Deceiving The Duke (Scandals and Spies Book 2)

by Dobbs, Leighann

  She caught and held his gaze. “It wasn’t me. The spy is…” She took a deep, steadying breath. “The spy is my brother. But it isn’t his intention.”

  * * *

  Morgan’s ears rang. Relief warred with dismay in his chest. Phil wasn’t the spy he was looking for.

  Her brother was. And if Morgan turned him in to the crown…he was sure he would lose Phil. He sat heavily on the bed. The mattress swayed a bit on its ropes but quickly settled into place again.

  “What do you mean, it isn’t his intention?” Morgan’s voice was gruff. More so than he’d intended. Guilt stabbed him as a shadow crossed over Phil’s face.

  He held out his hand to her. He gentled his voice. “Please, come here. Tell me everything.”

  His heart pounded a chaotic racket in his chest, so loud it nearly drowned out his thoughts. Phil took a hesitant step forward, lifting her skirt above her ankles as she did. When she slipped her hand into his, he clutched her. Her skin was a bit clammy. She was afraid.

  Of him? Or of the news she intended to impart?

  Tentatively, she perched on the edge of the bed next to him. He didn’t release her hand. He needed that connection between them. Her leg bounced with nervousness.

  “He doesn’t want to spy,” she whispered. “He told me so.”

  “And you believed him?”

  Morgan tightened his hold on her hand as she tried to pull away.

  “Of course I did! He’s my brother.”

  Morgan lifted their joined hands to press his lips to her skin. “I have brothers, too, remember? They’ve lied to me on occasion. This is important. I want to know if you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  Her eyes were dark and stormy with the temper she kept a tight rein on. Given the purse of her lips, she would unleash that tempest on him if he said another word against her brother.

  “Jared can’t even remember our home in France. His home and allegiance is here, in England.”

  Morgan searched her face, trying to detect any hint of doubt. There was none. She believed her brother to be innocent. Perhaps not of wrongdoing, but of the intent. He released a slow breath and adjusted his hold on her hand.

  “I believe you.”

  She relaxed.

  “If he doesn’t want to spy, then why is he doing so? This isn’t the sort of thing you can do by accident.”

  Phil raised her eyebrows, as if reminding him of how he’d erroneously thought she was a spy. He winced and added, “Usually.”

  Her mouth thinned again. Her eyes glittered like shards of glass. “Lady Whitewood is blackmailing him into doing her bidding.”

  “Lady Whitewood?” Morgan frowned. He’d read her name on one of the reports recently, hadn’t he? Maybe the crown already knew about her. If so, she wasn’t the spy he was sent to catch.

  Wait. The invitation. He hadn’t read her name on a report, it had been from one of Strickland’s missives.

  “She was the woman who held the…soiree.”

  Phil nodded. “She was. When you found me in the study I was looking for whatever she had on Jared.”

  Morgan winced. And he’d stopped her from finding it. “Forgive me.”

  Phil gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I would have been surprised to find anything so easily accessible, in any case.”

  Adjusting his hold on her so he could slip his arm around her, Morgan battled with his emotions. If what she said was true and Lady Whitewood was, in fact, the French spy he was looking for, then he could turn her in. Elation sang through his veins at the prospect as he contemplated it. Phil wouldn’t be in danger anymore. And his days as a field spy would be over.

  He didn’t know if he was disappointed or glad that he would no longer be putting himself in direct danger. He would be relegated to paperwork again, a make-work job. But he would also have much more time to spend with Phil.

  His stomach sank. If she wanted to spend time with him. If he delivered Lady Whitewood to Strickland while Jared was still being blackmailed, Strickland would find every leg of her enterprise—including Jared. His life might still be at stake. Against his will or not, providing sensitive information to the enemy was a hanging offense. If Jared wound up dangling from the business end of a noose, Phil would never speak to Morgan again. She probably wouldn’t even be able to look at him.

  Lud, what was he going to do?

