While You Were Spying (Regency Spies Book 0)

by Shana Galen

The blow never came. There was crack and Roxbury fell, groaning, on top of him.

  Ethan blinked, then Francesca was kneeling beside him, pushing Roxbury off his chest. She was saying something, but he couldn’t hear anything except the blood rushing in his ears. Her features swam before him, and he closed his eyes to ward off the dizziness.

  He opened them again when he felt her hands on the side of his cheek. Looking up, he focused on her cocoa eyes. They were filled with concern.

  “Ethan, say something.”

  “You shot him.”

  She sighed, closing her eyes in relief.

  “You shot him!” Ethan repeated in disbelief.

  “I know.” Opening her eyes, she glanced at Roxbury, almost apologetic. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “I’m glad,” he croaked. “But I wanted to do it myself.”

  She gave a short laugh. “You can do it next time.”

  Ethan levered himself onto his elbows, his head finally clearing. “Next time? I don’t think my heart can survive a next time.” He pulled her into his arms, crushing her to him. Burying his face in her hair, he savored the smell of cinnamon and chocolate enveloping him. He pulled back, cradling her face in his hands. “Did he hurt you?”

  Tears wet her cheeks. “I’m fine. Now.” She squeezed him, then her gaze slid sideways. “You don’t think I killed him, do you?”

  “I hope to God you did.” He tightened his arms around her once more to assure himself that she was really there, really safe, then released her and knelt over Roxbury.

  The earl was lying on his side, eyes open and watching them. “A touching scene, Winterbourne,” he rasped.

  “I see you’re still breathing,” Ethan drawled. He helped Francesca rise and pushed her behind him. “Where did my wife wound you?”

  The earl raised an eyebrow and glanced down. Ethan saw the circle of blood growing on the man’s left thigh, just below the buttock.

  “Good. You’ll live. I’ll have the pleasure of watching you drawn and quartered after all.” He turned to Francesca. “Take one of the horses and ride to the house. We’ll need the doctor and help to bring the footman and this traitor—” He glanced back at Roxbury. “To the house.”

  Francesca nodded and started for the yard and the horses.

  “Traitor?” Roxbury goaded Ethan. Ethan saw Francesca pause in the keep’s opening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You might be able to try me for attempted rape,” he snorted, “but who can say that the lady didn’t welcome my advances? After all, we were intimate once.”

  Ethan clenched his jaw at the earl’s insinuation.

  “It will be her word against mine. She’ll never live down the scandal, nor will you. The Marquess of Winterbourne cuckolded again.” Roxbury laughed, a hard, bitter sound. “Wasn’t George Leigh also wounded in his left leg?” Roxbury laughed again and raised himself onto his elbow.

  “I don’t intend to bring you to trial for attempted rape, Roxbury.” Ethan glanced at Francesca. She was still standing in the crumbling opening, but it was too dark to read her eyes. “I intend to charge you with treason.”

  “Treason?” Roxbury sounded amused. “And pray tell, how precisely have I betrayed my country?”

  “You’ve been in charge of an operation smuggling arms to France for the last year and a half.”

  “And how will you prove that? I think you’ll find witnesses difficult to come by.”

  “You mean you killed them,” Francesca said from across the ruins.

  “Once again, your powers of deduction amaze me, madam.” Roxbury’s lips curled, the gesture matching his snide tone.

  “I have a contact in Paris—” Ethan began.

  “Gagnon? The Frenchman?” Roxbury snickered. “Oh, this I would like to see. A French peasant, a state enemy, testifying in the House of Lords against a peer of the realm.”

  In the growing darkness, Ethan could barely make out the earl’s face, but he could hear the smirk in his voice. And the devil take him if Roxbury wasn’t correct. As Alex had pointed out in Paris, Ethan had no hard proof.

  Ethan glanced at Francesca. Roxbury was right about the scandal as well. Ethan’s behavior during the episode with Victoria and Francesca’s former relationship with Roxbury meant few would believe the earl had attempted to rape her. If word of the incident today got out, the scandal would taint the Winterbourne name for good.

