“There is no time for that here. Trust is difficult to come by, whether one is animal or human.” She didn’t move away from him, but remained so close that her body heat seeped into him. Her eyes took on a faraway look. “There is just the constant struggle for survival, for supremacy, to continue a line.”

  His fingers itched to explore the curve of her hips, to measure the nip of her waist, but he remained still. He wasn’t an animal. Was it freewill that separated the species, for the instinct was the same. “Is that what you believe?” he finally managed to ground out.

  “It has to be; otherwise, time is wasted and no legacy will be left.” She didn’t move as she looked down at him while he gazed up.

  “Did you love your husband?” What sort of gauche question was that?

  Her shrug moved one shoulder. “There was a fondness between us. But love? Perhaps at one time, when I was young and didn’t know better, when we were first married and had the world at our feet. Our work took precedence, eventually came between us, especially after…” The tendons of her throat worked with a hard swallow. “I… regret that now. There is more to life than research and work. Perhaps now it’s too late… for everyone.”

  “Understandable.” A prickling sensation crawled along his arm, and when he glanced down, saw a giant centipede wandering over his sleeve, Bentley launched from the tree stump, crashed against Cora and nearly lost his head as the thing remained.

  “Oh, Bentley.” With a soft laugh, Cora removed the blackish brown centipede. She set it down on the stump and it continued its journey as if it was never detained by him. “It is harmless to you. Please, try to relax.” Before he could move away, she cupped his cheek, and searching his eyes, she lifted on tiptoe and then pressed her lips to his.

  Whatever he thought she’d do or say, this certainly wasn’t it. Stunned, he opened his eyes wide. Slowly, he moved a hand to her waist, resting it on the small of her back. What the hell should he do now? He wasn’t skilled in embraces, but her lips were so soft and welcoming… encouraging, even.

  All too soon she pulled away, interest in her eyes, gold flecks swimming in the Caribbean blue depths now. Dropping her voice, she asked, “Was that your first kiss to go along with your first solo mission?”

  Heat fired in his cheeks. Bentley glanced toward camp, but none of the men noticed them. He looked at her, dreading mockery, but there was none of that in her expression. If anything, she seemed intrigued. “Perhaps.” Outside of a few chaste pecks to his cheek from a young lady here and there, he had not had cause to share anything with a woman.

  “Ah.” Her eyebrows raised. “Then let’s repeat the gesture so you will have a good memory from this place you hate so much.”

  Curiosity flared. She was certainly beautiful with enough curves to tempt a saint, yet he wasn’t here for this sort of thing, and she’d only recently discovered she’d been widowed. “But I—”

  “Shh.” She fisted a hand in his limp cravat and reeled him close. “It is a kiss, my lord, not a commitment or anything else.” Then her lips were on his once more and she moved over his mouth, gently exploring, asking, seeking what—he had no idea.

  When she lifted onto tiptoe and the action fit her better against him, Bentley anchored his hands at her hips, pulling her flush against him. He learned from her, mimicked what she did while tiny fires of desire lit in his blood. As she licked his bottom lip, he couldn’t help a moan, for the action was the most erotic thing that had happened to him. He did the same to her and then instinct took over. With her fingers threading through the hair at his nape, she pressed closer, and Bentley took full advantage, doing exploration of his own in the intent of learning every secret of her lips.

  All too soon, she pulled away, which was a good thing since his length had engorged and pressed painfully against the front of his trousers. She trailed her fingertips along the side of his face and then over the handiwork of her stitches on his forehead. That fleeting touch left lingering heat behind along with unsettled yearning. “You have wonderful potential, Bentley,” she whispered as she ducked to retrieve her pack. When she straightened, she caught his gaze. “I do so enjoy a proper kiss, don’t you?”

  “It is certainly the highlight of my trip thus far,” he replied with a grin he feared gave away his inexperience.

  An answering grin curved her kiss-swollen lips. “If you’re a good boy, perhaps we’ll try again. In the meanwhile, you’re going to need to wash off that mud, but mind your stitches.” With a wink, she turned and joined the men wrestling the tent into place.

