by Diana Quincy
“Lean over me,” he said gruffly. She did as he asked and he eased himself up to mouth her breasts, sucking on the tender points, giving them his full devotion. “I cannot wait. I have to be inside you.”
She reached over to kiss him, long and sensual, stroking her tongue against his with seductive intent. “Yes.”
He flipped their positions so that he was now on top. He relished the slide of their warm skin against each other. Holding her gaze, he took hold of his prick and guided himself between her thighs. She sighed when his engorged flesh pressed into her. She angled her hips to take him in, and he pushed into her with a decisive thrust. He was surprised to hear her grunt with pain. He felt too large and she too tight.
He looked into her eyes and registered the discomfort there. “Elle?”
“It is nothing.” She lifted her hips to take more of him. “It has been more than five years since I’ve lain with a man. I suppose my body will require time to adjust.”
Five years? Confusion clouded his mind, but then she wiggled under him and said. “I want more of you. Please.”
Every other thought fell away. Their gazes linked, and he began to move slowly inside of her until he felt her passage begin to relax and to welcome him. His heart ached with feeling as they looked into each other’s eyes, her slick tightness an erotic caress with every stroke. His tempo became more urgent as pressure and pleasure built from his core, until he was desperate to release himself into her.
His brain blanked when he came, and somewhere he heard her cry out too and felt her tremble beneath him. His heart pounding, a warm buzz spread throughout his body and a paradisiacal euphoria filled his head. He kissed her, long and full of tender meaning, emotion burgeoning in his chest at the intimacy of their coupling. This was the first completely true moment between them since he’d found her again.
Shifting to her side, he gathered her in his arms. As she snuggled into the warmth of his body and pressed a kiss to his chest, he experienced a profound sense of homecoming and wondered how long this unfettered honesty between them could last.
—
He didn’t bathe until morning, and she assisted, as promised, so he hardly noted the cooled water. As she massaged soap into his hair, he felt more relaxed and contented than he could remember.
“Elle.”
“Hmm?” she murmured sprinkling water over his hair to rinse it.
“You said last night that you haven’t been with anyone since…Laurent.” He couldn’t bring himself to call the man her husband. Even though Laurent was long gone to kingdom come, jealousy and resentment of the person who’d taken Elle from him still simmered in his gut. Any child of Elle’s should have been his, not some bloody Frenchman’s. “Is that true?”
She began to dry his hair with a cloth. “Yes.”
“So you and Duret never—”
She swatted him with the drying cloth. “No, never. I shudder to think of it.”
He caught the cloth and held fast to prevent another onslaught. “Most of Paris was under the impression that you were his mistress.”
“I thought I needed him to help me find Susanna so I indulged him.”
But what of the minder who’d seen Duret leave her house in the early morning hours, when most people were still at their breakfast? “But he visited your house alone?”
“Yes, he enjoyed stopping by unannounced for breakfast from time and time.” She bit her lush lower lip. “I suspect he would have taken matters further if he’d been able.”
He sat up straighter in the bath. “What do you mean?”
“Duret suffers from a war injury that has unmanned him.”
His eyes widened. “Are you saying he could not…perform?”
“So it is said.” She tilted her head. “Apparently, he has exhausted a fair number of strumpets across Paris who’ve tried to…resurrect his abilities.”
“How do you know this?”
“My attendant, Sophie. She might have been an abominable lady’s maid, but she was an excellent source of information.”
“So he didn’t touch you.” He exhaled, a deep sense of relief settling in his chest. He believed her. “Thank God for that.”
“Why?” she asked. “Do not tell me you were jealous.”
He grabbed her and pulled her into his lap, his heart full of love for her, not caring that her chemise was getting sopped. “I am jealous beyond reason at the thought of any man touching you.” And then he kissed her long and hard to stop any more maudlin admissions from escaping his foolish lips.
—
He had found passage to England late that day aboard a vessel delivering a shipment of cod to the port city of Salcombe. The wind was not in their favor, so the captain expected the voyage to take a day and a half.
Elle wrinkled her nose at the pungent odor of fish that permeated everything on board, including their narrow cabin with its single berth built into the far corner. “I may never eat fish again after this voyage.”
“What it doesn’t offer in comfort, it offers in security,” Will said, pacing the short length of the space as he surveyed the cabin, running his hands over the dark mahogany walls. “We are safe from Duret’s men here.”
“How do you know?” she asked, genuinely curious. “That French farmer almost betrayed us.”
“The farmer wasn’t one of mine.” He bent down to examine the lock on the cabin door. “The captain of this ship is.”
“One of yours? What does that mean exactly?”
“Information is the most powerful weapon we have against Napoléon. We engage the services of a number of individuals in our vast informational network who provide us with detailed and reliable reports.”
“Individuals such as ship captains.”
“Indeed. As well as merchants, customs officials, smugglers, post office workers, justices of the peace, tavern owners.” Will rattled off the list in an absentminded tone.
“What is it exactly that you do? You said Moineau reported to you.”
Will took out his picklock and fingered through the shafts on the ring. “I’m superintendent of a subsection of the Home Office known as the Alien Office.”
