by Renee Rose
“I mean you no harm,” he said in a low voice in Miss Hunt’s ear. “I just wish to speak with you in private. Will you grant me a few minutes?”
He had picked her lock and hidden inside her room, desperate to talk to her before his world fell apart around his ears. If it did. She had not told anyone yet—which could prove her guilt. Or it could mean he had shamed her too deeply to speak of it, a thought which agonized him.
His palm covered her mouth to prevent her from calling for help. When she attempted to nod, he eased his hand away, keeping his arm about her waist, her back against his torso.
“As you have likely guessed, I am a Billings Street spy. I found certain incriminating papers in a hidden sleeve of your trunk.”
She twisted her neck and he loosened his grip on her waist, turning her shoulders to face him. She looked well-prepared to defend herself this time, her brows drawn together in indignation. “You know I had nothing to do with—”
“Your maid left abruptly yesterday. Did she tell you where she was going?”
He had not intended to interrogate her again, but the words rose to his lips from years of practice, coming more easily than the apology he feared she would not accept.
Her mouth fell open. “You think Lottie—?” She swayed on her feet, offering him the delightful opportunity to tighten his grasp and draw her closer. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, I suppose it could be her—she has not been in my employ long, and I know little of her background.”
She could be acting, but her words struck him as sincere. He drew a breath, knowing he must make his attempt. “Miss Hunt… there is no excuse for the way I treated you. I made a terrible mistake. I cannot hope you will forgive it, but I do hope you… well—”
What did he hope? She would throw her arms around his neck and kiss him? Yes. But barring the impossible… He supposed he hoped she would not suffer overmuch from the memory of what he had done.
“You have not reported my behavior to anyone. I am grateful and yet,” he struggled for words, “I hope it is not… shame that kept you silent. The guilt is all mine. Only mine.”
Her eyes filled with tears, which she blinked back.
His heart twisted. She had been humiliated. He had violated her innocence just as if he had raped her.
He cupped her face in his hand. “I beg you to turn me in. You have nothing for which you should be ashamed.”
“If it had been anyone else, I would have turned you in immediately,” she said, drawing herself up.
It took a moment for her words to sink in and when they did, a rushing in his ears nearly deafened him. He snatched up her hand and held it to his heart. “Does that mean,” he asked, his voice cracking, “you do feel something for me?”
“Yes, my lord,” she said, then corrected herself. “I mean, yes, sir.”
He crushed her lips with his, capturing the back of her head to hold her still for his plundering. “Sweet Elizabeth,” he rasped upon breaking the kiss.
“Eliza,” she corrected.
“Sweet Eliza.” He claimed her mouth once more, licking into her lips, sampling the intoxicating feel of her shy response.
He dragged her to the bed, sitting down and pulling her to sit upon his knee. “Will you ever forgive me? You must have been so confused, so frightened.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb.
Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “I might forgive you when I can sit again.”
He chuckled, his hand wandering to the upper part of her bottom available to stroke while she sat. Feeling the shape of her buttocks, his cock surged to attention. He remembered the way she had looked with her twin moons exposed, the sweet honey of her arousal dripping down her leg. He had enjoyed whipping her. God help him, he had loved it. The little cries and gasps she made, the red stripes across her pale skin. Why on earth should a man enjoy giving pain? He had always known there was something wrong with him.
But no, she had been aroused too. And here she sat upon his knee without protest, agreeing to be courted by him. She may be sulking, but she could not have minded overmuch or she would not welcome him back.
He gave her bottom another squeeze, then as lust shot through him, thrust her from his lap, standing up. “I had better leave your room before I do something even less proper,” he said in a rough voice.
He leaned down to give her a quick peck on the lips. “When this is all over, I will speak to your father,” he promised. Pressing his ear against the door, he made certain of the corridor’s desertion before slipping out her door, his cock aching with need.
Chapter Three
“Darling, your father has some news for you,” her mother greeted her when she returned from her morning walk, which, quite disappointingly, had not been interrupted by a dapper young Billings Street spy.
Her mother wore a bright glint in her eye, as if excited about whatever her father had to tell her.
“Yes, Father?”
“Come, let us go into the library,” he suggested, giving her a wink.
A tremor of excitement ran through her. Had Darlington already asked for her hand? She clutched her skirts in her hands, swishing through the doorway.
“A gentleman has expressed interest in courting you, my dear,” her father said when he and her mother had sat on a settee and she took the chair beside it.
“Oh?” she asked, trying to sound innocent.
“Yes. He is not certain whether his advances would be welcome, but he seems quite smitten with you.”
Her pulse raced and she struggled to keep a smile from erupting on her face.
“Well, what did you say?”
“Do you not wish to know who it is first?”
Oh, of course. She should not know yet. She quieted her fingers tangling in her lap. “Well, yes! Who is it?”
“Lord Auburn.”
It took her three full seconds to comprehend her father’s words and when she did, her jaw dropped. “Lord Auburn?”
Her mother beamed. “How wonderful, dear.”
A mixture of anger and fear shot through her. “No,” she spluttered. “It is not wonderful!”
