An Affair with a Spare (The Survivors)

by Shana Galen

  Rafe closed his eyes. This mission had just become the most difficult of his career.

  * * *

  Collette went through the day in a haze. When Lady Ravensgate asked about her inattention or her new habit of staring at the walls or at nothing in particular, Collette told her ladyship she had not slept well. That was not far from the truth. She’d barely slept at all. Rafe Beaumont had seen her safely back to the town house and behaved as the perfect gentleman throughout. But when she was finally in her bed, she hadn’t been able to sleep. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way he’d kissed her.

  No one had ever kissed her that way before. She had been kissed by but a handful of men and boys in her little over two decades of life. The problem was that even if she had kissed a hundred men, Collette didn’t think she would have experienced the same rush of pleasure she’d felt last night when Rafe had kissed her back. The kiss had been arousing when he allowed it. Just putting her arms around him, feeling his body against her, his scent engulfing her, had been arousing. But when she’d put her mouth on his, she’d thought she might moan with pleasure. He had the perfect lips and he held her with just the right amount of tenderness and possession.

  And then he had kissed her back. Slowly at first. The man had patience. He did not attack as other men did, did not thrust his tongue into her mouth as soon as he’d pried her lips apart. He brushed and slid and teased and nipped until she clung to him. And when she opened her mouth, willingly and with a sense of desperation, he took his time stoking her desire before filling her and tangling his tongue satisfyingly with hers.

  The kiss had been everything and more than she could ever have imagined kissing a man like Rafe Beaumont would be. She’d thought her knees would give out, wanted them to fail her so he might sweep her up and carry her to the bedroom. Because if Rafe Beaumont could kiss that well, what else could he do well?

  And then he’d turned into a gentleman. Not that he’d never shown signs of being one before. Even when he’d backed her into a corner at Montjoy’s ball, she hadn’t really been afraid he would do anything she didn’t want. The problem was that she did want him to do all the things she could think of—and others she hadn’t even considered. And the other problem was he was right to halt their kiss. He was right to stop when he had. She needed his help with her father, and she was scared and uncertain and vulnerable.

  But she wasn’t scared and uncertain or particularly vulnerable in the light of the day after. She knew she didn’t owe him her body for offering his assistance, and she knew she wanted him regardless of the situation with her father. She’d wanted him from the first moment she’d seen him. That had been pure physical lust. Now it was more than that. It was lust combined with respect and genuine affection for the man. He made her laugh. He made her happy when she was with him. He made her quiver when she was in his arms.

  If she and Lady Ravensgate had had some event that evening, Collette might have been distracted from her salacious thoughts. An event where she might gather political information would have been even more welcome. But they’d had no invitations for that night and no engagements, which meant after dinner, Collette had nothing to do but pretend to read and think about later that evening when she would be alone with Beaumont in his cozy flat.

  She’d retired early, but instead of sleeping for a few hours, she’d spent the time in her room brushing her hair and trying to find the most attractive style. In the end, she’d left it down and dressed in her yellow muslin, which made her feel like a schoolgirl, but which she could don without help and was reasonably modest. Beaumont either wanted her or not. She would not be one of the women she constantly spotted around him, women who tried far too hard to gain his attention with low-cut bodices and caught hems that revealed ankles.

  The cloak was voluminous enough to hide the lighter color of her dress when she sneaked out into the garden just before midnight, and though she was early, she found Beaumont waiting. As soon as she saw him—stepping out from behind a tree to make himself visible to her—she practically ran to him. She’d wanted him to sweep her into his arms, but instead, he caught her hand and kissed it. “Shall we talk out here tonight?” he asked.

  Disappointment stabbed through her. “I had hoped we would return to your flat.”

  His violet eyes were unreadable, and then he nodded and led her out of the garden and to the waiting hackney. Once on their way, when they could not be overheard above the clatter of the horses’ hooves, he said, “I have a plan.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s rather daring and risky, but if it works, it will solve most of your problems.”

  Daring and risky were not her favorite words. She would have preferred infallible and safe, but she supposed she’d left words like that behind when she’d left France.

  “Tell me.”

  “I will. When we reach my flat and after you have a glass of wine. I fear we will both require fortification.”

  Her heart thudded painfully in her chest all the way to St. James’s Square. And then when they were alone in his flat, she waited impatiently while he hung her cloak. She’d thought he might offer her wine, but he stopped and stared at her.

  “What is it?” she asked, having forgotten all about her earlier attempts to look alluring. Now that she did remember, she wished she hadn’t worn the yellow muslin. It wouldn’t help to look sixteen.

  “I’ve never seen you with your hair down,” he said. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s brown,” she commented, but her belly had done a slow roll at the compliment. The color of her hair might be ordinary, but she knew it was quite lovely when loose. It was glossy and thick, with perfect waves that would have curled if it had been shorter. As it was, it reached to the middle of her back, a manageable length since she often had to style it herself.

