A Lady's Secret Weapon (26 page)

She grabbed his wrists. “
I’ll
do it.” Somehow she had to gain command of this situation and, right now, she felt at a distinct disadvantage. Over the years, she had learned how to use her height as a means of bolstering her confidence, especially around men. Perhaps she could use it now, but how? Then she knew.

“If you would be so kind as to offer me a hand up, sir?”

“Up?”

“That’s right.”

Brow furrowed, he held out his hand.

She slid her fingers into his and propped her other hand on his shoulder for extra balance, then clambered to her feet. A few seconds later she released his hand and shoulder and peered down at him. Power rushed through her when she found his hungry gaze devouring her body.

“How is your leg holding up?”

“It’s fine.” She ran her fingers along the side of his face. “Do not worry.”

Sitting back on his heels, he burrowed his hands under her chemise to clasp her legs, right above the knees, and waited.

Her recently recovered courage began to evaporate. She gathered two handfuls of linen together, intending to rip the blasted thing off and be done with it.

“Slowly,” he ordered.

Closing her eyes, she again searched for the calm she could always count on—and finally found a small measure. It was enough. She lifted her lids and followed his every expression as she pulled her chemise over her head in one deliberate and fluid motion.

His hands tightened around her knees. “Sweet Sydney, what were you so worried about?”

When she opened her mouth to explain, he interrupted, “Never mind. Just remember what I said earlier.” He smoothed his lips around the edges of her bandage. “I’m sorry,” he murmured after every other medicinal press of his mouth. Then he followed the way of her discarded chemise, edging closer and closer to the apex of her legs.

An uncontrollable shiver shook her to the marrow. He reached her bushy mound and inhaled a long, deep breath, and his palms skimmed up the back of her legs to squeeze her bottom.

“Your scent,” he whispered, nuzzling her curls, “is so intoxicating.”

The shiver moved down to her legs, and she clasped his head loosely. Whatever he intended, she did not want to disturb him. She wanted to experience every second of his lovemaking. Especially all the small nuances like the way his harsh breaths tunneled through her curls, making her squirm with excitement. She had an almost violent urge to thrust her hips forward and wrap her leg around his shoulder to help him penetrate deeper. Her body was weeping for want of him.

“Ethan.” Her fingers convulsed around his skull. “I ache.”

“Where, my sweet?”

She tried to pinpoint an exact location, but every facet of her body screamed for attention. “Everywhere?”

“Ahhh.” He slid his tongue into her navel. “I am a happy man.”

Confused, she tugged on his hair until he lifted his gaze to hers. “Why does my suffering make you happy?”

He smiled. “Sweet, innocent Sydney.” He covered one needy peak with his hot mouth. Sydney’s back arched, forcing him to take more.

When he trailed toward her other breast, he said, “Because I must make every”—he flicked his tongue against her ruched nub—“single place”—he teased the delicate pink aureole—“on your lovely body”—he blew cool air against her damp flesh—“feel better.” Cupping both of her breasts in his hands, he plumped them together until he could slide easily from one throbbing tip to the next.

“Oh.” She tilted her head back and gave herself over into his keeping.

As promised, he eased the aches of her body, from the delicate hollow of her neck to the pulsing, hot slit between her legs. Every caress, every kiss soothed her and drove her toward an unknown destination. She tried to reciprocate, to give him the same pleasure, but he turned her away with a gentle murmur. “Next time.”

Changing position, he sat back on his heels. “Hold on to the bedpost, love.”

She glanced over her shoulder to find the tall, stout oak column. After grasping it, she sent him a quizzical look.

“Just for a moment.” With that, he rolled onto his back, slipped free of his buckskin breeches, and returned to his former position. “Now, we are evenly matched.” He held out his hand. “Come to me.”

His appendage no longer needed encouragement. Long and thick, his staff jutted out from a nest of curly hair similar to hers. But all resemblance stopped there. Taking his hand, she allowed him to guide her forward. Instinct took over, and she positioned her knees to the outside of his thighs, effectively straddling his lap. With his hands clamped around her waist, he eased her down, watching her face—she assumed—for any signs of discomfort. Then she was seated on his lap, with her legs angled protectively around his hips.

