Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 03]

by One NightWith a Spy

  She waited. Her eyes narrowed. “Never mind. I’ve reconsidered helping you with your plan. Piss off.” She turned to stalk from the box.

  Stanton came out of his trance in an instant. His witness was walking off the case. He caught up with her in a few swift steps. “You cannot reconsider, Lady Alicia.”

  She turned. “Oh? Can I not? Observe.” She moved away from him.

  Stanton ignored a lifetime of social training and caught her by the arm. “You belong to me now.”

  Startled—and angry, he’d do well not to forget angry—green eyes fixed on his. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I paid for a mistress—put her in a house, bought her a new wardrobe, a new staff. I demand that certain services be rendered in return.”

  She gazed at him for a long moment. “Very well. But only once.”

  Then she went up on her toes and kissed him.

  It was a clumsy, untutored kiss—the kiss of a sheltered girl, fervent and hesitant at once. The innocence of her lips on his transported him directly back to his first achingly sweet kiss, to the boy with the shaking hands and the pounding heart, his first taste of female lips on his. Another time and place—indeed, another Stanton entirely.

  He kissed her back.

  It took the booming of the bass drums during a particularly dramatic movement for him to realize where he was—and who he was kissing!

  He stepped back abruptly. “Well, that was best out of the way, I suppose.” He smiled reassuringly, albeit tightly.

  She did not seem reassured. “What are you doing here?”

  “Did I not make myself clear? I am to be your escort at all times.”

  “You were entirely clear. I simply ignored you.” She settled herself in the chair beside him warily. “I do that a great deal, you know.”

  Stanton debated engaging in a bit of timely sarcasm, but unexpectedly felt no need. In fact, he felt inexplicably light-hearted this evening. He smiled easily at her. “You must be warm. Why don’t you let me take your cape?”

  She tucked the collar of the cape closer to her throat, though her flushed face was clearly overheated. “I—” She pressed her lips together and gazed at him in irritation. “Oh, I simply do not care what you think!”

  She abruptly stood. Stanton automatically rose to his own feet at her side. “Lady Alicia, I fail to see—”

  She dropped the cape and raised her chin defiantly.

  Stanton felt his mouth go dry. The gown was a titillating scandal in deep green silk. The neckline dipped indecently low, showing off a truly prepossessing figure, if one was inclined to prefer a bit of plump abundance with one’s morning cup of tea …

  She looked like a prostitute—a beautiful, opulent, extravagantly endowed prostitute with sexual fire alight in her eyes.

  She was the embodiment—oh, dear God, that body!—of every man’s most wicked dream.

  Whose dream? Theirs … or yours?

  The air came back into Stanton’s lungs in a rush. “What in the seventh level of hell are you wearing?”

  He hadn’t meant to bellow and he certainly hadn’t realized that the orchestra was just finishing the last movement, and he sure as hell hadn’t meant for his question to echo through the opera house like a bass crescendo. The faces below turned their way.

  “Oh, well done,” Alicia murmured to him.

  He turned to glare down at her. She patted his arm with a pleased smile tugging at the corner of her mouth then she stepped away from him in a dramatic flounce of skirts. “You beast!”

  Again, her voice carried over the hall as if she stood on the stage itself. Every neck craned to see. A soggy sob followed, and then she turned back to him, dramatically wiping her eyes. “You horrible, cruel … man! First you seduce me, and then you denigrate me for it!”

  For a horrified moment, Stanton thought she intended to throw herself to her knees at her feet, but then she seemed to realize she would no longer be visible to the people below.

  To catch herself, she staggered melodramatically, then teetered as she raised the back of one hand to her brow. “I cannot go on this way,” she wailed. “I love you so, no matter how cruel you are to me—”

  Stanton wasn’t entirely sure how it happened. Perhaps she became too caught up in her own performance, or perhaps it was the trailing skirts of the elaborate gown, but suddenly Alicia lurched sideways, hit the balustrade with her hip and then began to tip over the railing of the box.

