My Lady, The Spy Read online

  At some point Rebecca reached for him, and he reached for her. It mattered not who made the first move, only that theirs was a shared goal; mutual reassurance found in mutual pleasure. And she came at him with a hunger he had never before experienced. Acquiescing to her whispered request to let her have her way, he relinquished the helm and marveled as she steered him into heretofore-unrivaled erotic seas. He recalled her nimble fingers, her naughty tongue, and her sultry cries of ecstasy. Even now, just thinking of her wanton but unschooled maneuvers summoned a stout salute from his Jolly Roger. Indeed, Dirk was sincerely looking forward to his wedding night.

  When next he came up for air, he pressed his forehead to hers and sighed. “I’ve ordered my staff to move your belongings to the viscountess’s suite.”

  “What?” She frowned as if to chastise him, but he wasn’t fooled for a second. “But we are not married. And where will your mother stay?”

  “Believe me, she was more than happy to vacate her rooms.” He pressed his hips to hers and thrust ever so slightly. “Besides, I want you near, where I can protect you.”

  With an arched brow, she cast him a flirty smile. “Are you certain it is protection you wish to offer me?”

  “Perhaps close cover is more apropos.” He rocked again. “Very close.”

  “My lord, you are distracting me, and there is something of importance I wish to discuss.”

  “All right.” Reluctantly he freed her from his grasp. “If you insist on working, tell me what is wrong.”

  “About last night. Did you see Sir Ross when you returned to the ballroom?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because he was supposed to be guarding me, yet he was curiously absent when I was attacked.” Now she frowned in earnest. “I expected him to burst on the scene and arrest the villain, but he never appeared.”

  “Perhaps he was diverted by Elaine.”

  “But the sole purpose of his presence at the ball was to monitor our mission, and he is a past master at espionage.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “And there is something else I haven’t told you. I spotted Clarkson at the event.”

  “Logan’s secretary?”

  “The very one.” She rubbed her arms. “And the way he looked at me...as though he were aware of my occupation.”

  “If memory serves, he attended the ball at Richmond House, too. What would a man of his standing be doing at another one of the ton’s premiere galas?” Dirk mulled the possibilities, searching for a plausible explanation. “Would Sir Ross enlist Clarkson’s aid?”

  “I wondered the same thing, and it makes no sense. Clarkson is not a trained operative, and we could just as easily secure another spy, so why was he there?”

  “I cannot fathom. Did you mention it to Sir Ross during the debriefing?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said with a shrug.

  “Do you suspect him?”

  “Oh, I don’t know what to think.” She paced. “My previous missions involved a designated target and a clearly defined goal. Colin and I strategized, formed a plan of attack, and executed it, without fail. Our assignment is utterly foreign. It is frustrating to battle an enemy I can’t see, and it is even worse to sit idly and wait for the traitor to make his move. The situation is beyond my control, and I don’t like it. If only we could recruit additional agents without alerting Sir Ross.”

  “I suppose such conjecture is justified.” Dirk raked his fingers through his hair. “But why would he charge me with your protection if he intended to harm you?”

  “To deflect attention from himself and thereby provide the means to strike.”

  At her unsettling revelation, a shiver of dread traipsed his spine. “Logan is in a position to obtain the most intelligence and inflict the greatest damage.”

  “For all we know, he could be Denis. Perhaps that is why none of our agents has ever been rescued alive.”

  Dirk swallowed hard and purposely ignored the grievous implications of her conclusion. “I say, you do suspect him.”

  “Yes, and I feel terrible about it.”

  “So what do you require, lady mine?”

  “Assistance.” With chin held high, Rebecca met his questioning gaze. “Could we trust your friends were we to divulge all the facts, including my true occupation, surrounding our mission?”

  “Aye, that is just what I would suggest.”

  “Are you absolutely certain of their reliability?”

  Bloody hell, he had secrets of his own to share, and he was infinitely unsure of her reaction. “More than you know.”

