Page 99 of His Wife, the Spy
A shiver went through her, ending with her hard nipples pressed against her corset. Every breath wound them tighter. “There’s none of that in this play.”
“Not in the play. In the building.” His husky laugh heated her to her toes. “Why do you think boxes are so popular?”
The actors returned for the second act, and the crowd quieted. Within minutes, Annabel was once again lost in the story.
“Look up three boxes and two boxes to your right,” Jasper whispered.
Curiosity compelled her to look through her glasses in the direction he indicated. A lady she didn’t recognize was alone in her box, though her knee was against the rail in a most unladylike pose. She seemed focused on the play, but her mouth was open in a gasp that had nothing to do with the action on the stage.
“Her lover is on his knees under her skirt.” Jasper traced a finger across her bare skin along the back of her dress.
Annabel pressed her thighs together, embarrassed by the heat flooding through her at the memory of Jasper doing the same thing. “How does she stay quiet?”
“Practice.” Jasper made the word sound like sin itself. “The thrill of illicit sex is the possibility of getting caught, but no onereallywants to be caught.”
Cheeks hot, Annabel took one last glance at the lady in the throes of passion, her bare hand over her mouth to muffle her cries. An odd sympathy bloomed in her chest. She had to use a pillow to hide her wails as Jasper tormented her with his tongue, and she still wasn’t certain the whole household couldn’t hear her.
A small trickle of dread followed in the wake of Jasper’s finger on her skin. “Is that why you like coming to the theatre?” While she enjoyed sex with her husband, she couldn’t imagine having it where people could look up and see them in the act.
“It can be fun to watch if the play is boring, but otherwise no.” His palm was warm on her shoulder, reassuring. “There is a difference between an eagerness to be together and a fetish.”
Laughter from the crowd drew Annabel’s attention back to the stage, but after a moment she found herself scanning the boxes opposite them. Jasper’s soft laughter raised gooseflesh on her arms.
“Fourth row up, to your left,” he whispered. “Find the box that looks empty.”
Annabel lifted her glasses and found the box without a problem, noting that one of the chairs was turned away from the stage. The longer she watched, the more the details came into focus. Fingers curved around the seat of the chair; the lady’s skirts clung to the legs.
Her companion was a shadow behind her, though his buff trousers occasionally caught the light from the stage. The chair rocked in a familiar, intimate rhythm.
Another round of laughter took Annabel by surprise, and she dropped her glasses into her lap. Everything inside her ached with an emptiness that began at her center. Her clothing tormented her too-sensitive skin. Jasper’s solid thigh was her only anchor, but she couldn’t remember having reached for him.
His stare glittered in the dim light.
Embarrassed by her display, Annabel withdrew.
“Leave it.” Jasper pulled her back and curled his fingers around her palm. “Please. I like it there.”
She liked it there too. But every shift of his muscles reminded her of the man across the way. It made it difficult to focus on the stage, but she managed. It helped that she’d read Shakespeare so often she could recite it with the actors.
As the play ended, they stood with the other audience members for an ovation. Her hand was cool without Jasper’s, but anticipation hummed beneath her skin.
Once in the hallway, they moved with the crowd toward the doors. Frederick stayed on their heels. They reached the way out, and the crowd separated, everyone looking for the shortest route to fresh air. All but two men, off to the side, who were in a heated argument. Reginald Spencer and Charles Melton, the Marquess of Graydon.
“Jasper.”
“I see them. Keep moving so we don’t draw attention to ourselves.”
Once outside, they hurried to their coach. Jasper helped her inside. “Take the long way home, please, Lawrence. Through the park.”
He closed the door and extinguished two of the lanterns, throwing them into near darkness.
“Spencer and Graydon.” Annabel tempered her glee at the key discovery. Jasper had hoped the marquess wasn’t involved in this scheme. Bits and pieces of collected information shuffled in her brain.
They stuttered to a stop when Jasper’s mouth claimed hers in a hot, deep kiss. She returned it eagerly, hungry for him in a way that would have shocked her only a few months earlier. She had missed the thick silk of his hair under her fingers and the sweet, wild scent of his skin.
His greedy hands roamed her body, stoking the fire between them.
He pulled away, his chest heaving with every breath in a most complimentary way. “I promise we’ll pick through every detail, but I won’t be able to concentrate until I’ve had you trembling beneath my hands.” He delivered another shocking kiss. “At least once.”
