by Pearl Wolf
Sebastian planted his feet and crossed his arms, his eyes on Olivia, who won the race with ease. When the others swam up behind her, he said in an unmistakable tone of authority, “Out, you lot! Find your clothes and return to the academy at once. Not you, Fairchild. Be so good as to remain in the water. And turn your eyes away. Give the lads some privacy.”
Olivia turned her back and tread water while the others followed orders. Bloody hell! Now I’m in for it.
She listened to the crackling of twigs underfoot as the men dressed until, at last, the sound of footsteps receded and there was silence. She asked through chattering teeth, “I’m cold, sir. May I come out now?”
“At once, if it pleases you.” His tone was anything but friendly.
She began to climb out in full sight of the spymaster, his back turned to her. He was holding her bathing costume with one finger while the rest of it flowed down his back.
“You’ll pay dearly for this outrageous bit of business, Fairchild.”
“You don’t mean to…to send me packing, sir?”
“That thought has definite appeal. It would serve you right.”
A wicked gleam lit her eyes. Oh, no you don’t! Not without a fight. In one swift motion, she turned and dove back in.
The splash startled him into turning around. “I thought I told you to come out of the water!”
“If you wish to send me packing, you’ll have to catch me first, sir.” She was halfway across the lake when she heard him splash into the water. She pictured him without his clothes and swallowed what seemed like half the lake in her next breath. When she reached the other side of the lake, she pulled herself out of the water and collapsed under the willow tree, her breath coming in little gasps. She closed her eyes and waited for the stitch of pain in her side to subside.
Sebastian pulled himself up beside her. “What the devil did you think to accomplish, my girl?”
Olivia made no answer.
At the sight of her trembling lips, Sebastian said in alarm, “Olivia? Are you all right?”
He called me by my name! She feigned a shiver. “C…cold.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “Let me warm you.”
She felt triumphant, yet no smile passed her lips. “Mmmm. You’re so strong, sir.” She snuggled closer, her breasts touching his firm chest, teasing her nipples.
“Your lips are blue,” he murmured. And pressed his to warm hers.
She arched her back to meet his kiss, and felt his manhood grow against her.
Sebastian lost himself in her softness. Heedless of where he was, his body strained closer. His breath quickened. His hands caressed her breasts. He let out a strangled sigh when she groaned with pleasure.
All thought flew out of Olivia’s head. Need drove her. She felt wetness and warmth engulfing her. She strained closer to him. She wanted all of him. Her hands caressed his firm buttocks. So warm, yet like sculptured marble, she thought, savoring the sensation. She returned his kisses with a fire of her own, igniting him, burning him.
He stopped. Raised himself on one elbow. Propped his head on one hand and searched her face. “Surrounded by water and I’m dying of thirst, you little shrew.”
Her eyes laughed. Her husky voice teased. “I’m still cold. Sir.”
“Do you know my name?”
“Yes.” Her fingers touched his face. She traced his lips with one finger.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Sebastian,” she breathed. “Your name is Sebastian.”
The sound of her sex-filled voice drove him wild. He drew both her hands together in one of his and pressed them over her head. When she opened her mouth to speak, he murmured, “Shhh. Be still, my little one.” He began to kiss, first her breasts, then lower, below her waist. His hand slid down to the mound of hair between her legs. He parted them and found her sex.
When he stroked her there, she screamed, for he had begun to take her to another country. A strange place she never dreamed existed. She was not under a willow tree. Not on the lake. Not at the academy. She was someplace else. A new land she’d never explored before. Her hands crushed his hair as she writhed and moaned beneath his assault. Her groans reached her ears. Are they mine, she wondered. Did they really escape from my lips? Can that be?
Her body convulsed when she reached a climax. And then another. And yet another. At last, her breath calmed and she lay still.
Sebastian rolled to her side, moaning as if in pain.
“What is it?” she asked in alarm.
“It should be obvious. You have only to look.”
