My Lady, The Spy

by Barbara Devlin

  One by one, the Knights of the Brethren dropped to a knee and repeated the momentous gesture, and Rebecca was touched beyond words, especially when Dirk pressed his lips to her flesh, then pulled her into a loving embrace. For the second time that day, he sealed their pact with an inexpressibly sweet kiss.

  Hoots and hollers brought them up for air, and she laughed, until Dirk whispered, “Save that for later, love.”

  “If I may, allow me to thank you--all of you, for the warm welcome,” Rebecca said with a sniff. “Please know that I shall do my utmost best to fulfill my responsibilities as a member of your set.”

  “Brave lady, you have already exceeded expectations.” Blake passed a tray laden with filled brandy balloons. “Your service to the Crown is astonishingly extraordinary.”

  “Oh, I say.” Cara tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. “Had you been born to the Brethren, you could not be more worthy of such distinction.”

  “Blast it all.” Sabrina clucked her tongue. “You are bloody well splendid.”

  “I do so admire your strength.” Elaine, the quietest member of the odd extended family, hugged the shadows. “I could never be so bold.”

  “Praise, indeed.” Unaccustomed to such effuse appreciation, Rebecca’s cheeks burned with embarrassment.

  “Come, brothers and sisters, and let us toast.” Blake held his glass high. “To the Brethren of the Coast.”

  “Nulli Secundus,” they proclaimed in concert.

  The ballroom echoed their cheers, and again her new relations surrendered to harmless but spirited repartee.

  “So, what did the ladies do last night?” Dalton asked. “As we considered it our solemn duty to drag His Dullship of Wainsbrough to the Muddy Rudder.”

  “We enjoyed our own initiation.” Alex shot Rebecca a telling glance and smirked.

  “Oh, really?” Trevor frowned. “And what did this initiation consist of?”

  “The same thing we did the night before you married Caroline,” Sabrina interjected.

  “Which would be?” Trevor persisted.

  “None of your business.” His wife elbowed him in the ribs.

  “My friends, while I should be content to spend the evening in your company, I believe it is time for us to take our leave.” Dirk drew Rebecca to his side. “My bride and I have urgent business.”

  “I’d wager you do, brother mine.” Dalton waggled his brows and tossed his coin. “Tails, again. Luck favors you.”

  A few minutes later, Dirk and Rebecca ran the Brethren gauntlet to a waiting coach. Tucked, safe and sound, in the elegant equipage, she folded her arms.

  “My lord, I do not wish to appear ungrateful, but I would consider it the height of neglect were I not to point out the obvious.” He hauled her to his lap, but she remained steadfast. “We have not completed our mission. We cannot depart--”

  Dirk silenced her with a kiss.

  #

  “How charming.” Standing on the dock at Deptford, Rebecca gazed at an evergreen adornment, listing in the breeze, amid the rigging of the Gawain. “But you know we cannot sail.”

  “That is a wedding garland, love.” Hugging her from behind, Dirk nuzzled her temple. “It is a centuries old Navy custom to announce the marriage of a crewmember. And I do not intend to sail. I thought, perhaps, we could spend tonight aboard ship, as it is where we first met.”

  “Oh, Dirk, what a lovely, sentimental gesture.”

  “Well, I can’t take credit, as it was Trevor’s suggestion. He and Caroline consummated their vows in his cabin, on the Hera. It struck me as a good omen, and I must admit my motive is not so gallant, as I have long desired you naked in my bunk.”

  “Scandalous.” She swatted in play at him. “But, if memory serves, you were unfailingly noble when you rescued me.”

  “My dear wife, I may be noble, but I am not dead.”

  Rebecca laughed, turned in his embrace, and set her lips to his. A few desperate seconds later, Blake and Damian drew rein, which drew the newlyweds up short, and she pressed her face to Dirk’s chest.

  “Your sheets are not getting any warmer, brother.” Blake dismounted.

  “Worry not, lovebirds.” Damian followed suit and sketched a mock salute. “We have your back.”

