The Spy and His Lady Love

by Christine Donovan

  “Perhaps we should have stayed in the comfort and privacy of the box. It’s a madhouse out here. Come this way.” He led her to the right. “I see your family up ahead.” They joined them and sipped champagne until the signal that the opera would continue in five minutes. It took that long for the six of them to settle back into their box. No sooner had they gotten comfortable, when the lights in their box and the theater seats below went out. The stage lights eliminated to reveal the second half of Don Giovanni.

  The beautiful singing voices in Italian had Penelope leaning forward in her seat, mesmerized. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the performance unfolded.

  Sitting beside Penelope, Harry couldn’t take his eyes off her. The box was shadowed in darkness, but he could make her out clearly because of his excellent sight. He spent enough time sneaking around in the blackness of night that his eyes adjusted well. His codename in the agency was Nighthawk because of his ultimate nighttime vision. And how he swept in for the arrest…or kill…depending on the circumstances.

  Now, however, he enjoyed his better-than-average vision watching Penelope. Every emotion crossed her face as she concentrated solely on the performance on stage. Did she have any idea how the soft noises and subtle gasps she made had his insides coiling up tight with desire? Her eyes widening and lowering seductively. The tears streaming down her cheeks had his fingers itching to wipe them away and promise her anything never to cause her to cry again.

  At one point, he frowned and took his eyes off her and watched the stage. Even though it was known as a great opera, it didn’t hold his attention. She called to him unknowingly, and he followed. Somehow, she turned him into a lovesick fool, and he’d yet to sample her. Her lips, her neck, her breasts…nothing. He’d sampled nothing, and yet she tied him in knots. Not something a gentleman wanted to admit. It was why he’d attended tonight as Harry and not Hugh.

  He couldn’t stomach the way she looked at him the other night as Hugh. He wanted. No, needed her to look at him—Harry—that way. With curiosity and unabashed lust. With a twinkle of mischief in her eyes as she waited on a kiss. A kiss he so desperately wanted to shower upon her lips, her neck, and down to swipe his tongue across the creamy swell of her breasts visible above her low neckline. A low moan escaped his lips before he realized it. If anyone heard, they politely didn’t acknowledge it. Since he’d seen this opera once before he knew it would end momentarily, and he needed to turn his thoughts to something else besides the lovely woman who would become his wife.

  As it appeared now, his breeches had a large bulge. It took ultimate restraint not to adjust himself and try to get it to behave. Fortunately for him, or unfortunately, no matter how you looked at it, his member wanted the lady beside him and it wanted her now.

  The oil lamps were lit by workers at a frantic pace and the interior of the opera house came into clear focus, as well as their box. Time to make his exit before anyone noticed his extra snug breeches. Wentworth stood, stretched, and came to the front of the balcony. “Might as well sit for a time until the crowd thins out.”

  Voices around him discussed the opera, and he listened intently to Penelope, his eyes transfixed on her lovely face, as she retold her favorite parts with emotional abandon. It made him wonder how she would look and sound when he brought her pleasure in the bedroom. He also glimpsed, for the first time, how young she really was. She’d always appeared mature and wise beyond her seventeen years. No doubt due to her upbringing. Which had him wondering if she was even innocent? Not that it mattered to him.

  “Your Grace.” Penelope’s questioning voice startled him from his thoughts. “It’s time to leave.”

  Snapped to attention, he stood. “Bloody hell,” he swore as he fumbled with his cane, which landed on the floor with a clatter. “Forgive me.” He bent awkwardly at the waist, his leg out straight to the side and retrieved the cane. He held out his elbow to her and forced himself to soften his features, lest she run ahead in fright to her brother.

  However, instead of fright at his clumsiness and sharpness, she looked concerned. “Take your time. We’re in no hurry.”

  That solidified it. His heart physically melted and pooled at her delicate, slipper covered feet. The lady had a heart of gold. Why did she treat him with such kindness? Couldn’t she see the man beneath? The man who struggled with demons that visited him on a regular basis and claimed to own his soul. A man who could kill without remorse.

