Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 02]

by Surrender to a Wicked Spy

  A husband who still wore his trousers while she slept nearly naked. How embarrassing. Except that the thought sent a startling ripple through her body. What would it be like to be naked before him, like a … a slave princess before the barbarian king?

  The ripple increased to a tremor of arousal. If he should wake to find her bare to his touch, would he finish what he had begun earlier this night? There was more to come, she was sure of it. She’d seen stallions breeding mares and hounds breeding bitches—although she suspected that humans didn’t do it quite like fourlegged creatures.

  She closed her eyes against the dimness and tried to imagine Dane mounting her like a stallion. Him behind her, golden muscles rippling and gleaming in the sun—

  A violent shudder went through her at the thought. Oh my.

  Her movement must have wakened Dane, for he rolled toward her. “Are you all right?” he asked, his deep voice husky with sleep. “Did you have a nightmare?”

  Olivia pulled her mind from her depraved imagination with violent speed. “Ah, no. It was not a bad dream.” No, not bad at all.

  He wrapped a big arm around her midriff and tugged her closer. His large hand was hot on her skin and she shivered at the contact. “Are you cold?” he murmured.

  No, she was quite the opposite. Before she could answer or kiss him or do any other of the twenty-odd things she would have liked to do to her brand-new Viking-god husband, her stomach gave a ferocious growl. Olivia clapped one hand over her mouth in stark mortification. Her mother would be so shocked. Her mother would go completely ashen with horror. Her mother would—

  Dane chuckled, a gentle rumble in the dark intimacy of their draped bed. “That is my fault, is it not? I never rang for your dinner.”

  He rolled away from her to reach for the cord at the head of the bed to ring for a servant.

  Olivia put her hand on his bare shoulder. “Must we wake them? They worked so hard today.”

  He turned to look at her quizzically. “It is their job to come when I call. That is what I pay them well to do.”

  Olivia frowned. “Servants are human beings, my lord. Human beings who need rest in order to ‘come when you call.’ I feel the urge to foment a rebellion.”

  He rolled back toward her, rising up to rest his chin on his raised fist. His broad outline looked like a mountain range in the dimness. “What do you propose I do, my Lady Greenleigh—service you myself?”

  Olivia decided that once she got her breath back, she would like precisely that—

  She shook her head sharply. Her imagination was beginning to interfere with her thinking. “No, of course not. I’m perfectly able to go down to the kitchens and sort out something to eat.”

  “Alone?”

  She shrugged. “Why should I not?”

  “In that?” His tone reminded her that the ties were undone on her gown.

  She pursed her lips. “Well, no. I would dress, of course.”

  He chuckled. “Absolutely not. I forbid it.”

  Being ordered to remain nearly naked ought to have bothered Olivia at least a little. The fact that it didn’t should have bothered her a lot. Mother had never touched on this particular topic, but Olivia was fairly certain that undress on command was not something a lady should tolerate.

  This was not her mother’s house. It was her house, hers and her lord’s. And if her handsome, astounding lord husband wanted her barely dressed, then barely dressed she would willingly be!

  “I can wait until breakfast,” she amended.

  Dane rose from the bed. “Then I believe I’ll return to my room now.”

  Olivia really wished he wouldn’t, but she could hardly beg him to sleep with her. Although she doubted she’d be able to go back to sleep with him there within reach. Begging was beginning to look better and better.

  So, purely in the spirit of good manners, of course, she spoke. “You’re welcome to stay if you like.”

  He didn’t turn to look at her. “I think not.”

  On his way from the room, he took a fresh candle from the decorative box on the mantel and lit it in the glowing coals. After he affixed it in the silver candlestick, the flame stabilized and filled the room with a golden glow.

  Olivia caught her breath as the light revealed him in all his bare-chested magnificence. The glimpses she’d caught of his body when he’d … taught … her had only hinted at the rippling breadth of his torso. The candle glow highlighted every hill and valley of his muscled chest and all the lean power of his rippling abdomen.