  Still shocked motionless with dismay at her public theatrics, Stanton almost didn’t react quickly enough. It was only when she raised a surprised and horrified gaze to his that he realized she was truly about to fall.

  The crowd below gasped in delicious horror and several ladies screamed even as Stanton leaped for her. He caught one flailing hand and wrapped his other arm about her waist even as her feet completely left the floor and she began to flip backward.

  Stanton almost lost her when the railing began to crack beneath their combined weight. It ought to have held. Tampered with. From the corner of his eye, he saw something fall to the crowd below. Wrapping both arms about Alicia, he swung her high and around, pulling them both back from danger as the railing failed.

  They rolled together across the carpeted box, ending with her beneath him. The sound of the crowd rose about them as the people who had gathered to help catch the falling lady fled the falling bits of balcony railing.

  Stanton heard only his own racing heart and the gasping breathing of Alicia against his face. He wrapped her tightly in his arms and tucked his face into her silken neck.

  She hadn’t fallen. She wasn’t broken and bleeding on the floor below. She was safe and warm in his arms, clinging fiercely to him and shaking from reaction.

  Or perhaps it was he who shook. That moment when his grip had slipped—he’d never felt fear like that before, not even during his stint in the army.

  That fact alone was enough to bring him to his senses. He released her smoothly and stood, holding out one hand for her to take.

  Alicia gazed up at Lord Wyndham in confusion. He gazed calmly down at her, as if he was merely a stranger helping a lady up a step. She blinked. Less than a second ago he had been holding her so fiercely—

  Obviously, her imagination had failed her again, for she now saw no hint of that desperate emotion on his face. Bemused, she took his hand and allowed him to raise her to her feet.

  The crowd beneath erupted into cheers, the opera performance forgotten in the drama being enacted above them. Alicia blinked at the sea of faces now revealed by the lack of railing. They were smiling … cheering … her!

  “So turns the fickle tide of society,” said a deep warm voice in her ear. “It seems our passionate affair has quite caught their fancy.”

  Alicia snorted. “And why not, when we deliver such entertaining fare?”

  It didn’t bode well for her mission, however. How in the world was she to enact her vengeance on Society if they loved her instead of loathed her?

  “I’m simply relieved your bodice remained in place, such as it is,” he said drily.

  Alicia looked over her shoulder and raised a brow at him. “That should teach you not to disrespect the feminine arts. It takes work to look this scandalous. None of it is accidental. I’ve seen ancient battle armor less formidably constructed than this bodice.”

  He bowed mockingly. “I concede to the mighty bodice—although I insist that gown must meet its end in the fireplace.”

  Alicia shrugged. “Its work is done. I could hardly wear it again, lest I diminish its impact.”

  “Heaven forefend,” Stanton replied wearily. “Now, I shall have one of my men escort you home. I have another matter to attend to.”

  She nodded. “Indeed. I would very much like to know who rigged this box with a trip wire.” She bent to hike one side of her skirt to reveal her ankle. “I felt it cut me.”

  Sure enough, there was a fine bloody slice through one stocking.

  Stanton clenched
his jaw. He’d not suspected a trip mechanism, although now it seemed obvious. Why else tamper with the railing unless one could guarantee someone would fall against it?

  What he wasn’t prepared for was the fierce jolt of primeval protectiveness which shot through him at the sight of her bloodied skin. The wound was nothing—a mere scratch—so why did his vision begin to redden at the thought of getting his hands on the perpetrator?

  She didn’t matter that much to him. She never could. He wouldn’t allow it.

  Ever.

  Take a sneak peek at any of

  the Royal Four you may have missed!

  To Wed a Scandalaus Spy

  Surrender to a Wiched Spy

  Willa hummed cheerfully, if somewhat out of tune, as she foraged in the meadow for a few greens to round out their noontide meal. Traveling with her husband suited her absolutely. Even with Nathaniel’s strange aversion to staying at inns and his tendency to monosyllabic conversation, she was determined to enjoy his company.

