The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh (8 page)

Georges stayed at the brothel until late morning. He was lounging in a chair, reading, when “The Mistress,” the nom de guerre of the French émigré operating the house, entered his room.

He allowed his gaze to roam the lush curves of her body as she walked toward him. “I thought you'd still be sleeping.”

She'd been a street urchin when the revolution began. Her first protector had been a member of the inner council of revolutionaries. When the minister discarded her, Georges brought her to London to spy. She was an expert at obtaining information from gentlemen who worked in government offices.

Lowering her lids, she glanced at him. “I thought you might like to entertain me before you go.”

“Ah, Désirée,” Georges said. “How well you know me.”

“Do I?” she asked. “Or do I just like the idea that a
marquis
must sell his body to me?”

Anger rose inside him. No whore spoke to him like that. He cupped the back of her head and smoothly brought her closer for a kiss. When she opened her mouth, he possessed it, tangling his tongue with hers. “Do you do this with everyone, or only with me?”

Sinking his hands in her hair, he pulled her back. “Answer.”

“You. Only you.”

She trembled as his hands roved her body and tweaked her already hard nipples.

“Tell me, Désirée, do your buds harden at a touch for another man?”

“No.”

He grinned to himself as he spread her dressing gown open, exposing her nakedness, and reached between her legs. “Are you this wet for every man who has you?”

She moaned and spread her legs wider. “Never.”

He slipped a finger inside her hot sheath. She rocked her hips in rhythm with his thrusts, responding just as he knew she would. Backing her against a wall, he released his hard member. Georges lifted her and brought her down sharply, impaling her on his shaft. “How many men can do this to you?”

He held her hard against the wall and thrust deep.

She screamed before she climaxed.

“Let us not have any doubt who has had whom in this little encounter.” Georges lifted her off him, and she fell to her knees. “Take me in your mouth, and give me the pleasure I just gave you.”

He groaned as her lips covered him. Holding her head to him, he pumped into her hot, wet mouth. When he finally found his release, he pushed her away. Désirée collapsed on to the floor. Georges took a cloth, wetting it in the basin, and wiped himself, then held out a hand to her and pulled her up. “Never forget, my sweet,
who
I am.”

She hung her head. “No, milord. I should not have said what I did.”

“I'm pleased we understand each other. I need my clothing and other items. Do you have someone you can send? They must be prudent.”

“Yes, I shall send the boy. No one will notice him.”

The night's sleep enabled Georges to think more clearly about his current problem. If he allowed Florian to chase him back to France, Georges would be seen as a failure, a disposable failure. Someone else would be sent over to finish what he did not. Still, he couldn't remain in London.

He knew the town of Thanport. He'd find a room nearby and monitor the meeting, or attend it, if Florian didn't. Georges's most pressing need was to quit London.

After Georges had eaten, a youth knocked on his door with Georges's portmanteaux and a small trunk. He sent the lad back out to buy a ticket for him on the mail coach to Dover. From there, he'd hire a horse and find his way to Thanport.

Désirée entered his room as he was repacking. He glanced briefly at her, took in the red silk robe she wore, and lifted a brow. “Yes?”

She licked her lips. “Please.”

He smiled thinly. “Do the English not satisfy you,
ma chérie
? If you want more, you must tell me.”

Her breathing shortened. “
Non.
They do not satisfy me.”

“Come to me, Désirée.”

She walked forward as if in a trance. Her chest heaved. Georges smiled. He kissed her and rocked his already hard shaft against her. Releasing his member, he turned her so that she faced the bed and slid it between her legs. “Bend over and spread your legs.”

He was in her before she'd had time to obey. The bed was high, at her waist. Her hands gripped the satin bedcover. Georges cupped her breasts and played as he thrust into her. He tightened his hands around them and squeezed. “Tell me what you want.”

Désirée groaned. Georges withdrew, flipped her over, then pulled her legs around his waist and entered her again. When she convulsed around him, he withdrew. “Your hand or your mouth. It makes no difference to me.”

He never spilt his seed into a whore.

Désirée put her fingers around him. He spewed his come on to her stomach. Once he'd cleaned himself, he returned to his packing.

“Milord,” Désirée asked, “how long will you be gone?”

He smiled charmingly. It would never do for her to know how desperate his circumstances were. Like a wild animal, she'd turn on him in an instant. “Not long. I'll visit when I return.”

Désirée gave him a trembling smile. “I shall look forward to it.”

“Call me a hackney. I'll need to go soon.”

“Yes, milord.” She pulled her robe together and left the room.

When the hackney pulled up to the mews behind the brothel, the boy came to get him. Georges loaded his luggage and gave the driver the direction. He arrived in time to catch the noon coach. He was one of seven passengers and made sure he had a place by the window.

The woman next to him was a buxom country woman, who said she'd been visiting her cousin. She held a large basket in her lap. Two men, who looked like clerks, sat across from him. He ignored the others, a man and woman dressed in black with a child. The conveyance wasn't particularly comfortable and it was overcrowded, but, for the moment, he was safe.

 

Florian left his club after luncheon and walked down the street to an alley. He stopped by a wall near the back corner of a building. After looking around, he removed a loose brick, took out a piece of paper, and shoved it in his pocket. With a glance up and down the alley, he rounded the back of the building and proceeded to the Foreign Office.

Once in the sanctuary of his bureau, he opened the note. Georges had given the thugs Florian had hired the slip. His face paled, and his heart began to race. His cousin would certainly know he was behind the men following him. Florian had to come up with a plausible excuse before their next meeting.

His mind blanked, then a vision of himself lying on the ground, blood pooling out around him pushed to the fore. He placed his trembling hands on his desk and tried to stop himself from shaking like blancmange. If he went ahead with the meeting in Thanport, maybe Georges wouldn't kill him.

