The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy)

by Diana Douglas

  It was easily twice the size of her bed chamber at Reston. Burgundy velvet trimmed with cream colored lace hung at the bay window and draped the four poster mahogany bed. The bedside tables were rosewood Rococo, the two armchairs that flanked the fireplace were upholstered in a richly colored tapestry, the tall chest-on-chest and dresser were Chippendale and a beautiful cloisonné vase filled with red and yellow roses graced the center of the gilded plaster mantle. It was far different from the virginal white bed chamber she had left behind. The only familiar items were the set of silver brushes laid out on the dresser and her writing desk. She felt a little out of place. Her new surroundings would take some getting used to.

  “Come look at the dressing room, milady.”

  Curious, Cecelia walked through the double doors. The dressing room held two mahogany linen presses inlaid with ebony and burl, a matching dressing table with a large tri-fold mirror and a cheval full length mirror in the corner. Opposite that was a carved rosewood screen. Curious, she crossed the room and peered behind it. The largest copper bathtub she had ever seen was positioned in the corner and next to it was a beautiful marble topped table holding bath oils and salts, milled soaps, a dish of rose scented potpourri and a stack of thick fluffy towels.

  “Have you ever seen the likes of it, milady?”

  Cecelia shook her head. “I haven’t.” It seemed that he had spared no trouble or expense in preparing for her comfort. But they had spent too much time admiring her chambers. She didn’t want to be caught with her hair halfway down when he arrived. She started back toward the bedroom. “Come along, Mattie. I can’t get out of this gown by myself.”

  Mattie’s nimble fingers made quick work of the long row of pearl buttons on the back of Cecelia’s gown. The gown fell to the floor in a puddle and Cecelia kicked off her slippers and undergarments while Mattie retrieved the gown and peignoir that was laid out on the bed. She slipped the gown over Cecelia’s head and then blurted out, “Oh my gawd, milady! You can see right through it! You’d best get this robe on before Lord Clarendon comes in.”

  The gown was a low cut bit of champagne tinted lace and sheer netting and Cecelia had loved it from the moment she saw it. She grinned as she put her arm through the sleeve of the peignoir Mattie held out for her. “I believe that’s the point. Now stop blushing and help me get these hair pins out.”

  Unwinding and combing out the braids took appreciably longer than disrobing and by the time her hair fell loose and shining, an impatient knock sounded at the door and then it opened.

  Mattie squealed when Rand strode in wearing a blue dressing gown. She quickly bobbed her curtsy, gathered up Cecelia’s things and fled the room.

  Rand chuckled. “I believe, I’ve frightened your maid.”

  “I think my gown embarrassed her.” She slipped off her peignoir and let it fall to the floor. “Do you like it?”

  His eyes drifted leisurely down the length of her body and then back up again. “I love your gown.”

  “Priscilla blushed the entire time, but she helped me pick it out.”

  “I must remember to thank her.”

  Cecelia burst into laughter. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He offered a lazy smile. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. She would be mortified.”

  She smiled back at him then said, “I must confess that I’m nervous.”

  Surprise registered on his face. “Why on earth would you be nervous? We have done this before.”

  “I know. And it was wonderful.” She bit down on her lower lip. “Was that unusual? Will it always be as superb?”

  “Are you afraid you won’t enjoy it as much once the novelty has worn off?”

  “I suppose,” she admitted. “I’ve overheard women talk. Some seem to think of the marriage bed as a chore.” She paused. “I don’t ever want to feel that way.”

  He chuckled. “Then we must take care to keep our love making pleasurable, though I can’t imagine it ever being otherwise.” He held out his hand. “Come along. We’re spending too much time talking and not enough loving.”

  She came to him and took his hand. “Where shall we go?”

  “We will start in my chambers.”

  “Start?” She grinned. “And after that?”

  “You may pick.” He guided her through the double doors that led to his chambers. His room was of a similar size but the furnishings were heavier and the gold drapes and bed coverings lacked the lace that decorated hers. It was a masculine room, but not uncomfortably so. The bed covers had been folded back exposing ivory pillow casings and sheets.

