Surrender to a Wicked Spy (25 page)

Dane whirled. "She
told
you about that?" Marcus rolled his eyes. "Dane, she talks about nothing
but
you." He threw out his hands. "I had to sit through an entire day in the carriage with her, listening to a litany of the manly virtues of Dane the Mighty Viking Viscount!" Dane blinked. "She called me a mighty Viking?" Marcus nodded wearily. "So I spared a moment to wonder what it would be like to have a woman be mad for me that way. That is all. Completely. Olivia thinks of me—" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I remind her of her brother," he muttered.

Dane narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Well, you do have that… that
brotherly
quality."

Marcus glared. "I do not. I am a very dangerous individual."

"You're too slow to block on your left. I shouldn't have been able to lay you out like that."

"I
let
you hit me," Marcus protested. "I deserved it." He rubbed his jaw. "I simply didn't think you were going to hit that hard."

Dane shrugged, feeling a little bit better. Olivia might be in the arms of the Prince Regent, but at least he'd not driven away his closest friend as well.

"So are you simply going to hand her over to be His Highness's plaything? You've only been wed a week!"

"Eight days," Dane corrected gruffly.

"I've never really liked this plan anyway, for if one woman could influence the prince for good, then couldn't another one just as easily influence the prince forbad?"

Dane stubbornly looked away. It was a good plan. He'd seen it in action.

"How can we really be sure we can trust any woman who would break her marriage vows like that?" Marcus had very firm ideas about adultery.

At the time, Dane had argued that most Society marriages tend to be rather open, at least once a woman had borne her husband an heir. His perception of marriage had always been that it was a business arrangement, not a matter of the heart.

All the ladies he had chosen to present to George had already had their sons and were known to be open to a bit of discreet dalliance. Most Society husbands would see the value of such a connection, especially if their wife brought a royal bastard home.

Dane truly didn't appreciate having his words thrown back in his face now.

Suddenly an uproar broke out in the ballroom. Wild cries and shocked screams echoed down to where they stood. Dane and Marcus turned as one and ran back down the hall.

The highborn guests of Lord and Lady Greenleigh's Hunt Ball shrank away from the outrageous display before them.

Several tall, broad-shouldered guards leaped out from where Olivia had stopped noticing them, to stand before the prince, who craned his neck vigorously. "Move, you great buggers! I want to see!"

They had cut Olivia off from him and the aghast crowd further forced her away. Olivia gazed about her at her horrified, scandalized, avid guests and saw her visions of social redemption come to a crashing end.

A new gasp erupted from the crowd, causing Olivia to yank her gaze back to the sight before her. There were nearly naked women, apparently clad in flowers, and now they had been joined by a nearly naked man, painted like a primitive, with a—oh dear, look at the size of that codpiece!

On closer inspection—well, suffice it to say that it wasn't a codpiece at all. Olivia felt faint. The "high priest" was dancing suggestively around the platform where the bound "virgin"—at least one assumed, since she wore primarily white flowers. Oh heavens, it didn't appear that she was wearing anything
else
!—writhed in cadence with the suspiciously appropriate music now coming from the players' balcony.

Apparently Mrs. Blythe was
that
kind of hostess.

Olivia stood, frozen, petrified, praying for a hole to open up in the lowlands of Scotland to swallow her down.

When Marcus and Dane first burst back through the ballroom doors, the cringing crowd momentarily pinned them on the far side of the room. They couldn't very well fight their way through, although from what they could see and hear, there was something seriously amiss in the center of the ballroom.

"Are those dancers naked?" Marcus hissed as they pushed their way gingerly through agog gentlemen and fainting ladies.

"No," Dane answered grimly. "They have flowers. And some feathers."

Marcus and Dane reached the edge of the clearing in time to see a muscular fellow raise a strange scepter high, apparently prepared to plunge it into his, er, enthusiastically moaning victim.

Dane recognized the scepter just as a cry cut through the music and mutters of the crowd.

"Give me that! That's
mine
!"

Oh God. She couldn't have just done what he thought she'd done.

