The Beauty and the Spy

by Gayle Callen

  Sam glanced suspiciously between them. “I was right. Julia’s heading for Kelthorpe’s. She should be there by this afternoon.”

  “Regardless of our threat to her, she couldn’t avoid the house party of the man she’s trying to marry,” Nick said, nodding.

  “We aren’t certain that she even knows we have Edwin Hume ready to talk. She might think she’s safe.”

  Charlotte set down her teacup. “But that man you were meeting when you kidnapped me—Nick, didn’t he say he would tell Julia about your bribery attempt?”

  Nick reluctantly smiled. “Yes, he did. He has to have caught up with her by now and told her about me. So are you saying you finally believe us?”

  “I don’t know,” she said primly. “I have a few other questions.”

  Nick turned back to Sam. “Will is already in place at Kelthorpe’s, isn’t he?”

  Sam nodded. “He secured an invitation as effortlessly as always.”

  “My sister hates house parties,” Charlotte said. “Your friend won’t have an easy time with her. Especially since she’s anxious to see Papa.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Sam said with a shrug. “There seems to be the beginnings of an intimacy between Will and Jane. The colonel might have been right to pair them up.”

  She folded her arms over her chest indignantly, and Nick kept his gaze on her face.

  “But it was still wrong of Papa to force Jane so,” she said firmly. “Every couple needs a chance to see if they suit.”

  “And they’re getting that chance,” Nick pointed out, enjoying provoking her.

  “Then let me go to her. She needs to know the truth about her situation.”

  “I won’t interfere with Will’s personal life.”

  “It’s my sister’s life as well!” she said heatedly.

  He held up a hand. “We can argue later. Sam, even though Will is at Langley Manor, he won’t be able to keep Julia in sight twenty-four hours a day. We need to watch the roads leading to the estate.”

  “There are two of them,” Sam said, glancing pointedly at Charlotte.

  Nick followed his gaze to find her watching him with interest. She obviously understood his limited choices.

  “You and Cox won’t be able to do this without sleep,” Nick said. “We’ll take turns.”

  “What about me?” she asked.

  He arched an eyebrow. “You and I will discuss that later. Sam, if Julia is only just arriving there, surely she’ll be occupied simpering to Kelthorpe for the rest of today. You and Cox get some sleep now, then begin your watch at midnight. I’ll take turns relieving you both tomorrow.”

  Charlotte again said, “But what about—” then stopped when he gave her a black look.

  “Go talk to Cox,” Nick said to Sam. “Leave our guest to me.”

  After Sam left, Charlotte found herself locked in a staring contest of sorts with Nick Wright. She wasn’t afraid of him.

  “If you escape,” he said, “Campbell will try to kill you—and maybe go after your family.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face at his bluntness. “And if I remain with you, I’m a hostage, with no say in my life.”

  He rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be this way. I’ve told you everything about our mission. I’ve never confided so much to an outsider in my life.”

  “You just need me to be pliant.”

  “I call it cooperative. After everything I’ve told you, why can’t you trust me?”

  She wanted to trust him. Was there some part of her still afraid that if she gave herself over to another man’s care, she’d finally lose herself for good?

  In a low voice, she said, “If you were in my situation, at your captor’s mercy, you wouldn’t find it so easy to trust.”

  His dark eyes were mesmerizing, flaring with heat. He paused, and then seemed to make up his mind about something. “Then I’m at your mercy, if that’s what it takes. The rope is still in my bag. Tie me up.”

  Her breath caught in a gasp of shock at the thought of doing to Nick what he’d done to her—what her husband had done to her. A flood of power made her face flush with heat and excitement, but the good girl inside her said, “Tie you up? What would that prove?”

  “You could ask me questions about my mission from things you’ve read in your father’s journal. If you don’t like the answers, you can leave me here, and I won’t be able to stop you.”

  “Sam and Mr. Cox would still be in my way.”

  “They’re sleeping for the rest of the day.” He leaned forward, hands pressed to the table, and challenged her with his grin. “What are you afraid of? I’m the one with the most to lose. You could tell someone about everything that’s happened and endanger the mission.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “If you left, you’d be in danger from Campbell, and what do you imagine your father will think of me then?”

  She got to her feet, angry that he’d use her father as his argument. “Where are the ropes?”

  He slid his chair back from the table, his smile full of triumph. “In my portmanteau.”

  He looked so darn comfortable sprawled in that hard wooden chair, so sure of himself.

  When she felt the ropes in her hand, something terrifying moved through her. She knew what it was like to be tied up and helpless. Did Nick?

  When she saw his smug expression, she hardened the uneasiness in her heart. Maybe he needed to know what it felt like to be humbled.

  “Put your hands behind you,” she said coldly.

  He slid those long, well-muscled arms behind him, and she walked around the chair. Forcing her fingers not to tremble, she crossed his wrists, then began to wrap the rope around them, even using the lattice of the chair back.

  “Good thinking,” he said.