Wrapping his arms about her waist, he drew her into his body. The heat of his flesh pressing against her tender breasts felt incredibly decadent and his hard length against her wet heat drove her mad with wanting. To take her mind off the area between her legs, she threw all her passions into her kiss. It was then she realized there was one ache he’d missed, an ache so deep and so demanding that she worried he would not be able to give her relief.

She had miscalculated. Rather than assuage her craving, their kiss magnified her need. Before she knew what she was doing, she stroked her damp cleft sinuously along his erection, the action both bliss and torture. Ethan must have felt the same, for he groaned deep in his throat and met her demand with one of his own.

“Syd,” he said against her throat. “It’s time.”

“Thank God.”

“Hold on.”

He barely gave her time to react to his order. In a whirl of movement, she went from sitting on his lap to staring up into his handsome face. She rose onto her elbows and kissed the hard edge of his jaw. Musk and sweat mingled together on his flesh, creating a tantalizing scent she would forever associate with this one man.

“Ethan, I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “Tell me how to please you.”

Easing her back down, he said, “You already have, love.” He kissed her brow, her eyes, the corner of her mouth. “I understand there is pain the first time.” He stared at her expectantly.

Sydney nodded, having heard as much.

“Brace your feet on the bed like this.” He angled one of her legs into an upright position. “Try to relax and let me know if I become… too much.”

Then he dipped his head to trace a beguiling path down her torso, stopping to give attention to each breast before moving to her navel. By the time he made the journey upward again, tremors racked her body and her hands would not be still.

When he reached the base of her neck, she felt the first soft, yet firm probe at her opening.

“You’re so tight, so ready for me,” he breathed against her throat. “Bear with me, love. Bear with me.”

He inched inside, then eased out a little. The next time he pushed in farther and eased away again. He did this twice more, but a thin barrier blocked his next venture forward.

Lifting his head, he said, “Last chance to change your mind.”

His determination to be gentle had cost him much. Sweat dampened his body. The muscles in his arms shook. It was then Sydney fully comprehended the emotion that had revealed itself in their earlier kiss. A disquieting fact, one she hoped would not lead to foolish expectations, as it had her mother.

She loved him. Good God, she was in love with Ethan deBeau. An aristocrat. A spy. A gentleman who cared for his servants. A rogue who patiently won a boy’s trust.

He fit his cheek next to hers and whispered, “Don’t fret, sweet. It’s all right.” His body began to slide free of hers, and she clamped her legs around his bottom, holding him in place.

“No, please,” she said. “I want this.”

“Be sure. We’re about to do something irreparable.”

“Can you protect me?” she asked. “From having a babe?”

His nostrils widened. “Yes.”

“Then don’t stop.” She squeezed her legs and curled her hips at the same time, but she only managed to cause herself more discomfort.

“On the count of three.” He stroked her passage once, twice, and on the third stroke he broke through her barrier.

A pent-up breath burst from Sydney’s lungs, and her inner muscles squeezed his staff. Air hissed between his teeth.

“Oh, sweet,” he said. “Don’t. Do that. Right now.”

She didn’t understand what he was talking about. When he pulsed inside her, her muscles responded in kind.

“Christ,” he groaned. “I’m done for.” He braced his weight on his forearms and thrust inside her with startling determination.

Remembering her own pleasure earlier, she rocked against him, picking up his rhythm. Their pace increased and their breaths heaved. Then a new sensation deep in her channel emerged, and she instinctively grasped for it. Clawed her way toward it until she touched the edge. And before she could smile her triumph, she was floating on the other side.

She cried out, pushing into Ethan with all her might. He jerked out of her, burying his own cries into her pillow.

The silence that followed was almost as shattering as the strength of their combined releases. They lingered in each other’s heat, absorbing the poignancy of the moment.

Then he placed a soft kiss on her neck before moving to her side. “How is your leg?”

After testing it a little, she said, “All is well.”

