A Scandalous Secret: Spies and Lovers

by Trentham, Laura

  “You will bathe, change into something appropriate, and then join us for dinner. Lord and Lady Tilbury are also staying here on their way to the Barclays.” Her mother’s tone turned speculative. “As is their son Lord Percival. A second son, but with prospects. Your presence—smiling and charming—will go a long way to quash any talk. If anyone inquires, you traveled from London with us and have been resting in your room.”

  “Of course, Mother.” Victoria didn’t have to force an agreeable tone. Considering the alternative was a possible marriage to Lord Berkwith, she would play her part to dispel any talk. It seemed Lord Percival had emerged as a dark horse for her hand. How could she hobble his chances?

  Her mother swept out of the room, and Victoria only had time to remove the padding under her dress before her mother’s maid, Margery, appeared. Not five minutes later, a knock on the door signaled the arrival of a shallow tub and pitchers of steaming water.

  Her bath was perfunctory, even though she wanted to revel in the warmth and ease her soreness. The long hours of riding, plus her morning activities with Thomas, had left her aching in all sorts of places. She dressed in a long-sleeved gown of dark blue with golden accents around the modest neckline and matching gold braiding around the cuffs and hem.

  Margery pinned Victoria’s hair up, her frustration with the escaping curls manifesting itself in a rough jab with the final pin. Victoria stared at her reflection. How odd that she didn’t look any different when everything had changed.

  “Your mother will be waiting.” Margery bustled out without a backward glance.

  Victoria didn’t move for a long moment, wishing the girl in the wavery looking glass could offer a nugget of wisdom. She was at a tipping point. One direction would send her into a safe, albeit unhappy, marriage with a virtual stranger. The other direction was shrouded. That future could well be a disaster, but hope lurked. Could she abandon the faint hope of true happiness for comfort and acceptance?

  She didn’t have the strength to untangle her feelings tonight. Tonight she would paste on a smile and pretend nothing had changed. Her determination was challenged the moment she entered the private dining room of the inn.

  Thomas had tucked himself into a corner and surveyed the scene like his nickname, the Hawk. He had bathed as well, and his dark hair was still damp. She was staring, yet she couldn’t stop herself.

  She knew what his hands felt like on her skin, knew what he tasted like, knew the pleasure of having him between her legs, and she wanted more. She wanted to wake up next to him every morning and discuss politics and science and art while threading her fingers through his hair.

  She almost threw her head back and laughed like a mad woman. Untangling her feelings proved to be simple once she’d cast aside her fears. She loved Thomas Garrick and would happily sacrifice a life as some lord’s wife to be with him.

  Would he be willing to step into the unknown at her side? No, not completely unknown. The future would be riddled with challenges. Thomas would lose his position for betraying her father’s trust. She had been focused on the risks she would incur by wanting Thomas, but he would lose far more. What if he didn’t consider her worth the risk? The thought soured her appetite.

  “Victoria.” Her mother snapped her name.

  Victoria gathered herself. The gentlemen were standing and waiting for her to take her seat between her mother and Lord Percival. His father, the Viscount of Tilbury, was at the head, and Sir Hawkins and the viscountess were across the table.

  “I’m so pleased our travel plans coincided,” Victoria murmured while taking her seat and forcing a smile.

  Thomas was behind her and her nape heated. His big hand had grasped her there and guided their lips together. Was he recalling the same moment?

  Her father was watching her closely. Of course he watched everything closely. It was why he excelled at subterfuge. A glass of wine was placed in front of her. Victoria glanced at her mother, who nodded. Perhaps her mother understood Victoria needed help to loosen her tongue.

  She drained half the glass before taking a bite of food. The warmth settled in her belly. While she wasn’t relaxed, she found herself answering questions and making small talk with Lord Percival, even though she couldn’t remember a blink later what they had discussed.

  Finally, dinner ended. As everyone would rise early to travel to the Barclay’s manor house, the party broke up and retired to their rooms, eschewing after-dinner port or any gossiping among the ladies. Lord Percival fell into step alongside Victoria.