  Moving in front of him, she used two more pieces of rope to tie each of his ankles to the chair leg. Then she stepped back. His chest looked wide and expansive with his arms pulled back. His shirt was drawn taut across his muscles, his trousers snug across his thighs and pulled tight between his legs, outlining the part of him that made them so different from each other. Again she felt that flare of heat deep in the pit of her stomach. His head was tilted as he watched her, and she noticed a sheen of perspiration on his forehead, and an answering warmth in his gaze.

  He was enjoying himself, and that thought hardened her resolve. She closed the curtains against the sunlight of midday, leaving the room in dusky shadows. For only a moment she thought of escaping, but it flashed and was gone from her mind.

  How could she believe in Nick once and for all? She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax, recalling the journal. She’d had only a couple days to read it, but surely she could use it to her advantage.

  She moved to stand directly in front of him, almost—but not quite—between his knees. “In what city did my father first land in India?”

  He dropped his head back and laughed. “You’re not playing fair. He reached the country long before I did.”

  She smirked at him.

  “But I know the answer. It was Bombay.”

  With a tilt of her head and a smile, she acknowledged his correct answer.

  His smile faded as he watched her. Then very deliberately his gaze dropped down her body, lingering on a rounded area he had already professed a fascination for.

  “So what’s my prize?” he asked in a deeper voice more husky than normal.

  “Prize?” Her voice broke, and she inwardly cursed herself.

  “I had the right answer, didn’t I?”

  “Surely you don’t think I’m going to untie you after just one answer?”

  “No. But you can come closer. I’ll take that as my first reward.”

  First reward? She suppressed a shiver. But something was uncoiling inside her, like a serpent in the Garden of Eden. There was a guilty pleasure in knowing that Nick was at her mercy, that he could not move. Boldly she stepped between his legs until the chair i
tself stopped her, until her full skirts pressed against his legs. She thought he drew a deep breath, but she could not be sure, for his expression never wavered from amusement.

  “Next question?” he prompted.

  It was hard to think so close to him, especially when he no longer even made a pretense of keeping his gaze on her face. Her breasts burned beneath his regard, and she felt constricted in the too-tight dress, as if she couldn’t take a deep enough breath.

  “What did my father call you?”

  “That’s an easy one. Mr. North.”

  She sucked in her breath. “I already told you about Mr. South and Mr. West. You could have—”

  “Made it up? Will is Mr. West and Sam is Mr. South.”

  “You heard me say that!”

  “And your father is Mr. East, because even before the sun rises—”

  “He’s awake,” she interrupted, repeating the end of the quote her father, Ernest Whittington, had often used when he wanted his daughters to remember that he knew everything they were doing—or not doing, as far as Charlotte’s studies were concerned.

  Damn. She almost cursed aloud. She put her fists on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him.

  “I’m right again,” he said, and this time, to her surprise, he betrayed himself by wetting his lips. “So what’s my next reward?”

  Her hand flattened below her neck, and his gaze followed. What could she use against him? She smiled and undid the top button at her throat. He gaped at her. This was easy. It would take ten buttons before her dress even reached the provocative neckline of any ball gown, and she certainly didn’t intend to let things get that far. But he seemed to take such pleasure in teasing her that she actually looked forward to giving it in return.

  Yet her heart raced as the wanton inside her took control. “Ingenious,” he said.

  Did his voice sound different? “Thank you.”

  “But would you mind asking questions about the other spies or me? Talking about your father feels—indecent. I’m thinking thoughts about his daughter he wouldn’t approve of. Now ask me another question.”

  She should stop now. She knew the truth about Nick—he was no criminal. Who else would know these things but an associate of her father’s? But she found herself whispering, “What mission did you and your fellow spies almost ruin?”

  His grin was wicked. “A mission to the fort in Jalalabad. And do you know why it was almost ruined?”

  She swallowed and shook her head.

  “Because my disguise as an Afghani tribesman was so good, I was picked out to marry a local girl.”

  She held her breath.

  “She didn’t exactly want marriage.”

  “What did she want?”

  “To be pleasured.”

  His husky voice hummed through her.

  Softly he asked, “What would give you pleasure, Charlotte?”

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She didn’t know.

  “I need my reward,” he prompted in a hoarse whisper that dared her, excited her.

  She popped open another button, wondering if she was revealing the frantic pulse in the hollow of her throat. But why should she be the only one unbuttoning? After all, he was at her mercy.

  Before she could think things through, she removed his cravat and opened several buttons on his shirt, even as his mouth fell open in surprise. Her thumb brushed against his skin, and he hissed in a breath and looked up at her. Their faces were close, their breaths mingled. Daringly she placed her open palm flat against his skin below his neck. She could feel the heat of him, the frantic pace of his heart.

  But he couldn’t touch her. She was the one in control.

  Lifting her hand, she let her fingers lightly caress him, feeling the coarseness of chest hair. “What happened to Mr. South in the Turkestan desert?”

  He watched her hand move, then with a groan he looked back up at her face with an intensity that was riveting. “He was captured and sold as a slave.”

