My Lady, The Spy Read online

  “Dirk, would you explain yourself in greater detail, because, from my vantage, it sounds as if you do not want me. And before we enact another scene, I would have you clarify your position.”

  “Somewhere, we are not connecting,” he stated with a grimace.

  “Oh, I know we are not connecting.”

  “Ever the vixen,” Dirk said with a lopsided grin. “What I am trying to explain is that your sexual history is of no consequence. Only, I am not sure how to declare it without offending you. So, if you think about it, would I court you if your lack of innocence were a factor? To put it simply, I envision our wedding as a rebirth, of sorts, for us both.”

  At last, realization struck, and Rebecca could only laugh at the absurdity. “You mean, you believe I am no longer--”

  “--A virgin.”

  “And you would marry me despite that?”

  “Despite that,” Dirk responded without hesitation, and her knight had just regained his horse.

  “Why?”

  “Because I care for you.” And his armor shone bright as the finest silver.

  With his grudging confession, her heart positively sang, vanquishing the pain and disappointment at what she had thought was rejection. “Silly Captain. You think me incompetent not a whore.” Rebecca huffed in relief. “Colin and I expended considerable effort to protect what we could of my virtue.”

  “I do not follow.”

  “My lord, my education in sensual arts extends only as far as what I did to you in the study. As an agent of the Corps, when locale necessitated further measures to safeguard my body, I drugged my targets with laudanum, and they enjoyed only a good night’s sleep, in some instances without achieving completion.”

  “Wait a minute.” With an expression of utter shock, Dirk sat up, and she followed him. “Am I to understand that--”

  “Yes.” She placed her hand on his arm. “I retain that which is mine to give.”

  “But, you are so bold, so passionate.” Brows almost reaching his hairline, Dirk blinked. “How is it possible?”

  “Practice? Ingenuity? Pure luck?” She shrugged. “I would not venture a guess. But there is no such thing as a missish spy, and I approached each assignment always cognizant that I might be required to sacrifice maidenhood for the good of the Crown.”

  “I can’t even imagine what you have endured.” He met her gaze, eyes searching, and then asked, “And none of your targets ever suspected the truth?”

  “Some did, but men are so predictable and quite easy to placate. You see, in the face of doubt, I needed only to proclaim my curious conquest a most proficient lover, and there ended the questions. And when Sir Ross suggested I rid myself of my maidenhead, which he considered a dangerous distraction, Colin approached an old friend--a roommate from his days at Eton, to do the deed, but the gentleman declined.”

  “I do not believe it.” He shook his head. “Would it surprise you to know that I am that man?”

  “And once again you refuse me.”

  “Dearest Rebecca.” Dirk cupped her cheek. “You are the bravest woman I know.”

  “Praise, indeed.” She kissed his palm. “Now will you take me to bed?”

  “Absolutely not.” He scrambled to his feet and then helped her stand.

  “But--why deny me?”

  With indefatigable sangfroid, which she found indefatigably irritating, he said, “Because, in light of recent revelations, I could not, in good conscience, violate your honor.”

  “To hell and the Reaper with honor. I want you, and I will have you tonight.”

  “Why so persistent, love?”

  “I can’t believe you have to ask. Do you not realize that we live on borrowed time? At any moment, the villain could strike, and all that we are, everything that we have could end,” she pleaded. “I would have you--now.”

  Dirk exhaled audibly. “And I would wait until the vows are spoken, and we are husband and wife.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “That is unacceptable.”

  “Becca, there is more to your insistence.” He set her at arm’s length and then planted hands on hips. “What are you not telling me?”

  She hesitated, and then frowned. “I am afraid.”

  “Of what?” Concern rang clear in his voice.

  “Of dying. Of losing you. Of never knowing what might have been.” Stepping close, she brushed the backs of her fingers along his ribcage, skimmed his taut chest, and finally locked her arms behind his neck. “In the past, my work has left me nauseous and dirty. But with you, it is different; perhaps because I do not consider it work. Thus far, the Corps has determined my seductions. Just this once--if only this once, I want to spend the night in the arms of a man of my choice. I choose you.”

