Gently, he ended the kiss, but continued holding her. It gave him a small sense of assurance because he could defend their position.
“We’re in this together now,” he declared. “If they want you, they’ll have to comethrough me.”
When they finally arrived at the Monte Carlo townhouse tucked at the end of a quiet lane near the tranquil harbor, Diana felt no less exposed than she had on the open water.
Fatigue weighed her down. Ian battled exhaustion bravely, but she hated the dark circles that hung beneath his eyes. Almost as much as she hated retreating to a separate room upstairs after murmuring she’d take a tray for dinner and go straight to sleep.
She fought every instinct to invite him to follow her. It would have taken few words to convince him.
Neither of us should be on our own.
Lie beside me. It will be safer that way.
We won’t do anything but sleep.
The door to his bedroom on the floor below hers slammed shut. She hoped he was fighting his own battle to remain apart from her.
Inside her room, Diana found hot water, a freshly laundered nightdress, and two envelopes. One was bordered with black. The other had the seal of the local telegraph office.
She pulled off her sodden cloak and shawl and worked her way out of the ruined evening gown and corset. Her shift and drawers were damp and clung against her skin, setting a chill into her bones. As she peeled off the cloth, she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the dresser.
Lamplight fell against the swell of her breasts, and she brushed a cool hand over one. Slowly, her fingers reached for the hard peak of her nipple. She grazed it with the tip of her nail to reclaim the sensation of Ian’s teeth teasing her through the fabric of her dress.
Despite the seedy surroundings of the brothel in San Sebastian, and the fear that had choked her, the way he’d caressed and kissed her as he stoked her pleasure had been the most erotic experience of her life.
She’dbeggedfor more. He hadn’t hesitated one second debating it before giving it to her.
After all her imaginings, all her plotting, it was disorienting to act on the desires she’d stifled for years. On some level, she’d hoped that it would curtail the feelings she’d fought off. But it had rendered the opposite effect.
It made her hunger for all of him.
It made her dare to dream she could have it.
Her attention turned to the letters sitting on the dresser, and she remembered the obstacles between them.
With a shiver, she pulled on her nightdress and locked the door against her temptation.
As Ian wove his way through the city center the next morning, Birdie trailed him. He was too tired for subterfuge and took coffee and a croissant at a market stall while he waited for the telegraph office to open.
Although physically exhausted from days of grueling travel, he’d slept lightly and little the night before; he’d wanted Diana in his bed more than his next breath. In the crisp morning air, he resolved to spend the day reconnoitering the city, since returning to the townhouse would be too tempting. If they found themselves alone together, he’d try to finish what they’d started at the brothel in San Sebastian.
Until a few days ago, he would have taken whatever access to her delicious body she’d offered without question. Now, he couldn’t separate the physical act of pleasure from the potential cost to his sanity and his soul.
When the telegraph office opened, there were two wires waiting for him. The first from Hepburn, confirming that Jared had departed for France. The second wire gave an address for a meeting point at a café in Monte Carlo’s Old Town.
Thankfully, a pair of matrons usurped the telegraph attendant’s full attention, which enabled Ian to duck through the back-office entrance and outside to thealley behind the building. He turned the new frock coat he’d found in his wardrobe inside out and covered his head with a soft cap he’d bought in Saint-Tropez before he jogged from the Avenue Main to the cathedral. Behind the church, he found a small square and a café. The tables outside only had one occupant.
As he glanced up from his newspaper, the Duke of Sunderland took a long draw on his cigarillo. “Bonjour, monsieur.”
Ian sank down on a chair. Their position in the square was more exposed than he’d prefer, and he pulled the cap over his forehead. “We have less than ten minutes before my tails catch up.”
“That is one of the few drawbacks of Monte Carlo,” Sunderland drawled as a waiter delivered two cups of coffee. “So few places to hide. But so close to the French countryside. A wonderful place for hunting stags.”
After the waiter retreated out of earshot, Ian asked, “You’ve confirmed the details I sent through about the organization?”
The duke nodded and tapped his cigarillo thoughtfully. “Authorities across Britain and the Continent have been monitoring the Stags for the last decade or so. They all turned a blind eye to their propensity for skirting the law. The police don’t have the time, inclination, or money to dedicate to serving and protecting women.”
Ian swallowed his scalding coffee in one gulp. “When did things change?”