“Well, why not?”
“Because,” she said, her cheeks getting hot. “Because he—well, he—”
“He told me he had made advances too soon,” her father interjected. “He feared he had put you off and he apologized to me for it.”
“Apologized to you?” she repeated, her temples throbbing. “He has not apologized to me, nor has he ever even attempted polite conversation! And if he is interested in me, it is only because of your wealth, not out of any real desire to spend a life with me.”
“Eliza, how could you say such a thing?” her mother admonished.
“It is truth!”
“Surely not. He is charming, and seems quite sincere. Just because you do not hold a high opinion of yourself—”
“That is not why!” she cut in, her voice raised.
“Calm yourself, Eliza,” her father broke in with quiet command.
“I will not! Well, what did you tell him, Father?”
“Well, I did not realize you would not be receptive to his courtship,” her father said, a note of condemnation in his tone.
She scowled. “I am telling you, he was improper. He tried to kiss me in this very library. Lord Darlington rescued me from it, else I do not know what should have happened. Perhaps his plan was to compromise me so you had to give my hand?”
Both her parents stared at her as if she had two heads.
“Lord Auburn cautioned me about Lord Darlington as well. He does not believe the man is what he seems.”
She struggled to quiet her breath, teeth clenched. “Lord Darlington is a fine gentleman, whether or not he is as he seems,” she asserted.
“What does that mean? Eliza, you are being an absolute goose!” her mother said, looking sorry for her.
“No, I am not. You are!” she said, jumping to her feet. “I do not wish to be courted by Lord Auburn. I will not marry a man
who lacks so fully in courtesy.”
“Eliza—” her father’s deep voice followed her from the room, but she heard him sigh in resignation when she reached the door, so she did not turn back to answer him.
Stepping into the corridor, she avoided the gathering of guests forming in the parlour, escaping to the gardens for another solitary walk. She could not be more disappointed. Lord Auburn had asked for permission to court her? The very idea of it made her want to slap his face!
She walked for over an hour, until her heartbeat had calmed and her breath reached its full capacity, or at least that allowed by her corset. Walking back, she considered her situation. Darlington would have to speak to her parents soon. But would they accept him over Lord Auburn? Perhaps, as Lord Darlington, but as a spymaster? Was he even a spymaster, or just a spy? His natural authority made her assign the title of spymaster to him, but she did not know. His annual income could not be so very high. Still, she did not care. Her father had plenty if she ever needed for anything, and she was his only child after all. But would he approve such a match? He had always been ambitious—working all hours of the day to build his empire. He had ambitions for her, as well. And marrying into the ton would have been a coup de grace for him.
When she returned, she avoided the lawn games, creeping into the library to select a book with the plan of escaping to her room. She simply could not stand the pressure of society at the moment.
“Are you hiding?” Darlington’s rich baritone caused her to jump.
“No. Well, yes, perhaps.” She looked over her shoulder, giving him a shy smile.
“Why? I have missed your company.”
His words pleased her, but the stress of the morning kept her from giving into his charm. “Lord Darlington, what are your intentions with me?”
“I intend to court you, when this affair has been resolved. I thought you were agreeable.”
“You do not have to, you know,” she blurted.
He raised his eyebrows.
“I mean,” she stumbled forward. “I know you think you compromised me in the gatehouse. So you must feel you owe me this. To save me from scandal? Or to make up to me the liberties you took… to keep me from telling my parents.”
He closed the distance between them in two long strides, his brows drawn together, a dark look on his face. “What are you saying, Eliza?”
She shivered at the sound of her given name on his tongue. “I am saying—you need not. I am not compromised. My innocence is still intact and I promise you I will tell no one what happened between us. You need not feel obligated—”
“Obligated?” he repeated, taking hold of her shoulders. “You think I wish to marry you out of a sense of duty? To restore your honor?”
She stared up at him, praying he would swear it false.
He did something more. He tugged her to the settee and sat upon it, pulling her over his knees like a child. She understood his intention immediately and oddly, no part of her resisted. He threw her skirts and petticoat up her back and yanked the slit in her drawers open. Not until his palm smacked down did she struggle, the pain prompting a more suitable response.
His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her fast as his large hand continued to rain slaps upon her bare flesh.
“Ouch! Ow! Stop!” she exclaimed, dismayed by the sting. Her bottom had only recently stopped aching from his previous assault on her tender flesh. “Oh, dear!” The sharp slaps sounded too loud, worrying her they would be discovered. “Please! Someone will hear!”
* * *
“When you are silly, Eliza, I will spank you,” he said, surprising himself at his own gall. “Why would you decide between last night and today I do not love you?”
She stopped her kicking, making a low whimper as she lay still, as if to hear more.
“You heard me,” he said, beginning a fresh volley of slaps. “I love you, dear Eliza. I wish to marry you. I thought you also had feelings for me.”
“I do!” she cried, her sweet bottom wriggling all over his lap to dodge his blows. The creamy white skin had taken on a pretty blush, the sight of which gave him a heady sense of virile power. Knowing Eliza was—or would soon be—his to adore and to chastise nearly made him dizzy with excitement.
