Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 04]

by Seducing the Spy

  He let his shadowed gaze travel over her soft curves— lingering secretively on her generous bosom. Those breasts! He didn’t consider himself a weak-willed man, but those succulent temptations would stir a saint to sin!

  Would he have proposed this particular ruse had he known she possessed more than simply a pair of beautiful eyes?

  Probably not. She was precisely the type of woman he usually avoided—voluptuous, witty and bold. Being in the presence of such a female usually left him feeling on bumpy ground, prompting him to become even more stolid and reserved than normal—which was saying a great deal.

  Instead, he found himself stimulated by her wit and set at ease by her forthright manner—or at least what passed for ease with him.

  Except, of course, for when she had kissed him.

  You should have kissed her back, you fool. No. On the contrary, he ought to feel relief that he had not crossed that boundary. This was a mission and she was by no means a trusted comrade in arms.

  And he was no light-hearted lover, free to make pleasure with the town trollop.

  Yet those lips on his—like warm fire-glow on chilled skin . . .

  Alicia inhaled deeply, watching Lord Wyndham through dropped lashes. Yes, he was most definitely looking at her bosom.

  Interesting and flattering, but it signified little. It was her experience that most men—except Garrett, of course—were much preoccupied with bosoms in general and large bosoms in particular.

  Well, then, there was nothing to do but return the compliment. She let her veiled gaze wander over him slowly, enjoying the intimate theft to the fullest. He was so very ornamental, wasn’t he? Those wide shoulders, the way his weskit lay so flat over his hard stomach, the bulk of his muscular thighs in his snug-fitting breeches . . .

  She caught herself from flicking the tip of her tongue over her lips. Shocking, but understandable. There were few men on earth like Lord Wyndham. A woman would be a fool not to fill her eyes while she could.

  Her eyes, her arms, her body . . .

  Alicia swallowed, hard—then licked her lips after all. She still tasted him there, faint and tantalizing. She’d been mad to kiss him.

  Thank heaven for that sort of madness. To think she might have lived out her life without kissing a man like Wyndham!

  Not that she’d kissed many men. There’d been that handsome young dancing master who had stolen the briefest touch of her lips. What had his name been? She’d promptly developed a mad passion for the fellow, then forgotten him just as quickly when he’d moved on. There had been Almont’s skillful, heated kisses—which did not bear thinking about. Ever.

  And now, Lord Wyndham. Unlike Almont, Wyndham managed to fire her passions with no effort whatsoever. In fact, he’d seemed bloody dismayed.

  She couldn’t wait to dismay him again.

  Wyndham cleared his throat. “We’re here.”

  Alicia rested her arms on the window frame and gazed out, letting the damp air cool her heated cheeks. The graveled drive up to Cross’s manor house gave one ample time to contemplate the grand exterior. Lord Wyndham seemed unimpressed, as well he might. She’d never heard much about his estate of Wyndham, but she imagined its opulence equaled or surpassed anything in Sussex.

  The sky was bluing into night as their carriage pulled to an unhurried stop before the grand steps of the house. Footmen and maids and piles of luggage abounded. Even as Lord Wyndham’s man lowered the carriage steps for them, another elegant transport drew up behind them.

  The party had begun, it seemed.

  Stanton wasn’t looking forward to any of it. There would be loud music and drunken, immoral behavior—and that was only the morning activities. Such self-indulgent chaos would reign until dinner each night, when the real bacchanalia would begin. He had seen it many times before, from the viewpoint of someone who did not want to be there.

  I do not want to be here.

  Lady Alicia, on the other hand, seemed most eager. She practically tugged him from the carriage, exiting as soon the footman could lower the step.

  Stanton followed with pointed dignity. “I believe the party will still be here if we take our time.”

  “Shh.” She wrapped her hand about his arm, her grip like a vise. “It has already begun.”

  And it had. Every eye was turned their way. Even at the top of the steps, people were appearing at the double doors simply to gape at them.

