Desire Never Dies Read online

  Ana stared in speechless hesitation. Lucas saw the wheels turning in her mind as she digested what Henry had to say. The doubt that flickered in her eyes stirred his admiration. She didn’t just accept what she was told because someone she trusted—or at least he hoped she trusted him on some level—hadn’t denied it. She was perfectly able and willing to come to her own conclusions about Henry.

  Lucas stepped forward to place a comforting hand on her forearm. Her gaze snapped away from his friend and up to his face at the unexpected motion. Heat flashed between them again, surprising him, though it shouldn’t. Heat was the only thing he could depend upon when it came to Ana. Otherwise, she was an utter surprise at every turn.

  He drew his hand away. “What Henry says is true. He works for the War Department, and he has helped me with my investigation thus far. You don’t need to fear that he would reveal your secret.”

  Her face relaxed just a fraction at Lucas’s statement, but he noted her wariness did not flee completely.

  “I see.” Her tone was even. Noncommittal. Then she stepped forward and held out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Cliffield.”

  Henry took her offering and they shook. Then he glanced behind her at the table. His face grew somber. “Looking at the evidence, are you?”

  Lucas nodded. It was good that Henry was here. Not only could he contribute to their investigation, but his presence put cold water on whatever desires Lucas had a hard time fighting when he was alone with Ana.

  “Yes. Anastasia was just looking at the order of the attacks and wondering about common threads between them.” He glanced up and smiled at her.

  She seemed stunned that he was giving her credit for the notion, but then a little blush colored the apples of her cheeks and her lips tilted. “I hoped if we could establish some kind of pattern, it would lead us to the origin of the attacks and the person behind them.”

  Henry’s eyes snapped up for a brief moment, then returned to the map. He lingered on one flag in particular and his frown lengthened. Lucas shifted as he awaited his friend’s response.

  “It would be a good idea,” Henry finally said, his voice distant. “Except we’ve already done such an analysis.”

  “You have?” Both Ana and Lucas answered together. Ana’s brow wrinkled as she shot a glance his way. Lucas ignored her questioning stare.

  “When? Why wasn’t I involved?” he asked.

  Henry shrugged before he placed his hands on the large, metal front wheels of his chair and pushed until he moved backward, away from the table and the map. Lucas resisted the urge to assist his friend. Henry was independent and didn’t like to be aided.

  “Sometimes a man must investigate his own tragedies, Tyler,” he said softly.

  Ana cleared her throat. “Can you explain, my lord?”

  Henry glanced over to her. “She doesn’t know? You haven’t told her?”

  Lucas shook his head.

  Henry returned his focus to Ana and Lucas saw his friend’s grim determination. “Look to the map, my lady.”

  She hesitated, then did as she had been told.

  “The green flag there beside Wickerby’s…”

  She nodded as she motioned to the little flag. “Yes?”

  “That flag represents me. The attack that put me in this chair and ended whatever future as I had as a spy. Whatever future I had, period.”

  Ana fought not to allow her natural reaction of horror and sympathy to flash across her face. For Henry’s sake, but also for Lucas’s. While he’d been able to hide his emotions toward everything else, when his friend talked about his attack, they had become so clear they almost made her wince.

  She looked at the benign marker that represented so much pain. This was Lucas’s vulnerability. His drive. His reason for wanting to solve this case. And suddenly she wanted to help him. Worse, to touch him. But she couldn’t. Partly because Henry was in the room, partly because it was wrong to do so, and partly because he was standing so stiffly that she feared if she did, he might break. His jaw was set with anger and frustration, his eyes hard as cold flint.

  She turned away from the draw of him and focused on Henry. “I am very sorry,” she said softly. “I cannot imagine what you have gone through.”

  He smiled, but the expression was thin. How often did he hear those same empty platitudes? She wished she could take them back.

  “Thank you, my lady. But that is why I have been so involved in this case. There are no common elements to the assaults, I assure you. Just that all the men attacked were spies. And all have either died or been removed from the field due to injury or discovery.” Henry sighed.

  She nodded, but her mind continued to whirl despite his reassurances. Why hadn’t the Marquis included Lucas in his private investigation of common threads? Or even mentioned it to him before?

  “How is your friend, my lady?”

  With a start, Ana refocused. “My friend?”

  “Lady Allington.” Henry’s mouth twitched with an emotion she could not place. “She was recently hurt, was she not?”

  Nausea rose in Ana’s throat, choking her as she thought of Emily. Dear God, what if she ended up in a contraption like Lord Cliffield’s chair? Adam reported she was improving each time he saw her, but who could be sure of the long-term effects of her devastating wound?

  “Yes,” she said softly. “In an attack that could be related to this case.”

  She was surprised when Henry’s eyes widened and Lucas straightened up behind her as he stared at his friend.

  “You believe the attack might be related to the other spies?” Henry asked, his voice low and deceptively cool considering the light of emotion in his eyes.

  Lucas hesitated and Ana felt him searching for a way to answer. Finally, he nodded. “It very well may be.”

