“You can’t!” she gasped.
She felt his deep sigh, the rasp of his faint stubble against her thigh as he glanced up at her, his expression both exasperated and wicked. “You seem to be forgetting which one of us is the expert.”
His voice was teasing, but there was a roughness there, too, as if he was having difficulty holding himself in check. A flush stretched over his high cheekbones. “Now, if I want advice on code-breaking, or things of a linguistic nature,” he kissed her thigh again and she sucked in a breath, “I’ll ask you, the expert.” He swirled his tongue and edged higher. “But when it comes to this, and what we should or shouldn’t be doing, I’m afraid, Miss Hampden, you have no opinion whatsoever.”
She shuddered. Her heart was beating so hard in her throat she thought she might pass out.
“Open your legs for me, Hellcat.”
Shaking with desire, Heloise widened her stance even as her cheeks flamed in mortification. Cool air touched her most feminine place. She was completely bare to his gaze. For a long moment he simply looked at her and she tensed, anticipating some taunt.
His hands caught her hips. “Oh God, you’re beautiful.” His voice was hoarse, reverent.
He leaned forward and put his mouth between her legs.
Heloise jerked in astonishment and bit back a cry. He was kissing her, there! All she could feel was his wicked tongue, the erotic scrape of his chin and mouth as he lapped her. He found the slick petals at the entrance to her body and parted them, sliding in the betraying wetness. Good God!
It was like nothing she’d ever imagined. Heloise tightened her fingers in his hair and arched into his touch, urging him on, unable to help herself, past shame. For whatever reason she’d broken through his self-imposed ban on touching her and she wanted this, wanted him, in any way she could have him. She’d take whatever he chose to give.
“You taste so good.” His growl of satisfaction held a fierce note of triumph.
Heloise could barely think. She let go of his head and gripped the edge of the bookshelves for balance as he teased her sensitive flesh with his lips. She gasped as she felt his finger, just the very tip, push inside her. He withdrew and pressed again, easier this time, and she cried out at the unbelievable sensation.
She couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs. She arched against him but he held her tight, only his hand moving, teasing. He flicked her with his tongue and Heloise almost sobbed in frustration. She was striving to get somewhere, some unnamed peak just out of reach. She held her breath.
A shimmer of pleasure danced along her skin. Her body was on fire, her heart racing, and she bucked her hips, trying to get closer to the maddening friction. His tongue invaded her, mimicking the action of his hand and the brief penetration was almost more than she could bear.
Perhaps he was right? Maybe this was only lust. Maybe she’d feel this way for any man. She doubted it, but it was hard to think when his fingers worked their magic, made her burn and melt and writhe.
“Let it go, Heloise. Come for me. Now.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but she was almost there, almost there, and the combination of his voice and those wicked fingers sent her flying over the edge. Blinding pleasure radiated from her core as she splintered apart. Her whole body convulsed, clenching and releasing around his fingers as she gasped for air, blinded, falling, dying.
She sagged, boneless, against the wall and would have sunk to the floor if not for Raven’s support. He stood and wrapped his arms around her, enclosing her in his embrace. Dazed, Heloise rested her head back on the shelf. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, her skin was flushed. For a few seconds all she could hear was labored panting—Raven’s as loud as her own.
She started to pull away but he tightened his arms and buried his face in her hair. She tensed as she realized he was still fiercely aroused. His shaft pressed hard and unyielding against her stomach.
“Wait,” he panted. He let out a half laugh that sounded ragged, almost desperate. “Don’t move just yet, all right? Just…give me a minute.”
She stilled, let herself soften and relax in his embrace. Her mind was still reeling from what they had done. After a few moments Raven moved back from her. The shirt fell demurely back into place against her legs with a whisper of cool air.
She was burning up with embarrassment, but pride demanded that she lift her chin and meet his eyes. She wanted to say something flippant, witty, but she was too shattered, too raw. Words, her fail-safe friends, deserted her.
