The Heiress and the Spy (The Friendship Series Book 2)

by Julia Donner

  “Dev often spoke of his concerns for you. He wasn’t blind to what his parents were and always clung to the hope that they might one day change.”

  She took a sip of sherry. “Thank you for getting rid of them, Asterly. They cause me no end of distress whenever they appear and always without warning.”

  “Nonsense, m’dear, and this subject is so dreary it must be discarded.”

  “I heartily agree! But I’m obliged to you and glad that you’ve come early. There are some arrangements I’ve made and must know if you would like my instructions altered.”

  “Whatever you wish.” He reached for the decanter to refill his glass. “Ridding the house of pests is thirsty work. Would you like more sherry?”

  “No.” She set her glass on the tray. “I can’t swallow after a confrontation with that pair. I don’t know what I find more revolting—her enjoyment of inflicting cruelty, or his abetting her behavior and absolute denial of her character. But we have decided not to talk about them!”

  “You mentioned instructions?”

  Elizabeth watched him play with the wine goblet, fascinated with the latent sensuality of his fingertip skimming around and around the glass rim. Images bloomed of a circular path elsewhere. She gave her head a little shake and said, “Instructions regarding my foreign banks.”

  He tilted his head in inquiry. “Did I hear you correctly using the plural?”

  “Yes. Banks. Some of the foreign holdings are in the process of transfer of ownership. I will continue to own a modest share in each institution and maintain funds until the transitional period is ended. If you would bring your wine and come with me, I have the documents ready for you to amend.”

  Peregrine stared blankly at her for a moment, put off kilter from the change in topic and swift restoration of her emotional state. In a moment, she’d returned to calm, practical Elizabeth. He rather liked the temporary display of vulnerability and looked forward to the many ways he could make her lose control.

  He answered, “Such matters I leave in the hands of others, which is most likely why my finances and Marshfield are in such a state.”

  “I hope you will allow my steward and I to alleviate those concerns while you are away.”

  That sentence explained so much. Elizabeth was indeed managing, as Devon had said, but even more than his late friend realized. No one knew that she manipulated her fortune through the auspices of her steward and trustees. Clever girl.

  He got up to open the door, hoping that she hadn’t made drastic financial changes on his account, then got distracted by the provocative swish of her gown. She usually wore somber hues during the day, even though she had a complexion that bloomed with brighter colors. He wished he had the blunt to buy her a necklace of rubies or sapphires and then recollected that she probably owned enough jewelry and gems to stock a shop.

  The bookroom was as he remembered it, smelling of old papers and leather bindings, comforting and too warm, and presently filled with a golden morning glow. Sunlight shimmered on the glass panes. The tall windows were lavishly draped in dark blue damask held back by gold-tasseled cords. Austere Sheraton furniture had been scattered across a rose-patterned, pile carpet of apple green. Bookshelves covered the walls with the exception of the one where direct sunlight did not reach. This space was saved for paintings. A Vermeer hung in a shadowed corner snagged his attention, a tender, domestic scene held his interest, until he heard the jingle of keys.

  He looked over his shoulder and saw Elizabeth at the desk, unlocking a desk drawer. She withdrew a packet of papers. The neat stack was held in place with an official looking ribbon. She waited for him to come to her and extended the packet.

  “You may keep these where you like, but I always keep such information and documents locked up. You will need these to access the accounts.”

  He accepted the roll of papers she extended as she continued, “Please memorize the names at the tops of the pages. Present your letter of introduction, say the shibboleth, and you will have no difficulty. You may draw from the Vienna and Lisbon banks, respectively, fifty thousand. In Venice, you have carte blanche, since my trust still has full ownership.”

  “What about the banks here in England?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “There’s much more here, of course.”

  Chapter 15

  The astronomical amounts Elizabeth so casually recited rendered Peregrine stunned and momentarily speechless. He set the glass of claret on the glossy desk top with a sharp click and slipped off the black silk band that secured the roll of papers. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to use the quizzing glass he rarely touched, other than to play with its ribbon. But he couldn’t muster the necessary equanimity. She spoke so complacently about huge sums of money.

  He studied the contents slowly to control and hide his astonishment. He knew that she was rich but never—not even in his wildest estimations, had he imagined the dimensions of her wealth. He doubted that Devon had ever known and felt certain that his friend never cared.

  It wasn’t until he’d met Elizabeth in the flesh that Peregrine discovered that his interest in her involved more than a painted image used to sustain him through the war. That simple event of meeting her crystallized all his thoughts. He realized that he’d do whatever it required to have her and planned to shamelessly make use of her boredom, compassion, and suppressed desire to be needed.

  But now, he had to consider her staggering wealth and how it would affect their marriage. He slapped down the tiny voice whispering that her financial resources ensured success with his future political goals.

  He looked up from the sheaf of papers and into her open, waiting gaze. It was like looking into the eyes of an innocent doe. But beneath the surface of her cool veneer, she possessed an unintentionally suggestive physical allure. The coincidence that she was fabulously rich and not in the least averse to giving the control of her fortune to him was disconcerting.

