A Scandalous Secret: Spies and Lovers Page 8

“You didn’t tell Father.”

  “Make no mistake, I would have if I thought you were endangering yourself, but I understand how restricting you find your role since your debut. It has pained me to watch your natural curiosity stifled by conventions.”

  He understood. She didn’t need to hide her true self from him. It was like a too-tight set of stays had been loosened. And knowing they were on equal footing in bed made her even bolder.

  “Speaking of my natural curiosity.” She ran her hands down his back to the hard muscles of his buttocks and dug her fingers in. “You have very much aroused it.”

  He tugged the ribbon and pulled her chemise off her shoulders, not stopping until her breast were exposed to his gaze. There was nowhere to hide with the morning sun offering illumination, so she didn’t try. Instead, she arched her back in invitation.

  He accepted with gusto. He lathed her nipple with his tongue before pulling the peak inside his mouth for a hard suck. Pinpricks rushed through her and made her squirm. She pulled his shirt from his breeches and rucked it up his chest, needing him as naked and vulnerable as she was. He grabbed hold of the back and pulled it over his head. She ran her hands up his chest and pushed him away a few inches in order to see what he’d unwrapped.

  Before she had the chance to make a thorough examination, he switched their positions in a show of strength that made her weak in the knees. He ended up half sitting against the pillows, with her straddling him, and his cock pressed between her legs. A blush started in her cheeks and couldn’t be contained. Pink raced across her breasts.

  “Are you embarrassed?” he asked with a quirk of his brows.

  “I’m embarrassed and aroused and desperate and scared and about a thousand other things I can’t explain.”

  “Concentrate on the pleasure. The rest we will figure out together.”

  Yes, together. She took a deep breath. His gaze fixed on her chest, and his hands followed. He cupped her breasts and thrummed her nipples with his thumbs. She pitched forward and braced her hands on his chest. The muscles shifted and dark hair tickled her palms. She forgot about her embarrassment.

  She ran her hands over his shoulders and back over the planes of his chest. Multiple scars traced their way over his skin. She hurt to think of him hurt. How close had he come to death?

  She touched a recent one with her finger. “What happened here?”

  He shifted and looked down at where she pointed. “Got into a fight with a stick while I took cover in a stream.”

  A disbelieving laugh burst out of her. She had expected a harrowing tale involving stilettos and evil Frenchmen.

  “Oh, you laugh, but it hurt like the devil, and I had to keep quiet or risk getting caught.” His grin was as close to boyish as she’d ever seen on his face.

  She leaned in to kiss his smiling lips. “Whether a stick or a dagger, I never want to see you on the pointy end.”

  “A sentiment I wholeheartedly agree with. Do you have any scars to discover?” Before she realized what he was about, he had her chemise up and over her head and tossed it on top of his discarded shirt.

  She was entirely naked. His face lost any boyishness, and he grew taut everywhere, but most especially between her legs. Her hips rolled in response, and a small moan slipped out. She touched the waist of his breeches. He nodded but didn’t make a move to continue her earlier work. She shifted backward and attacked the buttons with shaking hands. Her fumbling only heightened the tension.

  Once the fastenings were loosened, Victoria tugged. He took control, bucking her off and kicking off his breeches. He knelt on the bed, one leg between hers, and pushed her to lie back.

  She stared at the appendage jutting from a nest of dark hair between his legs. She’d seen statues of naked men. She’d even seen sketches in the courtesan’s diary, but neither had prepared her for the reality. Slowly, as if it were an easily spooked animal, she reached out and touched him.

  “Go on,” he said in a rumbly voice. “It won’t bite.”

  She shot him a smile and grasped him. He twitched in her hand, and she drew in a quick breath. His cock was hard, but the skin covering him was soft. A slit in the head glistened with fluid, and she explored the spear-shaped tip, running a thumb along the slit and gathering the slippery fluid.

