by Julie Rowe
Because for Michael, nothing came before his love of his country or his vow to serve. Certainly not a woman. Definitely not her.
Tears trickled across her face to drip onto her pillow. Ironic really. If only the Germans knew that the fastest way to flush her out was to threaten him. She turned her head into the blankets and let herself cry her way to sleep. All that was left now was to rescue him and get home with her message.
Jude woke some time later—not yet dawn, but the night was passing. The room still dark, she reached out to fumble with the candle. Her hand struck something hard and leathery. It took only a second for her fingers to discover laces.
A boot.
A man next to her bed in the dark.
She sucked in a breath to scream, but a hand covered her mouth. Even more shocking, a body covered hers, his legs trapping hers beneath him. She hit him, but he ignored it.
He was heavy and warm, his body’s response to hers a lengthening brand against her hip. Good God. Her breathing sped up and energy flooded her muscles. Whoever this devil was, she wouldn’t let him have what he wanted without a fight. She bucked, writhed and punched, trying to get him off her.
His breath tickled her cheek then her ear. “Jude, it’s me.”
Michael’s voice penetrated the terror gripping her and she froze.
The hand over her mouth moved to cup her head, and she felt his lips touch her temple. “Are you...all right?” The question was voiced tentatively, as if he was expecting bad news.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her heart thundered louder than a battery of artillery. She couldn’t decide if she was worried, relieved or angry.
His lips caressed her skin again, this time her cheek and the corner of her mouth. “I was afraid one of those officers might have come back to...interrogate you.”
Relieved won. She swallowed hard and finally rediscovered the ability to speak. “No, no, I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. She was in the arms of the one man who had the power to destroy her. “What about you? Did they hurt you?”
He answered with a grunt. “I have a few new bruises, but nothing that will slow me down.”
A soul-deep stab of pain had her struggling to breathe. “I’m so sorry.”
“The choice was mine. It was the only way to remove suspicion from you.” His thumb feathered over her bottom lip. “I don’t regret a single action.”
“But—”
He stifled her protest, kissing her with all the gentleness missing earlier in the ballroom. His lips worshiped her in a manner better suited to a man with all the time in the world to seduce his lover. But he’d never been that. Remembered humiliation surfaced. “What are you doing?”
“What I should have done—” he kissed her again, “—two years ago.”
Soft, so soft. His lips led her towards a destination she’d never allowed herself to imagine. His hands were warm and firm, holding her with a strength she’d longed to feel for years.
But he’d rejected her.
She turned her head, breaking the kiss. “Michael, wait, it—”
“Shh.” His breath caressed her skin.
Well, of course she knew they had to be quiet. But instead of getting up, he kissed her again. Good grief, he was good at it. The pleasure enough to satisfy an opium addict. She’d been working under the threat of discovery and capture for so long she’d forgotten how drugging desire could be.
“Delicious,” he groaned into her mouth before deepening the kiss into something hungry and desperate. His hand released her wrists and skimmed down her arm, side and behind her hips, pulling her into him.
The heated length of his desire moved against her, doing strange things to her insides. She shivered, her body rocking against it, her nerve endings blazing with a fire she’d never before experienced.
“Michael?” What was he doing to her?
“You’re coming with me,” he whispered between kisses.
“What?” She couldn’t possibly make sense of what he was saying while he drugged her with the touch of his lips and hands.
“Tonight. It’s not safe for you here.”
It had never been safe for her. “But I need to stay. My father is depending on me to—”
“Not anymore. He’s the one who sent me to bring you home.” He dived in for another deep kiss and her argument dissolved into a series of disjointed moans. The hand behind her head slid down her body to her breast. He cupped it slowly, shaping it, making her gasp, then he rubbed his palm over her nipple. She groaned.
“Promise me,” he said, flicking his finger over the sensitive tip of her breast.
“What?” she asked, nearly incoherent with pleasure.
“Promise you’ll come with me. No protest.”
“Wh—what?”
He shifted his hips, centring himself over her, and pressed down, rubbing against her.
Her belly heated to boiling and she couldn’t control her own body as it moved in concert with his. She wanted the promise of sensual delight his body made, needed it more than air to breathe.
“I can give you pleasure,” he whispered, his raspy deep voice a sinful pledge. “Beyond your wildest imagining. I’ll be your slave for as long as you like if you make me this one promise.”
Wait...what?
His words were a bucket of icy water, clearing the erotic haze. Oh God, he didn’t want her. He only wanted to secure her cooperation.
The knowledge he was willing to whore himself to achieve his goal slid like a blade through her skin, muscle and bone into her heart.
She could hardly breathe through the pain and anger, yet still shook with the desire to hold him close. But she couldn’t allow this farce of a seduction to continue. She forced the words from her throat despite the chokehold sorrow had around it. “I agree.”
As soon as the words passed her lips, he sighed, stopped his seductive movements and let his muscles relax. His forehead came to rest on hers. “Thank you. You won’t regret this.”
