The Beauty and the Spy (2 page)

The short man glared at her. “I thought you said you'd secured the room.”

“I did. Something went wrong.”

At her back, her mystery man's deep voice reverberated through her. She hiccupped on a sob.

“She heard too much,” the short man continued impassively, his eyes cold. “She has to die.”

N
icholas Wright heard the woman's quiet crying, felt her trembling against him and the wetness of her tears on his hand where it covered her mouth. All his training told him that his mission should be his first priority.

But his instincts where women were concerned always led him in another, more vulnerable direction. Was this her room? Had he brought her into danger? Hell, he'd thought he'd been so careful.

He was still in control of this situation; he could be successful at both his mission and protecting the woman. But right now, he had to put
Campbell at ease, before Nick lost his only connection to the traitor Julia Reed.

“It's my fault we've been discovered,” Nick said. “I'll take care of her, and believe me, no body will be found.”

The woman gave a little squeak and started struggling again. He admired her bravery even as he was forced to squeeze her tighter. Her waist was fragile; her bones felt as delicate as a bird's. He could hurt her if he wasn't careful.

Campbell lifted the woman's chin and stared into her face. “Perhaps I would enjoy it more.”

Everything seemed suspended as the woman froze and whimpered softly.

“Go—quickly,” Nick said with force. “Someone could be missing her even as you lust over her. At least I belong at the ball. What excuse will you give if they find us?”

Campbell glared at him, then gave a short nod. “I'll look for the message at the inn. You make sure she never talks again.”

“Count on it.”

Campbell opened the door, looked both ways, and shut it behind him as he left. The woman hung limp in Nick's arms, but at the click of the door, she became wild, flailing her arms and legs, scratching at his hand where it covered her mouth.

“Calm down,” he whispered forcefully, his face pressed against her hair. “I'm not going to kill you.”

He turned her away from the door toward the bed, and that made her struggle even more. A flowered wreath that had been perched on her dark curls went skittering along the floor.

With sudden comprehension, he tried to gruffly reassure her. “I'm not going to do
that
either. Just be quiet so I can explain—”

She bit down hard on his hand and deliberately collapsed toward the floor. In their struggle he got a handful of one ample breast. After all the work he'd done on this mission, he'd about had it with trying not to hurt her. He picked her up and threw her onto the bed. When she tried to scramble away, he fell on her, forcing her onto her back and pinning her gloved hands over her head with one of his hands and using the other to cover her mouth. His legs and her skirts pinned her lower body. He had an odd, quick thought that she felt very comfortable beneath him.

She stared at him wide-eyed, dark hair sticking out about her face, breathing so hard that her breasts, partially covered and barely contained, shuddered against his chest.

“That's enough,” he said in a cold, menacing voice. “You can't escape me, and you'll only be hurt trying. Whether you believe it or not, I don't
want
to hurt you. But I can't risk discovery, either.” He rotated his hips until she could feel the pressure of the pistol tucked in his belt against her soft stomach. “Don't force me to use this.”

The threat was hollow, and he knew it—but
the woman didn't. She squeezed her eyes closed, and another tear leaked out to slide into her hair. Though her lips moved against his hand, he didn't allow her to speak. The stiffness went out of her body, and she gazed up at him beseechingly with hazel eyes, the flecks of green and gray shimmering with her tears.

“We have to leave,” he said in a low, impatient voice, “and it obviously can't be through the ballroom. It will have to be the balcony. Can you be quiet and walk alone, or do I have to gag you?”

Very slowly he removed his hand from her mouth. His weight still held her pinned to the bed, and he imagined she was having difficulty breathing by this point.

Softly she said, “I'll be good. But please, my family has money. Let me go, and I promise they'll reward you handsomely.”

“I'm not after money. Now let's go.”

“But—”

He slid backward off the bed, pulling her to her feet with the same motion. For a moment their gazes locked, and he saw her fright and desperation. He knew then that he couldn't trust her not to do something stupid. Holding on to her arm, he turned and pulled the coverlet and blanket off the bed.