  “Gentlemen, I would have your promise to remain here, at the gangplank.” Dirk frowned. “Until dawn.”

  “Oh, come now.” Blake snorted. “Do we look like a couple of curious virgins?”

  “Indeed.” Damian wrinkled his nose. “We have no interest in your connubial interlude, insofar as it remains uninterrupted.”

  A spectator to the awkward exchange, Rebecca could only giggle.

  “Your word, brothers.” Dirk tapped his foot.

  To Damian, Blake said, “You know, I do not believe he trusts us.”

  “You may be right,” Damian replied.

  “Now.” Dirk set Rebecca at arm’s length.

  “Oh, I say.” Damian nudged his partner in crime. “You have our word.”

  “Indubitably.” Blake bowed. “We are fixed in your wake. Go to it, man. Rock the boat.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” With nary a warning, Dirk swept Rebecca off her feet and all but ran to the main deck. In mere seconds, he carried her into the captain’s cabin. The quarters remained much as she recalled but not quite so conservative.

  Bathed in the saffron hue of candlelight, the once utilitarian bunk now boasted a velvet counterpane of deep burgundy, matching satin sheets, and plush down pillows. Crystal vases filled with red roses perched in every nook and cranny. But what struck her as odd was the cushioned, two-seater bench sitting before the bunk, which looked vaguely familiar.

  “My lord, is that the same one--”

  “From the gallery?” Dirk traced her jawline with his nose, nipped her chin, and then set her down. “It is.”

  “What, pray tell, is it doing here?” She tried but failed to suppress a shiver of delight.

  “Ah, I have special plans for that--and you.” With grace and ease she envied, he untied his cravat and tossed the yard-length of linen to the floor. “‘Step into my web,’ said the spider to the fly.”

  “Oh?” Pulse points blazed to life, but she stood mesmerized, unable to move. “Who is the spider, and who is the fly?”

  “Does it matter, as long as we are together?” He doffed his coat, and his waistcoat soon followed.

  “I don’t suppose it does. But what if I do not wish to be pursued?” Goosebumps covered her from top to toe. “What if choose to pursue?”

  “You may chase me anytime, my lady wife. But I warn you, I am an easy mark where you are concerned.” Clothed only in his trousers, he smiled a wicked smile and extended his arms. “Now, come here.”

  Trembling with excitement, Rebecca obeyed without hesitance. As they had already shared a bed, the telltale sting of a blush puzzled her. And the finesse of a seasoned spy abandoned her. She licked her suddenly dry lips and inhaled a shaky breath.

  Dirk met her stare and arched a brow. “Are you afraid?”

  “Of you?” She shook her head. “Never. But I am afraid for us.”

  “Rebecca.” He pulled her close, enveloping her in the comforting warmth of his body. “I will let no harm befall you.”

  “But what about you? I could not bear it if the villain caught you in his sights.” There was something she wanted to say to her new husband, but she could not compose a suitable declaration. “And you must be worried, otherwise Blake and Damian would not be on watch.”

  “That is merely a precaution.” He hugged her tighter, and she thought she might swoon. “I will brook no interruptions tonight.”

  “Dissemblance is not in your nature, and I know you are troubled.” Finally, she summoned courage, swallowed hard, and looked Dirk straight in the eye. “I love you so much, that I would give my life for you.”

  “Darling Rebecca, I love you, too. And, if must needs, I would sacrifice myself for you.”

  “Please do not feel tha
t you must respond, in kind. While I will admit I would be disappointed to discover you do not share my affection, I will not be angry. I would rather you be honest.”

  “You doubt me?”

  “Well.” She bit her lip. “Everyone knows it is not fashionable to love one’s wife, and our courtship was anything but usual.”

  “Hell and be damned with fashion, and what care I for courtship. I do love you, else I never would have married you.”

  For a minute, they simply stood there, resting forehead to forehead. Slowly, he smiled. She responded, in kind. At long last, Dirk set his mouth to hers in an inexpressibly sweet affirmation of an intangible, yet nonetheless powerful, commitment.

  And Rebecca surrendered.