  “Who rescued him?”

  “I did—but that’s two questions, so I’ll need a large reward.”

  The sound of his desperation ignited a surge of something deep in her blood—desire. This was what it felt like to desire a man, to want his touch, to want his kiss. Brazenly she opened five more buttons, then glanced down at herself, seeing a path of skin and a just a bit of white lace from her chemise.

  Suddenly he strained forward in the chair, but she didn’t let herself recoil from him.

  “Untie me,” he whispered. “I want to span my hands around your waist, feel the curves of your—”

  “No. You’re not in charge anymore.”

  He tilted his head back and grinned up at her. “You like this feeling of power?”

  “Maybe. Now which spy was presented to the Shah of Persia?”

  “Will. He was acting as an emissary from the British government.”

  He’d answered everything correctly—what more could she ask? And what reward could she give?

  She put her hands on his face and kissed him.

  Chapter 11

  A bond of dependence can form between captor and hostage and surprisingly, it goes both ways.

  The Secret Journals of a Spymaster

  Charlotte kissed Nick softly at first, wanting to experience the gentleness she’d only known from him. She explored his lips a kiss at a time, each moment parting her lips more and more. With the tip of her tongue she tasted him, and then his mouth opened on a groan. Their tongues met and played, hers hesitant at first, but soon she was as caught up as he was in the frenzy of new exploration.

  She leaned against his chest, then slid her knee onto his thigh to brace herself.

  “Straddle me, Charlotte,” he whispered against her mouth.

  She stared into his eyes and let herself drown in the emotion she saw there. Never before had a man shown this kind of desperation to possess her.

  Before her sense got the best of her, she gripped his shoulders, then eased her knees across his thighs, her skirt bunching up between them, her muscles shivering as she held herself up. She felt as if she were climbing a solid rock mountain.

  “Closer,” he whispered, then leaned forward and pressed kisses to her neck. He nuzzled against her, and she felt his hair brushing her ear, felt the moist warmth of his mouth.

  She dropped her head back, and with a moan let herself fully settle on top of him. His hips were nestled between her thighs, and the hard ridge of his erection pressed up against her.

  She kissed him again, letting herself be taken away by sensations she’d never known before. After a deep thrust of his tongue, he suddenly rolled his hips, arching against her in a shocking way that made her nerves scream inside her.

  She cried out against his mouth as she clutched his head to her. He rocked against her hard, over and over, until she felt an exciting, building tension that required all her concentration.

  He broke from their kiss, and his mouth found the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “Unbutton my trousers,” he said hoarsely.

  It was then she realized where this was going. She had him tied to a chair, and she was riding him.

  “You were married, you know what to do,” he said urgently. “You know what we both want.”

  She knew what he wanted: a merry widow. She couldn’t see herself as that woman.

  Lifting her head, she slid her fingers from his hair. “What I want and what I should have are two different things.”

  Nick had known when he started this game how it would end. He just hadn’t thought she would let it get so far. He rested his forehead against her shoulder and tried to calm his ragged breathing, inhaling the warm, intoxicating scent of her. When had he last allowed a woman to become paramount to his every thought? It had been many years, and even now he did not often look back on his youth.

  But now there was Charlotte, experienced yet innocent, captivating, maddening, and mysterious. It took every bit of his strength not to thrust against
her one last time. He was losing himself in her, and he couldn’t seem to stop—didn’t want to stop. Surely he could control his work, his mission, and keep it separate from her. He was only feeling this way because he was closeted with her almost constantly.

  But he had promised not to seduce her, so he let her climb off his lap, watching her blush as she pushed her skirts to the ground. He went on letting her think she’d tied the ropes tight enough to contain him.

  But she didn’t turn away. She met his gaze, and although her face turned even more fiery, she raised her chin and dared him to challenge her.

  He grinned. “Would you mind untying me now?”

  She put her hands on her hips and grinned back. “You said I could leave.”

  “Only if you don’t believe me. But surely you can have no more reservations.”

  “That’s true. But what mostly keeps me here with you is knowing that Mr. Campbell might go after my family if he thinks I’m alive.”

  “Good thinking.”

  She went around behind him and tugged on the ropes with her fingers. She leaned over his shoulder to look at him, and he found himself again feeling overwhelmed by her nearness.

  “These weren’t tied very well, were they?” she asked, wearing a sheepish expression. “You could have escaped any time.”

  He lowered his voice. “But I didn’t want to.”

  She met his gaze only briefly, then his hands were free and she stepped away. He untied his ankles, then stood up and stretched his arms high over his head.

  They were too aware of each other now. For several minutes the silence between them stretched taut with the memories of what they’d done—what they still wanted to do.

  “So what was that about?” he asked.

  She turned her back. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”

  “You might prefer to forget about it, but I don’t. I asked for a reward, but I admit I’m stunned by the one I received.”

  She seemed to sag a bit. “I assure you, I don’t usually go around kissing men.”