  “I like brown,” he said. “Very much. Wine?” He crossed the room and lifted a bottle of red wine from a side table. “I thought we might try a wine from Burgundy tonight.”

  “And how did you acquire that?”

  He spread his hands. “I have my methods.” He poured them both wine, then sipped his slowly. Collette couldn’t manage more than a taste of hers. Her stomach felt as knotted as a ball of yarn rescued from a kitten.

  “You mentioned a plan.”

  “I did.” He set the glass of wine on the table and paced away, then back again. “I thought long and hard about this, and I believe the only way to save your father is to have him brought here.”

  She shook her head. She had planned to take her father to America. That was the only safe place for them. But freeing her father from France was one step. “How? He is under lock and key in France. Even if I did go to France, how would I get to him?”

  “You misunderstand. You won’t bring him here.”

  She lifted a brow. “You will?”

  He laughed. “No! Absolutely not. As exciting and daring as the prospect of sailing to France and rescuing your father sounds, I’m afraid I would almost certainly fail. No one ever gave me the exciting missions, and this probably isn’t the time to start.”

  “Then what are you proposing?”

  “I am proposing the men who imprisoned Fortier bring him here. How did you plan to communicate with them? If you had the codes and wanted to let them know, how would you do so, short of returning to Paris?”

  She hesitated, staring at the wine in her glass.

  “If you don’t trust me, this will never work,” Rafe said. “I might as well take you back.”

  “You’re right.” She looked up from the glass. “I suppose I would ask Lady Ravensgate for her help.”

  “What does she have to do with any of this?”

  “She is able to contact the royalists.”

  “Then she is not a distant relative of yours?”

  “Not at all. I was told she and my father
were friends, but I don’t believe it. She has ties to the Bourbon family, and if she sympathizes with them, she likely blames my father, in part, for the rise of Napoleon.”

  “Then she is more of a jailor than an ally. She’ll kill you if you become a liability. Is she a spy as well?”

  Collette looked back at the wine. It was one thing to tell her secrets but quite another to divulge someone else’s.

  Rafe didn’t push her. “Then you write a note to the royalists holding your father and tell them you have the codes. But, you write, you don’t dare send these codes. Too dangerous. You will only hand them over in person, and after the exchange, you want to go immediately into hiding with your father.”

  Collette stared at him. “But I don’t have the codes.”

  “That’s not the point. Once the men have brought your father, once he is on British soil, we’ll be able to spirit you both away.”

  “Who is we?”

  He lifted his wine and sipped again. “I have powerful friends, and if I ask, they will help. No questions.”

  Collette considered the proposal. “And then you never have to betray Draven or steal the codes.” It was as bad as she had feared. Daring and risky were understatements. So much could go wrong. And yet she knew Beaumont was correct when he said the only way to save her father was to bring him here and then escape. Who was to say that even if she obtained the codes her father would be freed? As long as the royalists could squeeze information out of her, they would. Her father might never be free. She would never be free.

  Unless she took her freedom into her own hands.

  The plan was dangerous, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work. She sipped her own wine and walked away from him to peer out the window at the street below. Carriages clattered by as did men in hats and greatcoats on their way to gambling hells or other male amusements. The question in her mind was not whether the plan would work. She believed it could. But could she trust Rafe Beaumont? How did she know he was an ally?

  And what reason did she have not to trust him? Yes, he’d been a soldier in the war against the French, but all of that was over. There was no indication he had any involvement with the government or the army now. And he’d been her friend. He’d been there in the garden when she needed him. He’d saved her from the runaway cart outside the museum. He’d treated her with kindness and was helping her here tonight instead of out on the street like the men she saw passing by.

  And then there was one other issue. She wanted to trust him. She already liked him far too much. She was attracted to him. She felt more than mere friendship for him. She wanted to believe he could help her. She wanted to be more than his friend.

  Collette turned from the window. “Why should the royalists believe I have the codes? I’ve been here months and haven’t managed to even come close to these codes. If I suddenly tell them I have the codes in hand, I don’t think they’ll believe me.”

  “I thought of that.”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course. One always has to give an adversary a taste of the prize, to whet her—or his—appetite, so to speak.”

  “And how should I whet the royalists’ appetite?”

  He moved closer, pulled the curtains closed behind her, and leaned close. “You’ll tell them three words.”

  “Three?” she whispered, her voice deserting her at his closeness.

  “One.” He held up a finger. “Two.” Another finger. “Three.”

  “What are they?”

  His lips brushed her ear as though he would whisper the words of a lover. “Rafe Beaumont’s lover.”

  She closed her eyes, her head spinning. How had he managed to make three words so utterly arousing? Her whole body had grown warm. “And you think they know who you are?”

  He drew back slightly. “They can easily find out. And when they do, they will know not only did I serve under Draven, but also that he trusts me implicitly. As my lover, you could get close to the codes.”

  “The royalists will know this?”

  “Count on it.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, looking into his eyes and searching for any sign of deceit. She saw nothing. Nothing but those lovely violet eyes in a too handsome face.