  “Then I shall leave their briefing to you.” Rebecca paused and then faced him. “And there is something else.”

  For some reason he could not explain, Dirk shuddered. Perhaps it was her dour expression that chilled him to the marrow and set his nerves on edge. “And that would be--what?”

  “We need to discuss our arrangement.”

  “Our arrangement?” he asked. “Perhaps you are referring to our impending nuptials.”

  In an abrupt change of tack, she gave him her back. “In regard to our wedding, there is one condition upon which we must agree, or I will not marry you.”

  “But you have already accepted my proposal, and you promised your brother.” Anger surfaced, slow and steady, but he clenched his fists and managed to speak calmly. “Are you reneging?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I will marry you--with a stipulation.”

  “And that would be--what?” he prompted, steeling for her response.

  “Should either of us desire it, a divorce may be obtained once the traitor is caught, and the mission is complete.”

  “What!” Dirk shouted in unveiled anger. “Have you no honor? I made you an earnest offer--one you accepted. Do not think you can change your mind now.”

  “I am not changing my mind,” she insisted. “I merely seek to make the situation more convenient for you.”

  “For me or for you?” Dirk replied, his voice dripping sarcasm. “We are not even married and already you seek freedom. Are you so encumbered?”

  “Please, you misunderstand. Do not think me ignorant of your motives.” Rebecca reached for him and grasped his hand in hers. “You have an uncommonly strong sense of duty, and you have been tasked with my protection. As I feel I have come to know you quite well, I believe you would do whatever necessary, even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness, to fulfill your obligation. I care for you too much to secure my future on the ruin of yours.”

  Shaken to his core, Dirk could only stand there and process the significance of her declaration. At first glance, Rebecca had spoken to him as a man desirous of ridding himself of an importuning mistress. But there was more to her request, as evidenced by her last statement. “You care for me?”

  Her eyes flared as she kissed his palm. “How could you doubt it?”

  Because she hadn’t been very forthcoming in her attachment.

  “Yet you think me indifferent?”

  “Given the passion we’ve shared, I will be forever in your debt,” she said quietly. “But I am not so naïve to equate lust with love.”

  “And if I am not indifferent?” He bit his tongue against further spontaneous confessions and shifted his weight. Everything that had seemed so clear when he entered his study was suddenly muddled. Was he nothing more than her lover to be cast aside when she had no need of him?

  Rebecca blinked but remained stubbornly silent, and Dirk had never felt more uncertain in his life. He hoped for a sign or, at the very least, some validation of his bold but unplanned admission. In that moment, words failed him, because his course was no longer firmly set in place.

  Driven to distraction, and thoughts focused solely on escape, he stomped to his desk, yanked open the top drawer, and retrieved a tiny parcel. After tossing the box haphazardly atop the blotter, he marched to the door but halted, truly regretting what he was about to say.

  “Once our
business is concluded, if it is your wish, you may have your divorce.”

  #

  Upon entering the dining room the following morning, Rebecca was disappointed to find it as empty as the right side of her bed remained the previous night. Had she known her generous offer to grant Dirk a divorce would result in much unexpected and equally unappreciated forced abstinence, she would have reconsidered her course or abandoned it altogether. The wee hours seemed to last an eternity, as she tossed and turned in a valiant but vain effort to sleep. Thus her nerves were on end as she pressed a hand to her upset belly. Despite her lack of appetite, she made quick work of dry toast and sent for a mount.

  Hyde Park was aglow in the golden light of the rising sun. The landscape was resplendent, as the dew-covered grass glittered, and a chorus of birdcalls formed a delicate serenade, but Rebecca concentrated on her search for Dirk. With a nudge of her mare, she set off for the sandy track and was disappointed to discover it virtually deserted.

  Blast, blast, blast!

