Page 68 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
Isabel nodded. Her mind raced ahead, sketching and discarding possibilities, each more unpleasant than the last.
Callahan’s hand covered hers. She looked up to find him watching her, something unreadable in his expression.
“You’re leagues away,” he said softly. “What are you concocting in that devious mind of yours?”
“Just plotting.”
“Should I be bracing for explosions? Stabbings? Defenestrations? Threats?”
God, he knew her too well.
“Hush.” She turned her hand, twining their fingers together. “I promised Wentworth I’d be on my best behaviour. All worthwhile sacrifices in service to the Crown, remember? That’s why I’m trussed up in this dress.”
“Naturally.” His voice dropped, gone soft. “Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t itching to strip you out of it, jewels and all.”
The space between them seemed to shrink. Isabel couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think straight. There was only the moonlight catching in his dark hair, the hard line of his jaw, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks.
Her body burned for him.
“You’re a distraction, Agent Callahan.” She adjusted her gloves. “We’ll try Ramsgate again tomorrow. If nothing else, I could always seduce it out of him. Men tend to talk when I take my clothes off.”
His eyes narrowed. “No.”
“You don’t think I can do it?”
“That’s not it.” His jaw clenched. “You’re not his to touch.”
She raised an eyebrow, heart hammering against her ribs. “Whose am I, then?”
“Mine.” As if he’d been waiting to say it. The simplest truth in the world. “For the next three days, at least, Mrs Ashford.”
Isabel often thought she never wanted to hear the wordminefrom a man. Favreau had said it enough. Had marked her up like property.
But when Ronan said it, a shiver of want went through her. Because to be his wasn’t to be owned, it was to be cherished.
My body is yours, he’d whispered last night in the dark, when they’d both been naked and honest. She’d almost confessed then that her body had been his for years. That it would always be his, long after this mission ended. That she’d never stopped wanting him, even when she tried.
“And after the three days, Mr Ashford?” Her voice was a little breathless.
“Don’t change the subject.” His fingers caught her chin. “Trouble, I’m serious. No seducing. Nothing on your own. No stealing.”
“No seducing,” she promised. “No stealing.”
“Nothing on your own,” he pointedly finished.
She grinned. God, she loved when he got like this – all protective and commanding.
“Promise.”
19
The late afternoon sun dappled the manicured garden. Parasols twirled and coattails flapped in the breeze. The air hummed with a dozen conversations and the clinking of champagne glasses.
Isabel took a slow sip of champagne as she scanned the crowd.
There. Ramsgate was near the rose trellis, hands gesticulating as he spoke. She’d scarcely taken a step when Callahan’s fingers clamped around her elbow.
“Why are you swooping in like an overgrown bat?” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth, smiling at a curious matron who glided past.
