Bound to a Spy

by Sharon Cullen

  “How did you find this?” she asked as Will closed the door behind them.

  “My inspection of the palace.”

  She looked at him sharply. “Why in the world would you need to inspect the palace?”

  “Curiosity mostly.”

  “You’re a strange individual, Will Sheffield.”

  “I’m well aware, Rose Turner.”

  He whipped off a dust cloth that covered an oversized couch, sending large clouds of dust poofing into the air and making her sneeze.

  “Oh my,” Rose said as she studied the old-fashioned couch. It was a monstrosity of a thing made of heavy oak with intricate carvings and upholstered in the once popular grapevines.

  “Quite the thing back in the day,” Will said, looking down on it.

  It was a fine piece of furniture if one tended toward the grandiose and overbearing. “It’s a shame that it’s been moldering in an unused room,” she said.

  Will snorted. “There is so much furniture that has been forgotten in this palace. It’s a travesty, really.” With a flourish he pulled out a bottle of what appeared to be wine from inside his doublet.

  Rose looked at it askance. “How have you hidden that upon your person?”

  “Not easily. I pilfered it from a servant who wasn’t looking. I hope the poor chap doesn’t get in too much trouble. Shall we?” He motioned to the couch with the bottle and Rose sat.

  The back was high and straight and what cushioning that had once been there was beaten down until it felt like she was sitting on the wooden slats beneath. An uncomfortable piece of furniture to be sure.

  “I apologize for the lack of heat,” Will said as he settled in next to her and popped the cork on the wine. “And for the lack of cups. We’ll have to share.”

  The thought of drinking out of a bottle after Will was oddly thrilling and she was still riled up enough about her conversation with Lysle that she didn’t much care at this point.

  Will took the first drag and handed the bottle over to her. It was a fine, smooth wine, quite dear and its absence would probably be noted. She was sure it had been meant for the foreign dignitaries and not two parasites who were nobodies in this court.

  “He does not think highly of you,” Rose said, handing the bottle back to Will who drank from it slowly as he raised his brows at her in silent question. “He warned me away from you. Said you used people.”

  “I do. We’ve already established that.”

  Rose waved her hand in the air as if she could wave away that one aspect of Will. “He does not know that.”

  “So the truth hurt?”

  “No. His arrogance grated.”

  Will chuckled. “He has a right to his arrogance. He’s of the privileged class. Not many are above him.”

  “But he didn’t earn the right to his arrogance.”

  “He doesn’t have to. He was born into it and that is enough for people like Lysle.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  Will shrugged. “You have to know that I am not far beneath him.”

  She took the bottle he offered and took a long drink. Then another while she contemplated his words. “What do you mean?”

  “You know I went to school with Darnley. You know that he is of English nobility and has some small claim to the English throne. Darnley and his like do not go to school with the baker’s and tanner’s sons.”

  “But…” Her mind was becoming fuzzy. It had been a long time since she’d drank so much, and the wine was very, very good and very potent.

  “But you did not think of that before?” he asked in amusement.

  “You’re a mercenary.”

  He tipped the bottle toward her. “A sobriquet that you put upon me. True, I do gather information and true, I do pass it on to those who need it dearly.”

  He settled back into the couch and seemed most comfortable, much more comfortable than she. “I’m not as noble as Darnley and Lysle, but my blood is tinged with blue. My father is a viscount and upon his death I will be the new viscount.”

  The man was always making her head spin. There were so many different aspects of him that it boggled her senses. One moment she thought she had his measure and the next he threw something at her that made her question everything. “So you’re a someday-to-be viscount who is also a mercenary? Really, Will, you do confuse me.”

  “I did not say I was a good person, Rose. Just because one has noble blood does not necessarily make them good.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know that. Lysle and the others are the purest nobles Scotland has and they are plotting to…” She pressed her lips together. Not even here, where they were quite alone would she utter the words out loud. “So, are you saying that nobles have a right to be arrogant when they’ve done nothing to earn it?”

  “I’m saying that arrogance is bred into them from centuries of squabbling and scraping and bowing to whomever is in power so that they may keep their title and their lands.”

  “He’s an arse.”

  Will laughed. “Most of them are.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I’m not as highly placed as they are and my bloodline does not run as deep.”

  She contemplated him for a long time. The room around her was soft and hazy due to the wine, and she was not nearly as cold as when they’d first entered. She had turned sideways so her back was to the high armrests and she was facing Will. Unconsciously she pulled her legs up and tucked them beneath her skirts. The small amount of moonlight that came through the wooden shutters reflected off her gold skirts.

  “Lysle thinks he’s superior to you,” she said.

  “I could care less what Lysle and the others think.”

  “Why did you leave England?” She changed the subject because she didn’t want Lysle to take up all of her time with Will. Besides, she realized that she knew far too little of him when he knew much more about her.

  “Because I wanted adventure and I never liked being in one place too long.”

  “Have you been to the royal palace in England?”

  He hesitated. “Which one?”

  She knew that most monarchs had several homes but she only knew of Whitehall in England so that is what she said.

