Seducing the Spy (9 page)

"We have an agreement, Lady Alicia. You are to assist me in finding this person. You must adhere to certain rules if we are to succeed."

She folded her arms. "You are repeating yourself, Lord Wyndham. Furthermore, I can break my side of the agreement at any time. I have two feet. I merely need to walk out of that door."

"I could make sure you don't leave this house."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You could try." Then she shrugged and quirked her lips in that way that drove him mad. "That would not help you find your mystery lord, would it?" She smiled fully and batted her eyes in false flirtation. "I declare, I am beginning to forget the sound of his voice!"

Lord Wyndham growled. She blinked at the sound. "Was that you?"

He took a step toward her. "You believe you have nothing to lose by taunting me thus?"

She raised her chin. "I have nothing, therefore I can lose nothing."

He came another step. She had never been so near him—at least not while upright. He truly was a very large man. An icy tingling began in her belly—or was it fiery? Either way, her mouth still went dry at the way his shoulders blocked the light.

"There is always more to lose," he told her, his voice a husky rumble that worked its way beneath her very skin.

That did it. Her knees went fully weak and she staggered back a step. Or rather, she meant to back away. Apparently, her body had something else in mind. She found herself fully pressed to his broad chest.

Startled, she pulled away, but it was too late. His hands came to grip her shoulders and pull her closer.

"Lady Alicia, you continue to surprise me."

"And me," she gasped. She meant to back away, she truly did, but then she had that thought.

It was the thought that had caused the entire mess that was her life. It was the thought that led her to eat too many green apples when she was twelve. It was the thought that led her into the arms of a liar.

Always the same thought—and always followed by the most terrible consequences.

What is the worst that could happen?

Not a bad thought in itself. The fault always seemed to lie in her lack of imagination. The worst was always much, much worse than she'd envisioned.

She quickly ran down the list of terrible things that could ensue from kissing Lord Wyndham.

He might kiss her back. That would not be so bad.

He might not. That would be a pity, yet survivable.

Then again, considering the dark heat she sensed within him at this moment, his passionate response might land her in his bed… or rather, her bed, since they were in her house.

Hmm. She had no reputation to shatter and no virtue to lose. What she did have was one very large, very comfortable bed and two very weak knees.

Yes, all in all, she rather thought she might want to kiss Lord Wyndham.

So she closed her eyes and lifted her face to his, lips slightly parted. And waited.

«
^
»

Stanton couldn't move. She was too close… too real.

This was a mistake.

Alicia continued to wait. Finally opening her eyes, she stepped back. Her eyes narrowed. "Never mind. I've reconsidered helping you. Piss off." She turned to stalk from the room.

Stanton came out of his daze in an instant. His witness was walking off the case. He caught up with her in a few swift steps.

"You cannot reconsider, Lady Alicia."

She turned. "Oh? Can I not? Observe." She moved away from him.

Stanton ignored a lifetime of social training and caught her by the arm, pulling her closer. "You belong to me now."

Startled—and angry, he'd do well not to forget angry—green eyes fixed on his. "I beg your pardon?"

"I paid for a mistress—put her in a house, bought her a new wardrobe, a new staff. I demand that certain services be rendered in return."

She gazed at him for a long moment. "Very well. But only once."

Then she went up on her toes and kissed
him
.

It was a clumsy, untutored kiss—the kiss of a sheltered girl, fervent and hesitant at once. The innocence of her lips on his transported him directly back to his first achingly sweet kiss, to the boy with the shaking hands and the pounding heart, his first taste of female lips on his. Another time and place—indeed, another Stanton entirely.

Except that boy of the past still lived within him. And what had happened next still loomed over his present. He couldn't allow himself to kiss her back… but neither did he stop her. He merely went very still, neither advancing nor pulling back.

This gave Alicia a delicious sense of power. She allowed herself to selfishly explore his lips with hers, tantalizing herself with the differing textures and sensations.

