She closed her eyes and let her body relax and sink into the mattress but she could not stop herself from thinking. What would have happened if Wilfred had not chosen that night for his annual climbing of the old oak tree? Would Perry have stopped with one kiss? Would Cecily have wanted him to?
She could not deny knowing the answer to that question. If she’d had her way, the kiss would have been just the beginning. She remembered a page from her sewing-basket book and smiled.
The tree trunk felt rough through the delicate fabric of her gown but it didn’t feel unpleasant. The contrast heightened the other sensations. Perry’s hands in her hair. His mouth against hers. The urgency of his body leaning into her. His hands moved down, fingers caressing her neck, lingering on her shoulders and then sliding down to her waist and spreading over her hips. She pushed against him and his hands slipped around behind her to cup her bottom and pull her in hard.
She wanted to feel his hands on her skin and, as she thought it, he reached down to start pulling up her skirt. His hands tangled briefly in the fabric and then found their way—
It was no good. No matter how hard she tried, she could not imagine it. She pulled her dress up to expose her legs and ran her fingers lightly over one thigh. It wouldn’t feel like that. Of that she was certain. For one thing, her fingers were cool. When Perry’s fingers had tangled in her hair, she had felt their warmth all the way down to her toes. She breathed on her hands to warm them and tried again but she was certain it still wasn’t right. She closed her eyes.
Her skirt was hiked nearly up to her waist. She could feel the bark against her bare skin. Perry was tugging at the neckline of her gown, pulling it off one shoulder. His other hand was between her legs, stroking and probing. She wanted to wrap her legs around him but she wasn’t at all certain how to go about it.
A floor board creaked. All Cecily had time to do was open her eyes before a hand grasped one of the bed curtains and pulled it open.
Moonlight streamed into Cecily’s hiding place. One of her hands was on her breast and the other—well, she wasn’t even going to acknowledge that. She knew she should cover herself up, or at the very least move her hand and put her legs together, but she felt frozen, pinned down by Perry’s eyes. She knew there was no way to pretend she’d been doing anything other than what she’d been doing. She could only hope he would be gentleman enough to drop the curtain and pretend he hadn’t seen.
“Miss Bettencourt.”
So much for her last hope.
“Mr. Munk.”
Cecily tried to will him to go away, but he seemed to be as incapable of movement as she was. Except for his eyes. Those were looking up and down her body in a most ungentlemanly way.
When he finally stopped looking at her and shifted his gaze to the canopy of the bed, Cecily got enough control over her body to move her hand and push her skirts back down over her legs. She was surprised to realize that being discovered by Perry, and the accompanying embarrassment, had done nothing to ease the ache she had been feeling. If anything, the way he had looked at her made it even worse.
Perry glanced down at her and then back up to the canopy. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind about something.
Meanwhile, Cecily was trying desperately to think of something witty to say. Then she noticed his breeches—and the distinctive bulge therein.
“Mr. Munk.” She hadn’t meant for it to come out as a plea, but somehow it did.
“Can I be of any assistance, Miss B.?”
Cecily looked up but she couldn’t bring herself to meet Perry’s eyes. She focused instead on his hand on the bed curtain.
She mustered up all her courage and threw aside a lifetime’s worth of lessons on how she was expected to behave. She opened her mouth to tell him that yes, she was in desperate need of assistance, but she seemed to have lost the power to speak. All she could do was nod like an idiot.
She didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t for Perry to take her hand and kiss it. Then he turned it over and kissed her palm. It was the hand she had been touching herself with and Cecily knew that when he inhaled deeply, still holding her hand to his face, he was breathing in her scent. He kissed her fingertip and then drew her finger into his mouth.
Cecily had to remind herself to breathe. He hadn’t touched more than her hand and already her daydreams had become mere shadows compared to the real thing.
Perry released her hand and joined her on the bed, drawing the curtain closed behind him.
“We wouldn’t want to be discovered,” he said.
Cecily shook her head, but she knew Perry could not see her in the darkness of their hiding place. She felt him climb over her and lie down on his side next to her. She was afraid to turn her head to look at him.
“I knew you were an exceptional woman,” he said, just before dropping a soft kiss on her cheek.
It might have been called a chaste kiss in other circumstances, but Cecily felt the promise behind it. The next kiss was closer to her mouth. The third kiss, just brushing her lips, made her whimper. She had not known it was possible to feel a kiss through her whole body. Now she understood why mothers warned their daughters against kissing.
Perry sat up and pulled off his jacket. For a moment he just gazed down at her. Cecily wanted to touch him, but she was afraid of doing the wrong thing, so she waited to see what he would do next. But her body was impatient and she could not make it stay still. She could not control the little rocking movement of her hips or the slight arch of her back as her body strained to move closer to Perry.
He moved his hand toward her breast and brushed his fingers across her nipple, eliciting another whimper.
“Poor Miss B.,” he said. “How did you come to be in such a state?”