“What made you doubt me?” he asked, still spanking at a steady pace.
“I—I do not know!”
He spanked harder. “Not acceptable! I think, Eliza, you have a tendency to question your worth. And I am not going to allow it anymore.”
“Ohhh-oh!” her muffled replied accompanied a wiggle against his hardened cock.
He bit back a groan, pausing to run his hand over her heated skin. “I plan to teach you just how spectacular I find you,” he said, appreciation of her charms thickening his voice. “And when you forget, I will remind you with a firm hand,” he said, delivering three of his hardest smacks.
She yelped.
“In fact, the next time you forget it, I will spank you with a strap,” he promised. About to close her drawers, he paused as the scent of her arousal reached him. Gazing between her legs at the alluring little lips peeking out, he saw they glistened with moisture.
Oh, God.
His fingers, normally steady in every kind of situation, trembled slightly as he stroked them down the slope of her shapely bottom to her thigh, then inward. His middle finger touched her sex and they both gasped. To his shock, she did not clamp her legs closed, nor issue a word of protest. In fact, her legs fell open and she lifted her bottom, encouraging his attentions.
He kept his contact feather-light, gliding over her moistened slit. His cock strained against her hip, his breath grew ragged. He slid the pad of his finger back up, applying enough pressure to excite her, as evidenced by her arching into his hand.
But the sound of two men’s voices caused them both to jolt. She tumbled off his lap and he surged to his feet, lifting her from her knees as he stood. The door to the library opened and his disheveled lady walked swiftly toward it, curtsying to Lord Westerfield and her father before she swept out of the room without a backward glance.
Both men glowered at him as he kept his face blank.
“Come. The gentleman are going for a hunt,” Westerfield said, the command in his voice offering no possibility of begging off.
“Yes, my lord,” he acquiesced, following the older men out of the library.
Mr. Hunt and Lord Auburn were in the group, both seeming to eye him with suspicion. He kept his own senses alert, still hoping to ferret out the buyer of the plans, unless Charlotte Smith, Miss Hunt’s maid, had purchased them prior to hiding them, in which case he sought the seller. He sighed. His information provided little to go on.
The men shot ducks, two well-trained pointers darting forward on Westerfield’s command to startle the birds into flight. He lifted his rifle in the air, taking aim and shooting one. The dogs took off hunting all the fallen birds, but neither went in the direction his had fallen, so he trudged through the long grass in search of his mallard.
Finding it, he picked it up by the feet, but the poor bird had not died yet, flapping its wings in fright. He ended its misery with a swift twist of its neck, but before he could turn around to retrace his steps, the hard metal of a gun muzzle pressed against his ribs.
He could not account for reflexive action in the face of danger. Sometimes a man froze when he ought to fight, sometimes he fought when it would be safer to surrender. In this instance, without any thought at all, he dropped the duck, whirling and sidestepping as he snatched the gun by the barrel and swung it over head to strike his attacker. He stopped himself just in time.
Mr. Hunt had bent his knees, alert and ready to dodge the blow.
He sighed and lowered the weapon, handing it back. “Are you planning to shoot me, Hunt, or just threaten?”
The older man scowled and snatched the weapon back. “I want to know what the hell you were doing with my daughter in the library.”
He kept his expression unch
anged. “I wish to marry her.” He had not planned to approach Eliza’s parents until he could do so under his real identity, but he could not help declaring his intent.
Hunt’s brow furrowed. “What’s your game, Darlington?”
“There is no game.”
Eliza’s father’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you interested in my daughter?”
The question irritated him, though it may not have been a slight on Eliza. “Why would I not be interested?” he shot back. Ever suspicious, he considered whether Hunt could be his traitor, using his daughter’s trunk for transport. The man had looked unsurprised at the speed of his counterattack with the gun.
“Who are you really, Darlington?”
He narrowed his eyes. “A man who pursues justice,” he warned in case Hunt was his man.
“Do not close yourself in a room with my daughter again.”
He could not agree. If things went as he hoped—if Eliza was not a traitor playing him for a fool—he intended to close himself in rooms with her for the rest of his life. Yet offending her father would not serve his purpose. He chose to bow as an answer. Hunt glowered at him a moment more, then stalked away, carrying his rifle.
Westerfield, too, took him to task, summoning him into his office when they returned from the hunt. “I did not grant you access to my social event so you could court the ladies,” he hissed.
“No, my lord, nor was it my intention to play suitor to any lady.”
“So?”
He fingered the watch in his pocket. “One never knows when love might strike.”
He did not expect the answer to suffice, but a strange look flitted over Westerfield’s face. “No, one does not,” he agreed.
“Have you made any progress at all?”
Yes, and the woman I love is still a prime suspect.
“A bit. We recovered the papers, but do not have enough evidence to take anyone into custody yet.”
“I see. May I ask where you found the papers?”
He considered his host. Admitting Miss Hunt’s implication after just claiming to be in love with her would not recommend him as her suitor. “I regret I cannot tell you, my lord. I thank you for your patience. I still hope to discover something at the appointed meeting time tonight.”
