For Your Arms Only by Linden, Caroline (best fiction books to read .TXT) 📗

men in army uniforms. She looked away, chewing the inside of her cheek in worry.

“What might happen to him?”

“Libel is difficult to prosecute, and going after one man would only draw excess attention to his lithographs. The government has been mocked more harshly than this and done nothing except bribe the printer not to sell the offending prints.” He put the prints into a leather satchel and set it aside.

“Then what have we discovered?” she asked bitterly. “That my father despises the government? That he dealt with a shifty, mean little printer to profit from his dislike? But none of that would endanger him, you say, so what has this gained us? We still don’t know where he went or where he is!”

“It’s a piece of the puzzle,” he said quietly. “One small mystery solved. I have learned not to overlook any piece, no matter how small, just because I can’t see what it means.”

She dashed the angry tears from her eyes before they could fall. Of course he was right. “I hoped so desperately Mr. Prenner would know something, but that was silly, wasn’t it? I should have known this trip wasn’t vital, and not insisted on coming along.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “No one knew what it would yield.”

“You did. You told me I needn’t come and it would be dull. You even warned me we might discover something unpleasant.” Her gaze slid over to the portfolio of lithographs. Her fingers itched to throw the whole collection into the fire; a pointless impulse, but a strong one.

“You are too harsh on yourself.”

“I am trying to admit I was wrong, and you were correct,” she said dryly. “My sister would advise you to revel in my humble admission, because I do not make them often.”

He laughed. “I doubt right and wrong are so clearly divided. It might just as well have turned out the other way round.”

She doubted that. She knew he doubted it, too, and was just being kind. Today’s events had demonstrated quite clearly that the major knew what he was doing far better than she did. “What is the Dove’s Nest?”

He sobered. “A brothel.”

Cressida shuddered. “I feared as much.” She remembered his remark about the prison. “Have you already…?”

“No. I will go inquire, if you would like—”

“No!” She blushed again. “But thank you for telling me honestly. I do appreciate it, Major.”

“Alec.” He turned his head to look at her. They were still sitting on the narrow bench, so close she could see every flicker of firelight reflected in the deep blue pools of his eyes. “Don’t call me Major.”

“Oh,” she said, flustered. “I don’t know…”

“Please,” he murmured, in the same voice he had used in the printer’s office when his lips had almost touched her cheek as he whispered in her ear. His gaze flicked to her mouth for a moment, and Cressida’s heart nearly stopped at the sudden wish, strong and sharp, that he would lean forward the last few inches and kiss her. She sat, paralyzed by shock at her own longings and quaking with apprehension. Just because he looked at her like that didn’t mean…anything, she told herself frantically. But if it did mean something, whispered a little voice in her heart, and if he did kiss her…she would enjoy it very much.

“All right,” she whispered, barely able to form the words. “If you wish…Alec.”

Alec inhaled at the husky way she said his name. Perhaps he shouldn’t kiss her, but he most certainly could, and she would kiss him back. Her glorious eyes were dark with desire and yearning; she wanted him to kiss her. They were alone together, not just in London or in this room but in this short respite from their cares and duties at home. Tonight he could forget his responsibilities, and he could make Cressida forget hers. He wanted to forget everything tonight—except her. She was everything he was not, the antithesis of all he had become. She wasn’t used to sneaking around, and when he’d rattled up Prenner, she’d gone as white as a sheet. But she hadn’t screamed or fainted or made a word of protest, and when she erupted in a temper as they walked away, he’d found it entrancing. Arousing, even. And now…She sat waiting, poised in expectation. He felt his body bend toward hers; he saw her mouth soften, heard her breathing accelerate, and Alec’s blood surged in anticipation.

A knock sounded on the door. She jerked backward, a blush flooding her cheeks. Alec silently cursed. “Yes?” he called out, resigned.

The innkeeper put his head around the door. “Beg pardon, sir, the girl forgot to bring the wine you ordered. I’ve brought it right up.”

“Excellent,” he said wryly. “Thank you.” He turned to Cressida as the innkeeper brought in the wine and then hurried back out. “Shall we have dinner?”

“Yes.” She gave him a rueful smile, her color still high. She had remembered herself; they both had. But awareness of that moment, when they had stood on the brink of forgetting, still echoed in the air like the fading vibration of a plucked string. Alec could feel it on his skin as he pulled out a chair at the table for her. She sat stiffly, holding her body away from any contact with his, and he knew she felt it, too.

The food was plain but still warm, and they ate in silence for a while. Alec guessed from Cressida’s expression that her thoughts had turned back to their reason for being in London. He almost regretted that; as much as he knew her family was depending on George Turner’s return, he hated to see the worry and cold disillusionment creep back into her eyes, banishing the hot glow of longing. He wanted to see that glow again, and not in some chance, reckless moment.

“Why did you knock out Mr. Prenner?” she finally asked.

“Ought I not to have done so?”

“Oh no, you were very right to have done so. He’s a rat.”

“And a weasel,” he murmured.

She