The Moonlight Mistress

by Victoria Janssen

  Fournier set a crepe and silverware in front of Noel and said, “I begin to understand why others dislike working with me.”

  After their meal, Noel felt almost drugged. He’d passed through the shaky stage back in the barn, and then the jittery stage. Now came the exhaustion; he could barely remember what Fournier and Lucilla had been discussing. He braced both hands on the table and shoved himself to his feet. “I’m for bed. Madame Claes? Shall I escort you?”

  Abruptly, she pushed away the tea she’d been nursing and rose. “We are safe here for the night?”

  “We are,” Fournier said. “I will be on guard.” He exchanged a look with Lucilla that might have been apology.

  “Then I, too, would prefer to rest,” Tanneken said.

  Noel suddenly felt much more alert. He offered her his arm and, after a suspicious glance, she laid her hand lightly on it, as if they were parading into the supper room at a regimental ball. Halfway up the stairs, he asked her, “Are you going to change?”

  She didn’t mistake his meaning. “It’s safer to have teeth. Fournier has a pistol, but he is not dangerous enough.”

  “May I stay with you?”

  “You intend to seduce me,” she said flatly. She turned left and went into the second room, the one farthest from the kitchen below.

  “It’s hardly seduction if you know what I’m about,” he said reasonably. She hadn’t stopped him from following her into the room. Noel closed the door behind them. The room held a substantial iron bed, a wardrobe, a washstand and two shabby armchairs before a fireplace. Wood bristled from a pail on the hearth, with some crumpled newspaper shoved in on top. He knelt, his back to Tanneken, and began to lay a fire.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  Noel reached up and felt around on the mantel until he found a tin of matches. As he lit the tinder, he said, “I want you to want to live, for one thing.”

  “I don’t want to die,” she snapped.

  “You don’t particularly seem to want to live, either,” he said. “You’d go for Kauz’s throat even if he had a gun in his hand, wouldn’t you?”

  “That’s different,” she said. When he glanced at her, she stood with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Since I’ve been in France, I’ve seen how it goes when men don’t care anymore. I make it my business to keep them alive, as best I can. And you—well, I want you to live.”

  “I would be happy to live, if it can be managed.”

  He sat cross-legged on the hearth, relaxing as heat licked up his back. “All right, then. If we get out of this alive, will you consider marrying me?”

  “To have a child,” she said.

  “Yes.” His heart tried to pound its way out of his chest. He didn’t dare say more. He was normally glib, but this could so easily go wrong.

  She turned away, paced a few steps, then returned to face him. The fire crackled; he breathed in wood smoke and ash. “The Boche have overrun my estate.”

  “Would you come to England? I am the only son.”

  “You have siblings?”

  “Two sisters, much older than I, one married to a human, with human children. And my parents are still living, and three of my grandparents. We would have a house of our own, I promise.”

  “I might have no money, even if the war ends and the Boche are beaten.” She sounded as bland as if she were selling turnips.

  He rose to his knees and held out his hands. When she hesitantly clasped them, he said, “I have money. I’ll give it to you outright if you want. None of that matters anymore. What matters is that I’ll be a good husband to you. I would never betray you. If anything happened to me, my family would care for you, and not grudgingly, either.”

  “You English do things differently,” she said.

  “Not really. I do things differently.” He raised her hands to his mouth and kissed them. “Will you think on it?”

  She drew her hands out of his grip. “After I have killed Kauz, I will consider it. Stand up. There is one more thing I must know before I consent to marry you.”

  Noel couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “I was hoping you would get to that.”

  She shed her robe, letting it fall to the floor. “Take off those clothes.”

  She was beautiful, sleek and muscular beneath clear, smooth skin, which his palms already itched to caress again. “In any particular order?” he asked. She’d already seen him naked, so he should try to make it interesting.

  A hint of a smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. He hadn’t realized she had a dimple. Suddenly, he wanted to lick it. She said, “The quickest order.”