  He turned at her faint gasp, raising the candle in order to see her better. Olivia realized that she had sat upright at the sight. She had also forgotten to pull her nightdress closed to cover herself. Suddenly shy, which was ridiculous considering what he had done to her—and what she wanted to do to him—she grabbed her neckline.

  She thought she saw his jaw clench and she was sure his eyes could scorch steel. It looked as though his lordship might not be leaving after all.

  Then he blinked and took a breath, and the flash of male ferocity left his features. He smiled easily in the way he had, as if he were just an ordinary fellow, easygoing and congenial.

  What a ridiculous notion! As if a man like him was ever ordinary!

  He wagged one finger at her. “Tut-tut. Play fair.”

  Hiding her disappointment, she tugged the nightdress closed and tilted her head at him. “Did you actually say ‘tut-tut,’ my lord?” she asked him teasingly. “I thought only ladies of a certain age used that phrase.”

  His jaw dropped and he stared at her for a long moment. “You truly aren’t afraid of me, are you?” he asked, shaking his head in bemusement.

  Olivia drew her knees up under the covers and rested her arms across them. “You keep asking me that. Why would I be afraid of you? Are you a bad man?”

  The question caught him up for some reason. He stood there, a half-naked god of a man, and actually seemed to ponder his answer. She frowned at him. “It was not meant to be a poser, my lord.”

  “I do not like to think of myself as less than honorable,” he said slowly. “I do have rather high standards of behavior for myself and others.”

  “Of course.” She nodded easily. “You are a gentleman.”

  He gazed at her soberly. “And for you, as my wife.”

  An uneasy tremor went through Olivia. His tone was suddenly severe. She nodded again, slowly. “Of course. I am a lady.” She truly tried to be, anyway. She must take care to prove it to both of them.

  He seemed to relax then, for he smiled slightly.

  “Then I bid my lady good eve.” He bowed and strode from the room, taking the light and Olivia’s previous contentment with him.

  4

  The next time Olivia awoke, pearly daylight streamed in through the high arched window, turning what had been dark and intimate now quite commonplace, if luxurious.

  A flutter of cloth drew Olivia’s attention toward the dressing-area door where she saw a maid shaking out one of the gowns from Olivia’s trousseau.

  “Good morning,” Olivia said brightly, expecting a smile and a comment on the day, the way the Cheltenham servants would have responded.

  The maid stood and turned, bobbing warily. “Good morning, milady.”

  She was a nice-looking girl of perhaps seventeen. Olivia smiled to put her at her ease. “What is your name, please?”

  The girl went entirely still. “I am called Petty, milady.” Her voice was flat and her gaze was anything but friendly. “The housekeeper presented me to you yesterday.”

  Olivia faltered. “Well … thank you for the fresh coals, Petty.” She gestured toward the now-blazing fire. “My room turned quite chilly overnight and I’m glad for a fire.”

  If possible, Petty became even more stiff. “That was the chambermaid, milady. We was instructed not to wake you any earlier. If you want your fire freshened before ten, milady, you must speak to Mrs. Huff, the housekeeper.”

  “Oh no.” Olivia blinked
. “I didn’t mean …” She’d bungled it now. The girl would take anything she said as a criticism, it was clear. She gave up. “Ten will be fine. Er, carry on.”

  Olivia watched Petty from the corner of her eye as the maid briskly finished her task and left the room. It seemed Olivia’s lord husband kept an entirely different class of help. Even Petty’s black gabardine maid uniform was of fine quality—better, in fact, than much of what Olivia had worn in the past.

  Walt would have managed to tease a smile from the girl, Olivia had no doubt, but she’d never had that knack for ease in all company.

  Olivia could have used a bit of that talent during her excruciating debut. It wasn’t so much that she was shy. It was more that she simply didn’t seem to speak the language. In the last month of this Season, she’d watched in mystification as the other young women rendered the young men speechless with one coy flick of their fan or employed an adoring gaze to make a suitor plump up like a proud rooster.

