The Beauty and the Spy

by Gayle Callen

  Nick fought more with his other senses than with his eyes, dodging blow after blow and inflicting several of his own. In the glimmer of gaslight through the overhanging trees, he saw the glitter of a knife and caught the man’s grip in his own. They struggled, the knife between them. Nick concentrated all his energy, his will to stay alive. At the last moment he twisted his opponent’s hand, and the knife sank into the man’s chest.

  As his opponent crumpled, Nick turned and caught Julia’s dress in case she tried to flee. But she was crying hoarsely, her shoulders hunched and trembling. Nick pulled her to her feet, and she cried out as her legs gave way.

  “I’m so tired,” she moaned. “Let this be over with.”

  “It will,” he answered shortly, then bent and tossed her over his shoulder. “I’ll make sure of it this time.”

  Charlotte had stationed herself at the front windows, so she was the first to see Nick carrying Julia up the path. The relief inside her was so great that she could have wept with joy. But she knew that wasn’t what he wanted from her. In a time of danger and excitement, they’d come together for a brief moment of passion. But it was over.

  Sam flung open the door, and Nick strode inside, dropping Julia onto the nearest chair. She sat still, with her chin almost touching her chest.

  “Is she…” Charlotte began.

  Nick rubbed his neck. “She’s rather heavy, is what she is. But enough about her.” With just a step he stood before Charlotte, taking her hands and rubbing them. “Shouldn’t you be lying down? Did you send for the doctor”—he turned and looked at Sam and at Mr. Cox, who’d come to stand in the kitchen doorway—“for any of you?”

  But his gaze returned to her, and she felt the warmth of his concern, and though she told herself not to hope, inside she melted at the way he cared about her.

  “I’m fine,” she reassured him. “It was merely a shallow scrape along my arm.”

  “But it could have been worse,” Nick said.

  He lifted her arm, and his warm fingers found the ragged edge of her sleeve to stroke over the bandages and over her skin. Just that innocent touch moved her.

  “My God,” he continued, “when I think about him pointing a pistol at you…”

  Though she shuddered at the memory of her terror, she forced a cheerful smile. She would not allow some of his last memories of her to be full of self-pitying tears. “We are all fine, Nick. What happened with Julia?”

  His hands dropped away from her, and his expression became coolly professional. “She’s lucky to be alive—if you can call it that. Her henchman didn’t rescue her to save her. He wanted her dead.”

  Charlotte gasped and couldn’t help but look at Julia, who listlessly turned her head away. There was something terribly sad and pitiful about the way her shoulders shook with her sobs.

  But the woman could have easily cost Nick his life, so Charlotte could not grant her sympathy. Charlotte would never have him, but she had to know that he was alive and well.

  Although Sam nodded knowingly at Nick, Charlotte had to ask, “Why would her henchman want to kill her? Didn’t he do this to rescue her?”

  Nick shook his head. “When I caught up with them, he had his hands around her neck. He wanted her dead.”

  “So she couldn’t testify against him,” Sam added.

  Nick nodded. “He tried to kill me, so I returned the favor.”

  Charlotte gaped at him. “Were you hurt?”

  “No. But Sam, take Cox and go retrieve the body for me. It’s at the entrance to the park a couple blocks east of here. Put it in the barn, and then tomorrow morning we’ll take it—and Julia—to the authorities until she can be shipped to London.” He looked down at Julia, though she didn’t look up. “I’ve let your femininity and your high-placed connections sway my judgment, but no more. You belong in jail with the rest of the criminals. I’ll let the government answer questions from your brother and the Duke of Kelthorpe.”

  When Sam and Mr. Cox had left the room, Nick said to Julia, “It’s back to the bedroom for you. There’s no one left to rescue you.”

  Her bleak expression never changed.

  Charlotte could hold back her fears no longer. “Nick, how is my sister?”

  She was gratified when he held her hands and looked into her face. But the worry in his eyes told her the truth. “I’m sorry to say that her condition hasn’t changed, Charlotte. But she’s asleep, which the doctor said is the best thing for her. Will is taking good care of her, and promises to send word the moment anything changes.”

  Charlotte had felt so certain that Jane would be better. She blinked at the stinging in her eyes and was gratified when Nick pulled her gently against him.

  “I’m so sorry, Char,” he murmured into her hair. “Will you be all right?”

  She nodded and gently pushed him away, when all she wanted to do was clutch him and sob. She had to deal with her own problems, because Nick would no longer be there. How had she come to depend on him in so short a time?

  “I’m fine,” she said, wincing as her voice broke. “Please let me know the moment you hear anything.”

  “Of course,” he said softly. “I have to go.”

  “I know,” she whispered bleakly.

  That night Charlotte slept alone in a small bedroom in Mr. Hume’s house. Sam came up an hour after she retired. A message had come from Will saying that Jane had awakened and would be fine. Charlotte thanked him gratefully, and when she was alone burst into relieved tears. Would she ever stop crying?

