The Duchess and the Spy (9 page)

She didn’t need her powers to know that she was pushing him over the edge. She had to be careful though, because her little game of cat and mouse could end up with her meeting an uncertain fate.

“Wyndham,” a thickly built man called out.

Christopher straightened, and glanced back over his shoulder.

“Oh, bullocks!” Christopher spewed out, eliciting a startled gasp from Isabella. He gave her another glaring look, and grabbed a hold of the carriage door. “Don’t move from that place, do you understand?” he pointed to the satin squabs.

“I am sick to death of you telling me what to do. I should put you in your place, sir!”

“I wouldn’t talk about putting me in my place right now, my dearest little Duchess. I seem to be the one that’s in my element, you on the other hand, well you are rather out of your element. I am certain you’d be more at home in Boney’s bed.”

“You…” she was at a loss for words. Heat scorched her cheeks. “You bastard.”

He gave her a scathing glare, her skin prickled beneath his look. “I thought we’d shared something special that night…and as soon as you knew you wouldn’t slip into my bed, you decided to go back to your old Cyprian ways. I am sure that Boney holds you in the highest regard now, he probably thinks you can do no wrong.”

“You blackguard!” Something flickered in his eyes, something that slightly resembled regret. He knew he was hurting her with his cruel words, and yet, he couldn’t stop himself. She knew this sort of grief would befall her once the people in her inner circle got wind of her exploits in France. She knew it. And yet, being accused of such a thing by her Saint Christopher still tore her up inside.

“I have to go. I can’t stand around shooting the breeze with you. I have other more important things to deal with. You, Duchess, happen to be the least of my worries at the moment.” He took one last long lingering glance and then, he slammed the door in her face. She drew back and settled herself on the seat. She felt dreadful. Why hadn’t she defended her reputation to Christopher? Why hadn’t she given him the verbal fight of his life? She didn’t know herself when she was with him. She was lost.

Not knowing what else to do, she plastered her body up against the soft seat, and slunk down into the greatcoat. He was a merciless foul man, and she would do as she dared, whenever the fancy struck her. She was done with taking orders from men. Who the bloody hell did he think he was anyway?

She struggled to fortify herself, and gazed cautiously out the small window. He was in a deep discussion with that same thickly built man that she had noticed, and he looked as if he was about to lose all of his patience. His face was a dark red, and his black hair looked more menacing than it ever had before. A shiver rippled up her spine. She shouldn’t give one nanny goat for that man, and yet, every time he glanced her way, she went a little weak in the knees. It all came back to human nature, nay, womanly nature, no matter how hard she resisted, she couldn’t deny her attraction to him. She was as fond of him as she’d always been. She had been positively besotted with him before Pierre had taken her. So much so, that she had dared to dream that one day he would make her his wife.

Carefully checking to make sure that both men were preoccupied, she slowly opened the carriage door, wincing as it made a loud noise. Fearful that she had been discovered, her eyes darted toward him and the nameless men. She sighed with relief when she realized that no one noticed her.

She landed lightly on the cobblestone street, and hobbled a bit, as she began to creep around the other side of the carriage. She’d been watching Christopher closely since he’d thrown her into the carriage, and she knew that Jason was being kept in the large white house that was framed by Wisteria.

Hearing loud footsteps behind her, she was about to dash into a frantic run, when strong arms enveloped her and yet again whisked her right off of her feet. This time she hung limply in his arms. There was simply no point in wasting precious energy by attempting to fight him. The varlet was far too strong, and she’d only succeed in making her life much worse.

“I hate you,” she seethed. She stiffened, as his rich booming laughter enveloped the landscape.

Men turned to cast befuddled glances at them, and she gave them the foulest scowl that she could muster. Her bottom was pressed against the front of his breeches, and she blushed at the humiliating situation he was pressing upon her.

“Oh, but you make me hot with desire,” he murmured in her ear, as she narrowed her eyes.

