A Lady's Secret Weapon (24 page)

Cora seemed less surprised than her betrothed. Given her line of questioning, she must have suspected there was much more to Sydney and had determined to ferret it out. Well, she had.

Only one question remained now—who would break their silence first?

Every fine hair on Sydney’s back and arms rose to attention. Lord Somerton knew—or at least strongly suspected—that it was she who had helped them save Sophie. How? How was it possible that he had linked the O’Donnell brothers to the aborted kidnapping? Among other things, the evening sky had been overcast, painting the countryside in an even, thick stroke of impenetrable black.

Then she recalled how the clouds had parted and Somerton and the others had burst upon the volatile scene. Somerton had been in front of the pack, the perfect position to catch a glimpse of the O’Donnells before they slipped from sight.

She couldn’t dispute Somerton’s subtle claim, for Ethan would recognize the lie. Disappointing any of these people was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had no idea how to talk about Specter. A secret she had guarded for so long—and for good reason.

She glanced around the room and found everyone’s gaze on her. They did not try to hide their admiration, and the realization caused an insistent prickle behind her eyes. She was about to break down in front of all these incredibly strong, gifted people whom she admired. Panic set in.

Amelia stood abruptly. “My stomach has taken a turn,” she announced. “I’m sorry, but I fear I must decline your invitation for luncheon.”

Catherine rushed forward. “May we offer you a place to rest or call for a physician?”

Grateful for Amelia’s quick thinking, Sydney rose. “Thank you, Mrs. Ashcroft,” she said in a low, hoarse voice. “You are most kind, but perhaps it is best if I escorted Mrs. Cartwright home.”

“I hate the thought of you being jounced around while struggling with a putrid stomach.”

“Rigby will drive slowly.” Sydney hated the subterfuge, especially since she was certain everyone—even Catherine, though she was new to the Nexus and far more merciful—saw through Amelia’s thin veil of pretense. Sydney hardened her heart against the guilt. Everything was crumbling around her, and she had no notion of how to stop it.

“Of course.” Catherine touched her sleeve, and Sydney caught the sparkle of tears in the other woman’s eyes. “Please, let us try again. Dinner, perhaps.”

“You are too kind, Mrs. Ashcroft.” Sydney made to leave and came face-to-face with a large male chest. Tilting her head back, she peered into the black, penetrating eyes of Lord Helsford.

“The same stranger who helped rescue Sophie also helped save my betrothed and my closest friend,” Helsford said, protecting her informant status. “As Somerton said, we have a deep and profound wish to thank our cloaked defender. We will forever be in our new friend’s debt.”

Then, to Sydney’s amazement and horror, Lord Helsford lifted her hand to his mouth and gallantly kissed her knuckles. Stepping back, he handed her off to Ethan, who silently guided her from the room. The door closed behind them, and the sob she had been battling to quash broke free.

Ethan’s comforting arms wrapped around her and held tight. “We’ll be there in a moment, Mrs. Cartwright.”

Sydney heard the soft patter of Amelia’s retreating feet and the quiet click of the entry door. Her tears would not stop. Over and over, her mind relived the scene in the drawing room. People she had admired for so long thanking her for the small part she had played in foiling the scheming French. She had done so little, and yet they treated her like a war hero. Like one of them.

“Sydney. Sweet Sydney.” Ethan kissed her forehead. “Please don’t cry.” He kneaded her neck and rubbed gentle circles on her back.

“I’m s-sorry,” she whispered. “What they said,” she sniffed, “I don’t deserve—”

“Shhh. Let me take you away from here. Some place where we may talk in private.”

At that moment, Sydney would have consented to anything. All she wanted was to curl up in a tight ball and hide from the world. If Ethan happened to be holding her at the same time, all the better.

“Yes, please,” she said.

He handed her a handkerchief and gave her a moment to repair some of the damage. Once she nodded her readiness, he whisked her out of the house, to his waiting carriage.

Mac surged forward to stop him, but Amelia stepped into his path. “Let her go.” He made to cut around her, and she boldly placed her hand in the center of his chest. “She will be safe with him, Mac. I swear it.”

