To Wed a Scandalous Spy (26 page)

Still, if they were stooping to schoolyard insults…

Nathaniel straightened tall, looming over the smaller man. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size, Finny?" he drawled.

Finster blushed so hotly that it was visible even in the dim light. Good God, had he ever been that sensitive to insult?

"I think my blokes and I add up to more than enough," Finster spit. He gestured sharply to his followers, who immediately surrounded Nathaniel, pinioning his arms, although they stupidly left his legs alone.

Finster threw his first punch to Nathaniel's solar plexus. Ouch. The lad had been to the boxing gym, hadn't he? Let's see, should he stun Finster with a kick first, or should he pull his arms close and knock some sense into his brainless sycophants?

Another gut punch, harder. Nathaniel was beginning to get seriously annoyed. He was definitely going to take Finster out with a kick first—

Something whizzed through the air, caroming off Finster's skull with a
ping
.

"Ow!" Finster clapped a hand to his pate and whirled. Behind him stood Willa, smiling sweetly with her hands behind her back.

"Hello again, Mr. Finster."

Finster's face twisted into a terrific scowl. "You!" He charged toward her, fury in every movement.

Willa stepped closer as he approached, her smile softening to a thing of sexual beauty. "Me," she murmured huskily—and clocked Finster a perfect right hook.

Finster went down without a sound, splayed full out on the grassy lawn. The minions, likely out of complete shock, released Nathaniel and surrounded Willa. Nathaniel was fairly sure they were simply letting the liquor cloud their reactions. Still, he moved silently behind them, ready to kill—er, trounce—anyone who made a motion toward Willa.

In the center of the threat, Willa clapped a hand to her cheek. "Why, gentlemen! You would never strike a
lady
!"

That halted them briefly, but they did not step away from her. Nathaniel saw Willa plant a fist on each hip. "Am I going to have to tell Mrs. Trapp about this?"

That tore them down to the ground. As one, they stepped back, transforming instantly into shuffling schoolboys. "No, Miss Trent."

"Oh, please don't, Miss Trent!"

"She plays cards with my mum!" came one panicked plea.

Willa smiled gently. "There, you see. You're good, boys, all of you. Why you would follow a worthless lout like Mr. Finster I'll never know." She cast an admiring glance at the largest of the lot. "You look like a leader, sir. A true gentleman."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes as the young man stood straighter. From here it looked as though his chest swelled as well.

"Oh my. What a fine young man! I imagine there are many very attractive young ladies waiting on you gentlemen inside." She signed dramatically, which she had to know did eye-catching things to her décolletage. "Oh, if only I were younger…"

The flood of courtly compliments this prompted fair to made Nathaniel toss his dinner.

"Why, Miss Trent, you are as fresh as any flower on the vine!"

"Miss Trent, I must protest! There isn't a lady inside who outshines you!"

Nathaniel watched sourly as Willa herded her sheep back into the ballroom, then shut the glass-paned door on them. Only then did she falter. With her left hand cradling her right, she gazed at him mournfully. "Ouch."

In an instant, Nathaniel was by her side, stepping over the unconscious form of Finster in the process. He took her hand in his and held it to the light. Her knuckles were red and a bit swollen, but he did not think she had broken anything but Finster's masculine reputation.

"Nice hook."

She sniffled the tiniest bit. "Thank you. Dick and Dan taught me."

"Ah, that explains the professional follow-through." Gently he raised her abraded knuckles to his lips and kissed each one. "My hero," he said softly, smiling.

Willa leaned her head wearily against his chest. "Nathaniel, can we go home now?"

Nathaniel inhaled deeply. Hellfire, she smelled good. The garden could not compare. "Are you sure, wildflower? The dancing is not yet over."

"What dancing?" she said glumly.

Her words struck him hard. What dancing indeed? For an instant, his mind began to weigh the act of dancing against the persona of Lord Treason—

To hell with that
. Nathaniel Reardon wanted to dance with his bride. With a flourish, he opened the door and steered her back into the ballroom. "Have you a waltz free, Miss Trent?"