  You’ll have to stop it. It was the only way he and Phil could have a future.

  Withholding information from Strickland might also be considered a hanging offense. Morgan gritted his teeth. He would have to take his chances and keep wind of this from Strickland for as long as possible. Even so, he would have hours, maybe a day or two at most to sort this out. Would it be enough time?

  Phil shifted in the circle of his arms to look at him. Her eyes were dark. The candlelight deepened the color of her lips. He wanted nothing more than to dip his head to capture her mouth again and forget their troubles, at least temporarily.

  He couldn’t. He had to fix this first. Maybe then…

  Definitely then. This time, he wouldn’t let Phil laugh off his marriage proposal. He bloody well wasn’t going to let her slip out of his life.

  “Do you still love me, even though I kept this from you?”

  Zeus, yes. He gave in to temptation and swooped in to press his mouth to hers, infusing the kiss with all the strength of his love for her. When he raised his head, she panted. Her chest rose and fell, drawing his eye to the enticing curve. It wouldn’t take much effort to pull down her bodice…

  He shouldn’t. He was trying to convince her of his love, not his lust. Even if he ached to join them together in every way possible.

  He cupped her cheek. “Of course I love you. If anything, the fact that you would put yourself in danger to save your brother makes me love you even more.”

  That secretive smile he adored so much crossed her lips. She rose from the circle of his arms, leaving him feeling empty. When he reached for her, she came willingly, hiking up her skirts as she straddled his lap.

  Ah, God. She had to feel his erection pressing against her. He couldn’t help it. She was five-feet-two-inches of temptation.

  Her smile widening, she whispered, “Good.” She brushed her lips against his, an achingly light touch. “Because I do love you, Morgan Graylocke.”

  When her lips returned to his, he encircled her with his arms, cupping the back of her head with his palm to keep her from breaking the kiss. He savored every second, the feel of her body in his arms. He trailed his free hand down her back, splaying his palm and urging her closer. He never wanted to let her go. If he couldn’t fix this issue with her brother, he might not get the chance to kiss her again.

  She broke the kiss, gulping for air. He brushed the stray locks of hair away from her neck and pressed his lips to the tender skin. As he darted his tongue out to taste her, she moaned. Her fingers tangled in his hair, clutching him to her. Lud, could he have fallen in love with a better woman? Not bloody likely.

  Her hands slipped free of his hair to trail over his shoulders. He groaned with desire. There were too many layers between them. He wanted to feel her bare skin on his.

  As if she heard his thoughts, she plucked at the loose knot of his cravat, easily undoing it. He lifted his mouth from her neck. She kissed him hungrily as she pulled the cravat away and let the strip of fabric flutter to the floor. She slipped her fingers beneath his collar, undoing the fastenings.

  He broke away. “What are you doing?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “I’m seducing you. If you have to ask, maybe I’m not doing it right.”

  He caught her hands, stilling her. He couldn’t think while she was undressing him. In fact, he could barely keep from helping her.

  “This isn’t the place.” His voice was hoarse. Lud, he wanted nothing more than to surrender to her. She might hate you in a few days.

  Maybe, but she loved him now and he could barely think straight. Her skirts were hik
ed up to her hips, leaving her stocking-clad legs to frame his and her hot core flush against the erection that strained his breeches. He could feel her heat even through the thick fabric.

  The corners of her lips twitched. “Morgan, we’re in a bedroom. On a bed. I gather that seduction is exactly the sort of thing that occurs in such a place.”

  She shifted against him, brushing over his aching cock. He dropped his hands to her hips to keep her still. “It isn’t the time, then.”

  She leaned closer. Her breath brushed the shell of his ear as she whispered, “Doesn’t it feel like the right time to you? It does to me.” Dipping her head, she tongued the hollow just beneath his ear. His entire body ached, centered on that one tiny spot. Zeus, it felt fantastic. He moaned. He wanted to give in, wanted…

  No. He couldn’t. He grasped her by the shoulders and eased her back. Was he trembling? He didn’t know how he found the willpower. He wanted her more desperately than he wanted his next breath.

