Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 03]

by One NightWith a Spy

  Marcus nodded, glad to have his friend back in the game.

  The Falcon shrugged. “Very well. We shall table the subject of the Chimera.” He sent Marcus a warning glare. “For now.”

  Marcus bowed. “Thank you. First, I would like to explain my reason for involving myself personally with her ladyship.” He shrugged, spreading his hands. “It seemed advisable in the moment.”

  Reardon smiled slightly. Dane snorted. Liverpool twitched and Wyndham tapped an impatient fingertip on the table.

  Marcus doused his grin. “My apologies. My reasoning led me to believe I needed to outmatch her ladyship’s other many admirers in order to get close enough to learn the truth.”

  “Yes, yes,” Liverpool said impatiently. “We know that much. It is how you learned about her low beginnings.”

  Marcus nodded. “Yes. Unfortunately, I did not remain long enough to discover more.” He smiled slightly. “As in the fact that I was already in love with her.”

  Dane blinked. “I thought you were in love with my wife.”

  Marcus shook his head. “I never loved Olivia. I simply envied you having someone believe in you so completely, without reservation.” He looked away. “Then I didn’t recognize it when I saw it and nearly killed it all by myself.”

  Reardon flinched. “Ouch.”

  Liverpool threw out his hands. “What are we talking about here—romance and the lovelorn, or treason?” He leaned forward to slam one palm on the table. “I want to know why the hell you let that female escape you—thrice!”

  Wyndham slid Liverpool a cool glance. “My lord, please remember that you are an observer here.

  Liverpool straightened. “I may no longer be the Cobra, but I still take my duty to England seriously.” He glared at Marcus. “Unlike some.”

  Marcus turned the full force of his rage on Liverpool, all easy façade gone. “And you interpret that duty as the right to assassinate a lady?”

  Reardon and Dane shot alarmed gazes at Liverpool. Dane stood. “You did what?”

  Liverpool folded his hands behind his back. “I sent the Liars after her.” He gazed at them all unrepentantly. “Dryden was too close to the case.”

  Reardon stood. “And you have overstepped, my lord!”

  Liverpool gazed at his own former protégé calmly. “I admit it was regrettable, but we had already seen what a risk she posed, setting her people on us that way.”

  “She has helped us! Because of her, we know more about the Chimera than ever before. For that you ordered her death?” Remembered fear threatened to choke Marcus. “You sent the Liars’ premier assassin, Kurt the Cook, who is above all a consummate professional, who wouldn’t hesitate to kill a lovely young woman if so ordered.”

  “I ordered her apprehended,” Liverpool amended. “She would have only been eliminated if she did not cooperate.”

  Marcus’s righteous rage was not assuaged by that, for when had Julia ever been the cooperative sort?

  Then he took a deep breath to calm himself. The day was yet to be won. Liverpool’s alarming assumption of power would keep. “What is past, is past. Nor am I in a position to criticize, for I am not yet one of you in truth.”

  “I don’t recall our having resolved that question just yet,” Dane interjected mildly. “Nor am I convinced we have closed the topic of Lord Liverpool’s interference.”

  “I should say not!” Reardon added.

  Marcus held up a hand. “Gentlemen, I cannot possibly be named the next Fox when the current Fox is still living.” He gestured to the door. “May I present my wife, Lady Dryden?”

  Julia entered the room, her graceful serenity belying the fact that her body was still a map of garish bruising.

  Marcus had never been so proud of anyone in his life. She stood tall and more than defiant—she was fearless, an intrepid tigress in a room of lesser predators.

  She was still terribly thin, but the shadows in her cheeks highlighted her aristocratic bone structure and lent dignity to her level gaze. A length of lace hid the still livid bruises about her throat and one hand remained lightly bandaged. She looked like a warrior goddess, fresh from battle.

  Yet the final battle had only just begun.

  She did not wait for permission to speak. “My lords, I have come to demand my rightful place as the Fox.”

  Liverpool reacted instantly. “You have no place here!”

  She flicked a glance his way. “Shut it, Robert. I helped select you for your current position, so I know quite well you have no place here.”

