The Duchess and the Spy (35 page)

“What do I do?” After a few moments, she rang for her maid, and dressed for dinner. She entered the dining room, and looked over at Christopher who sat sullenly at the other end of the table. “The meal will be served shortly,” he muttered, taking another long sip.

“That’s fine,” she replied. “I had a visit from Austin Blanding today, and I’ve decided that he is a despicable fellow.”

“He’s the worst sort of fellow. I can’t believe I share a blood bond to that bastard.” She sighed, and shakily reached for her glass of wine that had just been poured. She downed about two glasses before the meal had even begun and was reaching for the fourth by the time that she began eating her main course.

“You do have a fancy for your wine, don’t you? At this rate, you’re going to become a lush.”

“Not a chance. Not with my French blood.” My father drank much more. The De Clermont’s are able to drink champagne and wine as easily as water. You should see how much Jason is able to drink.”

“Jason is a man.”

“Well that doesn’t mean a bloody thing,” she said irritably, reaching for her glass of wine, and taking a long gulp just as he frowned at her. “Oh, do stop, Christopher. I shan’t get foxed. I promise.” This time, she drank the entire glass in one gulp, and fell silent, as she finished the rest of her meal. She tucked into her pudding, staring down at him with wide hopeful eyes, just as he allowed his spoon to clatter against his plate.

“I suppose I should do something to break this infernal silence,” he mused, staring at her.

“I almost stole a book today…and…”

“Now see here, Duchess,” he said. “Leave,” he said, giving his order to the footmen in the dining room. They rushed to do as he bid, knowing by his tone that he was quite serious. She felt nervous. What was he going to do now since he had dismissed their only witnesses?

“What else happened today, Isabella?” he asked her

“Dearest, Christopher,” she murmured, in a silkily smooth voice that nearly undid him.

“I…I was going to meet with my contact here in London, and then, then, I decided against it.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Truly.”

He looked unconvinced, but didn’t press the matter. She stood up on wobbly legs, and had to sit back down.

“I told you would get jug-bitten.”

She scowled at him. “I am not drunk, it’s my knee acting up.”

“So, mayhap you’re not drunk but you’re a trifle disguised.”

“I think…I think I should like to retire to our bedchamber.”

“I shall come with you and make sure you don’t take a tumble down the steps.”

“You do that,” she said, sighing, standing up once more, she left the dining room with him following her closely.

Once they were inside of their bedchamber, he took her into his arms, and kissed her hungrily. They staggered over to the bed, and she fell onto it and he followed. Laughing, they stayed twined together for a moment. “You are the light of my life,” he murmured.

Guilt knotted in the pit of her stomach. He covered her mouth with his again, and she lost herself in the moment they shared. She loved him, and she prayed that when he discovered her duplicity, he would still love her.

“I do believe that I am falling in love with you,” she whispered.

“Falling?” he asked. “I fell in love with you on that first night back in France.”

She kissed him again, and held him close. She couldn’t lose him, if she did, her world would be broken.

Isabella stared down at her grey dress and looked across the crowded ballroom toward Will who was standing in amongst a throng of people. She wanted to warn him not to drink the glass he held, but no words would come out of her mouth. He lifted his wineglass to his mouth, and swallowed a large swig of it. She felt as if she were going to collapse onto the floor as his eyes locked with hers and he stared at her as if she had betrayed him.

“No!” she cried out in her mind. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She watched him fall onto the floor as the men around him, retreated in horror and revulsion. She ran to him, and fell to her knees, as she pulled him into her lap, and whispered something into his ear. He stared up at her, just as he gasped for his last breath. She heard an angry voice calling out her name, and it curdled her blood. She released Will, pushed herself exhaustingly to her feet, and ran for her very life.

She screamed out in desperation, just as she bolted up in her bed and stared wildly around her. They had been in London for a fortnight now…and everything seemed to be perfect, but from her dream, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

“Dear God, no,” she whispered.

Christopher was already awake, and his eyes locked with hers. “Bad dream again, eh?”

“Aye.”

“We’re going to have to figure out how to rid you of those nightmares, Isabella.”

“I don’t think there is a way. I have to face my demons and live to see another day,” she whispered. “Please make me forget.” She prayed hopefully, as he pushed the limp strands of hair off of her face. He kissed her urgently, wanting to wash away her fears and make her feel safe again.

She pressed herself so close to him, that it was as if she wanted to become a part of him. He reached down tenderly and felt her ready and waiting for him. He moaned with anticipation, as he slipped inside of her, and stilled just long enough to stare into her eyes. But she had closed them.