  Oh God. What had he gotten himself into? Before he could form a response—witty or otherwise—the scream of a monkey in the nearby trees shattered the relative silence of their position. “Damn it.” He jerked at the sound, his heartbeat racing. Never would he get used to this area.

  Good natured laughter erupted from Cora and the guys.

  “Bloody horrid jungle,” he muttered and willed his erection down as he carefully made his way toward the river once more.

  Yet, perhaps it wasn’t entirely bad if Cora was with him.

  Chapter Seven

  The faint snap of a dry twig jogged Cora from her light doze. Life in the jungle meant always being in a constant state of alertness, even while sleeping. From her pallet near the fire, she glanced about the campsite. Heavy darkness pressed down, obscuring the tree line. Light from the moon, when not hidden by trees or clouds, glimmered off the inky water of the river. Such was the view from the river. Once they moved into the jungles, the canopy would hide the sky. Manuel slept across the fire from her position. On this night, Griggs and the major shared the tent—since Bentley had ordered everyone in camp to rotate sleeping quarters in order to give all participants the luxury of sleeping with a “roof” over their heads—and the king’s agent himself? He was close, very close, so close, in fact, that the even tones of his breathing rang in her ear, for he’d set up his pallet next to hers.

  But the prickling sensation on her nape alerted her to the presence of another living being close by that wasn’t human

  “What is it?” he asked in a barely-there whisper rough with sleep, the deep tenor resonating in her chest.

  “I’m not certain yet.” She kept her voice as low, but her muscles tensed.

  “Now who is the liar?” Bentley rolled over, his body brushing hers, and he wrapped an arm about her waist, no doubt his form of protection, misguided as it was.

  Cora smiled anyway. Though she suspected she was older than he, his sense of duty amused her. It was misplaced in the jungle, but she appreciated the nicety. The kiss they’d shared yesterday—or rather the kiss she gave him on a lark so she’d stop thinking about his lips—had intrigued her more than she’d wanted to let on. Would it happen again? Only time would tell, but life in the jungle was oftentimes lonely, and he was here…

  And she wondered about him even more than she had before.

  “Cora?” His whispered prompt brought her back to the moment.

  “I didn’t wish to scare you.” She kept her gaze trained on the shadowy tree line not ten feet from them.

  “Tell me. How can I bolster my courage if I’m forever shielded by potential danger?” His question warmed the shell of her ear and frissons of desire spiraled down her spine to lodge between her thighs. Such a delicious feeling and one she hadn’t experienced in ages. How exceedingly odd it would happen with this man.

  And so wrong. Hadn’t her husband shown her that king’s agents were not to be trusted, no matter how hard and muscled they happened to be? Oh yes, she’d experienced the solid realness of Bentley when they’d kissed.

  If she’d let him, he would distract her from her mission. I can’t do that. Too much was at stake.

  Finally, she said, “A jaguar.” Another faint snap of forest detritus betrayed the animal’s position. “Not far away.”

  Behind her, Bentley stiffened and she stifled the urge to laugh. Poor thing. He truly wasn’t suited for such a life, but his determination to conquer it rose her respect for him. Soon enough he’d become accustomed to life here. It was inevitable, and it had to occur if he were to survive. “Will it attack?”

  “Doubtful, especially with us so close to the fire. It is probably curious. Perhaps young and out on its own for the first time. Nothing more.” To err on the side of caution, with slow movements, Cora slipped her pistol from its holster that hid beneath the folded blanket she used as a pillow. After she’d taken the unexpected dip into the river that afternoon, she’d cleaned and dried everything on her belt, and now prayed the weapon would work if she needed it.

  “I don’t see it.”

  “Look for the rotted log with the fern growing from it,” she quietly instructed him, never taking her gaze from the position. “The animal waits behind it. Frozen. What is he thinking, I wonder?” When the big cat moved, the yellow glow of its eyes from the fire’s light was eerie.

