Surrender to a Wicked Spy (7 page)

"Oh no." Olivia blinked. "I didn't mean…" She'd bungled it now. The girl would take anything she said as a criticism, it was clear. She gave up. "Ten will be fine. Er, carry on."

Olivia watched Petty from the corner of her eye as the maid briskly finished her task and left the room. It seemed Olivia's lord husband kept an entirely different class of help. Even Petty's black gabardine maid uniform was of fine quality—better, in fact, than much of what Olivia had worn in the past.

Walt would have managed to tease a smile from the girl, Olivia had no doubt, but she'd never had that knack for ease in all company.

Olivia could have used a bit of that talent during her excruciating debut. It wasn't so much that she was shy. It was more that she simply didn't seem to speak the language. In the last month of this Season, she'd watched in mystification as the other young women rendered the young men speechless with one coy flick of their fan or employed an adoring gaze to make a suitor plump up like a proud rooster.

She'd tried it a few times herself, but her flick of her fan had nearly put out one fellow's eye and her adoring gaze had prompted her dance partner to inquire if she was feeling the need to vomit.

Alone again, Olivia flopped back onto her mounded pillows in relief. She'd not needed any such devices to attach her own magnificent husband after all, had she? Why, that day in the river, she'd forgotten to employ even the slightest flirtation—and he'd asked for her anyway.

Yet if she hadn't flirted, nor truly even conversed with Dane before they wed, how was it that he had come to ask for her hand? He could have had one of any number of prettier, wealthier, more stylish young ladies. She sat up with a surprising thought.

Had he loved her from afar?

She quickly slipped from the cozy covers and padded across the room barefoot to the mirror over her vanity. Seating herself on the stool, she tucked her chilled toes beneath her hem and examined her own reflection.

Hmm. To her surprise, for she'd not so much as brushed her hair this morning, she was looking rather fine. Her cheeks were flushed becomingly and her tousled locks were messy but somehow suited her better than a sleek, restrained style. She smiled at herself, for she was justly proud of her good teeth. Dane must have liked her looks. He'd certainly approved of her bosom.

Perhaps… just perhaps… he'd admired her even as she'd admired him! It was a vain and outrageous thought, but what else could it be? Her life had taken on a dreamlike quality of late. Who was to say that dream might not include true love? That might be why he wed her so abruptly and why he'd spent so much time carefully wooing her—seducing her—last night.

The avid gleam that came into her gray eyes at the thought of last night only made her look better, she decided. Better than she'd ever looked in her life. But then, why not?

Love became her.

Joy rose in her. She stood and spun her way back across the room with arms outstretched. How fortunate she was! Lucky, lucky girl!

Smiling widely, she set about dressing herself rather than call upon the sour-faced maid. In the course of finding where Petty had placed her things, she found the locked box that had previously lived under her bed in her parents' house.

There wasn't anything of value in it, unless her private thoughts were counted. As far as Olivia was concerned, she'd sooner lose her clothes than lose her diary.

She opened the lock with the key that she'd hidden in her cloak pocket before leaving home yesterday. Inside was a small, unimpressive book.

She was a married woman now. Keeping a diary would undoubtedly seem childish to a man like Dane.

It was only that making note of the world helped Olivia keep her true feelings to herself. When she didn't keep a written record, things tended to bottle up and she never knew when the worst possible thing would burst out.

So she put it all on paper, in the book Walt had given her, keeping her writing tiny and cramped and using her own playful abbreviations so that she wouldn't use up the paper too soon.

There was a lovely, dainty writing desk in the corner of the room, but Olivia brought the inkwell and pen back to the bed and drew the curtains about her. It was dim within, but at least she'd have a moment to hide the book beneath her pillow if Petty came back into the room.

Olivia closed her eyes and let her feelings about the previous night well up within her.
Dane
… heavens, were there even words?