  She’d tried it a few times herself, but her flick of her fan had nearly put out one fellow’s eye and her adoring gaze had prompted her dance partner to inquire if she was feeling the need to vomit.

  Alone again, Olivia flopped back onto her mounded pillows in relief. She’d not needed any such devices to attach her own magnificent husband after all, had she? Why, that day in the river, she’d forgotten to employ even the slightest flirtation—and he’d asked for her anyway.

  Yet if she hadn’t flirted, nor truly even conversed with Dane before they wed, how was it that he had come to ask for her hand? He could have had one of any number of prettier, wealthier, more stylish young ladies. She sat up with a surprising thought.

  Had he loved her from afar?

  She quickly slipped from the cozy covers and padded across the room barefoot to the mirror over her vanity. Seating herself on the stool, she tucked her chilled toes beneath her hem and examined her own reflection.

  Hmm. To her surprise, for she’d not so much as brushed her hair this morning, she was looking rather fine. Her cheeks were flushed becomingly and her tousled locks were messy but somehow suited her better than a sleek, restrained style. She smiled at herself, for she was justly proud of her good teeth. Dane must have liked her looks. He’d certainly approved of her bosom.

  Perhaps … just perhaps … he’d admired her even as she’d admired him! It was a vain and outrageous thought, but what else could it be? Her life had taken on a dreamlike quality of late. Who was to say that dream might not include true love? That might be why he wed her so abruptly and why he’d spent so much time carefully wooing her—seducing her—last night.

  The avid gleam that came into her gray eyes at the thought of last night only made her look better, she decided. Better than she’d ever looked in her life. But then, why not?

  Love became her.

  Joy rose in her. She stood and spun her way back across the room with arms outstretched. How fortunate she was! Lucky, lucky girl!

  Smiling widely, she set about dressing herself rather than call upon the sour-faced maid. In the course of finding where Petty had placed her things, she found the locked box that had previously lived under her bed in her parents’ house.

  There wasn’t anything of value in it, unless her private thoughts were counted. As far as Olivia was concerned, she’d sooner lose her clothes than lose her diary.

  She opened the lock with the key that she’d hidden in her cloak pocket before leaving home yesterday. Inside was a small, unimpressive book.

  She was a married woman now. Keeping a diary would undoubtedly seem childish to a man like Dane.

  It was only that making note of the world helped Olivia keep her true feelings to herself. When she didn’t keep a written record, things tended to bottle up and she never knew when the worst possible thing would burst out.

  So she put it all on paper, in the book Walt had given her, keeping her writing tiny and cramped and using her own playful abbreviations so that she wouldn’t use up the paper too soon.

  There was a lovely, dainty writing desk in the corner of the room, but Olivia brought the inkwell and pen back to the bed and drew the curtains about her. It was dim within, but at least she’d have a moment to hide the book beneath her pillow if Petty came back into the room.

  Olivia closed her eyes and let her feelings about the previous night well up within her. Dane … heavens, were there even words?

  She blushed. There probably were, but she didn’t think she ought to write them down! Nor would vulgar descriptions do to capture the spell she’d been under. His hands, so large and strong, yet so gentle on her …

  The scent of him, sandalwood and heat and man … the way his hard body felt to her touch … his mouth …

  Goodness, the minute she was done she was going to finish dressing and seek him out! Her breath coming more quickly, she bent to write, the pen nib scratching madly as she filled the page.

  Dane scowled over the pages from the file before him. “What do you mean, Liverpool opposes this plan?”

  Marcus was pacing before Dane’s great desk. “I mean, he opposes it!” He threw out his hands. “I informed him that we were preparing to employ a member of the Liar’s Club to engage the Prince Regent in a close friendship that would help us keep better tabs on his moods and whims and to influence him away from behavior such as he has previously embarked on.”

  It was a good plan. Prince George IV had led the government on many a merry chase over the years, not the least of which was his recent disappearance in the company of two young spy trainees.