  He stripped off his woolen vest and shoved the braces off his shoulders, then lifted his foot and worked off his heavy shoes and woolen socks. “It’s a bloody good thing I’m not in uniform,” he said. “Those damn puttees would be killing me about now. Though these shoes don’t fit, and I’ll be glad to be rid of them.”

  She said, her smile briefly appearing again, “Turn around as you do that.”

  “I like you,” Noel said, doing as she asked. She would have a fine view of his arse while he stood on one foot to remove his other boot. He unbuttoned his trousers and shucked out of them. He hadn’t bothered with the drawers Lucilla had given him, but Tanneken might not have noticed that yet, as his shirt hung nearly to his knees. He turned back to her. “Would you like to remove this yourself?”

  “You’re playful,” she said. “Even now.”

  “Is there anything wrong with that?”

  She was silent for a long time, then she beckoned him forward. “No. No.”

  Noel looked down at her, nose to lips to breasts, and said, “I recall you like stimulating conflicts.”

  “I will tell you what I want.” She flicked open the button at his throat, then two more, and pushed the open collar over his shoulder.

  Noel obligingly undid another button, so his shirt slid down his torso. “Good. And you want?”

  Tanneken watched his shirt catch on his erection. She lifted it with one finger and let it flutter down his legs to the floor. He shivered at the phantom touch, and at the rising scent of her arousal, fed by his own scent, he was sure. “You have freckles all over,” she noted.

  “Do you have any objection to freckles?” It was growing difficult to concentrate on his words.

  “I’ve not previously considered them,” she said. She rose on her toes and mouthed his throat, then slid her open mouth over his, sucking at his lower lip. Noel caught her in his arms, remembering at the last moment not to grasp her too tightly. Instead, he let his hands roam over her smoothly muscled back while they kissed. She was aggressive, frequently nipping at his lips, his chin, the soft spot beneath his jawline, while her nails dug into his chest, each sharp little pressure like a spark of electricity prickling over his skin.

  His cock throbbed against her soft skin, and she squirmed against it, forcing him backward until his knees smacked into the edge of a mattress.

  Tanneken was sucking on the thin skin over his collarbone, and he could barely speak for shuddering in pleasure. “We’ve a…bed…right here.”

  Without removing her mouth from him, Tanneken bore him down, squirming atop him before she rose to her knees. Straddling his hips, she pinned his shoulder to the mattress with one hand. Noel reached up and thumbed her nipples, which tightened instantly. When he rubbed them, she threw her head back and gasped, rolling her shoulders, before pushing his hands away. “I want you from behind,” she said.

  “I thought you’d want to keep an eye on me.”

  “I don’t fear you,” she said, and kissed him again, her tongue lubriciously mapping the interior of his mouth until he couldn’t breathe. She withdrew and squeezed his shoulder muscles, then his arms.

  “I’m glad,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to just take me like this?” His stamina had deserted him. One more kiss like that, one more roll of her body over his cock, and he was sure he would come like an expl
osion.

  “You can go deeper from behind,” she said, and he moaned, imagining it.

  “Right,” he said, or thought he said, as they shifted positions.

  He was practically blind with lust, deaf with it. He felt as if he floated in her scent as it rose about them in a cloud, spicing the air and settling on his skin like a million tiny touches. He licked up the length of her bare spine, sucking on each vertebrae, inhaling her with his mouth and nose, and almost didn’t notice her reaching hand on his cock until he bumped against the slick lips of her cunt. “Oh, Christ,” he said. “Tanneken. Let go.” Her fingers loosened and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I want you now,” she said.

  “Christ, I want you, too,” he said, easing the head of his cock between her lips. Her scent changed, grew richer, and her cunt grasped at him, slick and hot. He stopped, tears of pleasure knotting his throat, and tried to regain control.

  Tanneken wriggled backward, taking him a bit more. He gasped and dug his hands into the sheet. “Do you want this to last more than five minutes?” he asked. It had been far too long since he’d had sex of any kind.

  “Deeper,” she demanded. “Fuck me.” She thrust her hips back, and suddenly he was engulfed head to base in heat, in wetness, in her rich scent.