  In the morning Nick had Sam escort her to a nearby hotel. Nick was keeping his distance from her, and although it had been what she asked for, the pain tore her apart.

  Sam made sure Charlotte had money for meals, and brought her books and newspapers before he left. She listened almost impatiently to his instructions to remain at the hotel until she heard from them.

  She was shattering slowly from the inside, and each crack was an added wound to her heart. She just wanted to be alone.

  When Sam was gone she closed the door, and the dam holding her tears burst. She hugged herself and slid to the floor with her back to the bed. If only she understood what drove Nick, what made him the man he was. It might make their separation understandable.

  During the day a doctor came to visit and inspect her wound. A deliveryman from a fashionable modiste arrived with several new dresses and undergarments, even a nightdress for her to sleep in. Nick’s thoughtfulness warmed her as well as saddened her.

  That night she put on the nightdress and thought of him. The material was so sheer, so fine. Would she ever find a man to care for her as he did? Did she even imagine someone could take his place? Why couldn’t she just accept him on his terms?

  Because her pride wouldn’t let her.

  But oh, she wanted to see him one last time. They never even had the chance to say good-bye.

  Chapter 24

  The last secret uncovered can be the most revealing.

  The Secret Journals of a Spymaster

  Charlotte waited through the evening, clothed in her elegant nightdress. She paced to keep herself awake, then when her limbs would no longer carry her, she curled up on top of the bedcovers and slept.

  She came awake as she was lifted in someone’s arms.

  “Nick,” she breathed, opening her eyes slowly.

  His beloved face showed wistfulness and regret. “I’ve turned down the covers,” he said softly. “You’ll sleep better there. We can talk tomorrow.”

  “No!”

  “Have I hurt your wound?” he asked, looking at her arm where the bandages made her bulky.

  She didn’t answer, just wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss. She invaded his mouth with her tongue, wanting every taste because she knew it would be her last chance. She was weak where he was concerned.

  “Sit down on the bed,” she whispered. When he hesitated, she nipped at his lower lip with her teeth. “Please.”

 
With a groan he followed her order. She pushed him back and straddled him, making quick work of removing his coat and shirt. He was already hard beneath her, and she rocked her hips and rubbed herself against him as she caressed the broad muscles of his chest.

  “You look beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “I knew the nightdress would compliment you.”

  She sat up and arched her back, reveling in his admiration. When he slid his hands up her ribs to cup her breasts, she moaned. He kneaded her flesh through the sheer material, and the rasp of it across her nipples made her shudder.

  She had to have him, had to feel him inside her one last time. She undid his trousers and pulled them down around his thighs. His erection lay heavy against his stomach, so large and hard. She touched it, letting her fingers caress his smooth, hot skin, enjoying the way he tensed beneath her, the way his breath shuddered out of him.

  And then she took him in her mouth because she wanted to give him pleasure. He groaned and shuddered as she used her lips and tongue.

  “Charlotte!” he gasped as he pulled her up to kiss her.

  “But—”

  “I can’t take any more. Let me—”

  When he would have rolled her onto her back, she held her ground, straddling him again. When the nightdress got in her way, she pulled it over her head and was rewarded by the way his eyes flamed with appreciation and passion.

  “Charlotte,” he groaned as their naked hips came together.

  His erection pressed along the length of her, hot and pulsating with need. She could wait no longer to have him inside her, filling her. She lifted herself up and he was there, at the entrance of her womb. He pulled her hips down hard, and they were one.

  Seductively she leaned over and licked at his nipple. Beneath her his hips rolled, and he surged up inside her again.

  “Wait,” she whispered against his moist skin, “I’ll tell you when.”

  She clasped him with her knees, her thighs, and even the muscles inside her. He came up on his elbows and took her breast in his mouth, sucking hard, then licking rapidly with his tongue until it took all her will not to lift her hips and sink down once more.

  When his fingers explored between her legs, she whimpered and clasped his head even closer. They trembled against each other, and she enjoyed the heat and moisture and the incredible feel of him inside her.

  “Char, let me move,” he said against her breast, and then bit her gently.

  But she held off as long as she could, until they were both groaning their need.

  “Now!” she cried, and rode him until her climax crested and shuddered through her.

  Nick thought he would surely die. He continued to thrust into her again and again, watching her above him, the way her breasts trembled, and the way her thighs clutched him. With a shout he joined her in fulfillment, grinding against her until she, too, cried out.

  She fell forward on top of him, and he wrapped his arms around her, careful of her wound. Never had a woman taken him to such heights, pleasured him first instead of wanting more for herself.

  “Char,” he murmured into her ear, kissing wherever he could reach.

  They lay entwined for many minutes, until their breathing slowed. He was still hard inside her, but he let her slide to the side and just held her.

  Charlotte suddenly let out a soft chuckle.

  “What?” he asked. “I can give you something to giggle about.” He tweaked her nipple.

  “No—no, I was just remembering something my mother told me.”

  “You’re thinking of your mother at a time like this?”