Sydney sent her bodyguard a reassuring smile and then a grateful one to Amelia before entering Ethan’s carriage.

“Danforth,” Mac called, his voice low and urgent.

At the door, Ethan slashed a level look at the footman.

“If she rings the bell, you had bloody well better stop.”

Mortification heated Sydney’s cheeks. “Oh, dear God.”

Instead of taking offense to Mac’s demanding tone, Ethan said, “You have my word.” With that, he jumped into the carriage and signaled for his driver to move on. The moment they were under way, he drew her against his chest and pressed his lips to her hair.

“Where are we going?” she asked after several minutes of silence.

“Home.” He tipped his head to the side to look at her face. “Unless you would rather go somewhere else.”

“Home—I mean—your home is fine. As long as my presence won’t scandalize Tanner too badly.”

“Tanner cannot be scandalized. I’ve dedicated years to the task and have finally given up.”

Despite the emotional turmoil battering at her, she smiled at his attempt at levity. “I have no doubt.” She thought back to the exchange in the drawing room. “Why would Latymer attempt to kidnap Melville’s grandson?”

“What is the one and only thing standing in the way of Bonaparte invading England’s shores?”

“The Nexus?”

A slow smile curled his lips, and his arm around her waist tightened, drawing her close. Until then, she hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to be in his arms.

He kissed her temple. “Besides the Nexus.”

With his masculine scent filling her nose, she found it hard to focus on his question. Finally, she ventured, “His Majesty’s Navy.”

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “Precisely.”

“You think taking the child would force the First Lord of the Admiralty to do their bidding?”

“The French did it before. With Lydia Clarke and her son Giles.”

“Dear Lord.”

They said no more, each contemplating the significance of the French scheme. Sydney soon found herself in his study, wrapped in a burgundy throw and tucked in the corner of the sofa. Though tension pulsed inside her every nerve and muscle, his tender care made her feel precious and loved. Not since Philip had she felt this way, and she missed the craving warmth that only a man’s attention could engender.

He settled on the sofa, bare inches away, angling his big body toward her. “Are you certain I can’t offer you some refreshment—tea, biscuits, sandwiches, anything?”

The mere thought of food did nasty things to her stomach. “No, thank you. I’m quite content as I am.”

“No food, no drink.” He studied her face as if he were gazing upon a piece of treasured artwork. “We are left with only two other choices with which to occupy ourselves.”

“Only two?” The query came out far more breathlessly than she had intended.

He nodded. “The most obvious option,” his gaze flicked down to her mouth and lingered there for a heart-stuttering moment, “is a rousing game of chess.”

“Chess?”

“With the right opponent, the game can be quite invigorating.”

The tension gripping her body eased its hold. “Since I have never played the game, the only person who would be invigorated by the experience would be you.”

He grinned. “I do enjoy delivering a sound trouncing from time to time.”

“Somehow that fact does not shock me.”

“If you will not allow me to trounce you in chess,” he covered her hand with his, “we are left with only one other option.”

She had not realized how cold her fingers were until his warm palm penetrated the icy layer. “What might that be?”

“Conversation, of course.”

Conversation
. The very last thing she wanted to do, though she knew when she had agreed to escape with him this moment would arrive. Terror, regret, and an odd kind of embarrassment filled her heart. Over the last several years, her life had settled into a comfortable, fulfilling routine. She found good situations for her service clients and dependable staff for her hiring clients. On occasion, she assisted other servants who had been wronged by their employers and left to fend for themselves. She had also provided valuable information to a group of spies charged with safeguarding her country.

What would her life look like after she spewed everything she held precious to this man? For the first time ever, she had no clear vision of the consequences of her actions. And that unwelcome realization paralyzed her tongue and scrambled all logical thought.

After giving her fingers an encouraging squeeze, he placed her hand on his leg and smoothed her fingers flat. Angled toward her as he was, her hand rested on the inside of his thigh, just above the back of his knee. The location was both comforting and highly intimate. Her fingers were no longer cold.

