Shana Galen - [A Lord & Lady Spy Novella] (7 page)

He
was the one with divided loyalties.

She caught his eye and levered onto her elbows, her hair spilling out behind her, her breasts jutting forward. He couldn’t help being drawn to her when she looked like that. It would be so easy to kneel down beside her, take her in his arms, and make love to her here. They were alone. Of that, he was certain.

But before he could move, she rose and moved toward the pianoforte. She leaned on the side, listening to him play, then circled behind him, her hands roving over his shoulders and down his arms. His fingers did not falter. He played flawlessly, even as he grew hard with wanting her. She leaned down, sliding her arms down his, so he had to lift her arms to continue to play. The softness of her breasts pushed against his back, and then her mouth was on his ear. His skin tingled as she kissed a path down to his neck. Somehow he continued to play as her lips and her breath aroused him beyond what he thought he could tolerate without ravishing her.

Her mouth slid to the back of his neck, her soft lips tracing the sensitive skin there even as her hands slid up to his shoulders and down his chest. Down to his abdomen.

“Do you like this?” Her mouth was beside his ear again. Her hands delved between his legs, sliding over his hard flesh barely contained within his breeches.

“It’s horrible,” he groaned. “Don’t stop.”

She chuckled, the sound low and sensual against his ear. “Then you shall truly detest this.” She released the fall of his trousers and the skin of her hand met his engorged erection. His hands faltered, creating a dissonant sound on the piano keys. “What’s wrong,” she asked darkly, her hands sliding up and down him with maddening slowness. “Can’t you concentrate under such barbaric conditions?”

“It’s a test of will,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.”

“Oh, you can stand it,” she purred, stroking him faster.

“If I can stand it—” He gripped her hand and used it to yank her around him. He pushed back, so she had room to stand in front of the pianoforte keys. “—so can you.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. It is my turn to torture you.”

“You can have two turns next time we meet.” He grasped her slender waist and pulled her against him, putting his mouth on her breast. The woolen fabric of her gown was heavy in his mouth, but he could feel her heat through it. He could smell the sweet fragrance of mint and Helena. His hands worked down until he grasped her bottom. He slid down farther, teasing the junction between her legs through the thick material of her gown.

Two keys sounded, and she jumped at the sudden jangle. And then his hands stroked over her hips and into the V between her legs and another three or four keys clanged together.

“Who taught you to play?” he teased, his mouth against her belly. “You need lessons, I’m afraid.”

“Do you think you’re the one to give them to me?” Her voice was husky and breathless, and she moaned, leaning back and causing several more keys to clink out their tones.

“I think I’m exactly the one.” Blue stood, wrapped his hand around her neck, and kissed her.

***

He was doing it again. He was drugging her, making her drunker with his mouth and his hands than any good bottle of wine or cheap bottle of gin had ever done. She wanted him. She knew it was hopeless. She knew this would not last. He would not stay. She had changed, but he had not. Blue would find this Reaper, and he would be gone. She would see him again—if he didn’t get himself killed in the meantime. While they both walked the earth, they would never truly be rid of one another. But when they met, it would always be another coupling like this—passionate, intense, and over far too soon.

Although at the moment, she might have encouraged Blue to hurry a little. She ached with need. His mouth had come down on hers with a possessiveness and tenderness she had not thought possible. How could he be so demanding and so gentle at the same time? His kisses consumed her until she forgot where she was, who she was, and knew only him. In that moment, they were the only two people in the world.

The escape was addictive.
He
was addictive. His mouth moved skillfully over hers, slanting this way and then that, taking and demanding in turn. She kissed him back with a ferocity she hadn’t thought was in her. She couldn’t get enough of him. She realized it was part arousal, part desperation to hold onto this moment with him. Tomorrow he might be gone. Tonight, he was all hers.

His hand fisted in the hair at the nape of her neck, angling her head back so he could kiss the delicate skin of her neck. His lips were surprisingly gentle now, feather light as he traced them over her throat. And then, using his teeth, he made his way to her earlobe, brushing his tongue over the vulnerable skin behind her ear. She shivered. Her entire body trembled with want and need.

