The Beauty and the Spy (13 page)

But his hearing was once again finely tuned, and the carriage had pulled to a stop outside the barn. He turned to Charlotte, who was still trying to button up her dress. “We have company.”

She went still and gaped at him. To his surprise she grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him down on top of her in the straw. She kissed him passionately, even as her hands fumbled between them to finish buttoning her dress. Never one to resist a good idea, Nick joined in wholeheartedly. When her tongue teased its way into his mouth, he almost forgot everything else.

But then a throat was cleared, and someone giggled.

They both rolled to a sitting position, straw caught in their clothing and in their hair. Two young women and a man stood in the barn door. The man looked amused, while the women giggled and spoke to each other behind their hands. From their elegant clothing, it was obvious they were guests at Langley Manor. Were there more arriving? Could Julia Reed be one of them? She would recognize him immediately. Before he could even begin to create an explanation, Char
lotte was blushing and smiling and patting her hair.

“My goodness, John,” she said to Nick in a scolding voice, “I thought ye told me this barn was abandoned.”

He chose his character by the tone of her voice. He wrung his hands together, ducking his head. “M-mistress, I t-told what I kn-knew. B-Billy said—”

“I'm not interested in what Billy said,” she interrupted, speaking between gritted teeth. She stood up and made a hurried little curtsy to their guests.

Nick got to his feet behind her, keeping his shoulders hunched. He was so impressed by her behavior that he could have almost forgotten this was Charlotte Whittington Sinclair. Her curtsy was brusque, her voice had an unpolished edge, as if she were the daughter of minor gentry, one who thought herself deserving of more.

He placed himself behind her and kept his gaze lowered respectfully, guiltily.

“We didn't mean to intrude,” said one of the women, who was small and plump, and so pale that her blush made her face very red.

The man stepped forward and boldly looked Charlotte up and down. He had the swagger of a man who relished his position in life. “We're not intruders but invited guests. Do you have the Duke of Kelthorpe's permission to be here?”

Charlotte smiled like a woman used to being
admired, and Nick could have sworn she subtly thrust her breasts forward. Maybe this was carrying the character a bit too far, he thought darkly.

Charlotte gave a flirtatious gasp. “This is the duke's estate?”

“M-mistress,” Nick began, “your f-father wouldn't like—”

“Hush, John,” she said, waving him back with her hand. “Milord,” she addressed the man, “this is an old barn in the woods. If the duke doesn't want it…
used
by the villagers, he should tear it down.” She swished her skirts and swayed provocatively. “But he leaves it be, doesn't he? Perhaps he's young at heart.”

The women put their heads together and giggled. Charlotte and the young lord watched each other as if they wished everyone else would leave.

“You have a nasty bruise on your face,” said the gentleman. “Did he give you that?”

Nick held his breath.

“My goodness, no,” she said with a trilling laugh.

“Her p-pa done it,” Nick muttered, scraping one boot in the straw. “She s-sasses him too m-much.”

“John!” she cried. “These people needn't know my private business.”

He tugged on her sleeve, bowing nervously. “But m-mistress—”

Then out of the corner of his eye he saw through the window someone riding by on horse
back. He could just see the back of a man, top hat pulled low over his ears and a bulky coat hiding his broad torso. The man was heading away from the mansion, skirting through the trees, the horse's bridle jingling softly.

Charlotte turned and gave him an angry frown. “John, you had better—”

“M-mistress, we 'ave to g-go! I t-told yer father we'd b-be right back, b-but we're not. I think he j-just rode by!”

After a moment's hesitation, her eyes went wide with comprehension. She gave a dramatic sigh and turned back to the onlookers, while Nick deliberately stumbled on his way to ready the horse.

“I'm sure John is just seeing things, milord,” she said, “but when he gets upset, he's miserable for days. We'll have to be on our way.” She watched the gentleman in particular, putting regret in her voice.

Nick mounted the horse, then reached down for her. “M-mistress!”