She blushed. There probably were, but she didn't think she ought to write them down! Nor would vulgar descriptions do to capture the spell she'd been under. His hands, so large and strong, yet so gentle on her…

The scent of him, sandalwood and heat and man… the way his hard body felt to her touch… his mouth…

Goodness, the minute she was done she was going to finish dressing and seek him out! Her breath coming more quickly, she bent to write, the pen nib scratching madly as she filled the page.

Dane scowled over the pages from the file before him. "What do you mean, Liverpool opposes this plan?"

Marcus was pacing before Dane's great desk. "I mean, he opposes it!" He threw out his hands. "I informed him that we were preparing to employ a member of the Liar's Club to engage the Prince Regent in a close friendship that would help us keep better tabs on his moods and whims and to influence him away from behavior such as he has previously embarked on."

It was a good plan. Prince George IV had led the government on many a merry chase over the years, not the least of which was his recent disappearance in the company of two young spy trainees.

Dane slapped both palms down on his desk. The oak trembled. "Did you explain to Liverpool that the Chimera is still at large and that we must keep George under constant supervision? No more unauthorized jaunts!"

Marcus threw himself into the chair by the fire. "Oh, Liverpool wants the Prince Regent controlled all right. Preferably with iron chains. It's the companion we chose that the Prime Minister objects to."

Dane looked down at the name written in the file. "What's wrong with the Phoenix? He's entirely suitable, wholeheartedly loyal, and His Highness has already shown a marked preference for his company."

Marcus shrugged. "Apparently there is something we don't know about Collis Tremayne. Or it could be his wife, Rose. She's lowborn, and you know what a snob Liverpool is."

Dane grunted. "Unless she's deucedly pretty, I don't think we need to worry about George wanting to spend time with her."

Marcus shook his head. "I happen to think she's quite lovely, but you know George's taste runs to an earthier sort."

Dane nodded absently.
Earthier
, in regards to George, meant endowed with a great deal of bosom and a hearty appreciation for bed-play…

A thought began to trace its way across Dane's frustration. He leaned back in his chair and contemplated the ceiling as the idea began to grow.
George's taste runs to an earthier sort
.

"Liverpool was right," Dane said slowly. "Using Tremayne is not the answer. What we need…" He sat up and regarded Marcus with a grim smile. "What we need is the right woman."

"What sort of woman do you need? Will I do?"

The playful question from the doorway made both men start and spin toward the voice. There, smiling brightly, stood Lady Greenleigh.

Dane blinked. Damn, he'd forgotten all about her. It was clear he'd have to get into the habit of locking his study door while he and Marcus were working. The servants never entered without invitation. It had never occurred to Dane that his new wife would traipse in unasked.

Marcus shot Dane a worried glance. Dane agreed completely with his concern. It wouldn't do to have their plans overheard. If one didn't know who they were—hell, even if one did know—their discussions would occasionally resemble darkest treason.

Dane stood smoothly and approached her. "I'm sorry, my dear. Did you need something?"

His tone must have been cooler than he'd intended, for her bright smile faded. "No." She glanced past him at Marcus, her brow beginning to knit with worry. "I apologize for the interruption. I—I only wanted to tell you good morning."

Dane hid his irritation with a smile. She'd obviously meant nothing by her intrusion. "And a good morning to you, Olivia." He waved a hand toward Marcus. "You recall my investment partner, Lord Dryden, do you not?"

She dipped a quick curtsy at Marcus, who bowed warily in return. "My lady."

Dane took her elbow and turned her gently toward the door. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have many business matters to work through this morning."

He propelled her through the door and shut it on her bemused expression. However, when he turned back to Marcus, his friend still seemed concerned.

"Shouldn't we have tried to explain away what we were talking about? She's an intelligent girl. She might begin putting bits and pieces together."

Dane shrugged casually. "If it will make you feel better." He stepped back into the hall to find Olivia still outside, regarding the study door with her brow still furrowed. Marcus had been quite correct. That intense concentration on matters that did not concern her did not bode well for any of them.

The fact that she looked completely delectable with her gray eyes so serious and her arms folded beneath her bosom—

Dane battered down his distracting libido with iron control. Still, the rising of his interest did give him an idea.

