by The Spy
Phillipa grimaced. “Thank you. So kind.”
She walked to the door, feeling as if she were leaving behind the chance for something precious. Her hand was on the latch when James called out, “Did you have a good time tonight, Flip? Did you find someone you fancied?”
She nodded without turning. “Indeed I did.” She left the room and shut the door behind her. She’d found someone she fancied.
And lost him again, all within a single night.
Chapter Twenty-three
Phillipa did not even try to sleep that night. Instead, she curled up on her small chair by the grate in her room and pondered the impossibility of James.
He was on the right side.
What an honor to befriend him, to see his strengths and weaknesses, to be his confidante. Had any woman ever had the fortune to know the unrestrained confidence of such a fine and principled man?
He was all that was admirable and good. He was generous and strong, intelligent and kind, rather heart-poundingly attractive and yet not at all vain—in fact, he was altogether wonderful . . .
“I am smitten,” she whispered to herself in awed surprise. “I am in love with James Cunnington, gentleman farmer and British patriot. The man who wants to kill Papa.”
She leaned her elbows on her knees, dangling her hands loosely at the wrist. Her eyes traced the design on the carpet without seeing a bit of it as her mind raced. “Oh, merde.”
Of course, she realized that now more than ever she must keep her identity from James. James was an honest man. Could he love a woman who had lied to him? And no simple “I feared for my life so I dressed as a man” lie, either. No, tonight she had dived to new depths with her harem dancer charade. She would be little better than a prostitute in his eyes, and men of James’s station did not marry prostitutes.
The only thing that remained clear was that James was hunting Papa. And she was the only one who could try to prevent that. She was right where she’d originally planned to be when she’d journeyed to Mr. Upkirk’s, in a house of the British intelligence service.
Where she had promptly managed to discredit herself—and likely Papa—in every way possible.
Oh, she was too clever for her own good. Such a tangled web she’d woven, only to catch herself.
But now, how could she stay where she was? If she remained with James, she would either suffer a broken heart or her own exposure. Not to mention leaving Robbie when he had just come to trust her. He’d been betrayed too many times in his short life. She feared that one more loss would destroy his capacity to trust forevermore.
The coals went gray, then white, then cold. Still Phillipa stared into them, waiting for answers that wouldn’t come.
The next morning, James could scarcely concentrate on his mission for the questions filling his mind. Who was she? How could he find her?
And how could he be so selfish as to want to pursue her when he had so much to make up for? Angry at himself for such self-absorption when he had more important things to do, he tried to disparage the dancer in his mind. She was only a whore. Only a prostitute trolling for a new protector.
Yet no matter how he tried to deny his own captivation and longing, he could not resist keeping the turquoise veil in his pocket.
When he arrived at the club after escaping the house without breaking his fast, Stubbs was waiting for him. “I learned it all,” he said eagerly, waving Robbie’s primer.
Robbie had passed it on to Stubbs after extracting his promise to return it soon, and James had high hopes that Flip’s book of wonders could do for Stubbs what it had done for Robbie.
“I’ve work to do in Cryptography, but let’s have a go at it this evening.” He clapped Stubbs on the back, forcing a smile for the man.
“That’s fine, sir. I’ll learn it more while I watch the door.” Tucking the battered primer into his liveried coat, Stubbs went to work quite happily.
James wished his other problems were so easily solved. “Maybe you’d better let Hip unravel them,” he muttered to himself.
His own foul mood notwithstanding, James was glad he’d taken Flip to Blythe’s ball. Whatever had been bothering the fellow seemed to be nigh resolved now. James had missed the cheerful atmosphere that Flip had brought to his home. He hoped he could eventually help the fellow become more adventurous.
What an asset to the club he’d be.
Thinking of Stubbs happily studying the primer, James amended that thought with a smile. What an asset to the club Phillip already was.
There was only one person Phillipa could take her confusion to.
Button poured her another cup of tea and handed her a dry handkerchief. “I still don’t understand why you cannot simply tell him.”
“I can’t reveal myself now. It’s too soon . . . or perhaps too late, I’m not sure. He can never know who I am or what I’ve done. Don’t you see? He’ll never be able to believe that I truly loved him while I duped him. And if he were to hate me . . . I think I would be quite destroyed by that.”
Button shook his head. “It is a sad thing. Like one of the plays by the great Bard himself. Love lost between warring houses . . .” Button sniffed. “So you are going to leave us? Just like that, with no explanation?”
“If I leave now, James merely loses a tutor.”
“And a friend, don’t forget. He calls you friend.”
“And a friend,” she agreed quietly. “And I lose my last chance to know his love.”
Button’s silence changed, going from supportive to scheming in a heartbeat. She turned to him. “What? What are you thinking?”
“That perhaps . . . perhaps there might be one last chance for that.”
“What do you mean?”
Button dried her eyes with his handkerchief, suddenly quite purposeful. “Dance for him, once more.”
Chapter Twenty-four
James sat with Stubbs at a table in the Liar’s common room, using Phillip’s insightful primer and having the most success he had ever had with his apprentice.