“Torture, isn’t it?” he whispered, his breath hot on her already inflamed skin. “Shall I stop?”

“
No
.” She grabbed his coat and pulled him hard against her until she could feel his erection digging into her belly. She loved that he was so hard for her. She loved that he wanted her this much. Other men had wanted her, but no one else was like Blue. He was extraordinary. He could have had any woman. And he wanted her.

He pushed her back with his hips and his thighs until her bottom all but rested on the pianoforte. The keys jangled again as she struck chords never meant to be paired. While his lips teased her neck, his hands went to work on her skirts. He pushed them up, slowly, his fingers trailing over her calves and then her thighs.

She sighed against him. “What are you doing to me?”

“It’s called anticipation,” he said on a laugh, his mouth going to the collar of her gown.

“I’ve had years of anticipation. I want you. Now.”

“You’d make an awful spy,” he said. “You have no patience.”

“And you’d make an awful opera singer,” she panted as he opened her bodice and kissed the soft flesh her tight stays pushed up and out. He wet her skin with his tongue then breathed warm air over it, making her shiver.

“Why is that?”

“Hmm?”

His hands still caressed her thighs, moving higher and higher so slowly she wanted to scream. The greater urge was to grab his hands and thrust them where she wanted them, but she knew he would only laugh and start all over again.

And she liked this torture anyway. It made the release, when it finally came, that much sweeter.

“Why would I make an awful opera singer?” He tugged at her stays until one breast popped out. He flicked his tongue over it, and she jerked. The pianoforte played another unlikely chord.

“Because.” She had to take a breath as he sucked harder on her nipple, and she felt the pull all the way down to her belly. Would he not touch her already? “You draw everything out, and audiences hate that.”

He released her nipple, rubbing his stubbled cheek against it. “But you don’t.”

“I don’t like you very much right now.”

“You will. Give me another minute.”

She could tolerate the wait one more minute.

“Or two.”

“Blue!” She admonished. He chuckled, his mouth making its way to her other breast. But she knew how to get to him. She knew how to make him give her what she wanted. “Ernest.”

His vivid blue gaze glared up at her, and she couldn’t help a small, satisfied smirk. He was annoyed now. Good. Maybe he’d take that frustration out on her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked with a smile.

“My name is Blue.”

“I’m not certain I can remember that.” She reached down, between their bodies and took his warm, hard length in her hand. “Perhaps if you made me scream it three or four or five times…”

“
Five
times?”

She quirked a brow. “Too much for you?”

“Just wait and see.”

Without warning, he lifted her bottom and deposited her heavily on the keys. They banged out a noise that echoed in the empty theater, but Helena wasn’t listening. She concentrated on the feel of his fingers as they slid up her inner thighs and parted her folds. One finger slipped inside her, and she bucked against him, ready to climax then. “Not yet,” he warned. “I want to feel you when you come.”

“Then take me.”

“With pleasure.”

He slid into her, thrusting hard enough that she heard the clink of the higher keys as her hand came down on them for support. And then she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he bore the brunt of her weight. Impaled on him as she was, she knew his substantial length and hardness. He filled her, stretched her, brought her to the peak of pleasure, and then pulled back again.

“Blue!”

“That’s one,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I’m not playing ga—” He entered her again, and she could barely remember how to speak much less the words that had been on her tongue. Spirals of acute pleasure raced through her, gathering and tensing, waiting for release.

And then he pulled away. She all but sobbed his name.

“That’s twice.”

She dug her nails into his back, feeling him shrug slightly, even though he still wore his coat. She remembered when they’d first met. It seemed every time they made love, they were fully dressed and in some small alcove, struggling to be quiet lest they be found. They weren’t very quiet, if the ringing of the pianoforte was any indication, but their mating tonight had that same intensity.

He thrust into her again, and she wanted to let go. She might have, but if she had, he would have pulled out again. Instead, she held on, clenching around him so that pulling away from her was the last thing his body wanted to do.

“Helena,” he groaned, sounding both angry and pained.

“That’s once,” she whispered.

