In Bed with a Spy

by Alyssa Alexander

  Vaguely discomfited, as though he’d been revealed as a voyeur, he infused his smile with charm. “What incredible feast do I smell?”

  The comment resulted in a flurry of movement. Mrs. Starkweather backed up and whirled around, narrowing her eyes for one long, appraising look. Mr. Starkweather jumped to his feet, frantically snatched his coat from the back of his chair and shrugged into it.

  The young woman, however, exhibited no such distress. She didn’t smile in greeting, but rather regarded him with the polite indifference of an ancient statue, pale as marble and carved of stone.

  Unlike Mrs. Starkweather, who planted her hands on her hips and beamed at him. “Well, young master! I barely recognized you—it’s been three years since you last had us brought up to London for an accounting. You are a sight for these old eyes!”

  Julian plucked up the woman’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Never old, my darling Mrs. Starkweather. Why, you’re as lovely as ever.” He bowed, adding a flourish to amuse her.

  “Go on with you, Master Julian.” Her round cheeks pinked. “Though I suppose you’re ‘his lordship’ now. You should have told us you were coming. We would have readied everything for you. Instead, you give us not a word of warning.”

  “I do beg your pardon.” Julian laughed. “I didn’t know I would be taking up residence until the day I left London.”

  “Welcome home, my lord,” Starkweather added to his wife’s greeting, tugging his coat into place.

  “Thank you.” Julian sent an appreciative smile toward the caretaker.

  Turning to the pretty blonde, he warmed his smile. She remained in precisely the same position, fingers linked together in front of her, quietly watching. Her eyes were silver gray, a perfect complement to the fair hair.

  “I quite forgot myself!” Mrs. Starkweather gestured to the young woman. “My lord, may I present Miss Grace Hannah? She lives a few miles away.”

  Surprise had him quirking a brow before he slipped his mask into place.

  How convenient to find Miss Hannah’s head in his oven.

  —

  “WELCOME HOME, MY lord.” Grace hoped her voice didn’t crack. She hated to be caught unprepared. Forcing her fingers to loosen, she extended her hand to the earl in greeting.

  “Miss Hannah, a delight to meet you.” His lips curved, at once beguiling and sensual.

  On purpose, she was certain.

  She sent him a polite half smile as their gazes met over their linked hands. His eyes were the bright blue of a cloudless sky in midsummer, a color that would have been attractive if not for the calculating light behind them. Her pulse skittered as those shrewd eyes scanned her face.

  “Had I known such a fair lady would greet my homecoming I would have returned fifteen years ago,” he said.

  “I would not have been here fifteen years ago.” The words sounded stilted. She struggled to add something witty and engaging. “Your homecoming would have been bereft of my presence.”

  “Ah, then I shall be content with today, and count myself fortunate to be honored with your charming company.”

  He looked truly disappointed. But she knew the reputation of the Wandering Earl, as well as the reputation of his father, grandfather and great-grandfather. Wastrels, gamesters and womanizers, every one. A lady couldn’t trust a rake and wastrel.

  Then again, she wasn’t a lady.

  She schooled her features into the polite, expressionless face she had mastered for dealing with aristocrats and their ilk. “Regrettably, my company is about to end, as I must be on my way.”

  “Alas, must I be deprived of such beauty so soon?”

  Her instincts leapt again as his watchful and cunning eyes continued to hold her gaze. The hair on her nape rose, sending a shiver down the line of her back. She suddenly felt like prey.

  Uneasy, Grace collected her riding hat, more than ready to depart. She secured the plain hat by its long ribbons beneath her chin and wished it had been fashionable even three years ago, instead of five.

  “Mrs. Starkweather, Mr. Starkweather, thank you for your hospitality. If you will excuse me, my lord? I must return home.” Acknowledging the earl with a nod she hoped appeared regal, she turned toward the door to depart.

  “I shall return as soon as I have escorted our guest to her carriage, Starkweather,” the earl said.

  “My lord, there’s no need—” Grace began.

  “There is every need. My afternoon would be incomplete without a few additional minutes of your delightful company.” He offered his arm, extending it with a short half bow.

  Nearly ten years of being the poor relation had taught her when to hide behind the pretense of submission. Resigned, she nodded in acquiescence and took his arm. It was strong and hard beneath her fingers. Their shoulders brushed, just the lightest touch as he steered her through the house. She felt the heat of him, and rising with it was the scent of man and leather and outdoors. Fresh, earthy and oddly appealing.

  They left the silent interior of Thistledown and emerged into the bright August sun beyond. Grace glanced over at the earl, studying him quickly. His gaze absorbed the lawns, the drive, even the horizon in one quick glance. A breeze teased his light brown hair. The tips faded to gold at the ends, as though they had been dipped in sunlight. Lean and handsome features held a subtle tan that set off those blue eyes.

  She turned away, refocused her attention on the grounds of Thistledown. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring.

  “Thank you for escorting me to the stables, my lord,” she said.

  “I take my duties as host quite seriously. Courtyards are dangerous places, you know.” He smiled at her in that way people did when they shared a private jest. Flirtation came easily to him. “And I’m ever a gentleman, Miss Hannah.”

  Absurd. And amusing. She should remain quiet. She should refrain from responding to his banter. And yet—“It’s quite difficult to traverse a courtyard, is it not?”

  “Extremely. One must be forever on guard against wayward guests interrupting your walk.”

