Surrender to a Wicked Spy (15 page)

Olivia nodded briskly. "Yes, we must not waste time." She folded her hands in her lap. "Mrs. Blythe, I need your help to throw a Hunt Ball that Society will never forget!"

She outlined the specifications for Mrs. Blythe—the location, the number of guests, Dane's ridiculous timetable…

Mrs. Blythe was staring at her in shock. Olivia tsked. "Yes, I know. Isn't it just like a man to set such an impossible task?"

The woman folded her hands in her lap. "My lady, are you sure about this? Does Lord Greenleigh know what you are planning?"

"Of course." Olivia raised her chin. "My lord husband trusts me to deliver his guests an exceptionally
sophisticated
entertainment. Tastefully, of course. Can you help me? Your events are famous for their originality. I wish to make sure that all of London is talking about my Hunt Ball."

Mrs. Blythe narrowed her eyes. "Lord Greenleigh is an adventurous sort, then? He seems rather… well, tame. I mean no offense—"

Olivia would hardly term a man like Dane as "tame." She frowned. Who was this woman, really? This curious house… the housekeeper's reaction…

Olivia had gambled on a name in a gossip column, but now she feared she was out of her depth.

Yet, she was already out of her depth with the planning of the Hunt Ball. Mrs. Blythe might not be quite what Olivia had thought, but she seemed kind and she was certainly experienced—

And Olivia was running out of options and time.

Desperate times. Olivia leaned forward. "So will you help me?"

Mrs. Blythe shook her head. "It is not the strangest request I've ever had, but it comes close." She gazed at Olivia for a long moment. "I think I should very much like to help you, my lady.
Tastefully
, of course."

Olivia smiled brightly. "Wonderful! What will you need from me to arrange this?"

Mrs. Blythe waved her hand. "I will be pleased to arrange everything personally. Do not fear, Lady Greenleigh. No one who attends this ball will ever forget it."

Olivia bent forward and gave her a spontaneous hug. "Thank you! You have no idea what this means to me."

Mrs. Blythe seemed staggered by the affection. "I… well, my lady, you certainly are an unusual sort. A true Original. Lord Greenleigh is a very lucky man, my lady. He must be very satisfied with you."

Satisfied with you
. Olivia's glee faded abruptly. She looked away. "I… I'm sure I wouldn't know…"

"Ah." Mrs. Blythe regarded her steadily for a moment. "It's true then, isn't it? What I've heard about Lord Greenleigh is true."

Olivia blinked back her sudden sadness and gazed at Mrs. Blythe in alarm. "What have you heard?"

Mrs. Blythe took Olivia's hand in hers. "My lady, it is not common knowledge. It is only that I once knew someone who—well, what I heard is that your husband is… ah… shall we say, more than mortal woman can bear?"

Olivia slumped. She ought not to discuss something so personal—Dane would hate it if he knew—but where else could she turn? And Mrs. Blythe was a widow. She knew a few things about men, it was clear. "You've heard correctly," Olivia whispered miserably. "I am a wife of four days and a virgin still."

"Hmm."

The woman's pensive tone drew Olivia's attention. "What are you thinking?"

Mrs. Blythe tilted her head and regarded Olivia closely for a long moment. "Normally I wouldn't think of suggesting such a thing, but you are obviously made of sterner stuff than most ladies. Tell me, do you truly care for him?"

"I am his lady," Olivia said. "I would do anything for him."

Mrs. Blythe shook her head. "But do you wish this as much as he does? Do you
want
him?"

Want Dane? Want him to cover her, to claim her, to enter her and feed that endless ache? Want to love and satisfy him and be his wife in truth? "Oh yes," she breathed. "I want him."

Mrs. Blythe patted her hand. "Then you shall have him. Let me tell you what I can do for you…"

When the man across the street saw Lady Greenleigh leave the bordello and drive away in her carriage, he forced himself to wait another half an hour for verisimilitude. Then he strode importantly to the front door of Mrs. Blythe's famous establishment and rapped the knocker smartly.

Once inside and face-to-face with Mrs. Blythe, he bowed respectfully. "I'm sorry to intrude, but my Lady Greenleigh has asked me to return to you on her behalf." Then he waited. If luck was with him, the woman would let spill something useful now. He'd learned that people made their own conclusions and were compelled to fill any extended silence with them.

