Her mouth dropped open again. She stared up into those blue eyes and tried to find the lies or the deliberate charm. But why should he need to charm her? He had paid her after all. She was bound to him by money.
“I—”
A finger came to her chin, then to the corner of her mouth. Tingles raced from that spot, through her body, making her ache in so many places. He pressed down on her bottom lip.
“You really do have the most beautiful mouth. Made for kissing,” he said softly.
It was almost too much to process. No one had ever called her beautiful. Or told her she was made for kissing. Or admired her figure.
A nonsensical sound escaped her. Perhaps she had meant it as stop or please go on. Who really knew? She did not, for certain, but apparently Reed did. He took it as please continue.
He lowered his mouth to hers. For several heartbeats, he hovered there, his warm breath touching her lips. She smelled mint and that sweet scent of soap wrapped about her once more. His gaze dug deep into hers, making her heart constrict. Orelia had to close her eyes to him. At the same time as wanting nothing more than to stare into those depths forever, she could bear it no longer.
Behind the comforting darkness of her lids, she waited. And waited. Then it was there. She released the air from her lungs after the first light touch of lips upon lips.
Reed kept her chin lifted with a single finger upon her face. Another touch. This time to the corner of her mouth. Every part of her now tingled.
He swept his mouth across hers the next time. So frustratingly lightly that she wanted to grip him by his coat and press herself hard against him, but her legs and arms were frozen, rooted like an old oak tree. She was his to do with as he wished, so she waited again.
One more sweep. More frissons of sensation. Then firm lips covering hers. She sighed inwardly as warm satisfaction flowed through her. Her hands had become unrooted and she found the coarse wool of his coat under her palms. His mouth moved gently, without demand, but she almost wished he would demand.
He gave her one last firm, decisive kiss and eased away, just enough so that she could stare up into his eyes and wish for another.
“What did you do that for?” she asked huskily while she uncurled her fingers and released him.
He grinned. “Because you are too damn beautiful.”
With that, he began to march his way toward the sty, leaving her staring at his back. What an astonishing few days this had been.
Chapter Nine
Reed stared at the dark canopy until the little swirls and tassels on the fabric grew visible. He normally slept excellently. Even when in France, when really any day could be his last, he had the ability to sleep like a baby. The fact was, that while he wined and dined with nobles, his job had meant travelling across the country at a moment’s notice or having to move on swiftly. He had therefore learned to make the most of any rest he could get.
Not tonight, though. Tonight he had tossed and turned and finally fallen asleep while that lingering knowledge that she was a few bedrooms away burrowed deep into his gut. Then he had awoken for no reason, fully aware his body had not gained the rest it needed.
He scrubbed a hand across his face and yawned. He was never going to find sleep here, so he climbed out of bed and cursed the cool night air as it wrapped about his bare legs.
A burst of pain flared through his toe. “Damn it.”
All the years he had been sleeping in this room, he should remember the layout. What a fool. He scowled at the offending chair and fumbled for his robe.
It was the blasted kiss, he acknowledged as he did up the robe and found and lit the candle at his bedside.
That blasted, delicious, enticing, searing kiss.
Who knew a gypsy girl could be so kissable?
He supposed he did, given that he’d been thinking of her lips from the first day. Still, he couldn’t continue. As much as he wanted to repeat it and as much as he could not bring himself to regret it, it was becoming clear kissing Orelia wasn’t the brightest of ideas. What else could he blame for his inability to sleep? Reed was hardly one to lie to himself and he would not start now.
The truth of it was, he was far too attracted to Orelia.
He shuffled out of the room and down the quiet corridor. When his mother wasn’t home, the whole house seemed too empty. It was one of the reasons he had eagerly accepted the government’s request to aid them. She loved to travel and visit with friends, often leaving him to fend for himself. It was not that he missed his mother’s company—far from it. At least he didn’t have to tolerate her meddling whilst she was gone. But it did leave the house somewhat cold and empty. Noah was not one for entertaining and Reed had not been returned long enough to arrange balls and week-long parties. No wonder Orelia thought it odd that they had all this space and hardly put it to use.
He paused outside her door. Behind there, she would be sleeping. Her hair would be loose most likely. He doubted she thought to braid it or put it in rolls before bed. Her long lashes would be fanned across her face. Maybe she’d be naked. Even if she was not, his imagination had decided he liked the image and clung to it.
Orelia, wrapped in a sheet, the tops of her breasts peeking out, her arms wide, her hair spread out. Yes, his imagination liked that very much.
He grimaced when he began to grow hard. So did his body, apparently.
He moved on swiftly. If she heard him and came to investigate, he could not imagine her reacting well to him standing there like some primitive beast, breathing heavily and sporting an erection.
