The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) (7 page)

He slowly eased himself inside her. She was so wet, so hot, so passionate. And that thought nearly unmanned him before he even reached her maidenhead. He wanted to plunge deep inside her and spill his seed. And then kiss her senseless and do it all over again. But she was untouched. He needed to move slowly; to allow her to adjust to him. He needed to protect her from the pain, but he didn’t know how. Apparently neither did she, for she grasped his buttocks and forced him against her until he had breached her maidenhead and was fully embedded in her flesh. She caught her breath and cried out. Tears came to her eyes and the knowledge that he had hurt her cut him like a knife. She was young and tender and he had made her cry.
    “I’m so sorry. So sorry,” he whispered as he bent to kiss her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t know how to not hurt you.”
    She bit down on her lower lip as she lifted a hand and lightly touched his face. “I’m alright.” She shifted experimentally and sucked in a breath. “But, don’t move,” she murmured in a ragged voice. “Please.”
    
Don’t move.
The flesh that surrounded him was hot and tight and that mass of flaming hair and her soft body beckoned like a siren. He shut his eyes. It didn’t help. Don’t move.
This was impossible. This was going to kill him.
He braced himself on his elbows and kissed her again hoping to distract her from the pain as he began to move slowly within her. Every second he held on was a testament to his self-control.
    At first, she flinched but he soothed her with loving words and gentle kisses. Then, finally she sighed and he felt her body soften. She opened her legs a little wider, lifted her hips and began to meet his thrusts with her own. A natural primal rhythm took hold. She wanted this. Wanted him. This need, this sensation was both magnificent and primitive and there was nothing else like it. And there was no one else that he would rather be with. “Ah, Cecelia,” he groaned. “Where did you come from?”
    She didn’t answer. She was lost. Her eyes were tightly closed. She panted and moaned. He felt her quicken. He placed his hand between them and pinched her soft, wet flesh at their joining. Her head arched back; she grasped his hips and thrust against him. Waves of ecstasy washed through them both and he collapsed on top of her. And his last waking thought was of this beautiful young lady who had shaken his world.

T
he morning dawned clear and sunny and the small drawing room was bathed in a golden light. For a brief moment, Rand wasn’t quite certain why he was sleeping on a blanket on the floor or the identity of the lovely young thing he had curled up against him. And then he remembered.
    Christ Almighty! How could he have forgotten? He rolled over on his back and raked both hands through his sandy hair. “I’m going to hell,” he muttered. “First my best friend is going to kill me and then I’m headed straight to hell.” There was simply no way around it. He could only hope that it would not be a lingering painful death, though given the nature of his sin, God knows, he deserved it.
    Cecelia stirred and then sighed softly. Her tousled hair caught the sun light and it glowed against the milk white of her skin. He remembered how soft and smooth her skin was beneath his fingertips. The scent of her hair. To his dismay, he immediately went hard. He sat up quickly and propped up his knees to cover the evidence of his arousal. “Dear God.” He rested his arms on his knees, bowed his head and repeated, “I’m going to hell.”
    Pushing a curtain of red hair from her eyes, Cecelia sat up slowly. Her eyes were heavy lidded with sleep and she had a tiny crease across her nose. She offered a sleepy smile then stretched, arching her back like a cat. The blanket fell to her lap. He couldn’t help but look at her breasts. They were the same perfect, porcelain white, rose-tipped breasts he had feasted on the night before but in the light of day he could see delicate trace of blue veins beneath her skin and a tiny mole next to her right nipple. He clenched his fists to keep from reaching for them. She seemed oddly unconcerned about her nudity and obviously had no idea what she was doing to him. Covering a yawn, she asked, “Why are you going to hell?”
    “Because your brother will put a bullet between my eyes and then send me straight to hell. And after that’s accomplished, he’s sending you to a nunnery.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed. “You’re making far too much of this.”
    
Was it that unimportant to her?
“Don’t you understand what we’ve done?” he said with exasperation. “Haven’t you any idea?”
    That seemed to wake her up as well as irritate her. “Of course, I do! I’m not a ninny,” she retorted.
