Lord and Lady Spy

by Shana Galen

  He brought her hand to his lips. “What does that mean?”

  She smiled. Adrian, ever cautious.

  What did she mean, exactly? Was she truly ready? Was she willing to risk the hurt, the pain, the chance of loss again? Adrian pulled her tighter, and she knew she was. She wanted to be his wife again. She wanted a chance at a family with him, children. And if that chance never came, then she didn’t want to regret not trying.

  And if she did conceive again, this time she wouldn’t be afraid. This time she wouldn’t hide in her room and fret over every movement or jostle. She would walk in the sun and fresh air. She would continue living her life and trust that everything would be all right—no matter how a pregnancy turned out. She would trust in her love for Adrian and the new marriage they were building together.

  She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way her chest hitched. “It means exactly what you think it means.” His eyes darkened and emboldened her. “Shall I spell it out for you, Lord Smythe?”

  He grinned over her knuckles. “Will I be able to keep dancing without making a spectacle of myself?”

  “Probably not, but you like a challenge.”

  “Tell me, then.”

  “I don’t want you to touch me in the carriage. I want to wait until we’re home, in my bedroom, and then I want you to undress me, slowly, kissing every inch of me as you do so.”

  He inhaled. “Sophia…”

  She ignored him. “And I mean every inch, Adrian. Do it softly, delicately. Kiss my neck—you know where I like your mouth—kiss my ear, my shoulder, my breast, my navel, the back of my knee, the arch of my foot. I want it so slowly and so sweetly that it drives me to madness, and then I want you to take me. Hard. Rough.”

  “Yes.” He was nodding, his eyes so dark now they were unreadable.

  “Make me come with your mouth, and then I want you inside me.”

  He almost stumbled. She felt the slight hesitation, but she knew no one else would have noticed.

  She nodded. “I want you, Adrian. All of you. I want us to be husband and wife again. In truth.”

  “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  And before she could protest, he had her hand in his and was dragging her out of the ballroom. He didn’t do as she’d told him, but then had she really expected him to? Did she really want him to?

  No.

  So when the carriage set off, the lights from Dewhurst’s ball fading, and Adrian pulled her into his lap, she only smiled and turned to straddle him. His arms came around her waist, his hands pressing into her back. She could feel his muscled thighs under her legs, and she ran her hands over his hard chest. She wanted to rip his coat off, loosen his cravat with her teeth, and tear open his shirt.

  She could only imagine the looks from the servants if they arrived home in that state, so she settled on touching her lips to his. She meant it to be a light kiss, something to hold them over until they reached the privacy of her bedroom, but as soon as her mouth met his, everything she’d held so tightly inside broke apart. A flood of passion washed over her, and she couldn’t seem to get enough of his lips. She wanted to devour them. She wanted to somehow link her mouth to his for all eternity. How had she survived without his lips on hers these past few hours?

  Adrian’s reaction to her kiss was just as frenzied. He bit her lower lip, opened her mouth, and invaded. There was no other word for what he did to her. His mouth, his tongue, his teeth overwhelmed her. She could hardly catch her breath, and she didn’t want to. She never wanted him to stop.

  Their tongues twined, fought, sought each other out even as she dug into his chest with her nails and he pressed her body close to his. She was pressed against him so his heat infused her, his scent became part of her. Oh, how she wished they were naked. Her clothes suddenly felt too cumbersome and heavy. The thin silk was like a brick wall, guarding her body from his.

  “Damn these clothes,” she murmured into his mouth.

  “I can’t wait to get you naked and beneath me.”

  She pulled back. “Who said you could be on top?”

  He grinned then bit her neck gently. “I do.”

  “You don’t always get your way,” she said, arching to give him better access. His hands slid down and cupped her bottom.

  “Oh, yes, I do.”

  She felt his hand on her calf before she knew what he was doing. And then when she realized he was tracing a hot trail up her inner thigh, she considered stopping him. After all, he was trying to prove he always got his way. But when his finger stroked the top of her inner thigh, she decided she didn’t care if he always got his way. She liked his way.

