A Reckless Redemption (Spies and Lovers Book 3) by Laura Trentham

Author:Laura Trentham [Trentham, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Historical Romance
Publisher: Laura Trentham
Published: 2017-12-04T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Maxwell stared at the papers on his desk. He had work to finish and appointments to prepare for. The reckless enterprise to obtain his sire’s last will and testament loomed. Yet his thoughts circled Bryn like carrion. If he didn’t die from an unfortunate fall that evening, the sexual tension pushing and pulling at the two of them would kill him forthwith.

Did she recall their one night together every single time she closed her eyes? Did she have to fight the urge to sneak into his room? Would he have lifted her skirts and taken her on the desk if they hadn’t been interrupted?

He pulled at his hair. Where was his honor? Was he no better than his father? The temptation she presented was torture. Bryn was under his care. No matter what had transpired to bring them to this point, she was an innocent. Too naïve and trusting.

Nothing would get accomplished until he burned off the frustration and aggression tightening his muscles. A hard ride wasn’t possible in the city. But there was another place he could go. A pugilist salon on Waring Street. Maxwell grabbed his hat and cloak and set off on foot in the crisp, winter air.

Each stinging lungful of air regulated his heartbeat. He exhaled and concentrated on the white whirls. Cutting down a long narrow alley, he slowed as his ardor cooled and his leg twinged.

Boots clacked behind him, echoing off the stone walls eerily. The hairs on the back of his neck vibrated. Two steps later, a rough-hewn man wearing a tweed cap and coat entered the alley in front of him. Coincidence? Perhaps, but Maxwell’s gut told him he wasn’t going need the pugilist salon after all.

The approaching man was a stranger—short, lean, and with the look of an old tomcat who’d survived on the streets. The footsteps behind him made steady progress. Taking a peek would erode Maxwell’s one advantage—surprise. He forced a smile as the capped man drew closer.

Maxwell was no stranger to hand-to-hand fighting. His time as an exploring officer for Wellington had been fraught with danger. Although he was sorely out of practice, the instincts that had kept him alive heightened as if he were back in the war. The intent in the man’s eyes gleamed a heartbeat before his lunge. Maxwell met him with a jab across the bridge of his nose. A burst of red splattered down the man’s chin. He staggered backward, hands cupped over his face.

Maxwell swung around. The second man was cut from similar cloth. Both were past the bloom of youth, grimy, and lit with desperation. The man’s gaze darted between Maxwell and the other man. He stopped less than six feet away and crouched, pulling a knife from his boot and brandishing it as he inched forward.

With a grimacing smile, Maxwell slid a dagger from his boot as well and gestured him forward. The man slashed the knife toward Maxwell’s midsection. Maxwell jumped to the side, and the man’s momentum sent him stumbling forward, his shoulder bumping the brick wall.

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