Olivia raised her head. “Oh,” she said in awe. “I’ve never seen anyone else but my young brother when he was twelve. His wasn’t anywhere near that large. Is something wrong with your…that?”
Sebastian howled a laugh between gasps. “There are remedies, you know. Have you never made love to a man before?”
“I thought we just did.”
“No. That was merely, er—a prelude.”
“A prelude? To what? I want to know the rest.”
Every fiber within him strained to teach her, but he resisted the temptation. “Not on your life, siren. With my luck, you would grow with child within the first month.”
The idea pleased her. “And?”
“And I’d be forced to marry you.”
Her eyes danced. “Oh no, really? Would you go that far just to thwart my career as a spy? That wouldn’t suit me at all. Not at all, sir.” She ran her hands over his firm stomach, coming dangerously close to his engorged sex. “But I want to help your…what do you call it? Your affliction. Most sincerely, I do.”
“There are ways, you know.”
“Then I beg you to teach me.”
He took her hand and placed it over his throbbing member. “Stroke, Fairchild. Faster. Don’t. Stop.”
All that week, Olivia strained for a glimpse of Sebastian, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, Hugh Denville presented the trainee schedule every evening, a task the spymaster usually performed. She wondered if he had gone to London, or perhaps someplace else. She prevailed upon Riggs to ask only to learn that the spymaster was closeted in his office, otherwise engaged.
Saturdays, set aside for individual tasks, was dubbed “sweetening day” by the trainees, a bit of wit that recalled Shakespearian times, when bathing took place once, in the spring of each year when the weather warmed.
As usual, the day was devoted to personal grooming, at least until teatime. A barber from the village of Havelshire visited and trimmed hair while Mrs. Hunnicut was kept busy clipping and trimming nails. As usual it was Jenny the scullery maid who earned her gratitude, for she had a talent for fashioning Olivia’s wild tresses atop her head in a most becoming fashion.
Saturday evenings after dinner and study hall afforded the trainees what little entertainment for the week there was to be had. Instructors were careful to avoid putting in an appearance on that night, for the trainees loved nothing more than their bit of fun. This included country dances to the tunes Billy played on his harmonica as well as making sport of the foibles of the entire staff.
On Sundays, the morning bell rang to wake the trainees one hour later. Services in the chapel followed breakfast, but after lunch, the trainees were free to do as they wished.
Olivia was in the habit of spending her Sunday afternoons with Mrs. Hunnicut in her sitting room, where she took tea with the housekeeper. She looked forward to this time, for it served as a reminder that she was, after all, not just a trainee, but also a woman.
After a week of physical exertion and gruff male camaraderie, she found it a welcome change to share the latest fashions in the women’s magazines, discuss the news in the London papers and talk about things not at all related to the business of learning to be a spy.
On one particular Sunday, when an under maid answered her knock, Olivia glanced around the sitting room, and asked, “Where’s Mrs. Hunnicut?”
“She’ll be back soon,
miss. She begs you to make yourself comfortable till she returns. Would you like your tea?”
“No. You can go. I’ll wait to have it with Mrs. Hunnicut.” The young under maid bowed herself out.
Olivia spied the London papers on a small table near the sofa. They were a week old, but she hadn’t as yet seen them. She thumbed through the paper until she reached the society page, the news that interested her most. She settled in her favorite chair by the fire and began to read all the latest London gossip.
It took but a moment for her sister Helena’s name to leap out at her. It was an announcement of the betrothal of Lady Helena Fairchild to Mr. Christopher Darlington. Good for you, Helena! You’ve persuaded Father to give in at last.
She read the item once more to make sure her eyes did not deceive her. One detail that skipped her notice the first time now imprinted itself in her brain. Under news of her sister’s betrothal, was the announcement of a country ball to be held at Heatham in Brighton, given in the couple’s honor by the Duke and Duchess of Heatham. The ball would take place on Saturday evening, the tenth of August.