    “It was a rhetorical question, Cecelia. There was no need to respond,” he muttered. “I took your virginity. You aren’t some light skirt who hangs about the tavern. There will be consequences. You act as if we did nothing more than take a spin around the ballroom.”
    For some reason he couldn’t fathom, she seemed to think his remark was funny. She grinned. “Oh, it was much nicer than that. Much better than I even thought it would be, though I don’t know why I should be surprised given all your experience.”
    “Stop it,” he ordered.
    “I fail to understand why you’re so upset. It’s not as if Eugene has to know anything happened. I’m not about to tell him and I don’t know why you would. I’ll be in trouble for riding out too far without one of the stable boys as escort, but by the time Priscilla and Eugene come home from their honeymoon, it will be all but forgotten.”
    Did she really believe that? Could she be that naive? “And where, pray tell, will you tell your aunt you spent the night?”
    “Oh, it’s too early to decide all that!” she snapped. “It isn’t as if I’ll be interrogated. Everyone will just be happy that I’m safe.”
    “Cecelia, you can’t make light of this. I didn’t wear a sheath. You could be pregnant.”
    “A what?”
    “A sheath prevents pregnancy.”
    Her eyes widened. “Well, why didn’t you?”
    “I suppose because I bloody well didn’t expect this to happen. I didn’t have one with me. But even if you were still as chaste as the day you were born, it wouldn't matter. You spent the night here with me, alone. As far as polite society is concerned, you’re ruined.”
    “Oh, polite society be hanged!” she retorted as she stood up. “Do you have any tea?”
    For a moment, he couldn’t take his eyes away from her. She was simply exquisite. He hadn’t realized how narrow her waist was. Or that the copper curls between her legs were exactly the same color as the hair that rippled down her back. The sight of her, in all her glory was pure torture. “For God’s sake, Cecelia, put the robe on.” He covered his face with his hand and moaned. “Are you trying to drive me insane?”
    “You took it off of me. You can put it back on me.”
    He started to rise to do so, then realized her intent. If he stood up, they would both be naked and he was already erect. There would be no hope of avoiding a repetition of last night if he did as she asked. “No.”
    Scowling, she slipped on the green silk robe and tied the sash at the waist. “You didn’t seem to mind my not having it on, last night.”
    “That’s exactly why I want you to put it on,” he muttered.
    “Very well,” she huffed. “I’ll make tea.” She started toward the door, stopping when she reached the threshold. “It would help if I knew where the kitchen was.”
    “All the way to the back. Do you know how to light the stove?”
    She paused. “No. Do you?”
    “Actually I do. Go find the tea while I dress and get some water. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
    Outside the ground was muddy but the air had been washed clean by the storm and he took in a long deep breath. Even with all the troublesome thoughts whirling through his head, he couldn’t help but appreciate the sweetness of the air. He had forgotten what it was like to breathe air that wasn’t fouled by burning coal and refuse. He took in another deep breath and then set the bucket down and primed the pump while mulling over their circumstances.
    They should leave as soon as possible. Lady Fitzberry and the staff would be beyond frantic. And despite Cecelia’s optimism, there would be serious repercussions. It was inevitable. They would need to marry. There was no way around it and he had to admit that marriage to Cecelia wasn’t at all objectionable. He had to marry and the attraction between them was undeniable. Thinking back, he realized that it had surfaced several months ago when she had arrived in London for her first season. He had made several comments to Stratton about his sister’s striking appearance, thinking to annoy him, but it had been more than that. He had been attracted to her, even then. And he enjoyed her company. She was fun loving, unaffected and a most desirable bed partner. This could be an extremely satisfactory relationship. He liked her height, the way she felt in his arms pressed up against him, thigh to thigh, their bodies perfectly matched up. And she made him smile. He was extremely fond of her and that would make it much easier to remain faithful. That and the fact that Stratton would cut his life short if he strayed.
    He pumped the handle until the water ran clear and positioned the bucket. He felt a vague sense of contentment. It was a surprising state of affairs, but there it was. They would marry, she would be his wife and that was all there was to it. She was thirteen years his junior and still an innocent in the ways of the world. She was innocent, but not pliable. No, she would never be pliable, but he didn’t think she would be difficult to convince of their need to marry.

