Wed to a Spy

by Sharon Cullen

  “If this has to do with our conversation last night…”

  His brow creased. “If what has to do with our conversation?”

  “The fact that you suddenly want to leave here, to get away from my presence.”

  He paused and considered her. “I can hardly get away from your presence when I’m taking you with me. And our conversation has nothing to do with us needing to leave. We’re in danger from staying too long.”

  She’d lain awake most of the night, reliving their conversation and regretting her harsh and rash words. It was no secret that neither of them wanted this marriage. She’d not needed to rub it in his face.

  “Simon?”

  He sighed and looked at her. “I really need to go, Aimee. It’s best I make a reconnaissance of the palace while most are still asleep.”

  “I just wanted to say…It’s just…You’re not completely reprehensible. As a husband.” Embarrassed, she watched her fingers pleat the comforter.

  “Well, it is certainly comforting to know I’m not completely reprehensible.”

  She looked up quickly to find that his lips were twitching in an aborted smile. “I want to thank you for protecting me the night of the…when Ruthven attacked Rizzio. And for escorting me out of there and to safety.”

  He looked around the room. “I hardly call this safety, and I’m definitely not keeping you in the style to which you have become accustomed.”

  “I am safe,” she said. “With you, I know I am safe. And the accommodations are temporary.”

  His gaze landed on her. He pressed his lips together and nodded curtly. “You’re welcome. It’s what a husband does for his wife.”

  He left, slipping out of the door and closing it quietly behind him. Aimee sat in the middle of the bed and tried not to think of what would happen if Simon never returned. She shivered and quickly made use of the chamber pot, then opened the shutters, letting the weak sunlight in.

  She shook out her wrinkled skirts. This gown was completely ruined. She laughed out loud at that thought. She was hiding from the queen’s enemies, in the queen’s castle, after the queen’s adviser had been killed, and she was worried about the state of her gown. She pushed her hair out of her face. She’d long since lost her pins and had not touched a brush to her hair in days. More than likely it looked like a bird’s nest. Maybe that magpie that Simon had talked about had taken up residence in her hair.

  She smoothed it back and tried to untangle it with her fingers, then braided it down her back, using a piece of string she found in a drawer to secure it.

  There were fewer guards positioned at the walls. She hoped that was a good sign. Maybe this whole silly business of overthrowing the queen’s authority would be squashed by the queen’s own army, and life could go back to normal.

  But what was normal?

  Married to Simon?

  That was not normal.

  Oh, this was ridiculous. She shouldn’t go off thinking these types of things when she had no idea what her future held. She would sit here and wait for Simon to return and let him tell her what he had learned about the palace activities. Then she would take the next step.

  She tried to see past the palace walls, even though she knew it was impossible. Was the French ship here? Usually it would stay in port a week at most. Surely by then she would be out of the palace and it would be easier to get to the ship.

  And then to France.

  To be with Pierre.

  But first she needed to wait for Simon.

  She pulled up a rickety chair close to the window and sat on it to wait. It was colder here, and she dragged the blanket around her shoulders, huddling beneath it but loath to leave the fresh air.

  She must have dozed. She awoke with a start, a crick in her neck. She grimaced and rubbed her neck and realized that hours had passed and Simon had not yet returned. Heart pounding, she stood and turned in a circle, unsure what to do.

  She listened intently for any noises from within the palace walls, but there was nothing. She’d not heard any noises since coming to this room, telling her that Simon had chosen their hiding place well.

  She crept toward the door and stood in front of it for what seemed like the longest time. Slowly she placed one hand on the rough wood and the other on the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and slowly opened the door. She gathered her courage and poked her head outside.

  The hallway was dark. There were no flickering sconces. It was quiet. Deathly quiet. And there was no sign of Simon.

  She didn’t remember much from her flight from the queen’s private rooms the night of Darnley’s murder, so she really had no idea where she was in the palace; nor did she know where to begin looking for Simon. He could be anywhere, and he could just as easily have been captured.

  She closed the door and leaned against it, breathing hard, pushing the panic away.

  Think, Aimee.

  What if Simon never returns?

  —

  Simon’s legs were cramped, his stomach was growling, and he was frustrated and angry. He should have returned to Aimee hours ago, but he was stuck in this alcove because a guard had stationed himself at the intersection of two corridors right where Simon was hiding.

  He shifted slightly, trying to bring life back into a foot that had gone numb from sitting in the same position for too long. The guard looked bored but snapped to attention any time someone walked by, which was rarely.

  But crouching in the alcove for so long had reaped some benefits, at least. From overheard conversations, he’d learned that the queen and king were still being held hostage. They were not together, which was a smart move on the conspirators’ part. The two might not get along, but they would sure as hell work together to escape.

  He’d heard someone whisper that the queen was relying on Bothwell to rescue her, which wasn’t surprising, since Bothwell was in charge of her security. Though there was a spark of attraction between the two, Simon wasn’t certain they had taken the leap to becoming lovers, especially as the queen was carrying the country’s next heir.