  “We have to make a plan. To save your brother.” He could barely think straight.

  She cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t know about you, but my mind is in no shape to tackle that problem right now.”

  As she shifted her hips against him, her lips parted and her eyes darkened. His hold on her shoulders prevented her from pressing against him. This…this was torture. His gaze dropped to her bodice. Her nipples had hardened, tenting the fabric even through her undergarments. He licked his lips, trying to stave off the urge to dip his head and capture one of her nipples in his mouth.

  She noticed his waning attention. Breathless, she added, “The plan can wait. My brother won’t get caught between now and an hour from now.”

  He lifted his gaze to hers, his arousal reflected in her expression. “It’ll be a lot longer than an hour,” he promised. “Two or three hours at least. Maybe all night.”

  She squirmed against his erection. “We’ll discuss it over breakfast tomorrow, then.”

  When she leaned forward to reclaim his lips, he couldn’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t surrender to the passion between them. He wanted her. She wanted him. If tonight might be the only night he had, he was going to damn well make the most of it.

  19

  Morgan kissed Phil as if he would never see her again, and she loved every second. The urgency, the way his hands roamed across her back, traced the curve of her waist, and finally rose to cup her heavy, aching breasts. She’d never wanted him more than she did at that moment. Knowing that he loved her as much as she did him…this union was right.

  She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, battling to expose all the skin that she’d dreamed about since seeing him naked. How would that skin feel against hers? She’d never done this before, fearing the complications that might arise, not the least of which that she might be trapped into marriage with the man she indulged with. That was still a possibility—more than possible, given that he had already asked her to marry him once. But, this time, Phil wasn’t afraid. She loved him. He didn’t try to control her. She trusted him. Not to mention she craved his presence when they were apart. Marriage to Morgan didn’t sound as frightening as it used to.

  And she was curious, too. She’d battled her attraction to him ever since they’d met. How would it feel to finally appease that ache?

  The moment she wrestled off his jacket, his hands returned to her. He cupped her breast, kneading it as he swiped his thumb across her sensitive nipple through the fabric. She arched against him with a gasp. The muted sensation increased the ache between her thighs. She squirmed against him as she tried to appease it.

  With a groan, he cupped the back of her head. The hand at her breast slipped around to her back, undoing her buttons. Thank goodness she didn’t bother with stays when she was working. By the time he slipped her buttons free, the back of her dress gaped and he was able to pool it down around her waist, taking her chemise with it.

  When her breasts were bare to the air, he broke the kiss to admire her. His hot gaze swept over her skin. Her nipples pebbled as he trailed the pads of his fingers over her skin. He started at her collarbone and slowly, reverently, lowered his fingers to trace the curve of her breasts. It was torture. She leaned closer, hoping he would take the silent hint and touch her more firmly.

  “Morgan.”

  A smile turned up one corner of his mouth. “Yes?” His voice was every bit as gravelly as hers. His gaze was rapt on the slow circles his fingers were drawing over her breast. Every revolution tightened the ache inside her.

  She panted. “What are you waiting for?”

  His smile grew. “I warned you. This is going to last all night.”

  “You didn’t tell me it would be tort—oh!”

  His fingers circled her areola before he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Forgive me, I didn’t quite catch that.”

  Phil lost the ability to form words. Instead, she leaned forward to capture his mouth. She kissed him voraciously as she rocked against the ridge beneath her bottom. His chest swelled. He liked that just as much as she did.

  When she broke the kiss, she whispered across his mouth. “Don’t torture me.”

  “It seems only fair when you—”

  He reached blindly in the air as she slipped off his lap.

  “Phil—”

  She pushed her dress over her hips until it pooled on the floor. Next came her drawers and stockings. Her shoes were most likely in her invention room, shucked when she tried to solve her problem with the LEGs.