  Liverpool blustered. “You did no such thing! My appointment was a full year past—” He halted as the truth sank in. “You were acting as the Fox even then?”

  “Indeed.”

  The Falcon gazed at her evenly. “Perhaps he is no longer the Cobra, but the Prime Minister will still be accorded respect by all of us.”

  She did not back down. “The Prime Minister tried to misuse the Liar’s Club to assassinate me, nearly causing the death of one of England’s most valuable operatives. I will respect him when he has earned it.”

  The Cobra pursed his lips and tilted his head. “She has a point there, Liverpool.”

  Liverpool gazed acidly at them all. “I have explained the misunderstanding that resulted in that attempt. I do not kill women.”

  “Not this woman, at any rate.” Julia gazed at him until he was forced to look away. She turned her attention to the rest of them.

  “I do hope you know what you are doing, Lady Dryden.” The Falcon watched her. “Liverpool was correct about one thing. If we refuse to recognize you as the Fox we will be forced to dispose of you most permanently.” He glanced at Marcus. “Which would pose a difficulty about what should be done about your husband.”

  She nodded. “We are entirely aware of this.” She sent Marcus an expressionless glance, but he could read beneath her composure. His life was in her hands. He grinned easily at her. Take no prisoners, Jilly.

  She made no response, but only turned back to the Three. “I make my claim on the grounds that I was wrongly dismissed. I am indeed highborn.”

  Higher than you lot. Marcus stifled his grin and kept his peace, though it cost him. They’d toss him out and he didn’t want to miss a thing.

  “I was born the Comtesse Joëlle Conti du Boutin. My mother was the wife of the count at that time. They both fled Paris during the Terror to take safe harbor in England. My father was a cruel man who beat my mother so severely that he was forced to abandon her when she could not keep up. Unaware that she was with child, he left her for dead in a ditch, where she was found by the members of the Hiram Pickles Traveling Variety Show. They healed her as best they could and sheltered her from discovery for the next seventeen years. She died five years ago.”

  “A thrilling tale.” Liverpool sneered. “Fit to put on the stage. Where is your proof? Where are your documents of your parents’ marriage, the certification of your birth? I fear we’re a bit on the outs with France at the moment. You’ll never get the records from—”

  The thick file hit the table between the Three. Marcus smiled. “Oh, bother. Did I forget to show you those?”

  They quickly unwound the tie and spread the contents over the table.

  “You are my second.” Dane scowled at Marcus. “You ought to have brought these directly to me.”

  Julia shook her head slowly. “No, my lord. He is my second now.”

  Liverpool leaned forward to peer at the contents. “This means nothing. You could have falsified these.”

  Julia clasped her hands before her. “Falcon, you are something of a document expert,” she said serenely. “Are they false?”

  The Falcon was bent closely over the certificate of marriage. “Well, someone very nearly royal wed someone else very nearly royal. That does not seem to be in question.”

  She nodded. “I am a princess of the blood. Currently I believe I am twenty-fourth in line for the throne … if there were still a throne.”

  “A
French countess?” Liverpool went tight-lipped. “All the more reason to refuse your suit.”

  “I have never set foot on French soil,” Julia stated firmly. “Nor do I have any loyalty to my father or his heritage.”

  “No?” The Cobra spoke up for the first time in a long while. “How can we be so sure of that? What if he were to appear today and appeal to your familial loyalty?”

  Julia reached to pull the scarf from her throat. “He has appeared.”

  The other men inhaled sharply. Even Marcus winced, for the bruises looked worse than ever, dark purple streaked with an evil green.

  “The man who did this to me is my father, the Comte Renauld Conti du Boutin, prince of the blood, vicious wife beater, loyal servant of Napoleon—” She pulled the locket from about her neck and tossed it onto the scattered documents. “And the Chimera.”

  The Cobra pounced on the locket and flicked it open. “Oh, hell.” He passed it to the Lion, who blinked at it, then passed it to the Falcon. “That is indeed the image of Denny,” he said slowly.

