by Darcy Burke
“And do you mind?”
The question, utterly unexpected, knocked him off balance. Did he mind being denied every possible chance to be with her? Especially when they had so little time to begin with? That was like asking if he would mind not being able to swallow. To breathe. “Of course, I mind. But I care more about your safety and future happiness than my own short-term gratification. What would make you think otherwise?”
She made an unhappy face and sighed. “Bernard said you had probably intended to seduce me before we even met. That you are only pretending to care about me so I will trust you and go along with whatever you say.”
He was going to solve the problem of Bernard Joubert by wringing the pretty boy’s neck, he thought darkly. Not only would it prevent him from revealing British secrets to the French authorities, but it would also be damned satisfying. But dealing with Joubert was not his first priority. “Do you believe that?”
She bit her lip and stared at him, her blue eyes luminous despite the weakness of the light supplied by the room’s one window. “I do not want to, but some of what he said made sense. Getting me to fall in love with you would be a good way to gain my trust.”
Thomas ignored the sudden acceleration of his pulse. He hadn’t realized until just now how much he wanted to hear her say the words. Even if it could never come to anything. “Did I?”
Her brow scrunched in confusion. “Did you what?”
“Get you to fall in love with me.” His heart was pounding now.
“Oh.” Sabine looked away from him. “No.” Then she grimaced and shook her head. “Yes. Maybe.”
He closed the space between them in three long strides. With gentle fingers, he grasped her chin and turned her head so she was forced to look up at him. “I believe it was very much the other way around.”
“What? I most certainly did not try to make you fall—” She broke off, her body going utterly still as the meaning of his words sank in. “Wait. Are you saying that you love me?”
“That is exactly what I am saying.” He shook his head, unable to suppress a snort of annoyance. “If I had planned to seduce you, I certainly could have done a better job of convincing you I was in love with you than I apparently have. For one thing, I would have promised you the moon and the sun and the stars and marriage instead of explaining to you why that would be a terrible idea. Also, as I remember it, you kissed me first.”
“My God, you are right.” She blushed furiously. “I practically assaulted you.”
He grinned down at her, some of the frustrated tension in his body easing. “I did not mind. Nor would I mind if you did it again.”
Her answering laugh was brief, for she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his. The world around Thomas dissolved, all its cares and worries forgotten as he lost himself in the pure joy of kissing the woman he loved. It was a long time before they broke apart, and both of them were breathing heavily.
“I should not have doubted you,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder. “I thought, days ago, that you must love me at least a little to care so much about my future, and I let Bernard talk me out of what I knew was true. I am sorry.”
Thomas smoothed her hair as he cradled her head. “Do not be sorry. I was trying to hide the truth of how I felt because I thought to spare you pain when we have to part. That was…fairly stupid of me. But also, I wondered if you would think I was mad to proclaim my love for you after just a few days’ acquaintance.”
Her body twitched with silent laughter. “I had the same idea. But then, these have not been precisely normal days, have they?”
“No,” he agreed. “Still, I suppose it is possible we are both merely wildly infatuated; it may wear off. But I do not think that is the case.”
“Neither do I.” She sighed. “Is there really no way for us to be together?”
The melancholy note in her voice stabbed him in the chest because it echoed his own feelings so completely. He could just give up the Foreign Service, he supposed. It would cost his family a good deal of money to buy out the contract he had signed before embarking on his training for a diplomatic post, but they could afford it. But then what? Sabine’s business would take years to grow into a profitable enterprise, though he had no doubt she would succeed; the performance of her horses over the past several days of grueling work were more than adequate evidence of the quality of her stock. What would they do in the meantime? Or more accurately, what would he do?
Thomas imagined her father would see to her financial security, whether her business succeeded or not, but then, he might also have some very distinct ideas about whom she should marry. The second son of an earl who had signed up with—and then abandoned—the Foreign Service might not be Pitt’s idea of an advantageous match for his daughter. But even if the Honorable Mr. Pitt approved of their marriage, Thomas would be left at loose ends. Plenty of men of his class actively aspired to avoid so much as a day of work, but Thomas wasn’t one of them. From the time he was a small boy, he had known he needed to have some purpose in life beyond the Holy Trinity of the idle rich, these being hunting, gambling, and either drinking or fornicating, depending on personal taste. For Thomas, that sort of life would be a form of torment.
If he could think of anything he could do with his skill set other than work for the Foreign Service, he would consider that line of employment instead, but he couldn’t see that there would be much call in the quiet surroundings of the English countryside for either his facility for foreign languages or his uncanny ability to talk his way out of sticky situations. The latter was always useful, of course, and had certainly got him out of many a boyhood scrape, but it wasn’t exactly the basis of a gainful occupation outside the diplomatic sphere. He could, he supposed, request a posting inside the United Kingdom—they existed, of course, as liaising with foreign dignitaries on British soil was every bit as important as liaising with them in their home countries—but such positions were generally offered to seasoned diplomats with years of distinguished service in foreign countries under their belts. For an officer such as himself, with zero seniority and no track record, to make such a request was truly unthinkable.