Carefully, he made his way down to the main hall and progressed through the house. Clock ticks and the drip of water from somewhere echoed through the empty spaces. Moonlight drifted through the gaps in curtains, turning the belongings of his ancestors a ghostly blue. He moved through the house—hardly sure where he was intending to stop but following his instincts nonetheless. He was restless and aroused. A good walk through the house would not hurt at all.
When he came to the door of the library, he paused. Perhaps it had been his imagination which, as was obvious, was ridiculously active at present, but he could have sworn he’d heard a voice. Unless his servants had taken up midnight reading, it could only be one person.
Really, he should have turned around. Twin voices echoed in his head. The one governing his aroused state urged him forward. Go, go, go, it said in time with the beat of his heart. The other was quieter, more subdued. The other voice was the sensible one that told him to turn around, go to the kitchens, find a little something to eat and go to bed.
The other voice could hang. He pushed the door open.
She screamed.
Reed raced forward and caught Orelia mid-air. She had only been a few steps up the ladder resting against the bookcase, but it would have been enough to twist an ankle.
Muslin and soft skin surrounded him. He found his head buried against some breasts until he repositioned her.
“Are you well?” he asked, the words raspy.
His body was in shock, stiff and aching and hot. He could feel warm skin beneath his palm and could see the outline of dark nipples. Orelia had lit a few candles, unfortunately for him. Or fortunately, depending on how he looked at it. Mostly he looked at her breasts.
“Let me down,” she whispered.
“Right. Yes.” He nodded and eased her to the floor.
Though he could no longer feel a soft thigh or breast against him, he could see even more. Her breasts pressed against the shift she wore, round and full. Her nipples were hard. And still dark against the fabric. He’d hardly expected that to change from between then and now, but one could always hope. By some miracle, he forced his gaze onto her face.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I should not have been in here.”
“Not at all. You are a guest here.” He nodded to the shelf of books to which she’d been climbing. “Were you looking for something to r
ead? I do not suggest that section. My father was keen on philosophy and most of those are books he bought.”
“You do not like philosophy?”
“I don’t really have the patience for it. One can ponder life and all its meanings for an eternity and never come to a conclusion.”
“Oh.”
Reed longed to give himself a solid smack around the face. What the devil was he doing? Here he had an exquisitely beautiful woman in his library and they were discussing philosophy. Had this occurred in France, he’d have likely seized the opportunity to take some enjoyment in the chance meeting. However, this was not France and he was no longer some great spy. He had one last chance and he could not afford to mess it up.
“Were you looking for something in particular?”
Her gaze lowered. “No. I mean—” She huffed out a breath.
“Orelia?”
Her lashes lifted and the mournful look in her eyes struck him. “I cannot read. I was hoping for some books with engravings in them.”
Reed seldom felt an arse. Generally, he could bluff and charm his way out of any situation. But how blind could he be? Of course Orelia could not read. When would she have been given the opportunity to learn? The fact was half of his tenants couldn’t either. What a buffoon he was.
Unwilling to draw out her embarrassment, he took her hand and led her past the chairs in the center of the room and up a set of spiral stairs. The candlelight only touched the corners of the room, leaving much of it in darkness but there was enough light for him to read the titles on the leather-bound books. The scent of musty paper strengthened as he took her along the mahogany balcony that ran around the whole room.
“This library was designed by my grandfather,” he explained. “He intended to fill it with books from all around the world, but he died before its completion. My father took up the mantle and did an excellent job.”
“And will you continue the tradition?”
He paused and peered at the few empty shelves remaining. “I picked up a few on my travels but I’ve seldom had the chance to think about it. War tends to make one forget about things like family traditions.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yes, I suppose you are right, though the war never much touched us.”
“War is a nasty way to pass time. I’m glad it did not.”
They stopped in front of a section of books near the long windows that nearly touched the ceiling. The curtains were open and from where they were, they had a fine view over the fields in front of the house. Tiny glimmers of lamp light flickered on the hills, displaying the whereabouts of the gypsy camp.
She peered at him. “You speak of the war as though you enjoyed it.”
“I was lucky. I had a skill and it was put to use. Most men were simply cannon fodder.” He motioned to the books. “This is the architecture section. You shall find many engravings here. Castles and suchlike. There’s even a few books dedicated to the history of the house. I’d wager they could keep you occupied for quite some time.”
“But were you not scared?” she persisted.
He pulled out a book. “Ah, here. The history of Keswick Abbey. This will show you the progression of the house. It was once a Tudor manor house, you know?”
“Reed?”
He chuckled. “You are curious, are you not?”
“I’ve never met a spy before.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, I do not believe I have but I’ve never met one who admitted to being a spy.” She took the offered book from him and clutched it to her chest. “Was it not terrifying?”
“Sometimes. For the most part, I reveled in it. You cannot know the thrill of being so close to being caught and somehow slipping free once more.”
“You miss it?”
“I do.” He glanced around the room. “I am aware I am vastly privileged in my position but once you’ve tasted the thrill of sneaking around a country in which you represent the enemy, it’s hard to find any excitement in managing farms and socializing with the ‘right’ families.”