  Sometime during the night, she pondered her successful tenure with Colin. So in tune to each other’s thoughts and moves, they were as honey on a hot scone. In every sense save one they were a dynamic duo. Now she understood her late colleague’s advice regarding romantic attachments and work. Despite her training, she’d crossed an imaginary line and made a mess of her current partnership.

  She couldn’t sleep.

  Couldn’t eat.

  Couldn’t think.

  In short, she hadn’t a chance in hell of capturing her prey. Instead of watching for any sign of the traitor, her attention was commanded by Dirk Randolph, not that it mattered.

  The villain was a sly one.

  Based on years of experience and knowledge, she surmised the turncoat was purposefully waiting, watching, and studying, which heightened her anticipation and kept her on tiptoes. Constantly guessing at the enemy’s next move, she was completely off balance. It was a brilliant tactic; one she’d used many times.

  In the past, when missions became inordinately stressful, she and Colin played poker, wagering late night surveillance shifts and all manner of unsavory work. At that very moment, her game of choice had nothing to do with cards and everything to do with one very stubborn viscount and a four-poster bed...or the plush chair in his library. Thanks to her bright idea, her anxiety had increased tenfold. Heaven help her if he petitioned for a divorce when their task was complete.

  Rebecca mentally kicked herself.

  If Dirk had come to her with such a proposal, she’d have drawn her pistol and shot him in a rather sensitive spot, before putting a bullet between his eyes. Well, she might not have done anything quite so dramatic, but she would’ve been furious all the same.

  Pounding hoofbeats brought her alert in an instant.

  Rebecca turned in the saddle--and froze. Every muscle tensed, and she stiffened her spine, sitting fully erect and mustering a half-smile. Instinct told her to run; yet she could not afford to give offense, in light of her task. Still, she wondered why the approaching rider affected her thus.

  “Lord Varringdale, how lovely to see you this morning.”

  He reined in, bringing his mount scandalously close to hers, and she would have called him out if not for the fact that he thought her a highly paid whore.

  “Lady Wentworth, or should I say Lady Wainsbrough-to-be. Felicitations, my dear, on your good fortune.” With an elegant flourish, he tipped his hat, yet his expression was anything but elegant. “Many a fair face has sought the prize you now claim. No doubt your persuasive abilities far surpassed previous contenders.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” L’araignee replied with an air of whimsy, despite his insult, and she gritted her teeth against a rapier retort. “I am very happy.”

  “Care to join me for a ride?” he inquired in a tone that suggested the activity he proposed would not involve horses. “I have been told I am quite skilled.”

  “Oh, of that I have no doubt, my lord, but I must decline your rather intriguing offer, because Viscount Wainsbrough is expecting me, and I am already late.”

  “Another time, perhaps.” Lord Varringdale nodded. “I am, most definitely, at your service.” Kicking his heels, he headed for Rotten Row.

  Desirous of a bath after the nasty exchange, Rebecca gave the park one more cursory search before she drew rein and set her mount for the mews. As she navigated the London streets, she examined her predicament.

  For all intents and purposes, her current mission was an unutterable disaster. At odds with her partner, her efforts to identify the traitor, thus far, had been unsuccessful. But how could she right her predicament? As she could not actively hunt the villain, she could only focus on that which she could hunt. In other words, it was time to swallow her pride, apologize to Dirk, admit her mistake, and make amends.

  After stabling her horse, she strolled past the carriage house and into the alleyway leading to the main walk. She was to marry on Saturday, which gave her two nights to correct the situation. Her aching heart eased, and she hummed a happy tune as she tugged at her calfskin gloves, while carefully considering her next move.

  A dark figure leapt from the shadows.

  Rebecca shrieked and then quickly recovered. Hiking her skirts, she reached for the dagger she kept tied to her thigh and came up fast, bold, and unafraid, catching her would-be-attacker by surprise.

  “If you want me, you will have to take me by force,” L’araignee declared with unwavering resolve.