  Thomas gripped her thighs and pushed them apart. He stared between her legs with the same fascination she felt regarding his cock. Like the previous evening, he stroked and toyed with her until she was squirming with urgency.

  She surrendered even as she mounted a weak protest. “Wait. You’re supposed to enter me.”

  “I will, but this will make things easier for you.” His voice was strained. “I hope.”

  The ominous qualifier barely registered before her climax took hold. This time his fingers drove deep within her, pumping hard through her bliss, extending it. His fingers retreated, and she raised her head to complain, but he had shifted to kneel between her legs.

  He gripped his shaft and rubbed the head of his cock through her wetness until he was pressed at her entrance. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes. And very willing,” she answered breathlessly.

  He pushed inside of her, one slow inch at a time. A sheen of sweat broke over his brow. “Am I hurting you?” he asked between clenched teeth.

  “No.” She was lying. Her body burned as it stretched to accommodate his length and girth.

  He pushed until his hips were seated against hers, pinning her legs wide. “It will get easier.”

  “How do you know?” She bit her lip.

  His laugh edged closer to a groan. “I don’t. Do you want me to stop?”

  She actually considered his question, but as the seconds ticked off, she found the pain subsiding into a different sort of ache. “No, don’t stop. What’s next?”

  “Next, I do this.” He withdrew almost all the way, then pressed into her again. Sensation jolted through her when his hips met her body.

  “That was… Do it again.”

  He did. And again and again and again until she lost count. The slide of him in and out of her had become easier, and the friction felt rather magnificent.

  “I can’t… You feel too good.” He withdrew and pumped himself. Fluid spurted onto her belly, warm and copious. Breathing hard, he collapsed at her side.

  Neither of them moved for a long moment. Victoria touched the cooling fluid. It smelled earthy and foreign. She brought her finger to her lips and tasted him. Salty and primal. She hummed.

  Garrick was watching her with hooded eyes. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

  “I was curious.”

  He leaned over her and kissed her. A long, slow, drugging kiss. He broke away only long enough to retrieve a square of rough linen to wipe her belly clean. “I love your curiosity.”

  He moved over her again, and for a moment, she thought they were going to do it all over again, but he slid down her body, laying kisses along his path. “I need to apologize though.”

  “W-why?” She tried to close her legs, but his broad shoulders were in the way.

  He lay a kiss above her mons. “I hurt you, and you did not reach your climax with me.”

  “You only hurt me for a moment, and I climaxed before. And last night.” His head dipped, and he flicked his tongue over her still slick folds. She made a sound of surprise when he wiggled his tongue over a sensitive bud. “On the other hand, I shall not complain if you would like to make amends.”

  His humming chuckle was nearly her undoing. She spread her legs wider and tilted her hips, all modesty at their position forgotten. He worked the bud with his tongue and lips while he gently stroked her folds.

  Her climax hit her fast and hard, and she cried out his name while fisting his hair. Le petit mort. The little death. Except she felt more alive than she ever had. Her limbs were heavy and replete with pleasure. The aftermath was hazy, but she was aware of him kissing his way up her body to reach her mouth. His taste was indescribable, and
she realized she was on his tongue and lips.

  How could she ever share her bed with another?

  Chapter 7

  Garrick was in heaven. Or as close to heaven as he was likely to come. The woman of his dreams was naked in his arms. Victoria’s head was cushioned on his shoulder, and her leg was draped over his. Her curls tickled his chin.

  His body was still tingling from the aftermath of their lovemaking. He’d never expected the act to be peppered with laughter and soul-exposing kisses and confessions. Had he said too much or not enough? What would happen when they left the cottage?

  Stomach-turning worry loosened the grip of his sensual haze. He needed to check on his horse and determine their next steps. Assuming Garrick’s message had reached Sir Hawkins, his mentor would have left word for him through their usual channel.

  He’d stayed awake a good part of the night, alert for signs anyone had tracked them, but neither horse nor man had disturbed the falling snow. He sat up and swung his legs out of bed. The banked fire kept the cold at bay, but he flipped the quilt over Victoria to keep her warm.