“If you find out who tried to kill Napoleon, will they ask you to spy for them again?”
He shrugged. “One can only hope.”
“And then what of your duties?”
“Noah is extremely capable, no matter what others think.”
“What of your need to sire an heir?”
Christ, she was beginning to sound like his mother. He lifted a brow. “Why should that interest you?”
“Is that not what all rich men want? An heir?”
“I’m hardly an old man.”
“But the estate is in danger as long as you are without a son, is it not?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “It will pass onto Noah if anything happens to me, but he does not have a son either. My mother would be devastated. But I have no intention of letting anything happen to me.”
“Even if you return to working for the Secret Service?”
“I am not dead yet.” He snatched up another couple of books and went the long way around the balcony, aware she followed. Reed made his way down the steps and set the books on the table in the middle of the room. “There, plenty to keep you occupied.”
Orelia perched herself on the edge of the table. Damn the woman. The position drew attention to her shapely form against the muslin and how it hugged the curve of her rear. Heat rolled languidly through him, as though he had all night to simply stand and stare.
She picked up a book and leafed through it. “Did you nearly die when you were in France?”
Reed gave in then. How could he fight her? Her incessant questions and the way that cloth draped over her body had him beaten. He sank down into the plush chair opposite her and rested his head on his hand.
“Yes.”
“How? Why?”
“The first time was when I had infiltrated the home of an illustrious French count.” A smile creeped over his lips as he remembered how he had slipped in. “The count was thought to be funding the French army and would hold a lot of information about Napoleon’s dealings.”
“Goodness.”
Even he could not quite believe he’d had the audacity to seduce the man’s wife while he was away. The countess had been a fairly attractive woman and quite neglected by her husband. It had not been hard to charm his way into her bed.
“I was in his house one night when he returned. I was confronted by an angry man with a pistol. Really, I should have been dead.”
“How did you survive?”
“Pure luck I’m ashamed to say. The pistol exploded, giving me the chance to escape.” He would not add he’d been semi-naked at the time.
“But you had other brushes with death?”
He chuckled. “None quite like that one, thankfully. Let’s just say, I learned from that incident.”
Orelia shook her head. “I am not sure how you can seem so...so calm about it all. And I certainly do not understand why you would want to do it again. Many men did not return. Surely you should be thankful you did?”
“I am thankful, I promise you that. I might not have needed to spill blood in my line of work, but I saw enough of it. It was not all dining with nobles and dancing. There were times when I had to visit the battlefield. I would not wish it on anyone.”
“And yet after all that, you wish to continue spying?”
“I wish to be useful to my country,” he said, aware his voice was growing hard and defensive.
Was it so wrong of him to crave the excitement? So wrong to want to do something more useful than marry someone respectable and sire an heir? Noah had proved himself over and over. All Reed had to do was sign a few letters and check over investments occasionally.
“But the war is over now, Reed,” she said softly.
Yes, it was. And he was having a tough time admitting it. The war was over, and he was no longer useful. Once this was done, he would have to return to digging through papers and touring the estate before wining and dining with the rest of no
bility and finding himself the perfect wife to bear his sons. And Noah would lose the responsibilities he relished.
She slipped off the table and came to stand in front of him. Orelia reached out then hesitated. He made no movement. How could he? She held him captive with her curvaceous form against her shift. He waited, and she moved again, pushing her fingers into his hair and rubbing them across his scalp. He groaned.
“Why could you not sleep?” she asked softly.
“Who knows,” he mumbled.
“I could not sleep either.”
“Strange bed?” he asked, closing his eyes and savoring the delicious touch of her fingers.
“I think it is more likely the events of the day.”
Reed did not say anything. He didn’t have to. She referred to their kiss. A kiss that should not have happened, yet he could not bring himself to regret. He’d likely remember the day he’d kissed a wild, beautiful gypsy girl even on his deathbed.
“What shall we do tomorrow?” she asked.
“We’ll visit that inn you mentioned. I also have a contact in Portsmouth I have been communicating with. I haven’t heard from him for a while, but he might have some information.”
Though it was a minor miracle he’d heard anything she’d told him after their kiss. Really, he was terribly impressed with himself for being able to hold a sane conversation with her once they’d returned to the house.
“And what then?” Her fingers continued to work their magic. Part of him longed to open his eyes and see her face, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He was enjoying this far, far too much.
“One step at a time. You are far too keen to move into the next step before we have discovered anything.”
“It’s in my blood. The Romani are always on the move.”
“Well you should sit still for a while. Enjoy what life has to offer.”
“I think perhaps you should take your own advice.” Her fingers left his head and he bit back a groan of disappointment. “You too could also take some time to enjoy life.”
A Rake for All Seasons: A Regency and Victorian Romance Boxset Page 7