Until now.
Now, the pretense grated, and he had no idea how much longer he’d be able to continue this act.
He tossed a coin to a groom waiting on the footpath. “Fetch my horse.”
It was time to pay the Morgans another visit.
Chapter 11
“Hello there.”
The deep voice played down Diana’s spine like seeking fingers. She didn’t have to look up from her book to know—
“Christopher.”
Not daring to glance up from where she sat on a blanket spread across the lawn near the old dovecot, from where she could watch Meri as she played, she felt him approach and stop just behind her. He was near enough that she was certain she would feel his boots against her back if she simply leaned backward.
With a bored sniff belying the way her body tingled at his presence, she turned the page in her book and refused to look over her shoulder at him.
“If you spend any more time here at Idlewild,” she warned, “we’ll have to start charging you rent.”
She heard the rustle of fabric and the faint creak of his leather boots as he squatted down behind her. “I’d make a fine tenant farmer, I’ll have you know.”
“And I’d wager that you don’t know the first thing about farming.”
She could almost feel his grin against her nape as he leaned closer to look over her shoulder at her book. “But I know a great deal about farmers’ daughters.”
She rolled her eyes and volleyed, “And I think you—”
“But not so much about generals’ daughters.”
Her heart stuttered. Then it turned somersaults against her ribs when he eased down to sit behind her on the edge of the blanket.
“Well, you’re in luck then,” she said coolly, “because there’s not much to learn.”
But her comment only caused him to chuckle in reply.
She grimaced. The man had been a downright nuisance lately. When he hadn’t been popping in for unannounced visits since the party to speak to the general, he’d been on her mind as she’d replayed all of their stolen kisses in her head. And dared to dream about doing more with him than mere kissing. Even when she’d been awake, the rascal had given her no peace, sending little gifts for apparently no reason…flowers for her, toys for Meri. She wasn’t certain if they were meant to be an apology or an attempt to charm her into his good graces so she’d more easily share whatever new information she might discover about her brother.
But it was the gift to her father that had made her speechless. Christopher had purchased a cabinet to replace the one that the Frenchman had smashed and had it delivered to the general, complete with a secret compartment.
When she thanked him by sending a note to his rooms at Albany in London, he replied in typical Christopher Carlisle fashion by sending her a second piece of furniture—a little wooden step stool. The attached message claimed that it might be of use the next time fireworks were shot off at a party and windows had to be used instead of perfectly good doors. She nearly chopped it into firewood right there in the front hall.
She could just see him from the corner of her eye, not daring to look fully at the devil, as he surely wanted. His leg was bent, his forearm resting across his knee. He must have come straight from the stables because he still wore his riding gloves, smelled deliciously of leather and horse, and the knee of his tan breeches was dusty from the road. Curiosity pricked at her to see if he wore a hat or if his dark blond hair was messed by the wind, his cheeks colored from the fresh air and sunshine. But she didn’t dare give him the satisfaction of turning to look.
The rascal leaned closer, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “Something tells me that there’s a lot more to you than what you’re sharing.”
Her breath hitched, yet she kept her gaze glued on the book, although she couldn’t have repeated a word of what she read. He was far too close for comfort, and in more ways than just his physical presence.
He’d saved her life—twice—and she knew now that he wasn’t the selfish bounder the gossips claimed him to be, that the stories about the women, cards, and wild behavior had been wrong. Even the general held a favorable opinion of him. All of that worked together with that dashing smile of his, with his crisp wit and sharp intelligence, to attract her in a way she hadn’t felt in years.
Yet she couldn’t let herself be drawn in by his charms. Even if he was a good man at heart, he was still a shiftless second son, one without prospects or a clear path for his future, and so still needed to be kept at arm’s length because of it.
“I’ve told you everything I know about the French and my brother’s whereabouts.” Tamping down the trembling in her fingers, she turned the page and lifted the book straight up before her face. “So please leave me in peace to read.”
But the rascal didn’t follow her orders and leaned in even closer to look over her shoulder at the book. “What are you reading?”
“Nothing you’d be interested in.”
That show of pique only earned her another grin. “But I’m interested in lots of things.” Then he turned his head to gaze up at her, his cheek resting far too familiarly on her shoulder. If he meant to unsettle her, he was doing a fine job of it. “You, for one.”
“Ah! Fiction, I see.”
A low laugh rumbled from him and seeped into her, sending a little shiver down into her breasts. With him sitting so close like this, it was impossible not to remember how it had felt to have his mouth on hers, his hands caressing her body. Most likely the scoundrel knew it, too.
“What are you reading? Tell me. Something so scandalously shocking that you can’t share it? One of those Gothic novels that women have been secretly passing around? The Monk? The Dark Prince?” Before she could stop him, he took the book out of her hand and snapped it closed to read the cover. He paused. Surprise filled his voice. “Housekeeping and Husbandry in the Southern Counties?”
She snatched it away. With an angry scowl, she finally turned to face him, only to find his mouth mere inches from hers. She couldn’t help dropping her gaze to his sensuous lips. Or longing to kiss him. She forced her eyes up to his. “What’s wrong with a woman who wants to improve her mind?”