  He couldn’t think. He thrust raggedly, with none of his usual finesse; Tanneken thrust back against him, her round arse thumping into him even as his balls slapped into her, both of them grabbing at the sheets, the blankets, each other. He hooked one arm around her waist and found her clit by moving his hand until she cried out, and stroked her there softly in counterpoint to their rough intercourse. It was fast, messy, glorious.

  Tanneken growled when she came, her cunt squeezing him over and over as hot cream spilled over his hand. He sank his teeth into her shoulder and she shuddered against his belly again, this time moaning and burying her face against the pillow.

  Noel’s arm shook from holding his weight. “All right?” he asked. He was barely able to get the words out.

  “Yes,” she said, low and sultry. “I want to be on top now.”

  She was going to kill him. Noel clenched his jaw and shifted onto his back. Normally, he loved this position and the gorgeous view it provided, but now he was beyond anything but craving, his skin on fire, his cock ready to pulse out of his skin. “Fuck me, damn it,” he said.

  Tanneken grinned and licked her lips. She had two dimples. Dazed, he watched her shove her long hair behind her shoulders and cup her breasts from beneath, lightly grazing her thumbs over her engorged nipples. She rolled her hips and he cried out.

  “Mine,” she said. She bent over and set her teeth in his neck. She swiped with her tongue, pinched up a layer of skin, then let it go and licked again. Her hard nipples rubbed his chest like hot brands.

  “Yours,” he agreed, surging up with his hips.

  She muttered in Flemish and began to ride him much more slowly than he would have liked. Her heady scent fluttered into his nostrils with each shaky inhale. Restlessly, he ran his hands up and down her sides, at last finding a grip on her arse. She didn’t seem to mind if he dug in his fingers, so he held on there to restrain himself from moving his hips.

  When she began to speed up her riding, he closed his eyes. She squeezed him from within, until he felt his whole body was clenched in wet heat. Shudders rippled over his skin and he thrashed beneath her, losing control of his muscles almost as if he were shifting forms. She rode him harder, leaning over so her nipples brushed his chest, grinding herself against him. When she came this time, he rushed after her, muffling his cries in her shoulder as his cock jolted deep inside her, each separate convulsion rippling more pleasure from his head to his heels. Then his exhaustion caught up to him, and he drifted, barely aware of her surreptitious touch on his cheek. “Yes, I will marry you, if you make the process of getting children so entertaining,” she whispered, and he smiled before he fell asleep.

  21

  LUCILLA COULD NOT IMMEDIATELY LOCATE CRISPIN, which was frustrating in the extreme, as she knew that if Kauz had the slightest inkling of danger, he would pick up his secret laboratory and move somewhere else, probably deeper within German territory, and they might never find him again.

  Kauz would not have been fooled long by the canine corpses that had been left for him, if there had been enough left of them for Kauz to examine; the decoys were only a delaying tactic. Kauz would be suspicious because his two captives had escaped so close together in time, even though they were being held miles apart. He would know his captives could not have escaped without help; but would he expect them to return? Would he consider the wolves or their rescuers enough of a threat that he would have to find a new location for his experiments with captives? If so, their only hope was the difficulty of moving a facility that possessed such complex needs.

  Lucilla was also counting on Kauz’s arrogance to keep him in place. Finally, once Crispin and his colleagues attacked Kauz’s larger, official laboratory, the one the German government knew about, Kauz’s lines of communication would be kept so busy he would, hopefully, become distracted. In the best case, some of his men from the secret facility would be sent to the official laboratory, and Lucilla and her group would have fewer opponents to overcome as they set about acquiring Kauz’s research and destroying whatever they could.

  The courier Pascal lent to her returned quickly, but with the news that her brother had journeyed to Paris on leave.

  Lieutenant Meyer was also on leave, while their battalion was engaged in helping to lay a railway to the rear of the line of battle. In the midst of her annoyance at their absence, she felt a niggling curiosity—were the two men on leave together? Had Crispin gotten his wish? Or was he even now sitting, alone, at a darkened table in a smoky café, lost in regret?

