Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 03]

by One NightWith a Spy

  He stood back, willing himself to release his desire to take control of the situation. Then again, Lady Barrowby seemed more than up to the job herself.

  She immediately sent teams of staff through the house armed with knives and sharp tools. Marcus had to admire her restraint, for he himself would have been at the head of the first team, despite the danger.

  Still, she twitched irritably at his side as she waited.

  “Blast it,” she muttered. “If someone hurts one of my people—”

  Finally, Beppo gave them a wave from an upper-story window and they entered.

  Julia stepped through the kitchens, gazing about her. Meg should be there chopping up something tasty for dinner. Instead, there were pots congealing on the stove and no meal in sight.

  She made for the front hall, hoping to find that it was all some Igby-type exaggeration.

  The wreckage extended all the way down the hall, from the stairs to the front door. Every room in the main area of the house had been quite thoroughly and professionally—and vindictively—tossed. It took one to know one, after all.

  The servants were milling about, hands filled with debris, their expression aghast. Beppo saw her first. He held up the pieces of Aldus’s favorite rare porcelain vase.

  “My lady, what could this mean?”

  Julia knew precisely what it meant. Someone—and who else could it be but the Royal Three?—someone wanted her to know she was being investigated. Aldus had warned her that they would not roll over easily and it seemed he’d been quite correct.

  She folded her arms defiantly. If the Cobra, Lion, and Falcon thought she was the sort to quail at a rain of shite on her property and a bit of broken pottery, they obviously had no idea who they were dealing with.

  She smiled through her fury to reassure the staff. “This means nothing. There was nothing of value in these rooms.” Thank heaven Aldus had taught her how to keep all the affairs of the Four in her head and not on paper. “It is a mess and an annoyance and that is all. Igby, Igby, and Igby, bring some canvas sacks to gather the rubbish into. Pickles, you and I will see what can be repaired. Meg, do see to your pots, dear. I think our supper is burning …”

  The staff rushed to work, thankful for direction and her calm assurance. Julia smiled and shrugged off the import of it all, while inside she was fuming.

  Damn the Three. Of course, she probably would have approved such action herself had the positions been reversed, but once she was confirmed in her seat, she certainly hoped they didn’t plan to ask her for any favors for the first year or so. Or twenty.

  Mr. Blythe-Goodman stood at her side, like a wall she could lean upon. It was very good of him not to spring into manly officiousness. The last thing she needed right now was an interfering man.

  Something else occurred to her that lightened her mood considerably. If nothing else, she knew that Mr. Blythe-Goodman was innocent of this invasion.

  She just wished she could be so sure of her fiancé.

  9

  Our mounts thunder side by side, my white mare, his dark stallion galloping as one horse. The freedom and wildness of the gallop infects me, heating my blood, sensitizing the place between my thighs. I ride astride with my legs wrapped about my mare’s bare back, as does my lover on his mount. I lean down and urge more speed from her, laughing over my shoulder as she and I leave our lovers in our wind.

  I believe I have won, until a black nose enters my side vision. I cry out for more speed but it is too late now. A long arm reaches about my waist and pulls me from her back, letting her free of my weight. She wins the race without me, for I am wrapped in my lover’s arms, lying across his lap, his stallion slowing to a swinging walk.

  “You lose,” my lover whispers into my hair with a laugh.

  I twine my arms about his neck. “I win.” I kiss him hard and wet and openmouthed, our tongues battling for yet more supremacy. I am strong, he is stronger. I am intelligent, he is also. He is my equal in all things and every battle ends in victory and delight for us both. My true match in all things …

  The kiss heats us both after the stimulating race and our bodies deny the confines of our clothing. My hat is lost, the jacket of my habit disappears, his cravat flutters away on the breeze as the stallion carries us on … Soon my lover’s chest is bare beneath my hands and my gown is rucked up to my hips as he lifts me to sit backward, astride his lap. I can feel his erection pressing hard to my damp center, only the wool of his trousers between us. The rocking motion of the stallion’s walk brings me to orgasm as I ride both the man and the stallion, my breasts bared to the open air as I cry out in my release.