She opened her eyes, and stared deeply into his gaze. He almost laughed when he saw the haughtiness lingering there, as she raised one eyebrow at him. She reached for him, and gave him a blazing kiss that sent a shiver thrilling through him.

“Yes,” she whispered hauntingly. “Make me forget.” She breathed heavily, as she felt that familiar bursting sensation gathering inside of her. She gasped as he plunged in one final time, before the world fell out beneath her. Then, he gave the world back to her, and she sighed with deep satisfaction, as he continued moving within her, she pulled him into her, as he too cried out with his own release and filled her with his seed. She attempted to still her rapid breathing as he pulled her on top of him. She raised herself up on her elbows, and her emerald pendant fell onto his brawny chest. She stared up at his chiseled features, and watched as his expression became broody as he reached for the chain and the amulet.

“You never take this off,” he murmured softly, examining the intricate piece. “You have an abundance of jewels and yet you always favour this one. And on our wedding day you wore this with Maria’s pearls. I know it has something to do with your magic, but since your powers are not working right now I fail to see why you continue to wear it.”

“This amulet belonged to my mother, and it belonged to Grandmamma. I don’t know why she gave it to my Mama when she went to France, but she did, and it was last thing that my mother gave to me before she…”

“I understand,” he said gruffly.

“And as you already know it channels my powers when I wear it. Unfortunately, without my powers it is of little use, although it still glows for me to warn me of approaching danger. My mother knew that she was doomed, and she slipped the emerald around my neck and told me that my guardian angel would always be watching over me, and that from now on it would be the key to my heart. I suppose, Christopher, that now it represents you. And as long as I wear it or you have it, you shall possess the key to my heart.”

“You are the loveliest woman in the world, and you shall always be everything to me. You are my angel.” They locked lips again, and she settled her head comfortably on his chest.

“And you are my Saint Christopher.”

Isabella awoke the next morning and searched for Christopher. She found him sitting by the window.

“Good morning. What were you thinking about? You look quite lost in thought,” she murmured, leaving the bed to walk to him.

“I was thinking about you.”

“Well, I daresay that that might not be the wisest action in the world.”

He reached for her hand, and pulled her against him. She fell into his lap, and he winced as her nearness stirred something within him. “Why don’t we simply languish in bed all day?”

“I promised my mother and father that we would call on them this afternoon.”

She moved to straddle him, “Last night, you did scandalous things to me. And though I am a little new to this game of love, I believe that I want to do something equally scandalous to you.” She reached down for the tie to his dressing gown, and slowly undid it. “I have only one question.”

“Yes, my darling, it is possible in a chair

“You shall have to show me, even though I am quite willing.” He moved her into a straddling position, and groaned huskily, when he felt her sweet honey. She lowered herself down upon his manhood, and then stopped when she felt him fill her fully.

“Now what?” she asked hoarsely, searching his eyes for the answer.

“Now you move, my darling,” he replied gruffly, holding his fervor in check. “Ride me.”

“Oh, well that doesn’t sound so very hard,” she whispered, sweat breaking out across her brow. She began moving hesitantly at first, and closed her eyes, as she had suddenly, inexplicably become bashful.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded softly, as she fluttered them open, and stared at him irritatingly. She continued moving, until she had increased her momentum, and felt the deliciously familiar sensations coursing through her. She kept her pace, and felt his hands encircle her waist as he assisted her. She felt that burgeoning bud inside of her straining to let go. She rode him, as he instructed, and cried out with her pleasure. He made her want to cry out his name and sing his praises. Instead, she continued to come down upon him, until she sensed that he was about to find his fulfillment.

“Well that was…astoundingly amazing, I think I shall enjoy doing that again. Exactly the same way,” she murmured, collapsing against him, and snuggling comfortingly into him. She wanted to relish the moment and lock it away in her memory.

“You astound me. You are the most remarkable woman that I have ever met.”

“And I am the most shameful creature this side of Mayfair.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You are after all a married woman. There are plenty of women in Mayfair that make scandalous love to men that most certainly are not their husbands.”

“You mean the women that are the men’s mistresses.”

“Yes, and no. That certain baroness that you ran into at Madame Collette’s is involved in a steamy love affair and her daughter has pleasured most of the men at White’s, while still keeping her maidenhood intact.”

“I gathered that by what Grandmamma said, and she said that it ran in the family.”

“She was right. Her daughter even tried to have a go at me once. I denied her.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Oh believe it. Dearest Beryl is probably the biggest tart in Mayfair. She knows exactly what to do with her mouth and her hands.”

She laughed. “I understand. You needn’t paint me a picture.”

He laughed, and smiled.

“You…you won’t ever keep a mistress will you?”