He loved watching her expression go from dejected to delighted. He resolved to cause more such transformations in the future.

"Why, yes, my lord. I do happen to have a waltz free!"

She flowed into his arms in an exquisite rustle of sapphire silk and he swept her into the swirling harmony of color and sound that was the waltz at a formal ball. Willa let her head fall back, laughing delightedly. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were glowing twilight jewels. They danced every remaining dance of the evening—always together.

And if they danced a bit too closely for propriety… well, decorum would be the least of Lord Treason's worries, wouldn't it?

Besides, she smelled so damned good.

«
^
»

It was very late when they returned from the ball. Willa was pleased in general by the night's events. She'd danced with Nathaniel until her feet were throbbing. She'd destroyed Finster's little gang. She'd made a friend in Kitty Knight and made inroads into public opinion of Nathaniel.

All in all, a satisfying night's work.

There was just one more thing…

Nathaniel walked her to her chamber. "Good night, Willa. You ought to lie abed tomorrow morning, for we've another ball tomorrow night."

"Oh yes. Daphne and Basil's." She sighed reluctantly. "I suppose we cannot avoid it."

Nathaniel smiled slightly. "We could actually, since Basil has already asked me not to attend."

The matchless cheek of it, excluding Nathaniel when it was his house! Willa's eyes narrowed. "Then we will definitely be there."

Nathaniel shook his head admiringly. "Poor Basil."

The house was quiet around them; Nathaniel was being warm and relaxed with her—the question that had been burning in Willa ever since her meeting with the Bishop this morning burst from her.

"Why have you never denied being labeled a traitor?"

Nathaniel pulled back. "Ah. I thought something was preoccupying you today. Your chat with the Bishop was not a complete waste of his time, was it?"

"It was his strongest argument," she said reluctantly. "And you are avoiding the point."

"There is no point, Willa," he said stiffly. "It is late and we are both weary."

"Yet again, no direct answer," she mused as if to herself.

God, she was tenacious. Perhaps too much so. If he let her pursue this question, she was intelligent and obstinate enough to uncover some things that truly needed to remain buried. He tipped her chin up with one finger to look intently into her eyes.

"Willa, I have never denied the rumors because I cannot deny the rumors."

She gazed at him as if she was trying to see within him. "Cannot, or will not?"

He shook his head sadly, seriously. "Truly cannot."

It was only the truth. To deny the rumors now, with Foster on the loose, might prompt the man to reveal the secret that the Royal Four feared to become public. No one could ever know how young Prince George, caught up in youthful rebellion against his moralistic father's disapproval, had joined a group of young radicals who called themselves the Knights of the Lily. George had ever been light-minded, despite his innate intelligence, and had not realized until nearly too late that his cohorts were serious indeed.

All had been confessed and duly swept under the rug. The young insurgents had been mercifully dispersed, and all had remained quiet for thirty years.

Until Nathaniel had been recruited by the leader of the old Knights of the Lily and told of their plan to paint the Prince Regent as a patricidal maniac, hoping to prompt the people of England to depose him in the midst of war. That sort of chaos in the government was just what Napoleon needed to gain the upper hand again—and just what the Royal Four could not allow.

No matter what the cost.

Just as it was Nathaniel's mission to find the last conspirator—no matter what the cost.

None of which he could explain to Willa. Ever.

For if the Royal Four feared the revelation about the Prince Regent, they dreaded the revelation pf their own secrets more. Princes and kings came and went, good ones, bad ones, mad ones. Through it all, through the chaos of all the centuries, it had been the Four who had kept England steering straight through the rocks that had ruined other larger, stronger nations. The Four were the reason that one tiny island had become a world power and had remained one for so long.

Their lack of existence was their strength—and their greatest weakness. Like the heel of Achilles, discovery was the only thing that could bring them down, leaving England without its secret armature of honor and loyalty without care for personal gain.

Willa was watching him with her blue eyes nearly swimming. Her disappointment cut him to the core.