  The moment she straightened, all thought of her invention flew from her mind. Morgan stared at her with promise, with urgency. He didn’t say a word, but she knew he desired her. She’d never been naked in front of a man before. The bald admiration in his expression encouraged her. He liked her. No, he loved her. She shivered in anticipation. She couldn’t wait for him to show her.

  Naked, she knelt at his feet to help him remove his boots. She set them next to the bed and ran her hands up his calves as she found the tops of his stockings beneath the hem of his knee breeches. He reached for her, cupping the back of her head as he tried to urge her back onto the bed.

  She grinned. “Not interested in making it last anymore, are you?”

  “Maybe next time.”

  She pulled off the second stocking before she rose. The moment she straightened to her full height, he cupped her jaw and drew her closer for a kiss. As the kiss grew frantic, she leaned closer to him. Her sensitive breasts rubbed against the stiff fabric of his waistcoat. She gasped at the sensation. Desperate to feel his skin against hers, she fumbled for the buttons.

  The moment she slipped one free, his muscles surged beneath her. He flipped her onto her back on the soft mattress, pressing her into it with his weight. His hands traveled over her arms, legs, belly, chest. Everywhere, as if he tried to memorize her figure. She returned his attentions in kind, reveling over his broad shoulders, the muscles bunching beneath the cloth. She needed it off.

  So did he. He performed the task for her, wrestling off his waistcoat and pulling the shirt over his head. He left her briefly to remove his breeches and drawers. Phil rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand as her gaze feasted on his masculine form. Surely no one could be closer to perfection. He was as perfect as a Grecian statue. His muscular torso, dotted with hair, trailed down to a lean waist and thick erection. It bobbed as he stepped forward to rejoin her in bed.

  The moment he pressed his body to hers, Phil sank into his warmth. She threaded her hands through his hair and met his kiss halfway. She’d never felt closer to anyone. Even so, she wasn’t close enough.

  She broke away, gasping for air as Morgan trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses over her neck. Her pins had lost their battle with her hair and the locks tumbled around her. Morgan muttered under his breath as he brushed them away to press his lips against the skin hidden beneath.

  Every muscle in her body felt attuned to him. The press of his waist and torso agai
nst hers, the tangle of their legs, his rigid manhood trapped between them. She arched against him, desperate to feel more of him.

  “Closer.”

  She whimpered when, instead of moving closer, he lifted himself away. He leaned to one side next to her as his hand followed the curve of her hip and pulled around to dip between her thighs. When she opened her mouth—to protest or to encourage him, she didn’t know—he captured her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers as he explored with his hands. He must have liked what he found because he groaned into her mouth. A second later, he rose above her.

  “Closer,” she whispered, clutching at his broad shoulders. She pulled him down against her, so they were skin to skin as he spread her thighs and plunged between them.

  The pain of joining was fleeting, and far outweighed by the pleasure. Though he stilled, groaning his pleasure as he pressed his face into the pillow next to her temple, she urged him on. She kissed his shoulder, flicking out her tongue to taste his skin. She dug her hands into his back as she canted her hips, urging him on.

  He whispered praises, most of them indecipherable as he savored their joining. Soon, the tide of pleasure overwhelmed them both and they found themselves writhing against one another, searching for an elusive peak. Phil reached it first, arching into him as he nibbled on her earlobe. She shattered, pulling him close as her body convulsed around him. His breath and his strokes quickened. At the last moment, he pulled out, spilling his seed onto her belly instead.

  Right. They weren’t married yet. She’d been so caught up in the moment that she’d forgotten. Luckily, he hadn’t, or there might have been a few eyebrows raised in nine months.

  His arms trembled as he kept himself from collapsing on her. She reached up, rubbing her palm along the stubble that had roughened her skin in the most delightful way. He turned his face to kiss her palm.

  With visible effort, he moved away from her. She pushed herself onto her elbows even though the satisfaction rippling through her lulled her toward sleep.