An overwhelming wave of homesickness assaulted her. She yearned once again to watch Georgie flirt with eager young suitors, to listen to Mary play the pianoforte, to scold dear Jane to watch her diet, to tease her brother Edward about his latest racing exploits. To congratulate Helena, her closest confidante. To hear her mother’s soothing voice. To listen to her father scold them all, with his customary blend of loving sternness and pretended irritation at their silly foibles.
A betrothal ball for Helena and Chris! This Saturday evening! I must go to wish them happiness. But the spymaster will never allow me off the grounds. Never mind. I’ll find a way, no matter what! But how?
The door opened to admit Mrs. Hunnicut. “Sorry to be late for tea, dear. I had to settle a tiresome dispute between two of our staff.” She sat opposite Olivia and poured two cups.
“What happened to vex you so, ma’am?”
“Let’s have our tea first, child. I’ve the need for something to soothe me after such an ugly scene.”
Olivia knew from her own experience that friction invariably arose within a large staff. She sipped her tea and asked, “Who were the warriors?”
The housekeeper sighed. “Mrs. Haskin, our linen-keeper, accused Mrs. Berkle, in charge of the scullery, of not only demanding too many cloths for her work, but also of allowing the scullery maids to wear them out too quickly. Such a to-do over nothing.”
“And on Sunday, too, you poor dear. Were you able to settle it, ma’am?” Olivia took a cookie from the tray.
“Dear me, no. It’s a battle that’s fought over and over between those two, I’m afraid. I merely postponed the outcome by requesting a list of their grievances in writing. Only then would I render my decision.”
Olivia laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it. “Clever, Mrs. Hunnicut.”
They drank their tea in companionable silence for a time.
At last Mrs. Hunnicut said, “Why are you frowning, Fairchild? Is there something troubling you?”
“Was I? No, there’s nothing troubling me, ma’am. I suppose I’m just weary after a long and arduous week.” She smiled, her eyes wide. To mask her pain, she changed the subject. “Where have you hidden those new fashion magazines you sent for, ma’am? Let’s look at the designs together, shall we?”
London—“Everything in place for the arrival of the prince?”
“I have the preliminary plans with me, sir. Have a look at them and let me know if you have any suggestions for their improvement,” responded Chris.
Viscount Sidmouth set them aside on his desk. “Yes, of course. I’ll read them at my leisure. Any obstacles in your way?”
“No, sir. Preliminary plans are moving along well. I met with the spymaster when I stopped at Wilson Academy and we’re in agreement on all points. We’ll use every available man in protecting the prince.”
“Does the spymaster plan to include all the new trainees in this operation?”
“Yes, sir, with your approval, of course.”
Sidmouth swiveled his chair to face the window, a well-known signal to his subordinates. It meant the home secretary was weighing a delicate issue in his mind.
When he turned back to Darlington, he said, “Inform the spymaster he’s to find a way to keep Fairchild out of this operation.”
“You wish him to bar her participation?”
Sidmouth eyed him thoughtfully. “Do you disagree?”
“No, sir. Not in the least.” Chris smiled. “Especially since she’s to become my sister-in-law.”
“Much more to the point, Darlington. The Duke of Heatham is to become your father-in-law, is he not? I wish both you and your betrothed happiness. But if you desire contentment in your marriage to his daughter Lady Helena, you would do well to do everything in your power to make sure his eldest daughter is kept out of harm’s way.”
Chapter Ten
Wilson Academy—Saturday, The Tenth of August
Olivia could hear the stirring of activity from Mrs. Hunnicut’s sitting room window, for these were three flights above the stables. The sound of stable boys calling to one another as they rubbed neighing horses down, or fed them, or watered them reached her ears through the open window as she lingered in her bath. Mrs. Hunnicut was in the study hall occupied with the other trainees.
She listened for the sound of the spymaster’s voice, the only one that interested her at the moment. When she heard him, she rose from her bath, wrapped a towel round her and ran to the window in time to see him ride off.
She didn’t give a thought to his direction. She only wanted him well away from the academy so she could carry out her own plans. “Come in, Jenny,” she said at the knock on the door.
