To Catch A Fallen Spy (Brethren of the Coast Book 8)

by Barbara Devlin

  “I pray you are right, but there are difficulties.” And Elaine would admit no more than that, as she would not embarrass Ross by revealing the cruelty he survived. For some strange reason she could not fathom, her brave agent provocateur viewed the injuries inflicted upon him as a stain on his character, to be criticized and even ridiculed. While he did not state it aloud, she suspected he supposed she would reject him.

  “Oh, no doubt, as we discuss men.” Sabrina’s candor always brightened Elaine’s spirits. “While I am sure Ross has his reasons, and you need not share them, know that time and patience function as a wonderful remedy.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  “No.” Sabrina laughed. “I rained hellfire and damnation on his head, leaped from a moving carriage to evade him, and locked him from my chamber. Lucky for me, my determined spouse outwitted me, and I ended up trapped in his suite for two days.”

  Given that frank confession, Elaine surrendered to mirth, and it felt so good. “Well, I suppose I should be grateful I have not suffered for a month.”

  “See?” Sabrina chucked Elaine’s chin. “No matter how terrible the situation seems, it can always get worse. Now, instead of waiting for Ross to come to you, why do you not go to him?

  “Is that permissible?” In a flash, she recalled the organization of the Richmond’s ballroom and a selection of hiding spots in which she might locate her spy.

  “Elaine, you are Ross’s wife, by law.” Sabrina clucked her tongue. “In essence, your naughty habits are state-sanctioned.”

  “My treasured friend, you sure know how to make a person feel better.” And with that logic, Elaine opted to take a chance on Ross. “I believe I shall seek out my man.”

  #

  Some snakes never shed their skin, and Ross lurked in the shadows, watching Waddlington watching Elaine. Ross’s bride boasted a cherubic expression, as she acknowledged notables with an elegant dip of her chin. Gliding amid the crush as some sultry seraph, she summoned him without even realizing it, and he ached to answer her call, but he had to remain vigilant.

  For a scarce second, he lost sight of her, and panic threatened to choke him. But then she re-emerged near the quartet, and he thought she glanced in his direction, but that was not possible, as she could not see him in the dark. He had to have imagined it.

  Near the side wall, the Brethren congregated, and she paused to share conversation with her odd extended family. Shaking himself, he wrenched to attention. Waddlington studied her every move, sneering when he thought no one aware, and Ross wanted to punch the smug bastard. But when George waltzed with Elaine, Ross admired her, as he always had.

  Floating as an angel, she made the rotations, and he looked on with pride. But she did not belong there. She descended from the realm of fantasy to grace the mere mortals with her presence, and she deemed him worthy of her regard. Then he noted she peered at his hiding spot with each turn, and he chuckled to himself. Of course, she knew precisely where he lingered, because they shared a connection that defied the limits of space and time.

  A mystical power wove its web, like fine Alençon lace, swaddling him in a veil of comforting warmth whenever she neared, and so he avoided her. Yet, heaven help him, he desired her, and no one was more shocked than Ross, because he believed that part of him died in a filthy torture chamber on the Continent. But until Waddlington made a mistake, and Ross arrested the blackguard, he would not yield to base hunger, as Elaine’s safety hung in the balance.

  He had to protect his wife.

  The music ended, and he came alert. For him, it seemed as if the entire compliment of partygoers stared at Elaine, but he knew that was not the case. As couples navigated the massive chamber, he sought her fair curls but could not glimpse her. Wrestling anxiety, raw and palpable, he scanned every corner, to no avail, and he considered shouting the alarm.

  On the thought, the hair stood on the back of his neck, and he smiled, whirled about, and caught Elaine in his arms.

  “My lady wife, how many times must I tell you not to sneak up on me?” The subtle scent of lavender water, her signature scent, wreathed and ensorcelled him, and he teased the gentle crest of her ear with his teeth. “Why do you not favor the celebrants with your charming company?”

  “Because the man I wish to partner does not dance, sir. He makes me seek his amity.” She giggled, unbuttoned his coat, and slid her hands beneath the wool to embrace him about the waist. “If you will not partake of the festivities, then I will join you.”