“And her sheep,” he muttered, which earned him a light slap on the shoulder with the book. “Nothing’s wrong with it. But it is a surprise for a society miss, you have to admit.”
“I’m not a typical society miss.”
His gaze moved slowly over her, taking her in as she sat there on the blanket in her pale blue day dress, her cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders. “Oh, I’ve certainly come to realize that,” he murmured. “You’re a general’s daughter, in every way.”
Pride flared warmly inside her, even though he most likely didn’t mean that as a compliment. “And speaking of the general, he’s in his study.” She opened the book again and stuck it up between them, hiding her face behind it. “You can find him there.”
“I’m not looking for the general.” He placed his finger on the book and slowly pushed it down. “I was looking for you.”
“Stop that.” She dismissed him by raising the book again. Hopefully, this time, he would accept the hint and go away.
Instead, he took the book completely out of her hand and tossed it away to the edge of the blanket, out of her reach.
Before she could give him the tongue lashing he deserved, he tugged off his glove and caressed his bare knuckles across her cheek.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the shuddering temptation of his touch and rasped out, with far less conviction than before, “Stop that.”
He slowly dropped his hand away.
Opening her eyes, she stared at him and blinked hard, trying to fathom this man and her inexplicable attraction to him. She should have been happy that he’d stopped caressing her. Instead, she felt the loss of his touch as physically as she did her shawl when it slipped off her shoulders and puddled around her on the blanket.
Her belly tighte
ned. She didn’t play at courtships and flirtations the way some society misses did, instead viewing them as a serious path toward finding a husband. After all, she had to be careful with the men she chose to bring into her life. Very careful. There was no room for error. Certainly not when it came to the man that she would eventually marry. Whoever that man would be, he had to be dependable, trustworthy, and honorable. He couldn’t be a man who refused all responsibility in favor of a life of merrymaking.
He couldn’t be Christopher Carlisle.
But, frustratingly, knowing that did nothing to squelch her attraction to him.
“Why are you here?” she demanded, and drat her voice for being far too breathless.
“To see you.” Christopher reached down for the shawl and chivalrously placed it back over her shoulders. He tenderly—and opportunistically—tucked a stray curl behind her ear before he sat back.
Her cheeks heated in response, and she looked away. “Now you’ve seen me. So you can go.”
Refusing to look at him, she gazed down the lawn to the edge of the chestnut plantation where Meri played with a host of dolls and stuffed animals that they’d carried down in a big basket from the nursery. Mrs. Davenport had gone into the village for the day, as she did every Saturday, leaving Meri in Diana’s care until dinner.
But Meri never looked up to notice that Christopher was there. Most likely, she wouldn’t have cared anyway. There were always men arriving at Idlewild—soldiers there to see the general, friends of her brother wanting to cajole him into misbehaving with them, and their handful of tenants coming and going. What was one more visitor? For that, at least, Diana was thankful. Because Meri hadn’t noticed that since the night of the party the general had placed guards around the farm to keep watch.
“I don’t want to go,” Christopher murmured in what she was certain was his most flirtatious drawl. “I want to stay right here and get to know you better.”
Goosebumps broke out traitorously across her arms. “You’ll be rather disappointed, I’m afraid.”
“Highly unlikely, based upon what I’ve glimpsed so far.” He paused for one perfectly timed rakish beat. “Which sadly isn’t at all enough.” Before she could utter the perfect biting reply to that, he added, “You’re keeping secrets.”
An electric jolt pierced her. Only for one fleeting heartbeat, but with the force of a lightning bolt.
She kept her face carefully still and her gaze straight ahead on Meri as the little girl picked up a red ball and tossed it high into the air. Impossible. He couldn’t know. No one knew, except for the general and Garrett.
“You’ve found me out,” she said dryly, hiding the truth behind more truths. “I am keeping secrets. I told Susannah Gresham that her bonnet was pretty when it was the most hideous thing I’ve seen all season, and just this morning at breakfast, I told Major Paxton to have a good day when I couldn’t have cared less if he did, then stole a second sticky bun when the butler’s back was turned.”
“Not those kinds of secrets.”
She watched Meri throw the ball across the lawn toward the house and then run to fetch it. “Well, apparently, I’ve also been committing treason by attempting to give information to the French.”
“That secret I know about.” Instead of being discouraged, the man seemed more determined than ever and pressed, “What I want to know is the other secret you’re keeping.” He leaned in and brought his mouth to her ear, close enough that the warmth of his breath tickled her earlobe. “The one that puts a guilty expression on your face when you think no one is looking. The one that makes you seem sad even when you’re smiling.”
“You’re mistaken,” she countered, unsettled that he’d noticed so much about her. But then, hadn’t she noted nearly everything about him, as well? Right down to the little scar at his right brow that gave him a bit of a dangerous appearance.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think I am.”
She tore her gaze away from Meri, surprised by the somberness with which he said that. She stared at him, all the thoughts in her head about him roiling in a twisted knot that she couldn’t untangle and her heart doing absolutely nothing to help. That foolish thing wanted to confide everything in him, then beg to be given the solace she knew she’d find in his arms.
