“You’re a spy?”
Alex pulled a face. He’d never particularly cared for that word—spying was not considered by most to be an honorable means of warfare. He much preferred the term “agent.” But probably now wasn’t a good time to quibble over semantics.
“Yes, I’m a spy—”
“I thought you’d been a soldier.”
“I was. I am what ever the war office asks of me. It’s something of a family tradition. The Rockefortes have always been in the active ser vice of the Crown.”
“Oh,” she said rather stupidly. But really what else could she say? I’m a spy too. Goodness, what are the odds? seemed hopelessly wrong.
“You’re not angry.” She was still gawking at him a bit, looking stunned, but not mad. It was immensely relieving…and a little odd.
“No, I’m not angry.” How could she be? What a hypocrite that would make her. It was strange though, that they’d been working around each other all this time. It seemed awfully disorganized.
“What exactly were you suppose to do?” she asked.
“Initially, I was to ordered to keep an eye on you and Lord Loudor.”
A uncomfortable prickly sensation started at the back of her neck. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What does that mean, ‘keep an eye on you’?”
“Just what it implies, I suppose. I was to develop an association with you and through you Lord Loudor—”
“What?”
He shifted his feet a little nervously. “You’re angry now, aren’t you?”
She ignored that. “You were spying on me?”
“Only for a few days, a fortnight at most—”
“A fortnight….” Memories of those first two weeks in London came flooding back. Alex laughing with her, Alex taking her to the opera, Alex kissing her…all lies?
“Yes, only a fortnight, ten days to be specific, not so very long if you think about it. After that, my mission was just a convenient excuse to court you—”
“You needed an excuse to court me.”
Her voice was very, very calm. Disturbingly calm.
“Yes. No! I mean, not under normal circumstances, but—” Alex stopped and glanced down at his feet. He couldn’t help it. Surely to God there was some visible evidence of the hole he was digging himself into. “You must understand, I had a duty—”
“A duty,” she repeated ominously.
How deep was it now? Three feet, maybe four?
“An assignment. I couldn’t very well—”
“Now I’m an assignment?”
“No. I did not say that.”
Six feet. Definitely six.
“Sophie.”
Surely that, at least, wouldn’t get him into any more trouble.
She glared daggers.
Apparently, it wasn’t enough to get him out of any either.
He tried again anyway.
“Sophie.”
“How much of it was a lie?” she asked quietly.
Alex blinked in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“Those first ten days, and all the days after that…” She swallowed audibly. “How much of what you…what we did was a lie? All of it? Did you even want to be with me?”
“What? No, Sophie, don’t.” He reached out for her arm to stop her from turning away. “Look at me, sweetheart.” He put his fingers under her chin and titled her head up. “Look at me,” he repeated softly. “I have wanted to be with you since the moment I saw you. You took my breath away. The first moment we spoke, you stole my heart.”
“Alex—”
“Nothing we have shared has been a lie,” he insisted. “Nothing. The reason for seeking you out was a pretense, yes, but I could never counterfeit the pleasure it brings me just to be near you.”
His fingers left her chin to wipe a tear off her cheek. “Please, believe me, Sophie,” he pleaded. “I will always want to be with you.”
Even as he said the words, Alex knew they were true. He simply couldn’t imagine a future without her. Couldn’t imagine waking up each morning alone, or worse, next to a woman who wasn’t Sophie. Couldn’t imagine not hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, tasting her lips….
“I believe you.”
Sophie’s voice shook him out of his reverie and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank God.”
He took her hand and resumed walking. “If it makes you feel any better, I knew immediately you weren’t a spy.”
Sophie made a strange noise that was part laugh, part groan, and part choke. He stopped again and looked at her questioningly.
“As to that…” The words came out a nervous squeak.
He dropped her hand. His stomach did a slow roll before plummeting to his feet.
It couldn’t be.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m not a French spy.”
“What sort of spy are you, then?”
“Besides an inept one,” she grumbled, “an English sort of spy. The Prince Regent hired me to look into the affairs of my cousin and several of his associates.”
“Prinny hired you?” he asked, unsure if he were more relieved, confused, or angry. “Prinny doesn’t hire agents.”