The Beauty and the Spy

by Gayle Callen

  He watched the blush bloom in her cheeks and spread down her delicate neck until she turned away from him. She almost seemed…pleased.

  Her shoulders drooped as she said, “There’s no way you can prove any of this to me. You could have been in the army and deserted.”

  “I could have,” he agreed pleasantly, then began to unbutton his shirt.

  Charlotte didn’t know where to turn, what to think. Nick claimed to work for her father! Her mind was scattered, unfocused, and she tried hard to think of the journals, but could remember not a single line. Besides, her father never mentioned people’s actual names, just code names. She had to think calmly, logically, find some way to trip Nick up using the journals, but she was exhausted. She looked at the bed longingly, not even remembering how one felt.

  She turned back toward Nick. “I’m tired, and I’m ready for b—”

  He opened the few buttons on his shirt and pulled it off over his head. He was naked from the waist up, every inch of him as sculpted as the museum statues her sister had dragged her to see. She hadn’t thought a real man could look that way, but she was wrong. He’d looked broad and powerful in clothing, but she hadn’t imagined his true impressiveness. And in several places, there were tiny white nicks, and even one long scar, marks of a life no society gentleman led. It should be disturbing—but it wasn’t. It made her think of the dangers he’d escaped, and the skill it must have taken to survive.

  He watched her calmly, arrogantly, as if he knew how he affected her. She couldn’t allow such a thing, of course.

  “Where will you be sleeping?” she asked pointedly.

  He smiled and silently turned down the blankets on the bed, his answer obvious. Deep inside her, something dangerous stirred to life.

  “Since you forced me to sleep bound in a carriage,” she said coolly, “I deserve the bed tonight. You may sleep in that chair. Light the coals in the grate. You’ll be comfortable.”

  “But then how would I keep an eye on my lovely prisoner?”

  “You could pull the chair in front of the door. Surely there are only a few hours left before dawn, and you’ll be up doing whatever secret things you have to do.”

  “There are some secret things I’d like to show you.”

  He looked down her body in that way that worried her, because it made her feel all shaky and hot inside. Where was his menace now? Why couldn’t he make her frightened of him again?

  “But now is not the time,” he continued. “Let’s get you out of that uncomfortable dress.”

  With a squeak of surprise, she rushed to put the bed between them. “Mr.—Nick—!” How could she speak to him when she didn’t know his last name? “Do not insult me so!”

  “I’m not insulting you,” he said, striding with animal grace to stand opposite the bed. “I just know Sam misjudged your size. You couldn’t possibly sleep in that dress.”

  “I will manage, thank you!”

  “As you wish. If you need a moment’s privacy, step behind the screen.”

  “Aren’t you going to leave?” she asked faintly.

  He only arched a brow at her stupidity. He continued to study her, and she must have succeeded in looking sick and desperate, because he suddenly sighed.

  “All right, but I’ll be right outside the door. I assume you now realize you can’t escape me. Cox is with the carriage nearby, and trust me, he doesn’t sleep well when we’re traveling. If you try to escape off the balcony again, he’ll hear you. If you shout for help, we’ll only have to tell people that my poor, crazy wife is bound for Bedlam. Don’t make me embarrass you like that.”

  Charlotte remained silent, watching wide-eyed as he pulled his shirt back on. He didn’t bother buttoning it, and his skin gleamed in the opening.

  “You have two minutes,” he warned, then stepped into the hall and closed the door.

  Tiptoeing frantically, she found his portmanteau, then dropped to her knees and dug inside. Nothing but clothing—and a book on politics. A book! That was a waste of a minute.

  Next she ran to the balcony door and opened it. She leaned out and saw the carriage nearby, just as Nick had said.

  Down below, a man leaned against a hitching post and looked up at her, the whites of his teeth gleaming.

  Nick.

  She slammed that door shut and raced for the other one. Flinging it open, she only ran four steps down the hall before she ran squarely into Nick’s broad chest. Desperate, no longer thinking, she opened her mouth to scream, and he covered it with his hand. Dragging her back inside, he flung her onto the bed, where she bounced once and rolled off the far side onto her feet.