  The masked blackguard seemed hesitant. When she half-lunged, he flinched and splayed both hands, revealing no weapon. At that point, she charged her assailant, and he turned and ran.

  Slowed by the weight of her riding habit, L’araignee flew in a frenzied froth of petticoat fluff.

  “Halt!” she shouted as they neared Park Lane. “Someone stop that man!”

  The rogue sprinted to the walk and tripped over an unfortunate passerby. He glanced over his shoulder; realized she closed the distance between them, and shot across Park Lane. With nary concern for her safety, L’araignee gave pursuit.

  Bestial cries erupted like the hounds of hell. Thunder roared, and the ground shook beneath her feet, as a heavy town carriage drawn by a team of six steered directly at her.

  “Watch out!” The coachman waved a warning and shouted a slew of expletives.

  Rebecca stood stock-still and clutched her throat. And then the world disappeared in the shadow of a large form that flashed before her, snatching her from death’s cold hand at the last possible second. With feet planted on terra firma, she eased from the suffocating vice that held her, took a minute to compose herself, and shook out her skirts. Only then had she spared a glance at a familiar expression of fury.

  “Good morning, my lord.” She swallowed hard. “I was looking for you.”

  His fingers a manacle at her elbow, Dirk dragged her up the entrance stairs and into the house.

  “I scoured the park, but you were not to be found.”

  He was walking so fast she was nearly running to keep up with him.

  “Beautiful weather to share a ride, don’t you think?” She half-giggled. “No? Well, if you wish to be alone, I am sure I can find something to occupy my time.”

  He strode to the entrance of his study, with her in tow, and swung the oak panel wide. With a whip of his wrist, he yanked her inside and slammed the door behind her.

  Then she was in his arms, a punishing kiss bruising her lips. She dropped the dagger to the floor, pressed her body to his, licked the inside of his cheek, and moaned. Urgency, hunger, and desire welled, and her heart beat a rapid salvo. Sumptuous heat suffused each taut muscle--until she was unceremoniously released. Again the earth teetered beneath her feet, and Rebecca fought to remain upright.

  For several seconds, Dirk paced the floor. He faced her, his mouth opened then closed. He gave her his back and raked a hand through his hair. Then he turned on her, and she scarcely had a moment to brace herself for the fiery de
mon.

  “What in bloody hell were you doing!” he roared. “Would you rather be trampled to death than marry me?”

  With a step in retreat, Rebecca gulped. “As I said, I was looking for you.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he stalked her. “And you thought to find me beneath the wheels of a carriage?”

  “No.” She shook her head and bit her lip. “I was chasing a masked man. He assaulted me as I returned from the mews.”

  The weapon resting innocuously on the carpet ensnared his attention. In an instant, his irascible disposition surrendered to care and concern. And when he took her in his arms again, his embrace was one of comfort.

  “My brave Becca, you could have been killed.”

  “But I was not injured.” For several seconds, she hugged him close, and he hugged her with equal fervor as she nuzzled him. “I should send word of the attack to Sir Ross.”

  “Do you think it wise, given your conjectures?”

  “If I am correct, and Logan is the traitor, then he would already know what has happened, and failure to apprise him of the situation could arouse suspicion before we plan our next move.”

  “Smart lady.” He sighed heavily and kissed her temple. “I will be glad when this dreadful affair is finished, and the spy trade is nothing more than an interesting chapter in your past. Daresay I have half a mind to tell Sir Ross that you are quitting the Corps, and he must capture the villain without you.”

  “You do, and you will be lucky to have half a brain when I am through with you.” Rebecca brought her hands to his chest and shoved hard but could not break his hold. “My profession was no secret when you proposed, so I do not understand your objection now. You have no right--”

  “I have every right as your husband.” He kept her firmly anchored in his grasp. “Do you honestly believe that I will allow my viscountess to court danger as a spy? Do you expect to continue service to the Crown as you bear my children? I will not live in constant fear for the safety of my wife and my heirs. Do I make myself clear?”