“Shall I go first?” he asked.

“Please do.”

“Complete honesty?”

Sydney glanced down at their clasped hands, at the unspoken promise in their touch. Nodding, she added, “Without judgment or interference?”

Leaning close, he spoke near her ear. “The former I can promise.” He pressed his lips to her cheek and pulled in a long breath. “The interference I cannot.”

She had closed her eyes while he spoke, absorbing his soft baritone like one does a long-anticipated summer breeze. When she finally raised her lids, he was studying her again. This time, his look did not cherish her; it devoured her. No woman, young or old, innocent or well-trod, could mistake the sensual hunger pulsing off him.

“Ethan?”

“Yes?”

“Can we talk later?” she asked on an unsteady breath. “I should like to hear about number three.”

“Three?” No sooner than he asked the question, the lines on his forehead melted away and a deep, sultry smile appeared. “You wish to hear more rules for the bedchamber?”

“How many Instinct Rules do you have?”

“Enough to keep you occupied for a while.” He flipped the burgundy throw off her legs. “What of your injury?”

She edged forward, bracing her hand against the back of the sofa. Where she got the courage to do and say what she did next, she would never know. But she would come to cherish the memory forever.

Using her free hand, she feathered her fingers up his arm, along his shoulder, and over the folds of his neckcloth until she cupped his strong, square jaw. “There is one way to spare my leg from overexertion.” She caressed his lower lip with the pad of her thumb.

He parted his lips and slowly, carefully drew her thumb inside the warm, moist cavern of his mouth. His tongue played against the soft flesh before sliding away to make way for the raw scrape of his teeth. The shock of the dueling sensations left her reeling for air.

Covering her hand with his, he released her thumb. “Number three: Never, ever sup from your lover’s hand; utensils are infinitely safer.”

Sydney stared at her glistening thumb, aching for something she couldn’t put into words. “And infinitely more boring.”

“Indeed.” His smile faded. “Tell me how to spare your leg.” His voice was rough, no longer playful.

She inhaled a bracing breath. “I know I am much larger than your other women—”

“Stop.” He tilted her chin up. “Never speak of them, because I will never think of them.”

“How is that possible?” she asked. “You’ve known so many.”

“Do you want the honest answer, Sydney?”

“Of course.” Though his fierce expression made her question the veracity of her reply.

“I stopped thinking of them the moment I left their bed.”

She stared at him. “Every one of them?”

“I did not… care for my assigned tasks.”

Assigned?
She had not thought of his actions in those terms. “Have I become a task?”

“No,” he said harshly. “Good God, no. You are—” He drove his fingers into his hair and squeezed his eyes shut.

She caught his wrist. “I’m what?”

He clamped his lips together.

“I’m what, Ethan?”

“
Mine
.” His eyes blazed and his breaths blew out in ragged gasps. “And you are not too damn large. You’re perfect. Your body is the most glorious thing I have ever beheld, and I’m reluctant to taint it with my touch. In all my years, I have never wanted another woman like you, and I have wanted you from the beginning.”

Tears of the most profound happiness burned her eyes.

He averted his gaze, as if he had said something wrong. She placed two fingers on his rigid jaw and exerted gentle pressure until their gazes locked. “Carry me to your bed, my lord.”

His eyes widened and then they grew fierce. “Sweet heaven, I don’t deserve you. But I’m not strong enough to warn you away.” With that declaration, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her upstairs.

Although her attention never strayed from his gorgeous profile, she was keenly aware of the lack of servants on the way to their destination. Had he sent them away? In the middle of the day? Or was Tanner so well attuned to his master’s needs? Then another violent thought struck her in the chest. “Ethan?”

His long strides slowed. “Yes, sweet.”

She toyed with the ends of his hair, feeling ridiculous and gauche. “Did you bring the others here?” She would not refer to them as his women again.

“Never.”

The bite of jealousy faded, and she laid her head against his shoulder, kissing the side of his neck. “Thank you.”

His strides lengthened, and Sydney kissed him again. And again.