After a long moment, Mrs. Blythe sighed. "She had second thoughts, I suppose. I'm surprised she actually had the fortitude to approach me in the first place. I was sure once she considered it, she would regret asking me to help her stage her Hunt Ball."

Interesting. The man nodded somberly. "It is a very important event."

"I suppose it is too late to reassure her that I had only the most tasteful entertainments in mind. I know the most wonderful soprano…"

The man felt a spurt of excitement. This fell neatly into his plan. "No, madam," he interrupted smoothly. "My lady does not wish to relinquish your aid. In fact—" This was going to do the trick as nothing would. "In fact, my lady wishes for you to find something much more radical for her."

Mrs. Blythe's eyes narrowed. "Ah. I see. I had wondered why she came to me, specifically." She snorted impatiently. "She couldn't bring herself to say it herself, could she?"

The man nodded sympathetically. "She is new to her position, madam. I'm sure she was simply too timid."

"Ladies." Mrs. Blythe shook her head. "So she wishes that sort of party, does she?"

"Indeed. She wishes to be a most notorious hostess."

Mrs. Blythe folded her arms. "Inform her that I have the perfect entertainment. It is, after all, what I do."

The man nodded. "Indeed, madam."

Perfect, indeed.

Olivia couldn't think of anything but Mrs. Blythe's advice on the way home in the carriage and through tea and through the household's bustle and preparation for the journey day after tomorrow.

Mrs. Huff was rushing about in a flurry, directing this and that, even sending instructions to the other staff by fast courier!

Apparently, the house in Scotland had not been used for two years. Of course, there was a caretaking staff in residence at Kirkall Hall, but evidently Mrs. Huff didn't trust anyone but herself to manage the preparations for so many guests.

Leaving the woman to it, for she'd not welcomed a single suggestion from Lady Greenleigh, Olivia dawdled in what she had come to think of as her "morning room," a smaller parlor done in more cheerful colors than the supremely elegant pale tones of the rest of the house.

The butler tapped twice and opened the door. "There is a parcel come for you, my lady, from a 'Mrs. B.' "

Olivia started, then turned away from the butler to hide her blush. "Oh yes, thank you, Kinsworth." Goodness, was that her voice, so high and nervous? She cleared her throat and strived to sound normal. "Put that in my room if you please."

She forced herself to wait, even attempting to go over the menus with the cook, Mrs. Arnold. Rather, Olivia listened while Mrs. Arnold told her in no uncertain terms what she would be eating for the next several days. Finally, she nodded agreement—apparently that was her role in this household, to nod agreement to what the servants wanted to do—and escaped upstairs, ostensibly to dress for dinner. Duty done.

On the side table in her room sat a paper-wrapped parcel the size of a small luggage case. Olivia looked for Petty, but the girl was nowhere in sight and likely wouldn't be unless Olivia sent for her—in which case Olivia could count on it being several sullen minutes before the girl arrived. Assured of her privacy, Olivia ripped the paper from her gift.

It was a box of sorts, almost like a barrel on its side. It was stained dark and was heavily carved with sumptuous images of exotic fruits—at least, they looked like pomegranates and bananas.

On the front there were two golden clasps. After a moment of fiddling, Olivia learned the trick of them and flicked them both open.

The box fell apart, unwinding away from her like a rolled carpet. "Oh, how clever!" What had been a box was now a flat tray made of compartments hinged together. In each of the five silk-lined compartments, a single object lay, itself wrapped in matching golden silk. Biting her lip, she reached for the first one.

Mrs. Blythe had told her what was inside, but description did not satisfy one's curiosity. Olivia picked up the first object and let the silk wrapping fall away. Oh my. Perhaps those hadn't been bananas after all.

"What the hell?"

Dane's appalled bellow from the doorway startled Olivia, making her drop the carved ivory vagina expander on the floor. It rolled away under the bed.

«
^
»

"Now look what you made me do!" Olivia glared at Dane. "It will be soiled under there!" She dived beneath the counterpane to retrieve it, only to find Dane lifting her bodily from the floor with a great arm about her waist. "Got it!" She waved it triumphantly at him.

He set her on her feet, glaring at her. "Do you mind telling me what the hell that thing is?"