  Her trust placed a moral burden directly on his shoulders. Guilt had him summing up a quick inventory of his worth. His title was not to be sneered at and his estate was not debt-encumbered, like most of the holdings of his peers. His land assets were small and in extremely poor condition after so many years of neglect and being away at war. In view of this, the world would assume that Elizabeth Shelton was buying herself a title.

  He slowly rolled up the parchment. No matter how liberally he spread the rumor of a long-standing love interest, Elizabeth ran the risk of being scorned and mocked. She deserved more than to be set down as just another encroaching Cit. He would have to devise some sort of plan to set her apart from the common practice of buying one’s way into Upper Ten. The unfortunate reality was that the heiress was often treated to a wall of frigid condescension after the ceremony. The noble parti promptly drained the spouse of funds and thereafter ignored the marital connection.

  A dismaying revelation tarnished his dreams when he suddenly realized that Elizabeth was wealthy enough to buy a royal connection. With her fortune she needn’t settle for a destitute baron with political aspirations. Her kind of money could command an offer from a prince, and there were quite a few to be had, considering the war’s drain on national treasuries and the follies of an extravagant regent. Europe swarmed with destitute titles eager for a rich wife.

  With that lowering thought in mind, Peregrine set the parchment on the desk. With effort, he managed to resume his Corinthian façade. “M’dear, perhaps you should reconsider this rather hasty arrangement of ours.”

  Her voice contained a tightness to match her stare, turned flat and defensive. “What are you saying, Asterly?”

  “Simply, that in all good conscience, I must advise you that you could buy yourself a demmed prince instead of a broken down baron.”

  She relaxed. “I assure you, sir, that I would never go shopping for a husband as one would for a pair of gloves.” With a saucy grin, she added, “I leave the unpleasant work for Swifton, my steward.”

  When A
sterly laughed, she continued, “You’re quite right to be practical about this, but I cannot agree with your idea of fobbing this off as a love match. We really should resign ourselves to the fact that everyone will designate a marriage between us as a cream-pot affair.”

  “Eliza, please be sure of what you are doing. You can do better than me and my tumbled-down pile.”

  “Have you considered that I might like an old house?”

  “Not after listening to Devon’s campfire tales about the abbey.”

  “That was a monstrous barn, Asterly, not a house! And damp and freezing all year ‘round. I assure you that I’ve never entertained aspirations of making my way into polite society. I’m busy enough with the management of my fortune. It owns me more than I own it.”

  Incredulous, he asked, “You manage all of this?”

  “Yes. There are agents to handle the direct contact with the banks. No one knows that I have control but my steward, trustees, a legal advisor, and now, you.”

  “This is an unusual arrangement.”

  “Very much so. Papa sold his manufactories before I was born and invested in banks here and abroad. He maintained control of everything through a single steward and taught me to do the same. Swifton is like family. He’s the son of the steward who served Papa.”

  “Is this lack of an obvious male head of the house why the Sheltons foster the odd notion that they should have some say in your finances?”

  “Most likely. My father never trusted the Sheltons. He devised plans to secure his fortune for me after his death. He never let anyone know his worth and taught me everything he knew.”

  “I see. But what has given you the idea that I should need funds of this magnitude?”

  She inhaled and exhaled a long, weary sigh. “Please do not treat me like a child. How do you think those supplies got through to Devon ahead of the Peninsular Army’s supply train? I must have bribed half of Spain and all of Portugal. Those funds are for your personal use and meant to keep you safe. I don’t care how or why you use them. They are entirely yours, and speaking from experience, I encourage you to avail yourself of the salubrious results to be had from a generously greased palm.”

  He chuckled at her disgusted moue and pushed the document across the desk with an index finger, as if moving a bomb out of range. “You may have that back, m’dear. I’ve memorized the names and directions to the banks and shall rest in the comfort of knowing that I have so much lucre at my command.”

  “And I am relieved that you are finally being sensible about this.”

  He sobered. “To be honest, Eliza, currency was of little use to me in the war I knew. Guerrilla fighting doesn’t lend itself to a display of wealth. Blankets, boots, and food were the best bribes. I have to wonder what El Empecinado would think if he saw me now. A proper cully, no doubt!”

  “Senor Empecinado?”

  “A brother of the blade. The guerrilla leader I was assigned to in Spain. And do you intend to tell me the secret words to say, since you prudently did not write it down in those documents?”

  “One word. Zuckerkuchen.”

  “Suger cake? How did you settle on that? I ask because I remember details by mentally connecting them to a familiar word.”

  “It was Papa’s pet name for my mother.”

  “I see. Zuckerkuchen! What if they mistakenly think I’m sneezing, as Mrs. Weston did, or merely asking for direction to the nearest confectioner?”

  “Then ask for the person in charge and tell him you are the husband of the granddaughter of Elke Von Hapsburg.”

  Pergrine’s amusement faded. This revelation made him pause for a few moments of mental digestion. He watched her busily retrieve the documents, lock them up, and straighten the desk. Her face was tight and closed. He knew that he must say what was on his mind but had to say it carefully. He returned to the arrogant Corinthian attitude that she seemed to find comical.