Florian would have an excuse by then. A loud crack outside his window caused him to jump. He really wasn't feeling at all the thing today. He found a clerk and explained that he must have a touch of something and was going home. Florian retrieved his hat and sword stick, then left the building.

“There you are. Lord Florian Iswell, isn't it?”

Florian snapped his head up. “I beg your pardon?”

“I wanted to talk to you about a matter of some urgency,” one of Lord Castlereagh's under-secretaries said.

Florian's stomach lurched. Had he been caught? If so, he may as well put a bullet in his head. “Yes, yes, of course. How may I assist you?”

The man took Florian's arm and turned him back toward the building. It turned out that the meeting was not nearly as painful as Florian had thought. By the time he made his escape an hour later, he'd discovered he was under consideration for a foreign posting, somewhere warm, he hoped.

Florian returned to his rooms and tried to set his mind to the problem of his cousin. Fortunately for his sanity, he'd received an invitation to a very select, impromptu party. Not the sort that would get him into trouble. Or where his indiscretions would be discovered. Only his French cousin knew Florian's tastes ran to young men, rather than young women.

 

Georges woke for the last time as the coach rumbled along the cobbled streets into Dover. It was past one o'clock in the morning. The driver gave him directions to a slightly better inn than the one that serviced the coach. Georges walked across the street and stood in a doorway before making his way to a tavern two blocks away.

The door was opened by a sleepy young man. “How can I help ye?”

“I need a room for the night.”

The youth nodded. “We got room. Breakfast in the tap is included. If ye want a private parlor, it'll be more.”

“Thank you. That will serve me.”

Georges followed the man to a small chamber. While the young man built up a fire, Georges quickly unpacked a jacket and gave it to the man to be pressed. He almost asked for breakfast to be served in a private parlor, then thought better of it. His current resources were not unlimited, and he didn't know what he'd need in the coming days.

He pressed a coin in the younger man's hand and asked to be awoken in time to break his fast. Locking his door, he stripped quickly and got beneath the sheets. Georges had never killed a family member yet, but for Florian, he might make an exception.

 

Anna had never before been so thankful for country hours. Rutherford had joined them for dinner and tea, and she was still in her room by nine o'clock. Lizzy helped her out of her evening gown and in to bed until she had to dress again. The few months before Christmas were always the busiest for her smugglers.

She woke two hours later, scrambled into her habit, and slipped down the back stairs through the side door to the stables.

Humphrey's head was swathed in bandages. “Did the doctor remove it?”

“Yes, miss, he took out two. Warned me not to wait so long the next time. Said there was a woman he saw that let it go so long she died of the infection. Right glad I am you made me see him, miss. I'll be good enough tomorrow or the next day.”

“You need to rest. There is no reason at all for you to worry about me.”

“Master Harry . . .”

Anna sighed. “Humphrey, Master Harry is no longer here. I'll be fine.”

Anna led Thunderer to the mounting block. Once on the large gelding's back, she turned him toward the meadow and the sea. After changing at the cottage, Anna arrived at the cliff with time to spare. She descended to the beach to wait.

Kev was the first to arrive. “We're going to be later than usual. Got word of a patrol.”

“How'd that happen?”

“One of our men was in a tavern in Dover. He heard talk.” Anna could just make out his grin. “They expect to be back in by midnight.”

That was a relief. Harry had given her a contact in the event they were ever caught, but she'd never had to use it and didn't want to now. “Good. That won't put us off by much.”

“I sent word to Lizzy that you'd be late.”

Anna nodded. “Have you received the information for the next few shipments?”

“Yes, Mr. Arnold.” Kev gave the dates for the next couple of weeks.

Once the men were assembled and the delivery signal given, Anna climbed back up the path.

She was in place when the ship answered. Focusing on the boats and the beach, she'd just started to relax when the hairs on her neck prickled and warmth spread across her shoulders. She fought not to squirm and look around. The two short blinks from a shuttered lantern indicating that they had possession of the cargo couldn't come soon enough.

Heat spread down her body. Why were they taking so long to get the shipment? She'd decided to go down to see what was wrong when she saw the flashes. Anna jumped up and ran. Thunderer went willingly, as if he too knew something was wrong. Anna looped his reins on the iron ring in the stable and ran to the cottage door. Her heart thudded as she shut the door and barred it.

Several minutes passed before her hands stopped shaking enough to undo the shirt buttons. She'd just donned her skirt when a horse trotted up to the front of the cottage. Grabbing her jacket and pistol, Anna breathed shallowly and waited until whoever it was left. The only noise was of the restless horse in front of the cottage, and the roaring of her heart in the ears. The window shutters were tight enough not to allow the low light from the fireplace to show through. Finally, the horse trotted off down the lane. Thank God whoever it was didn't think to look in the back, or he would have seen her horse.

She waited for another thirty minutes before making her way to the stable and back to the house. One more night alone. Humphrey would be well by the next delivery. The fear that someone else had been out there made her skin crawl. She shook herself and steadied her breathing. Now was not the time to lose her nerve.

 

Earlier that evening, Rutherford had arrived at Marsh Hill for dinner in time to see Anna descend the stairs. She wore a simple round gown in yellow cashmere, with pearls, and the need to kiss her had never been stronger. He took her hand and they entered the drawing room. Since Rutherford had told Sir William about Harry's death, the older man actually seemed more at peace.

He and Rutherford joined the ladies with their port after dinner, and the discussion turned to politics. Then Rutherford told them about his mother's attempts to include his younger sisters in Althea's lessons in deportment.

“I can see why it wouldn't be interesting to them,” Anna said. “I think Cece's got the right idea though. Wouldn't it be nice if one could sit home and wait for her knight to arrive?”