  “You appear to be lost in your thoughts again, Your Grace.”

  Once again he apologized. “We must hurry, or Wentworth will become worried.”

  She blushed. A sweet, innocent shade of pink. “My brother gave me permission to ride to Wentworth Manor with you since we are, after all, betrothed. He thought we may have things to discuss.”

  If Penelope said the sky was brown, he’d be less shocked at Wentworth’s decision. Harry had sent a note, after their ride in the park, asking for permission to escort her home. Since he hadn’t received a response, he’d taken it as a decline. Either Wentworth had changed his mind or planned to allow him this privacy to occur all along.

  “Please extend my gratitude to him. When I didn’t get a response to my letter, I took it as a decline.”

  Her head snapped his way and her eyes widened as they exited the opera house. “I hadn’t realized the request came from you. I thought my brother was being kind.”

  “He is being kind.” Harry signaled his driver with his cane. “Here we are.” The driver hopped down from his perch, opened the door to the grand carriage, and lowered the steps. Harry assisted Penelope inside the coach, then climbed in and sat down beside her on the cushioned seat facing forward. A chilly rain had settled over London, so he reached on the opposite bench and covered her lap with a blanket. He ignored the sudden ache in his knee and shoulder because of bullet wounds.

  “Thank you,” she said hesitantly. Shy? Was she being shy around him? He didn’t blame her. If she knew what he wanted to do with her in the carriage's privacy, beneath the cover of darkness, she should be shy and nervous. Too bad he wouldn’t act on his desires. Except?

  He slid toward her on the bench until they touched from shoulder, to hip, to thigh, to knee, and Harry swallowed down a groan of pleasure to finally be pressed up against her lovely figure. “I wanted some privacy with you this evening to discuss if there is anything you want to know about me to ease your anxiety about our upcoming nuptials.”

  A brief gasp escaped her lips. Perhaps he was being too forward.

  “I…I.” Penelope was at a loss for words. There was much she wanted to know about the gentleman sitting beside her. So close she could hardly breathe. And when she did, his sandalwood cologne tickled her nose in a pleasant way. She’d noticed that about him the first time they met, that he smelled divine. “We have the rest of our lives to get to know one another. I can wait for my questions.”

  Her hands toyed with the satin reticle on her lap. He reached over with his bare hands, having removed his gloves when they entered the coach, and took one of hers in his hand. Before she realized what he had in mind, he gently tugged on her white glove at each fingertip, sending waves of tingles from the tips of her fingers straight up her arm. For such large hands, they were surprisingly tender as her glove vanished. He brought her newly naked hand up to his lips and placed warm kisses on each digit. Which had her transfixed. Her eyes never looked away from his one blue eye, which had darkened to near ebony. Breathing became laborious as her heart pounded inside her chest. A slow burn settled inside her stomach, and she licked her dry lips. A moan escaped his lips, sending sultry air blowing across her wet fingers, and she nearly groaned as well. What was happening to her? Was this what desire felt like? Her eyelids suddenly felt heavy, she had to fight to keep them open. And she wanted Newbury to do something to relieve the pressure down below.

  He turned her hand over, palm up, and delicately pushed her sleeve up. Every scrape of fabric sent tingles across her over-sensitive skin. B
efore she knew what he planned to do his tongue swirled around the inside of her wrist causing her to, not moan, but sigh deeply. Mortified at her reaction to him she tugged her hand free, but he refused to let it go.

  “Please don’t deny me this minor pleasure of touching you. It will have to hold me over until our wedding night.”

  Did he plan on touching her elsewhere? The answer came as he turned on the bench and cradled her face in his large hands, causing her to close her eyes. When they fluttered open, she stared at his cravat, afraid at what she may glimpse in his eye.

  “Look at me.”

  She did. In the muted darkness with only one lantern lit inside the carriage, his scar blended in and the black patch made him appear dangerously handsome. It wasn’t the first time she found him handsome. Right this moment he stole the very breath in her lungs, and she hoped he kissed her. Surely that was his plan…

  Desire shone in his eye and he dipped his head, taking her lips with his. They were soft, gentle, barely grazing her lips which tingled at the delicate touch. It didn’t take long for things to change. His body tensed, he swore against her lips, then put pressure on her mouth until she gasped, parting her lips. His tongue swept inside, his arms went around her back and pulled her tight against him.