  “I wish you had told me your suspicions,” his friend said, hands clenching in his lap. Then he smiled at Ana like the exchange hadn’t occurred. “I should probably get back to my own affairs. I simply wished to see one of the mythical Lady Spies.”

  She nodded, uneasy now that Lucas had turned away and paced to the window. Was he angry with her? Or did he simply believe she was a fool for revealing something about their case? And why did she still want to go over and touch his arm? Comfort him?

  “I hope I did not disappoint you, my lord,” she said, continuing to glance at Lucas from the corner of her vision.

  “No,” Henry said with another smile as he rang a little bell that was attached to his chair with a golden rope. Immediately, the door opened and the Marquis’s servant appeared to wheel him away. “You did not disappoint, my lady. Good afternoon to you both.”

  The door shut behind him and immediately Ana turned to face Lucas. “I am so sorry.”

  He kept his back to her for a long moment, then turned. “Why?”

  “I let our thoughts about the cause of Emily’s attack slip out when I wasn’t aware of how much information Lord Cliffield already knew. Clearly you had not shared that assertion with him. I should have known better.” She wrung her hands as every curse word she knew—and that was quite a few thanks to Emily’s education—ran through her head to abuse her.

  Lucas stepped toward her and she was pleased to see a shadow of his usual smile tilted his lips. “You were told that Henry was an ally in our investigation, why would you think I’d be angry you shared something with him?” He sighed. “It is my fault that my friend doesn’t know all my thoughts on the subject, not yours.”

  She watched him for a moment as he moved to look at the map again. “May I ask you a question?”

  He nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell him that Emily’s attack could be related to this case?”

  He hesitated, then turned and looked her in the eye. It was such a sudden move that she hadn’t time to prepare herself or temper her reaction. A blast of something she could only describe as pure lust rocked through her, heating her to her very core when the steel of his stare lo
cked with hers. She hated herself for it, yet a part of her welcomed the heat. Welcomed the way just a look from this man could make her feel alive like she hadn’t felt for so very long.

  But then she saw the same sadness in his expression that she’d felt when he looked at Henry Bowerly. And the same empathy and desire to make his pain go away touched her in a place deeper than lust.

  “Lucas?” she prodded softly.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps for the same reason he kept his investigations private. We have been friends for as long as I can recall, Ana. We try to protect each other.”

  Her heart thudded so loudly she could scarce hear anything else. “May we declare a truce?”

  He grinned but the tension around his eyes remained, as did her desire to smooth it away. There was so much more to this man than the cocky spy Emily had described. So much more than the infuriating devil who captivated Ana’s attention despite herself. There was loyalty in him. Powerful ability as a spy. There was also more emotion than she wagered he ever wanted anyone to guess.

  “Were we at war, my lady?”

  “Perhaps not openly, but I will admit I have not made this easier for you.” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “And you have fought me, as well.”

  He tilted his head in acquiescence, but did not answer verbally. His stare was growing more focused by the moment and she found it difficult to continue.

  Swallowing, she said, “After meeting your friend and hearing the story of his attack, I have realized that you and I should not battle each other. On the contrary, we have more in common than perhaps I allowed myself to believe.”

  “How so?”

  His face was unreadable. Damn, but he was a good spy. Right now she wished she could turn off her disturbing emotions and only let him see a mask.

  “We each have a personal stake in pursuing this case.”

  She swallowed hard when he took a long step toward her. Everything in her told her to run, but she held her ground. She trembled, but not from fear as he stopped just a breath in front of her.

  “I—I am bound to protect Emily. And you wish to avenge Lord Cliffield. We are working toward the same goal, whether we wish to work side by side or not.”

  Dear Lord, but he smelled good. Like soapy water and clean male skin. And his voice was rough as sandpaper when he said, “But we also both know how dangerous it can be to allow personal issues to influence a case.”

  She managed to lift her gaze to meet his and immediately wished she hadn’t. He wasn’t just talking about their mutual hope to see a friend’s potential killer brought to justice anymore. What he was referring to went deeper. Right to the heart of the desire she kept trying to deny.

  “Yes,” she squeaked and wished her voice was stronger.

  His hand lifted, and for the first time, she noticed just how big it was. How big he seemed to be. Why hadn’t she noticed that on the terrace a few days before? His fingers swayed toward her cheek. To her horror, she found herself fighting the urge to lean toward his hand. Then he seemed to remember himself, for his hand dropped to her shoulder instead where it burned against the thin satin of her sleeve. His heat rolled through her like a fire across dry wood until she feared she would combust then and there.

  “If personal desires are dangerous,” he said quietly, his voice low and husky and bubbling with the same need that brewed inside her, “then perhaps we should keep them out of this.”

  She felt herself nodding, even as she stared at his mouth. He was going to kiss her. Even before he started to lean in, she knew it as clearly as she knew her name. The fact didn’t even surprise her. What did surprise her was that she wanted his kiss.

  So very, very much.

  That treacherous thought hit her like a physical slap and she recoiled from it by pulling away.

  “I—We—Yes.” Idiot! She spun for the door. “Good-bye. Just—good afternoon.”

