by Kit Donner
Bryce stretched out his legs before the fireplace snapping and sputtering to its death. The room had become quite warm, so warm that he had earlier discarded his shirt and wore only breeches. With a half-empty glass in his hand, he leaned more comfortably into his velvet wing chair.
Their trip to Winchelsea had proved unproductive. Normally reliable informants had nothing to report about the French spy’s location or his new meeting place. The only interesting tidbit gleaned was a rumor that the spy might be a woman. Could it be the same—no, she must still be in France. He shook his head. Probably the good pint of ale he had paid the man had embellished his story.
Tonight seemed like a fine night to waste at the bottom of a bottle. He did not eagerly anticipate his visitor, due any moment, which contributed to his imbibing. With his right thigh pulsing a dull pain, his mood grew as foul as the weather had become. The wind taunted the last bright sparks as he rubbed his leg. He didn’t want to remember the night of Edward’s murder, and the French bullet torn into his own leg trying to bring his brother’s body home.
The floor-length curtains flag-waved from across the room while the quiet rain lullabied the night’s peaceful stillness. Admiring the fiery contents in his brandy glass, the brilliant color reminded him of a beautiful young woman.
I wonder where she is. Mrs., or, more likely, Miss, Grundy.
She was all goodness. He wanted to wrap himself in her goodness to forget for awhile. Forget about the woman responsible for his brother’s murder. If only he could return to France. But Secretary Hobart expected a report soon of the sea fencibles stationed in Kent to protect the shoreline that he had been assigned the task of overseeing. With resignation, he knew he had to finish this mission before beginning his own.
Bryce sighed and flexed his shoulders, then rose to pour himself another drink. Returning to his chair, he moved it farther away from the heat still emanating from the fireplace.
What in blazes? He noticed something blue blowing across the window opening. Obviously not his curtains, which, upon closer inspection, he realized were deep red.
Intrigued, he cautiously approached the opened window. He rested his left hip on the sill, leaned out, and looked over to his right. What he saw amazed him and immediately removed any lingering effects of the liquor.
A young woman, very wet, with eyes closed, clutched the side of his house. The edges of her nightdress blew teasingly toward him. Whatever was a young woman doing outside his window? And why did she seem somehow familiar? Could she be spying on him?
Without hesitation, he leveraged his hip across the ledge and reached out his hand toward her while grasping the side of the window with a firm hand.
Softly he called to her, “Don’t be afraid. Step toward me and grab my hand. I will pull you through the window.”
The woman’s eyes fluttered open in shock. She paused and studied his outstretched hand before lifting one trembling pale hand from its anchor to the house and trustingly placed it into his. Immediately, he tightened his grip around her fragile hand and drew her gently toward him, murmuring soft encouragements.
She managed the last few steps to his window in a wet shuffle until he could grasp her narrow waist. In one smooth movement, he pulled the woman against his chest and carried her through the window onto safer ground.
Or that is what he would have believed. When he felt her cool, wet body against his, rationality escaped him. Before he had time to reflect on the desire hardening his body, the uneven weight of her high in his arms awkwardly knocked them to the ground. She landed on top of him with a whoosh, momentarily taking his breath away. Wet strands of sweet-smelling hair slapped his cheek as lovely hazel eyes in an ashen face gazed down at him in terror. She gaped at him as she braced her weight on both sides of his head, while the rest of her body pressed intimately against his.
“You.” The word pushed from his lips in an incredulous whisper. He could not help but stare.
This was her. Mrs. Grundy or Miss Grundy or whoever. What was she doing here? Her mouth opened as if to say something, but caught off guard by her familiar countenance and the very right feel of her supple body pressed against his, Bryce responded by raising his hand to her head and bringing her lips gently to meet his, his other hand holding her tightly against him. He would get the answers from her, but first his body willed his mind to forget for a moment. There would be plenty of time.
Strangely, she offered no protest, and he wasted no time examining his motives or his good luck, only pleased with this wet nymph’s response to his ardency.
Her soft, pliant lips quivered as he wooed her mouth in tender exploration. His tongue licked smooth caresses over her mouth in light persuasion until she allowed him entrance into the sweetest haven he had ever tasted.
He groaned at her innocent acceptance of his tongue. With his other arm still wrapped around her waist, he pulled her down until her breasts pressed intimately against his wet chest and the rest of her damp body lay more firmly anchored in the harbor of his legs. This woman had aroused him in a matter of seconds. His body responded to her sweetly rounded hips beneath his hand, and her peaked nipples against his chest tortured his sanity.
Caught in a dream of wanting and blood-pulsing, fiery desire, he easily circled her slim waist and rubbed his aroused manhood against her feminine heat, wondering if she ached as much as he did.
A knock on the door caught the entranced couple off guard, and Bryce heard the countess call out.
“Bryce? Are you in there?”
Chapter 4
His hands tightened on the young woman’s hips upon hearing Isabella, reluctant to let her go, yet not wanting his ex-mistress to find her here in his arms. A brief hesitation, then his wet companion rolled out of his surprised arms onto the hard floor with a thump. Her action immediately cooled his heated senses.
