Seduced by a Spy (22 page)

Under the dowager’s basilisk eye, the children were plied with plenty of hot chocolate and freshly baked shortbread before being sent up to a bath and bed with the housekeeper.

“You two—follow me,” she added, leading the way back to her sitting room.

Orlov nudged Shannon, who appeared lost in her own thoughts.

“Whiskey all around, young man. And make it more than a wee dram, if you please.”

Obeying orders, Orlov poured three generous glasses. He made Shannon down a warming gulp before he took a seat by the fire.

“Accidents do happen, Miss Sloane,” said the dowager softly.

“Yes,” said Orlov, anxious to ease the anguish he saw etched on Shannon’s face. It was unnerving to see her look so down, so defeated. “Even when one takes the utmost precautions, things can go wrong.”

“That’s just it—I didn’t take the proper precautions. I let my guard down.” Her voice was barely audible above the crackle of the coals.

“How the devil could you have anticipated what happened?” he growled. “You cannot be expected to read the future in your morning tea leaves.”

“I can be expected to do my duty,” she said bleakly.

He raised the glass to his lips, surprised to find his fingers clenched so tightly that the crystal was in danger of cracking. He wished he might wind them around Lord Lynsley’s neck. Damn the man for sending a lone young female to fight England’s deadliest battles. It was dangerous, dirty, depressing work, even for a cynic such as himself.

But thoughts of Lord Lynsley could wait until later. Right now, he must find a way to pull her up from the depths of despair.

After a moment’s thought, he assumed his most offensive sneer. “For God’s sake, Shannon, it’s not like you to wallow in self-pity.”

Shannon’s head jerked up, indignation sparking in her gaze.

Finally, a flare of her usual fire
. He hid a smile.

She looked about to speak, when Lady Sylvia burst into room. “What’s this about my niece and nephew nearly coming to grief on the moors.” She flung an accusing look at Lady Octavia. “I would be remiss in my duties as aunt if I did not inform Angus of this incident. I’m sure he will be absolutely appalled at such lax watch over the children.”

Orlov had never in his life contemplated striking a female, but on seeing the look of self-reproach return to Shannon’s gaze, he was sorely tempted to slap the smirk off Lady Sylvia’s face.

“Seeing as you have accepted the gentlemen’s invitation to join their hunting party on the morrow, Mr. Oliver, I thought I would take the children on a visit to St. Alban’s Abbey. The trip will be an educational experience, and it would do them a world of good to get away from here for a bit.”

“Not necessary,” snapped Lady Octavia. “When it comes to the education of my grandchildren, I am convinced they are in capable hands.”

“Who are
you
to judge,” muttered Lady Sylvia under her breath.

“I think what Sylvia meant was that perhaps Miss Sloane might be grateful for a day off from her duties.” His step matching the smoothness of his words, De Villiers came to stand by the lady’s side. Turning his eyes on Shannon, he added, “After the recent events, mademoiselle, you must be feeling a trifle exhausted, non?”

“No.” Her reply was curt to the point of rudeness.

The comte lifted his shoulders in oblique apology. “I intended no insult. But alas, I see I have—how do you English say it—stepped on your toes.”

“We are all walking on pins and needles at the moment,” said Orlov with measured politeness, though he was seething inside. Allowing his temper to run away with him would only exacerbate the tensions. “Lady Sylvia’s offer is a kind one, I am sure. But Miss Sloane and I are of the opinion that the children have had enough excitement for the time being. A quiet day of indoor study and reading would be best for the morrow.”

Sylvia did not look at all pleased at his defection from her ranks of admirers. “I had thought
you
, Mr. Oliver, might be counted on to show some sense. I am surprised that you do not agree that a day away from this dark and drafty pile of granite would be a healthy change. I am only thinking of what is best for the children.”

“As am I.”

Left with no possible rejoinder, Sylvia was forced to concede. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said with an ungracious huff. Her skirts flared as she turned for the doorway. “Come, Arnaud. Will you join us for a hand of whist in the drawing room? Lady Octavia and her hired help seem to prefer their own company.”

“Hmmph.” The dowager punctuated her snort with a rap of her walking stick. “I wonder what sort of game she had in mind with me?” she mused.

“Whatever it was, I think she now knows she cannot play you for a fool.” Orlov raised his glass in salute, but Shannon saw that his smile looked strained.