She struggled to repress the tears building behind her eyes. She wanted him, loved him, but she was nothing to him. Nothing but a mission, a set of orders.
She expected him to get off her, to leave her to the cold and darkness, but his body resumed its erotic dance. His lips teased her earlobe then nibbled their way down her neck.
Now that she had agreed...she was getting her reward?
No.
As much as she wanted this man, she wouldn’t accept him this way. Could never accept him now.
“I agree on one condition.”
He froze above her.
“Never touch me again.”
Chapter Four
“Jude?”
Michael sounded shocked and confused, and she wanted to hit him for it. She settled for shoving at his shoulders. “Off.”
He sighed and levered himself away from the cot, but caught one of her hands in his before she could scramble away.
She tried to tug it out of his grip, but he held her fast. “We need to talk.”
He might be able to control her body through desire, but her mind and heart knew the truth.
He did not love her.
“What time is it?”
The pause before his answer was long and cold. “About two hours before dawn.”
“I slept longer than I planned.” She brushed several strands of loose hair from around her face and tried to free her hand again.
He doggedly kept hold of her. “You have a plan?” He sounded amused.
“Yes, I was going to rescue you then get you on your way to the Netherlands.”
His laughter died quick enough when she didn’t respond. He tried to cover his faux pas by clearing his throat. “A lovely thought, but how could a lone woman have accomplished that?”
“I’m not working here alone.”
Michael’s voice was hard. “I told you your messenger was captured.”
“He isn’t my only contact.”
There was a dark, deep sil
ence. Finally, he released her.
She fumbled with the matches for a moment before managing to light the candle.
Michael’s eyes gleamed, though the rest of his face appeared solemn. “You’re not working alone?” His question was asked with perfect clarity, like a lawyer arguing before a judge.
For heaven’s sake, he should know all this. “No. A sort of underground chain of people has formed, working together to get civilians and allied soldiers out from behind enemy lines. People from all levels of society. My aunt Sylvie, the Duchess De Croy, has been hiding men in her house, moving them from room to room when soldiers come to search it. From there, miners, farmers, even shopkeepers help them pass through the country to safety. I work most closely with Rose Culver, a British nurse in charge of another hospital here in the city. I trained under her for several months.”
“I was unaware that you were working with Nurse Culver.” His scowl would have frightened most people, but not her. He shook his head. “This is a very dangerous game you’ve been playing. You shouldn’t have risked yourself.”
“I should fold my hands and do nothing as my country—as Europe—is torn apart by greed?” She snorted and stood. “How little you know me.”
Michael got to his feet and leaned over her. “I know you.” He touched her with only his gaze, letting it caress her in an unhurried exploration.
She glared at him, wanting to scream, to pound his chest with her fists and deny he knew anything about her. How could he after what he’d done? Taken her love for him, her trust, and turned it into a thing to be bargained for.
She drew herself up instead, releasing her anger and shame, letting it flow out of her along with the air in her lungs. “Perhaps you did once, but I’m not the same naive girl I was two years ago. War changes everyone. I know my duty, and I know what I can do and what I cannot.”
He stared down at her, his face unmoving, his mouth a hard, immobile line. “You cannot stay here.”
“You have my promise to leave already.” She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “Or did you forget?”
A sound rumbled out of his chest, like the growl of a Bengal tiger stalking its prey.
Jude began gathering her things, though there wasn’t much to collect. Just her cloak, clean apron, and a small bag she’d prepared containing some medical supplies and two small loaves of bread she’d stolen from the kitchen.
She shouldered the bag and donned her cloak. “I’m ready.”
For the first time since she’d seen him the day before, he smiled at her, crookedly, and stepped close enough that his uniform brushed her cape. He trailed an index finger down her face. “Such ferocious courage.”
She jerked away. “Don’t be absurd.” He knew nothing of her activities since the war started. The chances she’d taken, the secrets she kept or the men she’d saved by smuggling them out of the country dressed as washerwomen and farmers.
They left the room, Jude first to be certain no patrolling soldiers were in sight.
“The rear kitchen entrance,” he whispered in her ear.
She led the way, walking with purpose. If she hadn’t been living in the building for several months already, she wouldn’t have recognised it. Where once the palace had been a jewel in a city that boasted many beautiful buildings, with polished floors and gleaming walls glittering with gold leaf, now there was dust, dirt and grime on every surface. Palace servants had been pressed into service for the Germans, chased out or shot. Most were dead. Virtually none remained in the palace itself.
What used to be a monument to the beauty of the Belgian people was now a festering scar on the country’s soul.
If she’d been a man, she’d have gone into battle, willing to die for her country’s freedom. But as a woman, she contented herself with the knowledge that her systematic spying would hurt the German bullies in ways they’d never understand or recognise.
She, a woman with no skills beyond those of a nurse, would see the occupiers chased out.
