by The Charmer
“You aren’t going anywhere, Rose. Let him be. You don’t want to get blood on your beautiful gown.”
Rose sighed and forced herself to relax. “You’re quite right. I know you’re right. Besides, it’s damned hard to fight in a floor-length veil.” She twitched her nose and fought off a faceful of the webby stuff. “But why did he have to come in here now?” she wailed. “Did the Prime Minister truly think he could talk me out of marrying Collis today?”
Clara chuckled. “Well, he only had minutes left, didn’t he? After you and Collis make your vows, his cause is quite lost.”
“He’ll do something dastardly, I know it. He wants the ceremony stopped—what if he sets fire to the chapel?”
“Oh, I expect you’d spit twice and put the flames right out,” Clara said admiringly. “You were as cool as brook water just now. ‘I’m sure I have no idea what you are speaking of,’” Clara quoted. “‘You’ve concocted an interesting fantasy, my lord, but it has nothing to do with me.’” She chuckled. “I’ll treasure his expression always. I wish I’d had a pencil and paper to sketch it.”
Rose snickered. “Don’t you dare!”
Clara sent her a wicked look. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want a copy? ’Twould make a lovely bride gift.”
“Absolutely not!” Rose arranged her voluminous skirts. Then she snickered again. “Oh, very well. Slip it to me later.”
A knock came on the door. The Sergeant’s voice came through the wood. “Miss, His Highness is waiting!”
Clara shook her head with wonder. “To be walked down the aisle by the Prince Regent himself! What a tale to tell your children.” She patted her still-flat stomach idly. “You could be the toast of London Society, you know.”
“I know,” fretted Rose. “I couldn’t turn him down, of course, but at least I managed to talk him into a private ceremony. How would I ever be of use to the Liars if I became notorious?”
“You’d manage.” Clara kissed her cheek. “You have more to offer than a housemaid’s skills, dear one.” She stood back and held Rose at arm’s length. “Perfection.” She shook her head. “Remember when I found you in the attic?”
Rose smiled through incipient tears and sniffed. “My nose was running then, too.”
Clara adjusted the veil and pushed her toward the door. “Be happy, dear.”
Rose stepped into the church proper with her hand on the arm of the Prince Regent of England and gazed down the aisle at Collis Tremayne, tall and fine in wedding gray, his left arm slung in silvery silk. Happy didn’t begin to describe it.
Around him stood her Liars, every one, for none would agree on who would stand up with Collis.
Rose smiled at George through her joy. “I’ll take good care of him for you,” she whispered.
He smiled and patted her hand on his arm. “You’re a good girl, my dear.” They took the first step to the rising strains of music. “But I’m sure I have no idea what you are speaking of.”
Epilogue
The room was dark and so silent that the merest rustle of Rose’s skirts sounded in her listening ears.
She twiddled her picks to tumble the wall-mounted safe box securely locked once more, her heart pounding with excitement. She’d found it!
At last there was proof of treason against Lord Maywell, whom the spymaster had long suspected of collusion with the French. Several forays into Maywell Manor by the Liars had produced nothing solid to back up Lord Etheridge’s suspicions. Maywell’s study was clean, his bedchamber cleaner.
Fortunately, Rose had flirted an interesting detail out of a young footman only too willing to impress the new maid with his superior knowledge of the house.
There was a room, he’d claimed, that no one went into, not staff or family. A small room, out of the main wing, that from the outside seemed no more important than a closet for linens. A room Lord Maywell had been overheard to refer to as the “hidey-hole.”
And Rose had found it. She’d entered the room using the master key she’d nicked from the Maywells’ butler’s ring a short while ago as the man was distracted by the preparations for the upcoming ball. Then she’d tickled open the safe and found all the evidence Lord Liverpool could ask for, and then some.
Now to get it out of the house. She stuffed the packet of betraying documents under her skirts and made for the hall. She tugged her mobcap low and adopted a busy shuffle back to the main wing. If she could get back without being seen—
“Oy there! You!” She’d been seen. A burly footman strode toward her, suspicion on his face.
Rose didn’t hesitate. She ran.
Somewhere down the third twisting corridor the man fell behind. Rose ducked into a dark room and quickly made her change. Off with the dull maid’s uniform. Underneath she wore shimmering beaded silk. Off with the floppy mob-cap. Beneath it, her hair was wound with crystals and ribbon.