Raven let out a long sigh. He studied her face for a long moment, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. She didn’t struggle when he gathered her up in his arms and carried her back to her own room. He lay her down on her mattress and left her without a word.
Chapter 27
Raven fell facedown onto the bed, his entire body burning with unsatisfied lust.
He punched a pillow, his stomach roiling in a complex muddle of fury, frustration, and desire. He was as hard as a rock but he wasn’t going to do anything about it. He deserved the discomfort, this aching, throbbing need.
Christ, what a mistake. This was going to complicate everything. Heloise wasn’t one of his panting, easy conquests who’d take what he’d given and walk away with a contented smile. She wasn’t a sophisticated flirt he could pay off with a diamond choker and the empty promise of a rematch.
He rubbed his palm over his face and caught her scent; sweet and spicy and so bloody delicious that he wanted to howl. He was shaking with the need to go back into her room and finish what they’d started. God, he’d been so close to losing control. The sight of her, the taste. Better than he’d ever imagined.
He exhaled slowly. At least he hadn’t taken his own pleasure. She was still, technically, a virgin. And he hadn’t kissed her this time. Not on the mouth, at any rate.
He bit back a groan and pressed his face into the pillow as he recalled the feel of her body around his fingers: warm, tight, slick. She made him mad. That was the only explanation. Heloise Hampden had been merrily rearranging his wits for years, oblivious to the trail of havoc and destruction she left in her wake.
He couldn’t risk touching her again. His vaunted control was hanging by a thread. From now on he was going to stay as far away from her as humanly possible.
—
Heloise lay on her bed and stared sightlessly up at the canopy.
Embarrassment at the liberties she’d allowed Raven mingled with amazement at the pleasure he’d given her. No wonder the Ancient Romans made constant references to the sexual act. If the last ten minutes were anything to go by, it was a miracle they’d done anything else at all. Who on earth wanted to go and build an aqueduct or construct a coliseum when they could be doing that all day? Her entire body felt awakened, tingling, but her skin heated as she remembered her own lusty response to Raven’s skillful manipulation.
He’d let her get close, but no closer, as if he’d drawn some invisible emotional barrier in his mind that could not be crossed. Heloise bit her lip. Part of her resented how easily he’d controlled her. He’d wanted her to understand that it was just bodies, physical pleasure without involving any emotion other than raw lust.
She took a deep breath. Her mother, ever the Frenchwoman, had taken great pains when Heloise had turned sixteen to explain to her the intricacies of physical love, so she knew Raven had restrained himself from completing the act. He must have known she wouldn’t have resisted if he’d wanted to take her fully. He could have taken advantage, but had not. In his own, warped, typically convoluted way, he’d been honorable.
And he hadn’t been entirely unaffected himself, no matter how cool he’d tried to be. She’d felt his physical response, that rigid length of him against her stomach. There had been a certain equality in that. At least she affected him as much as he affected her.
Heloise closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. How on earth was she going to face him tomorrow?
C
hapter 28
Raven watched Heloise closely as she stepped into the library the next morning, interested to see how she was going to react. She lingered uncertainly by the door, obviously eager to escape. Her cheeks were flushed—embarrassment for last night, or fury at his behavior? Either way, it didn’t matter. The messages he’d received at breakfast had changed everything.
He held up the first of them. “From Castlereagh. The French have officially proposed the prisoner swap they discussed in that first message you read in England.”
Heloise’s face lit up in a smile, her nervousness forgotten. “That’s wonderful!”
He lifted his hand to forestall her celebrations. “It would be, except for one minor problem. Their agent, the Baker, is dead.”
“Dead? How?”
“He managed to get himself killed during an escape attempt a few days ago. He clearly hadn’t heard his release was imminent. It’s damned inconvenient.”
“The death of another human being isn’t inconvenient,” she admonished sternly. “It’s tragic.”
Raven rolled his eyes. “There you go, feeling sorry for the enemy again. The man was a sadistic bastard. He got what was coming to him.”