She could not bring herself to second the gesture. “Let us not celebrate just yet. We have won a diversionary skirmish, if that. As for the real threat…” She pulled the shard of quartz from her pocket. “The truth is, we are desperately vulnerable. Despite all efforts, he can strike us at will.”

“Let me have a closer look at that,” said Orlov. Shannon passed it over. “There are no man-made markings on it.” The translucent stone seemed to glow like fire in the light of the flames.

“We have both walked enough over the nearby moors to know that type of quartz is not from around here,” she pointed out.

Orlov didn’t argue.

Shannon drew a deep breath and continued. “And from what we know of D’Etienne’s cunning, it would be just the sort of trick he would try.” She suddenly shivered. “He’s close. I know it.”

He held the shard a bit higher. Shadows flickered against his face, sharp and snapping as a predator’s teeth.

“Call it woman’s intuition,” she added.

“Aye.” The dowager flexed her frail fingers. “I feel it in my bones as well—and do not say it’s merely the aches of old age.”

“Far be it for me to contradict either of you.” Orlov finally spoke. “In these last few weeks, I have come to have the utmost respect for the feminine mind.” He forced a wry grimace. “Though it is incomprehensible to mortal man.”

“Your understanding of a wide range of subjects leaves most men in the dust,” said Lady Octavia, her grim expression lightening somewhat. “For which I am profoundly grateful.”

Giving silent thanks for how deftly he had rallied the dowager’s flagging spirits, Shannon managed a ghost of a smile as well. She had come to appreciate how his humor was not always intended to be an offensive weapon.

Encouraged by Orlov’s example, the dowager thumped her stick to the floor. “So, what do the two of you suggest we do to counter the dastard’s latest move?”

The smile died as Shannon stared blankly at the fire. She did not trust herself to speak.

Orlov eyed her for a moment before assuming command. “According to Sun-Tzu, if the enemy is substantial, prepare for him. So it seems to me we must take up a more defensive position. Shannon is right—we are far too vulnerable, even here inside the castle walls. The place is too big, too rambling. I suggest we move the children in with Lady Octavia for the next few nights.”

He turned to the dowager. “Your rooms in the central tower are accessible by just one stairway. There is a small parlor at its foot. We will set up our sleeping quarters there—in shifts, of course.”

“That makes a good deal of sense,” said the dowager. “There are still iron bars guarding the windows, left over from some ancient clan conflict.”
Tap, tap, tap
. The rap of her walking stick took on a martial beat. “We shall rouse the children and tell them that the move is a special treat in light of the trying day. A grand adventure. And with a roll of blankets on the floor, they may pretend they are pirates, sleeping on the deck of a ship.”

“Whitehall ought to consider offering for your services, milady,” remarked Orlov. “Your talent for spinning a good yarn at a moment’s notice would prove extremely valuable. Diplomats are often called upon to explain delicate situations.”

“My talent for lying through my teeth is probably not nearly as good as yours. Still, I have told enough bouncers in my life to be reasonably adept at improvising.”

The scuff of the stick sounded as Lady Octavia started to rise. Ashamed at her own lack of spirit, Shannon forced her shoulders to square. What was wrong with her? She had never been afraid of a fight. If anything, her desire for action had been too driven, too devil-may-care.
Reckless
.

Again she wondered whether Lord Lynsley was right in doubting whether she deserved to wear the badge of a Merlin. Her hand crept to her breast, touching the hidden tattoo. Beneath it she could feel the drumming of her heart, unsure, erratic. The marquess had warned her that duty demanded dispassionate resolve.

Her fingers curled in a clench around the small silver hawk and fine-link chain, a sharp reminder of the Academy and all it stood for. Sofia had thought her worthy to wear it. She must not let them down. Or herself.

“Ready to go?” Orlov had moved to her side, his gaze catching hers in a deeper unspoken question.

She set aside her unfinished whiskey. “I’ll rouse the children and gather the blankets while you check that the doors and latches of the Tower stairwell are in good working order.”

“I will recheck the window bars,” offered Lady Octavia. “And perhaps order up a few buckets of boiling oil.” A waggle of the polished hawthorn emphasized her snort. “Hmmph. Just let the fellow try to breach these walls.”

