Trapped by Scandal by Jane Feather Page B

crushing her into the bed, and she asked softly, “What was that? Why such ferocity?”
    William rolled away onto his back, his chest heaving, sweat still glistening in the hollow of his throat. He reached out a hand to rest on her bared belly. “I don’t know, exactly. Suddenly, all the fear, the tension, the anxiety, the need . . . responsibility . . . to get these innocents out of the hands of the Committee, to save them . . . sometimes it’s a spring too tightly wound, and it gives way. Worrying about you was somehow the last straw. I knew that if anything had happened to you, it would be my fault, and when I saw you, knew you were safe, something just broke inside me.”
    He turned sideways, resting on an elbow, a finger tracing her collarbone, trailing down into the damp cleft of her breasts, his eyes warm but also apologetic.
    â€œI didn’t hurt you?”
    She shook her head, smiling a little as she reached up to brush the stray lock of hair from his forehead.
    â€œDid I frighten you?”
    Again, she shook her head. “Surprised me, perhaps, but I had the same need, I think. I wanted what you wanted.” She gave a little laugh. “Except, of course, that I didn’t know it.” The feeling of safety, for all its impermanence, was for this moment almost overwhelming. Marie Claire was safe downstairs in the kitchen, and in this small, separate space under the eaves, the hideous noise and riot of the city were held at bay. For now, this purely human passion could be indulged without guilt or fear.
    â€œSo what happened?” William asked. “Where have you been all this time?”
    â€œI did what you told me to do. I felt danger, someone watching me. A man accosted me on the Notre Dame bridge, so I worked my way through the lanes to Île St. Louis and then crossed the river by boat at the end of the island. I came straight back once I was sure it was safe.” She turned her head to look at him, her gaze both questioning and a little defensive. “Did I do anything wrong?”
    William flung his hands above his head, staring ruefully up at the cracked plaster ceiling. “Forgive me, Hero. I was so anxious for you . . . I felt such guilt, I suppose. You’re so untried at this business, but then, in other ways, you’re not untried. I told myself you could and should be able to do this, because we needed you. I was thinking only of the mission.” A grim smile touched his mouth.
    Hero leaned over and ran a finger over his lips, smoothing away the grimness. “You have to understand, William, that I didn’t ask or want you to consider me except as necessary to the business of rescuing Marie Claire. I know I must seem young and untried; after all, I’m a sheltered, privileged brat, product of the English aristocracy.” Her laugh had a touch of acid to it. “But I’m probably stronger than you think.”
    He sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. “That, my dear, is a lesson I learned well this afternoon.” He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Can you make yourself respectable enough to appear downstairs? Your brother has been out of his mind with worry, and Marie Claireneeds the attentions that only a member of her own sex can give her.”
    Hero found this return to business oddly reassuring. She felt not a smidgen of guilt for those moments of passionate need. She had no reason to feel guilt. She was betraying no one. And then she heard herself ask abruptly, “Is there a woman waiting for you somewhere, William?” Her gaze went to his face, watching his response with an almost painful intensity.
    An unmistakable shadow crossed his eyes, but he shook his head. “No, Hero. I don’t live the kind of life that would make that possible.”
    â€œSo you love where and when you please?” she asked lightly.
    â€œWhere and when