Rose wadded her useless uniform into her apron and tossed it from the room’s window into the shrubbery below. She’d best have Feebles fetch it later. Then she pulled her evening gloves from her bodice and tugged them on while she listened at the door. When she was sure all pursuit had passed her by, she sucked in a deep breath.
Then, with a pat to her hair, she flung open the door and strode confidently out.
The burly footman passed her once as she made her way back to the ballroom, but his gaze was focused on housemaids, not guests. He merely bowed perfunctorily as he went by. Rose didn’t acknowledge him at all, but only continued down the hall, her expression serene, her heart pounding.
The ball was in full crush. It was a mad rout, a frantic display—one of the last balls of the season. Rose made her way around the outskirts of the dancers to the gentlemen’s card room off to one side. She could have found it by the smell of smoke alone, even had she not known the house so well. She dawdled in the doorway until she caught Collis’s eye.
With a tiny lift of one brow, he asked. With a smug pursing of her lips, she answered. Impressed pride flashed across his features, then he turned his attention back to the game he played with Lord Maywell. “I fear I must fold, my lord.”
Lord Maywell, a bushy-browed man of middle years and impressive girth, grunted in disapproval. “You’re not going to let a few bad hands stop you? You young lot—no fortitude!”
Collis stood anyway and bowed. “Ah, but my lady awaits, my lord,” he said with a smile.
Lord Maywell cast an incurious glance toward Rose, who tried to appear highly decorative and useless. “Didn’t know you’d married, Tremayne,” he grunted. “Someone forgot to tell Lady Maywell, I’ll wager. I’m fairly sure you were only invited so she could try to pawn one of my daughters off on you.”
“Oh, yes, I’m wed.” Collis smiled dangerously at Rose. She felt her toes curl.
Lord Maywell turned to one of the other players at the table. “I suppose you’re leaving as well, since you came with Tremayne,” he said sourly.
Ethan Damont, who could scarcely see over the immense pile of winnings before him, sighed regretfully. “I fear I must, my lord.” Then he blinked hopefully. “Unless you care to extend an invitation—”
At Lord Maywell’s growl, Ethan nodded and swept his plunder into a precarious two-handed pile. He stood and bowed, amazingly without dropping a single coin. “Until we meet again, my lord.”
Collis and Ethan joined Rose in the ballroom. She grinned at Ethan. “You were only supposed to occupy him, not beggar him!”
Ethan blinked innocently. “Is it my heartache if his lordship is the worst player I’ve ever seen?”
Collis clapped his friend on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you taking an interest in a bit of good, honest cheating again.”
“Oh, I’m quite recovered,” Ethan claimed roguishly, but Rose wasn’t convinced. The gambler hadn’t wanted any part of the plan until they’d told him that Lord Maywell was a very unsavory member of Society. These days, it seemed to her as if Ethan Damont was less interested in gambling for gamb
ling’s sake and more interested in somewhat higher motivations.
Ethan excused himself. “I’m off. I can’t very well dance with my hands full,” he said with a wink. He sauntered away.
Collis pulled Rose close to whisper in her ear. “You did it!” Pride swelled within him. His magnificent, talented bride!
“We did it,” she whispered back, then bit his earlobe lightly. “But you had better dance me to the door. I can’t keep carrying the evidence strapped to my thigh!”
“Lucky evidence,” he replied with a chuckle, then swept her into his arms. They waltzed gracefully through the crowd with nary a trampled toe, then arrived at the terrace doors with a last breathless spin.
She was so bright tonight, her hair a gleaming crown, her supple body elegant in moonlight-colored silk. The Unicorn, they’d dubbed her at the club. It suited her. Bright and clever and his.
The mission was accomplished. Now there was only the remains of the evening and his lovely, charming spy.
“Mrs. Tremayne,” he murmured to her, “would you care for a turn in the garden?”
“Why, Mr. Tremayne! In the dark? Alone?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I cannot, for I doubt your intentions entirely, sir!”
Collis leaned closer until the tips of her breasts brushed his chest. Her sea-green eyes flashed at him as she cast him a saucy look. With his left hand, the one out of sight of the crowd, he slid his grip from her waist up to the side of her breast.
He put his lips to her ear. “I double-damn dare you.”