“The Alien Office?” She watched as he selected two shafts and inserted them into the lock. “Isn’t that the office that registers foreign visitors?”
“Yes. We do monitor the comings and goings of our guests from abroad, particularly the French émigrés.” He inserted a second pin with his other hand. “However, we also have a small, secret service subsection that undertakes a number of clandestine activities.”
“And you engage in these clandestine activities?”
There was a click in the lock. “There, that should fix it.” Will stood, shoving the picklock into his pocket. “I manage the Crown’s agent network.”
She stared at him, warmth swirling deep in her belly. “You’re a spymaster.”
“As was my uncle before me.” He pulled off his coat and placed it on a wooden bench built into the cabin wall. “It’s something of a family business for the younger sons.”
“You said before that you were called away after our night together. What sort of assignment was it?”
Perhaps sensing the deepening timbre of her voice, he finally turned to give her his full attention. “Two of our agents had fallen into the wrong hands and needed to be retrieved. I’m not at liberty to discuss the particulars.”
“What a pity.” She sashayed toward him, her body flushed all over as though she’d been dipped in a steaming bath.
His golden-green eyes widened. “Is it?”
“Most definitely.” She took both of his hands in hers, examining the long, strong fingers. They were a little rougher than a gentleman’s ought to be. Her eye caught on a faded scar that almost ran the full length of his thumb. “I wonder what these hands have done,” she mused. “They’ve certainly picked more than a few locks in their time.”
The cords in his throat moved. “A fair number.”
&nb
sp; She flattened the palms of her hands against his and raised their touching hands between them. “Have these hands killed? I wonder.”
“If they have, you can be assured it was only as a last resort.”
She smiled. “I see. Sort of a kill-or-be-killed scenario?”
“Something like that.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“It can be at times.”
“Are you Le Rasoir?
He stiffened. “What do you know of Le Rasoir?”
“I know he is an elite spy who has eluded discovery by the French. Duret believes you are Le Rasoir. He has the right of it, doesn’t he?”
He was silent for a moment before answering in a somber voice. “Yes. It’s a rather unfortunate sobriquet. I did not choose it.”
“I quite like it.” She licked her lips, her gaze locked with his. “I find it powerfully…arousing.”
A flush appeared beneath the light freckles sprinkled across the sharp planes of his cheeks. “Do you?”
“I didn’t think it possible to find you more appealing.” She interlaced her fingers with his and breathed his scent deep into her lungs. “I found you extraordinarily appealing when you were just a bookish clerk. But now—”
His voice was husky. “Your opinion has changed?”
“Most definitely.” She pulled her hands away from his to dig the tails of his shirt from his breeches. “I find the idea of you as a master of intrigue and leader of men very…exciting.” He lifted his arms as she pulled his linen shirt over his head and tossed it away.
He slammed the door shut behind him with a resounding bang. “Lady Elinor, you are full of surprises.”
“As are you.” She ran her hands up his arms and over his bare chest, marveling at the quiet power of his smooth, taut form covered with lightly defined curves of muscle. He carried no extra flesh to speak of. “This is definitely not the body of a clerk who stands at a desk all day.”
He removed his spectacles and placed them carefully on the bench with his tailcoat. “My work sometimes requires physical exertion.”
She ran a light finger over a fading scar high to the left of his rib cage. “I can imagine.” She put her lips to it, her tongue running over the raised puckered skin.
He inhaled sharply. “Perhaps I should have mentioned the exact nature of my work sooner.”
Her hand slid down over his flat, steel stomach to his burgeoning erection. He felt hard and warm against her palm as she rubbed him through the rough fabric of his breeches. “It’s a pity you didn’t.”
His breathing deepened as he watched her unfasten his breeches. “Had I known how you’d react like this, I definitely would have.”
She pulled his smallclothes out of the way so she could take the long, hard length of him into her hands. His member was warm, with satiny soft skin surrounding its iron strength. She stroked with strong, sure motions.
“So, my spymaster.” She knelt before him and smiled through half-lowered lids. “How will you command me?”
Chapter 14
His eyes flashed as he looked down at her on her knees before him. “Are you mine to command as I see fit? You’ve never been particularly biddable before.”
“In this I assure you I am.” She ran a light finger along the impressive length of his erection, and leaned closer. “Ask anything of me. Anything at all.”
Warring expressions crossed his flushed face, desire certainly. As well as reluctance to ask for what he wanted.
Her husband had introduced her to this kind of bed play and had guided her into doing it well. She’d enjoyed the openness and experimentation Laurent had brought to the marriage bed. But those intimacies, while pleasurable, had lacked the intensity of feeling and urgency that characterized her couplings with Will.
With her husband, she’d always held a part of herself aloof because her heart had truly belonged to another man. Now that she was finally with Will again, she wanted to give everything of herself. Holding his hard flesh, she guided the soft tip of his shaft against the outline of her lips.
He gasped. “Elle!”
She smiled against his private flesh and took him into her mouth.