“I doubt the devil himself would dare do battle against us.” Orlov smiled. “I certainly wouldn’t.”

“I’ll bring extra blankets for the guard room,” said Shannon. “Let me take the first watch.”

“You are sure?”

She didn’t blame him for questioning her fitness for duty. He was far too sharp to have missed the signs of self-doubt. Both comrade and enemy must see only unflinching courage.

“I am ready.”
I am a Merlin
. She would prove to everyone—including herself—that she was worthy of her wings.

Chapter Nineteen

“The locks are secure, and as an extra precaution, I’ve added a second deadbolt on the Tower door.” Orlov angled his light over the window, checking that the latches were fastened. “The children?”

“Safely stowed away in Lady Octavia’s bedchamber,” answered Shannon. “Though I’ll not vouch for their getting a wink of sleep during the night.”

“Leave it to the dowager to run a tight ship.” A mattress had been made up in a corner of the small parlor room at the foot of the stairs. He came and sat down beside her, shoulder to shoulder, with their backs against whitewashed plaster. “She found a book on the pirates of the Caribbean that is guaranteed to frighten even the most bloodthirsty buccaneer into slumber.”

“The last thing the children need is a fright.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded perilously close to cracking.

“They are resilient, Shannon.”

“And you think I am not?”

“I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Hunching away from his touch, she drew her knees tighter to her chest, though there was no hope of hiding within herself. “I know it’s my fault. I should not have been distracted.”

“Don’t be so damnably hard on yourself, Shannon.”

Surprised, she looked up.

“Do you think you are the only one wracked by doubt, by fears of not being up to the job?” Orlov crooked a weary smile. “Trust me, it gets even worse as you get older.”

“As if
you
have ever suffered a moment of self-doubt.”

He twisted a lock of her hair between his fingers. “Only a fool or an ass does not question himself. I know you think me both. But if it’s any consolation, there have been times when I wondered whether an enemy blade or a bullet would have been a less painful alternative to my own thoughts.”

Orlov had never allowed such an unguarded glimpse of his feelings. Shannon blinked before answering, “I—I would never have guessed you to have such doubts. You hide them well.”

“Mental discipline is no different from swordplay. In both, we must master the art of feints and deception.”

“You are far more skilled than I am.”

His laugh was little more than a whisper. “You underestimate your skills, Shannon. They are far more formidable than you imagine.” His broad, warm palm cupped her chin. “Your courage and compassion make me ashamed of my own selfish weaknesses.”

Her breath caught in her throat. His voice, stripped of its usual caustic edge, sounded nearly as vulnerable as her own.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Alexandr.” As his hand drew away from her face, Shannon reached out and twined her fingertips with his. Through the calluses and cuts she felt the warm, steady beat of his pulse. “You are a kind, caring man, though you take great pains to hide it.”

“You give me too much credit,
golub
.”

“I have seen the look on your face when you have Emma cradled in your arms.”

His mouth crooked. “Perhaps it’s merely the scars of past battles twisting my expression of their own accord.” He touched the tiny nick at the corner of his mouth. “This was from a tavern brawl in Cracow—hardly a heroic exploit.”

Shannon leaned closer and pressed her lips to the spot.

Orlov stiffened for an instant, then let out a whispery laugh. “This was from a Venetian spy, who was trying to sabotage one of our trade agreements with Constantinople.”

She kissed the razor-thin line above his brow. “What happened to him?” she murmured.

“He’s feeding the fishes in the Grand Canal.”

“And this?” Shannon touched his knuckles.

“Ah. You wish to know my deepest, darkest secrets?” He sighed. “My puppy bit me when I tried to take away his bone. You see, even at a very early age, I had a penchant for thievery.”

And how very good he was at it.
He had taken her heart without her realizing just when it had gone missing.

Orlov slowly put his arms around her. “And yet it is you who have stolen my will to resist.”

Shannon made no protest when he tilted her chin and took her mouth in a gentle kiss. It was strange how passion could spark in different ways. She felt a burning need for him, but tonight it was a slow flame, rather than the crackling intensity of their earlier encounters. Those had been fueled by a volatile mix of aggression and attraction.

And this?
How to describe their relationship?

