Undercover Sir

by Carolyn Faulkner

  Ia sighed through her own unshed tears and resolutely began cleaning in earnest.

  She and Taffy were both ready and waiting in the living room by five o'clock. Neither of them was sitting down, though.

  She didn't know about Taffy, but Ia had spent the afternoon trying to come to grips with everything that had happened in the space of such a short time. The last thing she knew before she had fallen asleep on the couch at about three in the morning, was that they were having a great party and he wasn't anywhere near to coming home, or they definitely wouldn't have been doing that.

  Now she'd been rudely awakened, harshly scolded, paraded half naked in front of a stranger, to whom she was introduced after he heard a lot of very embarrassing things about her. Then she was strapped until she could barely stand it any longer, only to be informed that she wasn't allowed to leave her room after cleaning up her mess until he expected her to give some kind of command performance at dinner that evening.

  She didn't resent having to clean up in the least—they'd already discussed that last night—and had each agreed that they'd put their back into setting the place to rights after the excesses of their party.

  And the fact that she had been intending to sulk in her room all day anyway after her punishment did nothing to negate her resentment about having to be there because he'd said she had to.

  The thing that she had been mulling over from eleven to four, when she sighed in resignation and began to get ready—besides the intriguing stranger's presence in the house—was what her brother had said to her before he'd left.

  It tugged at her heartstrings that he would say something like that, especially in that forlorn tone. Daniel had never been that way around her. He met the world head on, took the bull by the horns and got stuff done.

  But she'd been nursing that grudge against him for a long time, and she'd never really considered how it made him feel. Frankly, what he'd done to her today should have made her even less inclined to let him off the hook, but, for some reason, it wasn't working out that way.

  And even though she'd been giving him the cold shoulder, she didn't hate him by any means, and it made her sad that he'd come to that conclusion, through no one's fault but her own.

  As she pondered that while standing there, waiting for the men, Taffy met her eyes across the living room and gave her a sympathetic smile, and Ia returned it with one of her own.

  The men came in through the back door to the kitchen, talking and laughing. Apparently, Daniel had been showing Douglas around.

  Daniel walked directly up to Taffy and took her hands, saying with sincere affection, "You look very beautiful." He kissed her on the cheek. "And I am a very lucky man." With that, he tucked her hand into his elbow, saying, "Shall we go?"

  Douglas surprised Ia by appearing at her side. "May I say that you look very pretty, also, Miss Baldwin?"

  Feeling terribly awkward, since she knew she didn't but could hardly say that to him, she instead replied softly, "Thank you, Mr. Martin."

  "Call me Douglas, please, Miss Baldwin—and Mrs. Baldwin, of course." With that, he surprised her again by smiling gently down at her and presenting her with his crooked elbow.

  She couldn't refuse that, either, without appearing churlish, which carried with it the very real danger that she'd meet Daniel's belt for a second time that day. And that didn't bear thinking about.

  Absently—automatically—Ia replied, "Call me Ia."

  The contrast was quite stark between her response and Taffy's smiling, enthusiastic, "Call me Taffy!"

  Still, she slipped her hand tentatively into the crease of his arm. What else could she do? The fabric of his suit felt amazingly soft, as if it was silk.

  Then she rolled her eyes at herself. It probably was silk. London had some of the finest tailors available anywhere. Although, if he was rich enough to afford one of them, why was he staying with them?

  Just as Daniel was handing Taffy into the passenger's side of their bright red Bel Aire—during which Ia heard Taffy yelp when her backside came in contact with the seat—Mr. Martin did the same thing for her.

  She had learned from Taffy's mistake, though, and as he handed her in, she sat down very gingerly. And, even then, she desperately wished she was still standing. Every bump in the road was an atrocious reminder to the both of them, although Ia was having much better success at suppressing her natural reaction to them.

  Taffy was "oohing" and "ahhing" under her breath the entire trip. Early on, though, Daniel reached over and took her gloved hand, squeezing it while he gave her a loving look and keeping a hold of it even after that.

  Sometimes Ia was horrified by how unbearably jealous she was of the two of them.

  Mr. Martin cut into her sinful thoughts as if he knew she needed to be rescued from them.

  "Your brother tells me that you're working at a bank?" he asked, looking at her as if he was really interested in her answer when she knew he was just being polite.

  "Yes, I do."

  "Do you like it?"

  It was stupid to say so, but she told him the truth. "Yes, I do. I grew up here, so I know most of the people who come in, and I like helping people."

  Jeepers, that man's smile was downright dangerous! His whole face smiled—not just his mouth—and Ia would have sworn that his eyes got greener when he did.

  "I'm not at all surprised to hear that about you," he complimented smoothly. "Do you like your co-workers, too? Is your boss nice to you?"

  He turned himself in his seat so that he was facing her more, wanting to see her better, deliberately keeping her talking all the way to the restaurant, adroitly managing to get to know her better and relaxing her at the same time.

