Free For Her Spy Only (Entangled Scandalous) by Robyn DeHart Page A

when he’d fought in the war.
    “Is this from the war?”
    “No,” he said, but offered no further explanation.
    She hadn’t realized that giving herself to Alistair again would make her feel so strongly about telling him about Oliver. But she felt so open, so exposed, she had to fight the words from tumbling out. She snuggled closer to him, searching for a way to bring up the topic. “Why were you so surprised when you discovered I had a child?”
    His shoulders shrugged under her. “I suppose since I’ve never wanted children, I forget that other people might.”
    “Do you not like children?”
    “I’ve never really been around them. I mean I was when I was a child, but not since,” he said, his tone tighter.
    She chewed at her lip. “Then why the adamant feelings against them?”
    He sat abruptly, his jaw clenched. “You want to know what this scar is?” He dragged his finger against the puckered skin. “I tried to save her, my wife, when she jumped from the cliff. I fell onto ragged rocks and missed her,” he said hoarsely.
    People assumed he had killed his wife, but evidently she’d killed herself and he’d been there, seen it, tried to stop her.
    “She is the reason for the scar and why I carry a cane. I don’t limp anymore, but I did for so long.” He exhaled slowly. “And she is the reason I do not want children.”
    The hope Winifred had felt just moments before dissolved into a tight knot in her belly. Even more she knew she could not ever tell him, could not ever let him know that his child already existed.

Chapter Nine
    Alistair slipped from the bed and donned his clothes. Winifred slept deeply, her breathing even and calm. Momentarily he thought to kiss her head before he crept from her room, but instead he merely turned and left. The stairs to the first floor were just around the corner, but something caught his eye.
    A boy stood down the corridor, small, wide-eyed, one hand on the doorknob to what Alistair assumed was the boy’s sleeping chamber.
    Alistair took a step toward him. “Are you looking for your mother?”
    The boy shook his head.
    “Do you need anything?”
    He merely looked up at Alistair with his big, green eyes. Eyes that seemed oddly familiar. With one more glance, the boy opened his door and slipped inside.
    Alistair turned to go. Winifred’s son. He’d seen glimpses these past few days of what she was like as a mother. She was obviously concerned with the boy’s education and his safety. No doubt she was comforting and loving. Everything his own mother had not been. She’d thought him peculiar and simple. Oliver was a fortunate boy to have such a loving mother.
    …
    When she’d woken up that morning and found Alistair gone, and the bed where he’d been cold and empty, Winifred realized she could not continue their relationship. Being in his arms was wonderful, but the aftermath when he was vacant was too much for her to endure again and again. She wanted all or nothing and she shouldn’t have to settle for anything less.
    Remy and Emma’s hospitality had been welcoming, and for a moment she’d entertained the thought of the four of them dining together, laughing at the adventures in spying. But that entire scenario was ludicrous. Winifred had to face that there would never be a future between her and Alistair. So as soon as Remy told her that her house had been secured and guards placed around it, she took Oliver home.
    She’d been told that Alistair had already arrived and was at work in the map room, earnestly trying to decipher the code. She knew that she needed to talk to him, to cut things off with him and end their would-be affair.
    She bolstered her courage to tell him precisely that.
    He was diligently writing when she entered the room, but he lifted his head and gave her a slight smile. “I trust you slept well.”
    She had, better than she’d slept in years, until she’d realized him gone.
    “I cannot have an affair with you,” she said