  He’d figure it all out later, Ethan decided. Right now he needed to fetch help for the wounded footman and, he supposed, Roxbury as well.

  “Francesca,” he began, his voice weary.

  She cut him off, stepping away from the opening and back into the keep.

  “Do you need proof, Ethan? Is that the problem?”

  “Quick-witted as usual,” Roxbury sneered. She kept her gaze locked on Ethan.

  “We’ll discuss it later,” Ethan said.

  “Is that why you were in France?” She ignored his dictate. “To find proof?”

  “Yes. But what I found instead was that you were still in danger.”

  “So you rushed back to save me.” She smiled. “Again.”

  “Oh, this is a lovely scene,” Roxbury snickered. “But I’d like my leg seen to. I may press charges myself.”

  Francesca took a step toward him. “That will difficult when your intestines are being ripped out.”

  Roxbury sighed dramatically. “Are we back to this again?”

  “Ethan, you said you needed proof. I think you will find exactly that in Dover. There’s a ship—” She glanced at Roxbury. ”The Parvenu, correct?—with the last load of smuggled arms waiting in Dover now to take Roxbury to France. I don’t think you’ll make it, Roxbury.”

  “You stupid bitch!” Roxbury lunged for her, but his reach fell short, and he gripped his wounded thigh, crying out in pain. “This isn’t over!”

  “Oh, yes, it is.” Ethan pulled Francesca out of the earl’s reach and into his arms. He tilted her head back and whispered, “Quick-witted, as usual.” With a smile, he kissed her.

  “Close your eyes.”

  Francesca closed them, shutting out the tempting image of Ethan, naked and reclining on the thick burgundy rug before the fire.

  “Now, open your mouth.” His voice stroked her like plush blue velvet.

  She raised her eyebrows but obeyed, parting her lips slightly. Her heartbeat sped as his arm brushed against her breast.

  She wondered what sensual surprise he could possibly have for her now. They’d been locked in his room for hours as it was, making love, sleeping, then making love again. Outside, the storm unleashed snow and ice; inside, the atmosphere simmered.

  She felt Ethan’s fingers caress her lips, then his touch was replaced by something else—something moist. She darted her tongue out and tasted sweetness and spice. The item was withdrawn, and she frowned, touching her tongue to her lips to taste it again. She heard Ethan groan and was pleased she was having as much effect on him as he was on her.

  “Open your mouth wider, cara,” he murmured.

  Curious, she did so, obediently keeping her eyes closed. The warm, moist object was pressed against her lips again. She took it into her mouth, biting into the sweet gingerbread, exclaiming with delight as she tasted the hint of cinnamon and, surprisingly, chocolate. She opened her eyes. “Chocolate?”

  He was watching her, pupils black with desire. “Mmm.” He traced a finger against her lips. “I told Cook to add it. She was skeptical, but I know what you like.”

  “You’re a bad man, my lord, tempting me like that.” She smiled and leaned toward him. “But you do know what I like.” She kissed him, running her tongue along his lips before delving inside to taste him.

  “You taste like gingerbread,” he whispered into her mouth.

  “And you taste even better.” She kissed him again, with more passion, but instead of deepening the kiss, he pulled her fiercely against him.

  “God, I love you. Have I told you how much I love y
ou?”

  She laughed into his chest. “A dozen times now.”

  As they’d had to deal with the doctor, the magistrate, and the distraught servants, they hadn’t managed to be alone together until almost midnight Christmas Eve. Daniel was recovering. Thunder had been found and coaxed back to the warm stable. Roxbury was gone, his fate sealed. But from the first moment she and Ethan had been alone, she hadn’t thought of Roxbury. She hadn’t been able to think of anything but Ethan’s soft voice—telling her that he loved her, that he’d been a fool to leave her, asking for her forgiveness. He’d repeated it over and again, showing her with his mouth and body how much he meant every word.

  And she knew it was true, knew something had changed within him. The wall he’d kept between them was gone, a heap of ruins like the old Norman castle. In his eyes, there was no hint of suspicion or fear of betrayal. Only love

  He finally saw her. He trusted her. And she trusted him. Not that the pain of their pasts was forgotten but, with love and that trust, she knew they could overcome it together.

