The Beauty and the Spy (23 page)

“I'm fine,” she said, wincing as her voice broke. “Please let me know the moment you hear anything.”

“Of course,” he said softly. “I have to go.”

“I know,” she whispered bleakly.

 

That night Charlotte slept alone in a small bedroom in Mr. Hume's house. Sam came up an hour after she retired. A message had come from Will saying that Jane had awakened and would be fine. Charlotte thanked him gratefully, and when she was alone burst into relieved tears. Would she ever stop crying?

In the morning Nick had Sam escort her to a nearby hotel. Nick was keeping his distance from her, and although it had been what she asked for, the pain tore her apart.

Sam made sure Charlotte had money for meals, and brought her books and newspapers before he left. She listened almost impatiently to
his instructions to remain at the hotel until she heard from them.

She was shattering slowly from the inside, and each crack was an added wound to her heart. She just wanted to be alone.

When Sam was gone she closed the door, and the dam holding her tears burst. She hugged herself and slid to the floor with her back to the bed. If only she understood what drove Nick, what made him the man he was. It might make their separation understandable.

During the day a doctor came to visit and inspect her wound. A deliveryman from a fashionable modiste arrived with several new dresses and undergarments, even a nightdress for her to sleep in. Nick's thoughtfulness warmed her as well as saddened her.

That night she put on the nightdress and thought of him. The material was so sheer, so fine. Would she ever find a man to care for her as he did? Did she even imagine someone could take his place? Why couldn't she just accept him on his terms?

Because her pride wouldn't let her.

But oh, she wanted to see him one last time. They never even had the chance to say good-bye.

C
harlotte waited through the evening, clothed in her elegant nightdress. She paced to keep herself awake, then when her limbs would no longer carry her, she curled up on top of the bedcovers and slept.

She came awake as she was lifted in someone's arms.

“Nick,” she breathed, opening her eyes slowly.

His beloved face showed wistfulness and regret. “I've turned down the covers,” he said softly. “You'll sleep better there. We can talk tomorrow.”

“No!”

“Have I hurt your wound?” he asked, looking at her arm where the bandages made her bulky.

She didn't answer, just wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss. She invaded his mouth with her tongue, wanting every taste because she knew it would be her last chance. She was weak where he was concerned.

“Sit down on the bed,” she whispered. When he hesitated, she nipped at his lower lip with her teeth. “Please.”

With a groan he followed her order. She pushed him back and straddled him, making quick work of removing his coat and shirt. He was already hard beneath her, and she rocked her hips and rubbed herself against him as she caressed the broad muscles of his chest.

“You look beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “I knew the nightdress would compliment you.”

She sat up and arched her back, reveling in his admiration. When he slid his hands up her ribs to cup her breasts, she moaned. He kneaded her flesh through the sheer material, and the rasp of it across her nipples made her shudder.

She had to have him, had to feel him inside her one last time. She undid his trousers and pulled them down around his thighs. His erection lay heavy against his stomach, so large and hard. She touched it, letting her fingers caress his smooth, hot skin, enjoying the way he tensed beneath her, the way his breath shuddered out of him.

And then she took him in her mouth because she wanted to give him pleasure. He groaned and shuddered as she used her lips and tongue.

“Charlotte!” he gasped as he pulled her up to kiss her.

“But—”

“I can't take any more. Let me—”

When he would have rolled her onto her back, she held her ground, straddling him again. When the nightdress got in her way, she pulled it over her head and was rewarded by the way his eyes flamed with appreciation and passion.

“Charlotte,” he groaned as their naked hips came together.

His erection pressed along the length of her, hot and pulsating with need. She could wait no longer to have him inside her, filling her. She lifted herself up and he was there, at the entrance of her womb. He pulled her hips down hard, and they were one.

Seductively she leaned over and licked at his nipple. Beneath her his hips rolled, and he surged up inside her again.

“Wait,” she whispered against his moist skin, “I'll tell you when.”

She clasped him with her knees, her thighs, and even the muscles inside her. He came up on his elbows and took her breast in his mouth, sucking hard, then licking rapidly with his tongue until it took all her will not to lift her hips and sink down once more.