  For the first time, Stanton felt a bit guilty for exposing her in this way. It could not be easy to face down her notoriety. He laid his hand over hers. “Fear not, Lady Alicia—”

  She turned to look up at him, the light of battle in her eyes. “They ought to be afraid of me.”

  “They” weren’t the only ones. As Stanton allowed her to haul him forward, he had the terrible sensation of losing his grip on the situation.

  Lady Alicia was back in Society with a vengeance—and apparently there was going to be hell to pay.

  Up the grand steps and through the door, they were led into a large, welcoming entrance hall. Small groups of other guests clustered about them, close enough to observe but not so close as to be required to greet them.

  Lord Cross’s mistress, a well-born widow was acting as his lordship’s hostess. Alicia watched the woman, who was perhaps a few years older than Stanton, gravitate toward him with a smile. Then the woman recognized Alicia and hesitated.

  It was obvious that the woman desperately wanted to cut her or snub her in some way. Alicia smiled even more brightly, for it would not happen. With Lord Wyndham at her side, no one would dare, no matter how badly she behaved.

  A theory she meant to test to its limits.

  “Lord Cross,” Alicia purred to their host, a stout, graying man with a face like a bloodhound’s. “You are looking extremely well this evening.”

  Lord Cross’s eyes widened, then dropped to Alicia’s bosom. She inhaled invitingly.

  “Hmm. Well . . . yes, my dear. Thank you. Er—”

  Cross’s mistress had her hand on her paramour’s arm now, and by the look of her whitened knuckles, he was feeling the nip of her nails through his sleeve.

  Alicia bent forward and delivered a catlike smile of invitation. “Perhaps, my lord, we shall encounter each other on the dance floor . . .”

  She turned away, leaving Cross red-faced and distracted and his lady friend white with fury.

  Such a lovely beginning to what promised to be a truly magical evening.

  “You are criminally insane.”

  Alicia smiled up at Lord Wyndham. “You wanted me here. I’m here.” She adjusted his already perfect cravat in an intimate gesture sure to be seen by everyone in the hall. “I will find your mystery lord. But first, I am going to have a bit of fun.”

  A footman stepped forward. “My lord, my lady.” He bowed deeply, taking no chances on Alicia’s supposed loss of status. “If you’ll follow me to your chamber?”

  Alicia blinked. Chamber? A few moments later, Alicia stood in a mint green and ivory papered bedroom looking at a pile of shared luggage.

  She was indeed sharing a chamber.

  With Wyndham.

  9

  Alicia turned to Lord Wyndham, protest on her lips. He tossed his writing case on the petite, feminine escritoire and glared at her defensively. Obviously, he was no happier with the situation than she was.

  “What did you expect, Lady Alicia? There were apparently some last-minute additions to the guest list, this house is packed to the rafters, and we are known to be lovers, are we not?”

  Alicia chewed her lip. “True, but—”

  “I thought you wished to scandalize the stuffing from your family. Isn’t that your master plan?”

  She folded her arms and glared back at him. “Don’t interrupt me when I’m trying to adjust to something unexpected. It doesn’t help.”

  Turning her back on yet another annoyingly true comment, Alicia regarded the giant—only!—bed. At least there was plenty of room for two.
/>   She was being ridiculous. She was no virgin maiden, nor was she so spoiled that she’d never doubled up with her sisters.

  She inhaled deeply and let her breath out slowly. Then she let her arms drop and turned back to Wyndham with a smile. “There. I’ve adjusted. We can share the bed.”

  He raised a brow. “Such resilience, my lady. One can only admire your . . . adaptability. However, I intend to sleep in a chair.”

  She looked around. “Which chair?” There was only one upholstered chair in the room, a rigid wingback before the fire. “That one?” She gazed at it doubtfully. “You’ll ravage your spine in that.”

  Wyndham didn’t look any too pleased about it either. “Nevertheless, I shall sleep there.”

  Having eased her mind either way about the sleeping arrangements, Alicia left the topic with a shrug. “Very well. Now, I must dress for the afternoon’s amusements.”