  She faced him across the bed, her chest heaving with each breath, feeling that she wanted to slap him.

  Nick lifted his portmanteau onto the bed. He glanced down at the contents. “Looking for this?” he asked, pulling the pistol from his trouser pocket.

  She gasped.

  He rolled his eyes and set the gun inside the portmanteau. “I hope you at least refolded my clothes.”

  He reached in again and this time removed real rope, not just strips of torn sheets. How had she missed that?

  “I warned you,” he said when he saw her backing up. “Now get into bed.”

  “But I still have to use…” Her voice died away.

  “Then use the damn chamber pot!”

  He was almost shouting by the end, and she scurried behind the screen.

  Several minutes later, when she’d delayed all she could, she stepped out from behind the screen and saw that Nick was once again wearing only trousers. He blew out most of the candles until they seemed wrapped in shadows. But she could see the rope in his hand.

  “I wasn’t planning on tying you up, but you’ve left me no choice. Come here.”

  “I promise I won’t—”

  “Charlotte!” He said her name calmly, firmly. “We both know you’ll lie to get what you want. I admire that. Now come here.”

  After she did as he requested, he wrapped a handkerchief around her right wrist, then knotted the rope over that. With a sigh she held up her left.

  He ignored her, let out a yard’s length of rope, then tied the end to his own left wrist. He didn’t use a handkerchief to protect his skin, as he’d done to hers. Surely such consideration only aided his purpose. If her wounds festered, he’d need to seek treatment.

  After pulling tight on the ropes one last time, Nick said, “Now get into bed on the left side.”

  She hesitated, staring at the turned-down blankets, remembering when she’d last gotten into bed with a man, and what had happened.

  “Charlotte.”

  After saying her name, he didn’t wait for her compliance, but climbed into bed and slid to the far side. The rope between them went taut, and she was pulled, stumbling, to the edge. She put a knee up, then gingerly lay back, so close to the edge that her shoulder hung off. The weight of him sank in the old mattress, making her panic that she would slide against him in her sleep.

  Not that she was in any danger of sleeping when her heart raced so and her mind fluttered with images of Nick’s naked chest and his dark eyes, eyes that she’d caught unguarded once. They’d betrayed a hunger she’d never seen before, which even now made her shiver.

  She lay frozen, listening to the sounds of her captor relaxing into sleep. First she heard his breathing deepen and slow, then she felt the brush of his elbow against hers, sending her nerves into a panicked skitter.

  She pulled her arm across her chest, but he didn’t move again. How could he have fallen asleep so quickly? Surely he was trying to deceive her.

  But minutes passed, and only one soft snore escaped him.

  Nick had turned her into a liar.

  With a sigh she watched the shadows dance through the curtains and flash mingled patterns on the ceiling. She’d always prided herself on her honor. No matter how coldly her husband had treated her, no matter what degrading things he’d forced her to do in the dark of the night, she�
�d had her honor. Sometimes she’d even fooled herself into thinking Aubrey Sinclair had admired her for it.

  But when forced into desperate circumstances, the first thing she’d done was lie so that she could escape. And what had it gotten her? The admiration of a criminal—and the certainty that he’d continue to watch over her closely.

  What was she becoming? she wondered, even as tears stung her eyes. She called herself desperate, yet Nick had touched her cheek and ignited a firestorm of yearning in her that she still didn’t understand. She knew nothing about him—yet he’d treated her gently, showed more restraint than her own husband had. Nick was amusing and exciting and—

  Was she starting to believe him? Just because he’d said he knew her father? Or was she misinterpreting everything out of some sad need to change her life?

  She’d succeeded in doing that, all right. She’d been kidnapped, tied up, threatened, and now forced to sleep bound to a man who confused her—scared her—drew her.