There was the heat of him that sank into her flesh through her lips and her hands where they rested upon his hard chest. There was the surprising softness of his mouth and the tickle of shaven skin above and below. She found herself enamored of the corners, where she could taste it all.

She became aware of the racing of his heart as it pounded against her palms. Had she such a power over his very pulse? She tested her theory by slipping the tip of her tongue between his lips.

More heat. More enticing masculine tastes. Coffee. Mint.

Him.

He still did not kiss her back, although his grip on her shoulders was fierce. However, she became aware of a different response as he pulled her closer still.

Based on the evidence presented in the front of his trousers, Stanton Horne, Lord Wyndham, wanted to bed her, Lady Alicia Lawrence.

And if size and hardness were any indication, he wanted to do it now.

Now
. Stanton's thoughts were simple and urgent.
Now. Here. Immediately
.

She was refreshingly sweet when she wasn't speaking—so tentative and yet so willing. There were things he could do to a woman like that, things that would please them both enormously—for a time, anyway.

This one wouldn't shy. She would take it all and ask for more. She could match any amount of lust, if one allowed her to.

If he allowed himself to.

God, if only he dared. Unfortunately, he feared if he truly released his passion upon Alicia, he might never forgive himself.

He felt her fingers fumbling at his neck. She was untying his cravat while she gently ran her tongue over his teeth. Aching need pulsed within him at her eagerness.
Now. Now
.

He took her shoulders and pushed her back from him. Raising his gaze to the ceiling for a moment, he breathed deeply—once, twice, thrice. At last a shred of control returned. He cleared his throat and looked at her. "Not now. We have a—"

"A timetable." She had one hand pressed to her temple as she stared at him with wide eyes. "Right. God forbid we upset the timetable." She backed away, clearing her throat. "I'll just check on my maid's progress then." She scurried from the room, leaving Stanton to let his shoulders drop with sudden deep exhaustion.

Voluptuous, sensual Lady Alicia, alone with him in the carriage all day.

It was going to be a very long drive to Sussex. Hopefully, the chill in the air would cool his heated blood.

A few hours later, Stanton was verging on a slow boil. Lady Alicia Lawrence was continuously getting in his way.

"Must you sprawl?"

She was lolling across the opposite seat, toying idly with the velvet-covered buttons tufting the cushion. Her skirts trailed over the floor of the carriage, forcing him to sit nearly pigeon-toed in order to avoid treading on the silk. She slid her gaze his way, raising a brow at his gruff tone.

"I'm not sprawling on you, so why should you object?"

"You consume more space than any three women."

She looked thoughtful. "Do men take up more space than women?"

He wasn't sure where this was headed. "I suppose. Men are generally larger."

She snorted. "Have you seen some of the ladies of the ton?" Then she narrowed her eyes. "Yet even they are expected to 'consume' less space, aren't they? Ladies are not supposed to lean back on a chair, no matter how weary. Are the backs of chairs put there solely for the use of men?"

Stanton closed his eyes. "Yes. The backs of chairs are the sole province of the males. You must not touch your flesh to it or you'll grow copious amounts of hair there."

He opened his eyes to see her staring at him.

She blinked. "You have a sense of the ridiculous: Why did you never mention this? How could you leave out something so important?"

"So sorry," he said wearily. "It won't happen again."

She lifted a corner of her lips. "You're an untapped keg, Stanton. How marvelous. Now I won't be forced to bait you out of boredom."

"Oh, please," he said flatly. "Don't stop on my account."

She tilted her head at him. "Oh, this will be fun."

He sighed. "I preferred you when you were rude."

She grinned. "Too bad. You're my new playfellow."

"Oh, dread."

She laughed delightedly. Stanton had to admit that she had a delicious bubbling laugh—the sort that made one want to laugh along.

If one was the laughing sort.

Unfortunately, there were too many unanswered questions streaming through his mind to spare time for such amusements.

