A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors

by Michelle Willingham

  FEN WATCHED UNCERTAINTY flit across Andromeda’s flushed face, battling with her desire. Good—he wanted her as confused as she was aroused. God only knew he was confused as well, and they both faced he knew not what tomorrow.

  “When it comes to love, you’ll just have to believe me,” he said.

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her hard. He shifted under her, rubbing his hard cock against her through the fabric of her breeches. He broke the kiss, watching as her eyes glazed over with lust.

  No, this wouldn’t prove that he loved her, but at the moment, he didn’t care.

  She didn’t know what to think, but nor did she care, at least for now—she just wanted to take him before he changed his mind. She kissed him, and his mouth opened beneath hers, and his tongue caressed hers. His large, hot hands took hold of her bum, separating it slightly, and he moved beneath her again, and she shuddered with pleasure and heat.

  “Warm enough now, love?” he said, with a sound between a laugh and a growl, and then they were rolling together on the hearthrug, kissing, kissing, kissing some more, until both were flushed and panting.

  “Let’s rid ourselves of these clothes.” He stood, pulling her with him, shed his coat and peeled hers off as well. “I want to see every splendid inch of you.”

  Once again, unease pricked at her. An hour ago, she’d been competent and strong and proud—no perfect lady, as she’d once aspired to be, but a wielder of magic who had escaped an assassin, a woman of poise and control until... until she’d begun to shiver and found that she needed Fen.

  She didn’t want to need him. What if she wasn’t splendid after all? His kind words about her breasts might have been just that—kindness. What if he didn’t need her?

  No, she mustn’t let her own fears defeat her. “Likewise,” she said firmly, tugging at his shirt. She’d seen shirtless laborers in the summer heat, but Aunt Mattie had ordered her to turn her eyes away. She’d thought their bodies beautiful, glistening with the sweat of hard work, regardless of their height or the breadth of their shoulders. Perhaps he felt the same about any young, healthy female form.

  He tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, smiling down at her, so sure of himself—and why not? What a hard, beautiful torso with a dusting of hair, and as for his naked arms—oh, the muscles! He built much of the shop’s furniture himself, and it showed.

  She leaned into him and inhaled, running her nose across his broad chest toward his underarm. Sensual delight roared through her. “Oh, Fen,” she whispered. She inhaled again, bathing in ripples of golden heat. “Your aroma is intoxicating.”

  Gently, he removed her shirt and unwound the cloth that bound her breasts. He let it fall and watched her with that same pleased smile. “Everything about you intoxicates me.”

  He bent and kissed her breasts, one and then the other. Her nipples tingled and hardened, and he licked and sucked them, making her shudder and moan. He certainly seemed to like them. Meanwhile, his confident hands unbuttoned the fall of her breeches, and when he pushed them down, brushing her mound through the small-clothes, she had to clutch his shoulders to stay upright. Her breeches fell to the floor, and dazedly she stepped out of them.

  He abandoned her breasts, and a light draft teased their wetness. He peeled the small-clothes away and slipped a hand between her legs from behind. “So wet for me,” he said, kneeling as he pushed the small-clothes to the floor. He licked her navel and trailed his tongue down, down. She gripped his shoulders, panting with anticipation.

  “Which shall it be, my sweet?” His tongue teased the top of her cleft. “My tongue first, or my cock?”

  An hour later, she’d had his tongue once and his cock twice. They’d moved to the bed at some point in their lovemaking. Their sensual activity had made him sleepy but had the opposite effect on Andromeda. She’d never felt so full of energy and life. Her body positively sang with happiness.

  She watched her sleeping lover, marveling at his beauty and at the pleasure he’d given her. Once he’d fallen asleep, she’d lit a candle to peruse him at her leisure. His cock, quiescent now, lay on its bed of dark curls. Over and over, she relived the astonishing feel of him inside her, of the way he’d made her raise her head and watch as his cock slid in and out of her, sending her crazed with pleasure. She still throbbed at the memory.