His attention moved to between her legs. “And here?” He skimmed his knuckles over her curls.

Her muscles clenched and her spine arched. “I’ll live, my lord.”

Bending forward, he nuzzled her cheek. “I have no doubt.” He bounded from the bed and filled the basin with water. Finding a square of linen, he brought everything back and set it on the bedside table.

Sydney sat up while she watched him submerge the cloth and ring it out. Then he turned to her.

“May I do the honors?” he asked.

She glanced down at her body and noticed her stomach was wet with his seed.

“There might also be a little blood.” He nodded to a small red smear on the sheet.

“You want to cleanse me?”

He nodded, holding the cloth between his two big hands. “Very much.”

The thought of a man, a viscount no less, washing her body like a babe was more than a little discomfiting. All the same, she reclined back and lifted one leg. “As you wish.”

“This might still be a little cold.”

That he would even think to try to warm the wet cloth for her made her heart lurch. “It will be more tolerable than it was straight from the basin.”

With gentle brushes, he cleaned the moisture from her stomach and from between her legs. She tried not to flinch, but the combination of having a man take care of her in such a way and the tenderness of her flesh caused her to twitch a time or two. He rinsed the cloth and then placed the cold compress against her burning flesh.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He rinsed the cloth one more time and cleaned himself with efficient swipes. When he was done, he turned back to her. “I must return you to the agency shortly, but I should like to hold you for a while.”

An image of their naked bodies snuggled together warmed her from the inside out. Even though she had much to do, spending another ten minutes in Ethan’s arms was too much temptation to pass up. She started to accept, then noticed his closed expression and rigid posture—both so at odds with his enchanting request.

What had happened in so short a time? An unpleasant thought struck. “What is it?” She tried for a teasing tone, but heard the strain in her own voice. “Are you not acting in accordance with one of your Instinct Rules?”

His hard gaze flickered, and the small hope that she’d read him wrong died. Feeling more vulnerable than she had while disrobing, she folded her arms around her knees. “Which one?”

“Do not tarry in your lover’s bed after the act; go home.”

The trouble with unwise decisions is that one cannot blame others for them. And in her case, she knew what they both were and were not and still chose to share his bed. Oddly, she wasn’t angry or regretful; she merely longed for more time with him. She wanted to idle in her love for him, in the amazing feelings that even now refused to be stifled. For however long time would allow. But her idle had already come to a heart-aching end. Still, she considered accepting his request to hold her for a while, but the tension now surrounding them would suck any pleasure from the moment.

Unfolding her body, she reached for her discarded chemise and slipped it over her head. She padded to where he sat frozen and silent, staring off into the distance. Leaning her hip against the side of the bed, she said, “Then I should go.”

“How long have you been traipsing about the city in your cloaked disguise?” Ethan asked.

Sydney finished sipping her tea and then set her cup down in its saucer. After their bout of extraordinary lovemaking and subsequent row, Ethan had insisted she stay for a light meal before he escorted her back to the agency.

So, they had removed to a small dining room downstairs, decorated in cheery hues of yellow, white, sage, and lavender. The room’s happy demeanor did not match her companion’s, though he tried to hide the fact.

Inside that brilliant mind of his waged a silent war. One she did not fully understand, but suspected he battled unfamiliar feelings. What they were exactly, she couldn’t be sure. She only knew that he’d wanted to hold her, and his need had put him into conflict against his Instinct Rules. Rules he’d developed years ago to protect himself.

Since her brush with evil in Ridgway’s scullery, she had established her own protective barriers and knew they could not be so easily set aside. Having had her fill of cold ham, boiled eggs, and cheese, she pushed her plate away. “A little over three years.”

“What prompted you to take such dangerous chances with your life?”

“Before I answer your question, I must extract a promise.”

He nodded. “If I can.”

“With a few exceptions, my forays in the cloak have all been in support of the Hunt Agency’s operations.” She paused, searching for the right words. “If my clandestine activities become widely known, my agency could be at risk. I won’t allow that to happen. My work there is important—for many reasons you do not yet recognize.”

