A Brazen Bargain: Spies and Lovers, Book 2

by Laura Trentham

  She would feel like hell on the morrow. Would she even remember this encounter? He’d known many men who’d lost their memory when they overindulged. Would it be better if she didn’t remember? Or, even worse, what if she remembered and regretted letting him touch her so intimately? His heart constricted, and he rubbed his chest.

  He righted her bodice and slipped noiselessly to her room, holding her close in his arms, his training coming in handy once again. It was still the wee hours, and the house was quiet. No one had heard her keens of pleasure.

  After laying her on the bed, he slipped off her dress and tossed it over his shoulder. One breast peeked over her hastily arranged white chemise. The combination of innocent and erotic made him throb. He would seek relief later—alone. The devil in him left her chemise in disarray. Covering her with the counterpane, he barely touched her lips with his and then retreated to end his own torment.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The rhythmic rocking woke her. How had she ended up on a boat? She pried one eye open to see the familiar blue canopy above her. Not a boat then, but everything spun oddly. She was in danger of tossing her accounts all over the beautiful bed.

  Swallowing down the rising bile, Minerva closed her eyes. It wasn’t getting any better. She sat up ever so slowly. The counterpane fell to her waist. Her chemise drooped down, her exposed nipple pebbling in the cool, morning air. Her dress lay puddled haphazardly on the rug.

  The evening’s events rushed back to her in an instant. She fell backwards and pulled the covers over her head. Oh…my…God. Had she actually begged Rafe to take her maidenhead? Unfortunately, she remembered every minute detail of the previous evening. She’d gained a roiling stomach and a pounding head but hadn’t lost her faculties.

  She recalled it all. Her shrewish accusations, her attempt, albeit feeble, to break his nose, and her admission she wanted him—very, very badly. Even hidden under the sheets with no one to see her, heat suffused her body, the embarrassed kind. Not the kind he had invoked with his hands. Those devilish hands. He may have been named for an angel, but he was wicked. So deliciously wicked.

  The door creaked. Minerva tucked the sheet under her chin. Jenny popped her head around, her eyes bright and darting.

  “Oh-ho. You’re finally awake. I’ve been peeking in on you all morning. Are you unwell?” Jenny bustled into the room, expertly balancing a breakfast tray. There was dry toast, fruit, tea and a glass filled with a strange green liquid.

  “Why would you think that?” She righted her chemise under the covers before sitting up against the pillows.

  “Lord Drummond specifically had Mrs. Potts prepare this tray for you. Said you might not be feeling quite up to snuff.”

  Jenny sat the tray in Minerva’s lap, flourishing a hand over the contents. She would be forever grateful there weren’t kippers staring back at her. A run to the chamber pot would have been a surety. Her entire body felt parched, and she drank the entire cup in three gulps, craving a river of tea. She pointed to the glass filled with green sludge. “What in the world is that?”

  “Not sure what’s in it exactly. Mrs. Potts calls it a morning-after tonic.” Jenny tidied the room. She swept the borrowed, discarded dress from the floor with a disapproving tsk.

  Rafe knew how to survive mornings after being in the bottle, there was no question there. Minerva raised the glass with a shaking hand and sniffed. It smelled of fruits and greens, mild and sweet. The first sip stayed down, so another followed, until the glass was empty.

  Her stomach’s violent roiling reduced to a mild simmer, which only emphasized the pounding in her head. Never, ever again would she give in to temptation. Of the bottle, that is. Despite her embarrassment, Rafe Drummond was a temptation she wasn’t sure she could give up. Especially not after the blinding pleasure he’d wrought. She remembered that too. Vividly.

  She set the tray aside and gingerly swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floor stabilized under her feet, and she attended her morning ablutions, allowing Jenny to help her dress. Thankfully, the maid didn’t comment on her nightly attire or lack of conversation.

  She owed Rafe an apology. Or did he owe her one? Either way, it was going to be awkward. A cool, detached façade is what the situation called for.