  “Yes. It’s two, three times the size of Holyrood and sits on the river.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “To see the queen, of course.”

  She drew back in surprise. “Why did you need to see the queen?”

  “Because she asked for me.”

  She hit him lightly on the arm. “You’re jesting.”

  He frowned and rubbed his arm where she had struck him. “I am not jesting. She knew my father and asked him to bring me to the castle.”

  “What is she like, Queen Elizabeth?”

  “She’s a ginger, just like you.” He reached across the distance between them and gently tugged a lock of hair from her pins, twining it around his finger. “I love the color of your hair.”

  “It’s brassy and garish.” That’s what some of the lasses had said when she’d first arrived at the palace. She’d been hurt but she’d quickly learned to ignore them once she realized that they considered her—and any other lass—competition for a rich, titled husband. Besides, these girls couldn’t hold a candle to her brothers who had called her every name in their vocabulary.

  “It’s not garish,” Will said, watching the hair twirl around his finger.

  “Tell me more about Elizabeth.”

  “She has beautiful hands. They’re her pride and joy.”

  “Her hands? How very strange.”

  “She’s aloof but I got the impression that she is also lonely. She has never married although she’s had opportunity.”

  Everyone understood Elizabeth was not married and did not have an heir to her throne. Mary’s greatest ambition was to be queen of England and Scotland, and Elizabeth’s lack of an heir was discussed to no end at the palace. Scotland hoped that Elizabeth would name Ma
ry as her heir. Rose didn’t know what to think about that. Her family was not overly fond of England.

  “Is she nice?” she asked.

  He seemed to think about that for a moment. While he thought, she put her hand out for the bottle. It was half empty and she took another large swig. It went down far too smoothly and she wondered if she would be able to get off the couch when they left.

  “I’ve heard she can be nice. I’ve heard she can be stern too.”

  “It must be difficult being a female monarch.”

  Will hummed his agreement.

  Rose was suddenly aware that he was slowly taking the pins out of her hair. It fell in a heavy waterfall of oranges, reds and yellows down her back.

  He massaged her scalp and she leaned her head back and moaned in pleasure.

  “That feels so good,” she murmured.

  “Why do women wear their hair in such complicated styles if it pains them? I would never require any wife of mine to follow such silly rules.”

  She smiled as her eyes drifted closed, basking in the feel of his fingers digging into her scalp. “If I were your wife I would love that rule.”

  For a moment they both froze, the words hanging between them.

  “Of course, I will never have a wife,” he said hoarsely as if he needed to make that point.

  “Of course,” she said and turned her head to smile at him to let him know that there were no wounded feelings here.

  Chapter 20

  Will ran his fingers through Rose’s hair, watching as the fiery strands spilled across his palm until it fell in loose waves over her shoulder.

  “You should always wear it free like this.”

  She smiled at him, her expression languid. She’d probably had far too much wine to drink. It was a fine wine, after all, more potent than most.

  He’d been so irate over Lysle’s proprietary stance over Rose, as if he’d claimed her and wanted Will and everyone else to know. Any other time it would not have bothered Will in the least but he knew that Rose was not amenable to Lysle’s supposed marriage aspirations. There had not even been a proposal so Lysle had no claim to Rose. Yet.

  Will had grabbed the wine with the thought to take it back to his chambers and drink it steadily. Alone. He’d not even wanted to go to Darnley because he didn’t want to hear the man cry and whine about his unfair treatment by Mary.

  But against his better judgment he’d paused to glance into the ballroom because he was weak and Rose drew him like a honeybee to a flower. He’d been transfixed watching her and Lysle standing in the middle of the festivities, obviously discussing something very serious. Rose’s face had been red with anger. While Lysle had a patronizing look as if he was merely tolerating Rose until she was finished speaking.

  Will had been angry for her until she delivered some sort of put-down that turned the smirk on Lysle’s face to shock and she’d stomped away.

  “Wear my hair down?” she asked, pulling him from his thoughts. “Perish the idea. A lady does not wear her hair down in public. There is a law written somewhere, I’m sure, that it must take at least a few hours to dress one’s hair.”

  He grinned. Where had this woman been all his life? She was smart and sassy and she took no guff off anyone, even a noble who wanted to woo her. He was entranced and he knew it had nothing to do with the quantity of wine he’d consumed.

  “Hours?” he asked, truly shocked. “You women take hours to”—he flicked a lock of her hair—“do your hair?”

  “Some do. I don’t. I prefer to wear it in a simple braid.”

  If she were his wife he’d allow her to wear it in a simple braid. Hang society and their strange customs.

  “I cut it all off once.”

  He tried to picture her with hair as short as a man’s but the image would not come to him. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I wanted to be like my brothers and it was getting in my way.”

  He chuckled. He loved to hear about her brothers. It made him feel closer to her.

  “Did you get in trouble?”

  “Oh, yes.” She turned her body toward him, making herself comfortable as she rested her head against the tall back of the couch. “My mother cried but there was nothing to do about it. My brother Ethan handed the chunk of hair to her with a very serious expression.”

