“I think we'll save that for next week,” he murmured. “After all, you're still something of an innocent. But for now I think you'd better run.”

“Run?”

He nodded. “Fast.”

“Why?”

“You're about to find out.”

She skidded toward the door. “What if I want to get caught?”

“Oh, you definitely want to get caught,” he replied, advancing on her with the lithe grace of a born predator.

“Then why should I run?” she asked, breathless.

“It's really more fun that way.”

“It is?”

He nodded. “Trust me.”

“Hmmph. Famous last words.” But even as she said that, she was already in the hall, walking backward toward the stairs with remarkable speed.

He licked his lips.

“Oh. Then I had better…I should…”

He started moving faster.

“Oh, dear.” She took off at a sprint, laughing all the way up the stairs.

Blake caught up with her on the landing, heaved her over his shoulder, and carried her, unconvincing protests and all, to their bedroom.

Then he kicked the door shut and proceeded to show her why getting caught was oftentimes even more fun than the chase.

Chapter 22

con-tu-ma-cious (adjective). Obstinately resisting authority; stubbornly perverse.

There are times when one must act in a contumacious manner, even if one's husband is extensively displeased.

—From the personal dictionary of Caroline Ravenscroft

In a few short days, the honeymoon was over. It was time to capture Oliver.

Never had Blake so resented his work for the War Office. He didn't want to hunt down criminals; he wanted to walk along the beach with his wife. He didn't want to dodge bullets, he wanted to laugh as he pretended to dodge Caroline's kisses.

Most of all, he wanted to trade the prickly fear of discovery for the heady sensation of falling in love.

It felt good to finally admit it to himself. He was falling in love with his wife.

He felt as if he were going over a cliff, grinning as he watched the ground rushing to meet him. He smiled at the oddest times, laughed inappropriately, and found himself oddly desolate when he didn't know where she was. It was like being crowned king of the world, inventing a cure for cancer, and discovering one could fly—all in one day.

He had never dreamed he could be this fascinated by another human being. He loved to watch the play of emotion on her face—the soft curve of her lips when she was amused, the scrunch of her brow when she was perplexed.

He even liked to watch her when she slept, her soft brown hair spread like a fan on her pillow. Her chest rose and fell in the even rhythm of her breath, and she looked so gentle and at peace. He'd once asked her if her demons disappeared when she was asleep.

Her answer had melted his heart.

“I don't have demons any longer,” she'd replied.

And Blake had realized that his demons were finally disappearing, as well. It was the laughter that was driving them out, he decided. Caroline had the most amazing ability to find humor in the most mundane of topics. He was also discovering that she prided herself on being something of a mimic. What she lacked in talent, she made up for in enthusiasm, and Blake often found himself doubled over with laughter.