  “Rand, I was wondering...”

  “Mmm?”

  “Will we sleep together?”

  “Sleep is not what I have in mind at the moment, but if you wish it, we can.”

  “I think it would be nice.”

  He turned her around and walked her backwards until she fell crosswise onto the bed. She looked up at him with laughter in her eyes. “Right or left?”

  “Left, I think.” He eased on the bed beside her and curved his palm around her left breast. “Though, they’re both delightful. Truthfully, I can’t imagine that I would ever favor one over the other.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes closed as she felt the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of her gown. “Silly,” she murmured. “I meant what side do you want to sleep on?”

  He lightly circled the taut nipple with his forefinger and she felt a wetness bloom between her legs. It seemed he only had to touch her and her body sprung to life.

  He bent his head until his lips were next to her ear. “Be quiet.”

  Keeping his eyes on hers, he continued to stroke her breast with a feather light touch, keeping the fabric of the gown between his fingertips and her skin. She brought her hand to the bodice of her gown and tugged to expose her breast, but he placed his hand over hers. “Leave it.”

  So she sighed softly, closed her eyes and surrendered to the sensations that flowed through her. He touched her with only his fingertips circling her breasts, skimming her nipples through the thin fabric until they ached with need. When she thought she could bear it no longer his hand moved down her belly, then stopped.

  “Open your legs.” His voice was barely a whisper.

  She parted her legs and held her breath in anticipation.

  He laughed softly then kissed her gently on the lips. As his lips traced her jaw line she felt her belly clench. The ache between her legs was near unbearable. Her heart was racing and her breath came unevenly. “Touch me.” The words sounded distant.

  “Not yet. Open your legs more.”

  She did. His lips followed the line of her throat to the hollow between her breasts but he made no move to touch her there.

  “Please.”

  “Hush.”

  “But.”

  “Shh.”

  Her lids flew open. His head turned to look at her. He grinned.

  “I hate you,” she mouthed.

  His breath tickled against her belly as he laughed. “Harsh words for your bridegroom. I’m crushed.” His hand grazed against the fabric covering the mound of copper curls between her legs. She lifted her hips but he pulled his hand away.

  She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “Touch me.”

  “Where?”

  She took his hand ground it into her as she rubbed against him. “There!”

  “Ah, here.” His fingertips massaged the wet flesh between her legs with the fabric of her gown. A sweet searing heat gripped her. Her breath came in short pants and she lifted her hips higher as she rubbed against him. It was both wonderful and awful. She wanted it to go on forever and she wanted an end to this desperate need.

  “More,” she whispered.

  He removed his hand.

  “No!” She tried to reach for him but he pushed her hand away.

  “Yes.” He peeled back the wet gown and then put his mouth where his hand had been a
nd kissed her. A small sound came from her throat as he ran the tip of his tongue along the glistening folds. He slid his hands beneath her hips and drew her legs over his shoulders. He stretched the folds apart with his thumbs and licked and suckled the little pearl of pleasure buried in the front of her cleft. It was something she never could have imagined. It was heaven. All conscious thought shut down. She was only aware of sensation as he made love to her with his mouth and tongue. And then that strange and wonderful rush of sensation came, rippling through her, causing her to cry out because she simply could not help herself.

  She opened her eyes to see him gazing at her, wearing a smile of self-satisfaction, his hazel eyes heavy-lidded and glittering with desire.

  “That was brilliant,” she murmured. “Absolutely brilliant.”

  “I’m not done yet.”

  She eyed his erection. “Apparently not.”

  Standing in the shadows of a copse of oak trees, Marcel André stared at Bryony Hall. He knew Clarendon was home. He had married only yesterday and no one had left the premises since he and his bride had arrived. It was likely that the marquis was inside making love to his wife at this exact moment. He had a satisfying vision of putting a bullet in the woman’s skull while Clarendon held her in his arms. It would be a fitting retribution for Marguerite’s death. He knew he would lose his own life in this endeavor but it would put an end to his misery and Clarendon would have to live with the memory of his young wife’s murder and know that he was the cause.