  After a muted knock on the chamber door, Garrett entered with his hands full of hatboxes and accessory cases. He gazed at them brightly. “Good afternoon, milord. Herbert was on his way, but I thought milady needed me first.”

  Wyndham sighed. “I can see that changing is going to constitute a logistical nightmare.”

  “I could seek out another screen, milord,” Garrett suggested a little too helpfully.

  Alicia shot him a quelling glare. “That won’t be necessary, Garrett.”

  “Forgive me, milady, but his lordship is correct. We’ll not be able to avoid dressing you both several times a day.” Garrett’s expression was innocent, but the twinkle in his eye was anything but.

  Alicia already felt guilty enough that Wyndham was going to sleep in the chair—how could she banish him to loiter in the hall while she changed for every event of the week?

  “Very well, Garrett,” she said. “Find a very large screen, if you please.”

  Wyndham brightened slightly at the change in plans, so Alicia resolved to be gracious about it.

  He bowed shortly. “In the meantime, I shall leave you to freshen your toilette.” He left quickly, which Alicia had no doubt was related to the vast pile of unpacking that needed doing.

  “Oh, milady!” Garrett dug into the work with a smile. “The gossip here is fabulous. I should have become a lady’s maid years ago. Now, I shall be able to bring in your breakfast every morning myself,” Garrett said. “So you needn’t panic at every knock on the door.”

  “Well, that’s a mercy.” She could just imagine his lordship leaping into bed with her every time someone came to the door.

  Unexpected heat crept up the back of her neck at the image of a lean, naked Stanton throwing himself upon her. She pressed a cooling hand to her cheeks, but not before Garrett saw her blush. He leaned forward.

  “Ha,” he said in her ear. “I knew it.”

  Alicia pressed both hands to her face, but it didn’t help. “Oh, why did I have to kiss him?”

  “What?” Garrett pulled her hands down to peer into her eyes. “You kissed him? Why don’t I know about this? Why must I drag all this out of you with a fishhook?” He dragged her to sit with him on the edge of the bed. “Am I not your lady’s maid, your personal attendant, your most personal confidant? Tell, tell!”

  Alicia sighed. “I kissed him this morning. And it was more than once . . . or at least, it was a very long kiss. He didn’t like it, not really. At least, he didn’t kiss me back. He just stood there and . . . sort of allowed it.”

  Garret narrowed his eyes. “Allowed it? For how long, precisely?”

  Alicia thought about it. “Six minutes? Seven, perhaps?”

  A slow grin lit Garret’s handsome features. “Milady, if a man takes anything for seven minutes without rejecting it, you may trust that he liked it. He simply didn’t want you to know how much he liked it.”

  Alicia’s lips twitched. “Well, he could hardly hide that, now could he?”

  Garret clapped his hands. “Better and better! How was it? Was it of lordly proportions?”

  Alicia laughed and shut her eyes in embarrassed memory. “Royal proportions, I’d say, although I have little experience to go on.”

  Garrett, who knew everything about everything, snorted dismissively. “I would hardly think Almont could compare to Lord Wyndham! I’d say ‘little’ is the appropriate term indeed.”

  Alicia shook off the memories prompted by Garrett’s words. “I cannot think on Almont right now. What am I going to do, sharing a room with Wyndham?”

  “Sleep with him? Drag him into that obscenely large bed and make him never want to leave it?”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Although it wasn’t.

  “All right then. Marry him and bear him lots of strapping sons. I would, if I could. The man is a god.”

  A god. An obscenely large bed. Strapping sons. Alicia took a deep breath and calmed her sizzling nerves. This week was going to be strain enough without Garrett’s persistent matchmaking.

  “Garrett, you’re fired,” she said flatly.

  He grinned at her. “Better and better, for Himself will be doing up the buttons then.”

  Oh, bother. The blush was back. “Garrett, you’re hired again.”

  He patted her hand. “Trust Brother Garrett, darling. His lordship likes you, somewhere beneath that steel-jawed composure. Now, I’m off to find out the bathing arrangements. You’ll be wanting to wash off the travel dust.” He opened to door to reveal Wyndham outside, about to knock. Garrett batted his lashes at Wyndham, then grinned at Alicia over his shoulder. “Remember, seven minutes!”

