Free Kate Moore by To Kiss a Thief Page B

, cod, was tasty and satisfying. She drank sparingly of the wine, knowing she must not dull her wits in his company. At the end of their meal was an orange, opened on its dish like an exotic flower, the sticky-sweet juice leaving its perfume on her fingers.
    They laughed a great deal, mostly as he teased her about London or mimicked with dreadful accuracy the affectations of the ton . But from time to time she fell silent, wondering how she was to eat with him, talk to him, indeed sleep in the very same room with him and remember what a villain he was and what he meant to do and what she must prevent.
    She had been laughing at his teasing as they ascended the stairs, but at their door her laughter died as she began to fear the awkwardness of their retiring together for the night. But he excused himself and returned only when she was in bed, the blankets tucked securely under her chin. Then he made such minor preparations for sleep himself as removing his boots and jacket and cravat and blowing out their last candle.
    In the darkness she heard him lie down upon the floor. She lay perfectly still and advised herself to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. He had been the adversary of her waking hours for four days, but only the night before had she discovered that he slept on the floor beside her. Knowing that he lay so close in the darkness unsettled her. It was hard to think of the earl’s papers, and to think that she must slip from her bed and try again to search her thief as he slept made her feel hot and shaky. She turned restlessly in the wide bed. She ought to do something. She thought of Prudence in her blue dress on every white, waking page of her book, but what would Prudence say to Tom True alone in the dark?
    “Meg,” he asked, “is there something you need or wish?”
    “No,” she said.
    “But you cannot sleep?”
    “Can you?”
    “Not if you cannot.”
    “I have never shared a room with . . . anyone,” she confessed.
    “Then you must not judge from this occasion,” he replied. “Neither a husband nor a lover commonly takes the floor.” The words spoken with just a hint of wryness made her yet more conscious of the empty expanse of the bed around her. Her thief was too near. His nearness weakened her, made it impossible to think reasonably. She must get him to move.
    “You cannot be comfortable,” she said firmly.
    He did not reply at once, and when he did, she detected again the wryness in his words. “My comfort must necessarily mean your discomfort.”
    “Could you not have the landlady make up a second bed?” she asked, striving for a reasonable, practical tone.
    “It must appear that only one bed has been slept in. Our landlady is as much in the Viper’s pay as are our friends, Shaggy and Sleek.”
    “Then everyone around us is an enemy, yours as well as mine.”
    “Yes.”
    “So would we not be wise to flee now, this very night? Can the Viper have so much gold to offer that you will risk your life for it?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why are the earl’s papers so very valuable to the French?”
    There was a moment of silence. “Because they will enable the French to anticipate Wellington’s movements this spring.”
    “Suppose Wellington moves before the Viper can get the papers?”
    “Then the papers would be worthless.”
    “Then I do not need to get them from you,” she said, unable to keep a note of relief from her voice. “I need only to delay your journey.”
    “Ah, Meg, you are too honest. If you mean to thwart the enemy, you must not reveal your thoughts so readily to him.”
    A sudden lump in her throat made it difficult to speak. She had been telling herself he was the enemy to be condemned and reviled, but to hear him acknowledge as much was painful.
    “I must lie to you, deceive you, become dishonest myself to do my duty,” she said, knowing that she could not disguise the unhappiness in her voice. He was silent for a time, and when he did answer, his voice, though