She gave a ragged cry and tried to tug away.

With his hands on her upper arms, he positioned her beside the bed. He leaned down into her face, and she cringed. “I said I wouldn't hurt
you. I don't lie. Now stand still or I'll lose my patience.”

He took the sheet and began to rip the fine fabric into strips with only his bare hands in a deliberate show of strength. Taken by surprise when she tried to scramble across the bed in a flurry of skirts and petticoats, he was grudgingly impressed with her bravery—or foolhardiness. Catching her from behind, he pressed her down onto her stomach with one hand, then flipped her skirts up with the other to tie her ankles.

“This is ridiculous, you know,” he said casually. “You can't overpower me.”

Though her legs trembled, she didn't try to scream. He held her delicate ankles and found himself looking up the length of her legs, past her silk stockings and garters, to her drawers slit to reveal her inner thighs.

In a deliberate attempt to subdue her—and feeling rather disgusted with himself to have to resort to this tactic—he ran his hand down the back of her thigh, letting his fingers brush the bare skin in between. She gave a strangled moan, and he stopped instantly. She had legs to make a man desperate—not that he'd ever get to sample what was between them. He tied her ankles, rolled her over, and secured her wrists in front. After he stuffed a small ball of linen in her mouth, he tied a gag about her head. She glared at him with damp eyes, but no more tears. He blindfolded her.

“This is for your own benefit,” he said, as he lifted her into his arms and strode to the balcony. “Remember what will happen to you if Campbell gets ahold of you.”

Staring down at her bright blue gown and the smooth expanse of creamy skin and shoulders above her neckline, he realized that she would stand out in the dark alley. He wrapped her in a blanket and carried her outside.

Charlotte could barely breathe, and she struggled to keep her panic from overwhelming her. She'd been bound with ropes once before, and had hoped never to feel such helplessness again. She wanted to cry and sob and start this whole day over. She would stay with her mother and her friends this time, never leave the safety of the ballroom.

If only she hadn't read her father's journals and put such outlandish notions in her head. Yet they were her only guide now. Always her father mentioned keeping calm, no matter how dangerous things seemed. By following his advice, she would be able to think clearly and look for a chance to escape.

Swallowing was dry and difficult, and she had to remind herself that the material in her mouth wouldn't make her choke.

Although her captor wouldn't be able to tell if she did.

Smothered under the blanket, she could hear the muffled sounds of the outside world, the dis
tant rattle of carriages on the city streets, and faint strains of music. Her mystery man carried her easily, powerfully. She flashed back to the scary feeling of his hand on her thigh. He was right—he could do anything he wanted with her. She couldn't believe that included keeping her alive.

Above her, in a soft voice, her captor called, “Are you ready?”

Did he expect her to answer?

“Ready!” came a distant call from below.

Her captor hoisted her aloft, away from his body. For a terrifying moment, she knew she was being dangled off the balcony, felt her body sway and a breeze catch at the blanket.

And then he let her go, and she was plummeting. She shrieked through the gag, but before she could even say her prayers, she was caught in the arms of a man who grunted but didn't even stagger with her weight.

“You're safe,” he said softly, in a kinder voice.

She felt her consciousness start to drift away and saw bright pricks of spots in the blackness behind her closed eyes—but she refused to give in to the peace of fainting. She might miss an opportunity to escape.

She paid attention to every detail as she was slung up and deposited on a bench. By the way everything shifted beneath her, she could tell that both men got in opposite her, and someone else drove the carriage away. Hours passed and she as
sumed she wasn't in London anymore. Where were they taking her? she thought as her heart beat wildly in her chest. When they stopped to change horses, her mystery man made sure she knew he sat at her side, the threat of his presence oppressing. If she made a sound, she understood that he would use force to stop her.

After the second change of horses, some of the tension waned between her captors.

“So what happened?” asked the second man, the one who'd caught her.

“I found her eavesdropping from inside a wardrobe.”