  His hand finally reached her center, and he cupped her lightly. “You’re so wet,” he said in her ear. “Let me see if I can make you wetter.”

  His fingers stroked her, teased her, made her rock against him. He put his mouth to her breast, bit her nipple lightly. Even through all the layers of clothing, she could feel the warmth of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth. “Adrian…” she moaned.

  “Is there something you want? Tell me.”

  “You.”

  He found the small nub aching for his touch, and she almost jumped at the surge of pleasure she felt. He tapped it, tantalizing her but giving her no relief.

  “You have me, my love, my Saint.”

  Infuriating man! He knew what she wanted. She opened her eyes and looked into his. “I want you inside me. Put your finger inside me.”

  He slid effortlessly inside her, his thumb still stroking that small, sensitive nub. His finger slid in and out, and she wanted to scream in anticipation of the release she knew was coming.

  “Shall I continue?”

  With great effort, she managed to groan, “If you stop, I swear I will kill you.”

  “Then come for me, Saint,” he said against her ear. “I want to feel you squeeze me like a glove. I want to hear you scream your release.”

  “Adrian… Wolf…” She was rocking against him, her hips moving in rhythm to his fingers. And then he made one small adjustment with his thumb, circled her slowly, and she burst apart like an exploding star. She shuddered against him, the hand cradling her back catching her else she would have fallen backward.

  Lethargy and sweetness trickled through her like a fine glass of wine, warming her, easing all the strain of the day. Finally, she collapsed against him. She could feel his heart beating. It thundered against her ear even as his hand came up to stroke her hair as one might comfort a child.

  This was where she wanted to be, she thought. In his arms, listening to his heart, forever. She wanted it to be like this forever.

  No, she wanted even more. She wanted to know she had all of him, and for the first time in her life, she wanted to give someone all of her.

  Her heart tightened with fear even as her body sang in anticipation.

  The carriage had slowed, and she looked up at him. “Make me your wife again, Adrian,” she said as the carriage halted before their town house. “Make love to me.”

  Nineteen

  Adrian gathered her in his arms and carried her out of the carriage and up the front walk of the town house. Sophia laughed. “What are you doing?”

  “Old tradition. Certainly you’re familiar with the groom carrying the bride over the threshold.”

  She smiled, and he saw moisture in her eyes. Bloody hell, if she cried now, he was going to lose it completely. He knew why she was emotional. They were starting over tonight. This was a new beginning for both of them. He didn’t know what tomorrow would hold, but tonight was for the two of them.

  Wallace opened the door. “Good evening, my lord. My lady.” He didn’t even blink to see his master carrying his mistress.

  “Good evening, Wallace.” Sophia gave a short wave as Adrian started up the stairs. Then he paused and turned back. Wallace stood, hands behind his back, at the ready.

  “Wallace,” Adrian said, “why doesn’t anything Lady Smythe or I do seem to surprise y
ou?”

  Wallace’s blank expression remained unchanged. “You are part of the aristocracy, my lord. I’ve worked for the nobility for forty years. There is nothing I have not seen.”

  Adrian shrugged. “I see.” He turned to continue up the stairs.

  “That and you and Lady Smythe work for the Foreign Office. I’ve always found spies rather unpredictable.”

  Adrian felt Sophia’s quick intake of breath, and her gaze flew to his. They shared a moment of surprise, and then Adrian allowed his mask to fall back in place. He glanced over his shoulder, but the butler wore the same bland expression. “Carry on then, Wallace.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  They reached the landing, and Adrian started down the corridor to Sophia’s bedroom. The wall sconces flickered as he passed, illuminating old portraits and priceless art, much of it bad, passed down from generations.

  “How do you think he knew?” Sophia asked finally.

  “I think the better question,” Adrian said, kicking her door open, “is how didn’t we—the spies—know he knew?” He kicked the door shut behind him and started for the bed.

  “Do you think we can trust him?”