He came into the kitchen and set the bucket of water down on the table. The lodge was not overly large and neither was its kitchen. He could hear her rummaging through the cupboard at the far end of the kitchen. “Cecelia, I’ve been thinking. We should marry.”
    The noise stopped and she turned around. “I’m sorry. I was trying to find the tea and didn’t hear you,” she said. “What was it that you said?”
    “We should marry.”
    She stared at him. The color drained from her cheeks and all expression left her. His first thought was that she would slump to the floor in a dead faint. But a few seconds later she was in his face flailing away at his ears. Apparently, she was not in agreement with his assessment of their situation. He caught her hands and pulled them away. “Good God, Cecelia! There’s no need to knock me about!”
    “But you’ve ruined it,” she cried. “You’ve ruined everything! It was a glorious night and you’ve spoiled it by proposing. Why did you have to go and ask me to marry you! Why couldn’t you let things stand as they were?”
    How could she think he would behave if last night was little more than an erotic dream? He wanted to shake her. “What did you expect me to do, Cecelia? Pretend as if it never happened? What kind of a person do you think I am?” He took her arm and hauled her none too gently behind him ignoring her sputtering protests. When they reached the drawing room he grabbed the blanket and pointed out the smear of blood. “I took your maidenhead and I won’t pretend otherwise. We’re bound to one another. That’s the way things are.”
    “Why?’ She folded her arms and glared at him. “Do you believe I would have rather had it be on my wedding night with some fumbling clod who hadn’t the advantage of your experience? I wanted to know what it was like. I wanted my first time to be wonderful. I’m glad that it was you and I won’t pretend otherwise, but I won’t marry you because of it.”
    His expression grew hard. “You allowed me to make love to you because I’m experienced? I satisfied your curiosity?” he said furiously. “Christ Almighty! What an idiotic thing to do! I can’t believe you would be so foolish.”
    She stared at him a minute, then said soberly, “I’m not. That isn’t why I did it. I don’t know why I did it.” She rubbed at her arm. “It was as if something had taken hold of me and I was powerless to stop it. I didn’t want to stop it.”
    He grunted. “It appears that neither one of us has an ounce of self-control.”
    “It was a lovely experience up until you spoiled it. And you hurt my arm,” she added accusingly.
    “I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t ever want to hurt you. I hope you believe that.”
    “I suppose so.” She scowled. “Did you really expect me to say yes? That was an appalling proposal. Even if I wanted to marry you, which I don’t, you don’t just go up to a lady and say, “We should marry.” You didn’t even ask me if I wanted to marry you. Does my opinion even matter?”
    “Of course, it does.” He held his hand up. “You’re right. I should have thought it out more carefully before I said anything. We’re both tired and somewhat overwhelmed by the events of last night. Will you make peace for the moment? We can discuss this later.”
    “Unless I’m with child, there’s nothing to discuss.”
    “We can’t ignore it,” he said. “I won’t ignore it. But now is not the time for any decisions. Or warfare,” he added. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
    She continued to scowl, but said, “Agreed. I don’t want to fight either.”
    He smothered a sigh of relief. “Good. I’ll light the stove.”
    “You won’t need to. There isn’t any tea. There isn’t anything at all that I could find.”
    “It isn’t surprising. I haven’t used the lodge for several years. I’m sorry, I can’t offer you anything. We should leave soon. I’ll let you get dressed.”

The ride back to Reston took longer than expected. The stream was swollen but fortunately the bridge was still intact. However the meadow was flooded, the winds had littered the ground with broken branches and the main road had washed out. They had to turn back several times and find a new route. For the most part they were quiet and when they did talk it was about the condition of the land they were traveling and the best means of reaching Reston. The strained silence between them was bad enough but when Reston Manor came into view it went from bad to worse.
    “Blast!” Cecelia muttered. Two of the Stratton carriages were parked out front. A footman standing by the front door took note of their approach and ran inside presumably alerting the household of her return. “What’s Eugene doing home so soon?”
    In an instant, Rand’s life flashed before him. Then he groaned. “Bloody hell. We’re in for it now, brat.”