When his fingers explored between her legs, she whimpered and clasped his head even closer. They trembled against each other, and she enjoyed the heat and moisture and the incredible feel of him inside her.

“Char, let me move,” he said against her breast, and then bit her gently.

But she held off as long as she could, until they were both groaning their need.

“Now!” she cried, and rode him until her climax crested and shuddered through her.

Nick thought he would surely die. He continued to thrust into her again and again, watching her above him, the way her breasts trembled, and the way her thighs clutched him. With a shout he joined her in fulfillment, grinding against her until she, too, cried out.

She fell forward on top of him, and he wrapped his arms around her, careful of her wound. Never had a woman taken him to such heights, pleasured him first instead of wanting more for herself.

“Char,” he murmured into her ear, kissing wherever he could reach.

They lay entwined for many minutes, until their breathing slowed. He was still hard inside her, but he let her slide to the side and just held her.

Charlotte suddenly let out a soft chuckle.

“What?” he asked. “I can give you something to giggle about.” He tweaked her nipple.

“No—no, I was just remembering something my mother told me.”

“You're thinking of your mother at a time like this?”

She laughed again. “Well, only that she told me I would have to trust my husband—I mean the man—to give me pleasure. I never understood what she meant before I met you.”

“You could give yourself pleasure,” he whispered into her ear, then bit her lobe gently.

He could feel her slide her hands up to cover her face.

“There's nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assured her.

“Every day has been a revelation with you,” she said, looking up from where she rested her head against his shoulder. “So tell me, do mothers or fathers tell their
sons
what to expect on their wedding night?”

“I think most fathers assume their sons don't wait until then. They expect their sons to find an experienced older woman and do all the learning firsthand.”

“And what do mothers say about that?”

“My mother never said much of anything.”

He shouldn't have expressed his thoughts like that. He felt the way she stilled in his arms. The last thing he wanted was her pity, not on their final night together.

She rolled onto her back and looked up into
his face. He thought she did a good job schooling her features into impassivity.

“Your mother didn't talk to you?” she asked. “I thought you said she died when you were fourteen.”

“We had a household of servants. She usually let them deal with me.”

“Why?”

He shrugged and wished he could look away, but there was something about the directness of her gaze—her wish that he tell her things he'd never told anyone else—that seemed to make him her prisoner.

“I already told you that my father was a cold man. He was forever disappointed that his older brother was the heir, and he took his petulance out on me and my mother. I think she distanced herself from him—and from me—to numb the pain.”

Now he sounded like he was whining. But she raised herself up on her elbow to look at him face-to-face.

“But Nick, she could have found the love of a son, though she didn't have the love of her husband. I would have given anything—”

She broke off, and he saw the tears she tried to blink away.

“My mother was nothing like you, Char. If she could not have her husband, she didn't want any part of family. She protected herself, and for that I can't blame her.”

“Well I can,” she said forcefully.

He smiled and tucked her hair back behind her ear. “Are you my champion now?”

“I would have been then. What about your stepmother? You said she preferred to champion her own children over you. But that does not necessarily make her a cruel woman.”

“She wasn't. But she was very focused on the place she and her children held for my father. She didn't have much time for me.”

Charlotte bit her lip, her eyes downcast in thought. “You'd think after all that—including Julia's betrayal—you'd hate women, or at least think us inferior.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. If it wasn't for the maid, I don't know what I would have done.”

“What maid?”

Nick groaned and rolled onto his back to drop his arm over his face. She prodded him.

“What maid?” she demanded again.

Charlotte sensed that she was uncovering secrets that Nick had never told anyone. She was poised on the edge of understanding everything about him, and she had to fight not to show her eagerness.

“Her name was Edith,” he said.

Though he stared at the ceiling, she knew he wasn't seeing it.

“She came to be a housemaid when I was ten. I was very lonely, for I wasn't permitted to play much with the children of the village. She was seventeen and became my confidante.”

“You mean like the mother you'd always wanted,” Charlotte said encouragingly.

“Not exactly,” he said with amusement in his voice.

It took her a moment to figure out his meaning, and then she gasped. “But Nick—you were only ten!”

“It wasn't like that at first,” he insisted. “Don't be so impatient and just listen.”

She rested her head on his shoulder and watched his profile.