  “I enjoyed our dinner conversation immensely, Miss Hawkins.” Lord Percival was a nice-enough-looking fellow, if a bit spindly and sallow-faced.

  “As did I.” She prayed he wouldn’t quiz her on her favorite topic.

  Shooting her a shy smile, he took her hand and pressed a light kiss on the back. “I hope to further our acquaintance at the house party.”

  “That would be very pleasant, my lord.” She retrieved her hand from his grasp and didn’t linger.

  Her father waited in the hallway outside of her room. “I would speak with you a moment.”

  Dread tied her stomach into a knot. “Of course, Father.”

  Was he going to ask her if Thomas had acted inappropriately? Or would he know that she was the one who had instigated their encounter? Would she lie to keep their secret or tell the truth? She lowered herself into the velvet chair, which she realized immediately was a mistake. Even though he wasn’t a large man, his presence filled the room as he paced.

  “I have been unable to locate the men who attempted to abduct you. What can you tell me?”

  “There were two men. Big. Rough.”

  “How were they dressed? What did they smell like?”

  She blinked at the questions, then closed her eyes. “Woolen jackets. One dark blue, the other brown. Unpatched, but worn heavily around the elbows. The man who grabbed me smelled like…” She took a breath through her nose, searching for the scent in her memories. “Onions? Ale?”

  Her father hummed thoughtfully, and when Victoria opened her eyes, he loomed over her, pulling at his chin. “What about their accents?”

  “They did not speak.” She let her father stew over her answers for a moment. “Any theories?”

  “While threats against you and your mother have always simmered, the group I suspected was behind the plot doesn’t appear to be guilty. That doesn’t mean they are innocent though. I shall keep digging until I discover the truth.” He sighed and fixed her with his unflinching gaze. It could intimidate even her. Heat prickled her face and chest. “Your mother seems to think you’ve avoided ruination.”

  Victoria managed to make a sound that landed near acknowledgment, if not a full-throated agreement.

  “I suppose we’ll see.” He raised a brow as if inviting confessions.

  “I suppose we will.” The truth burned a hole in her heart, but she said nothing more.

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m posting Garrick outside your door tonight.”

  She popped out of the chair. Having Thomas outside her door was a temptation she would never be able to resist. “He’s exhausted, Father. It was a long night and day. Let him rest.”

  “He’s the only man I trust you with, Victoria.” He touched her cheek. Her breath stalled. Her father wasn’t given to gestures of affection, and he had bestowed two in a matter of hours.

  As soon as he stepped out the door, her mother’s maid took his place to help her into her night rail and to stoke the fire. “Is there anything else you require, miss?”

  “Nothing. Thank you, Margery.”

  Despite the chill in the air, Victoria didn’t retreat to the bed. She chafed her arms and paced in front of the hearth. She should be exhausted, yet a restless energy zinged through her blood, making her heart pound faster. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for until a rustle sounded in the hall.

  Before common sense could override the impulse, she opened the door, grabbed Thomas by the sleeve, and pull
ed him into the room. She leaned against the closed door, blocking his escape. He had lost his collar and cravat, and his white shirt gaped open at the neck, revealing a tantalizing dusting of dark hair.

  Neither of them spoke. They merely stared at one another. Unlike at dinner, his gaze was unflinching and heated. She shivered, but not from cold.

  “I shouldn’t be here.” He kept his voice at a whisper.

  “I know,” she whispered back. Her father could conceivably check to make sure Thomas was outside her door, but why would he? He trusted Thomas implicitly.

  “Lord Percival seems quite taken with you.” Was his tone edged in green?

  “I don’t care a jot about him.”

  “Will that matter to your mother?”

  An ever-growing panic gripped her throat and squeezed. He was right, of course. Her mother was determined she would marry well, and while Thomas might be the best man, he did not qualify as a gentleman in her mother’s estimation.