She scowled and he felt his heart lighten. It was nice to be back on their old footing.
“As soon as the French discover he’s dead they’ll kill Kit in retaliation. For all we know, there could be a message on its way to Savary right now telling him the news. They have their spies in London, as we have ours in Paris.”
Heloise’s brow wrinkled. “So what will you do?”
“Castlereagh’s replied to the French, agreeing to the swap.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Even though the prisoner they want is dead?”
“How many people know what the Baker looks like? Savary does, and so do a few of the other French agents, but none of them will be present at the handover. Do you think the guards making the exchange will be able to identify him? Because that’s one of the good things about us spies. Very few people know our faces.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Kit’s going to be at that church in the foothills of the Pyrenees in three days. I’ll go to the rendezvous point and pretend to be the Baker, under British escort. When we get close enough, we’ll ambush the guards and rescue Kit.”
Heloise frowned. “Who are you going to use to help you? Scovell’s men?”
“No. A group of gypsies who know the land better than anyone. I’ve worked with them before. They’re good fighters.”
She nodded.
“You need to pack your things.”
Her face fell. “Are you sending me back to England?”
Was that disappointment he heard in her tone? Or eagerness? He shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying where I can keep an eye on you. I had another letter this morning, from your brother Richard. Edward Lamb’s murder apparently had all the hallmarks of a kill by a French agent named Georges Lavalle. From the intelligence he’s received, Richard thinks Lavalle’s already left London with orders to come after you.”
Richard’s note had merely confirmed what Raven had already gleaned from the agent he’d killed in his garden, but seeing the threat in writing had hardened his resolve.
Heloise opened her mouth to argue, of course. “But—”
“I’ve had run-ins with Lavalle before. His code name’s the Butcher.” Raven watched her throat work nervously.
“Why the Butcher?”
“Because he’s good with a knife.” He paused to let that sink in. Heloise shivered. Good, she was scared. He needed her to be on alert. Maybe now she’d take the threat to her life seriously, instead of gallivanting off on sightseeing trips.
“You’re lucky Lavalle was sent after Edward first and not you. He wouldn’t have missed that shot through the window, not at such close range.”
He couldn’t tell what she was thinking from her expression. Was she disappointed to not be going home? Angry at his order? Or was she glad that her adventure was continuing?
“The good news is, I doubt Lavalle will be able to work out where you’ve gone. Even if he suspects you’re with me, he won’t be able to discover our destination.”
Her face brightened. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it? I mean, if this Lavalle doesn’t know where I am, he can’t be a threat, can he?”
“He’s not a threat while you remain here in Spain, no. But I can guarantee he’ll be able to get to you as soon as you set foot back in England. That scar of yours makes for an extremely recognizable face, sweetheart.”
He saw her flinch at his jibe, but it was nothing more than the truth. “So you’ll be safe as long as you stay here with me.” He glanced down, dismissing her. “Now go and pack.”
He heard her inhale as if she was about to speak, then she clearly thought better of it, released her breath in a huff, and left. Raven breathed a sigh of relief.
It was a measure of the depth of their friendship, he supposed, that Richard hadn’t even questioned his decision to bring Heloise with him to Spain. He’d merely offered whatever assistance he could provide. There weren’t many men you could write to and say I’m taking your sister abroad, and by the way, there’s a corpse in my garden that needs disposing of discreetly. Thanks. R.
Richard’s own brief signoff, Keep her safe, was sufficient to convey a whole host of meanings, including the unspoken threat: Hurt my little sister and I’ll castrate you, Ravenwood, and the absolute confidence that Raven would lay down his life for hers. It was good to have such a friend.
Castlereagh’s note, in contrast, had specifically ordered Raven to send Heloise home. He was furious that his best code breaker had been taken out of action, even for a few weeks. He wanted her back in England and working on new codes immediately.