He punished her by thrusting deeper, and they both came apart. She shattered, calling his name more times than she could count. The world went black and then bright white again. She closed her eyes, letting the pleasure roll over her like a churning wave.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, her vision hazy and blurred. And then it sharpened. She blinked and stared into the shadows beside the curtain. A man draped in black and wearing a stark white Venetian larva mask stood holding a scythe.

Blue felt Helena stiffen in his arms. “Did I hurt you?” he murmured in her hair. It had come loose in sections as the night wore on, and now it fell freely down her back.

“No.”

Something was wrong. He could hear it in her voice, feel it in her body. Blue’s back prickled. “What is it? Whisper it in my ear.”

“There’s a man in a white mask watching us, just beyond the curtain. I think it’s
him
.”

Blue did not need to ask to whom she referred. He knew it was Reaper, and he knew he’d been a fool to allow this to happen. He was vulnerable now. His stupidity in taking her here might have just cost them both their lives. “Ease back slowly,” he murmured. She did so, one of her hands striking a key. His hands on her sides tightened, stilling her. “We’ll try another way. When I set you down, you run.” He didn’t wait for her to argue or ask questions. He set her down, gave her a push then bent for the knife in his boot, and spun around.

There was no one there. The theater was empty. Blue would have turned and accused Helena of seeing things had he not noted the way the material of one of the drops swished slightly. He fastened the fall of his trousers, narrowing his eyes. Someone had been there. The painted drop had not moved on its own. Blue pulled his pistol from his coat and stashed his knife back in his boot.

“What are you doing?”

He turned with a sigh. “I told you to run.”

She was righting her bodice and her skirts and had not moved an inch from where he’d pushed her. Blue looked down at the pistol, withdrew his powder, and began to prime the weapon. “I’m going after him.”

“But he’s gone. He’s disappeared.”

Blue shook his head. “He’s here. He was here the entire time.”

“But we searched the theater,” Helena protested, tossing her hair over one shoulder.

“Not well enough. There must be another place. Somewhere we haven’t thought of.”

She shook her head. “I showed you every inch of this building. I’ve been working here for the past two years. I’m here almost every night. I know this place. We looked everywhere.”

Blue nodded and paced away from her. She was telling the truth. It unnerved him that Reaper had caught them in such an intimate act, and he could tell from the awkwardness of her movements, she was upset as well. If she was holding some place back, she would have never seduced him. She might have been an actress in public, but she did not relish an audience for her private moments.

And why was he doubting Helena anyway?

Blue scrubbed his eyes. His occupation was such that after a time everyone seemed like they had secrets and ulterior motives. At one time he would not have thought twice about lumping Helena in with that group. Now she’d changed. She had been nothing but honest with him. She had given up drinking. She seemed to be living a simple life. Or she had been until he’d showed up.

Blue paced back, staring down at the floorboards. They were worn from use but not shabby. The wear had softened the boards, made them smooth. He took another step, then another, thinking of all those who’d played upon this stage. And as he peered down, he saw slots where the scene flats stood when not in use. During a performance, the stagehands changed scenes by unrolling a new backdrop and moving flats stored in the slots on stage.

Blue blinked, then knelt, running his hand over the grooves, which were not in use as the scenes were being painted.

“What are you doing?” Helena asked.

“
O
for
a
Muse
of
fire
,” Blue murmured, then crossed to Helena and took her by the arms.

“Where are we going?” she hissed as he dragged her backstage.

“Shh!” When they were behind a large drop, he whispered. “What is under this stage?”

She shook her head. “The machinery that moves the flats—chariots, pulleys, winches. That sort of thing.”

“Where’s the access?”

“I have no idea.”

“Think, Helena.” Blue shook her slightly. He needed her now. Needed her to use her quick thinking. “Where would it be?”

“I…” She paused. “I would have to ask one of the carpenters to be certain, but if I had to guess—”

“Show me.” He grabbed her wrist in one hand and a candelabra in the other, then pushed her forward. She faltered for what felt like an eternity, and then she pulled him off stage and into the darkness beyond. In the wings of the theater, large borders towered over them, like sleeping leviathans. But Blue knew the real danger was beneath them. Helena faltered again, then stared at the floor.