  Many were talking about Rizzio’s murder. It was no secret that the Italian adviser was dead and now buried in a pauper’s grave.

  The gates of Edinburgh were closed tight, something Simon had expected but had hoped wouldn’t happen. No one was allowed in or out, which posed a problem for him, though not an insurmountable issue.

  He was nodding off when he heard movement from the guard and sat up to peer out from the curtains of the alcove. The guard was gone, striding down the corridor as if he had another mission.

  Simon hurriedly gathered his bundle of pilfered items and stood, lightly stamping life back into his dead foot. Not wanting to take any chances of another guard replacing this one, he hurried away, holding his breath in the hope that he wouldn’t encounter anyone else.

  Just as he heard people’s voices around the corner, he slipped into the back stairwell that would lead him up to the wing where he and Aimee were staying. No one else had been up here, so he had full run of the corridor as he hurried along, unusually anxious to get back to Aimee.

  He’d found himself thinking of her while he was doing a reconnaissance of the palace, looking for an escape. He’d tried to get her to admit to Pierre, but she’d been stubbornly silent on that count and even denied that there’d been anyone special in her life before she arrived in Scotland. He’d been frustrated but didn’t know why. Admitting her love of Pierre would do nothing good for their budding relationship.

  He was a fool.

  If she’d loved someone before their marriage, it was none of his concern.

  They were wed now, and she would do well to forget Pierre.

  Maybe she already had, and that was why she refused to speak of him.

  It was silly, his surge of hope when he had that thought.

  He made it to their bedchamber door and slipped through, closing it behind him with a sigh of relief.

  Aimee was standing on the other
side of the small room, by the window but not in front of it, like he had taught her. She was silently staring at him, as if he were a stranger invading her bedchamber.

  “I thought they had found you,” she said softly. “I thought they had found you and taken you, and I…I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if I should go in search of you or try to escape on my own. I didn’t know…”

  Simon put the items he’d been carrying on the bed, still rumpled from their sleep the night before, and rounded it to approach her.

  She looked up at him, her hands folded in front of her, her eyes wide and accusing and frightened. She’d plaited her hair and it hung down her back, touching the swell of her hips in a single long rope. She looked fresh and young and beautiful, and his heart lurched to think that she was all his.

  “My apologies, my lady. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

  She was trembling, a slight vibration running through her as if she were using all of her energy to keep from shaking.

  “Oh, Aimee,” he whispered. And he took her in his arms and dragged her to him, holding her tight as if he could stop her trembling with his strength alone.

  She didn’t hug him back. She didn’t put her arms around him, just stood straight and still…and shaking.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He pulled back and looked down at her, keeping his hands on her shoulders for fear that she would run from him. “I swear it, Aimee.”

  She sighed and stepped away, causing his hands to drop to his sides. “I know. I…” She rubbed her face and sighed, and Simon’s heart turned over for her.

  “I know it hasn’t been easy being stuck in this bedchamber with me, not knowing what will happen next.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that. Well, it is that, but…” She turned her head to look away from him and sucked in her bottom lip. “It’s everything. It’s suddenly finding myself married. Discovering that Catherine lied to me. Everything that I thought was true just…isn’t.” Tears shimmered in her eyes.

  Simon touched her chin with the pad of his thumb, and she turned her head to look up at him.

  He didn’t think about what he was doing. He didn’t let his mind talk him out of it. He blocked all rational thought and bent his head to kiss her.

  With Aimee, he had to move slowly. In a lot of ways she was like a frightened animal, ready to bolt or to fight. Her lips trembled beneath his until finally, with a sigh, she began to kiss him back.

  He was amazed at how overjoyed he felt that she so readily accepted his kiss. That small action was so erotic that the blood rushing through him suddenly went south to his groin, and it took every bit of his self-control to remain calm.

  Carefully, gently, he cupped her cheeks between his palms. Her skin was warm, but he knew she would be cold inside. She was always cold, and he was ready to make it his mission in life to keep her warm and safe.

  With a strangled sound, she pressed her body against his, and he moaned when her stomach rubbed up against his inflamed manhood. He wanted nothing more than to push it against her, to relieve the pressure that had built to uncomfortable levels.

  She was kissing him back passionately now, opening her mouth and allowing him to enter. Hesitantly exploring on her own. This was unexpected, but he refused to question her sudden lack of reluctance.

  Slowly he stepped forward. One step. Two.

  For every step forward, she took one back until her legs hit the bed and he very carefully lowered her until she was beneath him and he was hovering above her, one hand on either side of her head to keep his weight off her.

  He broke away with a moan and began to kiss the soft skin beneath her jaw, forming a trail of kisses to the quickening pulse at her throat. She was breathing heavily, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

  He kissed the rise of her bosom and both felt and heard her startled gasp. Her eyes opened, but her face was turned away from him. There was a hitch in her breathing and he paused, breath held, waiting for her to push him away. She did not.

