Free The Impostor by Lily Lang Page B

The pistol Sebastian had lent her to replace the one she had lost while fleeing their pursuers the night before was tucked into the pocket of her plain skirts.
    She was very tired. She had slept little the night before, and she knew her exhaustion was plain on her face, in the dark, almost bruise-like shadows beneath her eyes and the skin drawn tight across her forehead.
    Sebastian pushed open the door and climbed out of the hackney, turning to offer her his hand. She rose as well, and though her wound gave a twinge of pain she suppressed her wince, knowing he watched her.  
    Hesitantly, she placed her gloved hand in his. Even through the worn kidskin, she could feel the familiar heat and strength of him.  
    She glanced uncertainly up at him. His harsh, scarred face was unreadable in the watery morning light, but as his fingers closed over hers, a muscle ticked once in the strong line of his jaw. He desired her.  
    She looked away as she descended the steps. She had known him for too long not to recognize that look, the intensity of his gaze, the tension in his jaw. Though six years had passed and he did not remember her, he still wanted her.  
    Heat and trepidation pooled in her belly. She fought back a confusing welter of emotions: satisfaction and panic, a powerful yearning for this man she had never stopped loving, and an even more powerful fear that this time, she could not resist him.
    “You ought to have stayed at Montague House,” he said. “You should be resting. You will hurt yourself even more with all this gadding about.”
    Since Tessa had been hearing this argument, or some variation of it, all morning, she ignored him and concentrated instead on the unprepossessing exterior of the townhouse.
    They were here to retrace Sevigny’s steps and his attempts to discover the names of the Omega Group’s members. They had decided to begin by reading the dispatches Sevigny had mentioned to Sebastian the night before.
    Tessa furrowed her brows as she transferred her attention to Sebastian. He leaned more heavily than usual on his walking stick as he made his way up the steps to the front door and knocked. No doubt his leg pained him after last night’s escapade through the streets of London.
    She repressed the urge to ask him how he had slept. It was not the sort of question a lady might pose to a gentleman she had ostensibly just met. But she remembered only too well the nightmares that haunted him in the darkest hours of the night. How often had she slipped into his tent to hold him close? How often had they slept together, tangled in the skeins of her hair, their limbs entwined, their hearts beating perfectly in time?
    She looked away from him. Though she had wanted it, she could not bear looking at him and knowing he did not remember.
    It seemed a very long time before an ancient porter opened the door a crack and peered at them through rheumy eyes. “Yes?”
    “The Earl Grenville, with a lady,” he said. He handed over a letter stamped with Wellington’s signet, allowing him access to the dispatches kept here in secret. Apparently, he had paid a call to his old commander before Tessa had even risen that morning and obtained permission to enter the secret annexes where, among other top secret documents, dispatches related to the Omega Group were kept.
    The porter accepted the letter, tore it open and regarded its contents with suspicious eyes before finally stepping grudgingly aside to allow them in. Tessa followed Sebastian inside and found herself in a small, dark hall.
    “This way,” said Sebastian, evidently familiar with the place.
    She followed him down the hall and up a set of narrow dingy stairs. They passed several closed doors, behind which she could hear pens scratching as well as voices speaking in low, hushed tones.
    At last they came to a door at the end of yet another long hall. Sebastian knocked. No one answered for a long time, but when Sebastian knocked a second time, the door swung