Last night's incident at the opera, for one. As murder attempts went, it had been oddly complicated. There were so many ways in which the sabotage of the opera box might not have worked—if no one had neared the railing, if someone had spotted it before darkness shrouded the opera house, if the perpetrator had been spotted in the complicated act of arranging it…

In addition, there was Lady Alicia herself. Surely she had not intentionally deceived him on their first meeting—yet how could he not have seen how attractive she was?

He let his shadowed gaze travel over her soft curves—lingering secretively on her generous bosom. Those breasts! He didn't consider himself a weak-willed man, but those succulent temptations would stir a saint to sin!

Would he have proposed this particular ruse had he known she possessed more than simply a pair of beautiful eyes?

Probably not. She was precisely the type of woman he usually avoided—voluptuous, witty and bold. Being in the presence of such a female usually left him feeling on bumpy ground, prompting him to become even more stolid and reserved than normal—which was saying a great deal.

Instead, he found himself stimulated by her wit and set at ease by her forthright manner—or at least what passed for ease with him.

Except, of course, for when she had kissed him.

You should have kissed her back, you fool
. No. On the contrary, he ought to feel relief that he had not crossed that boundary. This was a mission and she was by no means a trusted comrade in arms.

And he was no light-hearted lover, free to make pleasure with the town trollop.

Yet those lips on his—like warm fire-glow on chilled skin…

Alicia inhaled deeply, watching Lord Wyndham through dropped lashes. Yes, he was most definitely looking at her bosom.

Interesting and flattering, but it signified little. It was her experience that most men—except Garrett, of course—were much preoccupied with bosoms in general and large bosoms in particular.

Well, then, there was nothing to do but return the compliment. She let her veiled gaze wander over him slowly, enjoying the intimate theft to the fullest. He was so very ornamental, wasn't he? Those wide shoulders, the way his weskit lay so flat over his hard stomach, the bulk of his muscular thighs in his snug-fitting breeches…

She caught herself from flicking the tip of her tongue over her lips. Shocking, but understandable. There were few men on earth like Lord Wyndham. A woman would be a fool not to fill her eyes while she could.

Her eyes, her arms, her body…

Alicia swallowed, hard—then licked her lips after all. She still tasted him there, faint and tantalizing. She'd been mad to kiss him.

Thank heaven for that sort of madness. To think she might have lived out her life without kissing a man like Wyndham!

Not that she'd kissed many men. There'd been that handsome young dancing master who had stolen the briefest touch of her lips. What had his name been? She'd promptly developed a mad passion for the fellow, then forgotten him just as quickly when he'd moved on. There had been Almont's skillful, heated kisses—which did not bear thinking about. Ever.

And now, Lord Wyndham. Unlike Almont, Wyndham managed to fire her passions with no effort whatsoever. In fact, he'd seemed bloody dismayed.

She couldn't wait to dismay him again.

Wyndham cleared his throat. "We're here."

Alicia rested her arms on the window frame and gazed out, letting the damp air cool her heated cheeks. The graveled drive up to Cross's manor house gave one ample time to contemplate the grand exterior. Lord Wyndham seemed unimpressed, as well he might. She'd never heard much about his estate of Wyndham, but she imagined its opulence equaled or surpassed anything in Sussex.

The sky was bluing into night as their carriage pulled to an unhurried stop before the grand steps of the house. Footmen and maids and piles of luggage abounded. Even as Lord Wyndham's man lowered the carriage steps for them, another elegant transport drew up behind them.

The party had begun, it seemed.

Stanton wasn't looking forward to any of it. There would be loud music and drunken, immoral behavior—and that was only the morning activities. Such self-indulgent chaos would reign until dinner each night, when the real bacchanalia would begin. He had seen it many times before, from the viewpoint of someone who did not want to be there.

I do not want to be here.

Lady Alicia, on the other hand, seemed most eager. She practically tugged him from the carriage, exiting as soon the footman could lower the step.

Stanton followed with pointed dignity. "I believe the party will still be here if we take our time."

"Shh." She wrapped her hand about his arm, her grip like a vise. "It has already begun."