  “What if we are discovered?” He checked the vicinity for approaching interlopers.

  “It matters not, as we are married.” With her palm at the back of his neck, she exerted gentle pressure, and he surrendered.

  As Ross covered her mouth with his, she opened to him, and he took what she offered, without restraint. Unwavering temptation, steely in its persistence, soared and swelled, arresting his defenses, and he faltered. His lady was close—incredibly close, and her heat scorched him as a bolt of lightning, yet she posed an enticing contradiction. Soft but firm, her lips harkened a comparison to ripe strawberries bathed in fresh cream, mesmerizing him with her subtle sweetness, and he devoured her tender flesh.

  Relentless hunger, savage and insatiable, exploded in his belly, and again he fought in vain against a stubborn erection. Yet he reveled in the sensation, as he savored desire, long absent in his existence. As happened previously, under her influence he came alive, and he craved more.

  In seconds, he drew Elaine behind the relative privacy of a Chinese screen, and as the musicians played a waltz, the tune of which he did not recognize, with his wife he composed a duet of a different sort. Had she resisted, had she displayed the slightest dissent, he would have stopped.

  Instead, Elaine hummed in her throat, which vibrated against his tongue, as he suckled the tiny indention at the base of her neck, which all but screamed her appreciation of his efforts. And that emboldened and spurred Ross.

  Driven by the tantalizing yearn of seduction, he fumbled in the dark, toyed with the ribbon that secured her bodice, and then tugged the ends. Loosening the fabric, he swept aside her chemise to bare her breasts, and he wished for a small, lit taper that he might gaze upon her in that moment.

  Anticipation spiraled, carrying him to new heights, and he hovered within an inch of a pert nipple. The slightest hesitation offered all the provocation he required to take the last step, and he fastened his mouth to her tiny pebble and drew hard on her flesh. Never had he tasted anything so decadent, as Elaine dug her nails into his arms through his coat sleeves.

  The compulsion to encourage her response rose, rushing forth as the incoming tide, a stimulus growing with each beat of his heart, a burgeoning need to twine her legs about his hips, push her against the wall, plunge his turgid length in the honey harbor between her thighs, and take her, right there in the ballroom.

  The dinner bell sounded.

  Ross broke free from the reverie, stretched upright, and choked on the bitter pill of remorse. “I am sorry, Elaine.”

  “Please, do not apologize.” In the dim light of their refuge, the disappointment in her voice rang clear.

  “We should join your family, else they may search for us and worry.” He raked his fingers through his hair and smoothed his lapels.

  “Give me a minute to fix my gown.” She shifted and gave him her back. “All right. I am ready.”

  Offering his escort, Ross led her into the throng, as they filed into the dining room. Surreptitiously, he surveyed the crowd for Waddlington but could not spot the villain. In his momentary lapse of control, the bastard evaded Ross, and he vowed his wife would not distract him again.

  to catch a fallen spy

  chapter eleven

  September yielded to October, and the leaves turned, the summer blossoms dropped their petals, and the nights grew cold as the landscape prepared for the advancing winter. For Elaine, a chill of another sort invested her world, given Ross’s continued disinterest.
After the discussion with Sabrina, Elaine drew an imaginary line in the sand, with her one-month wedding anniversary as the point of no return. Until that date, which rapidly approached, she occupied herself with her husband’s social calendar, and it presented far more challenges than she anticipated.

  As a high-ranking member of the government, he attended numerous dinners amid the military set, and it was a new experience for her. Unlike the ton, which departed for their country homes to celebrate the holidays after the Little Season, the heart of the British Empire never slept, and those responsible for its maintenance remained on watch, in the city.

  “My lady, would you like me to fetch your pearls, as they will go lovely with your burgundy gown?” asked the maid.

  “What a wonderful idea, Mary.” Sitting at her vanity, Elaine situated a long, thick curl at her throat, to emphasize the relatively low-cut bodice. “And bring the matching ear fobs, please.” After a final assessment, she strolled down the hall and met Ross at the landing. Smoothing the lapels of his black coat trimmed in old gold, she met his remote stare. “How dashing you look in your formalwear.”