  “Shall I drive you back to Lady Ravensgate’s town house?”

  “I…” Yes. She should tell him yes. Now that she had agreed to the plan, she should go back and write the note. But she didn’t want to go back to her cold, empty bed. Not yet. And unless she was wrong about the way Beaumont was looking at her, he didn’t particularly want her to go either.

  “You?” he prompted. He wouldn’t make this easy for her. She’d have to say it.

  “I don’t want you to take me back. Not yet.”

  “Would you like to finish your wine first?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want the wine. It’s very good,” she added quickly, knowing he had probably opened the bottle just for her. “But I would rather have you.”

  His mouth curved in a slow, seductive smile. “I thought you would never say it.”

  Her cheeks were so hot that she feared she would probably burst into fire now that she had said it. “You didn’t give me much choice.” She drank a gulp of wine.

  “Only because I didn’t think you wanted me.”

  “Me not want you?” She gestured at him. “Have you looked in a mirror?”

  “Have you?” He took her glass before she could take another gulp and set it down with his. He held her hand lightly, his fingers around her wrist. “Do you know you are the first woman who has ever refused me?”

  “That must have made you incredibly arrogant. Perhaps I should keep refusing you.”

  “No!” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Because you are also the first woman I have ever wanted. Really wanted.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He quirked a brow. “Do you think I have many female friends? I have precisely one. You. Because if I couldn’t have you in bed, at least I could have your friendship.”

  “Perhaps you can have both.”

  “I’ll take both.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “I haven’t ceased thinking about the kiss we shared last night.”

  “Neither have I.”

  “This one will be better.”

  “I don’t see—”

  But his mouth was already on hers, claiming her lips in tender nips and grazes. He explored her lips with his own, with his tongue, with his teeth, until she could take no more. She wanted more. Wanted his tongue inside, dueling with hers. “More,” she breathed, yanking on his shirt to bring him closer. Opening her mouth, she darted her tongue out and slid it across his mouth. The hand on her back tightened, and he let out a groan.

  His own tongue mimicked hers, then entered her mouth, exploring and tantalizing. He pulled back. “Was that what you wanted?”

  “More,” she said.

  His eyes darkened at the invitation. He kissed her again, and then she was swept off the floor and into his arms. Without pausing in the kiss, he carried her to his bedchamber. At least she assumed it was a bedchamber. It was dark, lit only by a low fire in the hearth. Gently, he set her on a bed and stripped off his coat.

  “Servants?” she asked.

  “Gone for the night,” he answered, taking a tinderbox from the table, striking the flint into the char cloth in the bottom, and lighting a sulfur-tipped splint. With that, he lit a lamp on the table, then crossed the room to light another. When he turned back, he pulled the tail of his shirt from his trousers. “I want to see you.”

  “You first,” she countered, having no idea where such words had come from. She had not planned to say them, had never thought of herself as the sort of woman who would demand anything from a man, much less that he undress before her. But something about Rafe Beau
mont made her brave. He wasn’t just any man. He was her friend. He was her ally.

  For a moment, he looked as surprised as she was at her words, but then he licked his lips. “I suppose that’s fair.” He backed up and sat in a chair where a dressing robe hung. Ignoring it, he brushed it aside and toed off his boots. When his footwear was gone and he stood before her with bare feet, he unfastened his cuffs. Collette rose on her knees to watch. It seemed strange to see him so vulnerable, without shoes or the formality of a coat. But when he loosened the cravat at his neck, she did not think it strange at all that her heart thudded at the sight of his neck and the skin under the open V of his shirt. And then he tugged the shirt over his head and dropped it on the chair.

  He had a magnificent chest. She had been pressed against it enough times to know it would be hard and sculpted, but this was like something a master would have chiseled. The broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist and firm abdomen. Just below was the hard bulge of his erection. If she had doubted he wanted her, if she had felt as though she weren’t pretty enough or exciting enough, the sight of his desire erased all doubts. He wanted her, and she wanted him just as badly.

  “The rest,” she said, her mouth dry.

  He reached for the placket of his trousers, unfastened it, and slid the material over his hips, down muscled thighs, and into a pool on the floor. Without any sense of embarrassment, he retrieved the trousers, crossed to the chair, and laid them over the top. Collette let out a slow breath. The back view was as impressive as the front. Seeming to know the effect he had on her, he crossed back to the bed. “Your turn.”

  Ten

  Her eyes widened, making them appear more black than deep brown. They were already dark with desire. Rafe hadn’t realized he would enjoy undressing for a woman so much, but Collette’s gasps and audible swallows just encouraged him. And now that he was naked, he wanted her to disrobe.

  Fingers trembling, she reached for the pins holding her bodice. She couldn’t quite free the one she’d taken hold of, and she looked down, a lock of her hair falling over her shoulder. He wanted to wrap his hands in that hair and tug it back so he could kiss her neck. He wanted to spread it over his pillow as he bent over her.