“No woman will ever come between us, and I should hope that no man ever will either.”

“No man could ever mean to me what you mean to me, Christopher.”

“Good.”

They had spent the morning visiting with Christopher’s parents. As they rode back to Wyndham House, Isabella tried to figure out why Christopher was being so aloof with her. He kept on sighing, and his eyes were distant and aloof.

“What is the matter, Christopher?” she asked. “Are you feeling ill?”

“Hmmm?” he asked, looking at her as if she had suddenly become a stranger.

“I asked if you were feeling ill?” she repeated, watching him frown and then straighten his cravat.

“Indeed not,” he muttered, studying her as if she were about to disappear. He maintained his reserved aloofness, and she pulled her shawl closer around her to ward off the tenseness emanating from him. She leaned toward him, and kissed him passionately as his lips became pliant beneath her. He slipped his hand up her dress.

“Christopher,” she gasped, as he found her heat.

“I have something that I need to forget,” he muttered, as the carriage slowed to a stop. He quickly retracted his hand, and settled her dress primly around her.

“You are a randy one,” she breathed, as the footman opened the door, and he stepped, down reaching back inside for her.

“I have what you might call perfect timing,” he said wickedly, as she fell into his arms, and he swooped her up off of her feet, and carried her hurriedly up the stairs, into the house, and up the grand staircase intent upon reaching their bedchamber. He had ignited the fire within her, and as he kicked shut their bedchamber door, and quickly locked it, he took her shawl and tossed it across the room, as she eagerly undid his cravat and threw it across the room. Then, he very nearly ripped her dress off, and threw it across the room as she tore his shirtfront open and hurled it across the room.

“I want you.”

“I want you too.”

“Perfect,” he muttered, as they fell onto the bed in a tangled heap. She opened her legs for him, as he reached down quickly only to find her wet and willing. He thrust into her, and they rode the wave of their shared passion. He thrust into her again and again, as he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her long and hard. He teased her breasts, and then cupped them yearningly, as he raised himself above her. She grabbed onto his buttocks and pulled him back down to her wrapping her legs around him in a viselike grip. She had never experienced such raw emotion. They were giving and taking, doing the ancient mating game, as he plunged into her so deeply that she feared that he would somehow become a lasting part of her. They each found their climax at very nearly the same instant, and she cried out in ecstasy as she pulled him down and gave him a hot and steamy kiss.

“That was indescribable,” she raved, keeping him near her, by locking her arms around him. He stared down at her quizzically, as if he were trying to see inside of her soul. He blinked his eyes, leaned down and kissed her.

“I believe in you,” he said sincerely, making her stare up in him in dumbfounded amazement. He kissed her again, and cupped her face reverently. “You are everything to me,” he murmured tenderly, as he gently withdrew from her, and sat up, and reached for his trousers.

“Where are you going?” she asked in dazed amazement.

“I have pressing business to attend to,” he replied softly, tying his cravat and reaching for his Hessians.

“When will you be back?”

“When everything is sorted out.”

“Then, I shall wait for you.”

“Stay here until I come back,” he instructed, his brow furrowing with intensity.

“You mean to say that I am restricted to this bedchamber?”

“Of course not you silly goose,” he replied, smiling despite himself. “Pray just stay here within the walls of Wyndham House.”

“You have my word.”

“Until tonight.”

“Until tonight,” she confirmed, feeling her heart fall when the door shut behind him. She hastily reached for her own light pink dress, and quickly fixed her hair. She flew down the hallway and stopped when she heard Jack and Christopher talking.

“We do have reason to suspect her,” Jack said heavily, his voice strained with fatigue. “Will is in mortal danger. The
HMS Tempest
is ready to go in, and get him out. The woman will be more of a challenge, but we think that we can pull it off.”

“Good man,” Christopher said nervously.

As Isabella listened to his strained voice, she could almost see him combing his fingers fretfully through his midnight waves.

Her heart constricted painfully at the mentioning of Will’s name, and she reached to place her hand on the banister for support. She couldn’t breathe, but she couldn’t betray herself.

“Damnable thing is Will says that he has been betrayed by some devious female, though he didn’t say why he suspects his betrayal. He knows too much, specifically, the location of those bloody ships. We have to get him out so he can relay his intelligence to us, and if we don’t get him out, we know what fate awaits him.”

What had she done? Had she somehow put Will in danger? She should have suspected that he too was in the spy game. Oh, dear god, she might have just caused his death. She staggered away from the staircase and knocked over a hall chair. The noise echoed throughout the townhouse.

“What in God’s name was that?” Jack asked.

“Nothing but your overactive imagination. Thank you, Trotter,” he murmured.

