Bertrice Small

by Unconquered

  “For a brief time,” admitted Jared. “She’s beautiful and she’s sexually insatiable, but Lord, she’s boring! I enjoy bedsport, but I like to be able to talk to a woman, too.”

  “You are a radical fellow,” chuckled Henry Temple. “Most men would be delighted—quite delighted—with Gillian as she is.” His eyes grew serious as he said, “Mr. Bramwell, have you any idea who Lady Abbott’s contact is?”

  “I’ve had her closely watched, m’lord,” answered Roger Bramwell, “but she knows so many people and goes so many places. I believe that her contact is someone in society, and that she is passing on information at social gatherings—probably verbally. I can see no other way. I will begin to concentrate on people she sees at social gatherings.”

  “I cannot understand why she does it,” remarked Lord Palmerston, shaking his head.

  “Money,” said Jared drily. “Gillian is greedy.”

  “What is your plan, Mr. Bramwell, once we are certain of our man?”

  “We will plant information with Lady Abbott. The first piece will be accurate, though of little importance. That will help us identify our quarry. The second piece will be all wrong. Once passed on, it will pinpoint our ringleader, for certain, and you can then make your arrest.”

  Lord Palmerston nodded and then said slowly, “You realize, Jared, that you must be the one to trap the lady.”

  “Absolutely not!” exclaimed Jared. “I will not involve myself with Gillian Abbott again.”

  “Jared, you must! You are under secret presidential orders to help us stop Bonaparte. Madison realized that the French tricked him into that blockade, but he realized it too late. He wants you for this assignment.”

  “With all due respect, Henry, my orders were to go to St. Petersburg and convince the Tzar that his best interests lie with England and America instead of with France. Nobody said I had to bed Gillian Abbott. And if I do, she will trumpet it all over London, making sure my wife hears it first. Miranda is young and proud, and deucedly independent. She is already aware that I partook of Gillian’s favors when I was a bachelor. She will have my hide if I become involved with that bitch again.” Miranda nodded vigorously in her hidey-hole. “Besides all that … I love Miranda.”

  “I did not think you were a man to be henpecked,” remarked Lord Palmerston smoothly.

  “Ouch!” Jared grinned ruefully. “Nice try, Henry, but my wife means more to me than my pride. Why me, anyway?”

  “Because we cannot involve anyone else in this, Jared. If we do, we risk the chance of someone finding out. Look, Jared, though Lord Liverpool may be the new Prime Minister, it’s Lord Castlereagh, our foreign secretary, who’s the real power behind the throne. And God help us, for he’s a madman. Poor Prinny may be a connoisseur of fine art, but he don’t know how to pick a decent government.

  “Lord Castlereagh is a narrow, obstinate man who’s never been on the right side of any issue. It’s true he hates Boney, and works hard for his downfall, but he does so for all the wrong reasons. I may be a Tory politician, and Secretary of War in a Tory government, but before all else, I’m a loyal Englishman.”

  “In other words, Henry, what we’re doing has no official sanction.”

  “None.”

  “And if either side stumbles onto our scheme, the government will fail to acknowledge us.”

  “Yes.”

  There was a long deep silence. Miranda heard only the crackling of logs in the hearth. At last Jared said, “I am either a great fool or a great patriot, Henry.”

  “Then you’ll do it?”

  “Reluctantly,” Jared sighed.

  “I suppose I can’t go to Russia until our spy is caught. Bram, pour us another tot.”

  “Not for me,” said Palmerston. “I must appear in several other places tonight in order to perfect my alibi. Anyone who saw us leave White’s together will hear I was in Watier’s afterward, and no suspicion will fall on either of us.”

  “I’ll see you out, then,” said Jared, rising and moving to the door.

  “No,” Lord Palmerston waved him away. “Mr. Bramwell will see me out a side door, Jared. It’s best I not be recognized leaving your house.” Lord Palmerston held out his hand, and Jared shook it.

  “Good night, Henry.”

  The door closed behind Roger Bramwell and Henry Temple. Left alone, Jared Dunham gazed mournfully into the fire. “Damn!” he said softly. Then he called up into the loft, “Come down, wildcat.”