  “Becca, you humble me.” Dirk set his forehead to hers, as he hugged her so tight she could barely draw breath. “If I take you, there is no going back. The rules governing our respective positions in society are very explicit. You will have to marry me. Do you understand; I will be your only option?”

  “Then we are in agreement, because you are the only man I have any interest in touching--or having touch me.”

  “So, you accept me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You will marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  Without word or warning, Dirk grasped her wrist and made for the door. Shocked that he would make such a bargain and then renege, Rebecca wanted to scream, but she held her tongue. Tears welled, and her throat constricted. She had said her part, had made her argument, and she felt no shame. But when her knight slid the bolt with a definitive click, nervous excitement shivered over her skin.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Leaning against the oak panel, Dirk pulled her into a warm, reassuring embrace, and she softened, melting slowly, sinking into him. He lowered his head, favoring her with a long, lingering, inexpressibly tender kiss, and Rebecca wanted to cry. Desire sparked, a quiescent flame simmering beneath her flesh as it spread, tickling her senses, charging every nerve. The urge to touch him, to work her magic, pooled in her belly, then found convenient outlet in her hand, which she inched between them.

  Making quick work of the hooks at his waist, she discovered Dirk fully aroused, scalding hot, and she caressed him in broad, sweeping strokes, at hurried and then lazy intervals. He groaned, an elementally male celebration of her efforts that emboldened her. Rebecca released him, broke their kiss, bent, and took him into her mouth.

  For several minutes, she loved and teased him with her tongue. Then she dropped to her knees and set her palms to the twin swells of his bottom, kneading and prodding an urgent rhythm. When he speared his fingers in her hair, holding her in place, and thrust, harder and faster, emitting guttural grunts in time with their fevered pace, almost attacking her mouth, Rebecca hummed in triumph. Focusing on his face, studying his expression, she marveled at the erotic power she wielded. Indeed, the oh-so noble Viscount was hers.

  “Enough, else this will be over before it starts.” In a flash, Dirk stepped back and swept her into his arms. “Darling, promise me something.”

  “Your wish is my command,” she said, as she scored her nails to the nape of his neck.

  “Just for tonight, try not to do anything too encouraging.” He grinned.

  “But--why?”

  “Because your first time should be a memorable experience, and you know I can’t resist you.” Dirk nipped playfully at her nose. “Later, you may come at me to your heart’s content, and I will sincerely enjoy honing your skills, love.”

  “All right. But, will it hurt?” she inquired, as he set her on her feet and unfastened the single mother-of-pearl button of her robe, letting the filmy garment slide to the floor. Standing before Dirk as God fashioned her, Rebecca inhaled a deep breath and glanced at the monstrous four-poster bed to her right.

  “Only once.” Dirk bent, grasped the ends of his breeches and tugged them swiftly to his ankles, before kicking the garment to the rug. Equally naked and
thoroughly erect, her knight favored her with a half-smile. “But if I do my job properly, your pain will be minor and soon forgotten.”

  “Then, by all means, do your job properly, my lord.” For some reason Rebecca couldn’t fathom, she was suddenly overtaken by uncharacteristic timidity. Perhaps it was because she had been both instigator and navigator of her previous experiences with the male form. She had always determined when to act, what to do, and how far she would go.

  Not so, tonight, she mused.

  “Are you frightened?” Dirk trailed a finger along her cheek.

  Pondering his question, she exhaled. “A little.”

  He inclined his head. “Do you trust me?”

  “Implicitly,” Rebecca responded without hesitation.

  With outstretched arms, Dirk said, “Then come here.”

  In an instant, she stepped into his embrace. Naked, skin to skin, he pressed his hips to hers, letting her feel the hot and hard proof of his desire. Then his lips covered hers, and her fear was forgotten. For a long time, Dirk simply kissed her, but there was nothing simple about his kiss. With a lengthy, lingering communion of flesh, her gallant knight sailed her into erotic seas with an expertise she had not expected of her noble captain. By the time he backed her to the bed and eased her to the mattress, she was breathless.

