Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 04]

by Seducing the Spy

  Well, faint heart never won fair knight! Alicia rose carefully and stood before Stanton. With a quick push at the sleeves, her gown slipped to the floor. She placed both hands on the chair arms and managed to straddle her thighs across them without so much as disturbing Wyndham’s hair. Then she reached between them and slowly, carefully undid the buttons on either side of his trousers.

  His erection sprang free. She imagined it looked a bit relieved, for it grew yet more as she watched. She felt her own sex throb in response. She had been satisfied last night, but her body knew there was more and was still ready for it.

  She wished she dared lower her body and impale herself upon it, but that seemed a bit . . . presumptuous. Instead, she slowly dropped down to cover his hard flesh with her soft center. The position of her thighs opened her until his shaft pressed lengthwise along her cleft and pressed firmly against her lu—her clitoris. The pressure was delicious and the wicked exposure made her rotate her hips involuntarily.

  Stanton shifted. His rod pressed hard to her and she gasped in response. His eyes flew open.

  Instantly, his hands came up to wrap over her shoulders. She would have preferred her breasts, but he was close.

  “What are you doing?”

  Alicia snorted a little breathlessly. “I make it a point never to answer stupid questions,” she said. “Take off your shirt.”

  “No. This is—” He tried to press her away, but she grabbed tight to the back of the chair.

  This put her breasts swaying right before his face. He shut his eyes and moaned. Alicia inhaled deeply. Her nipple grazed his cheek, only an inch from his lips.

  He twitched involuntarily and his mouth grazed her nipple. His eyes opened once more, his expression glazed with hunger.

  “You owe me,” Alicia said. “A gentleman always pays his debts.”

  Stanton swallowed hard. She was naked, in his lap, wet and hot against his aching erection, her heavy breasts before him like a feast before a starving dog—how much was a man expected to bear?

  She bent forward to kiss his neck. She bit him slightly, making him jump. “Wake up, Wyndham. I want you inside me.”

  She was too much for him—too sweet, too hot, too irresistible. He was going to regret every moment—and he was fairly sure he was going to remember it for the rest of his life.

  “Rise a little,” he said finally. “Lift up to let me in.”

  She smiled. It was a smile he had not seen on her before—a happy soft smile with none of her usual sarcastic twist of the lips. “You’ll like me,” she said, as she raised her body slightly. “You’ll see.”

  Like her? He might alternately want to ravage her or kill her, but he could not imagine ever feeling an emotion as pale and insipid as “like” regarding Lady Alicia Lawrence.

  He dropped his forehead onto her shoulder and rolled his head slightly, trying for one last moment of sanity. “Sweeting, we mustn’t—”

  She slid her warm, slippery vulva over the pulsating head of his cock and he lost the capacity for words.

  “Like this?” She pressed the blunt head of him into her, wedging it into her tightness. He was going to die, right now. It was going to be a grand and glorious death.

  She was having trouble fitting him in. This caused a delay full of slippery, excruciatingly pleasurable fumblings that stretched his control until he feared bursting in her hand.

  Then she caught the proper angle and he pressed inside her carefully. She gripped his shoulders with damp hands and lowered herself down, inch by inch. She paused once, hissing in discomfort, but just as he was about to withdraw, she moved on again.

  Alicia closed her eyes as she drove herself down upon his last iron inch. He filled her, stretched her, made her ache with mingled pain and pleasure, and she cherished every sensation. This man was her man, whether he knew it or not, whether he loved her or not, and she was made to take him inside her.

  At last her body adjusted, easing his size with more heat and wetness. She lifted herself slightly using her hands on the chair back—

  And almost lost her grip from the pleasure that coursed through her. This was so much more than last night! She saw now that this was what was meant to happen between them, arousing mirror play notwithstanding.

  She let herself sink back down upon him again, relishing his groan of pleasure. His big hands dropped to wrap about her waist and he lifted her higher this time and drove her down even more slowly.