  “How did you know I was here?” she cried, making her way down the steps.

  “I have very keen hearing, my dear. Why didn’t you come down instead of remaining hidden? You heard some rather sensitive matters.”

  “Come down and greet your guests like this, m’lord?” She twirled, her arms flung wide.

  He looked through the sheer silk Circassian wrapper to the pearly sheen of firm thighs, rounded buttocks, and young breasts, their nipples a dark beacon. Then he laughed. “Your point is well taken, wildcat, but now we have a problem. Can you keep all this a secret? For so it must remain.” He sounded as serious as Miranda had ever heard him sound.

  “Am I some idle London society gossip?” she demanded.

  “No, my darling, of course you’re not. Don’t be insulted. But you have heard things you really shouldn’t have.”

  “Are you a spy?” she asked bluntly.

  “No, I’m not, and I never have been, Miranda. I work quietly and behind the scenes for peace with honor. I am first, and always, an American. Napoleon has worked assiduously to destroy relations between America and England, for while we squabble he is free to plunder Europe. He is the real enemy, but politicians often cannot see beyond apparent causes.”

  “Lord Palmerston said you have a presidential commission.”

  “Well … not directly. I’ve never met President Madison. John Quincy Adams is the intermediary in this matter. Soon I will go to Russia to try and convince the Tzar that his best interests lie with the Americans and the English. Tzar Alexander had already been badly misinformed by Boney.”

  “And where does your friend Lady Abbott figure in all this?”

  Jared chose to ignore the bait. “She’s part of a French spy ring operating here in London. We need to know who the ringleader is, and put him out of commission. Unless we do, my mission isn’t safe. It wouldn’t do for Napoleon to know what I was up to in Russia, would it?”

  “Do you have to make love to her?”

  “Probably, yes,” he said. He saw no way to deal with this problem except directly.

  “I hate her!” Miranda cried.

  Jared rose and took his wife in his arms. “Oh, my darling darling,” he said softly, “I will not enjoy it. Having known you, how could I enjoy her? She is vulgar and coarse, while you are perfection itself.”

  Miranda sighed. He was a man of character, and he would do his duty. After some moments she disengaged herself and moved to the other side of the room. She stood facing him and said quietly, “How can I help you?”

  “Oh, wildcat,” he said hoarsely. “I am beginning to think I am not half as worthy of you as I should be.”

  “I love you!” she said simply.

  “I love you!”

  “Then tell me how I may help you, Jared,” she repeated.

  “By not divulging to anyone the conversation you heard here tonight and by keeping your ears open for any tittle-tattle you think might be of interest to me,” he answered her.

  “Very well, you have my word on it,” she said. “Now can we go to bed?”

  Some time later, as they lay together in the heat of passion, she pushed him over onto his back. “Why?” she demanded, straddling him. “Why should the man always ride and the woman be ridden?” Then Miranda impaled herself on his rock-hard shaft. He groaned, and his hands reached up to fondle her breasts. She sought to find the right rhythm, and then rode him like a young Diana. She drove him hard, seeming to take great pleasure from his helplessness. Suddenly his male vanity rebel
led and, reaching out, he grasped her round little buttocks in a hard grip. She wiggled wildly to break his hold, but he held her adamantly and then the cresting waves overtook them both at once.

  When she had caught her breath she finally rolled away from him and said, “Remember me, when you find yourself forced to make love to that female.”

  “Oh, wildcat, I am hardly likely to forget you,” he whispered, and her happy laughter rang in his ears for a long, long time.

  Her words came back to haunt him. They went to a ball at Lady Jersey’s several nights later, and after greeting their hostess they passed into her crowded, noisy ballroom. Just a shade smaller than Almack’s ballroom, it easily contained a thousand guests. Decorated in white and gold, the ballroom had exquisite plaster designs, and was lit by eight Waterford chandeliers. The long French windows were framed by yellow-sprigged, white satin draperies. Large brass cachepots containing yellow and white rose trees were placed at intervals throughout the ballroom. The musicians had been placed upon a raised dais, which was backed and hemmed slightly on the sides by tall green palms and rose trees. Around the sides of the room were plenty of gilt chairs upholstered in rose silk so that the weary might take their ease while destroying the reputations of their dearest friends.