Ethan vibrated with the need to rip away every layer of civility and take Sydney against the hard panels of his bedchamber door. The soft, tentative pressure of her lips against his oversensitized flesh hardened his body to the point of pleasure-pain.

Easy, Danforth. Easy.
She’s an innocent
. He continued the chant all the way to his chamber, intensifying the reminder when his bed came into view. With as much care as he could manage, he lowered her legs until her feet touched the floor. He kept his arm behind her back while she tested her wounded leg.

She grabbed the end bed poster for additional support, and Ethan worried he had somehow aggravated her injury during his rapid flight up the stairs. He brushed the backs of his fingers along the delicate rim of her jawline and said the hardest words he’d ever uttered. “Shall we talk instead?”

“Afraid I’ll hurt you, my lord?” Her lips twitched.

Yes
. Rounding in front of her, he said, “Hold on.” He grasped her beneath the arms and settled her on the edge of the bed. “Make yourself comfortable while I fight with these damned boots.”

The smile she sent him was both impish and seductive. “As you wish.” She kicked off her pale blue shoes.

A sense of urgency infused Ethan’s struggle to remove his boots, especially when she lifted the hem of her dress to remove her stockings. “Do not touch, Miss Hunt.”

One raven-colored brow lifted at his commanding tone. She said nothing, though. Rather, she leaned back, bracing her weight on her forearms. Then she slid one stockinged foot over the counterpane, toward her bum. With the hem of her dress already gathered above her knee, the lightweight fabric skimmed down her long, curvaceous limb, pooling at the juncture of her legs.

His foot picked that moment to
pop
free of his fitted boot. The unexpected give forced him off-balance, and he nearly plunged face-first to the carpet below. Sydney’s muffled laugh reached him. Righting himself in the chair again, he threw his expensive leather Hessian to the side and went to work on the other. “You will not find the situation quite so amusing once I’m free of these blasted boots.”

She chuckled low. “Until then, I’m going to enjoy the moment with abandon.”

Ethan threw everything he had into the next tug and was rewarded with the
whoofing
sound of his foot sliding free. He dropped the boot, and the amused vixen quieted.

Rising, he began working on his cravat while prowling toward the delectable woman reclining on his bed. He halted between her legs, his neckcloth hanging limply down his chest. Neither of them was smiling now. The simple gesture would have taken far too much concentration. Concentration Ethan needed so he would not bungle this experience for her.

Easy, Danforth. Easy.
She’s an innocent
.

“Where is your reticule?” he asked.

She blinked. “My reticule?”

“I promised your watchdog that I would listen for the damn bell,” he said, with more surliness than he’d intended. “You are carrying it in your bag, I presume?”

Chagrin stained her cheeks. “Mac worries if I do not keep it nearby.”

“Is there a particular reason why?”

“Yes, but I do not care to discuss it now.” Sadness imbued her features that only moments ago were glowing with laughter.

“Where’s the bell, Sydney?”

“I dropped it on the floor.” She pointed to the corner of the bed.

Ethan bent down to retrieve the embroidered reticule that was a shade darker than her blue dress. He placed the bag in her lap and turned his hand palm up. “If you will, please.”

She loosened the ribbons and drew out a small object wrapped in linen. Spreading open the handkerchief, she offered him the bell.

“Thank you.” He carried the tinkling silver to the bedside table. He caught her troubled gaze. “I will listen for it… and obey.”

He heard her swallow and caught the quiver in her delicate chin before she swiped her knuckles across the trembling area. His stomach knotted at the sight, and he swore then and there that she would never have to use the bell again.

Resuming his place between her legs, he asked, “Now, where were we, hedgehog?”

As he’d hoped, his query was met with a wobbly smile. “I think you were about to punish me for my amusement at your expense, my lord cad.”

And just like that, the air thickened with a fragrance that no man could ignore. “I’m going to make love to you, sweet Sydney.”

Her breathing deepened. “Would that be now, or sometime in the not-too-distant future?”

“Being gentle won’t be easy for me, especially the first time,” he said through clenched teeth. “I will try my damnedest, but the moment my skin touches yours, I—”

Grasping the ends of his neckcloth, she exerted slow but sure pressure until he could see flecks of emerald intermingled with a calmer jade in the outer rings of her eyes.