  But it wouldn’t happen today. Too many people were about. Too much could go wrong. He wanted his revenge and would not risk any mistakes. He looked down at his hands. He had rubbed them in dirt. His fingernails were jagged and grimy and he was dressed as a common laborer in a rumpled brown jacket and threadbare trousers. His hair was greasy and he hadn’t shaved for several days. The kerchief around his neck was stained with sweat and his felt hat was battered. There was nothing he could do about his French accent, but his English was excellent and enough French citizens had fled to England during the terror to avoid suspicion. He was still trying to decide whether to knock at the back door or visit the stables when a young woman slipped out the back and headed toward the stables. She seemed nervous and he wondered what she was up to.

  “Mademoiselle!” he called out.

  She stopped and looked around. The expression on her face was one of sheer guilt. He stepped into the sunlight and removed his hat. “Mademoiselle, if you might be so kind as to help me?” His voice was soft and non-threatening and even in his disguise he was a fair looking man. There would be no reason to fear him.

  She shaded her eyes against the sun. “What kin I do fer you?”

  He smiled at her. “I hoped to find work.”

  She batted her lashes, and returned his smile. “What kind o’ work, sir?”

  “I’ve a good way with horses.” It was true. Even with a painful shoulder he still handled horseflesh as well as any man.

  “I dunno. You might want to talk to Johnny; ‘e runs the stables. I was on my way to see ‘em.” She shrugged. “Might as well come along.”

  He fell in beside her. “I’m most grateful. I’ve not eaten since yesterday. I’ll be more than happy to work for my supper.”

  “Jessie, luv!” a deep male voice came from the stable. “Who’s this?” A large strapping young man with pale blond hair appeared in the doorway of the stable, a length of straw jutting from his mouth. He leaned against the door frame. “Didn’t know ya wanted extra company. Thought I’d be enough fer ya.”

  She blushed. “Oh go on with ya, Johnny. Ya know it ain’t nothin’ like that. I don’t even know ‘is name.”

  “Ronald Smith,” André offered.

  Johnny let out a deep booming laugh. “Smith? And I’m the bloody king o’ England, though most everyone ‘ere calls me Johnny Murdock. But,” he added, “if ya’ want to be Smith then suit yerself.”

  “He’s looking fer work,” she said.

  Johnny considered this. “Don’t ‘ave anything fer you right at the moment. Maybe tomorrow. Mr…. er. Lord Clarendon’s just got himself leg shackled. Never thought I’d see the day with that one I tell ya. The lord’s a randy young man and I can’t imagine they’ll be leaving their bed chambers fer at least another day or two and then I reckon, they’ll be ‘eaded fer Devon. Be there a while from w’ot I understand. He’s a marquis now.” Johnny chuckled. “Got estates all over England and ‘e ain’t seen a one of ‘em.”

  “The man ‘asn’t eaten since yesterday,” Jessie broke in. “Even if there ain’t nothing fer ‘im to do, we kin at least feed ‘im.”

  “Sure thing,” Johnny said amiably. “Come on in. Allison sent over some fresh bread this morning. White bread,” he added. “The kind that melts in yer mouth. And we’ve got mutton stew, roast chicken an’ apple dumplings”

  “W’ot was Allison doing over ‘ere?” Jesse demanded.

  Johnny grinned at her then pushed away from the doorframe, “Delivering bread.” He nodded at André. “Now, come in Mr. Smith. We’ll get a meal tucked away in yer belly and ya kin tell us how ya came to be in Surrey.”

  As they walked the length of the stable André noted, with something close to admiration, the immaculate condition of the stalls and the prime quality of the horseflesh. Clarendon was obviously a man who prided himself on his stables. He was also obviously a man of wealth for it would take a great deal of money to acquire and maintain a stable of this quality.

  “A man would ‘ave to go a long ways to find another stable this first-rate,” Johnny said proudly. He stopped to stroke the muzzle of a piebald mare who had stuck her head over the gate when she heard their approach. “Milord loves ‘is cattle and from w’ot I ‘ear, milady does too.” He grinned. “Match made in ‘eaven yer might say.”