Raven ought to comply. The next stage of the rescue would be even more dangerous, but the simple truth was he didn’t trust anyone else, especially if Richard was right and Lavalle truly was after her. The idea that the Frenchman could be out there even now, waiting for his moment to strike, made Raven’s blood run cold. Lavalle wasn’t a bungling amateur; he’d need to be dealt with before Heloise could return to England. Hopefully, that was something Richard could accomplish soon.
This wouldn’t be the first time Raven had ignored a direct order, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Castlereagh might punish his disobedience by pulling him from future missions, but Raven didn’t care. This way she’d stay safe.
To his surprise she was ready and waiting in the courtyard, dressed in her shirt and breeches, when he emerged from his room half an hour later. She thanked Scovell for his hospitality, asked him to take care of her copy of Description de l’Égypte until she returned, and mounted her horse.
Scovell came to his stallion’s head and frowned up at him, mustache bristling. “Are you sure Miss Hampden can’t stay here, Ravenwood? Seems a plaguey dangerous thing, to have her go with you.” Seeing his closed expression, Scovell harrumphed in defeat. “Well, you look after that young lady, you hear me? I want to work with her again. Mind like a razor, that one.”
Raven bit back a sarcastic retort about it being her tongue, not her mind, that was razor-sharp, and nodded instead. “I’ll protect her with my life, sir.”
Whatever Scovell saw in his face apparently satisfied him, because he nodded and patted his horse’s neck in farewell. “Off you go, then. And good luck.”
Chapter 29
They met up with Raven’s gypsies a few miles north of León.
Apparently he and the ruffians were old acquaintances—the leader hailed him like a long-lost brother. Both men leaped off their mounts, clapped palms, and then came together in a masculine hug that included much enthusiastic backslapping and ruffling of hair.
The leader’s outfit consisted of flowing black pants tucked into black leather boots, a billowing white shirt, a red embroidered waistcoat, and a matching red sash tied around his waist. His hat bore some sort
of military medal that appeared to have been stolen from a French general.
Raven beckoned Heloise forward. “Miss Heloise Hampden, meet Alejandro Amaya, self-proclaimed King of Santander,” Raven said dryly.
The gypsy laughed, his wide smile revealing one solid gold tooth. A silver charm of St. Nicolas flashed around his neck as he swept her an extravagant bow.
“Senorita ’Ampden,” he said, with the native Spaniard’s trouble pronouncing the hard H in her name. “Welcome. Is good to meet Raven’s woman at last.”
Heloise felt her cheeks heat. “His—? Oh, I don’t—I mean, I’m not.”
The gypsy laughed again and made a comical face at Raven, who merely shrugged.
One by one Heloise was introduced to the rest of the disreputable group, which consisted of Alejandro’s cousin Carlos; his two brothers, Luis and Antonio; the two Perno brothers, Federico and Pedro; and their cousin Sebastiano, apparently a famed horse tamer. All the men nodded to her or touched their forehead in a sign of respect. Introductions finished, they remounted and set off.
“Their camp is located higher up in the mountains,” Raven confided, nudging his horse closer to hers on the narrow trail. “We’ll reach it later today.”
Heloise took the opportunity to study her companions. Their clothes were an odd assortment of styles: flamboyant waistcoats, bright sashes, and items of uniform that had clearly been looted. One of the Perno brothers wore a navy French jacket incongruously paired with a white British uniform sash. Sebastiano wore the dark green jacket of a British rifleman, complete with Baker rifle over his shoulder.
All seven of them had the same arrogant swagger and athletic ease in the saddle as Raven. No wonder they were friends.
Having run out of subjects to ponder, Heloise finally turned her attention to Raven. She narrowed her eyes. He had no right to look so attractive in such scruffy clothes. He wore the same white shirt and waistcoat as before, but he’d exchanged his dark breeches for a pale buff military pair—scrounged, no doubt, from one of Scovell’s recruits. Despite being borrowed, the damn things fit him like a second skin. They were practically indecent. Heloise found it impossible to tear her eyes away from the tight curve of his behind and the way the material molded itself to his long, muscular thighs.
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