Seduced by a Spy

by Andrea Pickens

  Her breath caught in her throat. His voice, stripped of its usual caustic edge, sounded nearly as vulnerable as her own.

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Alexandr.” As his hand drew away from her face, Shannon reached out and twined her fingertips with his. Through the calluses and cuts she felt the warm, steady beat of his pulse. “You are a kind, caring man, though you take great pains to hide it.”

  “You give me too much credit, golub.”

  “I have seen the look on your face when you have Emma cradled in your arms.”

  His mouth crooked. “Perhaps it’s merely the scars of past battles twisting my expression of their own accord.” He touched the tiny nick at the corner of his mouth. “This was from a tavern brawl in Cracow—hardly a heroic exploit.”

  Shannon leaned closer and pressed her lips to the spot.

  Orlov stiffened for an instant, then let out a whispery laugh. “This was from a Venetian spy, who was trying to sabotage one of our trade agreements with Constantinople.”

  She kissed the razor-thin line above his brow. “What happened to him?” she murmured.

  “He’s feeding the fishes in the Grand Canal.”

  “And this?” Shannon touched his knuckles.

  “Ah. You wish to know my deepest, darkest secrets?” He sighed. “My puppy bit me when I tried to take away his bone. You see, even at a very early age, I had a penchant for thievery.”

  And how very good he was at it. He had taken her heart without her realizing just when it had gone missing.

  Orlov slowly put his arms around her. “And yet it is you who have stolen my will to resist.”

  Shannon made no protest when he tilted her chin and took her mouth in a gentle kiss. It was strange how passion could spark in different ways. She felt a burning need for him, but tonight it was a slow flame, rather than the crackling intensity of their earlier encounters. Those had been fueled by a volatile mix of aggression and attraction.

  And this? How to describe their relationship?

  A clash of competitive wills had slowly but surely softened to mutual respect. Perhaps they had recognized in each other that despite the outward differences they were very much alike. Lost souls with a certain darkness in their hearts, looking for some missing piece to make them whole. What they had found was each other. And matched together, their strengths seemed to conquer the weaknesses.

  “Alexandr.” She had been drawn to him from the very first time her steel had crossed with his.

  His mouth, softer than velvet, was now nuzzling the hollow of her throat. The fastenings of her shirt had come free, baring her shoulders.

  She undid the buttons of his placket and slid her hand against his chest. The dusting of curls was like finespun silk beneath her palm, the flat planes of his breast smooth as polished marble. Seized by a sudden urge to see the flicker of firelight on his flesh, she tugged the linen over his head.

  It might only have been a quirk of the candles, but Orlov’s expression appeared oddly tentative. “Are you sure this is what you want, Shannon?” he murmured. “I don’t wish to take advantage of the moment and have you do anything that you will later regret.”

  She mustered a laugh. “Thank you for the warning, but I know how to defend myself—if I so desire.”

  “And what is it you desire, golub?”

  You.

  She wasn’t quite brave enough to say it aloud, but her eyes must have spoken for her. His grip was surprisingly gentle as he laid her down across the counterpane and covered her body with his. The scent of him, an overtly masculine mix of smoke, leather, and pine, was intoxicating. She could not resist tracing her tongue along the ridge of his shoulder.

  “You taste of salt and Scottish malt,” she whispered.

  “You taste of wild honey,” he said, after drinking in a more intimate embrace. “And a sweetness beyond words.”

  There was no way to describe the sudden flare of heat that his kiss ignited inside her. Rough with need, the rasp of his stubbled jaw was like a thousand points of fire against her cheek, and the press of his mouth, hard yet soft, a tongue of flame.

  “Then no more words, Alexandr,” she begged. “No more warnings. God knows what the morning will bring. The only certainty is that we have this moment. I want you, beyond reason, beyond regret.” Beyond yearning. “Please.”

  “I fear I am beyond the point of turning back, no matter that I should.” His hands framed her face. “You deserve better, Shannon. So much better.”

  “But I want you.” In the firelight, his hair had a whiskygold gleam. She threaded her fingers through the curling strands. “Only you.”