“When shall I expect you back, your lordship?” Trotter asked primly, as he opened the door for them.

“Hopefully by tonight, but I wouldn’t bet your life on it Trotter,” he answered tiredly, as the door shut quietly behind them.

Isabella was in a dither. She couldn’t get the image of Will facing his death out of her mind. They would torture him, and then, they would kill him. She couldn’t bear that thought. She had to do something to save him. But what could she do?

“Your ladyship?” Mrs. Marsden asked gently.

“Yes?”

“Might I be of some assistance, Lady Wyndham?” Mrs. Marsden asked timidly, brandishing a spotlessly ironed handkerchief.

“Thanks,” she sniffed, reaching automatically for the handkerchief.

“I realize that this isn’t exactly the most opportunistic time, but I found this letter in the front entryway, and thought that you might want it,” she said helpfully, handing her the addressed letter, as Isabella accepted it gratefully.

Bleary eyed, she tore open the seal, just as Mrs. Marsden quietly wandered away. She began reading the letter, sucking in her breath when she interpreted Maria’s anxious handwriting.

My dearest Isabella,

I simply do not know what to do. The night that you went to Wyndham Hall something most mysterious occurred. My Theo left me alone in Wisteria House saying that he would walk his nurse home. Well, he never returned. I did not know what to make of it, my dear, but we have searched for him endlessly, to no avail. He hasn’t even left any clues as to his whereabouts, and I am quite desperately frazzled. Pray give me counsel on this issue. My heart is breaking, and the navy men that are in town, will not tell me anything worth noting. Perhaps you could take this issue to your husband, and pray for my Theo’s safe return. I know that he hasn’t abandoned me, as he absolutely adores me, and I adore him. Pray make haste in returning my letter, and pray to God for his safe return.

Fondly yours,

Maria

She felt for Maria, but her hands were tied on the issue. She would pray for Theo, but at the particular moment, her full attention was centered entirely on getting Will home in one piece. “Thank you, Mrs. Marsden. I am fine now.” Her housekeeper looked at her doubtfully and then reluctantly left. She flew back into her bedchamber, shut the door behind her, and placed Maria’s letter on her escritoire.

She quickly prepared her portmanteau, and reached for a carriage dress. She would leave posthaste, and find Will herself. She would save him. She felt horrid and knew in the deepest core of her being, that he was indeed facing terrible danger because of her. She wouldn’t let another die because of her. She couldn’t. She needed her magic—why wouldn’t it return to her? She locked her doors so that Kitty would not be tempted to come and help her, and reached for the clasp on her emerald amulet. She took it off, and placed it on her dressing table. Then, she went over to her escritoire and quickly scrawled out a letter to Christopher. She knew that he would be furious, but hoped that he would understand, and not want to strangle the life out of her when they next met. She put the letter on the dressing table with her emerald amulet, without her magic it was useless to her, and if she should fall, she didn’t want it falling into Pierre’s hands.

She stared around the bedchamber, locking away the image of it in her mind. And her heart filled with a foreboding dread. Magic or not—her intuition told her that it would be the last time she would ever see it.

She quickly changed into her carriage dress, reached for her small portmanteau and her umbrella, and reticule. With tears raining down her cheeks, she slipped out the door, fled down the servant’s stairwell, and raced past a few maids, who stared at her in astonished wonderment. She ran out onto the street, and began briskly walking. In a matter of minutes, a burly, fairly pleasant looking man was blocking her way.

“Whose man are you?” she asked boldly, haughtily staring over at him.

“Pierre Dubois employs me.”

“Jolly good, then,” Isabella stated, inwardly crying out in fear. “Right, take me to him then,” she ordered imperiously. He stared at her, just as a questionable looking carriage pulled up. Another dirty looking man was just about to place his hands on her, when the man she had been formerly talking to stepped protectively in front of her.

“Keep your paws off the Mademoiselle,” he ordered gruffly, gently reaching out to assist Isabella up into the carriage. “She is coming willingly, and you will treat her with respect or I will slit your throat.”

“I do not believe that I caught your name,” Isabella said, staring at the man in wide eyed amazement.

“Bernard’s the name,” he said, settling himself in the carriage beside her. “Worry not, Mademoiselle, I won’t let anyone lay a grimy finger on you. My Mama always told me to treat a woman with care, and I always heed her advice.” Bernard leaned lazily against the seat, and tipped his hat to fall over his eyes. “We’ll have a long ride ahead of us. I pray that you are prepared.”

“I am most prepared.” She stared out the window as the carriage quickly left Mayfair.

She was leaving Christopher behind—forever.