Enticing the Spymaster (War Girls)

by Julie Rowe

  Regret turned his tongue bitter. “Just as I didn’t.”

  “I found you to be...perfectly acceptable.”

  “What about your family? Your father? Did they think a man with a profession as dangerous as mine, a man who’s rarely in England for more than a week at a time, a man trained to lie, deceive and kill was acceptable as a husband?”

  “You lie, deceive and kill because your sense of duty is so strong. You’re willing to sacrifice everything for your country. In my mind, that makes you—made you the only man for me. Or so I thought. You corrected that assumption.”

  So passionate. Could it be that no one else had seen it? Desired it, her enough to fight for her? “I find it astonishing that your parents couldn’t arrange a suitable marriage for you.”

  “They suggested two or three possibilities. All eventually withdrew.”

  “You mean to say they retracted their offers?” With her family’s position of prominence he could hardly believe a good man—the perfect man—hadn’t stepped forward.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Her cheeks turned a rosy red, but she didn’t answer.

  “Why, Jude?”

  “I didn’t want to marry any of them. They were politically suitable, but as potential husbands? No.”

  “What could possibly remove a man from your consideration who’d already met with your parent’s approval?”

  She lifted one hand and began ticking off reasons like a list of unpleasant tasks. “Too many mistresses. Snores loud enough to wake the dead. Believes all women are stupid and their only functions are to have babies and host parties—”

  “Wait. Too many mistresses?”

  “I made inquiries.”

  “Of whom?”

  “Of family and intimate friends, of course. I questioned them carefully, disguised as conversation.”

  “Relatives told you about snoring and mistresses?”

  “Well, no, not relatives.” She blushed again. “But others who knew them very well.”

  “Others?” Her cheeks kept getting redder and redder, and she wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Good God, you talked to their mistresses, didn’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Not all of them had anything so formal as a mistress. One used the same prostitute regularly.”

  “You conversed with a prostitute?”

  * * *

  He looked as if he were about to have a fit. His cheeks were stung with red.

  “I most certainly did.”

  Her answer only seemed to befuddle him further. “Why?”

  “A wise woman makes discreet inquiries into her prospective husband’s life to ensure she’s not tying herself to someone unworthy.”

  “Where did you learn that? Certainly not from your mother.”

  “Of course I learnt it from my mother. She’s intelligent and careful. She made the same investigation into my father’s character before she married him. He didn’t know, but that’s neither here nor there.”

  His expression turned thoughtful. “Did you...”

  “Did I ask about you? Yes, but not until after your rejection. I happened to meet Mrs. Emily Bancroft while shopping one afternoon. A lovely woman. It’s sad that her husband passed away only a year into their marriage, but she seemed content with her circumstances.”

  His jaw now hung as if no longer hinged. “How did you find out she was my...”

  “Mistress? I asked Mother if she knew—and she did.”

  His teeth snapped together. “Your mother is a menace.”

  “Why on earth did you think Father married her? She has friends everywhere.”

  “I think I’ve been a fool. I should have been recruiting women to act as spies.”

  “Indeed. Now do you understand why Father let me do this?”

  “Don’t put words into my mouth. A certain kind of woman, not you.”

  “Why not me?”

  “Because.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake. Why?”

  “Because you’re too valuable to be put in harm’s way.”

  “How is my value more or less than any other woman?”

  “You said it yourself. Your father’s unofficial position as royal advisor and your mother’s proximity to the Belgian crown.” She opened her mouth to tell him how idiotic she thought his statement was, but he kept talking. “How did you get stationed as a nurse in the palace?”

  His clenched jaw convinced her to allow the conversation to move forward. She didn’t want him to burst a blood vessel.

  “There was a lot of confusion at the beginning of the war. After it became clear that no one was going to win quickly, I decided to work with Rose Culver. She’d been my teacher and mentor, and I felt relatively safe with her. When the German army set up the hospital in the palace, they came to Rose and told her to supply Belgian nurses to staff it. I volunteered.”

  “Your father didn’t know you’d end up working under the noses of the German command.”

  “He had no idea I’d end up so close to them.”

  “Luck,” he growled. “That’s the only thing that’s kept you out of harm’s way.”

  “Perhaps. But regardless of how, I’ve been able to learn things about German military plans that would otherwise go unknown until far too late.”

  “You spoke of poisoned gas.”

  “Yes. I nearly vomited when I realised what they’d done. It’s a gas that burns the eyes and lungs. It kills, but often slowly. Painfully. A soldier afflicted by it will drown in his own fluids.”

  “You’ve seen the results?”

  “Yes, it was horrible.”

  “When will they use it?”

  “Five days I believe, soon to be four. They have some sort of attack planned.”

  Michael shook his head. “It seems inhuman to use a weapon so indiscriminate. Can they control the gas? Make it go where they want it to go?”

  “How could one control a gas?”

  “You can’t. What are they so afraid of that they would stoop to this?” His whisper seemed rhetorical, so she remained silent. She didn’t have an answer at any rate. He stood. “I’m going to see if there’s any food to be had. Lock the door and don’t open it to anyone but me.”

