Undine paced the drawing room until she heard the front door close. She couldn’t get the image of Kent’s battered face out of her head. She knew he’d sacrificed himself to save her. He’d had a pistol and could have used it but didn’t.
The knowledge of that sacrifice bound her to him and distressed her deeply.
There are sacrifices that must be made for peace, you know.
Aye, but he didn’t volunteer to serve, did he?
“The blackguard,” Bridgewater said, downing whiskey. “To accost a man’s wife in his own home.”
“I’m not your wife, John. Not yet. And your reaction was brutish.”
He swung around. “You criticize my handling of the situation?”
“I will not marry a man who cannot control his temper. If you can profit from that information, I suggest you do so at once. If you cannot, I’ll go.”
He shook with rage or the effort to control, she didn’t know which. But she knew the only way to dampen his fury was to expose it, like an infected wound. The work of a spy wasn’t meant to be easy or pleasing, but witnessing the attack on a treasured compatriot and facing the potential of violence to one’s own self were the most unpleasant duties. She was overwhelmed and struggled to remind herself of the horrors the soldiers and clansmen unleashed on the innocent in the borderlands.
“You must learn to keep a civil tongue in your head, Undine.” Bridgewater’s fists were balled.
She said nothing. She’d said what needed to be said. She wouldn’t be goaded into more. What she wanted was to excuse herself to her room, dig that paper from her pocket, and assure herself that the wounds to Kent’s face were worth the information they’d won.
She held Bridgewater’s gaze.
“Dammit, Undine.”
“Give me your decision.”
He lifted his glass to hurl it into the hearth and stopped at the last instant. With great effort, he brought his arm back down. “I will attempt to do better.”
If the display at the river was any indication, he would cry now. The effects of the spell were beginning to stray further and further from normal, which meant she would soon have to end things here. As early as the morning, he could discover the papers were gone. Kent had positioned himself masterfully as the man to be suspected, but eventually, Bridgewater’s reason would return, and if she wasn’t away and hidden at that point, she’d be in very grave danger.
“Thank you,” she said.
He pulled her into a demanding kiss. The transformation surprised her so much that she was momentarily paralyzed. All she could think about were the papers in her pocket. She lifted his hands to her face, and buoyed by her reaction, he deepened his kiss.
“Let me take you to my bed,” he whispered. “Let me show the pleasure I can bring you.”
She thought about what other secrets he might have stored there—correspondence and diaries—and debated what to do.
“I ache for you, Undine. Can you feel it?”
The thought sickened her, but what might she gain?
Do your proper job.
The vision of Kent’s gentle face would not be displaced. It hung like a bright light in the dark room of her duty.
“I… I…”
“Please, Undine. I beg you.”
“I cannot.”
The papers would be enough—they had to be.
She unbraided herself from his clasp.
“You destroy me,” he said, breathing heavily.
“We will destroy each other—when it’s time.” She ran from the room and up the stairs, desperate to see what her adventure with Michael had brought them.