The Husband Trap by Tracy Anne Warren Page A

inquired, accepting an after-dinner cup of coffee in a delicate china cup. “She is an exceptional cook.”
    Adrian ate a piece of Stilton cheddar and a wafer-thin slice of pear. “Actually, she found me,” he explained after he swallowed. “When I purchased this property about four years ago, the Grimms came with it. A fortuitous event, I have always believed.”
    “I’m curious, why did you buy this house? It’s not in a likely location for a vacation residence.”
    He arched a brow, ate another bite of pear. “Likely for some, unlikely for others. Truth be told, location is precisely the reason I bought it. I suppose there’s no harm in telling you, now that the war is over. I used to do some work, confidential work, for the War Office. Owning a house that looks straight out over the Channel toward France offers several distinct advantages. The beach is private and very isolated. It makes for an unparalleled rendezvous point on quiet, moonless nights.”
    Violet felt her eyes widen. Was he saying he’d been a spy? How extraordinary, she thought, her mind filling with images of secret messages and clandestine meetings. British spies coming and going by way of Adrian’s beach, probably bearing news vital to the war effort. Adrian’s mother was French. Likely he spoke the language like a native. What a perfect choice he must have been. A trusted, respected ex-officer. An aristocrat who just happened to own a house on the seashore.
    She was still digesting the intriguing revelation when he abruptly changed the subject.
    “Are you certain I cannot interest you in a bite of this delicious dessert?” he asked.
    “No, no, I have eaten far too much tonight as it is. If I consume any more, I fear I will be unable to lift myself out of this chair.”
    “Don’t worry. If you find yourself stuck, I will come round and help heave you out.”
    “Heave me out? Are you implying I am fat, your Grace?”
    “Heavens, no. If anything, you could do with an extra bit of flesh on your bones, comely as they are.”
    The relaxed atmosphere, the enjoyable meal and the role she was performing combined to make her bold. “So you would not mind if I increased my girth?” She waited, finding herself suddenly anxious to see how he would reply.
    “If you got as round and wide as our esteemed cook, it would simply provide me with more of your beauty to admire.” He smiled, lips curving with slow warmth.
    Her own curved in reply, pulse quickening in an unsteady beat. “Be careful,” she murmured. “You know it would only give me reason to shop for an entirely new wardrobe.”
    Adrian tossed back his head, roared with laughter.
    Coffee consumed, plates cleared, candles snuffed, the evening progressed until soon it was time for bed. They parted at the base of the main staircase, Violet too shy to inquire when or if he might join her. Forcing aside a blush, she retreated up the stairs.
    Agnes dressed her in yet another of the scandalous nightgowns. Pink this time, with a scallop-shell hem and no lace, just diaphanously thin. She waited in the sitting room that adjoined her bedchamber, perched on a settee covered in watered apricot silk. Ordinarily she would have found the color charming. Enjoyed the ambience of the room decorated in soothing tones of peach and cream. Tonight her mind was preoccupied with other matters.
    Would he come? Did she want him to?
    She was still struggling to find an answer when Adrian arrived half an hour later, dressed in the same robe he had worn the night before.
    A memory swept upon her. How rich the texture of the brown velvet beneath her hands. How warm and sleek his skin to her touch after he had removed the garment.
    She lowered her eyes and held her breath as he drew near.
    “Would you care for a game of cards?” he inquired.
    Her gaze flew upward. Surely she had heard him wrong? “Cards?”
    “Hmm.” He held up the deck in his hand. “It is early yet. I thought you might enjoy the