With no further delay, he rose onto his good knee and deftly raised himself off the floor. In his haste, he did not risk another look at the young woman, but hurried across the room to the unlocked door to prevent Isabella from entering.
Too late. She burst into the room in a manner which suggested no amount of bars or locks could have prevented her. Her azure-blue silk dressing gown hissed around her silk slippers as she pushed past him.
“Mon chéri, you know I do not like waiting. And it has been so long since you have made love to me,” she told him reprovingly, with red lips pouting.
He closed his eyes and muttered a groan. He did not turn around but waited for her anticipated reaction.
“Bryce, how could you? You are quite careless,” her cool voice adding to the chill in the air.
Ironically, she had just reminded him of how warm he had been. Puzzled, he turned to find the countess gliding to the open window. No trace of the damp sprite remained. She had simply vanished.
Suddenly a fearful thought occurred to him. Had she escaped the way she’d arrived? In a few strides, he reached the window, but Isabella had already closed it.
“This rain has certainment soaked the curtains. What a dilemma! You should have shut these windows earlier,” she chided him. She faced him with a sly smile painted on her lips. “Mon amour, I could not stop thinking about your invitation,” she purred.
He brushed her aside and yanked open the casement windows. A quick glance to the left and down allowed him to breathe again. She had not left by the window. The only other exit was the door to his valet’s room, which had a door to the hallway. Desperately, he tried to think of a way to get rid of Isabella as he shut the windows again.
Isabella’s long arms curled around his waist as she pressed her full breasts against his back, then stepped away and walked in front of him. “Bryce, why are you wet? Were you standing at the window letting the rain soak you?”
“Ah, yes, I thought I saw something outside, so I leaned out to see what it was.”
“I can dry you. Come to bed. I have what you need.” Her searching hands efficiently found his aroused member,
still hard with the memory of another woman. “And you have what I want.”
Bryce removed her hands from him. This was a foolish idea. It had been from the beginning. She had been amusing a few years ago, but when he returned last November, she had insisted on accompanying him home. She thought he needed her. She was wrong. He had not had a need for her in a long time.
However, Providence had played a hand in the arrangements by bringing the countess’s cousin Alain Sansouche, a suspected French spy, with her to Paddock Green. And while Sansouche was under the same roof, it would be easier for Bryce to observe him.
Keeping Isabella at arm’s length while he continued with his plans to locate the ring of French spies had proven to be a nuisance these past few months. Obviously not undone by his lack of encouragement, she pressed her hands to his chest and raised her head to seal a wet, inviting kiss on his lips.
The kiss, vastly different from the one with his wet nymph, triggered Bryce to his senses. Where the nymph’s kiss had broken through his despair, Isabella’s felt cold and manipulative. He’d tasted youthful, redeeming innocence and wanted a second course of the vision that had dropped into his arms.
Intent on his comparison, he realized too late the countess had pulled him to the bed. He watched her dispassionately as if he was in the audience and not a participant of the show as she reached up and slowly untied the only ribbon holding her dressing gown together. She lay back on the bed waiting for her temptation to work as it had done before.
The temptation she sold was hard not to buy. Long, thick blond hair draped over one milky-white shoulder, her tall, full body shone pale against the black canvas of the rich marble counterpane. Honeyed nipples pouted for attention.
But another woman occupied his mind. A woman he had held briefly and would remember for a lifetime. He reached across Isabella’s white body and gathered her dressing gown together, securing the ends with their tiny blue ribbons.
“I think perhaps you should leave,” he said, his voice quiet.
“But why do you turn me away? I thought you wanted me. You asked me here tonight.” She pursed her bright lips, then rose indignantly from the bed in displeasure over his rejection. Because of his plans, he needed her in his home and cast about for a worthy excuse for his behavior.
“Please forgive me, Isabella. My leg rather pains me this evening.”
Bright blue eyes grew concerned, and she threw herself into his arms. “Why ever did you not tell me? Perhaps I could stay and rub it? Would it not feel better?”
Her cloying perfume nearly suffocated him. He easily detached her ivylike arms from around his neck and showed her to the door. “Thank you, no. I need to rest.”
“Bryce, do you not realize I love you? I believe you once cared for me.” She dared a hand on his arm, her gaze searching his face, almost looking as if she remembered how to cry.
He removed her hand gently before responding. “Isabella, you do me no service in your love for me. I have told you that before.”
“I will not give up hope, mon cher.” Isabella, with a tiny smile on her face, lifted her chin and sailed through the door, taking her still-intact pride with her.
Bryce sighed in relief and quickly closed the door to begin his search for the wet young woman. Where could she be? He looked under the bed, then in his valet’s room, hoping she might have hidden there waiting for him, her lithe body still flush with the heat of their embrace.
But his search proved fruitless. He then exhausted most of the house and did not rest until he had looked into every darkened corner for a splash of dark hair and willing full lips.
Finally, reluctantly, he accepted that she was gone. Left him without a promise to return or proof she even existed. He wandered back to his rooms and threw himself on the bed.