    No sooner had the words left his mouth than Viscount Stratton threw open the front door and came striding toward them. Like Rand he was a tall man, but broader with dark hair, smoke-gray eyes and a tanned complexion. His hair was unkempt and his cravat loosely tied.
    “Riggs,” he bellowed at one of the two grooms who came running for their horses. “Lady Cecelia is not to take Penny or any other horse from the stables until I give permission.” Stratton helped Cecelia dismount. He clasped her tightly in his arms a long minute before letting go.
    “Are you hurt?” His eyes held concern but it was easy to see that he was struggling to hold on to his temper.
    “No. I’m fine.” She smiled weakly. “Just hungry.”
    He nodded. “Where did you spend the night?”
    She swallowed. “Rand’s hunting lodge.”
    “I see.” A little vein in his forehead had begun to throb. “And you’re certain you’re alright?”
    She nodded.
    “Then what the hell were you thinking?” he roared. “Damn it, Cecelia! We were terrified something terrible had happened to you.”
    She cringed. She had never seen him so furious. Or heard him shout so loudly. “Please don’t shout at me, Eugene. When it began raining, I was too far from home to return safely. I was on the other side of the creek. I didn’t mean to ride so far.”
    “The storm came up without warning,” Rand broke in. “You can’t blame her for that.”
    Stratton glared at him. His gray eyes had darkened until they were almost black. He was beyond furious. “Shut up, Rand. I’ve half the village out looking for her.”
    “But what are you doing home, Eugene?” Cecelia asked suddenly. “I didn’t expect you and Priscilla home so soon.”
    “Obviously,” he snapped. “You never would have tried this stunt if you had known we would be here. Priscilla wasn’t feeling well, so we decided to return. And after waiting out the storm in some louse ridden inn I wouldn’t normally keep a dog in, we returned home this morning only to find that Aunt Mirabella was laid up with a sprained ankle and that you had ridden off without escort yesterday and still hadn’t returned. We were sick with worry. Aunt Mirabella is in such a state, I’ve had to send for the doctor.”
    “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
    He raked his hand through his hair. “There’s a reason you’re not supposed to ride past the orchard by yourself! How in the devil did you end up on the other side of the creek? You were damned lucky you managed to find the lodge.”
    “Rand brought me there when the storm hit. It was the closest shelter we could find.” Cecelia shut her mouth abruptly realizing she had volunteered more information that she had intended.
    You spend the night at the lodge with Rand?” He looked at Rand who could only nod in confirmation. “Was anyone else there? The housekeeper or possibly a maid?”
    She shook her head.
    His voice was deadly quiet. “The cook?”
    She shook her head again.
    “No one other than Rand?”
    “No.” Her voice was barely audible.
    His jaw went rigid. “Go in the house, Cecelia. I need to speak with Rand.”
    Her eyes flew desperately from one man to the other. “It wasn’t his fault, Eugene. He was just trying to get me out of the rain.”
    “Go.” His tone brooked no argument.
    “Very well.” Head high, carriage erect she strode toward the manor as if she were on her way to meet the Queen. An impressive feat, Rand considered, given the sorry state of her mud splattered riding habit, ruined boots, drooping hat and the mass of unruly red hair streaming down her back.
    Stratton waited until she reached the house before turning back to Rand. His expression was taut, his eyes were blazing and the little vein in his forehead was still jumping. “We’ve known one another most of our lives. You are my best friend. I probably know you better than anyone else. Tell me the truth. Did you in any way take advantage of my sister?”
    The look on his face must have betrayed him because before he could open his mouth to speak, Rand felt Stratton’s fist slam into his face and he was flat on his back with a pounding ache behind his left eye and stars dancing in his head. He slowly opened his right eye to see Stratton standing over him shaking out his hand.
    “Get up you bloody bugger,” he hissed.
    Rand lifted a hand and gingerly felt the area around his eye and cheekbone and decided it wasn’t broken. He might not be as lucky a second time. He tried to focus on Stratton’s face. “Are you planning to sucker punch me again?”
    Stratton opened and closed his fist several times before answering. “Bloody likely.”
