Surrender to a Wicked Spy (10 page)

Dane leaned back and grinned, his point won. "I like that lot. Bunch of rowdies, but I like them."

The Falcon twisted one side of his lips. "I'd like them better if the Chimera had not hidden in their midst for the last year."

The Cobra held up a hand. "That isn't quite true. As Denny the valet, he was never made privy to the inner workings of the club. He knew more than a servant should have, I'll grant you that, but he never knew everything, and he certainly never learned about us."

The Falcon didn't look pacified. "I'm none too sure about that. I know you think those attempts on your life a few weeks ago had more to do with your involvement with that ring of French spies—"

The Cobra shook his head. "He knows nothing but a few decades-old stories about a mythical group known as the Quatre Royale. Old business and long-dead men."

Dane shook his head. "There's no way to know in any case, unless we had the fellow here in a pair of thumbscrews."

The Falcon obviously found that a pleasant thought indeed, for he very nearly smiled. Nearly.

Bloodthirsty bloke. Of course, the Falcon was due his grimness, for keeping an eye on the wayward prince's antics would sour a clown.

The door opened, revealing a harassed-looking Cheltenham. "Bloody piker. Falls drunk on my tablecloth, then tries to hit me up for a loan after he vomits on my front steps."

Dane shook his head with a commiserating smile, glad to see that Olivia's father had a properly disdainful opinion of sots like Wallingford. Lady Cheltenham had indicated that Wallingford had been a friend to her deceased son, but Dane found that hard to believe. Wallingford didn't have friends—he had creditors who daren't let him out of their sight.

Duty was concluded. Dane pushed back from the table. Not eagerly, of course. Not at all. "Shall we go join the ladies then?"

The rest of the evening passed in a blur for Olivia. Once Dane entered the drawing room, she had no thought but what awaited her at home.

Surely he would complete her education tonight. Willa had admired his restraint, but frankly, Olivia could do without it. She was dying of curiosity and half-satisfied arousal.

Oh, hang it. She was dying of lust. Lust for her magnificent golden husband.

He'd sent her a single volcanic glance when he'd come in the room and she'd been able to think of nothing else since.

This was not a problem, since she was currently conversing with Miss Hackerman. The girl had nothing to say but complaints that young Lord Wallingford had left early. Frankly, Olivia was surprised the fellow had been able to find the door. She wouldn't have given a useless idiot like him a moment's thought, but apparently Wallingford had something Abbie wanted.

A title, any title.

As the daughter of the shipping merchant who had supposedly single-handedly financed the military excesses of the now-mad King George, Abbie Hackerman had a great deal to offer. She could afford to be choosier.

Olivia glanced at the girl. Abbie responded with a sunny smile, the very picture of amiability. Of course. Multigenerational social climbing tended to produce a rather professional grasp of who was to be mocked and who was to be manipulated.

Olivia was quite aware that wedding Dane had taken her from the first category to the second with blinding speed. Miss Hackerman had abandoned her previous scorn and now fixed on Olivia the expectant gaze of a long-beloved best friend.

Oh dear.

Olivia couldn't wait to leave with Dane, to ride home in the carriage only inches away from him—oh, hang it—and Lord Dryden.

Oh dear.

At last, Dane thanked her parents and called for their carriage. Olivia stepped outside to await him, drinking in the cool and quiet after the endless, stuffy evening indoors. Dane and Marcus were in the entrance hall taking their leave of that sternly handsome Lord Wyndham, so Olivia wandered politely a few yards down the walk.

How could Dane bear to stand there talking when such wickedly delicious plans awaited them at home?

Home. How easily she'd transferred her loyalties. Then again, with Walt gone, there really was nothing tying her to her family but duty.

She had a new family now. Dane was her family and someday soon they would have children of their own and she would never,
ever
turn them away when they cried or reached out to her—

Thundering hoofbeats rang down the cobbled street toward them. Olivia absently turned her back and wrapped her cloak about her gown to keep it from splashes when the rider passed. Someone was taking a chance riding so fast in the dark.