  He pierced her until she gasped, then lifted her again and again. She’d thought her role would be somewhat more athletic, but he took over the rhythm, teaching her to please them both by alternating speed with devastating patience.

  The lesson went on, rising—falling—sliding— throbbing—

  Every motion made her pleasure swell further. Every touch of his large hot hands made her tingle with the intimacy of his skin on hers.

  Every moment made the end grow in pleasure, until her climax had her tossing her head back and keening with abandon.

  She was raw and open and vulnerable to him as she had never yet been and still he could see nothing when he looked in her face—nothing but a sensuous beauty who melted his knees and wormed her way past his most fortified defenses with a smile and a touch.

  In that moment, he knew. It wasn’t her disclosure he needed most—it was his own admission he must hide at all cost. Tangled want and need and dread encompassed him. He could not let her see—for if she was who she was thought to be, she would use it against him. She would own him and that he could not allow.

  And even if she were simply sweet and giving Alicia, still he could not bear it. He could not allow himself to ever be as exposed and naked to the world as the world was to him. If they could see what he could see—

  It was not to be allowed!

  He pushed her away, abruptly lifting her from his flesh and setting her clumsily aside on the carpet before the fire.

  She landed awkwardly on her hands and knees and gasped. Too late he remembered her experience the night before.

  Then he remembered the rest.

  It isn’t true. None of it is true. She is a liar.

  He stood, fastening his breeches while she gazed up at him with her eyes glazed and her lips parted, still stunned from the abrupt end to her orgasm. She looked wanton and sweet and he wanted nothing more than to sweep her into the bed and stay there forever.

  God, he was alarmingly close to being lost in her!

  He backed away, trying to make it seem like a casual motion instead of the full-blown cowardly retreat that it was.

  “You are still tired from your . . . ordeal,” he said lamely. “I shall let you—I will return—”

  He gave up and fled the room. Yet, no matter how much distance he put between them, he could still feel her heat on his skin.

  Or perhaps it had sunk deeper than that—as deep as his soul.

  25

  After Stanton had fled their bedchamber, Alicia had crawled back into the covers to shiver away her half-fulfilled arousal and warm her chilled heart.

  Now, she was unable to stay there one moment more, when she knew beyond doubt Stanton would not be returning to her.

  She dressed herself—a surprisingly awkward task, for one who had been independent for so long. The new gowns, however, were made for a lady who never needed to reach her own buttons. The most practical garment was the fine riding habit, which prompted Alicia to consider a long ride— perhaps even one that ended far from this place.

  At the stables, she asked for a horse to be readied. Any gentle mount would do. She’d been a good rider once, but she was no longer used to the saddle. As she dawdled in the cobbled yard, she saw an ungainly cart rumble around the side of the great house and aim, more or less, for the stable yard.

  On the driver’s bench sat a much-bundled figure, too short to be a man, too strange to be anything else. As the cart meandered andered nearer, Alicia was able to make out a shock of white hair, a strangely humped back and bri
ght, twinkling eyes.

  The disgruntled horse came to a halt a bit left of the graveled path and tossed his head as if to say, “Will someone get this maniac off my reins?”

  Alicia took pity on the poor beast and took the pull of the reins into her own gloved hands, giving the creature’s sore mouth a much-needed break from the bit. The driver applauded with glee, as if she’d done something terribly clever.

  “Oh, that’s a good girl!”

  Alicia looked askance at him, but the driver was already clambering rather badly from the seat to the ground. He ended his precarious journey with a bit of a stagger, then turned to bestow a wide smile on her. “That’s the ticket, lovey!”

  Alicia had had a very long night. The last thing she wanted was to be called pet names by a strange—very strange—man. She frowned at the fellow. “If you call me that again, I shall not only let go, I shall swat him smartly on the rear and wave as he takes off with your goods!”