“Oy, that’s one I know!” For the first time, Stubbs was actually showing eagerness in the presence of the written word. “Let’s see now . . . M is for Market, A is for Ash all alone, for Ale with a mate . . . no mate here . . . N is for Newgate . . . M . . . A . . . N . . .” Stubbs sat back with a glazed look of astonishment and looked up at James. With one finger he slowly pointed to the word. “That there says ‘man.’ ”
James tilted his head to read the word. “Indeed,” he said solemnly.
Stubbs bent over the words again. “Bloody ’ell. One minute it’s just scratch on paper, next minute it says somethin’ to you.”
James didn’t smile at Stubbs’s wonder. How could he, when the man was so profoundly exalted? For the first time James caught a glimpse of the bare and limited world of the illiterate. Stubbs had never been swept away in a grand tale of adventure, or quickened by the discovery and attainment of just the knowledge and information one had been searching for.
Regretting every moment he had wasted with his impatience and lack of sensitivity, James leaned forward. “Stubbs, they all have something to say to you. Every word, every page, every book in the world has something to say to you. All you need to know is this”—he patted the primer—“and you’ll never be without knowledge, or entertainment, or companions.”
Stubbs stroked the primer possessively. “Cor,” he breathed. He looked up at James, his expression hungry. “I want to do another.”
Now James did chuckle. “Very well, then, my ready student—”
Abruptly the door into the common room swung open and Rigg, one of the guards, stuck himself halfway into the room. “You lot have got to see the girl dancin’ for the marks!”
James gave Rigg an irritated glance. “You know the Liars aren’t supposed to frequent the front rooms.”
“Don’t worry, James. No one saw me. There ain’t a mark out there what has a thought about anything but which one o’ them veils is comin’ off next
!”
Veils.
Memory jolted through James. The touch of the silk, the moonlight, the soft and eerie Arabic tune she hummed as she bared herself for him—
He was out of his chair and past Rigg in an instant, only vaguely aware of Stubbs following close behind. Apparently even the miracle of education couldn’t compare with disappearing veils.
Phillipa had removed three veils before she saw James enter at the back of the room. Thank heavens, for she wasn’t sure how much more she could bare before these avid strangers. If nothing else, it was good to know she would never starve again, for coins were ringing to the stage at her feet with every flutter of her silk.
At least the young piper that Button had found to accompany her would benefit greatly this evening. She was not here for coin. This dance was for James and James alone.
He was closer now, slowly winding his way through the gaming tables. The games had halted abruptly when the curtain had opened on her, so abruptly that one man still held a handful of dice in midair while his chin hung halfway down his cravat. His tongue as well, which sent a shiver of distaste through her.
James. She must remember, she danced for James. The others watching her were no more than wooden figures, like the chairs and tables.
She spun for him, setting her silks to fluttering high, ignoring the catcalls of the others for the gleam that appeared in his intense dark eyes.
She locked her gaze with his. The others disappeared as she drew him. Come. Come to me, she called with her body. Come, love me once more.
He came, moving through the crowd that had surrounded the low stage, turning his body to make his way without ever taking his eyes from hers.
She loosened another veil, the last one she could spare before she exposed herself irrevocably before those strange and hungry eyes all around them. With a graceful motion, she signaled her piper to quicken the pace of the music even as she moved faster.
With all the power of the memory of his stroking passionate caresses crackling through her and across her damp skin, she undulated before James, close enough to touch if he reached out to her.
His hand moved, slowly and hesitantly, as if he were not even aware of his own motion. His fingers opened and reached—
She spun away, leaving that last veil dangling from his grasp. Turning, she dashed from the stage, past Button, who yanked mightily to close the curtain between her and her audience.
Hardly had the curtains met in a rippling rush before James found himself leaping to the stage and parting the draperies to follow his mystery dancer.
He could not believe it was her. Moreover, he could not believe that she had come to him here. What happy accident had caused their paths to cross just now when he was fair to losing his mind with obsessing about her?
He swept the velvet closed behind him and strode to the center of the stage. She was gone of course. But there was only one exit from this space and he knew it well. He brushed by Button on the short span of stairs leading to the back stage and followed her through a door that still swung from her abrupt passage.
She was just there in a narrow stretch of hallway lit only by one smoking tallow candle on a sconce. The yellow glow barely reached her as she stood facing him, her back to the small window at the end of the hall. Her veils glowed shimmering blue against the black night outside and her skin was tinted golden in the sputtering light.
She stood quite still, as if she had no purpose other than to wait for him to cross the distance between them. James stopped, distant alarms in his mind trying to be heard over the din of his sexual obsession. Who was she? Why was she here, of all places? A hired entertainer, a woman of the demimonde who displayed herself in veils and sinuous moves. Did she dance for everyone, then? For some reason he couldn’t bear that thought.
“I thought you danced for me alone that night,” he whispered.
Slowly, silently, her chin rose and fell. Yes.
“And tonight?”
Yes.
“And now?”