  Guiding his grip to the remaining fastenings of her shirt, she wriggled her breasts free of the fabric. With a ragged groan, Orlov ripped it open all the way, sending a flutter of linen threads across the counterpane. Her breeches yielded to his hands, then her stockings.

  A last tug left her naked beneath his gaze. Unashamed, Shannon met his gaze. The gleam in his eye sparked a fierce joy deep within her.

  “Have you any idea how lovely you are?” Orlov’s callused palms slid over her hips.

  She edged closer, so close that the peppering of golden hair on his chest tickled against her skin. “Not nearly as magnificent as you are.” The breadth of his shoulders, the sculpted muscles, tapering to a narrow waist, were smooth and hard as marble. Chiseled perfection. “Like a Greek god.”

  “Lud, I am all too human, Shannon. All too flawed.” His hands came up to cup her breasts. She tingled all over as he teased their tips.

  “Not to me.” She fell back against the pillows, drawing him with her. “You are…” All coherent thought dissolved in a gasp of delight as his mouth closed over a nipple, laving, suckling the flesh to a hard little point of fire.

  “Perfect.” The last word crescendoed into a cry. Arching instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck, reveling in the silky tangle of his hair, the slope of his back. The bedcover fell away as he hitched her higher, their legs entwining in the sheets. His erect shaft brushed her thigh, and the thought of him wanting her was wildly arousing.

  Somehow she did feel beautiful. Feminine, sultry, seductive. All the things she did not think were a part of herself. Her hands tightened. She meant to hold on to the moment, savor the splendor of his shape, his strength, his scent.

  Everything about him.

  “Please!” she whispered, as his lips slanted to the hollow of her throat. The pounding of her pulse echoed her need. In another instant she feared she might shatter like crystal.

  His eyes, swirling like liquid steel, met hers.

  Shannon felt another jolt of heat course through her. “Don’t wait any longer. Come inside me, Alex.”

  Orlov lifted her hips, driven on by her plea and his own ruthless need. He could no longer leash the Russian wolf deep within him—his baser instincts now overpowered what few scraps of gentlemanly English scruples he still possessed.

  Damn him for a beast, but he meant to have her. To mark her irrevocably as his own.

  “Open yourself to me, Shannon.” He coaxed her thighs apart. “Yes, like that.” All pliant curves and creamy flesh, her long legs responded sweetly to his touch. He nearly came undone.

  A sigh, soft as spun silk. Had she ever had a man inside her?

  Slowly, slowly, he thought, holding himself in check. More than anything else, he wanted to make this joining of their bodies a memory that they could hold forever.

  Her honeyed curls, gleaming gold in the dancing light, were damp to his touch. Sucking in his breath, he found the nub within her feminine folds of flesh and circled a slow caress.

  “Oh, Alexandr!” Her voice—wild, wondrous—urged him to quicken his stroke.

  Shannon pressed hard into his hand, and he took a wicked satisfaction at having awakened her to her own innermost passions. Another cry, as his finger found her passage and slipped inside. So tight. So trusting.

  And so innocent.

  Damn. F
or all her virago strength, it seemed she was still a virgin. With a low groan, he eased back, though it took a considerable effort.

  “Please,” she begged, grabbing at his wrist. “Don’t stop. Not now.”

  “Not so fast, golub,” he said through gritted teeth. His self-control was perilously close to going up in smoke. “I mean to make this right for you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Her eyes were luminous in the flickering light, as if the sun were shining on a clear blue sky. “You could never hurt me.”

  It was still not too late. A true gentleman would have come to his senses. But he had never claimed to be a saint. Primal passion had taken possession of him, body and soul. Angling higher, Orlov braced his weight and entered her, slowly, gently as he could.

  But after a momentary flinch, Shannon surged to meet him, sheathing his shaft deep in her warmth. He gasped, fighting to keep from going over the edge.

  “A-am I doing this right?” Her smile turned tentative.