  Besides, she was seeing places she’d never seen before. Even though the new stone-walled sheep fields greatly resembled the previous stone-walled sheep fields of her experience, they were new. After a lifetime spent in the same tiny village and its monotonous environs, anything new was delightful.

  Furthermore, marriage was new. Spending her days with such an attractive man was entirely new, and there was no point in denying the purely female pleasure she took in watching Nathaniel ride, walk—oh, heavens, that leonesque stride!—and basically breathe in and out.

  Of course, she’d imagined that by now she and her husband would have managed to put that silly consummation requirement behind them …

  Willa picked up her sack of found treasure and decided to cross the beck further down to look for watercress. Watching her feet on the damp slope, Willa didn’t look up until she reached the water’s edge.

  When she did, her heart stopped beating, the breath left her lungs, and her mouth went dry.

  He was beautiful.

  Nathaniel knelt in the beck only a few yards away. With his back to her and her arrival masked by the chuckling water, he was entirely oblivious to her gaze.

  He was also entirely wet.

  And entirely naked.

  The water was shallow, and there weren’t enough bubbles in the world to cover the sheer expanse of naked man that rose from the beck.

  Willa couldn’t breathe. Her knees went weak at the sight of the sudsy water streaming down his broad back into the crease of his powerful buttocks. She had never seen anything so unbearably delicious in her life.

  His back rippled with muscle as he soaped his hair, the cloudy afternoon light doing nothing to dim the sleek shine of soap and water on his male perfection.

  Nathaniel bent to duck his head in the water, and Willa could not control the moan that escaped her at the view.

  Instantly Nathaniel whirled, one fist pulled back in instinctive defense while his other hand frantically wiped soap from his eyes. Damn, he should have known he was too vulnerable here. He hadn’t been thinking with the mind of a spy but had let thoughts of Willa’s sumptuous thighs distract him.

  His vision cleared and he saw her. The impulse to fight eased, only to be replaced by another equally ancient instinct.

  It was her eyes. They were wide and hungry, with a shining ache in them that he knew from his own soul. She wanted him. He could see it in the way her chest swelled with heavy breaths and by the sheen of perspiration gilding her face and neck.

  His own need rose in response to her hungry gaze, and he saw her gaze drop and her eyes widen in surprise. Then slowly, her gaze traveled back up him. Nathaniel straightened and stood motionless for her perusal.

  He was the most magnificent creature she had ever seen. She knew that the thrumming within her was because of his male attraction, but the ache in her heart was from his sheer lonely perfection.

  I could have her.

  Being one of the most eligible bachelors in London Society, Dane Calwell, Viscount Greenleigh, was actually rather accustomed to saving damsels. In fact, they seemed to drop from the sky to land at his feet in various states of distress.

  The Season was nearly over, and Society’s mamas were becoming desperate indeed. Unbeknownst to them, Dane had every intention of marrying this year. After all, he was in his late thirties and his wild days were long done. A man with his responsibilities needed an appropriately demure, composed, well-bred hostess and mother for his heir. Therefore, he looked on all of this attempted entrapment with amused tolerance. Still, Dane had hope that he’d find a young woman with a bit more substance before the season ended.

  So when a young lady fell into the Thames right before his eyes, Dane hadn’t hesitated before leaping from his horse to dive into the water next to the struggling miss.

  Except that this particular miss hadn’t needed rescuing, at least not until she’d nearly frozen while rescuing him.

  She lay in his arms now as he carried her up the grassy bank of the Thames. He didn’t think it was precisely proper for him to be holding her so close, but the unconscious girl’s mother—who only now had thought to run back down the bridge to the bank—was currently indulging in a rather overblown fit of panic and there didn’t seem to be any servants or footmen with them.

  Dane wrapped his sodden coat more closely about the pale chilled form of his rescuer. Her frozen state concerned him greatly. He was feeling deadly cold himself, and he was far larger than the young woman he held.