  She ran her hand down his back. A shiver of pleasure cascaded through him, and his semihard cock let its wishes be known. Given very little encouragement, he could take her again.

  “You’re beautifully formed, Thomas.”

  He smiled over his shoulder. The quilt was wrapped around her torso, leaving her arms and shoulders bare. Her dark curls tumbled over the pillow. Never had he dared to dream he would see her like this. The intimacy took his breath away.

  “I could say the same and more about you, love.” Emotion he tried to stifle hoarsened his voice.

  The same questions he struggled with reflected back at him in her eyes, but as he had no answers to offer, he rose and pulled on his clothes, turning his attention to the practical matter of staying alive.

  “I’m going to check on my horse. The kettle is full of water if you want to warm it to freshen yourself or boil it for tea. There might even be some sugar stashed in the cupboard.” He shot her a glance from the door and ducked into the cold winter world. His horse was content in the lean-to under a woolen blanket. After letting him feed and drink, Garrick saddled him. It was likely to be another long ride.

  Garrick walked the perimeter of the meadow, but nothing had disturbed the snow except the light prints of a fox. With an armful of wood, Garrick reentered the cottage, half hoping Victoria was still lounging under the covers naked and would invite him to join her.

  She was up and dressed, minus the fastenings she couldn’t reach, and rummaging through the cupboard, muttering to herself. The dark braid of her hair swung over her shoulder, tendrils escaping like curling vines.

  “Aha!” She emerged with a swipe of dust along her cheek holding a tin. She checked inside and smiled, her eyes sparkling. “The sugar is a bit clumpy, but clumpy sugar is better than no sugar at all in my estimation.”

  She was remarkedly unfazed by their situation and what had transpired the past twelve hours. He cradled the wood, not sure what to do or say in the circumstances. Should he apologize? Assure her they would be fine? She seemed to require neither.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Her eyes flared. “Did you see evidence the men followed us?”

  “No,” he croaked out. “I fear I’ve taken advantage of you.”

  She slammed the sugar tin on the table and propped her hands on her hips. Without the added bulk around her middle, the dress hung loosely. “If you would like to distribute blame, then I must bear the majority. After all, it was my hand in your breeches, was it not?”

  “You harbor no regrets?”

  Without answering, she took the wood from his arms one log at a time and stacked it by the hearth. Then she stepped into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. “None whatsoever. Do you?”

  He lay his cheek on top of her head. “Only as it pertains to the future.”

  “Are you worried about what Father will say?”

  He jerked back to look her in the eyes. “What he will say? He can never know about our… indiscretion.”

  Her eyes turned as hot as the blue part of a flame and singed him. If that wasn’t indication enough that he’d said the wrong thing, her icy tone confirmed his idiocy. “What was I thinking? Of course he will never know about this indiscretion. This was merely a hump. A screw. We swived. It was a way to pass the time that was a bit more satisfying than a game of hazard.”

  She dropped to her haunches and stoked the fire with the poker. Sparks erupted and snow sizzled. Steam was rising from the black kettle hanging over the fire.

  Part of him wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of her diatribe and ask where she’d learned such words, but her feelings were too raw for teasing. When she rose, he took her arms, but she stared at the middle of his chest. Was she attempting to eviscerate his heart with her gaze?

  “Your parents want you to marry a gentleman of means. Someone who can take care of you.”

  “You take care of me.” It felt like an accusation.

  He clenched his jaw. Didn’t she know if he could, he would present himself to Sir Hawkins and offer his hand in marriage? But that was the problem. Marriage was all he could offer. He had no grand house or servants. His profession was dangerous and unpredictable.

  “Yes, I can fend off men who would do you harm, but I can’t buy you frocks at the best modiste in London. I can’t furnish you with a lady’s maid. I don’t know if I could even afford your book habit.”