  Resting between her legs, he licked and suckled her breasts before inching lower, blazing a naughty trail to her belly. “Lift your knees,” he said as he skimmed his nose through the crisp hair at the apex of her thighs.

  Staring at the canopy, she gasped. “Why?”

  “Do as I say, love.”

  Despite thoughts to the contrary, Rebecca complied. “What are you going to do?”

  “The same thing you did to me in my study.”

  “You can’t be--oh.”

  Determined to prevail as an active participant, she fought the compulsion to lose herself in the sensations spearing through her, but hers was a futile gesture. With his tongue as a decadent weapon, Dirk waged a succulent assault on the intimate center of her existence, and reality slipped its anchor. Wave upon wave of pleasure lapped at her nerves, as his head bobbed and weaved in sweet torture. Almost instinctively, she braced for the usual revulsion and self-loathing that accompanied her licentious forays for the Corps, but the discomfiting emotions remained conspicuously absent. Instead, she soared to some heretofore-foreign yet mystical realm, where she felt no shame or regret.

  Delicious fire simmered in her limbs, before burning a sumptuous path to the very point where Dirk pressed on her caress after glorious caress. Fisting her hands in the bed linens, Rebecca moaned, as everything inside her seemed to twist and turn in unison, surrendering to the blissful oblivion that beckoned. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe, and deep within her, something shattered as passion claimed her, and she screamed his name.

  Seconds later, in the dark recesses of her mind still capable of coherent thought, she was vaguely aware that her wicked captain had shifted, nudging her thighs further apart as he settled his weight over her. Through a lusty haze of sated torpor she noted the barest stab of pain, which was quickly replaced with an unfamiliar fullness not altogether uncomfortable. When she surfaced, returning to the mortal plane, she discovered Dirk nibbling her lower lip.

  “Hello, my lord.” Rebecca smiled.

  “Hello, yourself.” He rubbed his nose to hers. “How do you fare?”

  “Better than I expected.” She smiled and brought her hands to rest on his shoulders. “So, is this where it hurts? Should I prepare myself?”

  “You tell me,” Dirk said, as he grazed her jawline with his teeth, before flexing his spine, withdrawing from her body, and then fluidly thrusting his hips, driving his flesh deep within hers once again. “Feel anything?”

  Oh, what she felt. Ecstasy. Elation. Exhilaration. Mustering what strength she had left, Rebecca could manage nothing more than a half-strangled cry in response.

  “Praise, indeed, my lady.” With a supremely arrogant grin and a chuckle, Dirk began the illicit rhythm.

  Again and again, he repeated the erotic dance in an achingly monotonous cadence. Just when she thought she could take no more, he shifted, reared up on his arms, angling each successive penetration ever so slightly, and she feared she might swoon. But her captain kept her grounded, as his gazed locked on hers, and she cradled his face in her hands.

  Holding nothing back, Rebecca bared herself in more ways than one, all but begging him to love her.

  The noblewoman and the spy.

  And his eyes remained focused on hers, as their world collapsed into a sensuous cocoon of ardent whispers and tender caresses infused with unspoken but nonetheless potent devotion. Again and again, Dirk took her to the brink of ecstasy, only to turn tide and leave her wanting more, until she could bear it no longer.

  “Don’t stop.” She twined her fingers in his hair. “Please, do not stop.”

  Resting on his elbows, he pumped hard and fast, and then froze. With a lusty groan, he whispered her name, and Rebecca was lost.

  #

  Hours later, as the last of the candles guttered, Dirk stared at his future wife, who slept, curled to his side, a wisp of hair across her forehead. In the dark, he frowned. The revelations of the night had left him reeling.

  Physically, he was content.

  Mentally, he was spent.