Charlotte made another curtsy look like a sexual prelude before catching Nick's hand. He pulled her up behind him, heard her call, “Farewell!” before he followed Campbell's path.

A
s they rode the galloping horse, Nick felt Charlotte lean into his back.

“Was it Campbell?” she said into his ear.

He could feel her trembling, and well remembered the aftereffects of escaping danger. She must also be thinking that Campbell had threatened to kill her slowly.

“Yes. But he's leaving the estate, and we never saw him arrive. I need to discover where he's going next.”

His stomach tightened with a spasm of anger. But now was not the time to castigate himself for the day's failures.

They followed Campbell for several miles, keeping far enough behind so as not to be seen in the open countryside. He thought fleetingly of Charlotte's brilliant “disguise,” and knew he would have had a harder time explaining his presence in the barn without her.

In the narrow, cobbled streets of Stamford, they were forced to slow down. Campbell continued to ride recklessly. Charlotte gasped in Nick's ear when Campbell forced an old woman selling flowers to stumble and fall to keep from being run over by his horse.

Nick thought he was being more careful, until Campbell turned a corner far ahead of them. He picked up speed, took the corner, and there in his path was a little boy, who flung his arms over his head and screamed. Nick pulled back on the reins, the horse pawed wildly in the air, and Charlotte fell off with a cry. The horse bolted through the alley, and it took several minutes to calm him. All the while Nick felt sick with fear for Charlotte, and wondered if he could learn to pray again.

When he was able to return to her, she was on her knees with her arms around the little boy, who was crying for his mother. Nick controlled the trembling that seemed to want to engulf him and quickly dismounted.

He put his hand on her shoulder and she looked up. “Charlotte, are you both well?”

She nodded and smiled at him, shushing the lit
tle boy against her shoulder. When the boy calmed down, he was able to lead them to his home just down the alley, where his mother seemed rather shocked that they were worried about him.

Afterward Nick and Charlotte spent a half hour combing through the streets of Stamford, but never caught sight of Campbell again. Finally Nick guided the horse in the direction of the barn to finish his shift.

During the ride his thoughts of guilt roared back to prominence.

He'd seen Campbell leaving, but not arriving
.

Had he been so wrapped up in his obsession with Charlotte and his own pleasures that he had ignored his duty? He'd thought he was being watchful. But had he honestly believed that with his face between her breasts he could listen for traffic on the road? How could he have heard anything above the blood pounding in his ears?

So Campbell had been on the estate. Had he been meeting with Julia? If Nick had seen him entering, he could have followed and known for certain. He reminded himself that he could not have interrupted them—Julia wasn't to know she was being followed.

Campbell could have entered by the other road, and surely Sam would have seen him and followed. And since Sam hadn't appeared, Nick knew with certainty that Sam hadn't seen Campbell's arrival.

Now at least he knew Campbell was in the vicinity. Had Campbell told Julia about the meeting with Nick and the blackmail attempt? Did this mean he would not receive the note Nick had sent to London in time to make the meeting? Hell, the meeting was supposed to be in two days' time.

Charlotte held on tightly to Nick and tried to find a comfortable position for her sore backside. The cobblestones hadn't made for a soft landing. But at least their horse hadn't run over the little boy. She was still shaky and thanking God for that small miracle.

But her circling thoughts eventually came back to her surrender to Nick. It had been so easy, so very natural to offer herself, to let him touch her. Though she'd often had to disrobe in front of her husband, this hadn't seemed the same in any way. Nick's eyes had been aglow with admiration and longing. When he had chosen to give her pleasure, it had been a revelation to her.

Then why, when she was with Nick, had her mind sunk back into those dark nights of her marriage? Was she forever doomed to be haunted by the ghost of her husband?

When they reached the barn Nick guided the horse in a slow circle about the building, but their earlier guests had departed. After they dismounted, Charlotte sat on the straw bale near the window to keep watch while he loosened the horse's saddle girth and rubbed the animal down with a cloth from his saddlebag.