  “Thank you.” As usual, he extended a curt reply and made no effort to compliment her appearance, and that wounded her.

  Could he not understand that the injurious effect of his indifference was not a matter of pride or vanity? Indeed, in her own home, Elaine blended into the background, as a statue, a painting, or another useless knickknack. What had been her salvation—her private residence, had mutated into another venue in which she persisted in much the same fashion as the leather inserts on the walls, and that was the cruelest cut of all.

  Swallowing her agony, she summoned the fragile façade that shielded her from the guise of society and her husband, as it was time to play the part of adoring wife. “Shall we loiter in the foyer, as our guests should soon arrive?”

  And so commenced the entre act, and she sailed on the main stage. As she received her callers, she imparted various compliments intended to foster fellow feeling, casting the occasional doting glance at her refined agent provocateur. Later, at the head of the grand dining table, she traded frivolous bits of conversation, as inside she fractured with each passing hour.

  “Let us toast to Mrs. Logan, for this delicious meal and most agreeable hospitality.” Field Marshal Moore raised his glass.

  In unison, the visitors said, “To Mrs. Logan.”

  In that instant, Elaine wanted to cry, because no one ever noticed her. If only Ross had thought to acknowledge her efforts, but he remained stoic at the opposite end, as he appeared lost in discussion with a general, or some such.

  “Field Marshal Moore, you are too kind.” With that, she draped her napkin over her plate and stood. “Shall we gather in the drawing room for port?” As her guests filed into the hall, she flagged Wodehouse. “Wait five minutes and bring in the tea trolley and some shortbread. And serve the Fladgate, as it is not too sweet. It is my understanding that General Graham prefers a dry dessert wine.”

  “An excellent suggestion, Mrs. Logan.” The butler bowed.

  When she turned her attention to the crowd, she discovered the dining room empty but for the servants. Mustering a stiff upper lip, she strolled into the well-pointed receiving chamber, which she had altered to feature sage green wall coverings flocked in white and a coordinating damask sofa and Hepplewhite chairs, which accentuated the mahogany trim and furnishings.

  “How are you finding married life, Mrs. Logan?” With a vast deal more than amiable countenance, the grey-haired Mrs. Moore smiled. “And this really is a charming residence. Given the years I have known Sir Ross, never have I been invited to partake of his hospitality, and I was that amazed when I heard gossip describing a beautiful fiancée and impending nuptials, but here you are, pretty little thing.”

  “Well I hope this will be the first of many happy occasions.” Offering her excuses, Elaine made the rounds, as would a proper hostess.

  A particularly clumsy lieutenant general dropped a square of shortbread, and she bent to retrieve the wayward morsel. From her unique vantage, she peered at Ross, and he met her stare ever so briefly before continuing his discourse. It was as though he looked right through her.

  For the remainder of the evening, she persisted in a state of disquietude, suffering in silence while she projected the air of happy ingénue, but it was a falsehood. It was a lie. It was an obscenity she could scarcely tolerate another minute, but she persevered until the last guest departed.

  In the foyer, she rubbed the back of her neck. “You may leave the service until the morning, Wodehouse, as it has been a long night.”

  “I shall oversee the removal of everything to the kitchen, Mrs. Logan.” He snapped his fingers, and two maids rushed into the drawing room.

  It was a protracted walk to her chamber, as she mulled the events of the small party, and with each successive step she abandoned the masquerade as the maples shed their leaves, until nothing remained but bare branches, twisted and knotted, exposing the scars and flaws.

  By the time she shut the door and crossed the floor, her invisible emotional wounds, bloody and abraded, toppled the last of her calm exterior. Rotating slowly, Elaine studied her reflection in the long mirror, and a foreign creature, beaten, broken, and starved for affection stared back at her, and she despised what she spied.