Olivia burst from the crowd and snatched the fifth carved ivory penis from the "high priest" and clutched it to her bosom possessively.

Olivia hadn't been thinking of anything but disappearing until she'd spotted the fifth rod. Then the only thought in her mind was that she and Dane needed it to fulfill their dream of a family. It was when the case of rods went missing that all seemed to go wrong. Suddenly it seemed that their entire future hinged on that rod.

It wasn't until the first shrill laughter broke out that she realized what she had done.

«
^
»

Moments later, after Mrs. Blythe's dancers had been hustled out of the ballroom by red-faced and snickering footmen, Dane turned to Olivia.

"My lady, would you care to explain yourself?" His voice was tight and his gaze was furious.

Olivia knew there had been nothing in Mrs. Blythe's descriptions about such a performance and she couldn't bring herself to believe that the woman would purposely destroy her.

The rumors turning the staff against her. The missing rods. The
kippers
.

She opened her mouth to explain it all to Dane, but the chill in his gaze made her hesitate. She swallowed. "It seems… I believe… I'm being sabotaged."

His face hardened. "I should have respected you more for taking responsibility for your failure. You've made us into laughingstocks and you've compromised my… plans."

Olivia flinched, but raised her head high. "Your plans to manipulate the Prince Regent, you mean?"

Dane went very still, his gaze intent on hers. "What do you know of that?"

Olivia raised a brow calmly while bright hard spikes of humiliation and hurt spun inside her. "You said that all you needed was the right woman, did you not? You and Marcus, and Reardon and Wyndham—you wish to keep an eye on the Prince Regent, even in the bedchamber?"

Dane jerked slightly at that, then only nodded.

Olivia took a breath and shrugged slightly. "Then isn't that what this ball was for from the beginning? To find the Prince Regent's new mistress for him?"

He nodded again. His gaze was that of a stranger.

Olivia looked down at her hands clasped before her. She untangled her worried fingers and smoothed the front of her dress. Then she looked back up at Dane.

"Then your plan has worked beautifully. The Prince Regent has invited me to take that position."

Then she waited, breath stopped, heart stilled.
Please
.

Tell me no. Tell me you'll never let me go.

Dane gazed at her for a long, long moment, his face frozen. She could see a glimpse of something wild behind his eyes. For an instant she had hope, for he seemed about to break the bonds of his own will.

Then his gaze cleared and his expression became blank. "If you would be so kind, my lady, it would be a service."

A service. As if she'd agreed to post a letter for him, or stitch a button on his coat.

Dane was completely calm as he gazed at Olivia. His chest was filled with ice. The pain was gone, as was the conflict and uncertainty within him. He was the Lion… and she was useful to the cause.

Then the Prince Regent fought free of his persistent Royal Guard and came to stand with Olivia. He gazed at Dane with cutting disdain. "I've always respected your judgment, Lord Greenleigh. Until now." He shook his head. "You must be the stupidest man alive."

Dane was dimly aware of the crowd hanging on every word. He heard them murmur at the Prince Regent's words, then gasp as George held out his hand to Olivia.

"My Lady Greenleigh, would you care to join my party in the east wing? We are a merry bunch, my friends and I." He cast a dismissive gaze toward Dane. "I daresay you could use a bit of fun."

For the past moments Olivia had been focusing her attention on moving air in and out of her lungs. If she had not, she thought she might have stopped altogether.

It would be a service.

She felt nothing. Her heart beat dully in her chest, as if it scarcely cared to keep her alive. Dimly she heard the Prince Regent speaking. He was a sweet man but old enough to be her father. She must be respectful and listen. She tried, but everything seemed to come from far away, muffled and indistinct.

Dane still stood before her, almost in arm's reach. Even as he crushed her heart, she realized that what he crushed was love.

She loved him. Not adored, not wanted, not desired. Loved. Loved until the pain she'd mistakenly caused him made her own soul ache in sympathy. She loved him. She willed herself to reach for him, to touch him. It might make him real again—

With a jolt, reality snapped back into focus. Dane wouldn't want her touch. He'd made it more than clear that he didn't care at all.