  “He doesn’t look like that anymore,” Julia said. “I took a shard of glass to his best weapon.” She held out her hands, palms forward. The scars and blood-dotted bandage spoke volumes. “In the future, I don’t believe he’ll be able to pass himself off as anything but a sideshow player.”

  The Lion sat back and let out a long breath. “Well, I think we can dismiss the possibility of mixed loyalties.”

  The Cobra leaned forward. “Did the bastard bleed?”

  Julia showed white, even teeth. “Copiously.”

  The Cobra smiled back fiercely. “Good.” He sat back. “Well, I think this removes the objection of her birth. We already know her other qualifications. What say you all?”

  “But she’s a woman!” Liverpool’s protest was very nearly a howl.

  “No, I feel fine about that.” The Cobra looked at the Lion. “Does that bother you?”

  The Lion shrugged. “No. She’s a bit scary but I believe I can cope.”

  They both turned to the Falcon. “What do you think?”

  The Falcon looked down at the locket still open in his palm, then up to Julia, who stood calm and silent, gazing back at him. “Since the other obstacles have been disproved and there is nothing in the vows that precludes gender … I suppose I concur.” A sardonic flash of smile twisted his lips. “Welcome to the Royal Four, our new Fox.”

  Marcus let out a whoop and dashed across the room to spin Julia in his arms. She gasped a laugh, then pushed at him with her less-injured hand. “Put me down,” she hissed. “It isn’t seemly.”

  The Cobra bowed. “My lady, you have the rest of your life as the Fox to be seemly. Proceed to celebrate. If you are feeling well enough from your ordeal, we should like to meet in three days to brief you on the latest reports.”

  Julia took a breath and gazed back at the Cobra with serene dignity, but her fingers were crushing Marcus’s hand. “That is agreeable.” She dipped a slight curtsy. “My lords, I bid you good evening.”

  She made it most of the way down the deserted hallway before she stumbled and sagged in Marcus’s grip.

  “Darling, are you all right?”

  She turned and buried her face in his weskit. “We did it,” she gasped. “We truly did it. We’re the Fox!”

  He tipped her chin up with one finger. “No, my love. You’re the Fox. I am your eager student.”

  She blinked up at him, her brow creased. “You don’t mind?”

  He shook his head, a slow grin crossing his face. “I am ever willing to learn from the master … or in this case, the mistress.”

  Her lids went heavy and she returned his sensuous smile. “Well, there are a few things I never dared write in my diaries …”

  A startled laugh burst from Marcus and he pulled her close to bury his face in her sweet-smelling hair. She was truly his now—this courageous, astounding, sensual beauty was his forever!

  “Forever and ever,” she murmured into his weskit. “Now feed me. I’m starved.”

  He stroked her hair. “I know where they make the best bread and cheese midnight picnics …”

  Epilogue

  After the heat and passion and sweet ferocity, he brings me cool water and strokes my skin to soothe me.

  “So what comes next?” Marcus dropped a kiss onto the bare shoulder he was massaging.

  Julia let out a luxuriating sigh and rolled her head on the pillow. “No. No more. I’ll be walking decidedly oddly tomorrow as it is.”

  He nibbled on that particular place he’d found on the side of her neck, the place that caused a most delightful reaction. She shivered beneath him, her backside quivering delightfully against parts that were most appreciative of her rounded softness.

  “We have nearly half a day left until the Four meets again. Go on,” he whispered. “Tell me another one.”

  “Hmm … well, there was one where we douse each other with sweet oil and—”

  His eyes nearly crossed. “And?” he begged hoarsely.

  “And I happen to know that Pickles put a bottle of sweet oil in that drawer.” She pointed without opening her eyes, a small smile lighting her profile.

  Marcus was across the room in a flash. The oil wasn’t in the first drawer, or the second. He shoved everything about, shifting the accumulated post without regard to the finely embossed quality of the invitations that slid to the floor unnoticed.

  Finally he laid hands on the oil and rushed back to the bed. “Shall we lie before the fire?”