  “Of course.”

  The expression he turned on her before leaving was nearly hostile.

  She locked the door behind him.

  One thing was certain. She hadn’t answered his questions to his satisfaction and it was unlikely she ever would.

  A few minutes later, a knock sounded at the door and Michael called out his name. She let him in. In his hands were a basket covered with a thin cloth and a small jug.

  “Bread, cheese and water,” he told her, handing her the basket. “The train is full of soldiers on rotation. They get several days in Liege or Cologne, then it’s back to the trenches for who knows how long.”

  She took a piece of bread and a bit of cheese. “The wounded who come from the trenches are damaged more than just physically.”

  “Shell shock, they’re calling it.” Michael ate some bread. “We’re getting reports of men incapacitated but without a mark on them. Command has had some tried as cowards or deserters and shot.”

  “Do you think they’re cowards?”

  “No. There’s horror in war that some men can’t bear. Not because they’re lesser men, but because they care too much. Not everyone is capable of facing the gruesome reality of death the way they’re being forced to now.”

  “They come into the hospital covered in dirt, blood and God knows what, their clothes infested with lice, ticks and fleas. But it’s their faces that tell me how horrible it is.” She would never get those expressions out of her memory. “Empty eyes, slack jaws. Some of them twitch or jump at any noise.”

  “And now we’ll have to deal with poisoned gas.”

  “This madness has to stop.”

  “Unfortunately, neither side appears willing to surrender.”

  “No, I suppose
not.” A yawn swallowed anything else she might have said.

  “We both need rest.” Michael stood and folded out a narrow bunk from high on the wall. A cramped ladder made it accessible. “I’ll sleep on the bench.”

  She nodded and climbed the steps. She lay down and tried to ignore the sounds of Michael removing his uniform jacket. The memory of his touch arched through her body.

  Perhaps sleep wouldn’t be so easy.

  * * *

  Jude woke to Michael’s voice and his hand on her arm.

  “What is it?”

  “We’re about an hour from Liege.”

  She climbed down the ladder. “Is there a room on the train where I could wash?”

  He nodded. “The train is full of soldiers and little else. Keep your eyes on me or the floor and stay close.”

  “I’m ready.”

  They left the berth. He turned right and she followed as closely as she could. There were many soldiers standing in the aisle, and she could see them stare at her out of the corner of her eye.

  Michael stopped at a narrow door, opened it, looked inside, then told her to go in.

  The room was narrow, but there was clean water and soap. She was able to take care of all her needs in a few minutes.

  They made their way back to their berth and Michael locked the door again.

  She sat on the bench, staring at the ring on her finger. “Why your grandmother’s ring? What if I lose it?”

  “You won’t.”

  “Michael, you should be saving this ring for your wife, not using it as a prop in this badly written play we’re acting out.”

  The smile on his face looked as if it had been carved by a razor. “I won’t ever have a wife.”

  “Give it to one of your female relatives, then,” she said through tightly clenched teeth. She tried to pull it off, but it refused to budge.

  He quirked an eyebrow at her. “I want you to keep it.”

  “Why?”

  His answer was to lean back and close his eyes. As if that finished their discussion.

  Rage swept over her. “Because you feel guilty? Sorry for me?” His eyes popped open and she shook a finger in his face. “Don’t you dare.”

  He leaned forward. “I feel a great many things for you, but not pity.”

  She mirrored him. “I don’t believe you.”

  He seized her. “Believe this.” He kissed her, his lips at first hard then soft.

  Jude put her hands on his chest to push him away, but her fingers disobeyed. They curled into his uniform and pulled him closer.

  He put one hand behind her head while the other slid behind her back, pulling her on top of him into firm contact with his body. His erection felt like a hot, hard rod against her belly.

  She braced her hands against his shoulders and she wrenched her mouth away. If he kissed her again, she’d be lost. She’d do whatever he wanted, be whatever he wanted. Distraction was her only hope.

  “Wha—”

  Too late.

  He covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her words. His kiss was insistent, determined and unforgiving. His lips took over, his tongue tasting her as if she were his favourite meal and he was starving.

  He reversed their positions on the bench, putting her beneath him.

  Something told her he wouldn’t stop this time. He rocked his hips and she shivered with anticipation and desire. Need rose from deep inside, the need for him she’d tried to bottle up but never quite succeeded. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  He moaned and kissed her harder. One hand found her breast and she gasped when he squeezed gently.

  “Oh!” Her eyes grew wide and she forgot to breathe.

  He did it again. She trembled, then sank one hand into his hair, pulling him closer so she could kiss him harder.

  His hand rubbed, squeezed and tormented one breast then the other, making her shake and moan.

  She wanted—no, needed—something more. But she didn’t know what.

  “Michael,” she said on a breathy moan. “Please.”

  His mouth left hers, and he nibbled and sucked his way down her neck. “What do you want?”

  “I...I don’t know. You. I want...you.”