“Ethan,” she whispered, “let us, this once, be ourselves.”

“Gladly.” He moved in to kiss her.

“Except my hair,” she clarified, her lips brushing his as she spoke. “I’ll never be able to repair it and don’t wish to leave here looking completely ravished.”

He nuzzled the side of her nose. “Only slightly ravished?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “That sounds perfect.” And then she lifted her mouth to his, and Ethan freed his mind of everything but how to please the woman in his arms.

Sydney had never felt so decadent in all her life. Her skirts were bunched at her hips, her fingers were clamped in a man’s skin-warmed cravat, and her tongue tangled with Ethan deBeau’s. Dear God, she couldn’t believe she was doing this, but she would not—could not—stop now.

In the next instant, he was gone. Sydney blinked to clear the haze of desire. He stood at the side of the bed, removing his coat, waistcoat, and finally his shirt. The muscles of his stomach rippled with each harsh breath, and his massive chest expanded before her eyes. “Oh, Ethan,” she said in a shaky voice. “You are stunning.”

“When you look at me that way,” he said in a guttural voice, “I feel as though I could stop Bonaparte with nothing more than my bare hands.”

She shifted closer, and he hurried to assist. When she stood before him, she lifted his hand between them and set her palm against his, marveling at the size difference, for she did not have small hands. “Yes. I believe you could.”

“Turn for me.” He twined his fingers with hers and then kissed each one of her knuckles. “I need to see you now.”

His quiet request swept over her in a luxuriant wave, and a tremor of anticipation formed deep in her body’s center. She presented her back to him and followed the progress of his expert fingers. Another wave of insecurity struck her hard. She could not change his past, nor could she alter the future. All she had was the here and now. And she hoped with all her heart that her large frame would not be a disappointment.

Even if it was, she would likely never know. He had made any number of women feel as though they were the most precious beings while sharing a bed. He was an experienced seducer, a rogue without equal. And he was hers for the next hour.

Soon, she stood in nothing more than her chemise and stockings. She shivered, though she was not cold. She trembled, though she was not scared. She ached, though she was not injured. At least, not
there
.

Warm lips danced along her right shoulder, nipping and licking their way toward the curve of her throat. When he reached the sensitive valley beneath her lobe, the tips of her breasts hardened into painful, desperate peaks. She grasped the backs of his thighs, more for support than any attempt to bring their bodies closer. But closer they came.

Not realizing her intent, he pressed his hardness into the crease of her bottom. Without thought, she thrust back and heard air hiss between his teeth. The sound made her stomach quiver and her thighs clench.

He drew her arms up and locked them around his neck, then his hands explored her body like the most exacting Italian sculptor. Catching her earlobe with his hot mouth, he drew hard on it and then soothed the tender flesh with his tongue. All the while, one attentive hand covered her aching peak and the other sought her lower stomach. He kneaded her breast and laid his palm on her mound, curling his long finger over the damp center.

The invasion of her cleft sent her heart humming with excitement and her blood hardened into crystals of ice. The contradictory sensations confused her until long-repressed, dark memories crawled their way to the surface, shredding her euphoria. Sydney squeezed her eyes shut.

Sensing her withdrawal, Ethan removed his hands and drew her arms down. He smoothed his thumbs over her upper arms. “Too fast?”

The contrition in his voice made her throat ache. “No, Ethan. Everything was perfect.”
Except
me
. She could not think of how to right the situation, so they could resume their lovemaking. She wanted to be with him so badly. But the past was lodged in her mind now and would not budge. Like a beacon, she searched for her bell. The twinkle of silver on the bedside table brought her a measure of comfort, but not enough to stop the shiver.

He draped his coat over her shoulders, and his musky scent billowed up to fill her nose.

“Perhaps now would be a good time to tell me the story behind your tiny weapon.” Folding back the bed covers, he plumped the pillows into an upright position. “In with you.”

