A Brazen Bargain: Spies and Lovers, Book 2

by Laura Trentham

  “That was lovely, Rafe. Will you read more tomorrow evening?”

  Ducking his head, he touched his scar. “If you wish.”

  “I wish,” she said, unsuccessfully trying to catch his eye.

  “You should both retire. I have some paperwork to attend to this evening. I bid you good night.” He was gone before she could formulate a reply.

  He hadn’t ignored her, but neither had he acknowledged there might be anything more between them than the barest of friendships. He had made things perfectly clear. One interlude.

  The problem, of course, was she yearned for more than one brief interlude. Actually, the bigger problem was she loved him. But he didn’t know and probably never would. There was a month left until their agreement was satisfied. Couldn’t he allow them a month of happiness? She wouldn’t mention the future or love. For once in her life, she would live in the moment.

  What if she took the little maid’s advice? What if she waited for Rafe in a state of undress? On the steps to her room, her courage faltered. What if he denied her? Sent her back to her cold bed? Maybe tomorrow night, she’d be brave.

  After undressing, she held her night rail in both hands. The soft fabric irritated her overly sensitive skin, and she dropped it to the chair. The cool linen sheets soothed her. Really, sleeping naked wouldn’t rival the most scandalous thing she had done in the last twenty-four hours.

  * * * * *

  Pacing in his study, Rafe scrubbed his face and nearly bellowed. He couldn’t even make it a night without her. It was either drink his weight in brandy or indulge in a much more pleasurable but no less destructive vice.

  The urgency to have her overruled any misgivings he harbored. It wasn’t fair to her, this clandestine affair. He stood outside her bedroom door, looking up and down the hall. Perhaps she’d locked him out. That really would be for the best.

  He prayed she hadn’t. The latch opened under his trembling hand, and his tension dissipated into the welcoming darkness. Slipping inside, he allowed his eyes to adjust, her deep, even breathing marking time.

  He should take her quickly in the dark. Slake his desire and retreat to his room, leaving her to sleep in her bed alone. He wouldn’t though. He needed to see the desire in her eyes, wanted to explore her supple curves, craved the blush that suffused her skin as she climaxed.

  After lighting a handful of candles along the mantle, a soft glow bathed the room. Her back was to him, but the sheet outlined the rounded curve of her hip and long length of her legs.

  He disrobed, dropping his clothes in a path from mantle to bed, finally slipping under the sheets. Encountering smooth, bare skin, he clenched her hip. Bloody hell, she was stark naked. His control wavered.

  Stirring at his touch, she arched her back and stretched into him, her bare bottom nestling around his hard cock. He thrust into the cleft.

  “Is this a dream? Tell me it’s not a dream.” Longing colored her sleep-roughened voice.

  “Were you waiting for me? Have you been dreaming about my cock?” He cursed his tongue. He should shower her with pretty words and compliments. She didn’t seem to mind, scooting into him and pushing his hand between her legs. He found her wet and ready and drove his finger deep. Her throaty moan was nearly his undoing.

  He cupped her breast and lightly pinched her nipple. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I want you writhing under me. Do you hate me for coming to you like this?”

  She writhed against him already, her voice thin with desire. “I can’t stop thinking about you either. If you hadn’t come, I would have waited in your bed tomorrow night. What does that make me?”

  “Utterly delightful. Almost makes me wish I had a bit more self-control. Almost.”

  He pushed her on her back and knelt between her thighs, poised at her entrance. He rubbed the head of his cock through her folds, circling her nub. A guttural groan ripped from her. Once he entered her, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on her pleasure.

  “Look. Look at us,” he commanded.

  Minerva raised herself on her elbows, watching raptly. Holding the base of his cock, he pressed inside her a few inches before pulling out to rub the glistening head over her again. He pushed inside of her a little farther before pulling out and repeating the torture over and over again.

  Her neck arched, her skin flushed, and she clamped him inside of her with a cry, falling back into the pillows. The sight of her open to him, the smell of her arousal and the tight hold of her body overloaded his senses. He lost all semblance of gentleness, pounding hard until his seed released in a wash of pleasure.