She gave up his seat when he approached, then sat beside him. “Are we going to keep watching, in case Campbell comes back?”

He nodded silently, his face grim. She understood his mood. He had let himself get too close to her while he was working, and Campbell had eluded them. Nick would not make that mistake again.

She braved one more question. “How long does our shift here last?”

“It's a twelve-hour shift, so roughly six more hours.”

“Oh.”

“Sleep when you need to, Charlotte,” he said gruffly. “This isn't your problem.”

“But along with your friend, it's my sister in that house with Julia Reed.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment and looked out the window.

 

When Sam relieved them early that evening, they went back to the inn. They had a meal and a bath sent up to the room, and when they began eating, Charlotte remained quiet, wondering at Nick's mood.

But after taking a bite of his roast duck he sat back in his chair and smiled at her. “That was quite a performance you put on for our guests today.”

She felt her face heat with a blush. “I—I surprised myself.”

“Now you're picking up my stutter?”

She laughed. “The stutter was inspired. You were quite the subservient country boy.”

“I think I made it clear I'd obey any order you gave.” He deepened his voice and wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She let her eyes flash at him flirtatiously. “I rather enjoyed being in control.”

“So I noticed,” he said dryly. “And so did your admirer.”

“Don't call him that.” Even now she shuddered. “I was afraid for our lives every time he spoke to me!”

“You certainly didn't show it. I had the distinct feeling—and believe me, so did he—that you would have gladly pulled him down in the straw, too.”

She shrugged and felt bold and wicked. “If I had to. Why—were you jealous?”

Her smile died as she realized what she'd said, how she was behaving. Did she
want
Nick to seduce her?

But his grin remained. “I'm not sure John the serving boy is capable of jealousy.”

“Of course he is,” she said, relaxing. “He's innocent, not stupid.”

“And his mistress doesn't mean to keep him innocent for long.”

“Nick!” Waving a hand to dismiss his teasing, she shoved back her chair. “And with that, I think I'll retire for my bath.”

 

Nick only had a few hours to sleep before his next shift, so he lay down on his floor pallet while the sun was setting. Though he tried to remember Charlotte's alluring “mistress” performance, he still couldn't forget the blank expression she'd worn earlier when he'd been kissing her.

A couple of hours later he awoke to her incoherent mumbling. He raised himself up and watched her toss restlessly upon her pillow, with expressions of anger and fright chasing across her face.

“Charlotte,” he called, giving her shoulder a shake.

When she finally opened her eyes, she looked frightened and unaware of her surroundings.

A tear slid down into her hair, and she angrily dashed it away. “I'm sorry I disturbed you.”

“Don't be sorry,” he said, getting up onto his knees and leaning his elbows on the bed. “What was your dream about?”

She opened her mouth, probably to dismiss his question, but then a terrible knowledge and resolution appeared in her gaze. “My husband,” she whispered.

“What did he do to you?”

When she remained silent, he almost took her hand, but forced himself to remember their relationship. “You should tell me, Char. It'll be better to have it out.”

She said nothing for a very long time. He rested his chin on his hands and kept watching
her. Finally she gave a great sigh and closed her eyes, as if pretending he wasn't there.

“The…things you and I have…done together,” she began haltingly, “my husband never—”

When she broke off, every instinct in him wanted to fire questions at her, but he held back, waiting, feeling a knot in his stomach twist tighter.

“He never touched me like that,” she finally whispered. “When we married, I thought…I thought he loved me—or at least liked me. But never once did he kiss me, or care what I felt.”

She caught him by surprise when she turned to stare wildly at him.

“I never knew I could feel like you've made me feel when we touch! My mother told me…things beforehand, but she said I should trust my husband to please me, and I believed her.”

The last came out so bitterly, he wondered if she felt betrayed by her mother.

“It's almost worse now,” she continued softly, “knowing that he deliberately denied me pleasure.”