  Garrett tripped off to find another screen. The door closed on him, leaving Alicia alone with Wyndham once more.

  “Well!” she said brightly. “You see, everything’s working out just fine.”

  He was gazing at her, his dark eyes impenetrable. “Seven minutes of what?”

  Oh, dear. Alicia wished Garrett to the deepest level of hell. She dashed to the wardrobe and pulled out the first thing she touched. “I think I shall wear this one to dinner. What do you think?”

  “I think you’ll feel a bit conspicuous while everyone else is in evening gowns.”

  Alicia looked down to see that she was holding a forest-green riding habit. “Ah . . . yes, well . . .” She shoved it back.

  “Seven minutes of what?”

  She turned to see his assessing gaze. She stepped back from his intensity. It was almost as if he were trying to look inside her.

  Edgy from her own thoughts regarding the giant bed and Garrett’s decidedly unhelpful help, she failed to come up with anything useful. She gave in. “I told him about the kiss. Now he’s . . . well, he’s Garrett.”

  Wyndham’s gaze went to the door briefly. “He is that.” Then it swung back to her. “About that kiss—”

  Alicia let out her breath in a great gust. “I know. Our arrangement is strictly business, you are not interested in me in that manner, and the sky might fall if you ever unbent enough to kiss me back, so let’s just avoid worldwide catastrophe and never mention it again. All right?”

  Stanton bit back a tendency to smile and merely bowed neatly. “As you wish, my lady.”

  He seated himself in the chair by the fire—it was every bit as stiff as it looked—and contemplated her unexpected practicality. He hadn’t intended to be quite so blunt, but she’d covered every point he’d been about to make.

  He wasn’t used to being so easily read. Disturbing. Then again, it did save time.

  She busied herself with distributing her things in the bureau drawers. He watched the swing of her hips as she moved rapidly about the room.

  It had been a very long time since he had been alone with a woman in a bedchamber. And even then, it had not been so very often. Even lovers for hire took pause at sharing a bed with the Dark Marquis.

  Stanton felt himself well out of it and quelled his rather alarming passions with an iron hand. He burned too hot—or so he’d been told.

  He felt that heat now, awakened by the kiss this morning—or pe
rhaps by the sight of Lady Alicia in that wicked gown last night, or the feeling of her softness beneath him when he’d caught her.

  So soft, so full—

  He doused the heat in icy self-control. Decisions forged in such a flame would not hold the weight of reality in the end.

  She glanced at him warily now and then as she carried out her mundane tasks. She was obviously uncomfortable, but he could not tell if it was because she was finding it difficult to share a bedchamber or if there was something else that made her nervous.

  Damn this lapse of his skill. He felt like a three-legged table, unsteady and liable to tip unexpectedly. The one thing he was sure of in his world had failed him. Even as a small boy, he’d known when those about him uttered those easy untruths.

  If he had been a watchful, wary child, then it was his disbelief that had turned him so. That careful distance, unfortunately, did nothing to encourage any sort of intimacy or honesty from those in his life.

  Alas, he could not prove his certainty. His “talent” was more of a warning bell than a forecast. He could see the lie, but that didn’t necessarily give him the truth. Accused of losing his valuable texts, he had no evidence to convince his mother that his tutor was selling them for the opium Stanton smelled on the man’s clothing every morning.

  So he began to learn to observe, to take note, to collect seemingly unrelated facts and events so that when he caught someone in a lie, he could prove it.

  The fact that he was never wrong reinforced his belief in his own mysterious instinct even as it alienated everyone he came to know.

  One fact came clearer and clearer through the years.

  Everyone lied. From the king himself to the nightman emptying the privies, every human soul was a web of tangled untruths.

  When Stanton had finished his education he turned to the government service to occupy his talents, thinking that his unique ability might be of some use to England. He took a position as an assistant to the War Office, only to find that the easy faithlessness of the general population had distilled to a simmering pit of deceit within those walls.