“I think you had better call me Cecily,” she gasped out as he pressed his hand against her breast, digging his fingers gently into her flesh.
She could hardly tell him that she had been spying on the cook and daydreaming about men who appeared out of the darkness to ravage her. Just as Perry was doing, she realized.
He pulled her gown off her shoulder and eased it down along with her petticoat. His mouth descended on her shoulder as his hand slipped under her corset. She had thought she could imagine what this would feel like, but she had been far off the mark. She had never suspected that anything could feel this good. And now it was getting even better as he worked her breast free of the corset. His tongue circled her nipple before his lips closed over it.
She was only dimly aware of Perry’s other hand pushing her skirts back up her legs, all the way to her waist. His fingers brushed against her legs. She told herself she wouldn’t open her legs to him just yet. She would pretend for at least a minute or two to be a properly well-behaved young lady, or at least a young lady who required a little convincing. Besides, she was hardly eager for him to know how desperate she was for him to touch her.
Perry switched his attention from her breast to her mouth. He drew her lower lip into his mouth. His fingertips brushed up one of her legs and Cecily realized that her legs were already spread wide.
His fingers brushed lightly over her pubic hair.
“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” he whispered against her lips.
Cecily made a little sound of assent. She had lost all sense of shame. She didn’t care what he knew about her, what he suspected about the fantasies she entertained herself with at night while she waited for sleep. She would confess it all, if only he would touch her where the ache was the worst.
His fingers teased her, lightly touching her legs and her belly.
“Tell me what you think about.”
His breath caressed her skin as he nuzzled her neck.
“Men,” she answered.
“What men?”
“Different men. Men I’ve met.”
“What do they do?”
Cecily tried to ignore the sensation of his tongue tracing the contours of her ear so
she could focus on forming words that would make sense.
“They kiss me.”
“That can’t be all. I don’t think mere kisses would make you this hot.”
“Sometimes they tell me to take off my clothes. And then they watch me undress,” Cecily admitted.
“What a lovely idea. What then?”
“Then they kiss me.”
“Like this?”
Cecily felt Perry’s mouth on hers. His tongue delved into her mouth and brushed against hers, then circled and probed. Why did they even bother trying to describe this in the books? The books didn’t say a thing about how this kind of kiss could make you want to devour another person, how it spread heat through your entire body.
“And like this?” Perry asked, moving to flick his tongue across her nipple.
“Yes, they kiss me everywhere.”
Perry raised himself up on one elbow and looked down at Cecily.
“Everywhere?”
She nodded. It was too late to unsay it. She wished the bed curtains let more light into their hiding place so she could see him well enough to read his expression, but his face was in shadow. She was certain she had said too much, that she had disgusted him and he would walk away and leave her worse off than he’d found her.
Finally he moved. One finger circled her navel.
“Do they kiss you here?” he asked.
Cecily nodded.
Perry’s fingers moved down her body and stroked her thigh. “And here?”
“Sometimes.”
He was still watching her face when he moved his hand to rest between her legs.
“Do your dream men kiss you here?”
Cecily closed her eyes. “Yes.” Now she knew he would walk away from her.
But instead of getting up and leaving, he kissed her again and one of his fingers slipped into the wet folds where she was burning for his touch.
“Someday you’ll have to tell me where you learned about such kisses,” Perry said calmly as he began stroking up and down.
“Books,” Cecily said breathlessly.
His finger stopped moving.
“More than one book? Where did you get them?”
“Found them. Hidden.” Cecily moved her hips, pushing up against Perry’s hand.
“Ah. And how long have you been looking at these books, tormenting yourself with them?”
“Years. Since my season in London.”
“Oh, poor Cecily. No wonder you’re in such a state.”
She was in a state. A pathetic state. She nearly wept with relief when the finger that had been resting against her heated skin began moving again, slowly circling, occasionally brushing against her clitoris.
“Maybe someday you’ll show me these books and we can look at them together.”
Then his mouth was on her nipple, sucking and nipping at her, and the circling finger spiraled in, the circle shrinking tighter and tighter until it was pressing against her clitoris, rubbing across it with each stroke.
Cecily made a sound. She thought maybe she should say something but speech was out of the question. The things Perry was doing felt so good she could hardly even breathe. She’d never fainted in her life but she felt like she was going to now and she was certain that wasn’t the right thing to do in the circumstances. She reached out for something to anchor her and grabbed onto Perry’s shirt. An instant later pleasure ripped through her body and she felt like she was going to levitate off the bed. She gasped and shuddered.
This was so much better than anything she’d managed to do for herself. No wonder the books hadn’t tried to describe it.
She opened her eyes. Perry was grinning down at her.
“Did that help?”
She nodded. She was just starting to wonder what would happen next when Perry looked up and put his finger to his lips. Whatever he’d heard, Cecily couldn’t hear it over the pounding of her heart.