“Did he just…take you whenever he wanted?”

She shuddered. “I wish it were only that. That was painful, but I could turn my head and it would be over soon. He wanted an heir desperately. It was the only thing he wanted from me, and I couldn't give it.”

Her hands were gripping the bedsheets at her side, and he finally reached out and covered one of hers with his own. “You know it's not normally like that between men and women.”

“I have…begun to realize that,” she said dryly, with enough humor that he took heart for her recovery.

He stroked her hand slowly, gently, and gradually her breathing eased. She turned her hand over and clasped his.

She frowned as if struggling for words. “He would…make me take my clothes off in front of him, and then tell me what displeased him about my form—beside the fact that he was more and more certain that I was barren.”

“I'm sorry,” Nick whispered. “I told you to take your clothes off, too.”

She shook her head. “I shouldn't have reacted so—like the past was still happening.”

“You had every right to react when your kidnapper tells you to strip,” he said angrily.

“You couldn't have known.” She gripped his hand harder, and the next confession poured out of her. “He would make me do things with my mouth.”

“Charlotte, there are things that men and women do together to please each other, that when forced on a person are nothing short of cruelty.”

She studied him. “Do you like it when a woman does that to you?”

He couldn't lie. “Yes. But I enjoy returning the favor.”

Her watery eyes went wide, but she said nothing, only bit her lip and turned away.

“I can tell there's more, Charlotte. Go ahead and say it. You need to tell someone.”

“He sometimes…tied me up in bed.”

He winced at his own treatment of her. “Charlotte, can you forgive me?”

She nodded tremulously, then started crying, great, heaving sobs that she must have kept inside her for years.

He put a hand on her arm. “I don't know what to say, what to do—”

But she kept on crying. He found himself climbing into bed and wrapping his arms around her from behind. She rocked against him, sobbing, until she finally cried herself to sleep. He stayed where he was, gently moving her hair, wet with tears, back from her face. He could tell there was more she hadn't told him, but tonight was a start. He had only two hours remaining, and then he'd have to relieve Cox. He would hate to leave her.

 

Charlotte barely felt Nick leave the bed at midnight. She heard a whisper promising that one of the men would be in the room with her, but after that she faded back into an exhausted sleep.

It was almost midmorning when she awoke. She lay still, listening to the low murmur of
guests far away and the sounds of horses and rumbling carriages from outside her window. Though she still felt tired, she also felt strangely…content. She had told Nick the truth about her husband, and she had not died of mortification. Nick had been sad for her, but not repulsed.

She hadn't quite told him everything, though, but there were some things she couldn't bear to share.

Nick came striding in after she'd dressed, looking angrier than she had ever seen him. If she didn't know him well, she'd be very frightened. Sam followed behind, watching Nick with a worried expression.

Nick began to throw his few belongings into his portmanteau. “We're leaving.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, quickly opening up her own bag.

When he didn't answer immediately, she turned to Sam, who cleared his throat and said, “Will and Jane left Langley Manor just after dawn this morning, leaving us no explanation.”

She paused in the middle of folding a dress. “And why is this bad?”

Sam opened his mouth, but Nick growled, “You don't leave your host's home before most of the guests are even awake. Not unless something has happened.”

“And Julia left not long afterward,” Sam added.

Charlotte found herself watching Nick. Did he somehow blame himself? Did he think Campbell had done something on the estate that he could have prevented?

“So what are we doing?” she asked.

Nick spared her a glance. “We're following Julia, while Sam follows Will to find out what happened. Keep packing.”

She nodded and stopped asking questions, although they continued to bubble up in her mind.

 

During their silent carriage ride that day, Charlotte had to firmly keep a damper on her fears. It had been a shock to see Campbell so close again, barely ten feet away from her. She had not thought his threat would still affect her so, not with three competent men guarding her, but all the same her stomach ached with nerves. Jane was unaware of any of this, and had only one man with her. How could Charlotte
not
be worried?