Were they going to talk all night and just leave her like this? She started to struggle, and to her relief, someone pulled the blanket off her. She took a deep, cool breath.

“You used a blanket
and
a blindfold?” asked the second man in an amazed voice.

Her captor didn't answer. He was close now, just above her, tugging at the knot in her blindfold. The material fell away, and she was left blinking up at her mystery man, able to see because of the small, rocking lantern hung opposite the door. All the window shutters were closed.

He rested his hands on either side of her, looming over her, a weighty presence that frightened her to death. She tried to glare at him, but she was certain her teary eyes spoiled the effect.

He grinned, startling her with the sight of white teeth on swarthy skin. His hair hung di
sheveled near his cheeks, and if he had an eye patch he'd look like the perfect pirate. Sometime in the last several hours he had changed out of his evening clothes and into a plain brown coat and trousers, striped waistcoat, and shirt. And she'd been sitting right there when he'd done so!

“You're a lively one,” he said, then turned her head aside to undo her gag.

When it was gone, Charlotte moistened her mouth and croaked, “You've made a terrible mistake.”

The other man leaned forward and peered at her. “I'm thinking the same thing.” He had dark auburn hair and a lean, masculine face, which if viewed at a dinner party would probably be attractive.

But she was alone in a carriage with two strangers. She gaped down at her body, where her ball gown was now skewed dangerously low. She couldn't even take a deep breath. Staring from one man to the other, she felt terror welling up inside her again.

“I can see what you're thinking,” the second man said soothingly. “Get back in your corner, Nick. You're scaring her like you do all the ladies.”

Nick.
That was the name of her mystery man. She watched as his dark head bent over her and plucked at the ragged strips holding her wrists together.

Now she knew his name. Another reason for them to kill her.

As her bonds loosened, blood rushed painfully back into her numb fingers, and she wiggled them. She had hoped her long gloves would have offered some protection, but they were too finely made.

“Could you have tied them any tighter?” the second man asked.

“She was struggling,” her kidnapper said impassively. He gripped both her hands in his one giant hand and gazed meaningfully at her. “If you want to be comfortable, you will obey me. Do I have your word?”

“What does a man like you care about my word?” she asked with scorn.

“I don't, of course, but you, as a lady of quality, obviously do. Now do I have your word?”

“You have my word that I will not try to escape…for now.” She tilted her chin and tried to boldly stare him down.

He glanced at his cohort. “Sam, she means to cause us trouble.”

Sam
, she repeated to herself. Aloud she said, “You told that other man you'd kill me and dispose of my body.”

Charlotte was hoping to see where the two men stood with each other, and she was rewarded by watching Sam look startled. But he only crossed his arms over his chest and waited, as if he actually trusted his partner.

Nick shrugged, then opened up a portmanteau
at his feet and rummaged through it. “Campbell threatened to do it himself. It would have been messy.”

Sam snorted and shook his head.

“Messy?” she cried. Using her hands, she pushed herself back into a corner. “And it's not messy to kill me here?”

“He's not going to kill you,” Sam said gently. “We don't kill people.”

“Unless they cause trouble,” Nick added, bringing forth several sheets of paper, a capped inkwell, and a pen.

She turned to Sam beseechingly. “Then let me go! I won't tell anyone anything.”

“We can't take that risk,” Sam said with regret in his voice. He turned to Nick. “But this presents problems. What will we do with her?”

“We have to keep her with us.”

Though she tried to control herself, she gasped.

Nick ignored her. “There's no one I trust to keep her safe in London. If she turns up spouting her nonsense, she could get herself—and us—killed.”

“She overheard you dealing with Campbell?”

“Everything.”

Charlotte tried to sound reasonable. “Surely if you both turn yourselves in, the government will be more lenient with you. I'll testify on your behalf. I'll tell them you tried to be gentle—”

“Stop talking,” Nick interrupted coldly. “It's doing you no good. We are not traitors. We are trying to
stop
the traitor.”