  “I think we can trust him implicitly. Now, what was it you were saying in the ballroom?”

  She smiled wickedly, and he set her on her feet. “I said you should undress me slowly.”

  “Yes, well…” Adrian snatched off her cloak. “I’m not very good at following orders. I want you naked. Now.” His hands were on the fastenings of her gown, opening the bodice, pushing the skirt down. He wished he’d lit a candle, as the light from the low fire in the hearth didn’t allow him to see her as he’d like, but soon he had her petticoats and stays off, and she stood in only her chemise. The fire was behind her, and it outlined her body in all its splendor.

  Slowly, he bent and grasped the hem of the gauzy chemise. Allowing his fingers to trail over her stockings, he lifted the garment inch by exquisite inch. When his fingertips grazed the bare skin of her thighs above her lacy garters, she shivered. He caressed her hips, followed the dent of her waist, then flared out again at her breasts, finally pulling the chemise over her head.

  She stood naked before him except for her stockings and her rubies. She reached for them, but he stilled her hand with his. “Leave them.”

  She raised a brow and lowered her hand.

  “But take your hair down,” he said, stepping back to admire her. “Slowly.”

  She nodded and reached up, pulling one pin from the coil of thick chestnut hair. A curl sprang free, cascading down her shoulder to graze the round fullness of one breast. Adrian clenched his hands. “Keep going.”

  “Yes, my lord.” She freed another pin, and piece by piece, tendril by tendril, the elaborate coiffure came down, covering her in chocolate ribbons. And yet her hair was the perfect length. It ended just above her rosy nipples. They were hard, waiting for his mouth, his teeth, his fingers…

  He looked at her face and thought how young she appeared with her hair down about her, how vulnerable. She wanted him to be rough, but he would not start that way. He wanted this to be perfect.

  “Now you, my lord.” She stepped forward, and he could smell the faint scent of citrus on her skin. She twined her fingers in his cravat, yanked, and freed his neck. Next she put her hands on his shoulders and dragged the tailcoat over them. She dropped the garment on the floor and grasped his shirt. She unfastened it at the throat and wrists then pulled the tails out, and running her hands over his chest, plucked the shirt over his head.

  She reached for his breeches but not before she moved closer, rubbing her breasts against his bare chest. He gazed down at her. He didn’t think she had done so mistakenly. She smiled innocently then dipped her fingers into his breeches. She released the fall, and he sprang into her hand.

  “What has you so excited, my lord?” she asked, voice deceptively innocent.

  “What doesn’t have me excited?” he growled and pulled her against him. He did it gently, but he was quickly losing his restraint. He wanted to ravage her mouth, but instead, he took it tenderly, tasting her first with the tip of his tongue. Gently, she opened for him, and he entered her tentatively, searching for her tongue, stroking it languidly as though he were not ready to come in her hand.

  She didn’t encourage his restraint. Her hot mouth moved over his hungrily, and her hand stroked him, making him want to drive into her. Bloody hell, she was naked before him. He could toss her on the bed—the floor even—and bury himself inside her in mere seconds.

  But he didn’t.

  He teased her mouth until she was sighing and moaning. He ran his fingers over her shoulders, her ribs—barely grazing the sides of her breasts—then stroking the curve of her hip and the roundness of her bottom.

  “Adrian…” She allowed her head to fall back, and he kissed the curve of her throat, gradually making his way to the hollow just beneath her ear. When he reached it, she shuddered and grasped his buttocks. “Take these breeches off,” she demanded.

  He kicked off his shoes then sat on the bed to deal with stockings and the breeches themselves. She did him the favor of standing before him, and when he was naked, he grasped her small waist and pulled her between his legs. He reached out with one finger and flicked her nipple. It responded by swelling slightly, and he leaned forward, kissing it with the barest caress of his lips.

  “Adrian.” She tried to arch back, but he clamped his legs on her thighs, keeping her trapped. He lifted his hands and brushed them over the soft skin of her shoulders, inching down until his fingertips skidded over the swell of her breasts. He cupped them, testing their weight and fullness. Then he leaned forward and touched his tongue to her hard nipple.