He approached her slowly, purposely reminding her of how he'd moved toward her last night. The reminder worked, for he saw her eyes begin to gleam and the tip of her tongue come out to wet her lips. She began to back up as well, until she encountered the wall at her back. Dane moved in close, reliving every moment of last night's seduction with intent. When he got through with her—

He looked both ways down the hall, but there were no servants in sight. Gazing down at her, he saw that her eyes were wide and her breath was coming fast. Dane wrapped one hand behind her neck and one about her waist and dipped his head to almost touch his lips to hers. He hovered there for a long moment. She began to quiver in his grasp. Finally, a tiny, hungry sound broke from her lips.

"Olivia," he whispered almost against her mouth. "When I come to you tonight…"

"Y—yes?" Her whisper broke with breathlessness.

"Do you know how I would like to find you?"

She made that sound once more. Dane found that he liked that sound very much.

"H-how?"

Dane slid his hand from her neck down her shoulder and traced her neckline with one finger. She quivered when his touch passed over the full hill of one breast and dipped lightly into the valley between.

"I want you entirely bare," he whispered into her parted lips. "No wrapper, no nightdress. Not even a ribbon in your hair."

Her breath left her in a gust and she sagged in his grip. "Yes…"

"Do I have your word, Olivia? Will you wait naked for me, with nothing but the candlelight touching your skin?"

She could only nod frantically. Dane eased her from his hold, propping her gently against the wall. She leaned there, her impressive bosom heaving, her wide gaze locked on his.

Dane straightened with a smile. "Thank you, my dear. I shall look forward to it." With a swift, impersonal peck to her dampened brow, he turned away and strode back to the study and the more important issues at hand.

That had taken care of matters nicely. He doubted if Olivia could even remember the conversation she'd overheard.

Now all he had to do was diminish his towering erection before he got back to business.

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Dane needn't have worried, for it was several long moments before Olivia could even recall her own name, much less anything that had happened before that devastating, marvelous, extraordinary moment of public arousal.

He hadn't even kissed her, not really. He'd scarcely touched her, although she could still feel that line of fire leading to her cleavage. Yet here she was, breath short, pulse pounding, knees weak, having given her word that she would wait for him in the altogether—well, frankly it was a relief that he hadn't asked for something more scandalous. She'd likely have promised him anything! It was quite obvious that she became a complete fool at his touch.

She smiled shakily, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. She liked it very much. She shook her head briskly, taking a deep breath to quiet her panting. Goodness, how was she to think on anything else for the rest of the day?

If she'd thought her husband mad for her—well, she rather thought she was becoming mad for him as well!

Olivia spent the afternoon getting to know the house, at least the parts she was permitted to enter. The housekeeper, Mrs. Huff, a ferociously elegant figure in widow's black, made it quite clear that her ladyship needn't bother with belowstairs or the servants' quarters and the cook had nearly popped a vein when Olivia had thrust her head through the kitchen door with a bright "Good afternoon!"

So Olivia wandered the three floors she was allowed, from the entrance hall to the guest rooms, searching out morning rooms and withdrawing rooms and music rooms—she hoped Dane played, for she most certainly did not—finding every room lovely and perfectly furnished, every surface spotless, and every passing servant far too busy and far too proper to chat.

For the first time, Olivia understood why a lady might employ a companion, although it did seem tremendously wasteful to pay someone to listen. If a listener had to be paid, it rather reduced the joy of speaking, did it not?

Finally, Olivia wandered back to her bedchamber. Petty was turning the covers on the bed.

"Good afternoon, Petty." Olivia was determined to be cheerful.

The girl turned and bobbed. "Pardon me, my lady, but I'm Letty."

Olivia blinked at her. Same height, same coloring, same spray of freckles across her nose, same resentfully furrowed brow. Olivia folded her arms. Petty was having a bit of "wind up the new mistress" fun. "I was sure you said your name was Petty."