  She got out of bed, heated water with a wave of her hand, wetted a cloth, and washed her belly clean; twice he’d deposited his seed there instead of inside her. “I won’t risk getting you with child,” he’d said.

  A little thought brought home to her how much of a sacrifice this had been for him. She’d asked him, and he’d admitted that he would much prefer to remain inside her—and she would have preferred that, too. She’d groaned at the sudden emptiness of her pulsing core.

  If he’d got her with child, she would have had no choice but to marry him. A ruined reputation was bad, but bearing a child out of wedlock was catastrophic. For her, certainly, and perhaps for him as well, if her whereabouts during her disappearance became public. She didn’t know whether his self-control proved that he loved her or that he was merely being practical.

  But bedding him, joining with him in such intimacy, had made her fall far, far more deeply in love with him.

  She lay quietly, pondering her feelings for Fen and Fen’s for her, dreading the coming day. She didn’t doubt that he cared about her, but something just wasn’t right. She needed to go home, to be by herself. That wouldn’t be difficult, since once she’d run the gauntlet of Papa’s scolding and Aunt Mattie’s hysterics, they would send her to her room in disgrace. She would have no place to go and no friends left to visit her. She would have plenty of leisure to think without the distraction of Fen Trent.

  She dozed a while, but as her happiness wore away, anxiety took its place. How could he sleep in such naked abandon with the threat of intruders hanging over their heads? They shouldn’t even have taken the risk of making love. Not that she didn’t trust Cuff to keep watch—he’d been the one to warn her earlier—but he hadn’t given her long.

  Much as she would love to continue lying next to Fen, skin to naked skin, it wasn’t safe. She slipped off the bed and donned her boys’ clothing, wondering whether the third spy had realized that she wasn’t really a boy. She’d forgotten to lower her voice when warning Fen.

  That led to remembering that she wasn’t to be killed at all, as everyone had assumed. She was necessary, it seemed, to Slough’s treason.

  In what possible way? She thought about Slough, about his new infamy of passing names of English spies to the French, of where he might get those names. He didn’t work for the government or military; as far as she knew, his income came from his estate. Like many wealthy men, he didn’t work at all...

  All at once she knew. She also knew why Fen had been so reluctant to let her send a message to her father.

  He thought Papa was implicated in the treason. That he was selling information to the French.

  The fire flared up.

  Aghast, controlling her fury with a supreme effort, she quieted the flames. If it wasn’t bad enough to believe horrid things about her, now he suspected Papa of treason, which was far, far worse. She quieted the crackling flames again, grabbed her boots, and slipped out of the room.

  “Don’t tell on me, Cuff,” she pleaded softly, and crept down to the dark showroom. She glanced into the street, but someone might be watching; best to use the back door. Dawn, she realized as she slipped into the dark yard, was upon them.

  She peeked around the end of the bump-out. Thank goodness the real beggar wasn’t in his pile of debris. She scuttled across the yard in stocking feet and huddled in the narrow entrance to put on her boots. She crammed her fury down, fearful that even at this distance it might affect the fire upstairs and alert Fen. Her hands shook with the effort of control, but at last she got her bootlaces tied.

  She crept to the street, glanced right and left, and seeing no one, hurried awa
y into the yellow London dawn.

  Fen woke to the sound of Cuff scrabbling around behind the wardrobe. Cuff never made himself audible unless he wished to be noticed.

  Fen turned sleepily and realized that Andromeda was no longer beside him. He sat up, all at once alert. A swift glance about the room—by the light of a substantial fire—showed him that her boys’ clothing was gone.

  “She told you not to tell me,” Fen said. Poor Cuff, caught between his duty to both of them, unable to disobey either, so he’d simply made some apparently innocent noise. Fen thanked the hobgoblin and hurriedly donned the breeches, shirt and coat he’d divested himself of so quickly last night.

  Judging by the state of the fire, she’d been upset about something—about having made love last night? He knew for sure she’d enjoyed it. Why would she leave? Because she’d realized she didn’t love him? Or that bedding her didn’t prove his love at all? It did, as a matter of fact, but to him in a way that it couldn’t to her.