  She grasped his hair and pulled him hard against her. “You’re driving me mad,” she whispered. “Take me.”

  He wanted nothing more, but he was in no hurry. He rolled the nipple with his tongue then sucked it lightly into his mouth. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and he scraped his teeth along the hard pebble.

  “Adrian!” She was breathing heavily, and her breath hitched as he slid one finger down her abdomen, pausing at her navel. He toyed with her nipple as she writhed against him, then he allowed his hand to dip into the curls between her legs. “Yes,” she murmured when he stroked her.

  And then suddenly he was flat on his back, and she was over him. He wasn’t certain how it had happened. One second he’d been in control, and now she was looking down at him. She gave him a slow, sensuous smile before slanting her mouth over his. He hadn’t moved his hand, and he stroked her, feeling her reaction as she kissed him deeper and harder. Finally she wrapped a warm hand around his erection, and straddling him, brought it to her core.

  He wanted to plunge into her. Knew she wanted it too.

  But there would be time for sweet savagery later. Now he wanted tenderness. He tried to flip her, but she clamped her legs down.

  Bloody hell. He bit her lips gently to distract her. She was going to get tenderness whether she wanted it or not.

  She drew back. “What are you doing? You can be on top later.”

  “You can be on top later.” He tried flipping her again, but she countered his move and held her position. He reached for her hand, intending to trap it and take some of her balance, but she grabbed his wrist and held it on the bed.

  “Two can play at this game, Wolf.”

  “This isn’t the time to fight me, Sophia. Roll over.”

  “No.”

  The look in her eyes and the determined set of her lips was making him want her even more. What other woman would argue with him in bed, fight him?

  What other woman had even a chance at winning? Not that she was going to win.

  He stroked her again, his finger sliding through her wetness and rubbing that sensitive area. She raised her gaze to his. “You’re not playing fair.”

  “I never do.” He delved inside her again, and she tightened around him.


  “Adrian…”

  It was all the distraction he needed. He flipped her over and caught her wrists with his hands. She arched upward, not in pleasure but in fury. “You bastard.” He smiled even as he held her wrists down. That wasn’t for show. She would have hit him given half a chance.

  “You won’t be cursing me in a moment.”

  “Yes, I…”

  He brought his mouth to her breast, took her nipple in his mouth, and scraped his teeth over it. Now she bucked again, but this time she moaned his name. All right, so he wasn’t going to be quite as tender as he’d wanted. He laved her with his tongue then dipped to her abdomen, kissing her belly and her navel. He loosened his grip slightly, but she didn’t protest. Her eyes were closed as he pressed her legs open. He kissed her there, tasting her, loving the way she moved with him.

  Her breath came short and fast, but instead of surrendering, she grabbed his hair. “I want you. Inside me,” she panted.

  He studied her for a long moment. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sophia, if you’re not ready…”

  She grasped his shoulder, pulled him up to meet his gaze directly. “I’m ready. I want to be your wife again. Completely.”

  “And the risks?”

  “Are you willing to take them with me?” she asked.

  “Yes. But if we never have a child, I can live with that. I can’t live with losing you.”

  “You won’t lose me. Not ever.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. It was tender but passionate. She wrapped her legs around his hips and opened her eyes. He’d never seen her look so vulnerable. So scared.

  He would replace that fear with pleasure.

  Slowly, he guided his erection into her, feeling her tremble. “Shh.” He stroked her hair, soothing her, and she closed her eyes. “Let me make love to you, Sophia. Let me be part of you.”

  “Yes.” She brushed a hand over his hair, and he felt her body relax. He pushed again and was fully inside her. “Oh, yes. I remember this now,” she whispered.

  He kissed her and moved. He hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to move inside her, only the reality was far more vivid than his memories. She moved with him, taking him deeper, bringing him to the brink of pleasure and then pulling away again.