“About what I said earlier...when you were lying in the snow,” Eliza began.
Pierce looked down at his feet. He wished he had pulled his shirt on before this moment had come. He felt strangely vulnerable and naked without it. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “You were distressed. You spoke in the heat of the moment. I won’t hold you to it.”
“What are you talking about?”
The cot jerked as she jumped to her feet. Her hands were on her hips, and she was obviously annoyed. “I—ah, nothing.”
“I was not distressed nor did I speak in the heat of the moment.” She moved closer so he could feel the heat of her body on his naked flesh and smell the scent of apple. “I do love you, Pierce. I should have said it before.”
“I should have said it before,” he interrupted.
“You?”
He took her hand, pulling her close. “I think about my feelings so much I forget to...feel them, I suppose. I do love you, Eliza. I didn’t realize how much until the moment I saw Penter—or whatever his name is—point his weapon at you.”
“You dove in front of a man firing a pistol.” She sounded almost angry, although her eyes were wet with tears.
“Love makes a man do foolish things. I knew in that moment, without thinking, that I couldn’t live without you. I would have rather died than lived without you.”
She squeezed his hand almost painfully and pulled him to his feet. “Pierce, you realize that is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“It may be the last romantic words from my lips. I’m no poet, Eliza.”
She released his hand and stepped into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I know exactly who you are, Pierce. And I love you.”
She kissed him then, her mouth hungry and full of unleashed passion. She’d not kissed him like this before, without any hint of reserve. It fired his blood, and he knew this night would be a true test of his willpower. Her soft body pressed against his bare chest, and her hand slid over his skin until she cupped his hard length. He broke the kiss. “Eliza, let me—”
“Oh, no. None of your naughty books tonight. Tonight there is just you and me and this.” She kissed him again. He would have laid her on the cot, but the pathetic excuse for a bed might very well collapse if the two of them tested it. Instead, he pushed her up against the wall of the stall, his eyes meeting that of the horse occupying the stall beside his.
“Perhaps we should go inside,” he suggested. She slid her mouth over his neck, scraping her teeth along his flesh. His hands clenched on her hips. “There is no privacy here.”
“Everyone is inside,” she murmured. “Besides, we’re spies.” She smiled up at him. “We like adventure and risk.”
“I keep forgetting.” And then he did forget everything but the feel of her in his arms, the shape of her body as it molded to him, and the sounds she made as he joined with her.
Later, when they were both spent and exhausted, they lay on a blanket in a cozy bed of clean straw and looked up at the roof. The brazier had expended almost all of its coal, and Pierce would send Eliza to her warm room before the hour was up. He turned to look at her, so beautiful with her hair spread on the blanket and her eyes half-closed.
“I’m not going to Switzerland.”
She opened her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t leave you, and your place is in London, at the Barbican.” Amazing how easy it was to make sacrifices for her now that he knew he loved her. They weren’t really sacrifices at all.
She pushed up on one elbow. “But Switzerland is a wonderful opportunity for you. You can’t stay a clerk forever, even a clerk in the Barbican group.”
“I’ll be close to you, and that is what I want.” He stroked her cheek, happy in the knowledge he could freely touch her now. She was his.
“You will be close to me in Switzerland. I’m going with you.”
He stared at her. “No. Your work is here—”
She put a finger over his lips. “My life is where you are, and I’m not going without stipulation.”
He raised a brow.
“You must promise to return to England.”
“Of course. The appointment is for a year or two at most.”
She kissed him. “Good. If I can work for the Foreign Office abroad, I will. If not, the Barbican group will go on without us for a little while.”
“Then you want to return to work for the Barbican group at some point?” he asked.
“Of course. One day, I plan to be the director.”
“You plan...” But why not? This was Miss Qwillen—Q. She could do anything.
Twelfth Night, London
The noise from the revelers on Piccadilly was muted within the secure stone walls of the Barbican headquarters. But it said something of the spirit of the celebration that Q and Moneypence could hear it at all in the bowels of the building, deep in the Dungeon.
As this was the night of feasting and balls, the offices of the Barbican were largely empty. The agents were either out reveling or home with family exchanging the traditional gifts. It was the perfect night for Eliza and Pierce to peruse some of the lesser-known volumes of the Dungeon. They sat side by side at one of the stone tables in an alcove hidden behind rows and rows of files.
Moneypence pushed a book toward her. “What do you think of this?”
She turned the book upside down, and then right side up. “I do not believe my body will contort into that position.”
He laughed. He laughed much more these days. “It will be excessively diverting to try it.”
“Perhaps for you!”
“For