She hesitated. “Ethan, I—”

“No need to worry, Sydney. I’ve postponed your ravishment until later.” He lifted her fingers to his lips, kissing them with an unexpected reverence. “Anticipation is almost as sweet as the ravishment.” Then he waved his hand toward the small cocoon he’d created. “Please.”

Still wearing his coat, she slid between the covers and settled against the soft pillows. Ethan tucked the counterpane around her legs and waist and then walked around to the other side. After making the same preparations, he joined her on the bed. They sat there, motionless, staring into the distance. If she hadn’t been so worried about the questions he would ask, she would have enjoyed their companionable silence, the comfort of having Ethan next to her. What was he thinking? How much did he understand about her reticence?

Her thoughts eventually led her to Philip, her first and only love. To this day, she didn’t know why she had felt compelled to share this difficult piece of her past with him. But she had, and he had walked away. Walked away with regret in his voice and disgust in his eyes. Never in her lifetime would she forget that moment, nor the one following a month later when she saw him help a beautiful woman alight from his carriage.

She knew the precise moment when Ethan turned his attention to studying her profile. Warmth kindled in her chest and blazed into her limbs. All of a sudden, she felt desolate and alone. She craved the security of his embrace and the heat of his kiss.

Would he leave her as Philip had? Would the beautiful blue-green rims of his eyes dull with disgust, too? When the answers remained stubbornly out of reach, she pressed her forearm against her churning stomach.

“Sydney.” His voice was quiet, the sweetest she had ever heard. “Will you share with me why O’Donnell insists you keep the bell nearby?”

Nodding, she lifted her gaze to his. “If you will kiss me one last time.”

“One last time?” Understanding dawned, and his features darkened. “You believe whatever it is that you’re about to tell me will scare me away.”

“It is not comfortable news for a man to hear.”

“Then I can’t imagine the courage it will take for you to convey it.”

When he ceased being an irredeemable rogue, he was quite dangerous to her heart.

“Yes, well, I have had many years to come to terms with my past,” she said. “You, on the other hand, will have mere seconds to absorb the information and set your mind’s course.”

“A past that haunts you still?”

“Not particularly. I have an amazing ability to block out unpleasant moments in my life. Though in recent days, I’ve discovered there are certain… situations that can swiftly draw forth a painful time.”

He offered his hand, palm up, between them. “I’m ready when you are.”

Instead of sliding her hand into his, she twisted around and kissed him. He might not believe it would be their last, but Sydney knew if not their last, it was near to it. Given the vast differences in their stations, any intimacy between them could never be considered anything more than a pleasurable dalliance. Soon, he would have to consider a suitable wife and begin a family. The relentless, age-old pursuit of protecting one’s empire, by marrying well and fathering a brood of children to carry on the line and to strengthen one’s position in society, would be upon him soon.

Within seconds of claiming his mouth, she realized her mistake. The tenor of this kiss was far different from the last, or perhaps she was different. Instead of focusing on how her body reacted to his touch, her thoughts centered on him. On the saltiness of his flesh, the rasp of his tongue, and the ripple of his muscle. She learned what he liked and didn’t like by listening to the subtle—and sometimes not so subtle—fluctuations in his breathing and the firmness of his grip on her face.

Then she felt the first jolt of the fall. The first give of her heart. How had she let this man—of all the men in England—scurry beneath her defenses and become so important to her? The terrifying sensation forced her to pull back and stare at him.

“I’m not opposed to postponing our discussion,” he said, his voice husky.

She allowed a small smile. “Why am I not surprised?” Finding his hand, she twined her fingers with his and filled her lungs with courage.

“My mother came from a good, hardworking family, but a poor one. She’s the eldest of six children and felt the weight of responsibility to contribute to the family’s coffers at an early age.” Sydney kept her attention on the far wall. “The day after she turned twelve, she took a maid’s position at a nearby estate.”

He carefully transferred her hand to his right one and then curled his arm around her shoulders. At first, she tensed until he pressed his lips to her temple. The comforting gesture was so reminiscent of how her mother used to soothe her nicks and heartaches that she melted against him.