  He knew where she had gone; with luck he would catch her before she got there. He laced up his boots and donned his tool belt with several potential weapons in place. Dawn had broken; judging by the state of the fire, she had left a short time ago. Dressed as a boy, she should be safe enough until she reached home.

  Someone was knocking on the door below—knocking with persistence and determination. Had she perhaps returned?

  He hurried down and opened the door to his father and another man—a rough sort, perhaps one of his operatives, judging by his clothing and demeanor.

  “I received your message,” the marquis said. “I don’t see why you couldn’t have delivered it yourself. Donald Crockett has no business knowing about such matters.”

  “You forbade me, remember? And you believed him, which is more than you did for me.” Fen said bitterly. “If you’d heeded my earlier messages and taken action on them, you could have prevented a dangerous treason. For all we know, those names are already on the way to France.”

  The marquis’ face darkened. “We have sent various agents to intercept and warn if necessary.” The other man wandered away to run a finger over the exquisite marquetry of an occasional table.

  “What about Laborde?” Fen asked. “Have you taken him into custody? What about Lord Slough?”

  “You need not concern yourself about such matters any longer,” the marquis said. “You are, er, a simple tradesman again.”

  “And Harry Wellcome? Is he free to return?”

  Lord Overwood didn’t answer. He opened and shut the drawers of a roll-top desk. “Quite impressive. Perhaps I should order one from you.”

  Fen gaped at him.

  The marquis gave a touch of a smile. “Custom made to my requirements―”

  Something hit Fen a fierce blow to the head. He put up his hands, reeling, and fell to his knees.

  Andromeda jog-trotted through the smoky London morning. This proved much, much easier than her last flight. It was daylight, she wore good boots, and most important of all, she was a boy. London was full of boys running errands, sweeping crossings, hawking wares. Nobody gave her a second glance.

  Rather than follow the most direct route, she headed north and then west, planning to come to Mayfair by way of the shops off Tottenham Court Road. She glanced back from time to time, dreading Fen’s familiar figure, but either he hadn’t yet noticed her disappearance or hadn’t guessed at her route. She took a penny from her pocket, bought herself a meat pie, and warmed it with a flick of her wrist. A mistake, as the hot gravy dribbled down her chin onto her neckcloth; she would know better next time.

  Except, of course, that there wouldn’t be a next time. She tried not to think about the future, as it was far too grim.

  After an hour’s walk she approached her street. She hovered at the corner, leaning against the lamppost. If Fen had arrived here first and was waiting, he had hidden himself well.

  She should go home quickly, but still she hesitated, dreading the inevitable scene—scolding, tears, recrimination—when all that mattered was telling Papa that Lord Slough was a traitor.

  Because Papa wasn’t. Even if Papa had lost his entire fortune at the tables, he wouldn’t turn to treason. She didn’t blame Fen for suspecting him, but her own duty was clear—to warn Papa before Lord Slough got hold of more secrets.

  She steeled herself and marched along the pavement toward home. A maid swept a doorstep; another bought milk from a cart. No one attempted to stop herfor why would they? She arrived at the house, descended the area stairs and knocked on the servants’ entrance. And knocked again. Charles, the middle-aged footmen, slowly approached the door and peered through the glass. “I’m coming, ain’t I?”

  He opened the door, but the crack wasn’t wide enough to shove her foot in. She didn’t want to identify herself until safely inside.

  “Who are you, then, lad? You’re not the butcher’s boy. What do you want?”

  “Message for the colonel,” she said in a gruff voice. “To be delivered to him alone.”

  Charles pondered in his typically slow way. “Well now, it so happens the colonel is awake, which isn’t usual at this time of day, I can tell you that. Seems everyone wants him this morning. Who might this message be from, lad?”

  “From Miss Gibbons. His daughter.”

  “From Miss Andromeda?” Charles opened the door wide, and Andromeda ducked under his arm and went inside. “Shut the door, Charles. I don’t want anyone out there to see me like this.”

  Charles turned, staring at her, mouth agape. “Miss... Andromeda, is that you?”