  As Miranda and Jared entered the ballroom the first person to see them was Beau Brummel, and he immediately took it upon himself to further Miranda’s career in London society. The Beau was a tall, elegant man with sandy hair, exquisitely styled, and sharp blue eyes with a perpetually amused expression in them, if one were only wise enough to look closely. He had a high forehead and a long nose, and if his lips appeared to sneer, it was only because they were narrow. He had started the fashion of black evening dress, and he wore it well.

  Brummel moved to greet Miranda, his cultivated voice deliberately pitched to reach those around them. Catching Miranda’s hand, he slowly raised it and brushed it with cool lips.

  “Now, madam, I know the Americas are the real home of the gods, for thou art a veritable goddess. I am at your feet, divine one.”

  “Oh never, Mr. Brummel! Such a posture would ruin the cut of your magnificent coat, and I would never forgive myself,” retorted Miranda.

  “By God, a wit to match the face! I believe I am in love. Come, goddess, I shall introduce you to all the right and wrong people. You do not mind, m’lord? No, of course you don’t.” He swept Miranda away, leaving Jared standing alone. But not for long.

  “My, my, my,” Jared heard the familiar purring voice, “it would seem the Beau is determined to make your little bride a succès fou.”

  Jared forced his face into a smile and turned to face Gillian Abbott. She was dressed in a transparent black silk gown, and was entirely naked beneath it. Around her neck was a diamond necklace that flashed blue fire with her every movement. His eyes raked her cooly and slowly, and he feigned admiration.

  “You don’t leave anything to the imagination, do you, Gillian?”

  “But I have managed to get your attention, haven’t I, Jared?” she shot back.

  “Dear girl, I don’t believe for one minute that you wore that gown with only me in mind.”

  “I did!” she protested. “I had no intention of coming tonight until Lady Jersey told me you would be here. Perhaps now the novelty of that virtuous infant you married has worn off. I am ready to forgive you your conduct toward me, Jared, for I have learned that you were forced into marriage with that child.” She leaned forward, pressing against his hard arm. He looked down her gown, as of course he was meant to do. How obvious and how boring she is, thought Jared. “Has the novelty worn off, my darling?” she persisted.

  “Perhaps it has, Gillian,” he murmured, sliding an arm around her waist.

  “I knew it!” Gillian Abbott’s voice was triumphant, and she shot him a sultry look from beneath her heavily mascara’d black lashes. “Take me out into the garden, Jared darling.”

  “In time, Gillian. Firstly you must waltz with me.” Taking her in his strong arms, he whirled her off while across the room Miranda watched, heartsick.

  “Come now, goddess,” chided Beau Brummel softly, “it’s not fashionable to love one’s husband. The best marriages are generally made in lawyer’s rooms, not in Heaven.”

  “To hell with fashion,” muttered Miranda ominously. Then, remembering that she meant to help Jared, she laughed lightly. “I do not begrudge m’lord his toys, Mr. Brummel—I merely question his taste.”

  “Oh, goddess, what a very sharp tongue you have,” laughed the Beau. “Look! There’s Byron. Would you like to meet him?”

  “Not particularly. His poetry bores me silly,” she replied.

  “Dear girl, you really do have taste! Ah, well, we cannot begrudge the ton their season’s seven-day wonder, can we?”

  “Where is Lady Caroline Lamb?” asked Miranda. “I understand she is his special friend?”

  “Ah yes, Caro. She was not invited tonight. That was a special favor to Lady Melbourne, her mother-in-law. I understand, however, that she is outside dressed as one of Byron’s linkboys. Such a madcap, dear Caro. Come, goddess, and I shall introduce you to Lady Melbourne. She really is quite a marvelous creature.”

  Jared and Gillian left the lighted ballroom for Lady Jersey’s dark garden. The night air was soft and warm, and a million stars glittered. As they strolled through the garden they saw dark, anonymous shapes embracing. Lady Abbott, her sense of direction perfected by familiarity, led Jared to a small, secluded summer house. They no sooner entered it than she was in his arms, her avid red mouth demanding his.