How many children did Dane wish to have? Personally, she'd like to have as many as she could fit in the time she had left. She was nearly thirty, after all—

"Olivia!"

Something hit her hard, knocking her from her feet and whirling her away.

When the speeding horse struck him—a glancing blow, equine chest to his shoulder—Dane hit the cobbles hard, unable to break his fall with his arms wrapped about Olivia.

His head cracked on the street with a sickening thud. For a moment his vision blackened. His senses awry, all he could think was,
Protect her
. He held on, keeping her tight to his chest, wrapped in his arms.

He felt hands tugging at him, pulling at his wrist, trying to take her from him. Dane resisted foggily, flinging them away with an uncoordinated shove.

"Greenleigh, ease your grip, man. You're squeezing the life out of her!"

That sounded like Marcus. Dane blinked hard, clearing his vision to see Marcus, Wyndham, and Reardon bent over them.

"Dane… you can let me… go now." Olivia lay sprawled on his chest, breathless, trapped in his fierce embrace.

He was crushing her. "Oh God!" Dane threw his arms wide, releasing her to slide limply to the cobbles at his side. "Are you—"

He tried to sit up to see to her, but someone swung an anvil inside his head. He pressed the heel of one hand to his skull, fighting the gray creeping around the edges of his vision. "Olivia—"

It took two of them to pull him to his feet, where he wavered, trying to see Olivia.

She stood shakily in Marcus's grip. "I'm quite all right." She shook Marcus off with a half smile. "See? All in one piece." She turned to Dane. "Bring him inside," she ordered crisply.

Dane blinked bemusedly as three of the most powerful men in England obeyed his bride without a thought. What an excellent choice he'd made. Fortitude, indeed.

As the party re-entered Cheltenham House, Dane was dimly aware of Olivia's mother fluttering in the background as her father huffed indignantly about "rowdies." He was deposited on a sofa in the now-empty drawing room. Olivia knelt before him with a candle in her hand.

"Open your eyes," she instructed. "I want to see if your pupils match."

Dane had seen physicians do that before while serving out his commission in the army. "I'm surprised you know what to do." His voice worked anyway, although he found himself speaking a bit slowly.

"I am the closest thing to a doctor that Cheltenham has, barring the local midwife. I know a few useful things."

She was confidently examining him, pushing his hair aside as she gently probed the lump on his head. "As big as you are," she said drily, "could you not have found a better portion of your anatomy to land on?"

Dane heard Reardon choke back a laugh, and Marcus openly chuckled. Was this the same woman who had scarcely spoken a word during dinner, who had allowed her mother to berate her in front of others?

Dane liked her this way, he decided muzzily. Just like that day in the Thames—competent and self-assured. A true viscountess.

He gently caught her hand away from his sore head. "I'm fine." His voice was stronger as well.

She pulled reluctantly away from him and stood. "Well, that rider ought to be shot," she declared.

Dane didn't answer, but the gaze he shared with the other three assured him that the incident would most definitely be looked into. Accident? Perhaps or perhaps not.

His vision had cleared and he stood without help this time, although his head still pounded. "I think we had better get you home," he said to her.

She crossed her arms. "Get me home? I'm not the ' one leaning, like last year's Maypole."

Dane fought back a grin and raised one hand to point to the door. "Go."

She heaved a sigh and dropped her arms. "You first."

Marcus laughed. "I'll break this battle of wills.
I'll
go first."

In the carriage, Olivia insisted on sitting next to Dane. When he begged off her nursing, she denied it. "If you fall over, I'd rather you land on him." She gestured at Marcus seated across from them. "I've already had the pleasure of being squashed tonight."

Dane smiled at her. "You hold up nicely, nonetheless."

She blushed. "Oh, pish. My hair looks a sight, I'm sure."

It was true. Her hair, apparently disinclined to stay pinned in any circumstances, now stuck out in ludicrous disarray. She looked like a tangled skein of blond yarn.

Her gray silk gown was entirely done for, smeared with street muck and torn at the shoulder where he'd grabbed her.