The corners of her eyes crinkled slightly. That mere sign of a smile lightened James’s heart. She was here for him and no other. That the others had seen her dance was of no consequence after all. She was his dream.
She began to hum. The exotic tune flowed down the hallway to him like a warm and scented desert breeze. Slowly, in perfect time with her rising and falling notes, her hips began to sway.
He heard bells.
Phillipa danced toward James, standing so straight and stiff there, as if he were bound tightly by her actions. He did not move, nor did he speak again. He only waited as if he were afraid to move for fear of waking from a dream.
So fine and strong, her James. So powerful in body and so wounded in spirit. She would heal him with her love if she could.
This time she would.
As she passed the single lighted sconce, she reached to the corner of the veil covering her face. James’s eyes widened in obvious surprise. She wished she could show her face as he so obviously wanted her to.
As she detached the veil, she turned to the sconce and lifted the grimy glass chimney to blow out the candle in one smooth motion. The hallway went entirely black. Nothing remained but the lilting notes of the tune she hummed and the sound of James’s breathing growing steadily harsher in the darkness.
She could sense his proximity so forcefully that she was able to stop her body from touching his with only an inch to spare. She raised both hands to cup his jaw softly and pull his face down to hers. He bent willingly enough, seemingly content to take her lead. She held him there, his lips so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her cheeks.
Their first real kiss.
She rose on tiptoe, finally letting the music fade away as she tentatively brought their lips together.
James quivered at the touch of soft lips on his. His hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to touch her again. He had to touch her again. He raised his hands to stroke the backs of his knuckles down both soft cheeks. Was she beautiful? Did he care? He was so mad for her damp and sinuous body that it scarcely mattered.
In a sudden movement he wrapped her slight body in his arms and pulled her tightly to him.
The only thing that mattered was that it was he who had brought her to this moment. He whom she had sought out, and he whom she kissed. His dream, alive and eager in his arms.
He deepened the kiss, almost coming undone at finally being allowed to possess some part of her. Her lips answered his for every pressure, every caressing, devouring movement. When he slipped his tongue ever so gently between her lips, she only answered him with the welcoming caress of her own.
The touch of her willing tongue against his sent his desire spiraling out of control. His mouth left hers to kiss a hot trail down her neck to her bare shoulders. His hands tore hungrily at her remaining veils, which came free from her golden belt and neckpiece. She made no objection, only urged him to further his exploration by taking one of his hands and moving it to cover one bared breast.
He tucked his face into her dampened neck in order to devote his every sense to the exploration of her silken flesh. The darkness wrapped about them both like a protective barrier from the world, the velvet bubble of dream.
Phillipa was naked but for the golden choker and the belt of coins. And her bells, a slender chain of chimes that dangled from the front of the belt, traveled between her thighs to ride the crevice of her bare bottom to fasten at the back of her belt once more.
Invisible, undeniable, they were meant to entice and intrigue, and inevitably . . . reward.
But for her barbaric golden adornment, she was completely naked in the arms of her fully dressed James. The contrast excited her immensely. She was his harem wife, his concubine, the object of his desire.
His hot hands on her body proved his passion, for he was almost clumsy in his eagerness, when she knew him to normally not be clumsy at all. He was so endearingly, obviously available to her, so powerless to resist her t
hat she was forced to stop the heady progress of his exploration in order to step away for a brief second.
She could not speak to him, though she longed to tell him of her heart. She could only try to communicate her desire by touch.
She tugged at the knot in his cravat. She felt his breath leave him in an exhalation of surprise.
“Here? In the hall?”
She pressed her fingertips to his lips and took his hand. Trailing her fingers on the wall, she found the plain narrow doorway to the small storeroom where she had changed into her costume earlier this evening, and where Button had presumably been hard at work while she danced.
She opened the door to find the room beyond every bit as dark as the hallway. Good, exactly as expected. It was a pity that she could not light a candle to see the results of Button’s labors, for it was sure to be a sight to behold, but she could not risk James’s getting a glimpse of her features below the veil.
And she did want to kiss him more. For hours . . .
Chapter Twenty-five
As Phillipa led James into the room, her bare toes encountered a soft mass. Yes, the pallet that Button had promised would take nearly the entire floor, wouldn’t it? She turned and placed her palms upon James’s waistcoat, turning her fingers under the lapels.
And tugged. With a yelp of surprise he fell with her to the pallet. With graceful ease he arched his body away so as not to fall directly on her, but to land at her side on the mounded piles of what felt like featherbeds. Phillipa sank deeply into the billowy stuff. Her body stretched at the sumptuousness even as her skin reacted to the sinful luxury of the velvet and silk beneath her.
“Where did you go, my dream?” James whispered from the right. Then a caressing hand found her naked rib cage. “You are a minx, are you not?” His deep warm voice teased in that special way he had, making her heart ache for him to know it was her.
She responded by reaching for him to pull his fully dressed body over her naked one. “Cover me,” she whispered in Arabic, breaking her solemn promise to herself that she would not speak. “Wrap me in your power and make me yours.”