  Rebecca’s unexpected innocence, coupled with the wild streak she brought out in him, had again turned his ordered world on end. The barbarian she had unwittingly unleashed took her without considering the consequences, and of that there were many.

  Circumstances required they wed in haste.

  They may have already conceived a child, and Dirk would brook no question of his heir’s birthright. While the lady had consented to marry him, she had not specified a suitable date for the ceremony. And she remained an operative in the employ of the Counterintelligence Corps. Add to that the fact that a traitor lurked in their midst, presenting a threat to Dirk’s bride-to-be, and nothing seemed certain, yet he craved certainty.

  Recalling their discussion, it was clear Rebecca had not intended to remain an agent in the King’s service, but what could he do in the meantime? And what if she changed her mind? He had not wanted a spy for a wife, but he was keenly aware that he might have no choice in the matter, if the two were indelibly enmeshed.

  If so, God help them.

  #

  “My dear, you have the smile of a well-pleasured lady.”

  Shocked by Lord Everett Markham’s forwardness, Rebecca fought to maintain her composure as she circled the elegant dance floor of Howard Hall in the arms of the devilish rogue. Concerned for her safety, in regard to the as yet unknown villain, she tried but failed to summon sufficient spy instincts to disguise the emotions assailing her senses, so she sought diversion in an unsportsmanlike attack.

  “Lord Markham, you are positively shameless.” And he was an easy target, as Rebecca seized on his weakness. “No wonder Sabrina refused to dance with you.”

  His arrogant smile morphed to a brooding frown as Everett caught sight of the subject in question, currently fumbling through a waltz with the equally graceful Sir Kleinfeld.

  “Have you declared your regard?” she inquired, tongue in cheek.

  “I beg your pardon.” Unadulterated horror invested his handsome features. “I know of no such regard.”

  “And you deny it. Could there be more convincing evidence of your interest in Miss Douglas?”

  “My dear Lady Wentworth, I would have you know that I am currently plotting the pursuit of a particular ace of spades. Of course, to say more would be ungentlemanly, and I am, if nothing else, a gentleman.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Indubitably.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do say.”

  “All right, my lord.” Despite efforts to the contrary, Rebecca giggled. “If that is your story, you had best stay with it.”

  “It is, and I
believe you have inaccurately assessed the situation.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “You see, Miss Douglas is infatuated with me. She simply cannot resist my estimable charm, therefore she wisely does not put herself in situations where she would be tempted.”

  Rebecca emitted a rather unladylike snort. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, but I am. She adores me,” he insisted.

  “Of that I have no doubt.”

  “Truly? Then we are in agreement?” Was it her imagination, or had Lord Markham seemed hopeful?

  “It appears we are, because Sabrina can’t stop looking at you.” Rebecca counted to four and then added, “Just as you search for her with each successive turn we make on the floor.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  Now she laughed aloud. “No worries, my lord. I can assure you that your secret is safe.”

  “Lady Wentworth, I tell you, that Sabrina Douglas is the most fascinating woman I have ever known.” He paused and then rolled his eyes. “She is also the most frustrating, foul-mouthed, bungling creature of my unfortunate acquaintance.”

  “And still you fancy her.”

  For a moment, Everett simply gaped at her. At last, he furrowed his brow. “I admit nothing.”

  Rebecca wanted to tell him that, despite his best efforts, his demeanor betrayed the truth in vivid detail. In the underworld of espionage, ferreting information was her specialty. It was her well-formed opinion that the very attempts to conceal the deepest and darkest confidences of the human condition often led to their discovery. In short, the more people tried to hide, the more they revealed, and the rakehell nobleman was no different.

  Just then the music stopped, and the dance ended.

  “Come, my dear.” Extending his arm, Everett pointedly avoided her stare. “I shall return you to the unabashedly besotted Viscount Wainsbrough.”

  The mere mention of Dirk’s name brought telltale warmth to her cheeks, and delicious memories of their night, of his hands, of his mouth, wreaked havoc on her nerves, searing a path straight to her belly, and she tripped.