Before she could take stock of the situation, Perry had pulled her off the bed and was pushing her underneath it. He stood up and straightened the bedcover and joined her underneath just as the bedroom door opened.
Chapter Thirteen
Perry hardly dared breathe, let alone move to help Cecily rearrange her clothes. All he could do was listen and watch as the intruder paced the room. Every few steps, the intruder’s feet came into view as he approached the bed and then turned away. The shoes were well made but worn—at least two years out of fashion. The intruder paused and turned again, circling the room, coming alarmingly close to the bed. Then Perry heard a sigh and fingers tapping on wood.
The door opened again and the first set of feet was joined by another. These feet wore inexpensive shoes—worker’s shoes.
“You’re late.”
Perry felt Cecily stiffen next to him. So she recognized the voice too. There was no mistaking that accent.
“A kitchen doesn’t run itself.”
This voice sounded French. Perry didn’t recognize it, but he was certain it wasn’t one of the other guests.
“Well?” Franco asked.
There was no reply. The second pair of feet walked straight to the bed. Perry could have stretched out his arm and touched them if he was foolish enough to want to. The second man flung open the bed curtains and then turned away from the bed.
“Nobody ever comes in here, except a maid once a week,” Franco said.
“I got your message. You took a big risk, putting it in writing and leaving it out in the open. You’re taking a lot of risks, it seems.”
Franco snorted. “The house is full of imbeciles. Nobody suspects a thing. Not even the fool who delivered the message. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“I’ll stay on a while longer but it will cost you extra.”
“I thought you were a patriot.”
“Even a patriot needs money. I plan to open an inn in Paris when this is all over. I’m sick of working for these people.” He made a spitting sound.
Franco sighed. “Grand ambition, but I only have the funds I’ve been given. I have none of my own to spare to satisfy your greed. If you find some more useful information, I’m sure you’ll be handsomely rewarded when this is all over. If all goes well, I’ll be in a position to help you myself.”
“Bah!”
“Be patient, my friend.”
“You use that word too lightly, Prince,” the Frenchman said with an audible sneer on the last word.
“I didn’t risk our being seen together just so you could remind me how you feel about the aristocracy. I needed to know you’ll stay so I can tell our employer. I’m certain more important information will be coming through this house in the next month or so.”
The other man didn’t reply.
“I’m sure that by the time we meet in Calais I’ll have acquired more funds to continue my work,” Franco assured his partner. “I’ll see that you’re amply rewarded.”
Even Perry would not have believed that, but it seemed that the other man was desperate enough for money that he was willing to believe anything.
“If things get too hot, I’m leaving,” the Frenchman insisted. “I won’t risk my life for any cause.” He walked to the door but turned back. “How much longer will we have the pleasure of your company, Prince?”
“I’ll stay another day or two for appearance’s sake. You stay until you have something more worthwhile to report.”
“I’ll stay until it suits me to leave. Not a day longer.”
He opened the door a crack, to check that the way was clear, Perry guessed, and then slipped out.
Franco didn’t appear to be in any hurry to leave. He sat down in the great throne of a chair by the fireplace. The Frenchman may have accused him of taking risks, but he certainly wasn’t risking them being seen leaving the room together.
Perry began to wonder if Franco was ever going to leave. It wasn’t easy lying perfectly still under the bed with Cecily pressed against him. He could not stop his mind from wandering through i
mages of all the things they might be doing now if Franco hadn’t interrupted them—or if Franco would just leave. But no, once Franco left, Perry knew his duty was to report to his host that there were, without a doubt, two spies residing under his roof.
Then he would probably have to go straight to London to report to his employer and he would never see Cecily again. They would never get to finish what they had started.
Franco stood up. No checking and sneaking for him. He pulled the door open with all the confidence of a man who was exactly where he was supposed to be and left the room. No wonder royalty made such good spies. No matter what they were doing they gave the impression that they were doing nothing wrong, simply because they were doing what they wanted to do and what could be wrong about that?
Perry thought he could do with a little bit of that confidence just then. If he didn’t feel that his duty lay elsewhere, he would make love to Cecily right there on the floor in the Queen Elizabeth room. Instead of averting his eyes like a gentleman while she stood up and straightened her clothes, he would pull her back down next to him. He’d push her skirts back up and she’d open her legs to him.
“I think I’ve done a terrible, stupid thing,” Cecily announced, breaking into his reverie.
Perry wriggled out from under the bed and stood up. She was standing next to the bed, her hands folded in front of her like a penitent schoolgirl.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he insisted. “It was me. I should have left as soon as I saw it was you.”
She stared at him and then smiled.
“No, that wasn’t a mistake at all,” she said with a little glance at the bed. “It was before that.”
“Before that?” Perry was used to pretending to be an imbecile to amuse people but he wasn’t accustomed to actually feeling like one.
Cecily crossed the room and gazed down at the empty fireplace.
“I think I delivered the letter Franco and the cook were talking about.”
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