  Desire simmered beneath her skin, and undeniable hunger burned in her belly. She broke their kiss, wrenched from his embrace, and gave him her back. “Dirk, if you don’t fill me soon I will scream.”

  “That will give Blake and Damian something to talk about.” He tugged at the laces of her gown and groaned. “What the devil are you wearing? It will take a sennight to get you out of this infernal contraption.”

  “The modiste said it was all the rage.” She swayed left and then right, as he battled her gown.

  “For what, an insane asylum?”

  “Poor darling.” She couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Bloody hell, this is an exercise in futility. Grasp the back of the chair, love.” She complied as he bade, and Dirk ripped apart the laces of her wedding gown.

  “My dress.”

  “Relax. I tore the seam, so we can have it repaired.” He inched the bodice to her waist and then shredded her undergarment.

  “That chemise was brand new.”

  “I will buy you another one--hundreds of them.” A pool of lace encircled her feet, as he stripped her bare. With his hand he skimmed her breasts and then blazed a naughty trail to a far more delicious target. At the first touch of her most sensitive flesh, she dropped her head back and sighed--until he came to an abrupt halt.

  “What is this?”

  In an instant, she realized he had discovered the thread attached to the oval sponge she used to prevent conception. Although she dreamed of growing a family with Dirk, she refused to expose an innocent babe to the dark world of espionage.

  “Please, do not be angry. We have an agreement.” Rebecca held her breath. Braced for a prime male temper tantrum, she was genuinely surprised when Dirk chuckled. “My lord, I am relieved you find humor in the situation.”

  “You mistake me.” He cast her a boyish grin. “If I find humor in our predicament, it is because we are on the same page.”

  “We are?”

  “Indeed.” He shifted his weight. “You see--I procured some sheep skins.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  “Oh, Dirk.” In concert, they burst into laughter. “I do love you.”

  And then Rebecca pounced. She wound her arms about his neck and scored her fingernails to his nape, earning a lusty grunt as reward. In a flash, her no-nonsense nobleman devolved into a marauding barbarian, as he tossed her to the bunk. Inching to the center of the mattress, she extended her arms and flicked her hands in bold entreaty. In response, Dirk practically tore his trousers from his limbs. Naked and aroused, he flung himself atop her, and she reveled in his apparent loss of control.

  Somewhere, in the tiny recesses of her mind still capable of coherent thought, she reminded herself to take her time, as it was her wedding night. But a spy enjoyed no guaranteed tomorrows. So she let go the reins and ravished her man, in kind.

  The room filled with a sensuous, audial tapestry of her feminine sighs and his husky groans. When they joined their bodies, passion glimmered and then crystallized, annihilating all persistent doubt.

  Rebecca had done the right thing.

  Their marriage would be a success.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Our marriage is an unutterable failure!”

  Rebecca lashed out with a hand and moaned in frustration. Drowning in a haze of anger, she paced the office of Sir Ross. “You should have seen him. The stubborn fool hovered the entire night. The devil, himself, would not dare approach me.”

  Compressing his lips, Sir Ross leaned forward in his chair. “Well--”

  “The man is impossible. It was our first ball as husband and wife, and he treated me as if I were the villain. Daresay I could not catch a cold with him lurking about.” She came to a halt before his desk, foot tapping an impatient beat, and arms folded in front of her. “You must help me.”

  “All right.” Sir Ross pointed a finger in emphasis. “Perhaps I can--”

  “I cannot work under these conditions.” She resumed pacing. “I thought the man was reasonable. There is not a reasonable bone in his body.”

  A knock at the door silenced her tirade. Quickly, Rebecca pulled the hood of her black wool cloak over her head.

  “Hold hard.” Sir Ross arched a brow. “Come.”

  “Viscount Wainsbrough to see you, sir,” said Mr. Clarkson.

  Rebecca humphed.

  “Well this should prove entertaining.” Sir Ross rolled his eyes. “Send him in, at once, and make yourself scarce.”

  Clarkson nodded.

  Seconds later, Dirk stormed through the door, slammed it forcefully behind him, and halted when his gaze met Rebecca’s. “I should have known I would find you here.”