  “Of course you will. Don’t blame you a bit. I’ve atrocious manners, always have.” He grinned unrepentantly. Large white teeth gleamed through the grizzle of many days unshaven and his eyes danced beneath outrageously bushy brows. “You’re a tasty morsel in that fitted riding habit, so I’ll endeavor not to frighten you off. I’m long past courting buxom women, but I’ll never tire of gazing at them!”

  She couldn’t help the short laugh that bubbled up. The fellow took encouragement and bowed briskly. Good heavens, that wasn’t so much a hump as it was the most horrendous slump she’d ever seen. It looked as if he spend every moment of his life bending over something that interested him so much he’d not a care for his posture. She could just see him poring over ancient manuscripts or perhaps modern marvels of clockwork.

  “I am Forsythe, mad inventor and fire-starter.” He nodded again, bobbing his head repeatedly. “That’s why I like you, I think. You look like a candle in the gloom, yourself.”

  She smiled slightly. “That’s a rather elegant way of saying I’ve red hair.”

  He blinked rapidly, peering more closely. “Is it really? I can’t see a thing under those horrid bonnets you lot wear.” He turned away to begin untying the many ropes that bound his top-heavy load upon the cart. “You don’t happen to have a few stout lads hanging about, do you? Aren’t all pretty ladies surrounded by stout lads?”

  Alicia grimaced. “Not this one, actually.”

  He glanced back at her, although he had to look under his arm, not over his hunched shoulder. “Ah, then there is only one stout lad, and he’s giving you fits.”

  Alicia leaned one arm on the withers of the stolid horse. “Absolute cat fits,” she agreed wearily. “I rather think I’ve had enough, thank you.”

  “Ha.” He turned back to his knots, which looked complicated and numerous enough to take up most of the day. “You’re mad for the blighter, more’s the pity. I’ll bet he’s a big lad—tall, dark and looming. He’ll be as rich as Midas and titled to boot, for only a man like that could be arrogant enough to give cat fits to a fire-goddess, when he ought to be on his knees in worship.”

  Alicia blinked at the compliment. “Not that I disagree with your assessment, mind you, but how did you know all that? Are you acquainted with Lord Wyndham?”

  The fellow rolled his head back under his armpit to blink at her. “Wyndham? That’s your stout lad?” He pulled hard upon a single strand of rope—and the entire matter undid itself to slither to his feet. “There, that’s done it. Now I need those strong backs.” He started for the stable at a strange loping pace, looking for all the world like a stork in a hurry.

  Alicia remained where she was, for now she dared not let the horse take a single step for fear of toppling the piled cart load. It was only a moment before Mr. Forsythe returned with several eager “stout lads” from the stable staff.

  One took the horse from Alicia, who stepped back out of the way to watch curiously as they began to unload the crates and boxes under the leaping, gyrating direction of Forsythe.

  “No, no, you lout! You mustn’t jostle the contents! Do you want the Chinese rockets to explode before they’ve even reached the sky?”

  The stable lads were more respectful of their burdens thereafter, and Mr. Forsythe stepped back to join Alicia in watching the show.

  “So you’re Lady Alicia Lawrence.”

  Alicia turned her head to gaze at the man. Here it was again—that odd awareness people had of Wyndham and the circle of his personality. The Prince Regent had known, the Sirens had known, and now this man. Moreover, they seemed to know Wyndham himself as more than common gossip would have him.

  The Four Horsemen—or whatever they called themselves—were becoming more mysterious by the moment. Prince George had enacted some sort of personal revenge upon Stanton by declaring him the Lord of Misrule. The Sirens and their husbands remained ever on the periphery of Stanton’s presence, watching and waiting—for what, Alicia couldn’t imagine.

  And now this man, who had just arrived, knew enough about her and Wyndham to turn to her and say, “You’d be good for him. The lad’s not the easiest sort.”

  Alicia lifted her chin. “Neither am I, I have heard.” She certainly didn’t seem to be easy for Wyndham to—well, to accept.

  To need.

  To love.