  Jenny hooked her into one of her favorite day dresses, a sage-green muslin with sprigs of flowers. Comfortable and airy, it flattered her figure with a slightly scooped neck and tight three-quarter sleeves trimmed in lace. Although, the color seemed to enhance her green-tinted pasty face. Under-eye smudges stood out alarmingly, and her lips looked bloodless. She bit them and pinched her cheeks, drawing false color on her face.

  Her usual, deliberate stride made her head pound in concert with each step, so she slowed to a shuffle. Her cottony mouth begged for more tea, even lukewarm tea left from breakfast. She entered the dining room on soft feet and stopped short. Rafe was in the middle of his noontime meal, a hearty repast of potatoes, ham and scones. She pressed a hand over her mouth, her stomach heaving once, and then, thankfully, settling.

  A London paper held his attention. He was dressed for riding in buckskins and boots, and his white shirt was rolled up, exposing the sinewy muscles that ran from his thick forearms down to his large hands. Those hands. A slight edge of desire sliced through her queasiness. Had one drunken escapade in his arms turned her into a complete wanton?

  She cleared her throat. Rafe leaned back, his eyes shadowed by the distance between them. He seemed as much for a loss of words as she was. Tea was on the table. Rafe rose and pushed the chair next to him out with his foot.

  “How are you feeling? I guessed you weren’t up for a full breakfast.” Rafe’s voice was austere and more formal than she was used to.

  “I’m better. The green concoction helped matters considerably. I awoke wondering when I’d boarded a boat.” Her half-hearted laugh echoed in her head, making her wince.

  “The first time is the worst. Did you solemnly swear to never drink again?”

  “I did, how did you know?”

  “It’s what everyone vows in the morning after drinking too much for the first time.”

  “When was your first time in the bottom of a bottle?”

  “At Eton. Amongst that many curious boys, alcohol is a foregone conclusion. Gray and I drank ourselves into a stupor one night during our second year. The next morning we fought over the chamber pot. It was a miserable experience. It was three years or more before I could even look at the stuff again.” His gaze remained on the paper, but his lips curled.

  “So before your injury…?”

  His smile faded and he ran a finger down his scar. “I rarely drank. War is a terrible thing. Did my actions save English lives? Yes, but I took other lives. Men with families and with the same loyalty to their country. Things have gotten better this autumn. Perhaps you and your brother have helped me as much as I’ve helped you.” The paper wrinkled in his hands.

  Her first instinct was to crawl over the table into his lap and hug him as tightly as her puny arms could manage. She settled for laying her hand on his forearm. He shuffled the paper to the side, pulling out of her light grasp. Fisting her hands in her lap, she bit her bottom lip.

  “What are your plans for the day, Lady Minerva?” His tone was brisk and distant.

  Lady Minerva? As if he hadn’t had his hand between her legs? Would he pretend nothing had happened between them? Her façade crumbled in the face of his indifference. “Why didn’t you make love to me last night?”

  “You remember?” A sudden intensity underscored the question.

  “Of course, I do. I was drunk, not brain-addled.” She pushed back from the table and leaned toward him. “I begged you to take me. Begged you, for goodness sake.” Hurt and humiliation and even a hint of fury warred in her voice. “And you refused. What’s wrong with me?”

  The daft woman was angry beca
use he hadn’t taken advantage of her? In fact, deciding to act a gentleman, albeit a bit late, he hadn’t planned on even mentioning their middle of the night activity. If she’d wanted to pretend nothing had happened, it wouldn’t have surprised him, nor would he censor her for it. More than most people, he understood how alcohol destroyed common sense. Yet here she stood, raging at him for not rutting her like a beast.

  “I didn’t want to take you? That’s what you believe?”

  Minerva shrugged and retreated, putting distance between them. He followed, grabbing her arm and pulling her around to face him. The pain in her eyes made his heart stutter. He was a broken man with little to offer, but at the very least, he could reassure her of his physical desire.

  He backed her against the wall and kicked the dining room door closed. Lifting her to her toes, he pressed his body into hers, melding them. And if trapping her with his body wasn’t enough, he encircled her forearms and held them against the wall next to her head, completely immobilizing her.

