The Duchess and the Spy

by Marly Mathews

  “You should not say such things.”

  “Why? I’m only telling you what you already think. You will always think the worst of me, no matter how hard I try to earn your respect. You will never truly give it to me. So, I am done trying. Think of me what you will. I’ve expended enough energy on you. I’ve lost too much because of you, and I’ve decided that you just aren’t worth it. You will be the death of me if I continue on this path, and I won’t do that. I know my time of dying will be soon, but I’d like to die on my own terms, thank you.”

  “Why do you keep talking about your death as if it’s coming for you?” He didn’t want to think of the light leaving her eyes. He didn’t want to think of her ever leaving this world, and leaving him behind. He couldn’t tell her that she enchanted him—he still didn’t know what she was capable of doing—and quite frankly, he didn’t know if he ever would.

  He would not look at her. If he did, he would lose the last vestiges of his faltering control, and he’d be kissing those lusciously full lips of hers. When he was with her, he felt as if he had finally come home. He wanted her more than anything else, but his duty to his King and Country came first. Duty came beyond love, and his own life.

  “I shall go down and settle a few things with the Innkeepers. You cannot run from me. Wherever you go, I shall follow, you may depend upon it. And you can rest assured that I shall always find you.”

  Her eyes widened, but her features were resigned, and she didn’t utter one objection.

  “Where would I run to? Do you suppose that I could fly to London? Truly, your silliness exasperates me to no end. Without my magic, I am helpless, and besides, I see no broomstick hereabouts.”

  In one fluid movement, he had bent down and claimed her lips with his own. She remained as stiff as a board beneath him, but her lips did come alive beneath his. He needed to have one final, albeit, small forbidden taste of her before he left. Even though he knew that his hunger for her would never be fully sated.

  She ignited a fire within him that he had never experienced. She was under his skin, in his blood, and she commanded his heart. He was losing himself in her, and funnily enough, he didn’t regret it one bit.

  He pulled away from her and stared down into her beautiful eyes.

  “What makes you believe that you’ll ever make it to London? I could easily take you away from here, and make you my pleasure slave without anyone being the wiser. Who would miss a French spy?” Her eyes flashed with green fire. “Without your magical abilities, you are by your own admission, helpless. Why don’t I take the same pleasures that Boney no doubt took from you?”

  Pure hatred flashed in her eyes. “You disgust me.”

  “Quite honestly, Duchess, it is I that should be disgusted with you—but then, I can rationalize the reasons for your less than ladylike ways while in France. You might be used to warming many men’s beds, but if I took you for my own, you would never stray into another man’s bed for the rest of your life—you may depend upon that.”

  “You take a few steps to redeem yourself in my eyes and then in the space of a few minutes you turn right back into a despicable varlet. You, sir, are no kissing Casanova.”

  “You won’t be saying that, when I finally take you to my bed,” he teased, opening the door, and closing it softly behind him.

  Chapter Nine

  Christopher had summoned a bath for her. And though she found it quite difficult to bathe without Daphne, she was trying. The water was growing cold, and she shivered as she stood up, searching for a towel. She’d never realized more fully, how much she’d relied on Daphne. Daphne had been her shadow, her friend, and in some ways, her protector. Without Daphne and without her magic…she was essentially running blind.

  She reached for the towel, slipped, and crashed back into the tub. Pain seared through her body, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her bite had been so hard, that she tasted blood in her mouth.

  “Mon dieu!” She blinked back tears. Burning pain still resonated through her lower half, and she heard Christopher trying to get into the bathing room, though she had securely locked the door. She mustered a slight smile, and clutched the edge of the tub as she tried to pull herself upright again.

  Her injured leg was still wobbly, and she’d be lucky if she managed to conquer getting out of the tub, she never should have dared bathing with the way it felt, but she had to get the smell of smoke and death off her.

  She heard a fantastic crashing sound, and turned her head in time to watch horrified as Christopher came barreling into the room. She rushed to cover her breasts with her hands, and found that her flesh still showed.

  “Sir, do not look upon me! You have no right to be here!” she rushed out, moaning quietly as she forced herself to a standing position. She hastily wrapped the large white towel around her body, and scowled at his back. “You should not be in here, my lord. I had a bit of a mishap that is all.”

  His back tensed, and he turned around and caught her just in time, before her leg gave out on her again.

  She had tried to step out of the tub unassisted, and her balance faltered. She almost had another fall, and found herself held firmly in Christopher’s strong arms. She decided that she would have rather fallen onto the floor.

  Tingly sensations rippled through her, and she found to her shame that she was staring at his lips, as if to encourage him to kiss her. She pulled back from him, and let out an outraged cry when he swept her up into his arms. Why did she hate him one minute, and want to love him forever the next minute. Indeed, she’d never felt so at ease with anyone before, especially not any man. Christopher could vex her to no end, but he had a comforting aura about him that she found quite soothing.

  “You belong to me now, Isabella. You have always belonged to me. There is no escape for you this time, my sweet, delightful Duchess,” he whispered, making her tremble with anticipation.