  “Lizzie love, I fail to comprehend why your father was so adamant to buckle you up to a member of the Ten Thousand, when you are related to a large portion of Europe’s royalty and most likely our mad Farmer George.”

  She pocketed the key ring and raised eyes that sparkled suspiciously. Her congested voice confirmed that she suppressed tears. Somehow, he’d plucked a painful note.

  “Because, Asterly, like most English persons, Papa was possessed with the infernally snobbish notion that only Debrett has anything to say about breeding.”

  Her outrage and failure to control it was apparent. He was charmed and moved by her glowering pout and lowered eyebrows. In one fluid motion, he went around the desk and gathered her in his arms, startling her with his laughter, spontaneous embrace and swift kiss.

  He intended to bestow a light kiss as a demonstration of sympathy, a moment of shared amusement, since they had managed to maintain a sense of humor over the often-sticky discussion of money. The moment their bodies connected, the world changed. His yearning for her roared to life with an urgency that refused to be denied.

  Elizabeth felt surprised but not frightened by Asterly’s unexpected embrace and immediately captivated by what happened to her physically. At first, the moment seemed unreal, as if she stood outside herself, overwhelmed and entranced. It had been so long since she’d enjoyed a man’s embrace. She froze, arrested by a flood of sensations she’d never felt before.

  Asterly had gone utterly still, as if as amazed as she was by the sudden passion. A part of her wondered if he felt what she did—the comfort and ease of their intimacy—as if she had always known him and found her true home in his arms, a haven from all the loneliness and disappointments.

  His firm mouth against her own felt so perfect and thrilling. She’d never had a physical experience like this, not even with Devon. All she wanted to do was melt into the hard wall of his body and stay safe and warm within him—just like this, forever.

  She also knew that this sort of embrace would not stay the same. Having been married, she wasn’t surprised by the surging change in his body. His arms tightened and the insistent pressure of his mouth gently encouraged her lips to part. His tentative taste inside unleashed a need long denied, awakening a passion she never knew she possessed. Heat rushed through her limbs, overwhelming and greedy for more.

  When his hard arms relaxed, her head fell back. She saw him through half-closed eyes. He stared down at her mouth. When she licked her bottom lip, he shoved her limp arms around his neck and crushed her closer, pressing her body along the length of his. His mouth covered hers in a way that made her feel engulfed, swallowed, and pulled down into ardor that hovered on the edge of restraint.

  This was not what she remembered feeling with Devon. She’d never felt this wild, overwrought urgency to have more and more. Her body developed a will of its own, straining forward and standing on tiptoe to get closer. A hollow inside her soul needed, demanded completion.

  She saw herself from a distance. It seemed impossible that the brazen, moaning female could be staid, practical Elizabeth. Then she forgot everything and lost her breath when his hand slid up and found her breast. She pressed into his touch and sank into delicious abandon.

  Chapter 16

  Peregrine grabbed the reins of control and clamped down on the drive to have her now, on the desk, on the floor, standing up, he didn’t care how. But this was not the place and time. The urgency burning in his veins would scare her.

  He gently withdrew by stepping backward. He held her at arms length and looked down at her bruised mouth. She looked stunned, shaken by the brief encounter. Her eyes were dilated, bleary, and confused. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts made his body scream for more. He forced himself to stick to his goal of waiting until they were married.

  Turning away from the temptation of her submissive posture, he stepped to the window embrasure and stared blindly at the winter-swept garden.

  Taking a shaky breath, he said without his usual pretense of amused sangfroid, “It appears that your request of supplying you w
ith progeny will not prove difficult, m’dear. I apologize for my manners just now. I could use the silly excuse that I was attempting to assure you that I am physically capable of producing offspring.” He paused for a glance at her over his shoulder, then returned to the view out the window. “It can no longer come as a surprise how much I am looking forward to getting leg-shackled to you.”

  Elizabeth stared at his back, hearing but not comprehending his words. She was grateful that he understood that she needed time to compose her disordered senses. Her mutinous body felt oddly alien, immersed in a well of strange feelings and sensations, at the same time, bereft and starved.

  Her sight cleared and was irresistibly drawn to the man standing in the weak winter light. She watched the play of his hand, thoughtlessly toying with the fringed border of the drapes. She followed the path of his fingers sliding down over the gilt tassel, in contrast to his other hand, fisted and pressed into the base of his spine. She waited until the hand behind his back relaxed out of the fist and dropped to his side.

  Elizabeth resisted an urge to go to him, to touch and soothe. His solid, safe comfort beckoned, but there could be no physical contact until everything that boiled under the surface cooled. They would have to keep their distance. She doubted she could look directly into his face after what had just happened. The embarrassing urge to leap on him clawed to be freed. A touch might lead to a premature act, which she supposed, wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened.

  She caught herself rationalizing her behavior and blushed. To hide her burning face, she moved away from the desk to the fireplace. She felt his gaze on her back and sank into a chair, molding herself into a pose of serenity she didn’t feel. This was supposed to be a marriage of convenience, not an April and May affair.

  She folded her hands and looked up. Best to not speak of what happened. “Have you progressed on the arrangements for the ceremony?”