  He rolled to his back, cuddling her against his side, her head pillowed on his scarred shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”

  Her reply was a sigh and a sleepy snuffling.

  Several minutes passed before his heart rate and breathing slowed to normal levels. Again, his traitorous body had released inside of her. As long as they were under the same roof, he wouldn’t be able to stay out of her bed. The image of her round with his babe annihilated a fleeting thought of sending her away.

  Would it be so horrible if she were forced to stay at Wintermarsh? Perhaps not for him, but for her it might be. She belonged in London, not cloistered in the country with him. Would she hate him if the decision was thrust upon her through his recklessness?

  Pushing away thoughts of the morrow, he would hold her until dawn forced him to sneak back to his bed like a thief. Gathering her close, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Nineteen

  She searched with sleepy hands, finding only cool linen and a squashed pillow. She was alone. And heartbreakingly lonely. Still, he’d come to her, so hope was not yet gone.

  Mustering her energy, she waited until Tom and Rafe departed with Aries and then cleaned the little stable room. Fresh flowers, fresh sheets—just in case—and sweet-smelling evergreen branches made the room inviting and romantic.

  Minerva dragged Jenny to the blue bedroom late in the afternoon and ordered a bath. Playing her maid, Minerva combed and styled her hair and dressed her in blue scoop-necked muslin dress. Jenny spun in the looking glass, her color high with excitement, but once in the stables, she paced, leaving an ever-lengthening track in the dirt floor.

  “What do I do and say once he’s here? I feel like my heart is going to explode out my chest.” Jenny rubbed the skin above the neckline of her gown.

  Minerva leaned on Sparrow’s door, scratching the mare’s forelock and watching Jenny’s nervous meandering. “You’ll know what to say when the time comes. Tell him what’s in your heart.”

  “There’s enough food to feed ten men in here.” Simon hauled a basket into the stables and set it down with a thunk. He rubbed and stretched his arm but froze when he saw Jenny. His head jutted forward, and his eyes popped. “Bloody hell—pardon the language, ladies—but you look positively glorious, Jenny. Tom’s a goner.”

  More than any of Minerva’s advice and words of wisdom, Simon’s compliment lent Jenny some ease. “Do you really think so, sir?”

  Simon tutted and shook his head. “He’s done for, the poor blighter. Might as well read the banns now.” He checked his fob. “They’ll be home soon. Why don’t you lay out the food, and Minerva and I will wish you luck. As if you need it.”

  Jenny nodded, a relieved smile on her face. “Thank you both.”

  Minerva gave her a hug and followed Simon around the corner.

  She glanced at her brother several times on their walk back to the house. His expression perfectly serene and with his eyes straight ahead, he asked, “Do I have a hairy mole growing out of my cheek or something?”

  Minerva sputtered a little laughter. “No, I’m wondering how you did that.”

  “Did what?”

  “Relieved Jenny’s nerves and gave her the confidence to believe it would all work out with a few words. I
’ve been droning on all afternoon trying to settle her down.”

  “No offense, but being on the receiving end of your droning lectures, I can attest to the fact they never work. Anyway, you forget, while Jenny relayed information to you, I witnessed firsthand the progression of their courtship when I stayed in the stables. Tom is smitten with the chit. If this ploy doesn’t crumble his defenses, he doesn’t deserve her.”

  She took his hand and swung his arm like a child. “Simon, you’ve been full of surprises this autumn. I don’t think I have to worry about you anymore.”

  Simon smiled a knowing smile and squeezed her hand. “No, you don’t. I’ll be fine. You need to start thinking to your own happiness.”

  She tucked her hand in his elbow and leaned the side of her face against his shoulder to hide a sudden rush of tears. When had her dissolute, immature, wayward brother become so wise?

  * * * * *

  “That went better than I expected, but I hate leaving Aries in a strange stable, even one as agreeable as Lord Wyndam’s,” Rafe said.