Had he only dreamed her? Had he really held her sweet form in his arms? When sleep finally arrived, his body and soul sought sanctuary from his regular nightmares with thoughts of Mrs. Grundy. Was she his savior or his nemesis?
Safely back in her room, door locked, Patience fumbled with the sleeves of her damp nightdress. In her haste, she ripped the seam at the wrist, causing her to mutter an oath. She threw aside the nightdress and wrap and then buttoned herself into a long linen shirt before crawling into bed. She gathered the bedcovers up to her neck, but the shivering would not stop.
She knew it was only a matter of time before he uncovered her disguise. Maybe not tonight, but soon, if she didn’t use more sense. Would he suspect she was one of the new maids? She could only pray he would have no cause to look further than the first two floors, and hoped that her venture would have no ill affect on her health. Thankfully, her guardian angel had seen her through this little escapade.
Suddenly, Patience sat up. She had not taken her lucky onyx with her. Yes, that must be the reason why fortune had deserted her.
With a tired shake of her head, she settled back onto her small, lumpy bed. Although she’d intended to put the night from her mind, when she closed her eyes, the past hour replayed itself like a nightmare. Or possibly more like a lovely dream, as if his lordship was not her enemy but her lover.
Back on the ledge, she had already decided to return to the other bedroom when the earl held out his hand to her. Panicked, her mind went daft. His voice rang in the wet night loud and yet gentle, compelling her to trust him to save her. Her hand held in his firm grasp, she knew he would not let her fall.
After he had carried her through the window, she remembered a fright so great that if he’d asked her what she was doing out there, she would have confessed her deception.
Everything had happened so quickly that before she realized it, she had landed on top of his warm, hard body. Stunned at being discovered, Patience allowed this stranger to press a kiss on her unsuspecting lips. She had never been kissed in such a way that numbing fear could dissolve into sweet, mind-robbing pleasure. She heaved a sigh. He had tasted of rain and fire and—she licked her lips—brandy.
Patience shuddered, thinking how close she’d come to becoming unmasked. If not for her quick action of rolling right under the bed and over to the far side, she would still be in the earl’s room trying to explain why she happened to be standing outside his window in the pouring rain.
Before she had crawled through the opposite door, she had taken a quick peek across the room and saw the earl embrace a woman. Probably his mistress that the servants had mentioned earlier. She was amazed that the earl could so easily trade one woman for another. But if what she suspected of him to be true, his Don Juan nature was yet another sly trick in his basket of spy misdeeds.
With the earl and countess absorbed in each other, it had seemed a perfect time to exit. She went through a small study, which she disappointingly had no time to explore, to the hall door, nearly safe. As if the French were after her, she flew down the hallway and up to the attic, hoping no one was up and about to see her flight.
Secured in her tiny room, she’d deliberated over whether she was thankful or disappointed that the countess had arrived when she did. What was the matter with her? Of course she was thankful, ever so grateful that his seduction had ended when it did. She chose not to pursue musings on what might have happened if the countess had not made an appearance. Oh, how could she have let herself be cozened by him?
True, he was handsome when he smiled, and he might kiss as if he could set her world on fire, but she, Patience Leticia Mandeley, would have none of it. She vowed not to let him near her again when her emotions were unguarded.
She would be more careful in the future. This spy business certainly would take some practice.
Oh, the earl was a devious one. I will just have to watch him more closely next time. Since he was a spy, he probably knew all sorts of ploys to make people talk. Convinced that she would yet prove to be a worthy opponent in his game, she drifted off to sleep, still reproaching herself for vividly remembering the earl’s kiss and finding pleasure in it.
Chapter 5
Brother James often said a righteous cause has the strength of angels behind it, but Patience thought she could have used a little more help from above. With a shrug, she turned to look for her ivory combs to capture her unruly hair. Only one could be found. She searched the small room and saw no sign of the missing comb. The pair had been her mother’s, and she hated losing one.
Slowly sinking onto the bed, Patience believed she may have worn them last night on her ill-planned trip to the earl’s room. If she wanted it back, there simply was no recourse but to search his room. The thought of entering his bedchambers again so soon made her apprehensive. When would it be safe to venture back into the enemy’s lair? Only when she was absolutely certain the earl was nowhere nearby.
Ready to work, Patience entered the kitchen, wondering how she could learn the earl’s whereabouts, since she wanted to explore his study. Although the housekeeper was not about, the old cook, Melenroy, told Patience that she was to see to the storeroom and organize it. With a heavy sigh, Patience headed downstairs in the direction the cook pointed, determined to be the fastest organizer Mrs. Knockersmith had ever hired.
Bryce spent a few hours reviewing crop rotations with his land steward, then mounted Defiance and headed for Viscount Carstairs’s estate, with Captain Keegan Kilkennen by his side. The captain’s ship would be undergoing repairs for the next week, and Bryce wanted Keegan’s opinion on the viscount’s murder. They planned to meet the constable at Carstairs’s home to discuss it.