Olivia had taken special pains to befriend Jenny who loved to do up her hair. Together they had chosen to do Olivia’s hair in a coif they had discovered in one of Mrs. Hunnicut’s fashion magazines.
Jenny had ambitions. She yearned to be more than a mere scullery maid, Olivia knew. She encouraged her in this dream, for the young maid was gifted enough to become an abigail to a fine lady. As a result, there was nothing Jenny would not do for Miss.
“Perfect, Jenny,” Olivia said when the maid held up the mirror for her inspection. “You’re so clever.”
“Much obliged, Miss.” Jenny performed an awkward bow. The red-haired maid’s green eyes, freckles marching across her turned-up nose, as well as the lilt in her speech clearly marked her Irish ancestry.
“Can you keep a secret, Jenny?”
The young woman’s eyes opened wide. “I’d never tell anything about you to anyone, Miss. I swear it.”
“I’m going to sneak away this very day, but you’re the only one who knows it. All right?”
“Cross me heart and hope to die, Miss.”
Olivia rose and hugged the young girl. “The only thing is, I need your help.”
“Yes, Miss, but…”
“What is it?”
“I shan’t be sacked, shall I?”
“Oh no. I’ll see to it, I promise.” Olivia put one finger to her lips and held her elbow in a studied pose. “But if by some chance you are, I shall find you employment in a grand house somewhere. As an abigail. Would you like that?”
Jenny blushed to the roots of her red hair. “More than anything, Miss.”
“Then you have my word. Here’s what I want you to do.”
London—“Good afternoon, sir.”
“Come in, spymaster. I’ve been expecting you,” said Viscount Sidmouth. “Brandy?”
“Thank you, sir. Allow me.” Sebastian picked up the decanter and poured two goblets. He handed one to the home secretary. “Thank you for seeing me in your home today, sir.”
Sidmouth sat back and sipped his brandy. “Of course. You’re on your way to Brighton to attend Darlington’s betrothal ball, I gather. Unfortunately, I found it necessary to decline the invitation, for I had already committe
d to a prior engagement. I assume Darlington informed you of my wishes concerning Fairchild?”
“Yes, sir. He sent me a copy of your letter. The duke’s daughter will not be at the pier on the day the prince disembarks. I’ll see to it.”
“Don’t fail me in this.”
“I won’t, sir,” Sebastian said, wondering why the old man had found it necessary to saddle him with the chit in the first place. So she was to be a privileged spy, was she? Whoever heard of such a thing? A mischievous thought struck him and he nearly laughed out loud. Perhaps I ought to marry her after all. That would be one way to get her out of my hair!
“Hi there, Teddy,” said Jenny to the stable boy. “Busy?”
Teddy winked at her. “Never too busy for you, lass.” He tried to grab her, but she backed away.
“Keep yer hands to yerself, lummox,” she said, yet her voice welcomed his touch.
“What’s on your mind, Jenny, me love? Can I hope it’s the same as is on mine?”
Jenny laughed in a teasing way. “Keep your knickers on, Teddy boy. I just wanted to ask you a question is all.”
“And what might that be, lass?”
“Stay right where you are, Teddy, while I ask. How might I get to Brighton if I’d a mind to go there?”
“Why are you talkin’ so loud, lass? There’s no one here but you and me.”
She ignored the question. “Well? Do y’know the direction or not?”
“’Course I know the direction. D’ye think me a fool?”
She beamed at him. “I didn’t ask anyone else, did I?”
“Want me t’take you there? I could saddle up the cart and…”
“Don’t be daft. I’m just curious.” She let him take her hand. “Well?”
“It’s easy. At the end of the drive, you turn left. Then when you reach the end of the road, turn right. That road takes you right onto the main road to Brighton.”
Jenny stroked his cheek. “Is it dangerous?”
“Not that I ever heard.” He tried for a kiss.
“Not here where everyone can see us, you ninny. If you promise to behave, we can take a walk. And maybe then…”