“Put me down this very instant! I demand it!”

“I cannot, at least not yet,” he said dangerously, causing a delicious shudder to race through her body. “I love the feeling of your body in my arms. Come on, Duchess. You know your passions are running wild for me. Why don’t we go back into the carriage, and have a little ride?”

Her heart raced. She was beyond words at this moment. He’d hurt her more than he would ever know. After a few seconds, she managed to find her voice.

“I think you are a little below my taste.”

“Oh, but you’re exactly what I’ve always wanted, my sweet. I can still remember the way you taste. I’d love to sample your wares again, though I admit I just won’t stop at your luscious lips this time around.”

The hurt of his scathing words, started to fade. She had brought this upon herself. Why should she be angered by what he said? It was what she’d hoped the world would believe, and she had to live with the consequences of her own actions. At least her magic hadn’t failed her when it came to dealing with Boney.

She should still be showing him how angry she was, but his voice touched her deep inside, and made her want to melt in his arms.

She couldn’t resist him, he was working his sorcery upon her, and as much as she was trying to seem outraged, being caught up in his arms was exactly where she wanted to be. Just not out in the street with every sort of man and woman staring at her.

Instead, she tried prying his strong fingers away from her waist. He swung open the carriage door, and hurled her into it. “You, sir, are a bloody beast!” she screamed, as she bounced off the satin squabs. She put too much weight on her injured knee and let out an agonized moan. Tears gathered in her eyes. She was emotionally and physically spent. She needed sleep, but she wouldn’t succumb to dreamland until she saw Jason.

She recoiled away from him, when he heard her cry of pain.

“You are hurt,” he accused.

“And you are a bloody wit,” she bit out.

He brushed his hand accidentally across her leg, encouraging another rush of exhilaration to course through her. She jumped back as if something had seared her skin. Believing that his touch had pained her he drew back, and she sighed, thinking that she would hear that familiar sound of the carriage door slamming shut.

To her deepest chagrin, he jumped up into the carriage, and rested his hand gently on her leg. He edged her dress up, more than he needed to do to see her knee, and wasn’t even deterred when she began smacking his hands away.

“My lord!” she spat out, as he smiled crookedly at her. “I have hurt my knee. I must have happened when I slipped and fell on
the Bastille
right before I had to jump overboard. It’s a little swollen and you can see that it’s bruised. Other than that, I am quite fine, sir.”

“Don’t worry I won’t ravish you, my sweet. Not right now. Not until your injury is a little less painful. I want you to enjoy every single moment of our time together, and since you’ve serviced most of the men in Europe, I am sure I’ll enjoy your sweet ministrations,” he drawled. “You should have told me you were hurt. A doctor should look at this, and you certainly shouldn’t be walking on it.”

“Why are you being so cruel to me? I have done nothing to earn your disdain. I am no Cyprian, sir.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” he demanded angrily. His eyes were blazing, and something in her heart gave way. “You need to have the doctor look at this, you fool woman. You’ve obviously been in pain. Why didn’t you tell me?” Betrayal shone in his eyes, and coupled with that, was his own pain. He felt pain at the thought of her being in pain? How astonishing.

“Why should I tell a cad that is treating me like a common whore that I am hurt? Why? Hmmm?”

He said nothing, but his eyes flashed with regret. She finally understood it. He was jealous. He thought she had willingly taken the part of Cyprian while in France. Well, he could go to hell!

“I’m going to get the doctor to look at this.” At his declaration, her eyes filled with wildness, and she frantically reached for him.

“No!” she said fervently, latching onto him, and pulling him toward her. “I’ll be fine.” His eyes narrowed slightly, and filled with disbelief.

“Have it your way, then. But if that damn thing gets infected…why do I try?” he muttered. He angrily flung the carriage door open, and quickly exited the carriage. “Stay put this time, or I shall be forced to tie you up.”