“Good God.” Shock vibrated from the words as he fell back against the door. Yet, at the same time he undulated against her, silently urging her to take more, his body seemingly at war with the gentlemanly part of his mind.
She obliged, taking as much of him as she could manage, running her tongue over the soft-hard texture of his shaft, reveling in its musty scent. She wrapped her fingers around the beautiful length of him and stroked, her fist meeting her lips in a rhythmic motion. She lightly scraped her teeth against his sensitive flesh, her tongue gliding behind. He half-cursed, half-moaned, and gripped her head as she used the combination of her mouth, tongue, and hands to bring him to the edge of his control.
She took in the sight of his glorious form as she gave him pleasure, the tension in his body emphasizing the neat muscles rippling down his arms and chest to the hard plane of his belly. Dark copper hair dusted his broad chest, and his head was tilted back against the door, his face flushed, his strong features contorted into an expression of delicious agony. She’d never quite realized how beautiful Will was; he’d masked the depth of his virility and physical appeal behind spectacles and a studious manner.
He abruptly pulled away and reached for her. She felt a flash of surprised excitement at the easy strength with which he lifted her from the ground and turned to press her up against the door. He kissed her hard, almost harshly, in his passion. She reveled in it, threading her hands through his hair to hold him tight to her as their tongues tangled.
He lifted her up against the door and shoved her skirt to her waist. She curled her legs around his hips as his fingers went to the place between her legs and stroked the wet flesh there. She cried out when he entered her with one strong motion. Totally consumed, he stroked in and out of her with rough urgency, the movements causing a loud rhythmic thump each time he drove farther into her, pinning her to the wall with vigorous force. Pressure, unbearable and delicious, welled within her. He buried his face in her breasts, and with a long low grunt shuddered hard against her as his seed shot high into her womb.
She cried out when a powerful climax shuddered through her. Her heart pounded and the sensitive flesh between her legs pulsed insistently around the beautiful length of him. She realized her cheeks were wet; she was weeping.
Years of deeply held hurt, need, want, and love seemed to cascade from her body, leaving her limp and light. She felt completely satiated for the first time since Will had loved her on that long-ago evening when she’d become a woman and he’d indelibly marked her as his forever.
—
Will lay in the cramped berth, listening to Elle’s soft breaths as she slept beside him. The boat rocked gently, and a slice of bright afternoon light shone in through the small cabin window. Tucking one arm behind his head, he pulled Elle’s soft sleeping form tighter against him and brushed a kiss on her hair-tousled head.
His prick twitched at the sultry memory of her lips wrapped around him and at her obvious pleasure in giving him an incredible gift that few ladies of her station would even consider. She’d known what she was about, too. Her apparent enthusiasm for the act suggested she’d willingly done the same for Laurent. Pressure bore down on his chest at the thought of Elle loving another man; the image of her using her lips and body to pleasure her highborn husband made him want to ram his fist into the nearest wall.
“What is it?” Elle’s voice, raspy with sleep, sounded beside him.
Had he said something? “What is what?”
“You’re growling.”
“Am I?” His lips caught hers in a gentle kiss. “I must have been dreaming.”
She ran the tip of her finger over the bridge of his nose. “Your nose is not as straight as it used to be. Did you break it?”
He nodded. “When I was on assignment in Tangiers.”
“Tangiers? Sounds exotic.” She burrowed more deeply into him, her soft form flush against his, offering warm skin-on-skin contact. “I hope whoever gave it to you fared much worse.” He had, but Will thought it best not to share the details. “Will?”
“Hmmm?” he murmured, relishing the feel of her supple flesh against his.
“Why did you ask me if I knew Sparrow?”
His stomach tightened. “Beg pardon?”
“Twice you asked me if I knew him.”
“I thought perhaps since you have become acquainted with many people through your routs—”
“No.” She shook her head. “I think you assumed I knew him through Duret.”
“It seemed a distinct possibility.” Relishing the newfound intimacy between them, he resolved never to lie to her again, no matter what the cost.
“You thought perhaps I worked with Duret to trap Moineau.” She perched her upper body up on her elbow to meet his gaze. “I didn’t. I swear it. He was going to bring my daughter to me. I would never want him hurt. Never.”
He ran a hand over the curve of her shoulder. “I believe you.”
She stopped short. “You do?”
He brushed a kiss across her cheek, his chest aching with the depth of his feeling for her. “Yes.”
She smiled, happy and brilliant, and climbed over him.
His hand grazed over her bare back down to her bottom as she left the bed. “Where are you going?”
She stooped to the floor and grabbed her chemise, yanking it over her head to cover herself. “To clarify matters.”
He shifted onto his side to watch her, grateful that the French-style chemise left her smooth, long legs bare to his appreciative inspection. “Why don’t you do that here in bed next to me, preferably unclothed?”
She picked up her boned, white cotton stays. “Where is your picklock?”
He gestured toward his tailcoat. “In the pocket. Why? Do you intend to break out of here?”
She strode over and retrieved the ring of small metal shafts. “It is time for the suspicion and distrust between us to end.” She used the most sturdy of the metal pins to tear at the narrow pocket that ran down the front of the stays.