  He lifted his head and gazed down at her with eyes ablaze. “I won’t stop this time,” he growled. “Do you understand? I can’t stop. I’ve waited too long, wanted too long.”

  “Yes.” She didn’t understand, but didn’t care. She wanted to belong to him, even if it was for a short time. Even if it was only for this hour.

  He stared at her, fear flashing across his features. “I’ll be gentle. I swear to God I won’t hurt you.”

  She smiled and tugged at him. “You’ll only hurt me if you....” No, she wasn’t going to put a name to her fears. “Please, I need you.”

  “I’m yours.” He groaned and kissed her again, his mouth open, his tongue seeking hers in a sinful tangle.

  His hands met at the back of her neck and he started unbuttoning her dress. She thought it would take forever, but then the cool air hit her back and he pulled the bodice down. He stared at her breasts.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered, cupping them, rubbing his thumbs over the nipples.

  She panted, clinging to his shoulders as he watched his fingers play. She made a sound and his eyes darkened. His mouth was on hers again and his hands were busy, pushing her dress and undergarments down over her hips, leaning her back on the bench.

  He wrenched his uniform off, nearly tearing it in the process, his gaze never stopping its slow rake of her body.

  “You are exquisite.”

  Jude didn’t answer. She was too busy staring at his body. Muscles bunched and shifted under his skin as he flung his shirt in the corner, followed by his trousers and knickers. She sucked in a breath—then forgot how to breathe altogether. He looked like the statue of David, only he was warm, alive and very aroused.

  The evidence of which stood out proudly from its nest of hair.

  She reached to touch him, but he caught her hand and pinned it to the bench above her head.

  “If you touch me, I won’t last more than a few moments.” He came over her, one leg thrust between her own.

  “But I—”

  “Let me give you pleasure.” His whisper tickled her ear.

  He’d said that before.

  No, she wouldn’t think of that. Not now. “Yes.”

  He groaned and took her mouth, bracing his weight on one forearm while his free hand traced the line of her jaw, her neck and down to her breast, where he teased and tantalised her until she writhed beneath him.

  Then he dipped his hand lower, between her legs, circling and rubbing the sensitive flesh there, teaching her the true meaning of desire.

  She was burning up and the force of it frightened her. “Michael?”

  “Jude...God, you’re like liquid fire in my arms.”

  “I n-n-need, I need...something. I feel like I’m going to fly apart.” Her thighs started to shake and she gripped his shoulders, digging her nails in. “Please.”

  “Yes, now.” He parted her quivering thighs with his other knee, making room for himself between them. But he was so large, so overwhelmingly male, that she began to shake from head to toe. A frightened sound squeaked past her lips.

  “Shh, I won’t hurt you.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her over and over, letting her get used to the feel of his body covering hers. “I’d rather die than hurt you.”

  “I know.” Her jaw shook and she tried to control it, but her body didn’t feel as if it belonged to her anymore. “I...I want this. I want you.”

  He kissed her again, softly this time, gently, and she calmed enough for the tremors to disappear.

  His hand tested her and she gasped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure.

  “So wet, so tight.” He tested her again, then replaced his fingers with something a lot larger and harder.

  He was careful—almost too care
ful—working his cock into her with short thrusts that did little to relieve the tension filling her body. She still felt empty and on the edge of something explosive and wonderful. “Michael, please.”

  He breathed deep, his chest heaving like a bellows. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

  Damn him, he was going to put her in Bedlam at this rate.

  Shivering in severe anticipation, Jude raked her nails down his back until she reached his magnificent buttocks, then dug them in.

  He groaned a deep-throated surrender and plunged inside her.

  The sharp pain caught her by surprise and she gasped.

  Michael froze above her. “Jude?”

  “I’m fine. Please. Love me.”

  “I do,” he said as he pulled out then pushed relentlessly back in.

  Her back arched and she bit back a cry. She could feel him inside her and it was wonderful. Then he sped up and it went beyond wonderful into divine. He thrust into her, harder and faster, and her body flew apart with a suddenness that shocked her as much as the pleasure did. She screamed, but he caught it with his lips, swallowing her cries. A few more thrusts and he stiffened, pouring his own shout into her mouth.

  Breathing heavy, he collapsed onto her, his head resting against her neck. He kissed along her collarbone as her pulse slowly returned to normal.

  Voices were suddenly audible outside the berth, all male. The air felt cool, and a variety of aches suddenly made themselves known—the one between her legs most of all.

  Michael pulled out of her, making her gasp in both pleasure and pain. His eyes glittered as they met her anxious gaze. She knew what he was about to say. What his sense of honour and duty would oblige him to demand.

  A cool cloak of reason draped itself over her. “Don’t,” she ordered. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

  Chapter Eight

  He opened his mouth—to argue, she was sure—but shouting outside the train dragged his attention away. “We’ve stopped. We’re in Liege.” He peeked out the window and swore under his breath. “Do you remember the officer who watched you tend the wounded the night I arrived?”