Only when the ball bounced across the lawn toward her and stopped at the end of the blanket did she finally tear her eyes away from him.
“And what secrets are you keeping?” She picked up the ball and tossed it back to Meri. “After all, you can’t expect me to reveal all of mine as long as you’re hiding your own.”
There. That should silence him for a while. God only knew what he and the general had been discussing since the party.
“I don’t want to be a vicar.”
His confession made her smile, and she threw his words back at him. “That secret I know about.”
Meri tossed the ball toward them again.
“Then how about that I find myself inexplicably drawn to you?”
She turned around to gape at him. The ball went bouncing past, rolling down the lawn and disappearing behind the old dovecot at the edge of the plantation.
When she finally found her voice, she repeated his words, this time in little more than a rasp, “Not those kinds of secrets.”
She scrambled to her feet. She needed to move. Now. And move away from him.
“I’ll fetch the ball!” she called out to Meri, who had already forgotten about it and picked up an armful of dolls, to carry them into the trees to enact her favorite fairytale. But Diana needed air and space. Suddenly being outdoors on the blanket didn’t provide nearly enough, not when Christopher kept stealing it.
Hitching up her skirt, she left him sitting on the blanket and hurried away. Share secrets? She simply couldn’t. Especially that kind. And especially not with him.
The little red ball had landed in the weeds near the abandoned outbuilding, which her family had never used except for storage, and hadn’t even used for that in so long that she couldn’t remember the last time. But they hadn’t had the heart to tear down the pretty little brick building that matched the stables and old dairy barn, and now Diana was glad of it, if only to have it there to hide behind while she caught her breath before having to deal with Christopher again. Meri was playing and would be fine without her for a few minutes, during which time perhaps he would go to the house to speak to the general and leave her alone.
He was so very attractive, she’d admit, and not just physically. All of him was alluring in a way she hadn’t noticed in a man in a very long time. One that sent her heart racing and her body aching to be in his arms, to be kissed and caressed in all kinds of delicious ways.
But if he kept pushing her to reveal her secrets, he’d also prove dangerous.
She knelt down to reach for the ball. A large hand snatched it from her fingertips. Christopher.
Oh, that man! She wheeled on him, the curse that fell from her lips only the first volley in the tongue-lashing the frustrating devil deserved. “Why won’t you—”
Then his mouth was on hers, kissing her hungrily, and all thoughts of secrets and of denying herself his attentions fled. She whimpered beneath his kiss in capitulation.
His left arm slipped around her waist to pull her against him, while the right shoved open the narrow wooden door of the dovecot. Without protest, she willingly allowed him to walk her backwards inside the dusty building, his lips never leaving hers. He kicked the door closed behind them.
“Christopher.” As the long-sleeping feminine need awoke inside her, her arms wrapped around his neck, and she kissed him back, matching his hunger with her own.
The kiss grew even more heated and greedy, until he cupped her face with his hand and held her head still while he plunged his tongue between her lips in relentless but sensuous strokes. He tasted of man and whisky, with a hint of wildness that was simply heady, and she shamelessly drank him in.
His hand slid slowly down the side of her
body, and she instinctively arched into the caress, like a cat being petted. Fitting, because when he brushed over her bottom, she was certain she purred.
By the time he finished ravishing her mouth and moved his lips away from hers to place hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, she’d given over to the joy of being in his arms and had melted against him, her soft front pressing against his hard chest. Her fingers played in the silky hair curling at his collar as his hands journeyed over her, as if he were trying to feel every inch of her.
“Why,” she asked breathlessly, then gasped when his hands brushed the sides of her breasts, “do you…keep doing…this to me?”
He laughed as he nuzzled his face against her hair, and the deep sound rumbled into her. “Kissing you?”
“Yes.” The single word emerged not as an answer but as a moan of permission. One he accepted by placing a kiss to the swells of her breasts topping her bodice.
“Because I want to.” Another kiss to her breasts, this one lingering long enough for the tip of his tongue to dip into the valley between them. “Why do you keep letting me?”
“I’m not.”
In pantomime, he feigned mock confusion as he straightened just enough to cast sideways glances at her arms as they continued to enwrap his shoulders. Just to make his point, he squeezed her bottom, then grinned in victory when a moan fell from her lips.
She slapped at his shoulder, feigning irritation when what she truly wanted was for him to do that again. “I meant why do you keep attempting to seduce me?”
“A beautiful and soft woman in the warm, afternoon sunlight—what kind of rakehell would I be if I didn’t try?”
“But it’s not true, is it? You’re not at all a rake—”
“Shh. Don’t tell.” He slid his hands up to cup her breasts from beneath. “After all, I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Christopher.” But the scolding on her tongue turned into a low moan when he began to massage her fullness against his palms.
She melted into him. Such a wonderful sensation, warming her all the way down to her toes, including that aching spot at her core. His fingers teased at her nipples through her clothing, and she arched herself into him to beg him with her body to increase the pleasure he was giving.
After the Spy Seduces Page 12