No, he owed the Foreign Service what he had promised them—his willingness to do the job, wherever that might take him. He had made an oath to serve his country, and he would lose all respect for himself if he reneged.
With a long sigh, he shook his head. “Not unless I give up my position with the Foreign Service or you give up on having your own business. I will not ask for that kind of sacrifice from you, and I do not know if I could live with myself if I backed out of the promises I have made to the British crown.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled in a little closer. The way she fit against his body flooded him with a warmth that had little to do with desire and almost everything to do with the pure rightness of how they felt nestled together. He could see why his parents had fallen into the trap of making a hasty decision they later regretted. “You will be able to come home one day,” she said finally. “And I will be waiting for you.”
It was a sweet promise, but one he knew she wouldn’t be able to keep. Sabine was young, beautiful, and the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Great Britain. Men would stand in line to woo her, and sooner or later—his bet was on sooner—one of them would sweep her off her feet, and she would realize that waiting for him, a man she might never even see again, was an unnecessarily empty and lonely existence. And indeed, what Thomas wanted for her was a full and joyful existence, even if it meant she fell in love with another man.
Still, he didn’t contradict her. If believing she could wait for him helped her get through the days and weeks after he was forced to leave, he could not take that small comfort from her. Instead, he said, “Will you wait for me tonight?”
She lifted her head to look up at him, her eyes narrowing. “I thought you said we could not spend the night together here.”
He smirked. “That was befor
e I knew I was going to have to have Joubert taken into custody as a possible threat to the British mission in France instead of having to share a room with him. As long as I leave your chamber before dawn, I do not believe anyone will be the wiser.”
Color rode her cheeks. “Oh, I would like that. Very much.” Then she bit her lower lip and frowned. “What will happen to Bernard? I do not want to think I have put him in danger by telling you what he did. I truly believe he means no harm.”
“I believe that, too,” Thomas said, “but we cannot set him loose in Paris—or any part of France—when he knows where our safe house is and can identify by sight a half a dozen or more British agents. Ultimately, it is up to Montague to decide how to handle this, but I cannot imagine he will do anything worse than keep the boy under lock and key until he can arrange to transfer him into Duval’s custody. As Duval’s future income rests on his discretion, I think he will provide assurances that Joubert will not be permitted to reveal our secrets.”
Sabine released a shaky breath. “As long as you do not think Monsieur Montague will kill him, then whatever happens to him is fine with me. Even if he winds up losing his freedom for a very long time.”
“I do not believe murder is on the table,” he assured her. If for no other reason than Duval would likely take it badly, but Thomas kept that to himself. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Now you had better go. We have been in here alone so long that tongues may begin to wag. I will come to you after the household has gone to bed. It will be late. Do you think you can stay awake?”
Her answering smile was slow and sensual. “I can stay awake all night for you.”
He grinned. “You might have to.”
Chapter 22
Midnight came and went with no sign of Thomas. Determined though she was to stay awake, Sabine’s eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Her choice of reading material—a primer intended for a child of twelve that Margaret Montague had lent to her as a means of improving her English—likely was not helping, but she could not very well go back downstairs to find something more stimulating in the library and risk missing Thomas’s arrival. Between her own halting comprehension and the rather dull content of the volume, however, she was very much in danger of falling asleep before he arrived. She might not have been so drowsy had she not been relegated to reading in bed, but the room was too small to accommodate a chair, so she had no other choice.
Would he still come in if she did not answer the door? She thought he might, but then again, she thought he might not.
She dozed off several times, coming back to full consciousness with a start each time her chin dropped onto her chest.
When the knock finally came, it was so soft, she almost thought she had imagined it. But then it came a second time—a brisk but quiet rat-a-tat-tat that could be nothing but someone attempting to gain her attention.
Setting down the primer, she rolled off the bed and made her way across the bare wooden floor. When she opened the door, which squeaked rather noticeably on its hinges, she did so carefully in the hopes of minimizing the noise it made. Thomas stood on the other side of the door, clad only in his white shirt and a pair of dark gray breeches. Her pulse stuttered at the sight of him. Would she ever get tired of looking at him, ever become inured to the sheer masculine beauty of him? She doubted it. Whether fully clothed, half clothed as he was now, or naked as she hoped he soon would be, he made her heart sing and her blood heat.
Without a word, he stepped inside, and she closed the door gently behind him.
“I am sorry it took me so long to get here. Montague kept me much longer than I anticipated, and I thought he would keep me very late.”
Sabine did not like the sound of that. “Is everything all right?”
Smiling, he pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips across her forehead. “Nothing for you to worry about. Joubert will be returned to his uncle as soon as arrangements can be made, and Montague thinks he has found someone from whom he can hire two Percherons to add to our coach, so we should be on our way to Le Havre with Montague and his wife in tow by tomorrow afternoon. I cannot tell you about the rest except to say that Montague was not happy when he discovered Joubert overheard someone discussing the operation. That should not have happened.”