He looked down at what she held in her hand and paled. "Never mind. I don't want to know." He released her and turned away. "I suppose I cannot deny you your own pleasure. Only… please don't let the servants find it."

Olivia planted both fists on her hips. "Oh, you don't know everything, Lord Greenleigh. These are for the both of us."

He turned to stare at her, distaste evident on his face. "No thank you. I'm afraid my inclinations don't run to—"

She pulled out the note from Mrs. Blythe. "Here. Read this."

He took the note and read it aloud. " 'As I related to you earlier this afternoon, these relics are the Pleasure Rods of the Rajah, created at the request of the second Rajah of Najimbi for his bride in order for her to train her body to accept a man of great size. Alas, they were never used. It seems the young rajah had a rather inflated idea of his own proportions and felt that no pure, virginal woman could receive him. The story goes that neither the wife nor the rajah was quite as advertised.' "

Dane stopped reading and looked askance at the opened box. He folded the note and flipped aside the golden silk covering the next offering in the case. "So these ivory… things are supposed to help us somehow?"

Olivia knelt by the case and began unwrapping each one. "Yes. You see, they come in graduating sizes. Once a woman becomes comfortable with one size, she may move on to the next—oh, dear heavens." She'd unwrapped the fifth and final rod. It was as thick as four fingers and its length lay across her two palms and then some. She blushed and rewrapped it quickly. "Well, at least I'm sure we won't need to use
that
one!"

Dane rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Actually… I think we will."

Olivia stopped with her hands still cradling the final rod. "Truly? Does that mean you don't mind?"

To his surprise, considering he was not one to "augment" his satisfaction with objects, Dane felt his first glimmer of true hope in years.

"I'm surprised you are willing," he said slowly. He didn't want to sway her from it, but neither did he want to make her go through such a thing if she wasn't—

She leaped to her feet and flung both arms about his neck. "Oh, thank you, darling! I know we can make it work, I just know it!"

An alarming thought struck him. "Who gave you these, and how did she know? You haven't been—"

She shook her head, causing a rather adorable downfall of fair hair. "You needn't worry. I trust her discretion completely. She helped me enormously with the arrangements for the Hunt Ball. She's a good friend of the Prince Regent's, you know. Her name is Mrs. B—"

Dane held up one hand sharply. "No, perhaps I'd better not know. I'd never be able to look her in the eye in a social situation."

Olivia only smiled fondly at him. "Dane, you know this means we'll be able to have children. You could be a father this time next year!"

What a startling thought. He pictured a sturdy, fair-haired boy with gray eyes, and a smile crept across his lips. Olivia sighed happily and snuggled closer to his chest. What an astonishing woman she was, to go through this for him, for their future and their family-to-be.

"I want lots of children," she said dreamily. "Lots and lots."

He chuckled and held her close, tucking her head into its perfect spot beneath his chin. If she did this for him, she could have all the children she could stand to raise. "And dogs."

She nodded against his chest. "And dogs."

Dane gazed over her shoulder where four of the five ivory rods lay beside the case. The thought of using them to drive her urgent responsiveness to new heights…

His body began to respond to his thoughts and the way her full breasts pressed to his chest. She must have been thinking along the same lines, for her body seemed to melt languidly into his. "Dane," she whispered. "We could start right now."

"Hmm." Dane let his hand slide off her hair and down her side to cup beneath one lovely breast. "Do you wear any sort of ladies' drawers, my dear?"

"Of course not," she replied with a small smile. " 'Tisn't healthy."

Lovely, country-bred woman. Dane bent his body, reaching for her hem and taking advantage of his position to lay his mouth over her sprigged muslin bodice. He breathed over her nipple as he stroked his hand beneath her hem and up her stocking. Her body responded, quivering in his grasp already, though he'd touched no higher than her knee.

He passed over her garter—he ought to have her leave her stockings on sometime—and ran his palm up her inner thigh.

She gasped slightly and parted her legs a bit, allowing him in. He straightened, his hand planted firmly over her mound, and used his other hand to pull her bodice down to just below her nipples. They thrust out like ripe cherries and he plucked at them as he lowered his mouth to her neck. "What do you want, my lady?" he whispered. "You must choose. My hand or my mouth?"