  She laughed again. “Well, only that she told me I would have to trust my husband—I mean the man—to give me pleasure. I never understood what she meant before I met you.”

  “You could give yourself pleasure,” he whispered into her ear, then bit her lobe gently.

  He could feel her slide her hands up to cover her face.

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assured her.

  “Every day has been a revelation with you,” she said, looking up from where she rested her head against his shoulder. “So tell me, do mothers or fathers tell their sons what to expect on their wedding night?”

  “I think most fathers assume their sons don’t wait until then. They expect their sons to find an experienced older woman and do all the learning firsthand.”

  “And what do mothers say about that?”

  “My mother never said much of anything.”

  He shouldn’t have expressed his thoughts like that. He felt the way she stilled in his arms. The last thing he wanted was her pity, not on their final night together.

  She rolled onto her back and looked up into his face. He thought she did a good job schooling her features into impassivity.

  “Your mother didn’t talk to you?” she asked. “I thought you said she died when you were fourteen.”

  “We had a household of servants. She usually let them deal with me.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged and wished he could look away, but there was something about the directness of her gaze—her wish that he tell her things he’d never told anyone else—that seemed to make him her prisoner.

  “I already told you that my father was a cold man. He was forever disappointed that his older brother was the heir, and he took his petulance out on me and my mother. I think she distanced herself from him—and from me—to numb the pain.”

  Now he sounded like he was whining. But she raised herself up on her elbow to look at him face-to-face.

  “But Nick, she could have found the love of a son, though she didn’t have the love of her husband. I would have given anything—”

  She broke off, and he saw the tears she tried to blink away.

  “My mother was nothing like you, Char. If she could not have her husband, she didn’t want any part of family. She protected herself, and for that I can’t blame her.”

  “Well I can,” she said forcefully.

  He smiled and tucked her hair back behind her ear. “Are you my champion now?”

  “I would have been then. What about your stepmother? You said she preferred to champion her own children over you. But that does not necessarily make her a cruel woman.”

  “She wasn’t. But she was very focused on the place she and her children held for my father. She didn’t have much time for me.”

  Charlotte bit her lip, her eyes downcast in thought. “You’d think after all that—including Julia’s betrayal—you’d hate women, or at least think us inferior.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. If it wasn’t for the maid, I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “What maid?”

  Nick groaned and rolled onto his back to drop his arm over his face. She prodded him.

  “What maid?” she demanded again.

  Charlotte sensed that she was uncovering secrets that Nick had never told anyone. She was poised on the edge of understanding everything about him, and she had to fight not to show her eagerness.

  “Her name was Edith,” he said.

  Though he stared at the ceiling, she knew he wasn’t seeing it.

  “She came to be a housemaid when I was ten. I was very lonely, for I wasn’t permitted to play much with the children of the village. She was seventeen and became my confidante.”

  “You mean like the mother you’d always wanted,” Charlotte said encouragingly.

  “Not exactly,” he said with amusement in his voice.

  It took her a moment to figure out his meaning, and then she gasped. “But Nick—you were only ten!”

  “It wasn’t like that at first,” he insisted. “Don’t be so impatient and just listen.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder and watched his profile.

  “She saw at once that I was lonely, and became my best friend. When she could finish her duties early—or sometimes escape them altogether—we would play games or fish, or just run through the woods of my father’s estate with abandon. When m
y father remarried and started another family, he had less and less patience for me. Edith became my eyes, alerting me to my father’s moods, warning me when I should make myself scarce.”

  “She sounds like a good friend,” she said quietly, even as she worried about where this story would end.

  He hesitated. “As I grew older, I wanted her to be more than my friend. But I was still young and impulsive, and didn’t understand the danger to her. I wouldn’t let her distance herself. She was my first friend; I wanted her to be my first lover.”

  “How old were you?” she whispered.

  “Seventeen. I was very selfish,” he added bitterly.

  “You loved her. Surely she loved you.”

  “And my love ruined her.” His voice was harsh with self-loathing. “I had one night with her, and then someone on the staff reported her to my father. My father wouldn’t have cared if I had only taken her out of lust. But she meant something to me, and that was her downfall. He sent her away.”

  “Oh Nick,” she whispered, putting her arm across his chest to hold him close. He didn’t push her away. “What happened?”

  “I was tutored at home throughout childhood, and as I already told you, my father finally relented to my stepmother’s pressure and sent me to Oxford. Before I left I tried to get news of Edith from her family, but they wouldn’t speak to me, for fear of further angering my father. He could make sure none of them ever worked again in the county. But I couldn’t forget Edith. During the summer holidays after my first year, I decided to search for her. I had grand plans about bringing her to school with me, so that we could be together. Again, her family wouldn’t talk to me, but I pressured them enough—just like the old man, huh?”

  “Don’t say that,” she said sternly. “You were concerned for her—you loved her.”

  “If I loved her, I would never have succumbed to my father. I wouldn’t have given up on her so easily.”

  “Nick—”

  “She died because of me,” he said harshly.