  He glanced up at the gathering crowd—where had all these people been while the two of them had been floundering in the Thames?—and picked out a mild-looking young man at random.

  “You there,” he called. “Fetch a hackney coach here at once.” The fellow nodded quickly and ran for the street. Dane glanced at the woman he was beginning to think of as “the mother from hell” and tried to smile at her reassuringly. This only sent her into a fresh bout of sobbing and carrying on as she clung to his side. She seemed to feel that she was to blame for some reason.

  There was no sense coming from that quarter, so Dane tuned the woman out.

  A shabby hack pulled up on the grass. It was a pretty poor specimen and small to boot, but Dane was in no mood to care. He ordered the mild young man to load the mother into the vehicle and carried the girl on himself. Seating himself in the cramped interior, he settled her into his lap, keeping a protective hold on her.

  Perhaps he ought to be ashamed of noticing that she was a healthy armful and that she fit rather nicely against him. Still, it was refreshing to be this close to such a sturdy female. She felt rather … unbreakable. He always felt somewhat uneasy when he came too close to some of the more petite women in Society. His common sense told him that he was not going to crush them during a waltz, but his imagination supplied many an awful vision anyway.

  So when his coat briefly fell away from the young woman’s bodice during the jostling carriage ride, Dane fell prey to his manly instincts rather than his gentlemanly ones and didn’t precisely avert his eyes from what the thin, sodden muslin wasn’t covering very well.

  Well, well. Very nice. Very nice indeed. He could safely change his description from “sturdy” to “buxom.”

  Dane saw her open eyes and smiled at her, glad to see that she was alert once more. She likely hadn’t seen him peeking, and if she had, he certainly wasn’t going to affirm her suspicions by appearing guilty. Besides, the brief glance at her full bosom capped with rosy points that pressed tightly to the translucent muslin had been the highlight of his rather trying day.

  Her gaze left his, however, and slid to where her mother sat opposite them, now sobbing somewhat less vociferously.

  “Mother,” the girl said firmly through blue, chilled lips. “T-tell this nice gentleman that you’re s-sorry.”

  The weeping woman uttered something unintelligible which seemed to satisfy the girl in Dane’s lap, for she then turned to look back up at him with an air of expectation. Dane h
esitated, having the feeling that he was the only one who didn’t know what they were talking about. “Ah … apology accepted?” he said finally.

  The girl seemed to relax. “You’re t-taking all of this very well, I must say,” she told him as her shivers continued. “That bodes well f-for your character. You must be a man of g-great parts.”

  Perhaps it was the fact that he’d recently been peeking at her own rather “great parts,” or perhaps it was the fact that his own “parts” were becoming more and more stimulated by the motion of a curvaceous bottom being jostled against them, but the commonplace saying struck Dane in quite a different way than it was intended to. He laughed involuntarily, then covered it with a cough. Smiling with bemusement at the very unusual creature nestled on his lap, he nodded. “Thank you. I might say the same about you.”

  The girl eyed him speculatively for a moment, then turned to her mother again. “Mama, you should allow this gentleman to introduce himself to you.”

  “Mama” nodded vigorously, then visibly repressed her sobs and dabbed at her eyes with a tiny scrap of lace that truly didn’t look up to the task of drying all those tears.

  “That’s not necessary, my dear,” the woman said, with a final sniffle. “The Earl of Greenleigh and I have already been introduced.”

  Dane sat there for a long moment with a smile frozen on his face while he racked his memory to place the rumpled, red-eyed woman across from him. Finally, light dawned. Cheltenham. She was the wife of a destitute earl, but the family was of excellent lineage and spotless reputation. “Of course we have, Lady Cheltenham,” he said smoothly, as if he’d recognized her all along.

  Then he looked down at the self-possessed and voluptuous young woman in his arms. So this was Cheltenham’s daughter …

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2