  His instinct was to push her away, but his mission drove Miranda from his mind, and he kissed Gillian Abbott as he knew she expected to be kissed. He was savage, almost cruel, which drove her wild. Panting, she pulled away and tore off her gown, laying it over the rail of the summer house. He could see her translucent body gleaming in the darkness, and in his memory he saw the heavy, cone-shaped breasts, a tiny waist, wide hips, and the full, dark red mound. Reaching out, he pulled her back in his arms, fondling her breasts, pinching the big, brown nipples, making her squeal. “Jesus, you’re a hot bitch, Gillian,” he whispered.

  “And you wouldn’t have me any other way, Jared,” she murmured huskily.

  “How many men have you fucked since we were last together?” he demanded.

  “No gentleman would ask a lady such a question,” she pouted.

  “I’m no gentleman, I’m a Yankee. And you’re certainly no lady.” His lips came down again on hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. She sucked on it hungrily. He pushed her down onto the settee, his hand finding her wet and throbbing sex. He put two fingers into her, moving them quickly until her love juices bedewed his hand.

  “Oh, God,” she panted, “I do adore you, Jared!”

  He laughed. “You adore any stud who scratches that uncontrollable itch of yours, Gillian.” He lay back and she knelt alongside the settee. She undid his breeches and released his organ, which she took into her mouth. He was hard within moments and moved over her, forcing her onto her back. He grasped her plump buttocks tightly and jogged her hard and fast. She climaxed half a dozen times before he took his release.

  It was over quickly and he said coolly, “Put on your dress, Gillian. Someone may happen along.”

  “You weren’t thinking about that a moment ago,” she chortled.

  “No, I wasn’t,” he returned. “I was actually thinking about some news I learned today.”

  “I expect you to think only of me when we’re together,” she pouted, smoothing her gown.

  He straightened his own clothes. “This was very important. It was something Henry Temple told me.”

  “What is more important than us?” she demanded.

  “I trust you can keep a secret,” he said, “though it will soon enough be public knowledge. My country has formally declared war on yours.”

  “Oh, pooh! England and America are always declaring war on each other,” she sai
d.

  “Bonaparte should be delighted,” remarked Jared casually.

  “He should? Why?” Her voice was suddenly sharp.

  “He wanted it to happen. I imagine that whoever brings him the news will be well rewarded. Come now, Gillian, we must get back to the ballroom before a prolonged absence makes us a scandal.”

  “Afraid your milk-and-water wife will find out about us?” she taunted him. “I intend for her to learn that I am your mistress once more, now that you’ve tired of her. She’ll pay for that set-down she gave me at Almack’s!”

  “Gillian! Gillian!” he lamented. “How many times have I told you not to be obvious? You could have a far sweeter revenge if you kept our relationship to yourself. Then, each time you saw Miranda, you could laugh to yourself, knowing something she did not know. That would be the clever way, but I imagine you will not be content unless you can babble our secret to the ton.”

  “I can be clever!” she protested, but he laughed mockingly. As they entered the ballroom once again and he bowed over her hand, she demanded, “When will I see you again?”

  “Soon,” he answered noncommittally, and walked away without another word.

  He entered the supper room and sought a glass of champagne. He quaffed it in two gulps, then took another. He stood in a dim corner, staring vacantly, letting his mind wander. He had behaved disgustingly, but, by God, he’d done his job! He shuddered lightly. He was either getting a conscience or getting too old for this sort of game. Then he smiled to himself. The wildcat had certainly spoiled him for other women!

  “A penny for them, Jared.”

  “It’s done, Henry.”

  “During your sojourn in the garden?”

  “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “Actually I didn’t see you go. It was Emily. She was distressed, for she likes your wife.”

  “I was far more distressed,” replied Jared, “for I like my wife, too. Gillian Abbott is a feral animal and she disgusts me. I did my duty by my beliefs and yours, and I hope we can end this thing soon.”

  “We will, old friend, I promise you,” said Lord Palmerston sympathetically, and then walked away.