    “I may well deserve a thrashing, but I’m not stupid enough to get myself killed if I don’t have to and as furious as you are, it is a distinct possibility. But that said, I don’t think you’re disposed to hit a man while he’s down so I’m remaining where I am for the moment.”
    “Don’t bet on it,” Stratton growled.
    “I won’t presume to offer any excuses or explanations for our night together. The circumstances were unfortunate. But I have tried to press upon her the need for us to marry. Regrettably, I haven’t been able to convince her. She doesn’t believe I’ll make a very good husband.”
    “I’m inclined to agree,” Stratton sourly. “But that’s neither here nor there, at this point. God damn it man, sit up! I can’t talk to you lying flat on your back like that. We look like a couple of bloody imbeciles!”
    Rand sat up slowly. His head ached and his left eye was swelling but overall, he hadn’t faired too badly. He was still breathing. “It happens that my position has changed,” he explained. “Drastically. I must marry.”
    “An understatement if I ever heard one,” Stratton observed sarcastically.
    “My situation changed before I even left London. I’m now the bloody Marquis of Clarendon.”
    Stratton lifted a dark brow in astonishment. “How in the blazes did you manage that?”
    “Blasted heirs kept dying. Most by their own hand.” He noted Stratton’s expression and added, “By stupidity not suicide. And all but one within the past year. Solicitor barely broke the news to one heir before he had to go on to the next. I’m the last in what had been a fairly long line and if I don’t marry and provide an heir the title dies with me. I’m not certain why I even care, but I do.” He shrugged. “I’d decided to marry before the solicitor had even left my office.”
    The black look on Stratton’s face made him realize that he hadn’t explained himself very well. “This wasn’t planned. It wasn’t my intention to compromise Cecelia into marriage. It’s just that she looked so...”
    “Shut up,” Stratton said. “Spare me the details. Any details,” he added emphatically.
    “I want to do the right thing. I
like
Cecelia. I know I’m not what you had in mind as a brother-in-law, but I do care for her. That will never change. But I need you to help me convince her.”
    Stratton’s face was grim. “She doesn’t require convincing. It will be much easier if she agrees, but it really doesn’t matter. I’m convinced, and if need be I’ll lock her in her room until the day of the wedding. At first, I’d thought to procure a special license, but considering the black eye you’ll be sporting we’ll post the banns and you’ll wait the required three weeks. I wouldn’t want it said you were forced into marriage. And it will give us adequate time to put together a reasonably nice wedding for Cecelia. Once that’s accomplished, I can spend time with my bride, you can spend time with yours, Aunt Mirabella will hopefully be closer to recovery and she and her blasted dogs will leave for Bath and everyone will be happy.”
    “Is Priscilla ill? You mentioned she wasn’t feeling well.”
    “Not ill, but I didn’t want her overtaxing herself. I thought she could be better cared for at home.” He actually smiled. “I believe the condition is called morning sickness.”
    “Congratulations, old man!” Rand face split into a grin and he winced. “Bugger it! I’d best not smile for a few days. Damn thing hurts.”
    “Glad to hear it. I’m presuming you will stay at Bryony Hall until the wedding.”
    “Of course. I hadn’t planned to bolt if that’s what you’re afraid of. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I know you would hunt me down to the ends of the earth.”
    “Damned right,” Stratton remarked. “And then I
would
have to kill you which would complicate my life horrendously.” His expression grew somber. “You told me once that you didn’t want to marry because you were afraid you couldn’t be satisfied with only one woman. You know I won’t let you get away with that.”
    He nodded soberly. “I presumed as much. If it makes you feel any better, I severed my relationship with April before coming here. Got clouted on the head for it too. In fact, I’ve been clouted on the head three times in the past week. I’d swear we were back at Eton. Got clouted on a regular basis there and usually for good reason.” He carefully touched his cheekbone again. “Hurts more now than it used to, though.”
    Stratton almost laughed. “Who else other than Miss Lamont and myself, hit you?”
    “Your sister. She boxed my ears when I asked her to marry me.”
    This time Stratton actually did laugh. “She’s no docile little lamb, but after her shining performance for her come out this season, I daresay you’d forgotten that.” He extended a hand.
    Rand groaned as he took the hand that was offered and got to his feet. “I’m not apt to forget again.”