“I’ll see that you pay for your treatment of me,” she threatened.

He eyed her up and down, his gaze scorching in its intensity.

“I shall hold you to that promise,” he murmured, shocking her as the carriage door closed softly. Closing her eyes, she let out a shattered groan.

“He’s a dreadful pompous hideous man. If he thinks I’m going to listen to his orders, then he is an imbecile.”

Setting her lips in a grim line, she reached to open the carriage door. But before she could reach it, it suddenly opened. She let out muffled yelp of surprise. She fell back on the satin squabs, and gawked. She had been expecting to see Christopher again, but the man that was steadily perusing her definitely wasn’t her angry Saint.

Balling her fists up at her side, she felt like a forlorn waif in his greatcoat. She was still slightly chilly, and knew that she had to look like a drowned cat.

“Hullo,” the strange man said amiably, giving her a boyish grin.

She tilted her head loftily to one side, and arched her one eyebrow ever so slightly.

“I am afraid, sir, that we have not yet been introduced,” she murmured stiltedly, watching as the man’s brown eyes flashed with confusion.

“Ah, yes, my apologies, Miss.” His eyes danced merrily, while his grin broadened. “The name’s Merryville.”

She pursed her lips, at his vague introduction, and inched back on the seat so that she would be at a safe distance.

“Albert Pitt, Viscount Merryville at your service, Your Grace,” he continued, not noticing her reaction. “I am Lord Wyndham’s trusted friend, and he’s assigned me to watch over you.”

Isabella’s eyes narrowed at his announcement, as recognition dawned.

“Christopher knew he could trust me with you. He’s a great chap,” Merryville said, as he made to move up into carriage. Merryville settled on the opposite seat, while Isabella nearly plastered herself up against the back of her own seat.

“Trust you to keep me caged in like a bird,” she concluded, licking her dry lips. Her stomach chose that particular moment of silence to emit a deafening rumble.

Merryville’s lips quirked slightly, but he made no sound. Wordlessly, he reached inside of his greatcoat.

“I expect you’re thirsty,” he gingerly handed her a flask of water, which she accepted eagerly.

She drank the water quickly. Goodness she’d been dry. Her stomach rumbled again. At the rather offending sound, he reached inside of his greatcoat, and retrieved something that was wrapped in cloth. Her eyes became transfixed as he tore the brown wrapping off the parcel, revealing a chunk of English cheese, and two hunks of crusty bread.

Isabella’s mouth watered and she had to dig her fingers into her palms, to keep herself from lunging at him, and ripping the food from his hands. Mon dieu, if she had not been raised so well, she would have launched herself at him. If she’d still been in possession of her magic, she would have knocked him out with a sleeping enchantment taken the food and ran. Except, she would never be able to escape Christopher. He would always find her.

She stared greedily at the food, and when he outstretched his hands to her, she eagerly accepted it.

Salvation! Her stomach was rumbling, and her hands shook, as she ripped off a piece of the bread, and stuffed it into her mouth.

Merryville’s eyes followed her with genuine concern, as she began chewing.

“Eat it slowly, else you’ll be sick,” Merryville instructed.

She tried to smile at him, but her mouth was too full. She couldn’t recall when she had last eaten, and her stomach felt as if it was burning up inside. She was quite weak. When she raised the bread and cheese to her lips, she found that her hands continued to tremble.

She finished the last of the crusty bread in no time at all, and then she searched for some cheese to accompany it. Her eyes widened to gigantic proportions, when she realized that it was all gone. She had certainly made a pig of herself.

She let out a loud burp, and tried to stifle it with her hand, as her cheeks flamed. She was so embarrassed. So much so, that she was tempted to climb beneath the seat. But thankfully, Merryville did not say one word.

Her noble forefathers would be quite horrified, and she found that she could think of nothing to say. She was just about to apologize for her rudeness when she heard men’s voices carrying to her from the outside of the carriage.