Love and Let Spy (Lord and Lady Spy) by Shana Galen Page B

but before she saw much more than dark wood and a shelf of books, the butler moved to block her view.
    “Have you ever been in the Dungeon?” Saint asked while they waited.
    “Yes, have you?”
    “Once.” She shuddered. “That was quite enough.” She inclined her head toward the butler and the library behind him. “Adrian has his own version of the Dungeon inside.”
    Jane’s eyes widened. The Dungeon housed all of the Barbican’s files—stacks of boxes filled with maps, agent notes, drawings, secrets, and information about some of the most dangerous and notorious men and women in the world. Jane found it fascinating. Just not as fascinating as working in the field. Still, she liked to spend an afternoon there when she had free time. She could lose herself in old maps and reports.
    “I’d love to see it sometime,” Jane told Saint.
    “Catch Foncé, and I’ll give you a key,” Wolf said, appearing at the door. “Come inside.”
    She entered the library, disappointed it appeared much like any other library in London. Desk, couch, chairs, books. She shrugged to herself. No sign of any enormous file warehouse here. On the desk, a small sheaf of papers was stacked neatly, and Wolf gestured toward these. “Sophia, sit in my chair,” he said.
    Saint’s brows rose. “You really are worried about me.” She took the chair and glanced at Jane, who sat opposite her. “He doesn’t like me to climb up and down the stairs.”
    “You should rest in your condition.”
    “Traitor!” Saint said playfully. “Just you wait. Ten to one when you are increasing, all the resting your husband tries to force on you will drive you mad.”
    For a moment Jane couldn’t breathe. When she was increasing? She was never going to be increasing. She was not going to have children.
    Except if she married Griffyn, she supposed she would be expected to have children. They would lie together, and children would be the inevitable result. She’d be forced to rest and be kept away from the action—just like Saint. It wasn’t that she didn’t like children. She did like them, but she also liked traveling the world, hunting double agents, and priming a pistol.
    Men had always been secondary considerations compared to those central to the Barbican group. She’d known men. She was still a virgin—by most definitions—because she did not want to find herself with child. But in her travels, she had occasionally met a handsome man who intrigued her. She’d shared kisses and more. She’d known passion—or so she’d thought. Nothing she had experienced thus far could compare to what had passed between her and Griffyn tonight. She had all but lost herself in his arms. That had never happened to her. She always knew what she was doing. She was in control and quite capable of telling a man to stop what he was doing—and enforcing her command, if necessary—when she felt he or she was becoming carried away.
    Tonight Jane was not so certain she would have stopped Griffyn. Her skin felt warm when she but considered the kiss they’d shared in the very public space just outside the Smythe’s drawing room. What had she been thinking?
    She hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem, and that was why she could not possibly consent to marry Griffyn.
    Wolf was saying something, and Jane tried to concentrate. She stared at the papers before her on the desk, but found her gaze drifting to study the two of them. They loved each other. It was so clear, so obvious. He had his hand on her shoulder, and she leaned toward him. Jane had seen men and women in love before. Her own aunt and uncle certainly had an affection for each other. But nothing she had ever seen had made her want what others had.
    The Smythes were different. She wanted a man to worry about her, to want to protect her, to cherish her, as Wolf so obviously cherished his wife. And she wanted someone to lean on, someone who would make her feel safe and valued for more than the way she