  “Can you feel how much I want you?” His voice is husky with need. I have been selfish, taking my pleasure first. He prefers it that way. Now I reach between us as he holds me securely and guides the stallion. I free my lover’s thickened rod and wrap my hands about him, letting the rocking rhythm set the pace for my pleasurable torture.

  He moans and drops his head to my shoulder. I move my fingers and he shudders tightly, unable to stop me. “Shall you be my stallion to ride, then? “ I release him and wrap my hands over his bare shoulders, using him to steady myself as I mount his cock and impale myself with its hard length. He gives a harsh shout of ecstasy as I take him deep into my tight, wet heat. I use the strength in my thighs to raise and lower myself in counterpoint to the horse’s walk, clutching my own stallion’s bare shoulders as I ride him until we both burst into flames.

  Julia woke and stretched luxuriously for a moment before opening her eyes. She felt the efforts of the day before in the ache in her shoulders, but nothing could quench the joyous mood she felt bubbling up from within.

  Of course, the evening before had been a disaster. The damage to the house was going to take days to repair and she wasn’t any too sure they would ever get the smell out of the yard … but she felt truly marvelous nonetheless.

  He’d held her hand last evening when he’d said good night. He’d taken her fingers in his hand and wrapped his big warm ones around them and just held gently, letting her hand rest in his for a long moment.

  It was better than a kiss. Oh, very well, not better, especially not better than that hungry embrace in the garden—but it was something else altogether. It was caring and reassuring and it made her feel as though she could depend upon him to understand absolutely everything …

  Which was girlish silliness and impossible to boot. She was going to have to make him leave as soon as possible, for she could not afford any more moments of temptation like the lake … or the garden … or that long silent moment of communion outside her bedchamber door late after the servants had rightfully gone to their rest …

  She smiled and extended her toes into the cooler portion of the covers. Her room was so warm—

  Her room was never warm when she rose. She never slept past five on the clock, and it took an hour for the fire to truly banish the chill.

  She opened her eyes to see daylight pouring into the room through the opened draperies, a fire popping merrily in the hearth, and a real breakfast awaiting her on the side table, steaming gently from beneath the polished silver covers.

  “It’s about time you had a proper lady’s rising,” Pickles said as she exited Julia’s dressing room with a gown over her arm. “Although it’s still only nine.”

  “Nine?” Julia sat up. “I slept until nine?” She started to push back the covers. “Oh, dear. There’s so much to be done!”

  “And them that’s paid to is doin’ it. You let that silly ropewalker earn his butler’s name for once. Him and Mr. Blythe-Goodman’s got the lads buildin’ privy sheds that’ll outlast us all.”

  “Truly?” Julia settled back uneasily against the pillows as Pickles laid the tray across her lap. A leisurely breakfast? She wasn’t accustomed to such an existence … but the food smelled lovely and the fire crackled so brightly and the steaming tea—

  Julia drew back sharply. “Pickles, the tea smells like privy water
.”

  The maid blinked. “What a thing to say! I brewed it myself, from the kitchen spout—” She leaned forward and sniffed. Then she paled. “Oh, my lady—”

  “The well.”

  For the second morning in a row, Julia ran from her room half-dressed. She met Beppo coming up the stairs, wringing his hands worriedly.

  “I don’t know how it happened, my lady. We kept all the waste well away from the cistern—”

  “I think I know how.” She ought to have foreseen it. An iron lock on the cistern cover would have saved so much effort, but then they simply would have come at her from another direction. Julia pressed her fingertips to her eyes. “How bad is it?”

  Beppo shrugged helplessly. “The well must be bailed and let fill fresh, at least twice. Even then, we’ll be straining every cupful for a month at least—”

  Julia’s knees went weak. She sat down on the stair abruptly. Barrowby was huge, with an excess of staff to support because she couldn’t bear to turn her friends away. How were all those people to do without water for so long?

  Her hair fell forward as she dropped her head to her knees. Absently, she realized it still carried the fresh green scent of the lake.