“So, my promise,” he said, easing back into his chair, “is to protect your secret, or secrets, as it were.”

“Yes.”

His lips thinned into a displeased line, matching the stormy current riding the rest of his features. “I’ve already been safeguarding them, Sydney. You have my promise, all the same.”

“Thank you, Ethan. I hope you understand why I couldn’t take the chance.”

“Of course.” Some of the tension left his body, though his expectant glare remained. “I thought you were one of us, you know.”

“Us?”

“The Nexus.”

Warmth curled in her stomach. “Truly? Why?” She couldn’t imagine being welcomed into such an elite group.

“Might have had something to do with your penchant for disguises and keeping secrets.”

“Since the moment I learned of the Nexus’s main objective, I have long admired your work and sacrifices.”

“Is that why you became Helsford’s informant?”

Heat trailed up her neck. She nodded.

“How many of us do you know?”

She studied his features and found only curiosity. “Just the four of you.”

He sagged deeper into his chair. “Now, about those confidences I must keep…”

She released a long breath. “What many do not realize is that the Hunt Agency is, in fact, three separate operations dependent on one another.”

“Three?”

Nodding, she said, “On one side, we provide a service to our clients to either hire new or replacement servants for their household. This section sustains the agency financially.”

“A viscount in need of a replacement butler would fall under this area?”

“Indeed.” A smile inched across her face. “And if the viscount only gives us a fortnight to find a replacement, we charge him double our normal fee.”

“A smart businesswoman.”

“We offer similar assistance to our service clients who are seeking employment.” She lifted her chin. “For them, our payment comes in the form of information.”

“What type of information?”

“Any and all. Mostly, we’re hoping to gain knowledge of their employer and his or her inner circle. The more we know about them, the better we can place servants in their household. Should a future need arise, of course.”

“You’re using servants to spy on their employers in order to protect future hires?”

“That about sums it up.”

“And you’re not charging the out-of-work servants for your service?”

“No,” she said, feeling uncomfortable. “But most of the time, the two needs go hand-in-hand and I don’t have far to look for a willing employer.”

He sent her an I-don’t-believe-it’s-that-easy look. “The third area of the agency?”

She cleared her throat. “The final service we offer is a bit more unconventional.”

“More unconventional than having servants spy on their employers?”

“Much more.”

He laid his serviette onto the table and crossed one leg over the other. “Then I cannot wait to hear it.”

During their conversation, his anger had slowly dissipated and was replaced by his normal provoking manner. “On occasion, one of our service clients will bring a friend of theirs to our attention. In these instances, the servant has been unfairly mistreated and turned out with no recommendation to take to another employer. The Hunt Agency remedies the loss.”

He tapped the side of his forefinger against his lower lip. “You’re writing false letters of recommendation.”

“Only for those individuals who find themselves without employment through no fault of their own.”

“Such as?”

The muscles in her neck went taut. “A sixteen-year-old maid who submitted to the master of the house and became heavy with child. A kitchen maid who had been beaten by a chef because she did not cut a carrot right. A footman who rebuffed the advances of a male houseguest. A lady’s maid who laid out the wrong color dress for the occasion.” Sydney paused to slow the hard rise and fall of her chest. “Shall I go on, my lord? There are a hundred others I could name.”

“Not necessary. I see what you mean. Why did you start using the cloak?”

She couldn’t tell if her falsifying references had offended his aristocratic sensibilities or if he was merely taking it all in. “One evening, we received word that a former client, retired and without family, was quite ill and could not afford medical treatment. He lived in an unsavory area of the city, and Mac was being quite difficult about me going.”

“A sensible man. I’m starting to warm up to him.”

“Our compromise was that I would dress less like a woman. The cloak was Mac’s idea. The breeches mine.”

“Much to his later regret, I’m sure.”

Sydney still recalled the incredible feeling of freedom and safety she’d found that first time, walking the streets of London and hiding behind the dark folds of Mac’s cloak. To this day, she felt more centered, more herself when in the Specter guise.

“You’re likely right,” she said.

“Please tell me that you take Mac or Mick with you any time you don the cloak.”