  “Oh so right,” he rasped. And oh so wrong. He ruthlessly thrust the thought aside. Cynicism, his usual shield, had unraveled, leaving him tangled in a hopeless snarl of emotions. Hope, guilt, fear, longing. But need overpowered all. Somehow he would sort the others out later.

  Orlov withdrew slightly, giving her body a moment to adjust to his, then eased forward again.

  “So right,” he whispered again, tipping her face to take her in a long, lush kiss.

  Clinging to his shoulders, she eagerly matched his rhythm. Limbs entwined, he felt her heart pounding, in perfect harmony with his own. So close. Her touch awakening hope, even though he had sworn never to make himself so vulnerable.

  “Hold me tight, Alexandr.” The words feathered against his cheek. “I shall be lost without you.” He could feel the tension mounting within her, straining to break free.

  “I have you, Shannon.” His hands guided her hips higher, joining them more deeply. Like liquid honey, her warmth enveloped him. Two as one, cresting in yet another exquisite wave of pleasure, before she shuddered beneath him and gave voice to a cry of ethereal sweetness.

  His own limbs trembling, Orlov was not sure whether to laugh or cry. Reveling in her wonder, he was only dimly aware of the darker note of warning thrumming through his head. Had he made the cardinal mistake of allowing lust to deepen into love? Emotional attachment was the kiss of death in their line of work.

  And yet rather than heed the danger, he surged forward, his own hoarse exultation echoing the thunder rumbling through the distant moors.

  “Are you awake, dorogaya?”

  Shannon was roused from her reveries by a feathered kiss to her brow. “Mmmm… yes.” She gave a languid stretch, reveling in the sleek warmth of Orlov’s body pressed against hers. “But only barely.” His skin was still redolent with musky scent of their lovemaking, and as she snuggled closer, she was intimately aware of every nuanced texture. The smoothness of his muscles, the hardened contours of his chest, the stubbling of whiskers along the lean line of his jaw.

  The first rays of dawn lit a flare of gold beneath her outstretched caress. “It’s still early.”

  “Aye. But loath though I am to mix business and pleasure, duty calls.” Orlov’s smile was sweet but fleeting. “I had better not linger here in bed any longer.”

  Duty. Shannon shot up with a guilty start. “The children. Lady Octavia. I should have—”

  He pulled her back down to the pillows. “All is well. I checked on them a half hour ago. You need not rush to dress. However, I have a few things I wish to do before I join the London gentlemen for the hunt.”

  “Alexandr, can I not convince you to reconsider?”

  The ice-blue resolve melted, but only for a moment. “No.”

  “Then please be careful. Three against one, stalking through steep moors thick with gorse and pine? The odds are stacked against you.”

  “Assuming there is a conspiracy.” He cocked a brow. “You think them in league?”

  “The idea had crossed my mind,” she confessed. “We cannot dismiss it, no matter how far-fetched it might seem.”

  “I, too, have given it some consideration. It’s unlikely, but I will be on guard.” His fingertips brushed at the corners of her mouth. “Don’t frown, golub. A hunting rifle will not be my only weapon.”

  “A pistol or knife is little protection at long range. And an attack may come from two angles.”

  “Sun-Tzu says if your enemies are substantial, prepare for them. My true advantage lies in knowing what I am up against. On the other hand, the London gentlemen cannot know for sure what sort of threat I represent.”

  Shannon caught hold of his hand. “Don’t be too sure of that. D’Etienne will have heard about Ireland. He is far too clever not to put two and two together.”

  He was no longer smiling. “Would that our own surmises would add up to more than guesses.”

  Palms pressed as one, she could feel the warm pulse beneath his toughened flesh. Hard and soft. She no longer felt them as two contrasting elements, but as part of a whole.

  He broke away, but only to lift her fingers to his lips. “I promise I will be careful, golub. Tell me you will do the same.”

  “You may rest assured that I won’t take any unnecessary risks. I mean to keep the children indoors for the day. Lady Octavia says there is a trunkful of old games stored in the attics. Between lessons and skittles I should have no trouble keeping them occupied.”

  “Stay here in the Tower. It’s is the safest part of the castle.”