  Yet something in his tone gave her hope. If his aim was to put their mistake behind them so Victoria could secure an advantageous future, why would he bring Sir Percival up? “Does it matter to you whom I marry?”

  “It shouldn’t.” Bitterness coated his words.

  “Yet it does.” The lilt in her voice quavered the words between a statement and a question. The ground they tread was unsteady and dangerous, and she needed him to reassure her.

  “Dammit, Victoria.” He looked… stricken. “You know it does. I can’t bear the thought of you in another man’s arms.”

  She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. After a blink of time that lasted an eternity, he pulled her tightly against him, running his hands up and down her back, from her buttocks to thread into her hair, tugging it free of the loose braid to tumble around her shoulders.

  “This is madness. Sir Hawkins—”

  “Doesn’t matter. Only we do.”

  Thomas’s chest inflated with a huge breath as if he was preparing an argument, but instead, he buried his face in her neck. Her skin was primed for his touch. His lips sent shivers through her, and she closed her eyes. Her nipples tightened.

  “If only that were true. This is impossible… impossible,” he murmured.

  She felt his words as much as heard them. Yet he didn’t push her away. When he moved, he shifted her across the floor with him. She prayed the bed was their destination. It wasn’t. He sat in the velvet chair and drew her down with him, positioning her across his lap.

  He stroked her hair and held her tightly. She felt too much like a child being comforted after not getting what she wanted. Unacceptable. She pushed off his chest. Any frustration with him vanished. Exhaustion bruised his eyes and sadness blunted his features.

  She scrambled around until she straddled him and then took his face between her hands. His night whiskers tickled her palms. She smoothed his dark eyebrows with her thumbs before leaning in to kiss him gently on the mouth.

  “Nothing is impossible, Thomas.”

  His sigh was full of dark memories. “For you, perhaps. Many things have been impossible for me to change.”

  “We don’t have to be one of those things.” Her certainty upon seeing Thomas at dinner was being crushed under the weight of reality, and desperation was taking its place.

  She kissed him again, this time with more urgency, and grabbed hold of the collar of his jacket. His hands were warm on her back, pressing her closer. His cock lengthened and stiffened between her legs.

  How many more opportunities did they have? How many shared moments remained to them? Was this to be the last one given to them? She would not squander a moment.

  Victoria hiked up her night rail and fumbled with his breeches.

  “Good God, woman. Are you to be the death of me?” His whisper was vehement, but he pushed her hands aside and finished the work, shoving his breeches down his thighs.

  He tugged her night rail up and over her head. She gasped and dug her hands into his shoulders. She was naked while he was clothed. It took a moment to decide how she felt about the disparity. Part of her wanted to insist he disrobe, if only for her own enjoyment of his body, but she only bit her lip.

  It was scandalous and naughty and offered her power when the rest of her life seemed beyond her control.

  “I would have you, Thomas. One more time.” She rolled her hips, sliding her slick folds over his cock. The feeling was delicious. She did it again and again until she was trembling with the pleasure.

  His eyes grew hooded as he leaned his head back and watched her. He skimmed his hands over the dip of her waist and up her torso to cup her breasts and play with her nipples. The sensation made her buck harder against him. Their first time together had been as gentle as the snow falling outside the cottage. This was a tempest.

  “Take my cock in hand and guide me inside you.” The low rumbled of his command rolled through her like thunder.

  She lifted on her knees and grasped him. He was hard and hot, and she was more than ready for him. After positioning the head of his cock at her entrance, she hesitated. Would it hurt like last time? There was only one way to find out. She lowered herself a few inches and gasped. Not from pain, but from the thrill the fullness imparted.

  She craved more. Thomas slid his hands to her hips and stared at the joining of their bodies in rapt awe. Victoria wished she could see but contented herself with watching him.

  She lowered herself another inch and then another. He gripped her harder, the bite of his fingers only adding to the rawness of the moment. A breathy moan slipped out of her. There was no pain, only pleasure. Bliss. Satisfaction.