  Slowly she turned to look at Nick. His head was turned toward her in sleep. He wore no frown, no look of intense concentration, just relaxed peacefulness. He looked…different, younger, so very handsome.

  With rising dismay she realized she was succumbing to his charm. She had no proof of his allegiance except what she’d witnessed with her own eyes. She had to make her escape before she lost herself altogether. She’d find her father, and he would help her sort out the truth. She spent several fruitless minutes picking at the knot of rope at her wrist, then gave it up as hopeless.

  But how else to escape? Nick was stronger than she was, and he had two other men to help him watch over her. He’d warned her again tonight to behave. And if she did, would that help her situation? Could she remain calm, outwardly docile, and lull them into forgetting that she was still a threat?

  She rolled onto her side, trying to make herself comfortable in the tight dress, slid her hand beneath her cheek, and stared at Nick until she finally fell asleep.

  Chapter 7

  Every relationship formed is a vulnerability for a political agent, one which can come back to haunt you.

  The Secret Journals of a Spymaster

  Nick was the first thing Charlotte saw when she awoke. He was much closer this time, also turned on his side, staring at her. When he looked at her mouth, all her plans from the previous evening flew out of her head. She felt the warmth of his breath, the intensity of his regard as he seemed to study each part of her face. She couldn’t move, frozen in place by a feeling so very foreign to her—so very exciting.

  She told herself she was lying there to placate him, but that was a lie.

  She told herself she would understand him better if she waited to see what he would do. That was a lie, too.

  When he leaned toward her, it was all she could do not to let these powerful feelings overwhelm her. Instead she watched this confident, arrogant man hesitate, then gently brush her lips with his.

  His touch was rain-shower soft, moist, so very different than anything she’d ever experienced. Each small kiss was a separate exploration of her lips, from the corners to the full bottom. She breathed in the scent of him, her eyes half closed as she immersed herself in the wondrous sensations.

  She thought she heard him faintly groan as he nibbled at her bottom lip, drawing it gently into his mouth to exert a soft sucking pressure. Something shuddered to life deep inside her, awakening her to a rising passion she’d never experienced before.

  She gasped and they came apart, both breathing heavily, both staring at each other in surprise. Then his eyes narrowed, and he cursed and rolled to sit on the edge of the bed. The rope that bound them together gave a gentle tug on her wrist, and she remembered that he’d had to bind her to keep her in bed with him.

  Once her husband had tied her up for his pleasure, and the humiliation had made her cry and beg to be freed. So why did she now feel something fleeting, something unnameable for Nick? Was she doomed to keep repeating the mistakes of her past? She didn’t even know his full name!

  Biting her lip to hold back a sob, Charlotte rolled away from him, only to have her right arm caught behind her by the rope.

  “Wait, I’ll release you,” he said coldly.

  She didn’t turn back, but a moment later her arm was free. She drew it back to hug herself, shivering. To her surprise he pulled the blanket up over her.

  “Go back to sleep,” he said. “It’s early.”

  She didn’t think she’d be able to, as her thoughts roared with confusion in her head. Surely her plan to placate him didn’t include accepting his advances.

  She must have eventually dozed, because when next she was aware of her surroundings, she could hear low voices in conversation.

  “Julia is still heading north,” Sam said. “But she’s moving at such a leisurely pace, making no attempt at secrecy, that I can’t believe she knows we’re on to her.”

  “I wonder if Campbell said anything about my blackmail attempt?” Nick asked. “You’d think she’d be in more of a hurry then.” He sounded impatient and frustrated, a man who wanted to be moving, but couldn’t.

  “Regardless, I think she’s definitely putting in an appearance at Kelthorpe’s house party.”

  “Good,” Nick answered. “That’s where I’ve sent Will. He’s heading to Yorkshire anyway, with the girl he’s engaged to.”

  “So he agreed to return to the service?”

  “No…but he agreed to help us just this once. He’s out of the army, ready for a new life. I can’t take that away from him, not after all he’s been through.”