  Her head shot up. “Could we strain lake water now, while we cleanse the well?”

  Pickles sniffed. “Best boil it, too, to kill the taste.”

  Beppo shook his head slowly. “It will take too many wagons and barrels to bring enough to last us all.”

  Julia shook her head. “No, we can send some of our people to stay in the village. Furman has shed the last of those young men, hasn’t he? He can put them up at the inn, four to a room if we must. It isn’t far to come if we need them. Cover and shut up every room that isn’t in use, and let the gardeners go home early for the season. Only the main house staff will stay. Will that do?”

  Beppo’s brow wrinkled. “If we put the horses to the north pasture with the dairy cows where they can drink from the lake as well …”

  Julia smiled with relief. “Excellent. I’m sure they’ll enjoy the rest after hauling water all day.”

  “Why are we hauling water?”

  The deep voice behind Julia sent a jolt of deep pleasure through her. Before she thought, she’d turned and beamed a wide, welcoming smile up the stairs at Mr. Blythe-Goodman, the man she’d sworn to stay away from.

  Marcus. After all, she had kissed him and bathed naked with him. It wasn’t such a presumption—and she liked his name. It was strong and noble, like him.

  Then she remembered that she could not afford such a challenge to her balance. He seemed harmless, standing there with a small intimate smile of greeting on his lips just for her, but she could not underestimate the danger he presented.

  The danger of falling in love.

  And, dear God, she could fall forever into those deep forest eyes—

  “My lady.” He interrupted her absorption with the way his green eyes caught the morning light. “The water?”

  “Hmm?” She saw Marcus’s lips twitch. He was laughing at her! Julia snapped her attention back to the problem at hand. “The well has been fouled.” She stood, shaking out her skirts, thankfully in control of her wandering thoughts once again.

  Marcus sobered at once. “Was it due to last night’s damage?”

  She shook her head. “Meg checked the water before bed. Someone did it after we retired for the night.”

  Bloody hell. Destroying an estate’s source of clean water was a grievous offense, far beyond the inconvenience of a privy bomb. It was frankly an act of war.

  Yet, as he watched Lady Barrowby—surely he could think of her as Julia? It would save so much time—organize her people, he saw that she was more than up to the challenge. If this was some sort of test by Lord Liverpool, it seemed the Fox’s protégée would pass yet again.

  So she had brains aplenty. That didn’t mean she wasn’t also cunning and ambitious.

  Qualities that sound a bit familiar, don’t you think?

  Intelligence was not the only requirement for the Four. Any accomplished criminal had the essential mental capacity. Their primary enemy, the French spy-master known as the Chimera, was alleged to be entirely brilliant. What was needed—what absolutely radiated from the three men now in office—was a deathless loyalty to their country that outshone every other thought and commitment.

  Something Julia had yet to prove to him she had.

  Someone rapped on the front door of Barrowby. Quick as a flash, Beppo was down the stairs. Julia and Marcus followed more leisurely.

  Elliot stood in the hall, tugging his gloves from his fingers. “Here I am, my lady!” He smiled brightly, only to let the smile slip when he spotted Marcus. “Blythe-Goodman, what the he—heavens are you doing here so early?”

  Marcus grinned easily. “Her ladyship was kind enough to offer the hospitality of Barrowby when things ran late last evening.”

  Elliot grimaced. Marcus could almost read his mind. Advantages of cutting out of the wretched labor versus advantages of staying overnight in her ladyship’s house … The resulting conclusion was evident in Elliot’s sour expression. As Julia greeted him calmly and sailed on past, Marcus clapped the other fellow on the shoulder.

  “Don’t take it so hard, old man. We can’t all be heroes.”

  “You’re treading on my territory, Blythe-Goodman,” Elliot said with surprising ferocity. Then again, even a dandy had his own sort of hill to defend. Her ladyship’s income was quite a prize.

  Marcus spread his hands. “I didn’t impose. I was plainly invited.”

  Elliot narrowed his eyes. “She’s pledged to me.”