  Daniel—with whom he had been friends for a while, as they were in the same field—had always spoken in fairly glowing terms of both his wife and his sister, and it was one of the things he'd liked best about him. Douglas found that most American men refused to acknowledge their feelings, and Daniel had some of that, but not at all to the extent that he usually saw when working with a Yank.

  And he couldn't help but be most thoroughly enchanted by the scene they'd inadvertently walked in on this morning, although he doubted heartily that Miss Baldwin would agree with him. It was quite delicious and startlingly real—something he was going to be replaying in his mind for years to come, he could tell.

  The look on the two girls' faces when they realized that they had been found out was priceless, and he had relished every embarrassed look, every bitten lip, and every hesitant answer, easily putting himself in Daniel's place. He would've handled things pretty much the same way if it had been his family they'd come home to. That was something the two men had discussed—although not in great detail—in previous, occasional conversations over the history of their friendship.

  They were likeminded in that way, in particular—both believing that they were the head of the household they were paying for, and anyone living in it was subjected not only to their rules, but to their punishments, should they decide to deliver one.

  His sister wouldn't have been any happier to have been in the girls' places, although, alas, he didn't have a wife.

  And what a wife Daniel had—Taffy was absolutely gorgeous, and it was obvious that, despite the fact that he'd punished her, Daniel was head over heels in love with her.

  But it was Ia—which was one of the strangest nicknames he'd ever encountered, even for an American—he was interested in. Douglas had accepted Daniel's invitation to stay with them not because he couldn't afford to stay elsewhere—on the contrary, he could afford to stay anywhere he chose. He had decided to stay at the Baldwin house because it would give him a chance to see how Americans lived. That was something he'd always been curious about, having spent a certain amount of time here but never having been privy to the inner workings of an American family. And not to a small degree, he had to admit to himself, if he was honest, because he had hoped against hope to witness something very like that which
he just had.

  He'd done so, too, knowing that Daniel would love it if he was interested in his sister. His description of her was surprisingly generic. He'd said she was small and thin and bookish but also smart and capable and making strides toward striking out on her own.

  He'd been surprised to hear that. In his country, and as far as he knew, in most others, most young women of average means were reasonably educated to a point—certainly more than they had been in the past—and had the ability to go to University if they chose. But the vast majority of them—even those who did go on to institutes of higher learning—even if they went to beyond secondary school, generally lived at home with their families, and had the goal of getting married and settling down to have children. Few had actual concrete career goals.

  Daniel had mentioned that Ia hadn't caught anyone's eye yet and that she felt that that was because she wasn't attractive to men, but he thought she had a very delicate, pleasant face. And, because they were both in their nightwear—without robes—he had seen much more of her prettily rounded body than he might have. Of course, he'd only seen her when she was about to cry or had done so very recently, not that it had put him off in the least—quite the opposite, in fact. He couldn't help imagining what it might be like to discipline her himself and then comfort her in the oldest possible of ways afterward.

  It had been a delicious torture to sit out on the deck—to where he had politely removed himself—while Daniel was seeing to the recalcitrant females of his family. After the girls had gone to their rooms, he had apologized for the scene.

  Douglas had assured him that there was nothing to apologize for.

  "Well, I need to go, uh, talk with the two of them, if you don't mind."

  "Of course, I don't." He felt a pang of guilt about it, but he wasn't about to do anything that might dissuade Daniel from his very intriguing and highly titillating course of action.

  "Can I get you something to eat or drink?"

  They'd stopped for a late breakfast, or early lunch, depending on how one looked at it, on the way home from the airport. With American portions being so enormous, Douglas had patted his flat stomach and said that he was still full from that meal, which was no lie.

  "Well, there's soda and milk and beer in the fridge, if you're thirsty, and snacks on the counter if you do get hungry. Please, make yourself to home, and I'll be back shortly."

  He'd headed down the hall to where Douglas had gathered his bedroom was. And where his wife awaited her punishment.

  Daniel hadn't asked him to leave, which surprised him—and he certainly didn't want to, although he would have if asked, of course. He supposed he could have taken a seat in the living room, although he'd have had to clear a path and a place for himself if he did, but as much as he really wanted to eavesdrop and catch anything and everything he possibly could about the proceedings, he nonetheless forced himself to move the screen door and take a seat on the deck, occupying the chair nearest the door.

  He was doing his best to be courteous, but he was far from a saint.

  Luckily for him, the house was in a newer development and the quality of materials and construction wasn't what it had been before the war, to say nothing of the fact that it was warm out, and almost all of the windows were open, and no one seemed to have remembered that.

  So, he was given almost the earful he had been hoping for if he'd stayed inside—at least from that end of the house.

  Daniel's heavy footsteps reached his ear as he crossed from one end of the house to the other. Douglas took a chance and peered through the screen out of the corner of his eye, catching the sight of him walking determinedly down to what had to be his sister's bedroom, a folded belt dangling from his hand.

  Well, well, well. Not his implement of choice, but each to his own.

  To his great frustration, though, it seemed that Ia wasn't anywhere near as vocal as Taffy had been. Or perhaps she was just much more acutely aware of the fact that it was quite likely that he could hear any sounds she made.

