Read His Spanish Bride for Free Online

emotionally and physically scarred woman who’d been raped by the French soldiers who killed her family. Odd that she did in fact carry such scars, but they were much older. And the soldiers had been British.
    “You needn’t ever—” He drew a breath. “There never need be anything more between us than you’re comfortable with.”
    “Thank you. But the truth is—” She couldn’t very well say “the truth is I want you,” though with a shock of surprise she knew that was the case. “The truth is I can’t imagine being afraid of you.”
    A smile, swift and genuine, broke across his face. “That means a great deal.” He touched her arm, again with tentative fingers. “I should speak to Stuart about arrangements.”
    “I imagine Sir Charles will be relieved to have me settled. Not that he’s been anything but kind, but obviously I couldn’t continue here forever.”
    He ran a hand over his hair. “My rooms are small. I never thought to bring a wife and child there.”
    She smiled. “We’ll manage. After the Cantabrian Mountains it will seem like luxury.”
    “After the Cantabrian Mountains anything would seem like luxury.”
    Suzanne fingered the fringed end of her shawl. “Mr. Rannoch—”
    “Don’t you think perhaps you should begin to call me Malcolm?”
    “Malcolm then. There’s something else I should tell you.” She glanced round the passage. The sitting room was occupied, but the cushioned window seat offered a chance for conversation. “Perhaps we could sit down?”
    Malcolm sat beside her on the velvet cushions, not close enough to even touch the folds of her gown, and looked at her in inquiry. She twitched her pintucked skirts smooth. With most men a direct approach would not work, but Malcolm Rannoch was not most men. And they had already faced danger together. “I think perhaps I can be of help to you.”
    His eyes gave nothing away. She wasn’t the only one with excellent training.
    “I chanced upon the Marquesa de Flores at the ball. She was in some distress. She told me about her predicament. And that you’re helping her.”
    She saw the instinctive jerk of wariness in his gaze. An agent guards secrets above all. “The marquesa has an unguarded tongue.”
    “I think she suspected there was something between you and me.”
    A faint smile curved his mouth, though his gaze remained wary. “So perhaps she’s perceptive.”
    “Mr. Ra—Malcolm—” The name sat oddly on her tongue. It implied a seductive intimacy. “I can hardly fail to be aware that your work goes beyond the usual diplomatic activity, not given how we met. I don’t expect you to confide in me; obviously it’s not the sort of thing you can share, particularly with—”
    “My wife?”
    “With a woman you still scarcely know. But in this case I’ve already stumbled into the midst of it, and I think I can help you. People confide in me. That is, if—”
    “As it happens I’d welcome your assistance.”
    She suspected it was a great admission. “Thank you. I don’t imagine you often work with others.”
    “But I’ve already worked with you.”
    It was true. Necessity had made them partners in defeating a French attack shortly after they met. The circumstances of her masquerade had compelled her to fight against her own side. One learned a lot about another person in the field. “I’m honored.”
    “In this case, a woman’s perspective and assistance could prove invaluable.”
    She watched him for a moment. She hadn’t expected it to be so easy. He was a man who held himself close, yet clearly not one to turn aside help. Even if it came from a woman. “What have you learned?” she asked.
    “The marquesa left the letter tucked in a book in the library at Stuart’s rout last week. A system they had for communicating.”
    “The system of lovers, not agents.”
    “Yes,” he said with a slight note of surprise.
    She had to remember she wasn’t supposed to think like an agent. She had fallen into