The Spy’s Convenient Bride: The Macalisters, Book Five

by Taylor, Erica

  “Yes, my lady. Lady Kenswick.” His voice was tight with pain and she released him.

  “Lovely. I hope you have a wonderful evening.”

  * * *

  Luke led her across the ballroom, far from the vile reach of Catford. He wasn’t sure what he’d stumbled upon but was pleasantly surprised to see she didn’t need him to swoop in and tell the idiotic lord off. She’d done that well enough on her own.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, as he felt her tremble beneath him.

  For a moment he was lost in the light in her green eyes. Her gaze tipped up to meet his, ensnaring him for a long heartbeat. The joy he saw in their depths rippled through him, as if it was a contagion spread from her to him.

  “I am perfectly well,” she said and took a deep steadying breath. He’d have thought her overset at confronting Catford, but she seemed… impassioned.

  “That was remarkable.”

  Her lips twitched, as if she wanted to break into a broad grin but held herself back.

  She laced her fingers through his own and he pulled her towards the dancing couples. They stepped into the movements of the waltz, joining the other mid-step.

  Luke’s eye’s sparkled. “I did come down to dance with you.”

  Her gaze softened. “You didn’t come down because you’d finished the translation?”

  He shook his head, regrettably. “No, quite the opposite. I needed a break. A moment to clear my head. You were right; that damned notebook was starting to swim before my eyes. You said you’d be down here for an hour, and I wanted one dance with my wife before the hour was over, so Quan helped me tidy up and I came in search of you.”

  A long moment passed between them. The green of her eyes glistened with an emotion he was too cowardly to claim. Not until this business with Redley was over. Not until they could safely stop pretending how much they meant to each other. If Poppins or whoever else wanted them harmed learned of the depth of his feelings for this woman, they would not hesitate to use her as a pawn against him.

  Instead he asked, “What about Canterbury House, for our house in London? Something with one of the cathedrals? Wells or Salisbury Place?”

  “That seems presumptuous to use the name of a Gothic cathedral in the name of your house.”

  “Our house.”

  They didn’t speak for remainder of the waltz, but no words were needed. Just holding her in his arms was enough to entertain other things they could be doing. From the desire that intensified in her gaze, she was thinking the same things he was.

  Before he could suggest they take this upstairs, she stepped out of his arms. She didn’t drop his hand as they wove thought the crowd and out the doors into an empty hallway.

  She turned and pushed him against the wall, mere steps from the ballroom doors, and tugged on the lapels of his evening coat, crushing herself against him.

  His lips met hers with a fever, unadulterated carnality rushing through him. How long had it been since his lips were last upon hers? Days? Years? How had he refrained from kissing her every waking moment, from worshiping the goddess she was?

  The sounds of the ballroom echoed into the hallway, barely piercing his lustful haze. Anyone, at any moment could step into the hall and see them. They weren’t remotely hidden from view.

  She pulled away a fraction; her gaze met his and a conspiring look reverberated through her eyes. “I think we could likely retire for the evening.”

  He nodded, dumbly, and pulled them up the stairs to their rooms.

  Once behind closed doors, her fervor was in full assault, and she had the buttons from his evening jacket and waistcoat undone before he’d even considered whether it would be more desirable to move from the sofa to the bed. Wordlessly they agreed on the sofa.

  Vivian’s lips trailed under his jaw and Luke angled his head, allowed her easier access to the sensitive skin along his neck. The intensity of her kisses hitched up a notch, and Luke responded eagerly. Soon she’d tumbled him back onto the sofa.

  “I don’t need your skin on mine,” she said, their fingers a flurry of buttons and laces. “I just need…”

  Luke’s eyes slipped closed as her fingers gripped around his hard length and he bit back a groan. Her hand slid down him and up again and it was nearly more than he could handle.

  “I just need this.” Her voice was breathless as she slid herself onto him.

  He dragged a breath into his lungs, and managed to not embarrass himself with how quickly he wanted to finish, but as her hips began to rock against him, he knew it would not take long for either of them.

  It was hot and rushed, but his orgasm rocked through him and she followed moments later. Slumped forward, sated, Vivian was warm in his arms and he was hesitant to let her go.

  Whatever spell she had over him, he reveled in it. He would make her see their marriage could last, that the relationship they were building could survive past their six month agreement.

  It was laughable to think he could keep his distance for six months. A fortnight into their arrangement and he was already head over heels in love. He craved her, burned for her, even as he held her in his arms, sated from their lovemaking.

  Burned… something rocked into place in Luke’s mind. As if he’d leapt from the rooftops and suddenly the floor was there all along. Right where he’d left it.

  He lifted Vivian in his arms, carried her to the bed, and tucked her beneath the heavy coverings. As he brushed his lips across the top of her head, she stirred and reached for him.

  “Stay in bed with me,” she whispered and laced her arms around his neck. She kissed him deeply and he was tempted to join her for another round of whatever had just happened. Each time with her was different, a new adventure, and it was not something he was likely to tire of, ever.

  But the notebook and Redley called to him from the desk and he broke their kiss.

  “As soon as I am done, I will be here with you.” He nipped at her bottom lip, plump from the intensity of their kisses.