  “Should I stop saying it?” Ethan murmured into her hair now. “Stop saying I love you?”

  She pulled back. “Don’t ever stop saying it. In fact, tell me again how miserable you were without me. Tell me how you were desolate in France and could think only of me.” She grinned. “I like that part the best.”

  He gave her a wry look, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. It seemed all she wanted to do now was laugh.

  “I believe, madam, you are making fun of my suffering.”

  “Never.” She shook her head. “I’m just glad you suffered as much as me.”

  “More,” he said.

  Her heart swelled when he pulled her back into his arms, whispering the words of love again and again.

  She wore only a satin wrapper, and he stripped that away, spreading it beneath her. His mouth claimed hers and his warm, solid body covered her. Her nipples peaked and hardened, and she moaned when he slid his hand between her legs to caress her already slick folds. Seeming impatient now, he rose to his knees. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt, and now he reached for the fall of his trousers. Francesca stopped him, covering his hand with hers.

  She somehow managed to wobble to her own knees and ran her hands down his sculpted arms, moving his hands away and sliding her fingers over the waistband of his trousers. His gaze bore into hers as she slid the material apart and freed him, her fingers skating over the swollen flesh of his erection. He closed his eyes while she slid the trousers over his hips and down his buttocks.

  He stood and stepped out of the garment while she admired his muscled form. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured.

  He raised a brow. “I believe that is my line.”

  “You tell me often enough. I thought it was time I told you.” She beckoned him, and he came down over her again, his weight supported on his forearms.

  He stroked her cheek with a finger. “Do you believe it yet? That you’re beautiful.”

  She smiled at him. “Yes.”

  And she did. She finally felt beautiful. In his eyes she saw nothing but admiration, and in the role he’d given her as mistress of his house, she’d earned the admiration of all around her. She felt confident, intelligent, capable. For a brief time, she’d allowed her feelings of worth to be taken from her.

  Never again.

  Ethan kissed her, his lips gentle, his tongue probing until she opened for him and he could tease her into sighing and arching. His hands stroked her body, pausing in the places he knew she was the most sensitive until she was flushed and panting with need.

  But just when he would have entered her, given her body what it craved, she took his shoulders in her hands and pushed him back.

  “Not this time.”

  The look of surprise on his features belied any protest and she pushed him onto the satin wrapper and straddled him. She’d never been so bold with him, and the dark golden hue of his eyes told her he liked it.

  She leaned over, letting her long hair tease his chest and stroking his hard, velvet member.

  “I want you, cara.” His husky voice shot a bolt of heat through her, and she positioned him at her entrance, taking him inside her slowly.

  She tortured them both until he filled her to the hilt and she could rock back and forth, driving herself mad with the swollen feel of him against her too-sensitive flesh.

  His gaze never left her face, and his eyes were filled with love and trust. He loved her, saw her, trusted her. At the moment he trusted her to bring him pleasure, but he’d also won the battle within himself. He trusted her with his heart. She could see in the way he looked at her that it was hers for the taking, hers to cherish and protect.

  “I love you,” he murmured, seeming to sense her thoughts.

  “And I love you.” She gave herself to him, taking all of him in turn, and when the climax came they shattered together.

  She dozed, her head resting against his chest, her body fitted to his side, the crackle of the fire warming them, when a loud racket roused them. Tucking her wrapper around her, Ethan rose and went to the window, parting the curtains. He grinned when he turned to her. “Come and see.”

  She wrapped herself in silk and joined him, gasping when she looked outside. The world was a fairy tale covered in white, clinquant snow. It glittered in the brilliant sunlight—a million diamonds winking at her.

  In front of the house, some of the servants were having a snowball fight. Francesca had insisted that Ralph, Roxbury’s messenger, stay for the night, and he was in the thick of it. She turned to Ethan. “Let’s join them!”

  He gave her a mischievous grin. “I hope you don’t mind the cold and wet. I won’t show any mercy.”

  She laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of demanding any special privileges—not that a rogue like you would even grant them.”