  Then she all but ran from the room, heart racing and body shaking. And wanting in a powerful way she had never experienced before.

  Not even with her husband.

  Chapter 7

  S he was the only woman wearing black, but that wasn’t why Anastasia was surrounded by people. Despite the fact that she had not danced all evening, she was the belle of the damned ball. Lucas swigged a gulp of his drink, eyes narrowing.

  Since she had entered the room more than two hours before, she had been swarmed by old friends, social climbers…and men. Oh, so many men. Probably the same ones who his contacts had reported sent bouquets to her home every day. His jaw popped as he clenched his teeth.

  Currently she was talking to the very handsome, very rich, very titled Earl of Rawlingworth and smiling away like she was having the best time ever. He’d never hated the man before, but now Lucas’s blood boiled as she glanced up and laughed at something the gentleman said.

  It wasn’t just that she was surrounded by admirers that made his fists clench and his frustration rise. It was that he hadn’t gotten within a breath of her all night. No, Ana had been avoiding him. Just as she had been since the afternoon in his office when he was so close to kissing her. She had responded politely enough to his note asking her to meet him at the ball, but she had not approached him, and her words hadn’t indicated she felt anything for him but a businesslike acquaintance.

  Which burned in his belly like fire. He had felt her desire that day as strong as his own. Whether she denied it or not, it was there. And he felt a very intense, very strange need to pull her into a dark corner and prove that to her. Pull her out of those widow’s weeds and…

  Enough!

  Rawlingworth raised her gloved hand to his lips and bowed before he moved away into the crowd, leaving Ana unaccompanied for the first time in hours. Now was the perfect time to make his move. Making his way around the perimeter of the ballroom, Lucas measured his breath and slowed his steps. The last thing he wanted to do was let Ana see how much she affected him. Or the rest of the ton since the gossips were already on the alert when it came to the two of them.

  She noticed his approach when he was fifteen paces away. Her eyes widened and she thrust her shoulders back, as if preparing for a battle rather than conversation. He sucked in a breath before he gave her a smile.

  “Good evening, my lady,” he drawled.

  She nodded briefly. “Mr. Tyler.”

  He sighed. “We’re back to that, are we?”

  “It may be for the best. It’s certainly proper.”

  She didn’t meet his gaze, but instead looked out over the ballroom as if searching for a more interesting companion. He wasn’t sure if that display was for the benefit of the watching eyes around them or for him. Either way, he clenched his teeth in annoyance.

  “I hope you recall that you are here to work tonight, not amuse yourself,” he said and immediately wished he had tempered his peevish tone.

  Her gaze swung to him and he was surprised how cool her expression was. Unhurt by his harshness. She arched one brow. “I’m very well aware of why I’m here. I have been waiting for your move.”

  With a purse of his lips, Lucas held back a curse. This little slip of a woman, with her spectacles and her damned mourning gowns, set him on his heels like the most experienced courtesan never had. She infuriated and aroused him in equal, powerful measure. And he didn’t understand either emotion. Nor did he wish to feel them, not if they provided such damned distraction.

  “In ten minutes, slip away from the party,” he directed with military precision. “When you leave the ballroom, turn left down the long hallway and then right into an adjoining hall. I shall meet you there. Don’t let anyone follow you or notice your departure, do you understand?”

  She nodded once before she walked away, leaving him with only a hint of her enchanting scent as a reminder that she’d been there at all. He gritted his teeth as he set out through the ballroom. After this investigation was over, he was definitely in line to go over his training methods. He obviously needed to re
member what a spy was and was not supposed to do.

  Of course, when this case was over he could finally breathe easy again. He would forget Anastasia completely.

  Right.

  He stepped into the shadow of an ornate statue that was in the hallway where he was to meet Ana and counted to ten in his head. Slowly, calm returned to his body. His blood stopped rushing in his ears. He remembered who he was and why he was here. For the spies who had been cut down, for Henry, he would control himself.

  Perhaps a visit to a brothel was in order. It had been a few months since he had bedded a woman. Likely that was the real reason for his distraction when it came to Ana.

  Of course, he hadn’t ever felt like such a lusty animal around Emily Redgrave, who was equally pretty. Just not irresistible to him.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. Then words fell away as Ana came around the corner into the side hallway.

  She held the skirt of her black gown in her fist as she crept into view. Her brown hair, which had been done in a simple style, was beginning to droop after a night in the hot ballroom. Little strands of it framed her oval face. She would be beautiful in red. Blue. Gold.

  Nothing at all.

  “Lucas?” she whispered and it startled him from his thoughts.

  “I’m here.” He stepped out from behind the statue and she gave a little jump of surprise before she collected herself and stepped forward.

  “I’m sorry it took me so long. I was waylaid by Lord Evenport on my way out of the ballroom.”

  His eyes narrowed at the mention of the dandified womanizer’s name. “Just come with me.”

  She tilted her head at the harsh tone, but did as she was told, falling into step beside him as he approached one of the doors in the hallway. He looked around.

  “Keep watch,” he ordered as he fished in his pocket for a lock pick.