  It was a seductive question, said in a husky, hungry voice, so there was no reason at all for her to turn her head to laugh riotously into the pillow.

  “What is it?”

  She lifted her head with a helpless snicker. “If all the post carriers dressed like you, I would pay them a great deal more per letter!”

  Marcus looked down to see a slim envelope balanced on his erection. Julia rolled over to pluck it from his dampened skin and began to open it.

  “You’re going to read it now? Not now. Please, not now. I have oil!”

  “It will only take a moment. It must be good news,” she said with a grin. “How could it not be, with such a delivery?”

  Still smiling, she unfolded the letter and began to read. Her smile faded. After a moment, she looked up at him with brows drawn. “When did this arrive?”

  Marcus shrugged. “We haven’t left the room in two days. I think Pickles brought it in with the rest of today’s post. Why? Who is it from?”

  Julia sat up cross-legged on the bed and regarded him with the strangest expression. “It seems that Aldus’s solicitor has finally found the heir to Barrowby.”

  Marcus knelt on the mattress beside her. “You knew he was bound to turn up someday,” he said gently. “And your people will be welcome at Ravencliff, you know that.”

  She shook her head, chewing on her bottom lip. “That isn’t the issue,” she said slowly. “He is writing to tell me that he has just fulfilled Aldus’s other requirement—the notification of certain individuals—three of them, in fact—of my very excellent lineage.”

  She looked up at Marcus, eyes wide. “He said that Aldus must have confused the priority of such requests, so he took it upon himself to search for the heir first, and to notify their lordships second.”

  Marcus gazed down at the letter in her hand. “The stupid sod. Do you realize what you would have been spared? Yet I cannot blame him.” He smiled and stroked her curling hair from her dampened brow. “After all, what could be the urgency of proving Lady Barrowby’s obviously superior breeding?”

  “Oh, stop.” She pushed at him. “You have breeding on the brain.”

  He kissed her neck. She shivered, then she slid him a roguish look. “Hmm. Where’s that oil? We have half a day …”

  Turn the page for a sneak peek

  at the final thrilling installment in the

  the Royal Four series

  Seducing the Spy

  Coming from
St, Martin’s Paperbacks

  in August 2006

  If ruined and disgraced Lady Alicia Lawrence thought he, Stanton Home, Marquis of Wyndham and member of the secret protectorate of the Crown known as the Royal Four, would turn such a notorious female loose on an unsuspecting London, she was sadly mistaken.

  He would meet her here at the opera and keep her contained within the viewing box she’d selected—and billed to him. She could thus accomplish her goal of putting herself on tawdry display and he could keep an eye on her every move.

  Stanton leaned back in his viewing box and regarded the ongoing opera with a level of boredom he hadn’t thought himself capable. Oh, the soprano was very talented and the set was extravagant, as was the pageantry of the cream of London society that swirled below him—but Lady Alicia was not here.

  Apparently she was making a fashionably late appearance. Since the performance was nearly half over, even the ever unpredictable Lady Alicia must surely arrive shortly.

  Sure enough, the orchestra had just begun the next movement when the curtains parted behind Stanton and an usher bowed someone through.

  Stanton turned. “Good evening, Lady—”

  It wasn’t she. It could not be she. Lady Alicia Lawrence was a blotchy, ill-kempt creature, swollen like a grape and not as appetizing.

  Before him stood a faultlessly stylish lady, posed with her head high and her shoulders back, her rich emerald velvet wrap framing a fine-boned face of exquisite porcelain. Her lips curved in a sensual bow and her auburn hair glowed in the light from the stage. She was all that was elegant and polished.

  She wouldn’t be elegant in his arms. She would be earthy and untamed and shameless—

  Stanton blinked. That thought had flown through his mind like an outlaw’s arrow, coming from nowhere.

  It wasn’t she.

  Yet, lively cat-green eyes gleamed at him knowingly.

  “You seem taken aback, my lord. And rather boring. Do I not seem different? Am I not much improved? In the last week I’ve spent more money than the Prince Regent’s new mistress! Have you nothing to say about my accomplishment?”