Then again, Dane hadn't been talking about her appearance. He'd meant something more, something inside. She possessed a surprising resiliency.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Marcus nonchalantly turn his gaze to the window, raptly watching the dark streets go by.

With one hand, Dane tipped her chin up. "You look lovely."

She bit her lip, gazing up into his eyes. "I do not. I—"

He dipped his head to kiss the protest away. Only a quick stolen touch of his lips to hers, but it stopped her cold.

When he released her, Olivia dipped her head to hide the burning in her eyes. The sound of his head cracking on the cobbles had struck deeply, a lance of icy fear. She'd been terrified that he'd been seriously injured, her insides aquiver with panic even as she'd taken charge and barked orders.

They'd only been wed two days, and already she could not imagine what she would do without him.

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"You'll not spend the night without me," Olivia insisted, her arms crossed and her feet braced like a sergeant major. Dane couldn't get over how she found it so easy to stand up to him. "I insist on staying with you," she said. "Head injuries can be very dodgy. If you sleep too deeply, you might not wake up!"

Dane tied the belt of his dressing gown and jerked his head to send his fluttering valet away. Proffit went with a sniff and a glare toward her ladyship. The servants were taking their time warming up to Olivia, for some reason.

Dane's head hurt and he had larger things to worry about than a discontented staff. If Olivia had issue with any of them, she ought to know what to do. Her mother had assured him that Olivia was well acquainted with the running of a large household.

The lady's maid he'd hired for her tapped on the open connecting door of their chambers. "Your bath is ready, milady."

Olivia tugged at her destroyed gown in irritation. "I have to get this muck off me. Will you promise not to lock me out while I'm gone?"

Dane couldn't help smiling. "Isn't it usually the lady who locks the gentleman out?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I wouldn't put anything past you, my lord. You seem to have an allergy to being taken care of."

Dane waved her on. "Go take your bath and get the horse manure out of your hair. I'll take to my bed like a good boy. You can check up on me when you're done."

"Hmm." To ensure he didn't close her out, she dragged a footstool to block the door from shutting entirely. "So I can hear you if you call."

Dane nodded wordlessly. His head hurt and he had many things to think about—the incident tonight at the top of his list.

He lay on his bed, a vast construction made to his specifications, with the covers pulled to his waist. The tester above him enclosed a mural on the ceiling, a depiction of the Siren on the rocks, calling the sailors to their deaths. The artist had grinned at Dane's request, undoubtedly thinking Dane wanted the erotic image of the bare-breasted woman to entertain his nights.

On the contrary, Dane had wanted the nightly reminder—never let temptation decide your course for you.

Tonight, however, he closed his eyes against the image above him. He had not let Olivia distract him from his duty this evening, nor could he regret his preoccupation with her afterward. If he had not been so aware of her on the street tonight, he never would have made it to her in time to save her from being trampled.

All in all, he had to grant that he'd balanced duty and marriage quite nicely.

It was too bad she'd forgotten about their plans for tonight. He'd been looking forward to furthering her education.

For the sake of his heir, of course.

With his eyes closed and his own room gone quiet, he could now hear the faint splashing sounds of Olivia in the bath. She must have sent Petty on to bed, for there were no voices, only the sound of water lapping at the sides of the tub.

She'd be close to the hearth for warmth. The fire would lick her skin with golden lights, gleaming off the soapy water.

After she dunked and sat up, her hair would slick down her back like a dark gold stream, exposing her long neck and white shoulders… and those magnificent breasts would float slightly in the water, buoyed by their own lush abundance. She would wash them, lifting them and soaping them until the bubbles ran from her skin and drops fell from her nipples like diamonds in the firelight…

He'd never actually seen a woman in the bath, he realized.

He also suddenly realized that he was completely aroused—surprising considering the condition of his head. Yet there was no help for it. The thought of a wet, soapy Olivia was as erotic a fantasy as he'd ever known.

He shouldn't have sent her away.

That was ridiculous. She'd had a trying evening, in more ways than one. They both needed their rest.

Yet he must continue his tutoring of her. He must train her well in her own sexuality. He must draw all her deepest responses out and make her open to nearly anything.