  “Promise?” she asked, her tone husky against his lips.

  Luke groaned. “You make it nearly impossible to get any work done. How am I to focus with you tempting me as you are?”

  She kissed him again before she pulled away, a glimmer of mischief racing through her gaze.

  “Work through the night if you must.” She stretched her arms above her head before she curled around the pillow beside her. “As soon as this mysterious notebook and the mysterious Redley are solved and out of the way, you are mine, Husband.”

  Luke set to work without a backwards glance, eager for that to become his reality.

  * * *

  Vivian woke slowly, the darkness surrounding her comforting. The sheet fell to her waist and she was still half dressed from their lovemaking earlier. It had been lovemaking, she felt that to her core, but it had also been hot and carnal. Something she wanted again.

  Luke sat at the desk across the room, and scratched away at a paper. One lone candle burned beside him. There was nothing to wrap herself in, as the sheet was tucked tightly into the bottom corners of the bed, and she glanced about for something else. Luke’s evening jacket perhaps?

  Vivian glanced down at what was left of her hastily unlaced gown. Maybe she could just….

  She slipped her arms from the gown, unlaced the remainder of her stays, and shimmied out of the whole mess. Her clothing pooled onto the floor around her, followed quickly by her chemise. The only stitch of clothing she wore were the soft stockings still fastened with ribbons beneath her knees.

  She padded carefully across the room, more comfortable in her own nudity than she’d ever been. She slipped her arms around Luke’s shoulders and chest and leaned forward, her bare breasts pressed against his back. She kissed along the delicate flesh beneath his ear.

  He turned to regard her, his gaze heated as it perused the length of her.

  “You…” he began, but he gave himself a mental shake before he reclaimed her gaze. “You
are trouble, woman.”

  She grinned. “Probably.”

  He glanced at the notations before him on the desk, and then back at her, his expression almost pained. “I need five more minutes, Vivian.”

  She looked at him skeptically. “Only five?”

  “Honest,” he said and placed his hand over his heart. “I’m nearly there. Five minutes and I am yours.”

  She sauntered over to the settee across from the desk, and perched herself on the cushions where he could see her clearly from his position at the desk. There was no light from the new moon, but the lone candle sent amber streaks into the shadows, and to her, illuminating just enough of her to tease him indecently.

  His gaze burned. “Five minutes.” He pointed to the clock on the mantle. “Time me if you must.”

  She shrugged nonchalantly and allowed him his five minutes. If he went a second over, she would commandeer his attention. There was nothing to be done at 4am that he couldn’t do after a few hours of decent sleep.

  At four minutes, he set the quill down delicately and frowned at the paper. “What I’ve translated doesn’t make sense.”

  Vivian rose from the settee, and moved to stand behind him again. She read through the words he’d written on the paper. The message, clear as day, was a warning.

  The end of the monarchy is nigh, if the quest is successful. The date has been set, the second of May, and with it will come destruction like we have never seen.

  “Luke…” Vivian’s voice trailed off as she realized the implications.

  His face tilted to hers, his gaze narrowed at her thoughtful expression. “Does that mean something to you?”

  She nodded slowly. “Princess Charlotte is marrying Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld on the second of May. It’s been all over the papers. If something happens at that wedding… The Prince Regent will be there. The Prime Minister. The heads of our government will be present, in one room, at one time.”

  With a deep sigh, he pulled his fingers through his dark curls. At length, his gaze lingered over her and for a moment Vivian wished she’d covered herself. It no longer seemed like the time to—

  He pulled her to him and bent forward to take one nipple in his mouth. A little gasp escaped her lungs as the act warmed straight to her core. “Luke this hardly seems like an appropriate time to do this.”

  “I can’t do anything with this information until morning.” His gaze moved up to meet hers. “Taking pleasure in my wife is never inappropriate. Unless you are no longer willing?”

  Heaven help her, but she would always be willing. He didn’t take her silence as a rebuff, but watched the dark desire pool in her gaze, and he moved his torment to the other breast. His tongue swirled around her dark nipple before pulling her into his mouth and sucking.

  Another gasp escaped as her breath hitched. The little argument she had was gone.

  “Distract me from this, Vivian.” He trailed kisses down her abdomen. “Let me distract you.”

  She nodded, but his mouth and fingers moved where they wanted, and she didn’t mind waiting till morning to discuss the impending assassination of their government.

  Pleasure was always a better idea considering imminent tragedy.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Four days later, Luke paced across the hardwood floors outside the office of the Foreign Minister. After being presented with the evidence from Redley’s journal, Lord Castlereagh had removed himself to London the morning following the Ducksworth Ball. This seemed like a positive sign that something would be done about what Luke had uncovered in Redley’s little red notebook. He and Vivian lounged and relaxed for the weekend at Ducksworth’s, Luke reconciling with his old mentor. Luke hated the manipulations that swirled about his life, but he could appreciate that it had brought Vivian into his path.

  But as Sunday evening came and went, unease set in and on Monday morning he and Vivian returned to London, determined to see what had become of the information they’d gone to great lengths to acquire.