  He was surely going to ravish her, and she didn’t know if she had the want or will to fight him.

  “Pray, release me, Christopher.”

  “I don’t feel like it,” he breathed against her ear, as he dropped his voice to a whisper,

  “Well, then, start feeling like it.”

  “You don’t seem like you want me to let you go,” he murmured.

  She didn’t know how her arms had wound themselves around his neck, but she was clinging to him as if her life depended upon it. Resting against him, and trusting him to take care of her, was such a foreign sensation. His hand brushed against the side of her breast, and she emitted a sound resembling that of a purring cat.

  She wasn’t a loose woman. She couldn’t let him have his way with her. No matter how much she may have wanted it, or, how much he might have expected it. He thought he could have her wanting to fling herself into his bed, he was mistaken.

  He was now walking toward the four-poster bed, and every single reasonable voice that she possessed screamed against him lowering her onto it.

  There was precious time to spare. She saw him descending toward her, and knew that as soon as he kissed her with those sweetly torturing lips, she’d be gone. She would want more, and she wouldn’t ever tell him to stop. He stirred emotions within her that she hadn’t even realized existed. She would gladly help him tear her towel away from her, but she knew that her honour was too valuable to be discarded so quickly and easily.

  She still needed to marry, and she wouldn’t find a suitable match if the haut ton viewed her as a ‘ruined woman.’ However, the rumors of her dalliances with certain influential men back in France would probably ruin her either way—she knew all too well the viciousness of the gossipmongers. They would tell scandalous tales of her sexual exploits that would make her ears ring. She should give into temptation. She didn’t have anything to lose. Why not live up to the reputation she’d unfairly earned for herself. Hell, why not have a load of fun and laugh in the old biddies faces that made up the gossip mill?

  And yet, she still clung to her m
oral propriety. She had been raised to believe in love, and only give herself to the man she loved. Her heart skipped a beat. She felt something pretty damn strong for Christopher, but was it love? Was it true love? And would she hate herself even more than she did now if she gave herself to him? She already reviled herself for going along with Pierre, and making Boney magically believe that she’d slept with him. She couldn’t take any more guilt. Her conscience was heavy enough as it was.

  He brushed his lips against hers, and against her better judgment, she melted against him. The towel was her only barrier between them, and she had almost reached for it, when he stood up unexpectedly.

  “I must give you my apologies, I was carried away by the moment. I do not know what has gotten into me. I cannot do this.”

  “Of course, I understand.” She thought for a moment, as her heart warmed toward him.

  “I mean, what was I thinking? You’re a bloody Frenchwoman, for God’s sake,” he muttered, falling down into the nearest chair, as she stared at him in silent disgust.

  “Of course, you cannot defile yourself by being near me.” Fury rioted through her, and had she a weapon she would have made short work of him, by putting him out of her misery. “Since you are so eager to be rid of me, you may take me to London, or to Scotland.”

  She stared over at him, sprawled carelessly into the chair, and groaned when he gave her an outraged stare.

  “Duchess, I shall not take orders from you!” He raked his hand through his wayward hair.

  “And you, sir, do not tell me what to do. You are not my keeper. You are not my husband, nor are you my fiancée, or male guardian. You, sir, are nobody to me.” Her stinging words hung in the air, as if a putrid smell had entered the room. “I still revile you.”

  “Hatred can so easily turn to the other sort of passion. It is understood why you had a weak moment. You must be used to having a man take you to his bed every night, but I assure you, you will not have as many partners here in England as you were accustomed to having in France.”

  “I hate you. I shall always hate you. Our stars were never meant to cross…you are a foul man with a cruel heart.” She hobbled away from him, and walked back into the main chambers. She stared over at the bed, and sighed. Sinking down upon it, she felt the covers. She would stake her claim on the bed. He could sleep on the floor for all she cared.

  Isabella sat on the bed silently wondering why they always seemed to rub each other the wrong way. They were either loving each other or going at each other like cats and dogs. They were bad for each other. They aroused the worst in each other. And yet, sometimes, they brought out the very best in each other. How could they ever find some common ground where they could just talk? It seemed they were either shouting at each other, or kissing each other.

  He stormed into the room, saw her on the bed, and froze. She met his gaze.

  His midnight blue eyes wavered slightly, before he chuckled. However, she did not mistake the bitter edge that resonated throughout the chilling sound.

  “Indeed. What was I thinking? I should have known that you would be more like a harpy than a well-bred lady. For your information, dearest Bella, you were not always so critical of me. While you were still a lass verging on womanhood, you adored me, with a reverence unlike any other. You were quite the pain in my backside.” He allowed his words to hang between them, not expecting her to react to them. She seemed like a shadow of her former self even though fire still burned within her and though she’d transformed into a beautiful swan, she hadn’t embraced her old self yet, and he didn’t know if she ever would. He began pacing back and forth in front of the bed, and her eyes followed him, and then dropped to the floor at her feet, as she decided that he’d give her a splitting headache if he kept it up.