  There were a few that made it through the layers of wood and concrete and plasterboard, though one particularly sharp yelp at the very beginning, and some, also, of the longer, lower variety, near the very end When he heard a louder sound that was most definitely a full-throated scream then nothing further, he deduced that it was all over—for now, at least.

  Douglas knew that it was truly evil of him to do so, but he certainly hoped there would be more occasions such as this during his stay.

  If he was the one dealing with their naughty behavior—although he acknowledged that there would have been a difference between what he did with his wife and what he did with his sister—that last, worst stroke would have signaled a time for comfort. When he did punish his sister—who was almost a decade younger than Ia—he always hugged her tightly afterward, holding her as she cried it out, then kissing her forehead and calling her Poppet, which he'd done since he could remember as he reminded her that he loved and adored her.

  Within minutes, he could hear the strict tone of Daniel's words as he imagined him standing in Ia's doorway, giving her instructions of some sort, probably. Then he could hear his footsteps as the other man went to the kitchen to open the fridge.

  Douglas found himself extremely thankful for the fact that someone had left a newspaper on the table next to the chair in which he was sitting. He didn't want to read it; he needed to use it to camouflage the obvious bulge in the front of his pants.

  Seconds later, Daniel had joined him on the deck, offering him a cold beer.

  He didn't say it, but he despaired of Americans wanting everything cold—beer, in particular. But he took it anyway, having long since forced himself to develop a taste for it.

  All in all, it had been an unexpectedly pleasant way to pass the afternoon, and now he was sitting next to a woman who had been very recently punished, whom he knew was sitting on what had to be a very sore bum if the still red and swollen eyes could be considered any indication of just how severe her punishment was.

  Before he knew it, they were there, and both of the men helped the women out of the car then escorted them into the restaurant. No one could complain about the Englishman's manners—it was Douglas holding out Ia's chair that prompted Daniel to do the same for Taffy, and he did look a bit embarrassed not to have thought of doing that himself.

  And both of them noticed as each of the girls took their seat very carefully, although Douglas did his best not to be indiscreet, although it was harder to do than he wanted it to be. Neither of them made a sound, but they both closed their eyes as their bottoms came in contact with even the plushy, cushioned seat.

  Douglas couldn't remember the last time that a dinner had flown by so quickly or so pleasantly. Since he and Daniel were already good friends, they comprised most of the conversation, and although she was understandably quiet and reserved at first, Taffy began joining in long before their entrees arrived.

  His ears pricked up, though, when the waiter took their drink orders. He requested a whiskey, neat, and so did Daniel—their love of fine whiskey was one of the things that they'd become friends over. But when his wife tried to order a drink, he touched her arm lightly and addressed the waiter himself, "The lady will have a Coke, please."

  "Daniel!" Taffy outright pouted, obviously outraged at his high-handedness.

  But her husband was adamant and gave her a warning look as he said not quite quietly enough, "I think you've had more than enough alcohol for a while."

  And that was that.

  When the young man looked at Ia, she simply said, "Water's fine, thank you."

  Douglas couldn't discern whether she'd wanted a drink and took her cue from what her brother had said to Taffy or if she truly didn't care. Either way, it was an exchange that he was only too happy to have been privy to.

  When the waiter returned with their drinks, he took their orders at the same time. Taffy had the shrimp scampi, Daniel the lasagna, and Douglas ordered the bracciole. But I
a just ordered a salad to come when everyone else got their dinners.

  As she handed her menu back to the waiter, Daniel stopped her from doing so with a hand on her arm—not holding it in any way, just touching it firmly. "Are you sure that's all you want, buttercup? You're not a rabbit; you should have more than just a salad."

  "Yes, thank you; that's all I want," she replied with stiff formality, keeping her eyes down.

  Daniel sighed, but he let the young man take the menu.

  "Buttercup?" Douglas queried with a broad smile on his face, looking from brother to sister for an explanation.

  Ia chose that moment to take a drink of water, looking as if she had no interest whatsoever in answering his question, so Daniel did the honors. "There's a small, yellow flower that grows here—I don't know if it does there?"

  "I think I know the one you mean."

  Daniel gave Ia a small smile as he spoke, but she was too busy looking at her plate to see it. "Well, when she was a very little girl, she used to collect them early every summer, when they came up, and give them to people. So, my dad—our dad—started calling her buttercup."

  "That's an adorable story."

  Everyone at the table was smiling except Ia.

  "You must have been a darling little girl, Ia," Douglas prompted, hoping to draw her into the conversation.

  "I've never been an adorable anything in my life," she muttered under her breath as she rose from her seat. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom."

  "I'll come with you—" Taffy offered, starting to get up herself.

  But the other woman cut her off, "I'll be fine alone, thank you."

  So, Taffy sat back down as everyone's eyes silently followed the forlorn figure.

  Ia could hear Daniel sigh heavily behind her, and she knew that she wasn't making a very good impression on Douglas, but that was just too damned bad, she thought, surprising herself as she made her way to the back of the restaurant and into the ladies' room.