressing matter—Charlotte.
Adams appeared in the doorway of Andrew’s study with his usual quiet efficiency, straightening his waistcoat with the practiced air of a man who’d spent years perfecting the art of appearing unremarkable.
“Adams, my man, where’s my sister wreaking havoc today?” Andrew drawled, rising from his desk to shake his friend’s hand with genuine warmth.
“The modiste’s with Miss Grantham, attempting to bankrupt you one silk ribbon at a time,” Adams replied, his deadpan delivery complementing the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Andrew chuckled, settling back against his desk with arms crossed. “Any scandals to report?”
“Shockingly conventional behavior, I’m afraid.” Adams clasped his hands behind his back, adopting his most serious expression. “She hasn’t caused a single diplomatic incident this week.”
“Well, there’s always tomorrow,” Andrew said, then paused, suddenly finding great interest in the paperweight on his desk. “Tell me, what do you know of Miss Charlie Morton?”
Adams’s eyebrows rose fractionally—the equivalent of wild surprise from the usually impassive man. “Ah, the infamous lady barrister. Causing quite the stir among the old guard, I hear. Fascinating woman, by all accounts.”
“Indeed.” Andrew’s fingers drummed against the desk’s edge. “I need someone to keep an eye on her.”
“To protect or to spy?” Adams tilted his head with the air of a man solving a particularly interesting puzzle. “With your track record, I suspect both.”
Andrew had the grace to look sheepish. “Your perception wounds me, Adams. But yes, both. Report any peculiarities straightaway.”
“I’ll put Moncton on it,” Adams said.
“Moncton?” Andrew’s brow furrowed. “Is he the best we have?”
Adams drew himself up with mock indignation, straightening his shoulders. “Second only to myself, naturally.”
“Just ensure he doesn’t fall in love with her,” Andrew muttered, turning to stare out the window.
Adams’s lips twitched with barely suppressed amusement. “Speaking from experience, Carlisle?”
Andrew’s hand flew to rub the back of his neck. “Perhaps.”
“Is that so?” Adams leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Perhaps I should take the assignment myself. It’d be a shame not to make the acquaintance of such a special lady.”
“Don’t you dare!” Andrew spun around, pointing an accusatory finger at his friend.