  It was an odd feeling, to worry about her little brother’s romantic life. She had never done so before because there had never been any romance for him, or not any she’d known of; even knowing what she now knew about him, it was difficult to imagine him in that light, though now that the idea was in her mind, she had a strong intellectual curiosity concerning what two men might be like together. She had always been so busy with her studies, and later with her work, that she had never had enough time for Crispin, for either his joys or his griefs. Now, as she wondered what he was doing, she keenly felt the lack.

  Private Hailey arrived at the hospital late that same evening, bearing a large rucksack over her shoulder. Lucilla stared at her, nonplussed at her appearance in the ward, but quickly surmised she’d read the message intended for her officers.

  Acting as if Hailey had been expected, she said, “If you can take a seat over there, I’ll show you where you can sleep when my shift ends.”

  Her shift lasted well beyond its allotted time, and when she returned to find Hailey, she found her deeply involved in a game of cards with three of the patients, one of whom hastily stubbed out a cigarette as she approached.

  “Come along, Hailey,” she said.

  Hailey apologetically discarded her cards and shoved a pile of coins into her pocket. “Yes, Sister.”

  Lucilla led her to the kitchen, which, fortunately, was deserted, and put on the kettle for tea. “Do you know where my brother is? Did Lieutenant Meyer go with him? It’s urgent that I find both of them.”

  Hailey, who was still standing near the door, rocked uneasily from heel to toe and back again. “Why?”

  Lucilla’s gaze snapped to her face, which was a study in blankness. Tea-colored eyes stared back at her, but gave away nothing. Lucilla said, “I know what my brother is, Hailey. He told me himself. And he told me what his hopes were. So tell me, can you find them?”

  “Paris,” Hailey said. “I’ll need a ride.”

  The road to Paris was in awful shape. Bob clung desperately to the Zouave piloting the motorbike and tried to ignore the fragments of cold mud whipping her cheek and splatting on her goggles. Periodically, the rear wheel would s
kid in a puddle and the bike would be knocked askew, sometimes careening far enough to one side that the Zouave’s boot would scrape through mud; he would shout in French, right the machine with a disconcerting jerk, and off they would speed again, weaving in and out of various ambulances, lorries and the occasional horse-drawn wagon. Aside from trains, she had never traveled so fast in her life, especially not balanced half on a seat and half on a saddlebag.

  Traffic grew heavier as they approached Paris, necessitating that the Zouave slow down. Bob fumbled the envelope from her jacket pocket with gloved hands and checked the hotel’s address once again. Inside was a scribbled note from Captain Ashby, dated a mere two days before, with details of their irregular mission for the French. It definitely beat being back with the battalion, laying a railway in the rain.

  The Zouave left her at the Hotel Lutetia with a cheery salute and more incomprehensible attempts at English, then rattled off, his scarlet trousers flapping in the wind. She found her handkerchief and wiped most of the mud off her face before swathing it in her muffler, hunching her shoulders against the cold and trudging across the hotel’s cobblestoned courtyard.

  Inside wasn’t much warmer than outside. The concierge was also wrapped in a muffler, and the end of his nose looked distinctly red. He at least spoke some English. Hailey was able to make herself understood once she unbuttoned her coat to display her uniform and pointed out the names she wanted in the register.

  Meyer came down to meet her, closely followed by Daglish. They looked clean and warm and well fed, and she was startled by her stab of jealousy. They in turn looked startled to see her. She dug out the letter, bundled in with the other papers she’d brought. “Got some important news.”

  Meyer and Daglish exchanged a glance. Meyer said, “You look chilled to the bone. Come on up to our room.”

  Once climbing the staircase, it became evident to her that the two officers were clean and she was not. It wasn’t the mud so much as the fact that she hadn’t had so much as a wash since she’d left Sister Daglish, and before that, it had been weeks since she’d had a real bath. She’d been hoping for one on leave, when she could get some privacy; maybe there’d be a chance of one before they had to leave Paris. Though there might not be time. She’d likely need to scrape the dirt off herself with a knife. Twice.