  “Yes.” In his excitement, Bentley tightened his hold, splaying his hand against the flat of her abdomen. “I see it. How amazing. Such wonderful markings.”

  Cora caught her breath. His touch knocked everything else from her brain. “To understand the wonder of what the jungle holds, you must continue to look at it from a different perspective.”

  “I adore the opportunity to spy such fascinating animals. Would that I could stroke the cat’s fur, merely to see what it feels like.” His warm breath on her cheek distracted her.

  “I’ll admit, I have much the same thoughts, but it’s rare a cat like that would submit to anything related to domesticity.”

  Bentley snorted. “The Earl of Archewyne and his family adopted a tiger. Brought it back with them from India. It does rather well on a lead… when it doesn’t chew through the leather and terrorize the geese on the grounds of Archewyne Hall.”

  What type of people did he call friends? They sounded wild and not at all proper; good folks to know. “Well, in this instance, we can only observe.” As she watched, the eyes disappeared. Seconds later, the snap of a leaf some distance away indicated the cat had indeed moved on. She replaced the revolver.

  A sigh of relief shuddered from Bentley. “I’ll admit I’ve been caught by surprise more often than not since arriving in South America.”

  “Have they been good surprises?” She rolled over onto her back, frowning when Bentley removed his hand from her person.

  “Some.” He propped himself up on an elbow and stared down at her. “I’ve seen vistas that take away my breath. I’ve glimpsed animals—both beautiful and strange—that capture my imagination. And though the food leaves much to be desired, I figure it’s all part of the experience.” When he smiled in a certain way, a dimple winked in his left cheek. How adorable. If she wasn’t careful, she’d begin to tease him, convince him to become her plaything during the course of his mission.

  What kind of woman would that make her, recently widowed?

  “That’s mature of you,” she finally said, determined to quell her carnal inclinations. Now was not the time and the jungle not the place, especially for one as inexperienced as him, if her suspicions were correct. The firelight softened his features as if he were painted by a romantic artist, burnishing the skin of his neck. How would he look if he were to forget himself and conventions and allow the sun to kiss his skin to a golden tan? “Are you glad you accepted the mission, even if it’s changed now?”

  Shadows shifted in his gray eyes. “I am reconciling myself to it.” He rested his free arm along his hip, which pulled her focus to the lean length of him. Clad only in boots, trousers and a loose, long-sleeved linen shirt, and with his wild hair and scruffy beard, he appeared every inch the rugged explorer. She rather liked his appearance. Clean-shaven men were so predictable, but a man with facial hair was mysterious. Her husband had been adamant that no matter the weather or the circumstances, he keep himself to society’s standards. “I think I can live with it as long as I don’t contract a stomach virus again.”

  “Oh, those are unpleasant.” His candidness impressed her. For all the years she’d been with Michael, spur of the moment conversations had rarely happened. “Be mindful and boil water before you drink it. Don’t eat strange food from strange people. And never ingest anything you happen to find growing in the jungle you cannot identify.”

  “Will that ensure I won’t fall to such sickness again?”

  “No.” She softly snorted. “These are merely the obvious things.” Springy curls of dark hair peeked out from the opened placket of his shirt. What would his chest look like bared with droplets of water clinging to it? A shiver of desire careened down her spine. You must stop, Cora. He is not for you, and for God’s sake, cease acting like you’ve never seen a man before. If you wish for a physical release, find it with your fingers.

  “I’ll need to practice greater vigilance.” He grinned again, and the dimple flashed. “At least I have you around to teach me the difference between good and bad plants.”

  “There is that.” Curious about him regardless of her mental admonishment, she asked, “How old are you?”

  “Ah, going personal, are we?” Interest hung on his question. “It smacks dangerously of pillow talk, my lady.”

  Which could so easily jump to other pleasurable things people did while reclining on pillows, or makeshift ones.

  She shrugged. “What else is there to do since we’re both awake?”