  She didn’t tug at her arms or squirm away. He brushed his bristled cheek against her soft one, probably chaffing her red, but he didn’t care. In fact, he wanted to mark her, if not with his seed then somehow. “Does it feel like I don’t want you, Minerva? Because I can assure you, I want you badly.”

  His erection strained to escape his breeches. He had been in a near constant state of arousal since last night. Even relieving himself hadn’t helped for long. He’d hardly slept and had ridden for two hours at dawn, seeking a physical outlet for his sexual frustration. Her hips bucked into him. Tightening his hands on her arms, he moaned. Given very little encouragement, he might spend in his breeches like a young, untried buck.

  He leaned into the shell of her ear and rasped, “I was very tempted to bury myself inside of you, damn the consequences. You have no idea what it cost me to leave you in your bed. Alone. But I don’t want your senses dulled by drink when I take you. I want to be looking in your clear blue eyes when I sink myself inch by glorious inch inside of your wet heat. I want you to remember every single moment. You’ll cry out my name and beg me to take you faster, harder, until you shatter with my cock inside of you.”

  “Yes. Rafe, take me to your bed. Now. Right now.” Her voice had thickened with lust and need.

  Her leg circled his, and he released her arm to glide a hand up her thigh to her buttock. He squeezed and tilted her pelvis, settling his cock near her core. “Are you already wet and aching for me, sweetheart?”

  She dropped her head to the side, exposing her neck, and he gently bit and sucked the supple flesh. Her freed hand threaded through his hair, and she tugged his face up for a kiss. It was a deep, carnal exploration, a conquering—but he wasn’t sure who was the vanquished. He rocked against her, mirroring his tongue’s rhythm.

  In some tiny sane corner of his mind, the part that recognized it was noon and, although the door was closed, it was not locked, Rafe heard a commotion. The ruckus moved closer.

  “Bloody hell.” He wanted to cry tears of frustration. Pulling away, he kept her in the circle of his arms. She panted and gripped his shoulders. Her lips were rosy and swollen, her cheek was indeed chafed and her neck bore the imprint of his mouth.

  Not knowing what else to do, he propped her against the wall and walked away. The door was flung open without even a knock and in swept his sister, Lily. Following close behind was his best friend and her husband of five months, Gray Masterson.

  Rafe wanted to strangle them both.

  “Surprise!” Lily swept over to give Rafe a kiss on the cheek and turned to Minerva to repeat the gesture. Although she no longer sagged against the wall, her face was flushed, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

  “Darling, I’ve missed you in town. It’s not the same riding in Hyde Park and having no one to gossip with. You’re trembling. Is anything amiss?” Lily looked back and forth between her and Rafe. “Did we interrupt a fight?” Lily shook her head, crossed her arms, and sighed like their disappointed nursemaid. “I hoped the very least to come out of this debacle was that you would be able to speak to each other without rancor.”

  A high-pitched giggle popped out of Minerva, and she cut her wide eyes to Rafe, the message clear. Save me. Feeling surprisingly off balance himself, he cast about for some excuse before landing on the one Lily had already provided.

  “Yes, Minerva and I were at each other’s…throats when you arrived. Unexpectedly, I might add. Your arrival, not our argument.” He winced at his less than stellar conversational skills, sidled to his armchair and scooted under the table to hide his still pronounced erection.

  “Thank heavens, lunch is still laid out. I’m starved.” Lily made herself a plate at the buffet and took a seat next to Rafe, digging in with gusto. Gray followed Lily’s lead while Minerva took the seat next to Rafe. Remnants of passion sparked between them.

  With effort, Rafe regulated his breathing and the tone of his voice, focusing on his sister instead of the overwhelming desire to lay Minerva over the table and have her for lunch. “I wasn’t expecting you for another week. Not that I’m not delighted, of course. Did you already inform Mrs. Devlin to make up your room?”

  Minerva was less successful masking her reaction, her voice still shaky. “How long are you staying, Lily?”