  She waved a hand. “None of that is important.”

  He caught her hand and brought it to his chest. “It is, Victoria. You don’t know because you’ve never experienced hunger or poverty or privations. I have, and it only takes a week, a day, an hour to be cast out with nothing.”

  She curled her fingers around his hand and shook her head, her mouth tight. “Happiness must be worth something, and you care about me, don’t you?”

  “I would not have you cast out of your parents’ house and society. You would come to hate me for it, and I couldn’t bear it. That is why what has happened here must stay a secret between us. But know this, I will forever hold the memory close to my heart.”

  The moment of her capitulation reflected in the slump of her shoulders and the shimmer of tears in her eyes before she looked toward the fire. Even though it was for the best and what had to happen, it still hurt. It was not the pain of a punch that would fade, but the ache of a wound that would fester and never heal.

  “What will we do now?” she asked in a small voice bereft of her usual bravado. He hated that he had stripped her of any of her confidence.

  “We will have our tea and then head to the village. There we will seek news and sustenance and decide our next move.”

  In silence, they drank the bitter tea from chipped earthenware mugs. The sugar added a slight sweetness but also an unpleasant grit. Victoria didn’t complain.

  “May I suggest you reassemble your disguise?”

  She gave a sharp nod, tied the padding around her waist and hips, then presented her back so Garrick could help tighten her stays and fasten the sturdy, plain dress. He was careful to make minimal contact with her skin, afraid he would be too weak to resist laying kisses along the path he covered. By the time he finished, his fingers trembled like a drunkard denied blue ruin.

  They put the cottage to rights for the next man or woman who might seek haven there. Cloak pulled close around him, he stepped into the snow. Victoria hesitated in the doorway. She was likely to end up cold and damp before the day was done, but there was no reason for her to start with sodden hems.

  “May I?” He held out his arms.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You always have a choice.”

  She rolled her eyes, signaling the return of a portion of her spirit, and harrumphed. “A Banbury tale if I ever heard one. Women have limited choices, and ladies even fewer.”

  She gestured him closer, and he swept her into a cradle hold. He
r hurt had turned to anger. He preferred her spitting fire. His shoulders relaxed despite the burden he carried—both physical and metaphorical. He trudged through the snow toward his horse.

  “Someday you’ll thank me,” he murmured.

  She bucked in his arms. The movement caught him off guard, and he half dropped her, thankfully not headfirst, into the snow. “I will never thank you for being a coldhearted arse.”

  Anger was one thing. What radiated off Victoria was pure fury.

  Garrick was not sure what to say, so he said nothing. If her jerky movements as she mounted behind him were any indication, he had chosen poorly, but any explanation he bumbled through now was bound to make things worse.

  They plodded toward the village. Garrick tried not to focus on the simmering, silent woman sitting close behind him. Danger stalked them. His job was to protect Victoria, not to offer something she couldn’t accept and he couldn’t afford. Like his heart.

  The woods were silent, their horse’s hoof falls muffled. They cleared the tree line, and the village of Upton Heath came into view. It boasted a blacksmith, a baker, and a large common house with an inn. It was on a well-traveled thoroughfare and was a common post for changing horses for the coaches. It reminded him painfully of the small village he had grown up in.

  His destination was the baker. The man also responsible for maintaining the cottage. He dismounted and helped Victoria down, running a critical eye over her. The dowdy dress and padding were in place and offered some camouflage, but without the veiled hat, she was pretty enough to draw notice. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and curly wisps of hair framed her face. They couldn’t tarry longer than necessary else someone was sure to note her passing.

  “I’m sure the inn offers a suitable breakfast and perhaps even passable coffee.” She looked longingly in that direction.

  “I’m sure it does.” He ducked into the baker’s and took a deep breath.

  The baker’s wife in his childhood village used to hand out overdone buns and bread from the back door to the village children. He remembered tearing off the burnt edges and devouring the still-warm treats before running off to play. His heart crimped.