  “Aye, my lord. Aries acquitted himself well. Do you trust Wyndam to mount him again tomorrow without you?” Tom asked.

  “Wyndam’s an outstanding horseman. I wouldn’t allow Aries’s progeny to be raised by anyone less.” The need to be home had outweighed his duty to Aries. Anticipation thrummed in his blood.

  They dismounted and led the horses inside the stable. Darkness had fallen, but a soft glow lit Simon’s old room. He would flay someone’s hide if a flame had been left unattended amongst the highly flammable hay. Apparently, Tom had the same thought and shoved the door open.

  Tom’s chin dropped. He put a hand on the doorjamb and leaned into it as if suddenly ill. Worried, Rafe looked over Tom’s shoulder, his eyebrows bouncing high at the cozy room and spread of food.

  “Lass, what are you doing here?” Tom’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

  “Waiting for you, Tom.” Jenny’s chin tipped up, her face set in determined lines.

  Tom’s convulsive swallow was audible. “Wh-why?”

  “Because you’re worth fighting for, Tom Donahue. And I warn you now, I mean to win.” Jenny cocked out a hip and cast a surprisingly sensual smile toward Tom.

  “I have a feeling it won’t be a hardship to surrender to you, lass.” Tom voice was rough. “Jenny, you look lovely. You did all of this for me?”

  Tom seemed to have lost the ability to move, so Rafe shoved him into the room and grabbed the door latch to pull it shut. It seemed Jenny and Tom might need a cottage soon. Rafe took up the horse’s reins and led them farther into the stables. After rousing a couple of the lads, he gave them instructions and headed straight to the drawing room.

  He stood in the doorway observing Minerva pace around the room. She stopped occasionally, fingers pulling at her lower lip.

  “Am I to assume you have pushed my stable manager and your favorite maid into a tryst?” Rafe asked, startling her around, her hair flying over one shoulder.

  “You’re home.” Relief and happiness lit her like a candle.

  Her brief statement hit him in the chest like a punch, flipping his good mood on its head. Home. A beautiful woman waited for him at home. How long would it last? How long before she left him? A corrupt, unfair anger at the Fates welled, and unfortunately, Minerva was the only one to take it out on.

  “I take it you saw Jenny. How did Tom react?” The picture of excitement, she scurried over to lay a hand on his arm, no matter the road-weary condition of his jacket.

  “How is it to end, Minerva? Will Jenny be ruined or will Tom be trapped?”

  She removed her hand and lifted guarded eyes toward his face. “Neither, I hope. Does it have to end badly? What about love and marriage? That sounds like a good ending to me.”

  “That only happens in fairytales. Don’t be naive. Tom is a man, like any other, who will take what’s offered and walk away.”

  Her breathing hitched, nostrils flaring. “Tom will do that, will he? I think not. He’s not a coward. He’ll hold on to Jenny because she loves him—no matter his faults.” With her mouth clamped shut and shaking her head in frustration or maybe disgust, she stalked past him and slammed the door on her exit.

  Staring at the empty space she’d left, Rafe fisted a hand in his hair. Could Minerva possibly care for him? And did it really change anything? Maybe she could and maybe it did change things. He sank in a chair, his knees embarrassingly weak.

  * * * * *

  Minerva woke the next morning. Alone. She’d been alone all night. Her pride and anger had not been good bedfellows, and she’d tossed and turned in restless frustration throughout the night. When she had managed to sleep, Rafe plagued her dreams.

  Anxious to find Jenny and hear about the evening, she sped through her ablutions and scurried downstairs. She found Simon behind the study desk, scribbling notes in a ledger with intense concentration. The sight stole her words, and she watched the efficient dip of quill in amazement.

  Glancing up, he smiled and rose after marking his progress. “Good morning.”

  “Have you seen Jenny or Tom this morning?”

  “As a matter of fact, Cuthbertson told Mrs. Devlin who told Mrs. Potts, who summarily told me, that Tom asked for the morning off, and he and Jenny went to the village to see her father.”