  “Shh,” she said. “Don’t tell anyone. If Aunt Mattie sees me like this, she’ll faint from sheer horror. I’ll just run up to Papa.”

  “He’s still in his bedchamber, miss. I’m not so sure that it’s a good idea―”

  She didn’t hear the end of his sentence; she was already hurrying up the two flights of stairs to Papa’s room. She tapped on the door. “Papa, may I come in.”

  There was a short silence, then her Papa’s voice, shaky with emotion. “Andromeda?”

  “Yes, Papa, it’s I, but please don’t have an apoplexy when you see me.” She opened the door. Papa, in his shirt sleeves, hurried toward her, his face alight.

  Behind him, a well-dressed nobleman rose from his chair. “My dear Andromeda, thank God you’ve come home,” said the Earl of Slough.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  FEN’S HEAD THROBBED. He hadn’t completely blacked out, but he’d been unable to fight them off, unable to stop them from putting a sack over his head and tying his hands together in front of him. They’d deposited him in a coach, which now jolted over the cobblestones. He retched and clawed at the sack with his bound hands. “Damn you, I’m going to be sick.”

  “In that case, I should leave it on until you’re done,” said his father’s voice, but surprisingly gentle hands removed the disgusting thing. “If you must vomit, do so in the sack.”

  Fen opened his eyes, groaning, and found himself nose to a highly polished Hessian boot.

  “My apologies, Fen, but I had no choice,” his father said.

  A sense of utter defeat washed over Fen. The memory returned of the marquis’s arrival. Of his interest in one of Fen’s most beautiful desks. Idiot, he berated himself. He’d thought, for a brief few moments, that his father actually approved of something he’d done—but it had all been a trick. “Why in hell did you abduct me?”

  “Because I don’t trust you to stay out of this. I don’t know what possessed that foolish girl to run to you, but it has ruined everything. Where has she gone, by the way? My man ran up to get her, but she wasn’t there.”

  Fen convulsed, silently calling for a knife, then realized that his carpenter’s belt was gone. “Damn you.”

  “Knowing your astonishing abilities with a blade, I took the precaution of removing your belt. The alternative was tying your hands behind you—rather too ignoble for any son of mine.”

  Fen shifted himself ont
o his belly. He managed to push onto hands and knees and thence into a sitting position on the floor of his father’s traveling carriage—which meant a journey out of town.

  His head throbbed. He leaned it against the padded leather of the bench. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Home to the country, where you will remain for the present.”

  “And how will you ensure that?” Fen demanded furiously. “You’ll keep me locked up? Chained in the dungeon, perhaps?”

  “Don’t be foolish, Fen. I merely wish to keep you safe.”

  “Safe? You should have believed me! Instead, you lied to me. You persisted in your idiotic prejudices while Lord Slough sold secrets to the French!”

  There was a long silence. “You wound me, Fen. I did believe you, at least in part. Even now, our agents are closing in on that nest of French spies. You are to be commended for unmasking them.”

  More of his father’s horseshit. Fen made a disgusted noise. “If you believed me, you wouldn’t have had me knocked over the head and carted me away a prisoner.”

  “Now there, my dear boy, you are entirely wrong. I merely wish to ensure that you don’t run into danger. Those spies are vicious men who must be dealt with by professionals.”

  “Professional idiots,” muttered Fen. “They accused my partner. It didn’t occur to them to look a bit further, did it? No, no, the traitor couldn’t possibly be a peer of the realm.” He narrowed his eyes. “You avoided my question about Harry Wellcome.”

  “Nothing can be done about Wellcome.”

  “Why not?” Fen cried. “Slough is the traitor, and you know it. Harry was an innocent pawn.” He winced at a particularly painful bump in the road

  “Perhaps he was,” the marquis said. “The problem, my dear Fen, is that nothing can be done about Lord Slough yet. He has been rendered impotent for the moment, as he has no one to whom to sell more secrets, but if questioned, he will no doubt have a plausible story as regards the prisoners—that he was the dupe of your partner—and that will shed an unpleasantly scandalous light upon you. As I told you before, I cannot allow that.”