Page 34 of The Spy Who Loved Her
Rafe knew he would have to leave her soon, well before dawn crept over the horizon. Each time, it seemed, he stayed a bit later. Each time he was a little less willing to leave. It took something from him, he thought, to always have to leave her. Each time he left a little more of himself in her hands, dreaded a little more the inevitable end of their relationship.
And it would have to end, eventually, as all things did. Most of the time, one wasn’t even aware that the endwasthe end. Perhaps he, too,would not know when they had ended until after the fact. Perhaps one day in the near future, she would request the return of her key before he left. Perhaps she would simply never send another note. An ending established only in retrospect; a tiny death stretched out over days or weeks as he wondered, when, if, she would ever reach out to him once again.
In these last moments before he took his leave, in the still-stygian darkness of the early morning hours, he wanted only to memorize the texture of her skin beneath his hands, the elegant slope of her shoulders. To feel the feather of her lashes, and see the quirk of her smile. To hear the sweet sigh of her breath and the soft hum of her voice. Each time could be the last he would ever experience these things. If he could keep nothing else of her, at least these memories would live on in her absence.
“Thank you,” she said in a sleepy murmur into the bend of her elbow as he pulled on his shirt. “For coming. I didn’t expect it. But I am grateful nonetheless.” She peeked one eye open, watching with open curiosity as he dressed. “If you would come back again tomorrow—”
“I will.”
“Thank you. I was finding it dreadfully difficult to sleep before you arrived,” she said. “I suppose I feel safer with you here.”
“Safer?” It hadn’t been only the pain that had kept her wakeful, then. “Why?”
“You’ll think it foolish,” she said, with a wry twist of her lips. “It’s justthat—well, Neil informed me yesterday that someone had broken in, probably early in the morning. Straight through the stillroom window, it would seem.”
I thought you were an intruder, she’d said. And he hadn’t marked it as odd, because he hadn’t been expected this evening. There was a queer sensation at the back of his neck, as if he was being observed. The feeling of some unseen threat lurking, not too distant, like a trap closing in around him.
It could be a coincidence. There was always that vanishingly remote possibility. But it wasn’t. He knew damned well it could not be. The timing was too convenient, too prompt.
Rafe paused in the act of tucking his shirt into his trousers and modulated his voice as he asked, “Was anything taken?”
Her brows pinched together. “No,” she said. “Not that I’ve noticed. Not that Neil has noticed yet, either, and he does keep a scrupulously accurate inventory. A few of the rooms were rifled through. Some even”—she gave a delicate shudder—“within this corridor.”
And it had happened, most likely, whilst she slept. Too close a call. For her taste, and also for his.
“It is just so violating,” she said. “To have a stranger rooting through one’s things.”
“Terribly violating, I would imagine.” Rafe shoved the thought that hehad done just the same to the back of his mind. At least he had been competent enough to leave no evidence of his own pilfering.
Emma eased one arm beneath her head, propping her chin in her hand. “Perhaps Neil will discover some bits of silver missing at some point in the future. As for myself—I’m simply glad that whatever burglary the intruder intended to commit, it was limited to this part of the house. If the children had been in danger—”
“Unlikely,” he said. “Housebreakers often perform surveillance in advance of a break-in. The goal is to get in and out swiftly, attracting as little notice as possible, and leaving no witnesses. The intruder would have taken the path of least resistance, avoiding heavily-trafficked areas.” The wing the children occupied had entirely too many people living and working within it. Besides, if the intruder had been after what he imagined had been the target, then there was no reason to expect to find it within the school wing.
It had been a rush job, undertaken within hours of the ball. The intruder had left empty-handed, and hadn’t cared if his presence had been discovered. Probably a hired man, then, and that—that meant desperation. And that verydesperation could place Emma in jeopardy.
Emma shuddered, eyes gone wide and stark. “Do you mean to tell me that someone has been watching my house? Could they be, still?”
“Difficult to say.” He didn’t want to lie to her any more than he wished to frighten her. The thief had failed, but he suspected there would be another attempt, and another—as many as necessary to secure the journal. “I’ll speak with Chris in the morning. Have him place a couple of men nearby at night for a little while, for your peace of mind,” he said. “Just until we can be certain there’s no one lurking about.”
“Thank you,” she said again, on a breezy little sigh of relief.
A moment of silence stretched out between them. He didn’t want to leave her here alone, frightened of every little sound that might come in the night. He didn’t want to leave her unguarded, when anyone might be lurking in the shadows. Gingerly, he sat at the edge of the bed and placed his hand upon her hip. “Would you like me to stay?”
The lingering tension went out of her in a rush. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, please. If it’s not too much trouble. I wouldn’t have asked—”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll leave before first light.” Tonight, at least, she would be safe. And tomorrow she would be under guard. “Don’t worry,” he said, as he dragged his shirt off over his head once more. “I sleep lightly.”
“That makes one of us,” Emma said with a wry grimace as she settled her head upon his shoulder. “I sleep like the dead.” Her fingers drummed a nervous little rhythm upon his chest, but she had settled in his arms so naturally, so comfortably. “If someone should break in this evening—”
“They won’t.” Of that, at least, he was reasonably certain. “If someone has been watching the house, they will have noticed that I have not left.” Probably the intruder had been waiting for him to leave the night before. “And if they should decide to risk it anyway, they’ll have a nasty shock waiting for them. I’m quite good with my fists.”
“What if they’ve brought a weapon?”
“A knife is more likely than a gun. Guns produce a great deal of noise and thus draw a great deal of attention.” And they required reloading, besides. “I can disarm a man with a knife.”
Appeased by his confidence, Emma slid her leg between his, curling closer. The tips of her fingers sketched out tiny, inconsistent patterns upon his chest. Sleep, if it had been in the offing for her, had slipped from her grasp. “Will you tell me something about yourself?” she asked, finally, her voice lowered to a murmur.
“Like what?”
