B00Q5W7IXE (R) (7 page)

“No!” the duchess cried.

“Get out,” the duke ordered.

“Gladly.”

“I cannot stand the sight of you.” The duke held out his arm for his wife and she clutched it as though it were a rope tossed in a churning sea. Heads held high, they marched out the library door.

Blue watched them go, uncertain whether he should laugh or tear his hair out. They were idiots, and so was he if he allowed anything to come between Helena and himself.

He yanked the missive from his pocket again and held it out to the fire.

“Wait!”

Six

“Don’t burn it,” Helena said, pushing the door open. Blue’s vivid eyes widened.

“You are still here.”

She moved toward him. “I could not leave you. I wanted to tell you, and I heard your conversation with your parents.”

“Which part?”

“All of it, I think. Spies aren’t the only ones who can eavesdrop.”

A ghost of a smile played on his lips at the echo of his earlier words. “Then you know I chose you.” He held the vellum toward the fire again. “I will always choose you.”

She placed her hand on his wrist and pulled the vellum between them. “I should never have doubted. Earlier, I spoke from fear. Lady Elizabeth told me about the annulment, and when I found you with the missive, it was the last blow. I couldn’t help but think perhaps you would be better off without me.”

“Never.” He pulled her into his arms, holding her against his chest, her cheek pressed against the wool of his green coat. “I would be nothing but a husk of a man without you.” His voice rumbled through her, raising gooseflesh on her arms and calves.

“And I won’t allow my insecurity to turn you into a husk. You love your work, Blue. You should go back to the Barbican group.”

He pulled back, holding her at arm’s length. “No. I’ve chosen you.”

“And I was wrong to make you choose. You can have us both.” She took the vellum from his hand and shook her head at the strange markings. “Why shouldn’t you decipher codes or dispatch orders or write reports? I fail to see what the appeal is”—she handed the vellum back—“but one look at you when you work, and it’s clear you love it. I’d never take that away from you.”

“Are you sure?” The smile on his face showed so many white teeth she was all but blinded.

She was not sure, but she had to trust in him. She owed him that much and more.

“Yes, go tell Wolf or Hedgehog or whoever it is that you’re back. But”—she raised a finger—“I have one request.”

“Anything.”

“Wherever you go, and whatever you do, you take me with you.”

In answer, he took her in his arms for a kiss.

Blue shook the snowflakes off his greatcoat and settled himself beside Helena in the carriage. A warm brick lay at their feet, but her attention was on the snow falling outside the windows.

“I cannot believe it’s snowing! Isn’t it lovely?”

“You are lovely,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and settling his chin on her shoulder. “And finally, we are alone.”

“We might have been alone sooner, had you not insisted on reading that tedious book.”

She’d had to wait approximately seven minutes while he decoded the missive and returned the book to its shelf. He might have taken it with him, but he wanted nothing from his father’s house. They’d left without a farewell or any interference, and now Blue rapped on the roof of the carriage to begin the jaunt home.

When they reached the flat, he’d have to send his manservant to deliver the decoded missive to Baron. Unless he was wrong—and he was never wrong—it detailed a plan to aid Napoleon’s escape from St. Helena. That news could not wait. Not even for Christmas.

“The theater is closed tomorrow,” she said, turning to embrace him. “You know what that means.”

“We can lay in bed all day, inventing new and ever more illicit ways to pleasure each other?”

“That was not precisely what I would have said, but yes.”

“Good. Let’s begin now.”

He took her mouth with his, sliding his hands under her cloak until the heat of her body enveloped him. The taste of her was familiar and yet wholly intoxicating. He could have kissed her for hours, but her hand loosed his cravat and unfastened the buttons of his shirt. She bent and kissed his throat, teasing her way along his jawline until he arched his neck to give her access.

She settled on top of him, lifting her skirts to straddle him. He loved this position, and he immediately brushed his fingers up her legs until her garters gave way to the bare skin of her thighs. He could feel the heat of her sex pressed against his hard cock, and he need only loose the fall of his breeches to be inside her.

She moved her pelvis, teasing him with the promise of what was to come. Their mouths met again, and he dragged his lips away to feast on the swells of her breasts. Her cloak slid in his way, and impatiently, she unfastened it and allowed it to fall across his knees.

His hands cupped her bare bottom, and she hissed in a breath when he moved her body against his in a rhythm they both knew well. Her hand reached for him, sliding confidently along his hard shaft through his straining breeches. He laid his head back against the squabs, eyes closed in anticipation.

But something made him open his eyes—a sound or a feeling or a tingling of unease. He cracked his lids and started at the pair of eyes peering down at him from the hatch above.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Bonde said, sticking her head into the coach. Her hair dangled down in long golden ribbons.

Helena screamed and jumped with fright, falling back against the squabs and scrambling to push herself into a corner.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” Bonde jumped down with a smooth leap that barely ruffled her skirts.

Blue gathered Helena in his arms. “Shh. She’s a friend—or at least she was until now.”

Helena trembled, but that didn’t stop her from aiming a vicious glare at Bonde.

“Now what? Another spy?”

“Agent,” Bonde corrected, “and I only need a brief word.” Bonde spread her hands in apology.

“Here.” Blue handed Bonde the decoded missive. “I presume this what you came for.”

Bonde took the vellum gingerly. “Baron needs it deciphered—”

“Done.”

She unfolded it.

“Unless I miss my guess—”

“And you never miss your guess,” she answered, still looking at the vellum.

“Exactly. Our old friend Bonaparte plans an unauthorized excursion to the Continent.”