“It was here somewhere…”

Blue knelt down, shining the candelabra on the dark wood. He yanked the door in the floor open and shined the light into the dark space below the stage. A scurrying sound greeted him.

Dusty steps descended into the small space, and Blue had to take a fortifying breath.

“Will you be alright?”

Blue held up a hand. If he did not talk of his fear, he would not have to think about it. “Let’s go.” He descended into the gloom, shining the candelabra on the machinery that operated the chariot-and-pull system used to change the scenery flats during a performance. Helena crouched beside him.

“No one is here,” she whispered.

Blue moved deeper into the space, studying it closely. Wax dripped from the candles as he studied the floor. Nothing. Nothing. No—a seam. “There.” He bent over the seam and traced it with his hands. It was a square cut into the floor and well concealed. “Now to open it…” He tried to pull one side up, but it would not budge. “Your fingers are smaller than mine. See if you can get a grasp on it,” he said.

Helena tried, but the opening in the floor was a thin sliver.

Blue sat back on his haunches. Reaper had to have some way to disappear quickly. Blue peered about and spotted a crowbar leaning against a chariot. For all intents and purposes, it looked like something the carpenters might use. But Blue grasped it, wedged the end into the crack, and the trap door eased open. The hinges were underneath, which further concealed the door. He held the candelabra up and peered into the darkness. Smooth white walls greeted him and something else—the white of bone.

“Those look like catacombs,” Helena whispered. “I didn’t know there were catacombs under the theater.”

“They’re probably sealed on the outside. Or perhaps there is a long forgotten entrance. Leave it to Reaper to discover it. He is the best.”

She glanced at him sharply. “But you’re better.”

Blue grinned. “Of course.” But he was not quite as confident as he had been earlier. Especially now that he saw the catacombs. They were spacious enough that he could stand—more spacious than the room he occupied now—but his pulse sped a fraction and he felt the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. He would be going farther underground. Farther from open air and open space. He swallowed. “Let’s go.”

Helena shook her head. “Thank you, but I’ll wait on stage.”

“You’ll make a convenient target that way. We don’t know if this is the only entrance and exit. Come with me and stay close. This time we’re going to get him.”

Without further protest, she took the candelabra while he lowered himself into the hatchway. His mind and his body protested. Panic flitted on the edges of his mind. He wanted to scream, to run, to shriek like a child. He clenched his fists and fought the fear.
Think
of
something
else. Think of Helena.

He did not want her down here with him, but he could not leave her above. He could not risk Reaper catching her alone. He could not risk Reaper catching her at all, but at least if she was with him, he could protect her.

Blue found that quite suddenly, protecting her was more important than anything. Than even this mission. He took a deep breath and tried not to think about the walls closing in on him. He could do this. He would not allow this irrational fear to get the better of him.

Helena passed the candelabra to him, then took his hand and hopped down. She put her hands on her upper arms, rubbing them, and shivering. “I don’t like this.”

“Carry the candelabra. Hold it high so I can see.” He started down the long dark corridor. It was dry and cold, and from somewhere a slight breeze blew, ruffling his hair and making the light flicker. He liked the breeze. It was less stifling that way. Blue did not like the ambiance. He could see their shadows, eerily disfigured, on the wall just in front of them. In the wall, archways had been hollowed out, and bones were stacked haphazardly in those archways. His shadow loomed over those bones, touched them. He could have done without that image.

They moved silently until Blue spotted something up ahead. He raised a hand, signaling to her, and she stopped while he moved forward. He prodded the object with his foot. “The mask and cape,” he whispered. “He’s been down here.” There was another object as well. It looked like a medallion of some sort, perhaps a coin. “Shine the light higher,” he said as he bent to get a closer look. Darkness crept over him as the light fell lower and lower. Blue scowled as panic at the cramped quarters threatened to erupt. “Helena. Hold it higher.”

“She is otherwise occupied at the moment.”

Blue spun around, knowing only one person could possess that deep voice.