  Instinct had her arms curling around his neck and she rubbed her breasts against his hard chest, trying to satisfy the tingling in her nipples. The angle of his head changed, and he deepened the kiss. His tongue thrust in and out of her mouth, and she tried to mimic him until they tangled together and she wondered if she’d done something wrong when he growled. His hand moved to her front, and she held her breath as he undid the frog clasps to her cloak and pushed it off her shoulders. The cool night air kissed her bare skin. Before she could comprehend that it chilled her, his warm lips traveled down her neck and across the swell of her partially exposed breasts causing a sudden inferno that had her wanting to tear off her clothes and be free.

  “You are so beautiful, my dear.” Teeth lightly scraped across the tops of her breasts. Breasts that begged to be free of their confinement.

  So lost in her emotions and lust, she never realized Newbury had popped free her heavy breasts until his tongue laved one bare nipple. “Oh my,” she breathed as she arched her back in supplication.

  He responded by sucking her nipple deep into his mouth while one of his hands kneaded her other breast. She gasped as his other hand slid up her leg, leaving a wake of goose bumps behind. Up over her calf. Over her knee, up the inside of her thigh. When had I parted my legs? Until he cupped her there. The slit in her pantaloons giving her no protection from his questing fingers as they sought out her womanhood.

  To her mortification she moaned, her thighs parted wider, and her hips pushed into his hand repeatedly. What must he be thinking? That he was marrying a wanton? “Mmmmm.” She moaned again, unable to stop her body's betrayal. Her body's need for something as he pushed a finger inside her, nearly sending her off the bench. “Hugh?” It was the first time she used his Christian name. It felt right on her tongue.

  Time paused. The fog in her brain refused to relent until she heard the rustling of her clothing being put to right.

  A hand gripped her chin painfully and forced her face up. “Look at me,” Newbury demanded.

  Her eyes popped open, and she glimpsed hurt, anger, and disappointment in his one eye. Why? What had she done wrong?

  “When I claim you on our wedding night,” he sneered, his voice deep and angry, “try to remember my name.”

  He banged on the front wall of the carriage and seconds later the driver opened the door and assisted with her descent.

  “Please see the lady safely inside.”

  Standing in the large welcoming foyer of Wentworth Manor, Penelope felt anything but welcome. What happened just now inside the carriage? Had she done something wrong? Why had he treated her poorly at the end? Hiking up her skirts, she hurried up the stairs to her room. Waved her maid away mumbling, “I can undress myself.” Instead of undressing she unclasped her cloak, let it fall silently to the floor, and fell onto the bed on her stomach. Tears leaked from her eyes, wetting the coverlet, so she rolled over onto her back, hugged herself, and cried even more. Her mind traveled back to the moment Newbury became angry with her. Had she said or done something? A loud gasp escaped her lips, and she shot up. “Oh my God, I called him Hugh.”

  Harry stomped around the library, drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey, swearing loudly at himself for the fool he was. Edmond entered the room, took the bottle from his hands, and placed it on the credenza.

  “What has you in such a foul mood?”

  “The little twit called me Hugh,” he spat out as he swayed toward a chair and crumpled down in it. It was either that or fall flat onto the floor. On his face. He was smashed.

  “She did, did she now?”

  “I may not be able to see straight, but I can tell from your voice you’re finding this amusing. And I don’t want to hear, ‘I warned you.’”

  “Well…your words not mine.” Edmond went to the sideboard and helped himself to a glass of fine brandy the Duke of Wentworth sent to Harry. “Care to share just what was transpiring when Lady Penelope referred to you as Hugh?”

  He swayed forward and almost tumbled out of the chair. “No. I don’t. Suffice it to say, she’ll never make the mistake again.”

  “Once you are wed and divulge your secret, I dare say not.”