  Finally, she was seated against him, his cock buried deep inside of her. Waves of sensation engulfed her. She was hanging on the edge of her climax. Her body urged her to move as Thomas had done that morning.

  She lifted herself, the muscles of her legs quivering, and lowered herself. It only took a dozen strokes for pleasure to consume her. She continued to move against him but clumsily. Her nipples pebbled, and he leaned in to capture one in his mouth, tugging and nipping at the sensitive peak.

  He rose with her still impaled on his cock and shuffled to the bed, dropping her on the edge of the mattress. She was on her back with her legs wrapped loosely around his hips. He thrust, his rhythm fast and hard. Another wave of pleasure rose and spun her before the first had receded.

  As he had their first time, he withdrew and spent on her belly, his teeth bared and his groan muffled. The heat in his gaze as it traveled over her naked body spurred her heart into a gallop.

  “You are a temptress. Last time was an error in judgment. This was utter madness.”

  Victoria propped herself on her elbows and pushed him from between her legs with a well-placed foot in his sternum. “Why must you ruin the moment by calling our intimacies an error in judgment and madness?”

  Thomas repaired his clothing, but Victoria only rose to wipe his spend from her body, then turned on him with her hands on her hips. He swallowed and held out her night rail. She ignored the offering.

  “If I could—”

  She held up a hand, silencing him. “If you can’t—or won’t—then I do not wish to discuss the future.”

  The lack of a future was more apt. She snatched the night rail from his hand and turned her back on him. She didn’t let her tears fall until the door snicked shut.

  Chapter 9

  Garrick berated himself the entire trip to the Barclays’ manor house and continued the self-flagellation during his reconnoiter around the grounds as evening approached. His conclusion was that it would have taken a strength he did not possess to deny Victoria when she was naked and writhing on his cock. He was as weak as a sheared Samson where Victoria was concerned.

  Bloody hell, now that her natural sensuality had been unleashed, she could crook her finger and have the nearest duke on his knees between her legs. Was there a duke in attendance?

  Garrick might have to introduce
the gentleman to his fists. He ran a hand through his hair and jammed his hat back into place. He had to quit thinking about Victoria as his. She wasn’t and never would be.

  Her parting accusatory words haunted him though. Was he being noble or a coward for not pressing his suit? Perhaps neither. He was being practical. If Sir Hawkins knew Garrick had taken Victoria—twice—he’d be thrown in the Thames with much haste and no regrets.

  However, if the slimmest chance of claiming happiness with Victoria existed, shouldn’t he make the attempt?

  According to the ancient groundskeeper, the deep gulley marked the boundary, and as there was no way down or over, Garrick turned around. He exited the woods surrounding the Barclay property on the western side of the manor. He stopped in the shadows of the trees at the edge of the manicured lawn to wipe the mud off his boots.

  A single horseman arrived. Based on the lines of the horse alone, the man was a gentleman. Garrick squinted when a niggling familiarity wouldn’t leave him be. He stalked toward the man. Surely Berkwith wouldn’t be so idiotic as to make an appearance.

  Berkwith was that idiotic.

  He was giving instructions to the groom and directing the footman to take his satchel inside when Garrick reached him and cleared his throat.

  Berkwith spun around with a smile, examined Garrick, and determined he was not someone he needed to impress. His smile turned into a frown, and he clipped out, “Yes? What do you want?”

  “I wish to speak with you.” Garrick intentionally didn’t grant Berkwith a “sir” or “my lord.” He was no gentleman and deserved no such deference.

  “I’m road weary. Another time, perhaps.” Berkwith turned to the entrance, adjusting his waistcoat and smoothing his hair.

  Garrick grabbed the man by the back of the collar and shook him, not enough to hurt him, but hard enough to garner his attention. “You have time for a chat with me.”

  Berkwith sputtered a few nonsensical words before finding his tongue. “Unhand me, sirrah.”