  “It seems so. He has fine stables.”

  Johnny pushed open a door at the rear of the stables that led to the small room where the hands took their meals. He lifted the lid on a large copper pot. “Yer in luck,” he announced. “Stew’s still warm.” He ladled some out on a plate, while Jessie poured two tankards of ale.

  André sniffed appreciatively. It smelled delicious. He had actually eaten that morning but the simple fare tasted as good as it smelled and he had no difficulty pretending hunger. Ten minutes later, he soaked up the last of the stew with a chunk of bread. He took a long drink of ale and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Merci,” he murmured as Jessie refilled his tankard. “The stew was very good. You have been most hospitable.”

  Johnny cast him an appraising look. “What happened to your shoulder?”

  The question was not unexpected. He was unable to mask the awkwardness with which he moved his left arm and shoulder and was prepared to explain it. He paused a long moment then said, “It happened during the terror.”

  “Oh, my,” Jessie breathed. “The stories I’ve ‘eard ‘bout it. Quality waiting in line to ‘ave their ‘eads chopped off. Blood ever’where. It sounds ‘orrible.”

  “Jessie, luv,” Johnny said sharply. “The man doesn’t need reminding. Jus’ let ‘im tell ‘is story.”

  Johnny was obviously expecting more information and André launched further into the story he had concocted. “I was groom to a viscount. We were in Paris. Not a safe place for an aristocrat at that time.” He shuddered. “It was terrible. There was so much death. So much anger.” He shook his head grimly. “I am not well born and understood their anger, but my lord was a fair man and there was no reason to put him to the guillotine. I wanted to help. I found old clothes and we dressed as peasants. But the mob came for him before we could leave Paris. Someone had turned him in. A servant, perhaps. I don’t really know.” He shrugged slightly. “Also, he had a way about him. It was hard to disguise. ”

  Johnny nodded his head. “Quality often does.”

  “He was arrested. There was nothing I could do, so I ran. I’m ashamed to admit that my only thought was to save myself. In truth, they had lit
tle interest in me. Had they wanted, I would be dead. Still, I was shot in the turmoil. I managed to reach the ship that brought me here. The bullet was later removed, but my shoulder still feels the pain.”

  Jessie’s eyes were as big as saucers. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “It’s enough to give a body nightmares.”

  “It does,” André said soberly.

  “You’ve never gone back?” Johnny asked.

  André shook his head. “Non.”

  Johnny handed his tankard to Jessie to refill. “Must be ‘ard to work with that shoulder. Does it pain you all the time?”

  André shrugged. “I manage.”

  Johnny looked doubtful but he said, “If you want to come back tomorrow, I suppose we could find something fer you to do. Won’t be more’n a few days, though. And I can’t promise more’n yer supper and a tuppence or two. Mr... Damn! I keep forgetting ‘e’s a milord, now. Milord is most particular ‘bout his cattle. Left strict orders on how ‘e wants ‘em fed and exercised and so on, while ‘e’s spending time with ‘is bride. And milady’s mare’ll be ‘ere tomorrow. I ‘ear she’s a beaut. Won’t be need’n any extra help after they go to Devon. Would a few days o’ working in the stables suit ya?”

  André nodded. “Merci. A few days will suit. I often become restless.”

  “You’ve the wanderlust, do you?” Jessie said reproachfully. “My papa did, too. One day he just wandered off an’ never came back. Broke my mama’s heart.”

  Johnny reached over and gave Jessie’s bottom a squeeze. “I’ve got no cause to leave ya Jessie, luv. I know a good thing when I see it.”

  She brushed his hand away and blushed. “Stop that.”

  It was obviously time to leave them, but André had one last question. “Will you be going to Devon?” he asked casually.

  “Not me,” Johnny said happily. “Someone’s gotta stay an’ tend to the stables ‘ere. Good thing, too.” He grinned and winked at Jessie. “Don’t like goin’ off an’ leaving my girl.”