  Minerva hopped and clapped her hands like a child. Faith in humankind, the male species in particular, was restored. “How wonderful.”

  “What’s wonderful?” A low voice drawled from the study door, drawing their attention.

  Dressed casually in buckskins and a waistcoat, Rafe leaned against the doorjamb, one booted foot crossed over the other. His barely contained energy simmered. He appeared well rested. Damn him.

  “Tom has gone to Lipton to ask Black John for Jenny’s hand. That’s what’s wonderful.” She barely resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

  He pushed off the door with his shoulder and meandered farther into the room. “I have to go to Wyndam’s to see if Aries has done his duty by their little mare and bring him home.” He picked up a letter opener and traced a scar on the top of his desk with the pointed end, his eyes attending the task. “Would you like to accompany me, Minerva?”

  Hours alone in his company? Pride could go to the devil. “I would love to.”

  “Lady Wyndam is close to your age. She was out last season. Do you know her?”

  “I’m not sure we were ever introduced.”

  “You’ll like her. You’ll like them both, I believe. If we leave soon, we can be there before luncheon.” Rafe tossed the opener on the desk with a clang.

  “Let me go change into my habit, and I’ll meet you in the stable.” She nearly tripped over her feet on the way out the room, rolling her eyes at her own foolishness.

  They rode off under grey skies, and Minerva tugged her gloves higher to stave off the brisk wind slipping up her sleeves. It was a two-hour ride north.

  She intercepted half a dozen hesitant glances before he broke down. “I’m sorry I upset you last night, Minerva. Sometimes the devil gets ahold of my tongue.” The sincerity in his voice and face were real.

  “I missed you last night. I’d hoped…” Heat rushed over her face in spite of the cool air.

  Rafe strangled out a laugh. “I’d hoped too. You can’t imagine my crushing disappointment to find my bed empty. But it was no less than what I deserved.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.”

  He sat his horse fluidly, his apology seeming to bring him peace. Now she was the one casting nervous, furtive glances in his direction. “You can say you don’t wish to discuss it, and I won’t press you, but will you tell me how you were so gravely injured?”

  He didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard her speak, staring into the
distance, his eyes disengaged. “It’s not a happy tale.”

  “Happy or not, it’s shaped you, and I want to understand,” Minerva whispered, the moment vitally important. Not necessarily the content of his story, but the fact he was willing to open the door to a dark part of his soul. Faltering at first, his voice grew stronger, his memories painting a vivid scene for her. Soon, she wasn’t on a brown, dirt-packed lane in England, but in lush, green France.

  * * * * *

  The spring had been unusually rainy. The heavy fighting was centered south in Portugal and Spain, however, intrigue abounded in France where Bonaparte ruled. Rafe had been crisscrossing France for a month, staying a few steps ahead of his French counterparts. His first mission had been successfully completed with only minor bloodshed. Thankfully, none of it his.

  He read over his next assignment again, hoping he’d decoded the missive incorrectly. No such luck. He crumpled it in his fist, dropped it in the fire and black smoke rose to the trees. An English baron’s French-born widow was using her late husband’s military affiliations to pass intelligence to the French. Beautiful and amoral, she used her body to obtain information from the sex-starved English officers. Rafe was to infiltrate her compound and eliminate her.

  A multitude of horrific deeds riddled his conscience, but he had never killed a woman. It was a murky line he refused to venture over. He was to rendezvous with another agent for details. The man could go to hell. He wasn’t taking the assignment.

  The next evening, Rafe pushed open the rotting door of a seedy, back-alley tavern. Only a handful of men populated the tables, but they provided enough of a din to mask any conversation. He lurked at the door, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light and smoky conditions. Scanning the occupants, he muttered a curse.

  His contact slumped in a chair and pretended to sip on the swill they served, surveying the room as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Rafe knew differently—the man’s green eyes missed nothing. Rafe didn’t know whether to hug the bastard or gut him.

  The only chair faced away from the door, and Rafe rolled his eyes, hooking a foot around it. “You managed to get the best seat in the house as usual.”