  The room wouldn’t stop moving. He closed his eyes, opened his eyes, and still the walls moved in a circular motion as did Edmond. “Sit the bloody hell down, you’re making me dizzy.”

  Snorting, Edmond did as he was told. “You do realize, there’s a possibility Lady Penelope will never speak to you again when she finds out? She will think you made a fool of her. Not the best way to start a marriage.”

  Harry swung his head Edmond’s way, then cringed. He loathed when he drank to excess. He would hate himself even more in the morning when he was puking his guts out. His stomach rolled—or sooner. “I know. But how else am I s-s-s-supposed to handle this dilemma?”

  “Confide in her now and put the poor girl out of her misery in thinking she’s marrying a one-eyed, scarred gimp.”

  That remark brought laughter to Harry’s lips. Put the way Edmond said it sounded either horrifying or humorous. Indeed, only he and those who knew would find it humorous. Others, such as Penelope, would find being settled with him for life horrifying. Damn. He had some ruminating to do.

  The following day, with a head twice its size, a nagging headache, and a stomach that refused to keep anything down, Harry sent for Mr. Smythe. The Runner had had plenty of time to think about the job offer and to investigate Harry and the position he held within the War Office. Promptly at half eleven, he was announced. Harry stood, leaning on the desk, playing the part of the cripple. He gestured to a chair opposite his mahogany desk. “Please have a seat.”

  Smythe bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace.” And waited until Harry sat.

  “May I offer you some brandy or whiskey?”

  “No, thank you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get down to business.”

  “Certainly.” The Runner seemed almost agitated with him. Had he uncovered his secret and took offense? “Have you come to a conclusion about the offer?”

  Harry wasn’t surprised Smythe’s face gave nothing about his decision away. He was, after all, the best Runner in London to date. Had to keep his emotions blank. Otherwise his enemies would know his thoughts and he would be dead. One of the reasons he was so valuable to the Crown.

  “I’ve thought long and hard about the offer. And I must decline.”

  Sitting back in his seat, Harry eyed Smythe with a raised brow in his one uncovered eye. “You do realize I’m merely the messenger for the Regent? He is the one who recommended you for the position. If I were you, I would think wisely about changing your answer.”

  Smythe sat up straighter and leaned forward just a ta
d in the chair. The only sign he gave of unease. “I did not understand.”

  “Perhaps, at our first meeting, I neglected to mention it.” Harry paused and if he looked deep enough into the man’s eyes, he could see the wheels in motion as he rethought his decision. “Is there anything I can do to persuade you to change your mind?” Harry purposely didn’t disclose that little tidbit of information about the prince. Most men would jump at the opportunity when the prince’s name was mentioned. Which was why it never was. Except now. He wanted the man on his team. And truthfully would do anything to get him. When it came to his position, Harry was ruthless. If only he could be more ruthless in his personal life. A little pain settled inside his chest. He would not think about her now.

  “Why did you lie to me?”

  “Quite bold to accuse a duke and a member of the War Office of lying. In what way did I do so?”

  “In pretending to be injured. As in being two people, The Duke of Newbury and Mr. Hugh Sinclair, your distant cousin.”

  “So you are as good as they say.” Newbury removed the patch from his eye and used his handkerchief to remove as much of the make-up that he could which created his scar. He’d not worn the brace on his knee, which truth be told, he needed sometimes from an actual injury. Smythe didn’t so much as twitch at the revelation. “Forgive me for deceiving you. I stay alive because of my disguises. As the crippled duke, I’m ignored at most society functions and for some reason people think I’m daft in the head as well. They look past me and divulge secrets and espionage. Especially at my clubs. Many members at Whites’ or Brooks’, once in their cups, spill all sorts of secrets.”

  “If I take the position, why would anyone spill secrets to a former Runner against the Crown.”

  “As I explained at our first meeting, we will create a scandal having you demoted. Which in turn you will quit and swear vengeance on the Crown. It will only be a matter of time before the unsavory contact you with offers of allegiance to the under belly of England. Which no doubt will bring forth those loyal to France.”