  “Yes, safe as a merlin’s eyrie,” Shannon stared out at the distant moors. “It is you who are alone and vulnerable.”

  “That is exactly what we are trained to do, Shannon—work on our own. Danger is the one constant companion of our lives.” Untangling his legs from the rumpled sheets, he rose. A dappling of light skimmed over the contours of his naked body. “Remember, I am a professional. I am used to taking care of myself.”

  The reassurance did nothing to still her fears. The play of sun and shadow showed not only chiseled strength, but past scars, stark white against the tanned flesh.

  “You are flesh and blood, Alexandr. And what I remember all too well is how easily a bit of lead cuts through the toughest muscle and sinew.”

  “The trick is never to think of the past, Shannon. Only the future.”

  He was right, of course. A warrior must always stay a step ahead of regrets and recriminations. Shielding her face from the flare of the flint, Shannon lit the single candle by the bedside.

  Don’t look back.

  No doubt Sun-Tzu had an aphorism for such a situation, but Shannon couldn’t think of a one. No heroic lines from Homer, no poetic quotations from Shakespeare. She said the only words that came from the heart. “Keep your eyes open.”

  “And you, golub.” Orlov finished dressing and slipped out the door.

  Chapter Twenty

  “We may as well pack some birdshot, but I for one would prefer to see if we can pick up the trail of a Highland stag,” announced Jervis as he handed out the hunting rifles from the gun room. “I’ve heard much about their size and stealth. It would be a prize to bring one down.”

  The comte lifted his shoulders. “I am perfectly amiable to stalking whatever prey you choose.”

  Were the gentlemen simply making the usual small talk before a hunt? Or was there a more menacing meaning to the exchange? Orlov stood to one side, assuming an attitude of casual indifference as he readied the cartridge bags. The comment did not include him, which was just as well. He was in no mood for any more games—verbal or otherwise.

  “Sweet Jesus, I’m not sure I could hit the broadside of a barn,” groaned Talcott. His eyes were red and his sallow skin resembled the underbelly of a cod. “I would cry off, except I’m sure that if I stay here, I will be pestered to accompany the ladies to whatever cursed pile of rocks they are so keen to see.” He pressed a hand to his brow and winced. “I would rather risk a fit of apoplexy in traipsi
ng the moors than endure several hours of Annabelle’s whining. Bloody hell, you would think that the world had ended simply because the chit had to put off her coming out for a season.”

  If he were a gentleman, he might feel obliged to give warning of the youngest Talcott’s plans, thought Orlov. However, his scruples were not so finely honed. In truth, he had little sympathy for any of the family, save perhaps Helen. Caught in the middle between a dissolute wastrel and a spoiled hellion, she was more to be pitied than disliked.

  “All young ladies dream of fancy balls and handsome suitors. It is only natural that she is disappointed,” observed De Villiers.

  “You are far more tolerant than I would be,” replied Talcott. “She behaved like a simpering schoolgirl, making calf’s eyes at you throughout the journey.”

  “There are worse things than having a pretty girl bat her lashes at you.” The comte turned. “Would you not agree, Monsieur Oliver?”

  “I can think of a great many,” he replied politely.

  “And then, of course, there are even better things, non? For example, bedding a beautiful woman like Mademoiselle Sloane.” De Villiers winked at his London friends. “Now there is a bird I wouldn’t mind pursuing. Have you perchance had the pleasure of plucking her feathers?”

  Orlov willed himself to stay calm. “I was under the impression that a gentleman does not discuss his private dealings with a lady, non?”

  “But you are no gentleman, Mr. Oliver. And Miss Sloane is no lady,” sneered Jervis. “The rules don’t apply.”

  “Thank you for the reminder.” Orlov ran a hand down the barrel of his rifle and tested the action of the trigger.

  For a moment, the only sound in the room was the echo of the sharp snick.

  “Ready, gentlemen?” Jervis shouldered his weapon and marched for the mud room. “My valet will follow along with food and drink for the day.”

  Orlov waited for the others to file out, then fell in step behind Talcott.

  “Might I have a word with you, Aunt Octavia?”