  Marcus couldn’t help it. He pursed his lips. “Is she reconsidering that decision after yesterday, do you think?”

  Elliot looked a bit worried. “Well, I am here now.”

  Marcus nodded. “Yes, just in time to haul many, many heavy awkward barrels of water from the lake.”

  Elliot paled. “Haul?”

  “Come on, man.” Marcus gave him a sympathetic clout on the arm. “A bit of hard work never killed anyone.”

  He turned to follow Julia, but not before he heard Elliot grumble, “Ballocks. Hard work kills people every day.”

  Julia couldn’t help but return to her earlier sunny mood once the work had begun. The autumn day was fair and her two swains were supplying an excess of high entertainment in their efforts to impress her. Men and their muscles—how adorably obnoxious.

  Surprisingly, Mr. Elliot was holding his own. Who would have thought there was actual strength beneath that vibrant waistcoat? She paused in her bucket-toting to watch Elliot and Marcus combine their brawn to load a full cask onto the wagon. The great cart had to stand high enough on the drier bank so that its wheels would not sink into the earth. They never ceased their arguing, even as they worked effortlessly together to bring home more water to Barrowby than she’d dared to hope for.

  It had been Elliot who had argued that they ought to dip from the far side of the lake so as to avoid any contamination from the privy mess. It had been Marcus who had initiated the idea of using Barrowby’s copper bathing tubs to hold some of the water so that the barrels could return to the lake for another filling. Julia didn’t know what she would have done without the two of them.

  Not to mention the fuel for fantasy as the day wore on and Marcus removed his jacket and weskit to work in his shirtsleeves. Of course, it was inevitable that some barrels would slosh over on that shirt, wetting it to his rippling chest again and again. Julia nearly chewed her lip right from her mouth as she watched him, hair damp, nearly bare-chested, as he flexed his impressive strength on her behalf.

  His gaze caught hers numerous times—hers guilty, his knowing—speaking volumes across the silence that never seemed truly quiet between them.

  Really, it was a lovely day …

  At last, the final barrel was filled and rolled away, leaving the exhausted Elliot, Marcus, and Julia behind. It wasn’t until the wagon was well o
ut of sight that Julia clapped a wet hand to her cheek.

  “Oh! We ought to have ridden on the barrels! Now we’ll have to walk miles back to the house.” How could she not think of that? Then again, with Marcus rippling and flexing before her, who could have been thinking?

  The look on Elliot’s face was priceless, truly, but Julia was too upset to laugh. “How thoughtless of me, and after you have helped me so today!”

  Marcus only grinned and put two fingers to his lips to emit a piercing whistle. A quarter of a mile across the pasture, his stallion, a fine creature the color of Julia’s evening cup of chocolate, raised his head but didn’t move a step to leave the other horses.

  Marcus frowned. “I fear he’s grown fond of that pretty mare.” He whistled again. The stallion snorted and then began to reluctantly trot in their direction. Marcus smiled, then bowed to Julia. “May I offer you transportation, my lady?”

  She raised a brow. “It doesn’t seem that you shall have to, sir.” She gestured to where her milk-white mare, Miel, had begun to follow his stallion like a schoolgirl with a crush.

  She and Marcus laughed to see the two horses in the depths of infatuation. Elliot gave a whistle of his own. His aged mount continued to graze with great absorption. Elliot put his hands on his hips. “Filthy nag.”

  Marcus laughed. “You may double with me.”

  Elliot folded his arms. “Thank you, no. I’ll walk. My magnificence has taken enough of a beating today. The last thing I want is for her ladyship to see me thumping along on your stallion’s arse.” He stomped off in the direction of the herd.

  Julia turned. “Mr. Elliot, you may ride with me,” she called after him. He sent her a careless wave and continued on his way. She turned back to see that Marcus had darkened at her offer. So he did not wish her to ride with her arms about Elliot’s waist? How gratifying.

  Stop that. Remember, Marcus is not what you want.

  Except that wasn’t true, was it? He was precisely what she wanted.