  Dane slapped both palms down on his desk. The oak trembled. “Did you explain to Liverpool that the Chimera is still at large and that we must keep George under constant supervision? No more unauthorized jaunts!”

  Marcus threw himself into the chair by the fire. “Oh, Liverpool wants the Prince Regent controlled all right. Preferably with iron chains. It’s the companion we chose that the Prime Minister objects to.”

  Dane looked down at the name written in the file. “What’s wrong with the Phoenix? He’s entirely suitable, wholeheartedly loyal, and His Highness has already shown a marked preference for his company.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Apparently there is something we don’t know about Collis Tremayne. Or it could be his wife, Rose. She’s lowborn, and you know what a snob Liverpool is.”

  Dane grunted. “Unless she’s deucedly pretty, I don’t think we need to worry about George wanting to spend time with her.”

  Marcus shook his head. “I happen to think she’s quite lovely, but you know George’s taste runs to an earthier sort.”

  Dane nodded absently. Earthier, in regards to George, meant endowed with a great deal of bosom and a hearty appreciation for bed-play … .

  A thought began to trace its way across Dane’s frustration. He leaned back in his chair and contemplated the ceiling as the idea began to grow. George’s taste runs to an earthier sort.

  “Liverpool was right,” Dane said slowly. “Using Tremayne is not the answer. What we need …” He sat up and regarded Marcus with a grim smile. “What we need is the right woman.”

  “What sort of woman do you need? Will I do?”

  The playful question from the doorway made both men start and spin toward the voice. There, smiling brightly, stood Lady Greenleigh.

  Dane blinked. Damn, he’d forgotten all about her. It was clear he’d have to get into the habit of locking his study door while he and Marcus were working. The servants never entered without invitation. It had never occurred to Dane that his new wife would traipse in unasked.

  Marcus shot Dane a worried glance. Dane agreed completely with his concern. It wouldn’t do to have their plans overheard. If one didn’t know who they were—hell, even if one did know—their discussions would occasionally resemble darkest treason.

  Dane stood smoothly and approached her. “I’m sorry, my dear. Did you need something?”

  His tone must have been cooler than he’d intended, for her brig
ht smile faded. “No.” She glanced past him at Marcus, her brow beginning to knit with worry. “I apologize for the interruption. I—I only wanted to tell you good morning.”

  Dane hid his irritation with a smile. She’d obviously meant nothing by her intrusion. “And a good morning to you, Olivia.” He waved a hand toward Marcus. “You recall my investment partner, Lord Dryden, do you not?”

  She dipped a quick curtsy at Marcus, who bowed warily in return. “My lady.”

  Dane took her elbow and turned her gently toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have many business matters to work through this morning.”

  He propelled her through the door and shut it on her bemused expression. However, when he turned back to Marcus, his friend still seemed concerned.

  “Shouldn’t we have tried to explain away what we were talking about? She’s an intelligent girl. She might begin putting bits and pieces together.”

  Dane shrugged casually. “If it will make you feel better.” He stepped back into the hall to find Olivia still outside, regarding the study door with her brow still furrowed. Marcus had been quite correct. That intense concentration on matters that did not concern her did not bode well for any of them.

  The fact that she looked completely delectable with her gray eyes so serious and her arms folded beneath her bosom—

  Dane battered down his distracting libido with iron control. Still, the rising of his interest did give him an idea.

  He approached her slowly, purposely reminding her of how he’d moved toward her last night. The reminder worked, for he saw her eyes begin to gleam and the tip of her tongue come out to wet her lips. She began to back up as well, until she encountered the wall at her back. Dane moved in close, reliving every moment of last night’s seduction with intent. When he got through with her—

  He looked both ways down the hall, but there were no servants in sight. Gazing down at her, he saw that her eyes were wide and her breath was coming fast. Dane wrapped one hand behind her neck and one about her waist and dipped his head to almost touch his lips to hers. He hovered there for a long moment. She began to quiver in his grasp. Finally, a tiny, hungry sound broke from her lips.