  Confusion showed in his gray eyes, further confirming his inexperience. “I am three and thirty. I hale from Somerset, England. Live in London exclusively now with my mother, my twin, and my sister.”

  How exciting. “Does your brother look like you?”

  “Only slightly.” Bentley smiled as he continued, “My younger sister is making a bid for independence. By the time I return to London, she’ll have no doubt moved out.”

  “Good for her. I’m a firm believer that women should stand on their own if they can before they’re married off by well-intending parents.” Cora frowned at stared into the darkened sky. “At times, women are treated no better than cattle, going from one owner to the next. Not that men ‘own’ women, but it’s not far off, really.”

  “Hey.” When he briefly trailed his knuckles along the side of her face, she snapped her attention to him as tingles lingered in his wake. “Not all relationships in the ton work that way.”

  “Do you know this firsthand?” It was a good way to pry into his story.

  “No, but I am friends with two men who treat their wives as equals, and quite frankly, those ladies know how to kick arse.” His chuckle brought a certain coziness to the jungle she’d not known before. “Lady Archewyne, for example, carries a dagger with her everywhere. She’s been in and out of more scrapes than I probably know, but she’s a fierce fighter.”

  “Do you fancy her?” His tone had indicated there was more than respect for the woman.

  “No. She’s in love with her husband, the earl, and he dotes upon her in scandalous fashion.” Bentley laced his fingers together and laid his hands upon his chest as he contemplated the heavens. “I admire the hell out of her though. Any woman who runs headlong into danger to save and defend the people around her has my allegiance.”

  How nice to find a man so loyal and accepting. “And the other lady? Do you admire her as well?”

  “Lady Trewellain is the newest addition to our little circle of family—king’s agents or extensions.”

  “You consider your fellow agents family?” That was something foreign to her, for Michael had never spoken of other agents he was close to, or even ones he wasn’t. He never mentioned his duty at all.

  “Yes, of course. Those men are my brothers-in-arms. Without their support, I wouldn’t be here today.” He turned his head and regarded her, his eyes lit with happiness. “I don’t know that much about the viscountess other than she’s partial to pistols, she nearly died in Barcelona while on a mission with the viscount—now her husband—and that she’s pushing Archewyne to name her as a junior agent.”

  Cora sucked in a breath. “The Duke of Rathesborne allows agents to bring their spouses along on missions?”

  “Sadly, the duke perished a few months ago, as I mentioned upon meeting you.” The light faded from Bentley’s eyes. Grief crept into his expression. “But Archewyne—he stepped into Rathesborne’s place—doesn’t mind. Something about if a man’s mind isn’t distracted by worrying about his wife back in England they might perform better.”

  “How… interesting.” Michael had never invited her onto a mission—except this one. Of course, she was useful to his cause… Never told her what he’d done on such. And he certainly hadn’t let her assist. “But aren’t the agents distracted simply by having their wives along anyway?” She glanced at Bentley. For years, she’d worked side by side with her husband and never felt the urge to burrow her hands beneath his clothing as she did with this man. Why?

  Perhaps I’m merely desperate for human connection. After all, the jungle could play tricks on a person’s mind.

  He snorted. “I think they are. Archewyne and Trewellain are forever kissing their women. And for some reason that I’ve never been able to fathom, the earl and his wife share something about libraries.” He shrugged. “Anyway, that’s not the way a proper agent should behave, to my way of thinking.” He was as sober as she’d ever seen him. “A man on a case should put the mission first. He isn’t doing his duty if he allows romance to sidetrack him.”

  She couldn’t help her grin. “Perhaps it’s not romance or love these men indulge in while on a mission.” Cora wanted to touch him, but she held back. “At times, the best thing to clear a mind is a bit of carnal exercise.”

  Was that a hint of a blush on his face or a trick of the firelight? Bentley cleared his throat. “We should try for sleep. Morning will arrive too soon.” So saying, he rolled onto his pallet, keeping his back to her. “Goodnight, Lady Trammel.”

 

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