“Someone will have to put a stop to that.” She raised a brow at him then slid her gaze to Helena. “I suppose you aren’t up for it.”

He ran a hand up and down Helena’s arm to keep her warm. She didn’t appear frightened—much more annoyed—but an icy breeze pierced the warm carriage through the open hatch above.

“I have other plans this Christmas.”

“I’m sure you do. Sorry to interrupt, but it’s a pleasure to finally meet your wife.” She held a hand up. “No need for introductions. We frown upon that sort of thing in the Barbican group.” She jumped onto the squabs, and Blue frowned at the dirt her boots left on his velvet seats. Bonde grasped the edges of the hatch and prepared to pull herself up.

“How did you know she was my wife?” Blue asked.

Bonde gave him a weary look. “Because I’m the best.”

Blue was of the opinion that
he
was the best, but Bonde was no one to scoff at.

“You didn’t think me a...resident of Sodom?” he asked, curious as to how much of her knowledge was from investigation and how much skillful deduction.

“Actually, I thought you could go either way.” She pulled herself through the hatch and onto the roof—a feat of strength that would have taxed him and been impossible for most women. Her head appeared in the opening again, snow now sprinkled over her hair.

“Happy Christmas,” she called down.

Blue reached up and slammed the hatch closed.

Helena fumbled for the curtains, peering out into the dark night. “But how will she get down?”

“Oh, she’s part ape. And why the devil does everyone think I’m a—I prefer baritones?” He looked down at his evergreen coat, the velvet trim flecked with snow, and his rumpled violet waistcoat. “Is it my hair?”

Helena bit her lip, no doubt suppressing a smile. “It’s not your hair, darling.”

He patted it, the lace of his sleeves brushing against his forehead. “Perhaps I should wear it shorter. Or longer. Or more tousled...”

With a laugh, she curled up against him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Don’t change a thing, my love. You are perfect just as you are. And Blue?”

“Yes?”

“When we are finally home and in bed, we lock the door.”

He heartily agreed.

Acknowledgments

Thanks and appreciation go to Abby Saul for her copyediting, Joanna MacKenzie for her editing, and Molly Foltyn for her help with the blurb.

Reader, if you enjoyed this novella, it’s due to Joanna MacKenzie. I called her on November 6-ish and said, “I have a crazy idea.” She didn’t think it was crazy, and a month later, here’s the finished product.

About the Author

Shana Galen is the bestselling author of passionate Regency romps, including the RT Reviewers’ Choice
The Making of a Gentleman
. She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston's inner city. Now she writes full time. She's happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making. Shana loves to hear from readers, so send her an email or see what she's up to daily on Facebook and Twitter.

Visit her website at
www.shanagalen.com
.

Excerpt from
Earls Just Want to Have Fun

Coming February 2015 from Shana Galen

Dane stared out the window of his coach and wondered what the hell had possessed him to lend it to Brook. How was staring at a street in Cheapside more interesting than Lady Yorke’s soiree?

Oh, very well. Just about anything was more interesting than Lady Yorke’s soiree. Watching grass grow was more interesting, and sitting in his carriage for the last hour, circling the same street, was about as interesting as watching grass grow. He sighed and massaged his temples. He might as well sit here. It wasn’t as though he had anything better to do, since Parliament did not sit tonight. He smiled, thinking of the speech he’d given at the last session. It had been a rousing denunciation of a proposed bill to allocate more funds to help the poor.

The poor! What about the military or the farmers? What about the deuced Irish problem? Dane had argued quite successfully—as the bill had been defeated—that the poor deserved their fate. They were lazy or preferred sloth to hard work. Dirty, uneducated, and immoral, the lowest classes were barely human. Best the country look to the future—feeding its people and defending them.

As an earl, Dane not only had the responsibilities of a landowner, a peer, and a member of Parliament, he had social duties as well. He was so utterly weary of the same balls, the same insipid debutantes, the same ridiculous conversations about the weather. He hated London during the Season. And this was only the beginning. Duty could be extremely tedious.

He’d thought if he accepted invitations and made appearances, his mother, the Dowager Countess of Dane, would stop haranguing him about finding a wife. If anything, she was worse than she had been before. He should just pick a girl already and be done with it. They were all the same, at any rate.

If Brook had been sitting here, he would have rolled his eyes and said Dane had it
so hard
, being the earl. But not everyone could be a hero like Brook. Not everyone could go about saving people. Someone had to be ordinary.

But devil take him, if this was what Brook’s position entailed, then the man was welcome to his heroics. Dane was about to fall asleep from the sheer tedium.

The coach began to move, and Dane frowned. He hadn’t ordered his coachman to drive. Were they being waylaid by highwaymen? At least that would make the evening a bit more interesting.

And then he heard the scream.

Dane shot up and opened the curtains just as his brother’s voice called out, “Open the door. Open the bloody door!”

Dane threw open the carriage door, even though the conveyance was still moving. It slowed briefly, and Brook threw a wild animal inside the carriage. Dane jumped back, out of range of the creature’s claws, just as Brook dove inside and slammed the carriage door. “Drive!” he yelled.

The carriage lurched forward, racing at a speed that could not be safe, even had they not been on the crowded streets of London. But he had no time to worry about the jehu’s dangerous driving. The creature lunged at him, scratching at his leg and managing to get a pretty good bite of his calf. “Ow!” he yelled, shaking it off.

It fell back, and Brook threw a hood over its head. That confused it, and his brother took advantage of its disorientation and bound its hands.