  Slowly he climbed onto the bed, one knee, then the other. She scooted herself up until she was fully on the bed and looking up at him with wide gray eyes, apprehensive.

  He kissed her again, and again she opened up for him, readily accepting his tongue. He touched her breasts outside of her gown, cupping the soft pillows of flesh in his right hand and feeling the nub of a nipple.

  He rubbed his thumb over it. She jerked, tensed, held her breath, but he continued on, letting her become accustomed to his touch, being as gentle as he possibly could in his aroused state.

  Eventually her body relaxed and her breathing became regular. Her eyes drifted closed and her hips moved up and down, just slightly, but enough to tell him that she was aroused and wanting more. But he was going to take his time. He was going to take this gift that she had given him and enjoy it, and he was damn sure going to make certain that she enjoyed it as well.

  To his surprise, she raised her head, grabbed his face between her hands, and drew him down so she could kiss him. Moving in small increments, he lowered himself onto her until they were chest to chest, hips to hips. It was torture, his engorged cock pressing into her, torture and pleasure at the same time. He didn’t move, even though he wanted nothing more than to rub against her until he spilled his seed.

  No. He wanted to spill his seed inside her. He wanted to feel her wetness and tightness like a glove around his cock, and he wanted to slide in and out of her.

  Just that thought made him moan. She stilled, pulled back.

  “Don’t stop,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with need.

  Chapter 16

  “I…I don’t know what to do.” Aimee was embarrassed to admit that she was so naive when it came to kissing a man.

  “Good God,” Simon whispered. “Aimee, you have no idea what you do to me.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  He laughed, but his expression was pained. “Just relax and let me do everything. There is plenty of time to learn.”

  There was a heaviness between her legs, and she was suddenly wet down there. She had no idea if that was normal. What if it wasn’t normal? But the wetness made the heaviness worse, and she desperately wanted to reach down and touch herself to relieve whatever the pressure was. But never would she do that in front of Simon.

  He was lying on top of her, and she had to admit it felt good. Nice. But his…his manly part was pressing into her, and it was so hard that it hurt a bit. How could he stand how hard that was? Didn’t it pain him?

  He kissed her again and she kissed him back. She liked kissing him. His tongue invading her mouth had been disconcerting at first, a bit awkward and a bit off-putting, but once she opened her mind to the possibility, she found that she really liked it. It made her heart race and gave her a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  She knew about making love. Catherine’s maid had been tasked with telling her about it before she came to Scotland. Now she understood that it was because Catherine had planned all along to marry her off in Scotland. But the maid had told her only where the man’s part went and that Aimee should not let him know it hurt; she should lie there and let him do what he needed to do, and then she could go to sleep.

  But this was completely different. This was nice.

  Aimee felt a draft from beneath her skirts and realized that Simon was very slowly inching them up, his fingers brushing her legs. He was coming very close to that part of her that felt heavy and yearned to be touched.

  She stiffened. Pierre! What about Pierre? She was going to escape to France and return to Pierre.

  Simon’s hand kept moving. He was kissing her neck, and it felt so good that it made her shiver with longing. She wanted this so badly, and yet she felt so guilty. She had promised Pierre that she would keep herself chaste for him. She had promised him that there would never be any other but him.

  Simon had pushed her skirts all the way up. She was now completely exposed to h
im from the waist down except for her drawers. The air was cold and she began to shiver, but his hands were hot and they felt so good on her skin, rough, but just rough enough that it made her tremble with need.

  “Stop,” she whispered.

  He was kissing her ear, sucking in her lobe and rolling it around in his mouth. Oh, merde.

  “Stop,” she said more forcefully.

  He made a noise but continued suckling her ear, his fingers touching the edge of the soft curls at the apex of her legs.

  “No!” She surged up, batting his hands away, pushing at her skirts, and scooting backward.

  Simon froze. Their gazes clashed. His brown eyes were dark with need and longing. The same need and longing inside her that was making her panic. She couldn’t want another man like this. She had promised Pierre.

  “Please stop,” she whispered.

  He quickly rolled to the side and hung his head, breathing heavily.

  She watched him, fascinated and appalled at what she’d done.

  She raised her knees to her chest and pulled her skirts down over her feet, covering herself completely. She was still wet between her legs, but the need was quickly dissipating. “Are you—”

  “I’m fine,” he said a bit harshly, making her wince. He rolled to a sitting position. “I thought you were enjoying it.”

  “I was.”

  “So why did you make me stop? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

  “You didn’t hurt me.” Merde. She didn’t want him to think that he had hurt her.

  “Then what? What did I do?”

  “You didn’t do anything. It’s me.”

  “Aimee.” He sounded exasperated and a bit pained. “Lass. We’re married. We’re allowed to do this. We’re expected to do this. If you want those children that you said you did, we’re required to do this.”

  “I just…I’m sorry. I…can’t.”

  “Why?”

  She couldn’t tell him about Pierre. She just couldn’t. But it was more than Pierre. “I’m frightened,” she said.

  “Of me?” He appeared offended.

  “I don’t know you, Simon.”