  “I adored you. I worshipped you. I do believe that I was in love with you, and now…now…I don’t know. That girl seems like another person, Christopher. I clung to that time while I was in France. I think I elevated you to being heroic status in my mind eye. You were everything to me during that time. I measured every other man I met against you.”

  “You did?” he asked softly.

  “Yes, I did. You, were the hero, and Jason and William were your sidekicks. I had determined that the three of you would rescue me. One of you did.”

  He cleared his throat. His colour was up, and he looked quite uncomfortable.

  “I suppose we should make a peace, eh? Shall I extend the olive branch?”

  She smiled at him. “You could…but I fear one of us would end up burning the bloody thing at some point.”

  He chuckled. “You’re probably right.”

  “I do not think that we are meant for each other. We seem to be poison together. And when Jason and Uncle Duncan find out how you’ve treated me…why, Jason might forgive you, he is of that nature, but my Uncle Duncan, well, he just might call you out to a duel at dawn.”

  “Is that so?” he questioned carelessly, from behind his desk. “I daresay you’re being overly dramatic. Your uncle and cousin once regarded me as a very good match for you, sweetest. They believed you and I would marry as soon as you were of age.” He was scribbling furiously, in his haste to draft a missive, and the irritating scratch of the quill pen almost made her scream.

  “I wish that you would just disappear in a gust of smoke,” she taunted, waiting to see if he was even paying her any attention, or even better, waiting to see if he would indeed disappear in a gust of smoke. If her magic had returned, he would.

  “That’s nice,” he said softly, still writing furiously, as the candles flickered at his side.

  He flourished his signature on the paper, folded it, and then added his wax seal. He suddenly stared up at her, and caught and held her gaze, as a shiver raced up and then back down her spine.

  “You are in fact a Frenchwoman. What pray tell makes you believe that your family will even welcome the sight of you?” he demanded, deliberately goading her into another temper tantrum.

  But she would not amuse him, by taking a fit. Instead, she stared at him with saddened eyes, and began playing with the bedclothes. She shivered slightly, and was brought back to reality as she realized that she was still sitting in naught but her towel.

  “You may wear one of my dressing gowns,” he said, casting his eyes to the end of the bed. It was eerie how he could somehow guess what she was thinking.

  She reached for the dressing gown, and carefully wrapped it around herself, still safely covered by the towel. Once she had tied the dressing gown, she pulled the towel off and tossed it aside.

  His eyes seemed to be rooted to her, and it was both disturbing and arousing at the same time.

  “It matters not what you think or say. You are only seeking to deliberately hurt my feelings. I am not as stupid as you may think. And contrary to what you may think I am no French spy, so pray let us drop that matter once and for all,” she murmured, almost coughing in reaction to her own spoken lie.

  She noticed his jaw flinch and his eyes narrow at her. Obviously, he believed that she was a fork-tongued speaker of falsehoods.

  “Nevertheless, I will not trust your word as far as I can throw you. There was one point in time where I would have trusted you as much as I trusted my own family and indeed, when my mother and your family proposed the match between us, I balked at it but I was not completely reviled by it, I think I had resigned myself to the fact by the time that Pierre snatched you, and now, well I can’t trust you as far as I could throw you because you are not the same person I used to know.”

  How could she have softened her heart to him? Why did she ever allow her defenses to weaken around him? He was a devious, black-hearted man, and she hoped that he rotted in hell for all of his trespasses against her. The thought that she had once adored him made her stomach clench uncomfortably.

  “Do as you like. I can hardly be expected to change your mind. In my experience, no man ever changes. The best that can be expected by the woman is that he will
only shrivel into a bitter angry old man. And then, if true justice is served, he shall die a sad and lonely death.” She wanted to pull her derrière off of this bed, and walk straight over to him, and shake her fist in his face. She wanted to tell him that he was on a road headed straight for damnation, and that there wasn’t a bloody thing she could do about it.

  She let out a great yawn, and winced when his eyes fell back on her. They were filled with that intense carnal hunger she had glimpsed when he had brought her to the bed. It quickly faded, as he set his missive aside.

  “You are exhausted. You should take some of the laudanum that Theo gave you. This day has been hell for you. You cheated death today when Elphinstone pulled you out of the English Channel.” Her eyes flashed, and her fists sank into the mattress, as she turned her head away. She would not give him the satisfaction of losing her temper. There was no bloody way that she would inflate his self-serving ego, any more than it already was.

  “Duchess, you may stay up all night if you like, but I shall be retiring shortly.” He moved over to the side of the bed, and began stripping his clothes off.

  She quickly shielded her eyes with her hands, and let out a long shuddering breath. Bastard, how much did he expect her to take without completely losing it?

  “No, I will retire to my bed as well, which just happens to be this one,” she said, painfully kneeling by the side of the bed, while she averted her eyes, from his manly torso that he had just revealed.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart stalled. But she would not commit a sin by staring at him in his half nakedness. She bent her head, and began to pray in a low voice that she knew he would not overhear.