She loved, but she was the only one. No surprise there, for he was Dane… and she was nothing.

So she would give him what he most desired, her first and last act of love. She brought her chin up and faced him for the first time. "I suppose I won't be needing this anymore." She handed him the fifth rod and then turned to George, who still extended his hand. She curtsied low. "Your Highness, I would love to join your party."

Rising, she placed her hand in his. They turned without one more glance toward Dane and walked away.

Dane looked down at the thing in his hand. He'd taken it automatically, having been struck by something in Olivia's eyes.

She wasn't angry. She wasn't resentful or guilty or embarrassed. She'd looked at him with… understanding?

It shook him, causing a tiny voice within him to doubt.
Perhaps you are wrong
.

Perhaps she is precisely what the Lion needs.

Dane threw the ivory rod from him. It skittered across the floor and rolled into the watching crowd. Ladies leaped aside and gentlemen scrambled to get out of the way of the outrageous thing.

Dimly Dane recognized that he was going to suffer from their assumptions about why his lady needed such a device in the first place.

She belongs to me.

It seemed quite clear at that moment that before Olivia went away with the Prince Regent or Marcus or whomever she chose next—

He had to have her, just once. Then, and only then, could he wash his obsession from his mind and body.

With that instant of clarity, he moved. Swiftly overtaking the new royal couple before the Guard could stop him, he wrapped his arm about his lost lady's waist and tossed her over his shoulder. "So sorry, Your Highness, but I believe I owe my lady a wedding night."

"What—," Olivia gasped, then struggled in his hold. His shoulder was too broad to dig into her stomach, but his grip was like stone. She could only push herself up by her hands against his back and watch the astonished Prince Regent and other guests disappear from sight.

Dane's long strides were faster than most men ran. The halls of Kirkall were a blur. By the time Olivia had caught her breath, they were outside.

The Greenleigh grooms, eerily efficient as ever, had Galahad bridled by the time Dane arrived.

He took the unsaddled horse from their protesting hands without a word. Olivia felt him give an easy heave and found herself sitting sideways on the broad white back. Dane was going to carry her off on a white horse?

Girlish fantasies aside, Olivia would really rather be sure of his intentions first.

From a distance.

He let go of her for only an instant, but it was enough to slide off, land lightly on her feet, and take a single running step. Then she found a great arm wrapped about her waist again and her feet left the ground.

And then it was too late. She was perched precariously upon the racing stallion with only two options. Cling to Dane or fall to certain injury at this great speed.

The hard ground would not give her a second chance.

Then again, she wasn't entirely sure that's what Dane intended, either.

«
^
»

Finally the trees gave way to a clearing. The moonlight fell into it, filling it like a bowl of bright milk. There was a cottage in the center. The thatched roof hung nearly to the ground except where the eaves rose above the low door. Roses climbed the sides of the door, twining together above. It was likely a charming effect in summer, but now the bare, thorny branches seemed threatening.

Olivia had the uncanny feeling that the moment they were inside, the growth would cover the door, locking them in forever.

Dane swept her from the horse and kicked the door open, carrying her away into the darkness within. Forever might be just what she needed to win Dane's heart.

Once inside, she was deposited on something soft—a bed dressed in sheets that smelled of lavender. He fell upon her, his mouth hot on her neck. She felt the scrape of his beard on the tops of her breasts, the sting of his teeth as he sucked on her skin. She writhed, pushing at him, but he only took her by the wrists and pressed her hands high above her head. If he had been any other man above her, she would have fought to the death to escape… but he wasn't any other man.

He was her man, her passionate, desperately alone Viking lord, and no matter what his intentions were, she knew what hers were. She was fighting for her love.

Having her pinned at his mercy only seemed to excite him further. He wrapped one big hand about both her wrists and used the other to tug the bodice of the blue gown low. He reached in urgently, pulling her breasts free to be pushed high by the neckline. He took one nipple into his mouth and wrapped his hand around the other breast, squeezing hard.