  It took another two days to gain an audience with the Foreign Minister. It was Wednesday, May the first, a whole twenty-four hours before the wedding of Princess Charlotte was to take place and as far as Luke knew, nothing had been done to stop it.

  Luke glared at the closed wooden door as he passed, and hoped he would not be kept waiting unnecessarily. His entire family was convening for his youngest sister’s birthday dinner in a few hours, an event he didn’t want to miss. He’d missed enough events when he was away with the war and in service to the Crown, it felt wrong to miss the things he was in town for.

  The door opened suddenly, and the Foreign Minster’s secretary waved him inside. From there he was ushered into another set of rooms before finally he stood before the Foreign Minister.

  Even though he’d worked for the Foreign Office for nearly a decade, Luke had never actually been within the walls of the office of the Foreign Minister. It looked as he thought it would, wooden paneled walls, portraits of past minsters hung about the walls. A deep red carpet set upon the wooden floors gave it a softer appearance but looks were often deceiving, especially in espionage.

  “Good afternoon, Foreign Minister,” Luke said with a bow.

  Lord Castlereagh barely looked up at him. “Good afternoon, Kenswick.”

  Silence. Luke clinched his jaw to keep his irritation in check. The tick of the timepiece on the desk was the only sound, except for the rustle as the occasional paper turned as Castlereagh read through Luke’s notations and translations.

  Surely this isn’t the first he’s looking at them? He likely knew the contents better than Castlereagh did at this point.

  “Do I have the only copies?”

  “Yes,” Luke lied.

  Castlereagh looked up and met Luke’s gaze with a scrutinizing one of his own. “Is that the truth?”

  “Do you think I wasted time to rewrite a copy of all those pages of notations? I assure you, Foreign Minister, my time was better spent getting them into your hands.”

  Castlereagh nodded, satisfied. He stacked the papers into one neat pile, then slipped them between the pages of the notebook.

  “Is there a problem with the translations? I’m happy to explain how they came about.”

  “No, there is no problem with the translation. The problem is with its validity. Kenswick, this is just a story. A fairytale, and until it is confirmed, it will remain as such.”

  “Foreign Minister, you have the notebook, and my translations. All my notations. How is it unconfirmed?”

  “Mr. Adam Poppins has already made his statement against Lord Longfield, weeks ago, giving a detailed account of Longfield’s vendetta against him. In these notes, Longfield talks about Martin and Poppins in conspiracy with a third person, but doesn’t identify that person? From Poppins’s account, Longfield murdered Monsieur Martin almost two weeks ago. Longfield states no motivation, no directive other than an attack on Carlton House and a vague timeframe. And this last part?” Castlereagh shifted the papers to the most perplexing piece of the information. “It is just a series of numbers and letters with no meaning. What is written here could just be the ramblings of a madman.”

  Irritation ground into Luke’s jaw. “Redley is not a madman.”

  Lord Castlereagh shrugged lightly. “He is a peculiar individual with a shadowed past. His acceptance into this organization was only permitted due to some spectacular references.”

  “Should his performance since then not speak for itself?”

  “It should, were he to turn himself in and clear up this mess. We would like to hear this from him, not hearsay and coded messages. Terrible way of doing business.”

  “It kept us alive when we sent valuable information from France to England.”

  “And for that we are most appreciative,” Castlereagh replied. “But in this instance, for such a threat to have an impact on the royal wedding, it needs to be unequivocally confirmed. And as of now, there are too many questions.”
>
  “The wedding is tomorrow,” Luke said, the gravel in his tone spread thin with his frustrations. “How do you expect to corroborate everything in there in mere hours?”

  “Produce Lord Longfield to testify. Others have searched for him since Mr. Poppins came to us after Monsieur Martin’s death, but as you know him best, perhaps you can succeed where they did not. But I cannot recommend interrupting the royal wedding on something as thin as what you’ve presented me. This could even be Longfield’s goal—to cause a major incident simply by casting doubt. He needs to be here to back up these accusations with his own words.”

  A harsh breath escaped Luke as he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. Those options seemed unlikely.

  Redley had the right of it from the beginning. Even if Castlereagh was trustworthy, he could not do anything about it. It was up to Luke, and Vivian, to stop this on their own.

  Luke snatched his hat from the chair and plopped it on his head. Lord Castlereagh was an earl, the same as Luke. On that footing they were equals, despite Castlereagh heading the government office Luke worked for.

  Except, Luke technically didn’t work for him any longer. Luke could do whatever the hell he wanted without anyone to answer to. Even as an earl, there wasn’t much they could prosecute him for.

  “Good day, Foreign Minister.” Without a bow, Luke turned on his heel and fled the room.

  If the Foreign Minister would not put a stop to the royal wedding, then Luke would just find a way to put an end to the threat against it himself.

  Vivian didn’t glance at him as he pulled himself into their awaiting carriage, the wedding gift from Andrew.

  “No luck?” she asked. Her frown deepened as her gaze raked over the pages of notes he’d taken from Redley’s notebook. They had, in fact, spent most of the night into the early morning hours copying down every bit he had pulled from the notebook, for this exact scenario.

  “Not a glimmer,” Luke replied and released a great sigh of defeat.