AND COMING IN FEBRUARY 2005
THE FIRST BOOK
IN
THE ROYAL FOUR
To Wed a Scandalous Spy
NATHANIEL “THE COBRA” STONEWELL,
LORD REARDON’S STORY
TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK
AT THIS EXCITING NEW SERIES
Every ruler needs a few men he can count on to tell him the truth
—whether he wants to hear it or not.
Created in the time of the Normans, when King William the Conqueror found himself overrun with “advisors” more concerned with their own agendas than with the good of the whole, the Quatre Royale were selected from the king’s own boyhood friends. Lords and warriors all, bound by loyalty rather than selfish motives, these four men took on the names of ruthless predators while acting as the Quatre, keeping their lives and identities separate from their true roles…
…to act as the shield of deceit and the sword of truth in the name of the king.
Courageous as the Lion
Deadly as the Cobra
Vigilant as the Falcon
Clever as the Fox
The appointment is for life—the commitment absolute. Bonds of family, friends, and even love become as insubstantial as a dream when each hand-selected apprentice takes the seat of the master. All else is merely pretense, kept for the sake of secrecy and anonymity. For it is true that the iron bars of duty cage the hearts and souls of…
…THE ROYAL FOUR.
BUT SOMETIMES LOVE PREVAILS.
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. There were many small trails leading through the meadow to the beck, and Willa chose a likely spot. The bank was steeper here, which meant the water was likely deeper as well. 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. The thought ran through Nathaniel’s mind like the animal it was. He could take her now, on the bank with their legs tangling in the stream edge and her hair spread across the moss. She would accept him hard and fast, he could see it in her eyes, and he could make her like it.
They would be wild creatures, naked and rutting, smeared with mud and bits of grass. He could empty himself in her, here in the daylight, in the dappled green shade that smelt of peat and lust.
He was going to take her, Willa could see it in his eyes. Her knees shook from mingled desire and apprehension. There was so much she didn’t know. She wanted him to show her, to feed and foster and answer the ache growing within her by the moment.
With shaking hands, Willa began to unbutton the bodice of her dress without ever taking her gaze from his. He didn’t look in her eyes, but followed the course of the open front of her gown as it grew.
Nathaniel began to walk toward her, wading through the water with a slow implacable stride, his erection jutting mightily before him.
Her hands began to shake too much to handle the fastenings, and she dropped them uselessly to her sides. The time was now, and she wasn’t sure she was ready.
The female beast within her wanted it and wanted it now. Wanted something untamed and unloving and undeniable.
The female heart wept warning, but the heat and rush of her animal blood drowned it almost beyond hearing.
Her breath coming so hard it almost sobbed, Willa closed her eyes and waited for him to overwhelm her. He stopped before her, so large sh
e could sense him blocking the light from behind her eyelids.
She quivered in response, and felt a first startling burst of pleasure between her thighs. God help her, he hadn’t even touched her yet.
He stepped closer, so close that she felt cold water drip from him onto the tops of her breasts. The drops should have hissed on her hot flesh, but they only rolled to meet one another and trickle down between her breasts.
She was hot. Hot and throbbing and aching, and exceedingly nervous, all at the same time.
Willa stood before Nathaniel like a pagan sacrifice, her breasts bared and her eyes shut tight, helplessly offering herself to his worst bestial impulse.
Consequently, he had them. Oh, he wanted to do terrible, wicked, pleasurable things to this simple country girl, this flowering weed plucked from the side of the road. He could teach her such dark and sinful things, and make her beg for more.
Slowly, Nathaniel reached out and took the shoulders of her opened gown in each hand. He could bare her in one horrific rip, tear her clothes from her sweetly offered body and splay her on the ground for his consumption.
His aching lust pounded through him, driving him to do just that, to own and possess this ripe willing female and to the devil with the consequences. His hands fisted in the fabric of her gown, tugging it tight and pulling her toward him.
She swayed forward unresisting and let her head fall back, baring her throat in an ancient instinctive gesture of submission.
Nathaniel could taste her already, taste how salty and sweet she would be, the salt of her skin and the sweetness of her virginal untouched nipples in his mouth….
She believed herself to be his wife. To take her now, to consummate a marriage that wasn’t real—it would make him everything they said he was. He had no feelings for her but desire—that and a rather consuming vexation, which was all the more reason to stop now.
He must keep his secret vow. There must be no children to bear his tarnished name. He was very much afraid that if he allowed himself a taste of Willa, there would be a child. He glanced down at her overflowing breasts.