"I'm sorry, wildflower. I know you were hoping I could deny it. I'm sorry to disillusion you." He felt the inevitability of it. He felt his brief contentment dissolving and his fiery little touchstone leaving him cold and alone.

Instead, she peered up at him as if she couldn't decide what species he was. "Are all men so stupid?"

Nathaniel blinked, then frowned. "You've been spending too much time with Myrtle."

She threw both hands in the air and turned away from him. "And you've been spending too much time running from a lie!"

Lie
? The hallway seemed to shift around him for a moment. She couldn't mean what he thought she meant. Could she?

"What—what He?"

She stopped her frustrated pacing and looked at him, head tilted, hands on her hips. "The lie about you being a traitor."

Not daring to place too much weight on what she was saying, Nathaniel moved to stand before her. He took her hands from her hips and linked his fingers in hers.

His hands weren't cold, but hers were warmer. God, even her fingers fed him warmth.

Leading her gently, he opened her chamber door and backed her up to sit her on the bed. He sat beside her, keeping her hands in his.

Abruptly she gave up her mad and leaned into him, rolling her head on his shoulder. Closing his eyes, Nathaniel tilted his head for a deep breath of warm, alive, jasmine-scented Willa.

The room was definitely shifting around him. The
world
was shifting, sliding ever so slightly from wrong into right.

Willa believed in him. She'd heard the whole grisly story, seen him refuse to deny it, and still she did not turn away.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to roll her back onto the coverlet and take down her hair. He ached to kiss her until she couldn't breathe and bury himself in her until she couldn't speak.

But first, he had to hear it from her very lips. Nathaniel couldn't bear the tension for another moment. "Willa, you still have faith in me?"

She smiled tenderly at him. "Oh, darling Nathaniel. Of course I have faith in you. I love you, you silly lout."

She believed. The weight upon his heart vanished like smoke, and he felt as though he very well could turn blue and fly. At this moment, he felt as if he could do anything imaginable, with Willa at his side.

Wait a moment.

"You love me?"

She tilted her head, her smile softening. "Yes, Nathaniel Stonewell. I love you."

Then he was pulling her into his arms before she could take another breath.

Willa gasped at Nathaniel's urgency, then relaxed into the strength of his arms. She had been waiting for him for so long that she gave herself up to the moment immediately, turning to instant heat at his touch.

She loved the feel of his arms wrapped tightly about her, almost lifting her from the bed. Slipping her hands around his neck for support, she let her head fall back.

Nathaniel instantly took advantage of the motion and buried his face in her neck. She felt tongue and teeth. It sent shivers down to her toes.

"Are you going to cop—" No. Wait. "Are you going to make love to me now?"

He pulled his head up to gaze down at her. "Yes, wildflower. I'm going to make love to you now. Twice. At least."

He pulled her higher and kissed the tops of her breasts above the neckline of her gown.

She shivered, anticipation making her press her thighs together. "Twice. Oh my. Is that possible?"

Pulling his head up once more, he growled, "Willa, wildflower, shut up. Please."

And then he kissed her.

He kissed her until she couldn't breathe, until her heart pounded and her knees weakened and she melted inside like warm wax.

Nathaniel couldn't get enough of the taste of his extraordinary country minx. She was everything that her one untutored kiss on the road had promised him. Sweet, hot, giving, and such a very quick learner.

Willa stroked her hands from his neck up into his hair, tangling the long silky strands in her fists as she threw everything she knew into the kiss.

The heat of his mouth, the spicy taste of him, the slick feel of his teeth and rough hot pleasure of his tongue. It was even better than the first time.

His hands began to rove over her, down her back and over her bosom. The tiny cap sleeves slipped off her shoulders, tangling her arms too tightly, so she let go of him for a moment to shrug them off.

He stepped back to look down at her, his hands sliding up her until they cradled her face. "Let me see you, wildflower. Let me see all of you."

Not sure what he wanted, she stood, reaching behind her for the top buttons of her gown until she heard his encouraging groan. The gown gaped forward, exposing more and more of her bosom. She undid the last buttons at her waist slowly, one by one, watching him watch her.