  Ripping the pearls from her neck, she sobbed and then tore the sleeve of her gown. With a wail of despair, she wept and ripped her bodice, as she would destroy, part and parcel, every scrap of the fabrication. Suffocating beneath the false veneer she concocted as a shield against prying gazes, she let fly a wild cry, wrenched and tugged, fighting the silk material, that she might break free of the invisible ties that bound her. She kicked off her slippers, reduced her garters and hose to tattered remnants and then dropped to her knees, just as Ross burst into the room.

  “Elaine?” When he glimpsed her crawling on all fours, he rushed to her side. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  “Let me go.” In desperation, she clutched his forearms. “Please, I beg you, let me go. Divorce me. Shame me. Do what you wish with me, but do not ask me to live this lie for another day, because I cannot do it.”

  “Shh.” At once, he sat on the rug and lifted her into his lap. “What lie? What are you talking about, as we are married?”

  “No.” She shook her head, as she had to force him to admit the truth. “We are not married, because we have never consummated our vows.” At that point, she collapsed against him. “You do not want me. You told me as much, but I did not believe you. I thought I could make you want me, but I see now I was wrong. I was so very wrong.”

  “Elaine, please—”

  “I thought I could give you what you wanted, but I cannot.” The realization, the harsh truth settled as a bitter pill, and she unleashed a fresh torrent of despair. “I cannot do it. Do not ask it of me.”

  “But I did not know you were unhappy.” As she whimpered, he rubbed her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “What would you have of me?”

  “I would be yours, irrefutably.” A dull ache pervaded her chest, and she shredded the front of her chemise. “There are many things I can accept, but I cannot survive your continued indifference, because you are killing me.”

  #

  You are killing me.

  Again and again, the desperate plea echoed in his ears, and Ross could not stand it. Framing Elaine’s tear-stained cheeks, he set his lips to hers. It was a kiss meant to calm and soothe, but she exploded the instant their tongues met and twined.

  Yanking his hair, she shifted to straddle his thighs, and the sheer wretchedness of her emotional state served as a poignant catalyst to something far more intrepid, something daring; something that would not be denied. Hunger flared, building momentum with every beat of his heart, searing heat poured through his veins, urging him to advance on and lay claim to virgin territory.

  And he wanted her.

  Wanted her legs twined ab
out his body, her ankles seated to his flanks, her arms wrapped about his shoulders, her fingers speared through his hair, as he took her for the first time. On the thought, he bent and rose on one knee. Then he lifted her in his arms. In seconds, Ross carried his bride into his private suite and eased her to his bed. But when he tried to withdraw, so he could divest himself of his shirt and breeches, as he had been undressing when she garnered his attention with her distress, she refused to yield.

  The softness of her feminine curves, the rush of her shivery breath, as she renewed their kiss, the tempting sashay of her thighs combined to a pose a perfect storm of passion, and he answered with a few hungry maneuvers of his own.

  With a single flick of his wrist, he wrested the last vestige of her chemise from her, and it dawned on him that Elaine, naked as the day she was born, rested on his black counterpane. Sitting upright, he pulled the candlestick on the side table closer to the bed and admired his bride.

  Her mouth, succulent and ripe, posed a study of absolute perfect, and he trailed a finger along the outline. Then he traced the gentle sweep of her swanlike neck, drew imaginary circles on her chest, and inched lower, to mark the outline of a rose-tipped peak.

  “Ross, I need you.” A tear coursed her temple, as she reclined in the pillows. “I need you.”

  The beauty of her plea, pure and without reservation, touched him to his core, and he could not deny her. So many rejoinders traipsed his brain, but he could not summon sufficient strength to voice a response. There was something about her that called to him, to some primal aspect that sought to protect and defend her. That was why he could never resist her.

  Dipping his chin, he unbuttoned and removed his shirt. Standing, he unhooked and doffed his breeches and then locked the door to his chamber, as he would brook no interruptions. Before he faced his wife, in all his aroused glory, he inhaled and tried to summon calm.

  It occurred to him that he could give her release, he could bring her to completion without claiming her, because he knew not how he would survive if he made love to her and did not please her. That he could never outlast.