A clash of competitive wills had slowly but surely softened to mutual respect. Perhaps they had recognized in each other that despite the outward differences they were very much alike. Lost souls with a certain darkness in their hearts, looking for some missing piece to make them whole. What they had found was each other. And matched together, their strengths seemed to conquer the weaknesses.

“Alexandr.” She had been drawn to him from the very first time her steel had crossed with his.

His mouth, softer than velvet, was now nuzzling the hollow of her throat. The fastenings of her shirt had come free, baring her shoulders.

She undid the buttons of his placket and slid her hand against his chest. The dusting of curls was like finespun silk beneath her palm, the flat planes of his breast smooth as polished marble. Seized by a sudden urge to see the flicker of firelight on his flesh, she tugged the linen over his head.

It might only have been a quirk of the candles, but Orlov’s expression appeared oddly tentative. “Are you sure this is what you want, Shannon?” he murmured. “I don’t wish to take advantage of the moment and have you do anything that you will later regret.”

She mustered a laugh. “Thank you for the warning, but I know how to defend myself—if I so desire.”

“And what is it you desire,
golub
?”

You.

She wasn’t quite brave enough to say it aloud, but her eyes must have spoken for her. His grip was surprisingly gentle as he laid her down across the counterpane and covered her body with his. The scent of him, an overtly masculine mix of smoke, leather, and pine, was intoxicating. She could not resist tracing her tongue along the ridge of his shoulder.

“You taste of salt and Scottish malt,” she whispered.

“You taste of wild honey,” he said, after drinking in a more intimate embrace. “And a sweetness beyond words.”

There was no way to describe the sudden flare of heat that his kiss ignited inside her. Rough with need, the rasp of his stubbled jaw was like a thousand points of fire against her cheek, and the press of his mouth, hard yet soft, a tongue of flame.

“Then no more words, Alexandr,” she begged. “No more warnings. God knows what the morning will bring. The only certainty is that we have this moment. I want you, beyond reason, beyond regret.”
Beyond yearnin
g. “Please.”

“I fear I am beyond the point of turning back, no matter that I should.” His hands framed her face. “You deserve better, Shannon. So much better.”

“But I want
you
.” In the firelight, his hair had a whiskygold gleam. She threaded her fingers through the curling strands. “Only you.”

Guiding his grip to the remaining fastenings of her shirt, she wriggled her breasts free of the fabric. With a ragged groan, Orlov ripped it open all the way, sending a flutter of linen threads across the counterpane. Her breeches yielded to his hands, then her stockings.

A last tug left her naked beneath his gaze. Unashamed, Shannon met his gaze. The gleam in his eye sparked a fierce joy deep within her.

“Have you any idea how lovely you are?” Orlov’s callused palms slid over her hips.

She edged closer, so close that the peppering of golden hair on his chest tickled against her skin. “Not nearly as magnificent as you are.” The breadth of his shoulders, the sculpted muscles, tapering to a narrow waist, were smooth and hard as marble. Chiseled perfection. “Like a Greek god.”

“Lud, I am all too human, Shannon. All too flawed.” His hands came up to cup her breasts. She tingled all over as he teased their tips.

“Not to me.” She fell back against the pillows, drawing him with her. “You are…” All coherent thought dissolved in a gasp of delight as his mouth closed over a nipple, laving, suckling the flesh to a hard little point of fire.

“Perfect.” The last word crescendoed into a cry. Arching instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck, reveling in the silky tangle of his hair, the slope of his back. The bedcover fell away as he hitched her higher, their legs entwining in the sheets. His erect shaft brushed her thigh, and the thought of him wanting her was wildly arousing.

Somehow she
did
feel beautiful. Feminine, sultry, seductive. All the things she did not think were a part of herself. Her hands tightened. She meant to hold on to the moment, savor the splendor of his shape, his strength, his scent.

Everything about him.

“Please!” she whispered, as his lips slanted to the hollow of her throat. The pounding of her pulse echoed her need. In another instant she feared she might shatter like crystal.

His eyes, swirling like liquid steel, met hers.

Shannon felt another jolt of heat course through her. “Don’t wait any longer. Come inside me, Alex.”

Orlov lifted her hips, driven on by her plea and his own ruthless need. He could no longer leash the Russian wolf deep within him—his baser instincts now overpowered what few scraps of gentlemanly English scruples he still possessed.