  “Or wayward residents.” Gravel crunched beneath her feet.

  “Residents as well,” he agreed. “In fact, residents may be worse than guests, since they never leave.” He paused, glanced around. “But where is your carriage?”

  “I rode from my uncle’s.”

  “What did you ride?” he asked, turning smiling eyes toward her. “A dainty palfrey so delicate her feet barely touch the ground? A proud, high-stepping mare? But no.” He laughed. “Something more fantastic—a dragon covered in jewel-toned scales, perhaps? Or did you use your own exquisite wings? For surely only an angel could be so beautiful.”

  Hard-pressed not to laugh at the sheer nonsense of his words, she tried to keep her features bland. “None of those, my lord. I arrived on an ordinary horse.”

  “Alas. My enchanted visions dashed. Well, an ordinary horse can be raised to extraordinary by its rider, as must be the situation here. I trust you do not have a difficult journey home?”

  “I have lived at my uncle’s estate for the last ten years. I probably will not lose my way,” she said drily.

  “I hope not.” He slid a glance in her direction. “I may be a gentleman, Miss Hannah, but a few miles across the Devon countryside may be beyond my escort skills.”

  “Gentlemen are just not what they used to be.” She sighed. Despite his amused smile, her mind chastised her tongue. What devil was pricking her sense of humor?

  “Having lived here for so many years you are probably familiar with the people in the community and countryside,” he said. “No doubt there would be any number of friends to help you find your way.”

  Grace cast a glance at the earl. The calculating, watchful look returned to his eyes, turning a rogue into a predator. “Indeed, my lord,” she answered warily. “One can meet any number of people in
ten years.”

  “I’ve met a fair number myself.”

  “In London?”

  “And on the Continent.”

  “The Wandering Earl. I have heard the sobriquet.”

  “My reputation precedes me.”

  “You are an earl, my lord. The only one in these parts, in fact, which makes your various activities interesting.”

  “I haven’t been to this part of Devon in years.”

  “That doesn’t negate the fact that you are the only earl. The others are merely barons, knights, honorables or, as in my case, mere misters and misses.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Somehow, I don’t think you are a mere miss.”

  “I’d like to think you’re correct.”

  The earl pulled open the stable doors and stood aside for her to enter. The faint scents of horse and hay drifted on the air. Grace let her eyes adjust to the dim light as he closed the door behind them. In the first stalls she saw what must be the earl’s horses busily munching their feed. They passed the animals and Grace pointed to a large stall near the end of the row. “My mount is there.”

  As they approached the stall, a massive black horse thrust its head over the door. The stallion’s head was huge, his eyes a little wild. Grace watched man and beast eye each other with distrust. The horse snorted, nostrils flaring, and a hoof pawed the ground. His ears pricked forward and a decidedly irritated glint appeared in his eyes.

  “An ordinary horse, Miss Hannah? That horse is definitely not ordinary. In fact, he looks to be a Thoroughbred.”

  “Demon is descended from the Darley Arabian.” She crossed the few feet to the stall that housed her stallion. The animal whinnied softly at her.

  “I assume he earned the name Demon.”

  “Would you expect otherwise?” Grace stroked the stallion’s muzzle. “Demon has the speed and stamina for racing, but not the temperament, poor fellow. He has trouble following directions. Which is why my uncle dislikes him and handed him off to me.” She was lucky, really. If he didn’t bring in a fee for acting as stud, her uncle would have sold him years ago.

  The earl eyed the horse again. “I would be remiss, Miss Hannah, if I did not ask whether you could handle this animal. I don’t believe I’ve met a lady that would ride a stallion.”

  “Such ladies are rare, I’m sure.” She tilted her head, met his gaze. “But she only needs to know how best to handle the stallion.”

  He paused. The blue of his eyes was intense. “An interesting theory.”

  Grace glanced at the watch pinned to her riding habit. It was nearly five, and she was allowing herself to be caught up in a conversation she shouldn’t have. She schooled her features. “It is past time for me to depart, my lord. I must return home to—” To what, she thought frantically. What could she tell him? To oversee dinner preparations? To ensure the linens were properly washed and aired?

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, Miss Gracie,” a voice called out. A young groom hurried between the stalls, carrying Demon’s saddle and other tack. “I would’ve ’ad Demon ready for you, but ’is lordship came home and is—”

  “Right beside me,” she said quickly.

  “Milord.” He acknowledged the earl with a nod before hurrying to saddle Demon. The horse shied away from the groom, as usual.

  “I’ll hold him steady.” She slipped into the stall to murmur to Demon, stroking his forehead. When the groom stepped back she took the reins and led the horse through the stable and into the sunlit courtyard beyond.

  She approached the mounting block, but the earl stayed her course.

  “Allow me to assist.” He linked his fingers together and offered her a leg up.

  She couldn’t politely refuse and leave him standing there. With an inward sigh, she placed her foot in his linked fingers and boosted herself onto the sidesaddle. Her breath caught, then rushed out again when he gripped her waist to steady her. His fingers, hot and strong, lingered for a moment, imprinting their heat onto her waist. He squeezed gently, then let his hands glide down her hips and drop away.

  Breathing seemed impossible. The caress was intimate. Too intimate. Worse, her reaction—the sudden awareness of her body, the drumming of her pulse—was discomforting. She struggled to keep her expression serene.

  “Welcome home, my lord. And good-bye.”