  “Did you enjoy having shorn hair?”

  “It was certainly freeing. I didn’t have to worry about it getting in my eyes and missing my shot or shooting an arrow off course. I didn’t have to sit for what seemed like hours for my mother to brush the knots out of it and try to control it with pins that stuck in my head.”

  “But?”

  “But I missed it too.”

  “Ah. Quite the conundrum. You like being a lass but don’t like being a lass.”

  “Not being a lass has its advantages,” she admitted.

  “Like?”

  “Like wearing breeches. Have you climbed rocks wearing skirts?”

  “I have not.”

  “It’s not easy.”

  “I imagine it isn’t.”

  Their conversation wound down and they were left staring at each other, the almost empty wine bottle and a large expanse of faded grapevine fabric the only thing between them.

  Drawn to her hair he reached for the lock curling over the shoulder closest to him. “If I had a daughter I would allow her to wear her hair in braids and climb rocks in breeches. I would not force her to sit for hours while someone dressed her hair and conform to society’s silly rules.”

  “Then your daughter will be a very lucky lass.”

  He gently tugged on the hair clutched between his fingers, drawing her toward him. She came easily enough, her breath changing cadence as anticipation became a living thing between them.

  She was like melting butter in his arms, fitting herself into him so that it was quite natural for his arms to go around her as she leaned into his side.

  Rose Turner heated his blood like no other woman ever had. It’d been a mistake to bring her here, to an unoccupied room where the constraints of society did not dictate their actions. But then he’d known when he brought her here what was going to happen. Perhaps she had known as well.

  It was wrong of him to encourage such a liaison. He couldn’t have a wife and even if he could he was not suited to the likes of Rose Turner. But damn he couldn’t stay away from her and when he was with her he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

  She was like a drug to him. Once tasted, never forgotten, and always craving her.

  He scooted down in the couch, dragging her on top of him while his mind screamed for him to stop. But his body had other ideas and let’s face it, he didn’t want to stop. He wanted all of Rose, every bit that she was willing to give him.

  She was sprawled on top of him and he knew she had to feel his erection, even through her many layers of skirts and petticoats.

  He took her face between his hands and pulled back so he could kiss her neck. She moaned, arching to give him more access.

  She was so tightly bound into her gown, like a beautifully gilded, wrapped gift for him alone to unwrap. He plucked at the back lacings until he managed to untie and loosen them a bit. The golden bodice sagged and he gently released her breasts from it, scooting down farther until he could suckle one while rubbing the nipple of the other with his thumb.

  “Oh, good Lord,” she gasped, causing him to smile against her plump breast.

  The nipple was tight and erect, ripe for his tongue. He sucked the areola and she groaned.

  She was so eager, so responsive that it lit his body on fire. He tingled from his scalp to the tips of his toes. All thoughts of stopping, all thoughts of propriety, all thoughts of being a gentleman fled. He needed this, now, here. He had to have her or he would surely explode.

  “Sit up,” he said hoarsely.

  She moved to sit on the other side of the couch.

  Will knelt on the dusty wooden floor in front of her and looke
d up at her, her breasts exposed, red from his whiskers and puckered.

  “I won’t make love to you,” he said, his voice barely sounding like his as he shoved that last, fateful thought away. He loved her but the thought could become no more than a thought, a fleeting butterfly of color that quickly darted away. “I won’t do that to you. But we can enjoy each other.”

  She nodded slowly, still looking dazed and confused.

  “Pull your skirts up.”

  She obliged without hesitation, without question, until the fabric was bunched at her waist, her legs naked and exposed.

  “You are so damn beautiful,” he said.

  Gently he spread her legs until she was completely exposed. She watched him with wide, trusting, emerald-green eyes.

  He swallowed roughly at the sight of her glistening center. His cock was pressing against his breeches, terribly painful.

  “Trust me,” he said.

  “Always,” she whispered.

  Something twisted in his gut at the sincerity and utter confidence in her quick answer. She shouldn’t trust him so completely. She thought she knew him but she didn’t. She thought he had told her everything but he had not. He pushed the thought aside. Right here, right now, he was being as open and honest as was possible with her. More open and honest than he’d ever been with anyone before.

  He ran his tongue along her tightly closed slit, tasting her wetness and the honey that was Rose. Her hand went to his hair and she laid her head back, her breath coming in small pants.

  He continued to run his tongue along her slit, slowly, slowly parting it until her fingers were clenched in his hair and she was gasping and moaning.

  When he thought she couldn’t take it anymore he flicked her nub with his tongue and her hips came off the couch. Instantly he slid his hands beneath her buttocks so he could lift her toward him and he began to suck her.

  She was muttering now, a combination of nonsensical words and curse words that made him smile inside. Both hands were in his hair and she was thrusting her hips toward him.

  He slid a finger inside of her and it proved to be too much. She was so damn responsive that she came right away. Thrusting her hips up hard and crying out his name as her muscles clenched his finger and wetness spurted out of her.