  “Would you like to see my creation?” Forsythe asked, changing the subject with abrupt kindness, his rheumy gaze sympathetic without being syrupy. He stepped aside to bow her gallantly forward. “We’re almost done, if you’d like to see.”

  The “creation” turned out to be a whimsical structure seated on a vast side lawn of the great house. As they neared it, Alicia at first thought it much larger than it was, for the scale was somehow oddly wrong. It was as if a fairy castle had been plucked from some place where people were perhaps half the size they were in this world.

  It was all there, ramparts and fantastical minarets, arched windows and even a delightful drawbridge over a recently dug moat that servants were even now filling with pails of water.

  “That’s to keep the fire from spreading,” Forsythe confided. “We wouldn’t want to burn in our beds.”

  Alicia turned to gaze at him in confusion. “You’re going to burn it down?”

  “Ah,” Forsythe danced away, spinning with arms wide. “We’re going to burn it up!”

  “Fireworks!” Alicia exclaimed in delight. “I haven’t seen fireworks in years!”

  “You’ve never seen fireworks like these,” Forsythe boasted. “This display will be visible for miles. No one will be able to hear for a week!”

  Now that she knew what to look for, Alicia could see that the castle structure was bristling with rockets and spinners and there were countless iron brackets, ready to hold more. “When?”

  “On the last night of the party. It is a special commission by the Prince Regent. Georgie always did love the toys I made for him.”

  Alicia smiled, but it faded when Mr. Forsythe turned away to encourage his moat-fillers. A man who called the Prince Regent “Georgie.”

  She turned back to the stable to tell the groom that she didn’t need a horse after all. There would be no riding away, not from this game.

  She was playing with fire herself, coming into circles such as these, with nothing but her wits and her smile to arm her. She must keep her thoughts to herself, for she was a pawn on a board full of royalty—with her own future and her sisters’ at stake.

  Truth and lies. The truth we know and the lies we tell ourselves.

  She was in love with Lord Wyndham.

  You’re a lady, more than high enough to wed a man like him.

  If she wasn’t notorious. Although that could be repaired.

  She would be the Marchioness of Wyndham. No one in Society would dare to speak a word of her past. Her life would be wiped clean with the strength of Wyndham’s wealth and power. She would be new.

  She would be a fool not to want that. Her sisters would be raised back to their former level, higher eve
n with the dowries and connections she could give them. Her parents would welcome her home with open arms, smiles wide. She could save them all.

  But what of me? Am I to be sold for their sakes once more? Am I nothing to them, to myself?

  Am I merely currency in this business of status and society?

  She returned to the room to change. Now that she was no longer bent on escape, she felt rather silly in the riding habit.

  Wyndham was there, obviously waiting for her. When she entered, he stood quickly from his seat by the fire.

  He looked rather weary and worried himself. She thought perhaps he was worried about what had happened last night—or rather, this morning. She put on a warm smile to reassure him. If she could make his mind easy, then he might tell her what kept him at such a distance.

  “Good day, my lord. Have you had an enjoyable morning?”

  His jaw clenched visibly and he looked away. Heavens, that wasn’t her meaning at all!

  Stanton felt something stretch painfully inside him, as if two warring armies were pulling at his soul. She was so lovely, and all he could think about was her sweet abandon that morning. He’d been sitting in that damned chair, remembering, and getting harder by the moment.

  She was also a liar, and had brought him to this bedeviled party—this shameless orgy that had trapped and haunted him with the sounds and sights of sex for days on end! He was here on the whim of an irresponsible madwoman who had tricked him out thousands of pounds and made a fool of him in a way he could never forgive.

  And still he wanted her. He shook inside from the ache of wanting her—now, in the chair, on the floor, up against the mullioned window for all the world to see—

  He hated her as much as he lov—

  No. He cut that thought off harshly. No.

  So, one last test. One last chance for her to prove her story, one last chance for him to save his heart from the razor talons of loving someone who was undeserving.

  “There is something I must ask of you.”

  Alicia leaned away, alarmed. “You are very serious today—rather, even more serious than usual.”