Damn him for a beast, but he meant to have her. To mark her irrevocably as his own.

“Open yourself to me, Shannon.” He coaxed her thighs apart. “Yes, like that.” All pliant curves and creamy flesh, her long legs responded sweetly to his touch. He nearly came undone.

A sigh, soft as spun silk. Had she ever had a man inside her?

Slowly
,
slowly,
he thought, holding himself in check. More than anything else, he wanted to make this joining of their bodies a memory that they could hold forever.

Her honeyed curls, gleaming gold in the dancing light, were damp to his touch. Sucking in his breath, he found the nub within her feminine folds of flesh and circled a slow caress.

“Oh, Alexandr!” Her voice—wild, wondrous—urged him to quicken his stroke.

Shannon pressed hard into his hand, and he took a wicked satisfaction at having awakened her to her own innermost passions. Another cry, as his finger found her passage and slipped inside.
So tight. So trusting
.

And so innocent.

Damn
. For all her virago strength, it seemed she was still a virgin. With a low groan, he eased back, though it took a considerable effort.

“Please,” she begged, grabbing at his wrist. “Don’t stop. Not now.”

“Not so fast,
golub
,” he said through gritted teeth. His self-control was perilously close to going up in smoke. “I mean to make this right for you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her eyes were luminous in the flickering light, as if the sun were shining on a clear blue sky. “You could never hurt me.”

It was still not too late. A true gentleman would have come to his senses. But he had never claimed to be a saint. Primal passion had taken possession of him, body and soul. Angling higher, Orlov braced his weight and entered her, slowly, gently as he could.

But after a momentary flinch, Shannon surged to meet him, sheathing his shaft deep in her warmth. He gasped, fighting to keep from going over the edge.

“A-am I doing this right?” Her smile turned tentative.

“Oh so right,” he rasped.
And oh so wrong
. He ruthlessly thrust the thought aside. Cynicism, his usual shield, had unraveled, leaving him tangled in a hopeless snarl of emotions.
Hope, guilt, fear, longing
. But need overpowered all. Somehow he would sort the others out later.

Orlov withdrew slightly, giving her body a moment to adjust to his, then eased forward again.

“So right,” he whispered again, tipping her face to take her in a long, lush kiss.

Clinging to his shoulders, she eagerly matched his rhythm. Limbs entwined, he felt her heart pounding, in perfect harmony with his own. So close. Her touch awakening hope, even though he had sworn never to make himself so vulnerable.

“Hold me tight, Alexandr.” The words feathered against his cheek. “I shall be lost without you.” He could feel the tension mounting within her, straining to break free.

“I have you, Shannon.” His hands guided her hips higher, joining them more deeply. Like liquid honey, her warmth enveloped him. Two as one, cresting in yet another exquisite wave of pleasure, before she shuddered beneath him and gave voice to a cry of ethereal sweetness.

His own limbs trembling, Orlov was not sure whether to laugh or cry. Reveling in her wonder, he was only dimly aware of the darker note of warning thrumming through his head. Had he made the cardinal mistake of allowing lust to deepen into love? Emotional attachment was the kiss of death in their line of work.

And yet rather than heed the danger, he surged forward, his own hoarse exultation echoing the thunder rumbling through the distant moors.

“Are you awake,
dorogaya
?”

Shannon was roused from her reveries by a feathered kiss to her brow. “Mmmm… yes.” She gave a languid stretch, reveling in the sleek warmth of Orlov’s body pressed against hers. “But only barely.” His skin was still redolent with musky scent of their lovemaking, and as she snuggled closer, she was intimately aware of every nuanced texture. The smoothness of his muscles, the hardened contours of his chest, the stubbling of whiskers along the lean line of his jaw.

The first rays of dawn lit a flare of gold beneath her outstretched caress. “It’s still early.”

“Aye. But loath though I am to mix business and pleasure, duty calls.” Orlov’s smile was sweet but fleeting. “I had better not linger here in bed any longer.”

Duty.
Shannon shot up with a guilty start. “The children. Lady Octavia. I should have—”

He pulled her back down to the pillows. “All is well. I checked on them a half hour ago. You need not rush to dress. However, I have a few things I wish to do before I join the London gentlemen for the hunt.”

“Alexandr, can I not convince you to reconsider?”