“For you,” Les told her.
She looked at him with widened eyes. “Me? This must have cost you your entire yearly wages. You didn’t have to do this. I’ll have to pay you back.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” His eyes became hard. “One does not repay someone for a gift. Don’t worry about the money. Mr. Stern and I have a different arrangement.”
Sopherina looked over at Mr. Stern, who smiled at her. “He makes sure I’m one of the first bookstores for miles to get the Order of the Second Sons books.” The popular children’s books told the stories of a band of four spies who were all second sons of powerful men of Society. They were written by Bert Norris, a man of mystery, and yet Les claimed to know him.
She smiled at Les as she hugged the book. “Oh, yes, your friend Mr. Norris. I would like to meet him one day.” She’d never been gifted by anyone but her father before. She was very sure she shouldn’t accept such a costly tome, but someone would have to pry it from her to take it away.
“Another time.” He showed her out of the bookshop, and they walked to Lady Tash’s while they spoke about what they thought might happen in the book. All the while, her carriage followed.
When they reached Lady Tash’s, they were shown into the sitting room where the woman waited for them.
“Miss Sopherina. Mr. Paddon. It’s so good to see you.” The older woman was the only person who greeted Sopherina and Les in the same kind manner and the only place in Merthyr Tydfil where they could safely meet for a few hours whenever they wished.
Once the woman was gone, Les shed his jacket and took a seat next to Sopherina, his eyes watching her in a strange manner.
“What?” She had to stop herself from reaching up to touch her hair.
He smiled and shook his head. “It’s nothing. I simply enjoy staring at you. In the wasteland of Merthyr Tydfil, you, Sopherina, are a flower that refuses to be crushed by wind or brick. You’re beautiful.”
She took a deep breath, realizing she’d not breathed through his entire speech. “You’ve never said anything like that before.”
He smiled. “Why would it matter? I’m just a simple miner. You probably have enough people in your life to tell you how beautiful you are.”
“I don’t.” She moved closer. “No one tells me things like that. People are afraid to speak to me or hate me and with the rumors about the riots…”
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he vowed.
She smiled and choked back the words ‘I love you’ and decided it was time to start reading. “I’ll go first.” She cleared her throat and opened the cover to find an inscription in beautiful handwriting. Sure she'd read the words wrong, she did it again and then again. Will you marry me? She looked at Les inquisitively. “Who wrote this?”
His expression was unreadable, his eyes roaming her face before meeting her gaze again. “I did.”
She stared at him and understood the inscription’s meaning. “Will you marry me?” she whispered. She looked at him with wide eyes. “You wish to marry me?”
“If you’ll have me,” he replied, hope in his eyes. “I know, I’m not the man your father would approve of, but I swear to you—”
“Yes,” she whispered. Then, louder, she replied, “Yes! Les, I’ll marry you.”
He touched her cheek and leaned forward. Sopherina could barely get her mouth to cooperate with the way she was trembling. She closed her eyes and allowed Les’ mouth to rub against her own. Her lips parted, and she felt his tongue touch hers.
Heat pooled in her belly, and she broke away, touching her lips. “What was that?”
He smiled. “A kiss.”
Her heart beat painfully in her chest. “You didn’t kiss me like that before.”
“Did you not enjoy it?” His smile slipped.
She blinked. “I enjoyed it.” She'd enjoyed it more than she thought she should. “Perhaps we could do it again?”
He smiled again. “All right.”
They kissed again and under Les’ skills, Sopherina learned that what they’d done that night at the tavern was not kissing. This was kissing, this play of lips and tongues. By the time Les broke away, she was ready to agree to anything.
“Will you leave for Gretna Green with me tonight?”
With her eyes closed and the feel of his mouth still on hers, it was no wonder she said yes.
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
One Week Later
Warren Leverton lay propped up in bed as he stared at his wife—no, Les Paddon's wife—as she wrote at a small table by the fireplace in their room at an inn in Gretna Green. He'd just had her, and yet his body wanted more. Sopherina's abundance of dark red curls hung in a heavy mass over her shoulders and down her back. He'd had to beg her to not redress, swearing to her that a proper wife could go around the bedroom in nothing at all if that was her husband's desire. They'd compromised in the end. She sat in her chemise, the thin material hiding very little with her profile positioned in front of the fire.
She had both her long legs bent underneath her chair, her head slightly tilted as her hand stroked a pen over paper. Everything she did was sensual. She was utterly feminine, and Warren found himself in a situation he'd never been in before.
He was deeply in love with a woman who should have been nothing more than his assignment. Sopherina North's father and the rest of the iron company owners in Merthyr Tydfil were in danger. There was a riot coming. Warren could feel it in the air. His assumed name for the last few months was Lester Paddon, a man from a small village who'd simply been looking for work and found his way to Merthyr Tydfil. He worked for North Iron, accepting the low wages, and kept his mouth closed as he listened to the angry men around him. There was high tension in the air. People were starving and, as a spy, Warren had traveled the world and seen what a man with a starving family was willing to do. He'd be willing to kill if it meant food. England feared having to send the army in to calm the men down but the army coming to Wales would mean bloodshed.
At first, his job had been to simply see if all was well in Wales. Many of England's resources came from there. Water, iron, and coal to name a few. The Crown had heard whispers of strike, which would make life not only hard for the companies but for the country if it went on for too long, so the O.S.S., or rather, the Order of the Second Sons, had been sent in, an order as old as the realm and truer than the stories Warren spun under his pen name Bert Norris.