  They dressed quickly, and a few moments later Francesca breathed in the crisp, fresh air. Snuggled under the thick blanket of white, the world seemed new and full of possibilities.

  Her life was new and full of possibilities too. The servants waved at them, still playing at their winter games, but it seemed to Francesca there was only Ethan and her. She glanced at Ethan and saw him watching her, his expression sober.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  “More and more every day,” she answered truthfully. “Do you trust me?”

  He cupped her face, his warm hands against her cool skin. “Yes. You teach me to trust more and more every day.”

  “Maybe we’ll teach each other.”

  His amber eyes heated. “I’m an excellent student.”

  “And I’m reputed to be exceptionally quick-witted.”

  “Well,” he said, releasing her. “Let’s see if your legs are as quick as your mind.”

  He bent down and scooped up a pile of snow, but she was ready for him. When he looked back at her, she hit him squarely in the chest with a snowball she’d hidden behind her back.

  He glanced down at his chest and then to her, blinking. “Madam, I believe this is war.” He began to compress the clump of snow in his hands. “And I think it only fair to warn you that I intend to win.” He raised his snowball menacingly, and Francesca took off in a run.

  Her feet slipped effortlessly through the feathery snow, and as she reached the top of a small rise, she whirled around. In front of her sprawled Winterbourne Hall, gleaming and majestic, and looking very much like home. Behind her lay the wilds of Yorkshire, waiting to be discovered. And striding purposely toward her, a mischievous grin on his face, was Ethan.

  She beamed at him. He actually thought he could win—the rogue.

  He was wrong, of course. She had him, had his love. They were both victorious.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my fabulous agents for the input on cover design, formatting expertise, and for championing this book (sometimes even championing it to me!). In particular, thank you to Joanna MacKenzie and Abby Saul for their
wonderful editorial suggestions.

  Thank you to my efficient and clever friend and assistant Gayle Cochrane for the countless tasks you take off my hands.

  Thanks also to the Shananigans: Barbara, Patti, Ruth, Sarah, Kristy, Lisa, Connie, Misty, Susan, Flora, Nicole, and last but not least, Sue.

  Thank you to the bloggers and reviewers and readers, who support me in more ways that I can count. I’m so grateful to be a part of a community where such generosity exists.

  About the Author

  Shana Galen is the bestselling author of passionate Regency romps, including the RT Reviewers’ Choice The Making of a Gentleman. Kirkus says of her books, “The road to happily-ever-after is intense, conflicted, suspenseful and fun,” and RT Bookreviews calls her books “lighthearted yet poignant, humorous yet touching.” She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston's inner city. Now she writes full time. She's happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making.

  Shana loves to hear from readers, so send her an email, see what she's up to daily on Facebook and Twitter, or visit her website at www.shanagalen.com.

  Excerpt from Earls Just Want to Have Fun by Shana Galen

  Available now!

  Dane turned and looked at the girl. She looked back at him, a challenge and a threat in her eyes. God save him. He’d only wanted relief from the ennui of the Season. He didn’t want a she-devil to contend with. Brook had said to clean her up. Dane supposed that meant clean clothes. But there was no point in putting clean clothes on a dirty body. He’d have to make her wash.

  The servants’ hip bath was kept in the corner of the room. He’d only need to heat some water over the stove. Not that he knew how to work the stove. That was why he had a cook. He’d have to fetch the cook. And when he returned, the girl would be long gone. Was that such a bad thing? Dane thought not, but his brother would disagree. Dane didn’t really care about ruffling Brook’s feathers, but he did wonder why his brother thought this girl could be Lady Elizabeth Grafton, daughter of the Marquess of Lyndon. He knew the story of little Lady Elizabeth. She’d disappeared one day in the park, and despite an exhaustive search for her, she’d never been found. The nanny had been blamed and thrown in prison, but Dane suspected the poor woman was innocent. There were men who kidnapped children to send to the colonies, or for darker reasons. Dane tried to remember more details. He’d been about ten at the time, and the little girl perhaps five. So that would make her twenty now. He glanced at the girl before him. She was about the correct age.