  Charlotte wondered if they knew she was listening, if this was all an act for her benefit. But why? Wouldn’t real criminals just dispose of her, rather than try to make her think they were on England’s side?

  “What did he have to say about Julia?” Sam asked, and Charlotte could hear reluctance in his quiet voice.

  “He was surprised at her duplicity. Frankly, I told him I wish I would have killed her.”

  She stiffened as the cold loathing in Nick’s voice unnerved her. Whenever her feelings softened toward him, she should remember this moment.

  “No, Nick, you can’t do this to yourself,” Sam said sadly. “We couldn’t have known what she was capable of. I’ve known her since childhood, and I suspected nothing.”

  “You were with her brother more than her. Whereas I was in her bed.”

  The bitterness in Nick’s voice confused her. He’d had a relationship with this woman he claimed was now a traitor? If he really was a spy for England, that must make him feel…even more betrayed.

  But he was holding Charlotte prisoner. If he wanted Julia dead, couldn’t he easily kill Charlotte, too?

  Yet both men sounded so—convincing.

  In a low, furious voice, Nick said, “Do you know what it’s like to have a woman under your control, to think there was…something between you, when all the while she’s trying to betray you and everything you stand for? If I would have killed her, then maybe the army wouldn’t have been slaughtered.”

  Charlotte hadn’t heard this part of his story, and she couldn’t imagine the kind of person who could be responsible for so many deaths, let alone a woman.

  “You did what you could then, just like you’re doing now. We’ll capture her. And with Will on the inside, we can’t fail.”

  Nick lowered his voice, and a touch of amusement crept in. “It didn’t go well when I told him who I had hostage.”

  Though she wanted to hold her breath with anticipation, she forced herself to breathe deeply, normally. She opened her eyes the barest slits, so she could see the two men sitting in chairs before the hearth, leaning close together.

  “Why?” Sam asked. “Surely he understood the necessity.”

  Something was wrong. Sam looked different, but she didn’t want to stare just yet.

  “When you were following him,” Nick continued, “didn’t you ever wonder who he was engaged to?”

  Suddenly he
turned to look at her, followed by Sam, who was wearing some sort of wig. Sam looked confused until his face cleared with understanding—and worry. Charlotte found herself staring back at them, not caring if they knew she was awake. Why did they look at her as they discussed some girl Will was—

  Will? Heading for Yorkshire? Were they referring to…William Chadwick, her sister’s future husband?

  “Now Charlotte—” Nick began.

  Thinking only of protecting her sister, she bolted out of bed and ran for the door. Nick caught her easily, holding her tight to his body. Facing him, she squirmed and pushed at his chest, feeling the hard pressure of his hips, but more concerned about her sister than the threat to herself.

  “You’re talking about William Chadwick!” She hit him hard enough in the stomach that she heard his breath catch.

  “Yes, we are. Now stop struggling, or I’ll have to tie you up again.”

  He gave her a last tight squeeze, which, through her thin, old dress, allowed her to feel the hard, muscular length of his body. She gasped and went still. Before he pushed her away, she felt his erection against her stomach. Though she experienced a momentary anxiety, she forced it from her mind. Her sister’s very happiness was at stake!

  She put her hands on her hips and glared up at Nick. “You must let me go! I have to warn my sister.”

  “Warn her about what?” he asked, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms over his chest. He glanced at Sam, who raised his palms as if to say he was staying out of it.

  Charlotte was briefly distracted. Was Sam wearing…cosmetics? But she forced herself to turn away and glare at Nick. “That Lord Chadwick is one of you!”

  “Will left the military. He’s starting a whole new life with your sister. That’s why he—”

  Nick stopped himself, but not in time. He could see Charlotte’s worry turn to suspicion, and he heaved a sigh.

  “That’s why he what?” she demanded, advancing on him.

  She was so tiny; what was she going to do—shove him aside? “He wanted to be alone with Jane, so he made sure you were absent. He procured an invitation he didn’t think you could resist. He didn’t know about the meeting I’d planned with Campbell.”