“Good evening, Agent Blue.” Reaper nodded to him. He was tall, taller than Blue had expected, and his brown hair flowed over his shoulders as luxuriously as any woman’s. He was pale and wraithlike, the white skin of his hands stark against his midnight black coat. One of those pale hands rested at Helena’s throat. The long, thin fingers stroked her racing pulse. Blue could see it beat even from this distance. She was terrified, but she stood tall and strong. This was exactly why he’d fallen in love with her. She was so strong, so brave. He couldn’t help but admire that in a woman—in a
person
.

Blue met her gaze directly, signaling her to remain strong.
Show
no
fear. He thrives on that
. She nodded all but imperceptibly, and he felt a punch of terror he had to work to tamp down. She trusted him to save her. She was looking at him with certainty, and Blue hoped to God this would not be the time he let someone down.

But the terror of losing Helena had ratcheted up another fear as well. Was it simply his imagination or had the walls moved inward? Reaper was a tall man. He was taking up too much space, breathing in all of the air. “Good evening, Reaper,” Blue said, forcing himself to breathe.

“I’ve been waiting to meet you. I’ve heard, oh, so much about you.” His voice was so deep, so sonorous. And those long fingers continued to stroke Helena’s throat. She swallowed, and Blue felt a surge of anger. How dare Reaper touch her? How dare he presume to touch anything of Blue’s?

The anger was good. Anger trumped fear any day. “I’ve wanted to meet you as well,” Blue said. “Perhaps under different circumstances.” He gestured to the gloomy catacombs, to the bones beside them.

“Oh, I think tonight is a good night to die. You have had your fun.” His eyes flicked to Helena. “Now it’s time to pay the reaper.”

And before Blue could move, Reaper flicked his cape aside and flashed his scythe, bringing it to Helena’s throat. As though everything was happening underwater, Blue watched as the sharp tip of the weapon pierced her skin. A small dot of blood welled up, and Blue opened his mouth to shout.

“Argh!” Reaper doubled over, and Helena struggled against the arm that still held her. Blue realized immediately that Helena had struck out, and he wasted no time. Blue rammed his head into Reaper’s chest, pushing the man back until he slammed into the wall behind him, jouncing several bones loose from their final resting place. Helena slipped free and tumbled away. Reaper’s eyes followed her. He was hunched over, his manner one Blue knew well. Helena had managed to hit the assassin in the balls. Blue grinned. That was his girl.

“Get out of here,” he ordered, and to his shock, she did as he asked, running into the dark cavern from whence they’d come.

“I’ll get you for that, little soprano,” Reaper called, still breathless from his injury.

Blue looked at Reaper and wedged his arm under the man’s throat. “You won’t touch her.”

Reaper’s light blue eyes settled on Blue, the pale gaze unnerving. “No,
you
won’t touch her. Ever again.” Reaper pushed back, his strength more than Blue had expected. Blue went flying back across the tunnel, landing unceremoniously on his backside. But he managed to avoid hitting his head, though his back slammed into the wall and bones dropped down on his shoulders. Blue shook them off with a grimace and stood as Reaper charged him. Now this was the sort of thing Blue liked. He quickly sidestepped, nimble as ever on his feet. Reaper caught himself before he could plunge into the wall. He turned just enough that his momentum knocked him into Blue. The two men rolled to the ground, tumbling over until they were sprawled amid the disturbed bones.

“You’re dead,” Reaper said, fastening his hand about Blue’s neck. The long, thin fingers were surprisingly strong. Blue gasped for breath almost immediately. He reached for the assassin, but the man weaved out of reach, his punishing grip choking off Blue’s air.

He tried not to think about the lack of oxygen. He ignored his body’s signals to panic and closed his eyes. For a moment, he stepped outside himself and assessed the situation as a trained operative. In his mind, he saw himself sprawled on the floor, Reaper’s hands wrapped about him. Reaper was hunched over him, long hair tickling Blue’s cheeks. If this had been an exercise, Melbourne would have failed Blue for allowing himself to fall into so vulnerable a position.

But Blue had escaped failing situations before.

Think
.

And in his mind, he saw the bones of the dead, felt them press into his back and shoulders. He released his ineffective grip on Reaper’s hands about his throat and reached back. A wave of dizziness washed over him and dots of green and red exploded in front of his eyes. He’d always bloody known he was going to die in some small, tight space.