  “Regrettably, not long. We’re on our way to Devon to stay with the Earl of Linley and his new countess. Do you remember her, Minerva? She had the red hair and all the freckles? Quite charming, I thought. No one else gave her a chance to bag a peer, much less a handsome earl.” Lily’s prattling dissipated the thick undercurrents in the room.

  “What’s in Devon, Gray?” Rafe asked.

  “A smuggling ring. More than brandy, I’m afraid. We have an information leak somewhere.” Gray’s half-smile was at odds with his words and a shot of unease had Rafe squirming.

  Lily clapped like a child. “I’m to help. I was briefed by Sir Hawkins himself.”

  The unease about his own situation transformed to outright worry for Gray’s. “Does Hawkins realize the force of nature he’s unleashing?”

  Gray shot a side-eyed glance toward Lily. “I tried to explain it to him, I truly did.”

  “Stop it, both of you. Hawkins says I’m an asset to the Crown.”

  Rafe looked heavenward and held up his hands. “God help England.”

  Lily gave him a playful punch on the arm.

  He leaned toward Gray. “I wish you the best of luck, my friend.” Dropping his voice, he added, “You’ll need it.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny.” Lily shot him a withering glance she must have learned from Minerva but ruined it by sticking out her tongue and grinning.

  “Did you come from London? You must have started in the wee hours of the morning.” Rafe looked back and forth at them.

  Lily shifted and looked to Gray, who rolled his boiled egg from one side of the plate to the other, red creeping up his neck. “We actually got here yesterday and spent the night at your cabin. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, I don’t.” Rafe looked to Minerva. “Gray and Lily spent their honeymoon at a small cabin I renovated in the middle of the forest.”

  “I knew you stayed here, but I didn’t realize—that sounds lovely.” Minerva’s smile appeared back to normal.

  “It was lovely.” Lily and Gray exchanged secretive smiles.

  A shot of something that might be jealousy or longing or loneliness—or perhaps a stew of all three—rocked Rafe.

  “Minerva, let’s go for a turn in the garden so we can chat without the gentlemen. I’m anxious to know how my brother has been treating you.” Lily’s voice was full of dire retribution.

  Minerva pushed up from the chair, looking like a firing squad awaited her in the rose bushes. Lily linked their arms and dragged her away.

  As soon as the women were out of earshot, Gray burst out laughing and
laid his head on folded arms until he gained control of his guffaws.

  “What in bloody hell is wrong with you?” Rafe sensed the laughter was at his expense.

  Gray raised his head, a smile cutting deep dimples into his cheeks. “I thought you and the ice princess detested each other?”

  Rafe brushed non-existent crumbs off his waistcoat, unable to meet Gray’s eyes. “We do. It’s quite obvious I can’t stand the woman.”

  “Really? What was obvious to me was the beard burn on her cheek, the love bite on her neck, and how could I fail but mention the huge mast standing at attention in your breeches.” Gray ticked off the evidence on his fingers before dissolving into teasing laughter again. “Awfully quiet in here for a huge fight. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure I heard any conversation at all on our approach.”

  “Christ, was it that obvious?” Rafe leaned his head back on the chair.

  “Only to a master spy…and to a man who went through the same agony mere months ago.” Gray’s laughter turned into a sympathetic smile.

  Rafe ran both hands through his hair, knitting them around his nape. “I’m not even sure how it happened. She’s always disturbed me, but I had come to the wrong conclusions about her. With her constantly under foot, I’ve realized she’s loyal, a hard worker, smart, sweet—when she’s not yelling at me that is—and bloody gorgeous on top of all that. And, dammit, Gray, she seems to want me too.”

  “Why wouldn’t she want you?” Gray’s voice held a hint of tease. “Not that I’m at all interested in you in that way, you understand, but you’re well-built and have all your hair and teeth. Women have always found you devilishly attractive. Perhaps you never noticed, but I did because I always took your cast-offs.”

  Rafe didn’t believe him. Perhaps not classically handsome, Gray was hardly a wallflower with his easy charm. “I think my title had something to do with my appeal back then. I don’t get quite as much romantic attention these days.”