  Riding a wave of righteous indignation, she shook her fist. “I have every right to be here.”

  “In that I will not argue, but I take issue with your hasty retreat from our home.” Stretching to full height, he stared down his nose at her. “I will not have you running like a scared rabbit when it suits you. In future, when we disagree, you will face me.”

  “How dare you call me a coward.” With hands on hips, she thrust her chin. “You are an old woman.”

  “Better an old woman than a dead woman.”

  “That is not fair.” To Sir Ross she said, “Would you tell him he is ruining our mission?”

  In turn, Dirk glared at the head of the Counterintelligence Corps. “Would you tell her to stop taking unnecessary risks?”

  “Enough.” Sir Ross stood and rounded his desk. “May I remind you that you insisted on marrying in the middle of this assignment? And I supported the idea because it seemed in Rebecca’s best interest, given that she remains our only hope to lure the traitor. The Season is nearing its end, and there is no time to change our strategy.”

  “Is there news from the front?” Dirk asked with a frown.

  “Soult has advanced on Wellington’s position, but I believe we have reached a turning point in the war, so I will not jeopardize our effort for the sake of a lover’s quarrel. Whatever your differences, resolve them--now.”

  With that, Sir Ross quit the room.

  Alone with her husband, Rebecca sought refuge along the rear wall and pretended to examine a framed antique pistol. How she hated fighting with Dirk.

  “I have had my fill of staring at your back.” With his hands on her shoulders, Dirk whirled her about to face him. “I am your partner in all enterprises. Talk to me.”

  “My orders are to catch a traitor.”

  “And mine are to protect you.”

  “I have a duty to the Crown.”

  “Your duty is to me.” He pressed his fist to his chest. “I am your husband and, as such, claim your allegiance. All prior claims must perforce yield to mine.”

  “That’s not fair.” Her heart sank. How could she tell him what he had not wanted to hear? That while she wanted nothing more than to free herself from the hell of espionage, it might not free her. “You knew I was a spy when you married me, and we agreed that I would complete this mission before deciding whether or not I would retire.”

  “That is not the conversation I recollect.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you remember what you said in my study, because I recall every word. ‘
I should like, very much, to marry and have a family. I want to know how it feels to wake up in the morning and have nothing more important to decide than what color dress I will wear. I want to bathe in perfumed waters every day, without fear that my scent will betray my presence on surveillance. I want to fashion my hair in the latest style, and attend events of the Season for no reason other than to waltz the night away in the arms of my beloved.’ Were you lying to me? Did you say those things because you thought it was what I wanted to hear?”

  “I would never lie to you.”

  “Then I would have your promise to end your career as an agent of His Majesty.”

  “I can’t. I simply can’t.” Should she share her fears? Would he understand her reluctance to sever ties with the Corps? “You cannot force me to quit.”

  “If must needs, I can do just that.”

  “Why?”

  “How often do you wake, in the middle of the night, screaming in terror?”

  “Don’t.” She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Please. If you prefer, I can sleep in my chambers.”

  “Like bloody hell you will. I want you in my bed.” His voice softened. “Darling, all those things you want for yourself--I want them for you, too. It pains me to see you suffer, Becca. I ache for you.”

  “Dirk, I do not deserve you. I am sorry we quarreled.” She started when he pulled her into his arms, and she met his gaze. “Perhaps you should not have married me. If you seek a divorce, I will not contest it.”

  “My dear disillusioned wife, there will be no dissolution of our marriage.” He cast her a lopsided grin. “Even if I have to post in The Times, for all to see, the number and ways, which are rather impressive, if I say so myself, I have taken you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” He brushed her nose with his.

  “Including the two-seater bench?”

  “Especially the two-seater bench.”

  #

  Standing in the Danford ballroom that night, Rebecca navigated the cavernous hall, stopping to share a bit of conversation here, and partake of a choice piece of gossip there. To all eyes, she appeared to be nothing more than a young socialite, newly married, happy, and harmless. Oh, how looks could be deceiving.