“She saw at once that I was lonely, and became my best friend. When she could finish her duties early—or sometimes escape them altogether—we would play games or fish, or just run through the woods of my father's estate with abandon. When my father remarried and started another family, he had less and less patience for me. Edith became my eyes, alerting me to my father's moods, warning me when I should make myself scarce.”

“She sounds like a good friend,” she said quietly, even as she worried about where this story would end.

He hesitated. “As I grew older, I wanted her to be more than my friend. But I was still young and impulsive, and didn't understand the danger to her. I wouldn't let her distance herself. She was my first friend; I wanted her to be my first lover.”

“How old were you?” she whispered.

“Seventeen. I was very selfish,” he added bitterly.

“You loved her. Surely she loved you.”

“And my love ruined her.” His voice was harsh with self-loathing. “I had one night with her, and then someone on the staff reported her to my father. My father wouldn't have cared if I had only taken her out of lust. But she meant something to me, and that was her downfall. He sent her away.”

“Oh Nick,” she whispered, putting her arm across his chest to hold him close. He didn't push her away. “What happened?”

“I was tutored at home throughout childhood, and as I already told you, my father finally relented to my stepmother's pressure and sent me to Oxford. Before I left I tried to get news of Edith from her family, but they wouldn't speak to me, for fear of further angering my father. He could make sure none of them ever worked again in the county. But I couldn't forget Edith. During the summer holidays after my first year, I decided to search for her. I had grand plans about bringing her to school with me, so that we could be together. Again, her family wouldn't talk to me, but I pressured them enough—just like the old man, huh?”

“Don't say that,” she said sternly. “You were concerned for her—you loved her.”

“If I loved her, I would never have succumbed to my father. I wouldn't have given up on her so easily.”

“Nick—”

“She died because of me,” he said harshly.

For a moment she listened to his erratic breathing, watching the despair that crossed his face before being hidden by cynicism. She waited, holding tight in case he tried to push her away, but he didn't.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, raw. “Her family relented and told me she'd been carrying my child. Out of fear of my father, she ran away to London, then died in childbirth along with the babe.”

She leaned up and pressed her lips to his cheek, but he pushed her away and sat up, turning until his legs hung over the side of the bed.

“It was my fault,” he said hoarsely. “I didn't protect her, and she died thinking she was unloved.”

“That's not true, Nick. I'm sure she knew you loved her. But your father was obviously a powerful man.”

“And I was weak. After that, I wanted nothing to do with a society of noblemen who could treat a woman so. That's why I joined the army of the East India Company. I didn't need my father's money for a commission, just talent and their military college. Even now, the merest thought of being like him sickens me.”

She finally understood his gentleness with her. He had never gotten over his love and guilt over Edith.

“I won't be like him,” Nick said fiercely. “And they can damn well shove the title up their—”

“Title?” she interrupted, sitting up to be at his side.

He glanced at her, his mouth tilted sardonically. “When my father died, I became the Earl of Folkestone.”

“But—but you said he was always disappointed in being the younger brother.”

He shrugged. “I found out that just last year my uncle died childless, leaving my father the earl. In his foolish jubilation, he went on a wild spending and gambling spree. He was killed over a debt.”

“And now you're the earl,” she breathed, stunned.

“I don't want the title, but it—and all its responsibilities—are being forced on me. Now you can see why I didn't give a damn about seeing my stepmother when I returned to the country. Suddenly they all need me because they're drowning in debt. Oh, I don't have near enough money to overcome that, but they need me to somehow…lead them out of it.”

“And you have to, because they're your family.”

“I'll do it for my brother and sisters. None of this is their fault.”

“And then you'll get to know them,” she said encouragingly. “You might find your real family after all.”

“You are forever optimistic,” he said shortly, and rose to his feet.

He started to pace, and she could see the anger in every flex of his muscles.

“You wish you hadn't told me,” she said. “It doesn't make you less of a man just because you have feelings.”

“They're feelings I don't wish to dwell on.” He turned to look at her.

She saw the flare of passion rise up in his eyes.

“But I could watch you all night,” he said hoarsely, walking toward her.

She knew at once that he was going to use sex to distract them both. But she felt even more intimate with him now, and needed there to be no secrets between them, not on this last night.