Page 71 of The Bachelor Spy
“Evie.” His voice cradled her name with the gentle fierceness of this new awareness, this undeniable need to protect her, heart and all. Past and all. “You don’t owe me anything. What happened on theLusitania—what you did—that was mercy. Strategic, yes, but mercy nonetheless.”
“I shot you.” Fresh tears spilled over. “That bullet, a truer shot, belonged to my brother.” Her lips trembled. “And I should have gone back for you. I should have found a way, Stephen.”
His name from her lips, soft and warm and tender, nearly undid every coherent thought in his head. All his training, his carefully maintained control, crumbled beneath the weight of her admission. And in her eyes, he saw everything she wasn’t saying. The guilt. The grief. The desperate hope that maybe, somehow, she could atone for her brother’s sins.
And something else. Something that made his chest ache and swell at the same time.
She wanted to protect him not because they were partners, but because she cared abouthim.She’d emerged from her self-imposed, grief-stricken exile to save him.
They stood so close in the confined space of the closet.
Her confession mingled with her subtle scent to beckon him forward.
It was as if he’d been waiting ages to touch her. To give her the affection he’d feigned for women while under cover. Never true. Always a game.
But this? His entire soul had been anticipating this real and raw and wonderful moment. He gave in to the tug and breached the gap between them, hands finding her face, thumbs brushing away tears. “You gave me a chance while making an impossible choice. The kind no sister or partner should ever have to make.”
“I have to set things right. Don’t you see?” Her fingers gripped the front of his shirt, insistent. “I must atone for what my brother did. All the people whose lives he took or jeopardized. I should have known.”
To see this strong, remarkable woman desperate—quivering—wrung his entire being. “Evie—”
“Don’t.” She held up a hand, while the other still clung to his shirt. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t my fault. Don’t tell me I couldn’t have known. I should have seen the signs. Should have realized—”
“You can’t blame yourself for your brother’s choices.”
“Can’t I?” Her voice broke. “He was mytwin,Stephen. If anyone should have known, it was me.”
“He fooled us all.” His thumb traced away another tear, his body aching with this new awareness. Every muscle burned to breach the distance to her lips, to claim something he’d craved for nearly a year. Maybe longer. To comfort her in any way within his power. “It wasn’t your fault, luv.”
She stared up at him, the hurt in her eyes shifting to something sharper. “Wilson, Blake,” she whispered. “I believe Nurse Wilson may be the Midnight Angel.”
He breathed out his held air, grateful for the shift even as part of him mourned the switch from her vulnerability. “And Smith is working with her.”
She nodded. “Which I didn’t realize until I overheard Mr. Brandon revealing what he’d seen to Lady Astley earlier today.”
His brow rose. “Ah, so that’s why you’re in the west wing tonight.”
“Follow a lead as quickly as possible. Isn’t that the way of it?”
His lips curved into a smile, partly because she’d found her humor again and partly because she’d failed to release her hold on his shirt or step from his arms. “Very sound strategy. I’d like to add another.”
“Yes?” She tugged at his shirt, her look of hurt giving way to a softening warmth inviting him forward.
His heart thundered in reply. “A partnership. Working together.”
Her breath caught. “Stephen—”
A sudden sound outside the door made them both freeze. The door clicked fully closed.
The distinct click of a lock turning followed.
“What—” Evie rushed toward the door, hand going to the knob.
It didn’t budge.
Blake joined her, trying it himself. Pushing harder.
Nothing.