At this hour, there were few people about. One or two guards patrolled the interior hallways, but all were familiar with her and simply nodded when she and Michael passed. The kitchen was a large, open room with two huge ovens and several tables for preparing food. At first, it appeared deserted, but several steps from the door leading outside to the servants’ gate, two soldiers called out to them.
“Where are you going?”
They were seated at a small table in a corner, a deck of cards between them. One stood, his rifle in hand, and approached them, asking again, “Where are you going?”
“To the other hospital,” Jude answered. “We’ve run out of ether.”
“Ether?” the soldier asked, looking over Michael’s uniform.
“It’s what we use to make a wounded man sleep while he’s being operated on. Without it, you’d be awake while the surgeon is cutting into you.”
The soldier’s face paled and he swallowed, then he flared his nostrils and thrust his chin out at Michael. “What about you?”
“I’ve been ordered to accompany her. A solitary woman at night is not safe.”
The German grunted but didn’t change his stance.
The other soldier strode over to them. He looked from Jude to Michael and back again, then reached out with one hand towards Jude’s face. She instinctively retreated behind Michael.
The soldier grinned. “And if your errand takes a little while, no one will care, eh?”
Michael smiled back and shrugged one shoulder.
The soldier laughed and licked his lips. “Next time maybe you’ll take me with you on your errand.”
She kept her mouth shut and her eyes down, frightened they might do more than insinuate whatever disgusting things they were imagining.
The two men moved back to the table to pick up their cards, sniggering and making kissy sounds at Jude.
Michael put his hand at the small of her back and pushed her towards the door and outside. “Don’t stop, don’t slow down, keep walking,” his whispered in her ear.
They walked down the cobblestone path and past one, then two patrolling soldiers who did no more than nod when Michael saluted them. Another knot of men at the stables glanced at them curiously, but no one made a challenge. Then they were out the back gate and heading into the city.
Jude allowed her shoulders to relax, thinking they were out of danger, but as they rounded a corner, she spotted a roadblock at the end of the lane. It was guarded by four men with a motorcycle on either side of the gate. A simple salute would never do.
Michael brought her to a stop about five feet away from the barricade, came to attention and saluted the guards. One of them stepped forward.
“Where are you going with this woman?”
“For medical supplies from the other hospital. They’re expecting more wounded here in a few hours.”
“We just allowed a shipment of bandages in.”
“We’re almost out of ether.” Jude spoke up. “Without it we’ll have to operate on the wounded while they’re still awake.”
The guard winced and stepped aside. The barricade rose and they were waved through.
“That excuse works well,” Michael said as they continued down the street.
“I’ve had plenty of time to think up excuses for all kinds of things.”
“Why is that?” His question seemed simple. It wasn’t. Nothing with him ever was.
But she could play dumb. “I don’t understand your question.”
He walked beside her, looking for all the world like a German soldier with a mission and little else on his mind. “Why are you here, Jude?”
“The same reasons you are, I imagine. Duty, responsibility, love of my country.”
“I thought you wanted to start a hospital.”
She glanced at him, her brows pulled low. “I did. Or did you forget about your German friend who passed away yesterday?”
He made a frustrated noise. “I mean—”
“I kno
w what you mean.” She sighed. “But war broke out and everything changed.”
He grunted, the sound reflecting his disapproval.
At one time she would have let that go, but she was a different woman now. “Women aren’t allowed to be patriotic? We’re not allowed to serve our country?”
He answered without hesitation. “Not if doing so puts your life in danger.”
“Only men are allowed that risk? Do you know how many women and children have been murdered in Belgium since the war started? Hundreds, perhaps thousands. Here, simply being alive puts me in danger.”
“But you don’t have to be here.”
“Yes, I do.” She gave him a secret smile. “Because I’m the best person for the job.”
He frowned at her. “Which job is that?”
“Finding out things I’m not supposed to know.”
“Like what?”
Had her father told him nothing?
“Like the massive offensive the Germans are planning in five days’ time.”
* * *
“Offensive?” Tension filled Michael’s body. His hands tightened on his rifle and he looked around expecting the enemy to attack them at any moment. How did this one small, vulnerable woman manage to find this out without getting caught?
“It’s huge,” Jude told him. “They plan to throw several thousand men at the trenches with a new weapon. Poison gas. I found out where yesterday and hoped to send a message to my father, but before I could meet the messenger, you arrived.”
He could barely make his jaw work to grind out the question foremost in his mind. “How did you discover this information?”
“The palace library is being used for meetings between the German generals and their commanders. There’s a direct passage between the nursery and the library. I’ve been listening to many of their late-night discussions. The passage was never meant to be a real secret, but the entrance and exit were designed to blend into the walls, to make it fun for the children.”
Michael squeezed his rifle so hard he was sure his knuckles were white. “So they could play at spy?”
“Yes.”
“Good God.” His voice sounded ragged even to himself. “You could’ve been caught at any time.”