That thought had crossed Sabine’s mind before, and she nodded. “Not very spy-like of them, was it?”
“Very unprofessional. Now,” he said, sliding his hands down her back to cup her buttocks and pressing her closer so that the ridge of his erection rested against her stomach, “are we going to spend our time talking about proper spy craft, or are we going to go to bed?”
Her breathing hitched, arousal blossoming between her legs at the feel of him, hard and ready and magnificent, against her body. She glanced over her shoulder at the bed, suddenly a little dubious. “It is a rather small bed,” she pointed out. “I do not see how we will both fit.”
He let out a low chuckle, filled with heat and leavened with amusement. “By getting very, very close.” Releasing her, he took a step backward and swept his shirt off over his head, letting it drop to the floor beside him. “Take off your night rail and lie down on the bed,” he instructed as he began unbuttoning his breeches.
Quivering with anticipation, Sabine did as he told her. When she lay naked atop the duvet, she watched him remove his breeches and drawers, her mouth watering as his cock sprang free from its confinement. God help her, how she wanted to taste him, lick him, suck him, make him come. The place between her thighs ached and throbbed, reminding her that she wanted more than that…and that she could not have him in that way.
Well, the way they could have each other would just have to be enough.
He stalked toward the bed, caressing her with his gaze, starting at her face and working her way down to her breasts and belly and the mound of her sex. The desire—no, the adoration—in his heavy-lidded gaze was unmistakable. How could she have thought he did not love her?
The mattress dipped when he sat on the edge, and she waited for him to lie down facing her, but instead, he stretched out alongside her in the opposite direction, his head in line with the apex of her thighs and his cock staring her—metaphorically, at least—in the face.
“Scoot over a bit and roll onto your side,” he said, switching into English as he was wont to do when they played.
Grasping what he had in mind, Sabine’s entire body flushed with equal parts embarrassment and excitement, though she could not say why this particular act was any more shocking or erotic than anything they had done before. And yet…and yet the idea of sucking his cock while he ate her pussy was so profoundly wicked, so delightfully scandalous that she thought she might come the second his mouth touched her.
Once she was on her side, he coaxed her to open her legs and positioned himself between them. Shivering with heat—which made no sense at all—she wrapped her hand around the velvety length of his cock and began to work him in the rhythm she had learned that he liked. When he shifted his hips in response, she adjusted the angle of her head so she could run her tongue across and then around the engorged head.
“Yes, that’s it,” he praised her, his warm breath teasing the soft, aching knot of need at the apex of her sex. “Just like that, sweetheart. Pay no attention to what I’m doing down here.”
And then his lips grazed the flesh between her legs, and she groaned, her stroke faltering because she could no more ignore what he was doing than she could flap her arms and fly across the English Channel. But she was determined to give him as much pleasure as he gave her, and so she concentrated on applying the skills she had acquired over the last few days to the task before her. Drawing his shaft into her mouth, she took him to the back of her throat and out again, using her hand in counter-rhythm that made him hiss in approval. It wasn’t easy to maintain her pace when every stroke of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers, drove her closer to her peak, but she could tell she was having the same effect on him, and the equal exchange b
rought a heightened charge to both giving and receiving pleasure. If sucking his cock until he came in her mouth was exciting—and it was—then doing it while he did the same for her was positively electrifying.
The first time she came, she did lose track of what she was doing, but at least the presence of his cock in her mouth muffled her voice or she might have wakened the whole household with her cries. When the aftershocks of bliss subsided, she renewed her efforts, and when the second orgasm hit—less powerful but somehow sharper and more beautiful—she did not slacken because she could feel the tension building up in Thomas’s body as he strove to prolong his own release.
He pressed his mouth softly to her now over-sensitized flesh and withdrew his fingers from her pussy, and she thought with a hint of regret that he was done and waiting for her to finish him. And then she squeaked as he pressed the tip of one finger, slick with her juices, against and then into the most unthinkable orifice. There was a brief, bright stab of pain as her muscles stretched to accommodate the intrusion. She was sure any right-thinking woman in her position would be horrified by such an invasion of her person, but then it crossed her mind that right-thinking women probably would not be in her position, so perhaps she ought not to worry about anyone else’s feelings but her own. And to her surprise, she found that the discomfort quickly subsided and was replaced by a delicious sensation of fullness.
White-hot lust sizzled to life inside her as if she had not come just moments before, and she bore down instinctively on his finger to force him deeper inside her. He obliged her unspoken demand, allowing the finger to sink in as far as the second knuckle before drawing out and repeating the motion. So bad. So good. If this was wicked, then virtue was wildly overrated.
Thomas nuzzled the once-again aching core of her sex while continuing the seesawing motion of his finger. “You like this?”
God, she was nearly mindless with pleasure and she still had his cock her mouth, and he wanted her to speak? “Yes,” she gasped.