“Of course I do. Both, actually. The people I meet with are not even aware that the brothers are lurking in the shadows.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “Please tell
me
you didn’t think I was so reckless as to do otherwise.”

He grinned. “I admit, the possibility had crossed my mind.”

She tried to share his amusement, but she couldn’t manage it. Not yet. Not until she told him everything. “While I’m baring my soul,” she slid her damp palms over her serviette, “I should make sure you’re fully aware of the last of it. So there’s no misunderstanding.”

“I’m listening.”

“I know a good deal about the Nexus and your primary objective.”

A heartbeat passed, and he said nothing. Two. Three.

Then finally, “After your cryptographer comment in the alleyway, I surmised as much, though I wasn’t certain of the extent of your knowledge.”

“And of your role in the organization.”

He glanced away then, his jaw set in granite. “Yes, you mentioned as much this morning, and yet you still shared my bed.” He shot to his feet and strode to the window. “Or, perhaps, you were not referring to my skill in the boudoir, but my talent for extracting prisoners from foreign lands.” When he turned back to her, his eyes carried the burden of a thousand years of sorrow. “With whatever means necessary. Which role were you referring to, sweet Sydney?”

She ignored his mocking tone and focused on the moral struggle he tried to hide. “Would you do any of it differently?”

“No. I’m honored to serve my country in whatever capacity she demands.”

“Somehow your admirable words don’t match the resentment I heard in your tone earlier.”

“I resent people casting judgment on actions they could never comprehend.”

“You think I was judging you?”

His silence was emphasized by a steely-eyed glare. Sydney placed her serviette on the table and stood. “No, Ethan. I merely mentioned that I was aware of your bedchamber activities. The other, I knew nothing about and would certainly not judge.” He turned away again, and pain sliced through her stomach.

“You’re a hero, Ethan. Same as any decorated general who must order a thousand men into battle, knowing many might not return. War—even the behind-the-scenes kind—is filled with honorable men making intolerable decisions, or, in your case, intolerable actions. My only regret is that more of my countrymen won’t learn of the sacrifices you’ve made to ensure our safety. So, for them, and me, I thank you.”

Slowly, he swiveled his head toward her, and Sydney saw tears glistening in his eyes.

“Oh, Ethan.”

She made to go to him, but a rap on the door stopped her cold.

“Pardon, my lord,” Tanner said, stepping inside. “Mrs. Cartwright is here to see Miss Hunt. The young lady claims the matter is urgent.”

Sydney hadn’t taken her eyes off Ethan, though he’d averted his face at the butler’s knock. “Thank you, Tanner. I’ll be there in half a minute.”

“Very well, miss.” Tanner backed out and closed the door.

With slow, careful strides, she approached the silent man by the window. “Ethan. After knowing all that I do about you, I’m still here.”

A muscle in his jaw worked furiously, but he refused to look at her. She ran her hand down his arm until she reached his clenched fist. Bringing his hand to her lips, she kissed the hair-dusted back and then laid her cheek against the only part of him accessible to her.

“I must go see what has happened. Amelia isn’t one for theatrics. If she said something’s urgent, it no doubt is.” She pressed her lips against his skin once more and stepped away.

Long fingers halted her retreat and twirled her around. His warm, insistent mouth claimed hers as if it would be a hundred years before the next time. Then he slowed their pace, and the kiss transformed into a lush, hot sharing. A yearning and a promise.

He pulled back enough to whisper, “You’re late.”

Glancing up, she saw something in his eyes that made her heart skip its next beat. Then he nodded to the door. “Go.”

She planted her palms on his cheeks and rose up on her toes, kissing him swiftly. Before he could draw her close, she backed away, a smile playing on her lips.

He took a threatening step closer. “Never toy with a spy, hedgehog.”

“I shall try to heed your warning, my lord cad.” She swiveled around and rushed out to find Amelia pacing the entry hall. Dread wiped clean the dazzling sensations peppering her body. “What’s wrong?”

Tears gathered in Amelia’s eyes. “Mick’s been shot.”