The Moonlight Mistress (25 page)

She drew her hands out of his grip. “After I have killed Kauz, I will consider it. Stand up. There is one more thing I must know before I consent to marry you.”

Noel couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “I was hoping you would get to that.”

She shed her robe, letting it fall to the floor. “Take off those clothes.”

She was beautiful, sleek and muscular beneath clear, smooth skin, which his palms already itched to caress again. “In any particular order?” he asked. She’d already seen him naked, so he should try to make it interesting.

A hint of a smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. He hadn’t realized she had a dimple. Suddenly, he wanted to lick it. She said, “The quickest order.”

He stripped off his woolen vest and shoved the braces off his shoulders, then lifted his foot and worked off his heavy shoes and woolen socks. “It’s a bloody good thing I’m not in uniform,” he said. “Those damn puttees would be killing me about now. Though these shoes don’t fit, and I’ll be glad to be rid of them.”

She said, her smile briefly appearing again, “Turn around as you do that.”

“I like you,” Noel said, doing as she asked. She would have a fine view of his arse while he stood on one foot to remove his other boot. He unbuttoned his trousers and shucked out of them. He hadn’t bothered with the drawers Lucilla had given him, but Tanneken might not have noticed that yet, as his shirt hung nearly to his knees. He turned back to her. “Would you like to remove this yourself?”

“You’re playful,” she said. “Even now.”

“Is there anything wrong with that?”

She was silent for a long time, then she beckoned him forward. “No. No.”

Noel looked down at her, nose to lips to breasts, and said, “I recall you like
stimulating conflicts
.”

“I will tell you what I want.” She flicked open the button at his throat, then two more, and pushed the open collar over his shoulder.

Noel obligingly undid another button, so his shirt slid down his torso. “Good. And you want?”

Tanneken watched his shirt catch on his erection. She lifted it with one finger and let it flutter down his legs to the floor. He shivered at the phantom touch, and at the rising scent of her arousal, fed by his own scent, he was sure. “You have freckles all over,” she noted.

“Do you have any objection to freckles?” It was growing difficult to concentrate on his words.

“I’ve not previously considered them,” she said. She rose on her toes and mouthed his throat, then slid her open mouth over his, sucking at his lower lip. Noel caught her in his arms, remembering at the last moment not to grasp her too tightly. Instead, he let his hands roam over her smoothly muscled back while they kissed. She was aggressive, frequently nipping at his lips, his chin, the soft spot beneath his jawline, while her nails dug into his chest, each sharp little pressure like a spark of electricity prickling over his skin.

His cock throbbed against her soft skin, and she squirmed against it, forcing him backward until his knees smacked into the edge of a mattress.

Tanneken was sucking on the thin skin over his collarbone,
and he could barely speak for shuddering in pleasure. “We’ve a…bed…right here.”

Without removing her mouth from him, Tanneken bore him down, squirming atop him before she rose to her knees. Straddling his hips, she pinned his shoulder to the mattress with one hand. Noel reached up and thumbed her nipples, which tightened instantly. When he rubbed them, she threw her head back and gasped, rolling her shoulders, before pushing his hands away. “I want you from behind,” she said.

“I thought you’d want to keep an eye on me.”

“I don’t fear you,” she said, and kissed him again, her tongue lubriciously mapping the interior of his mouth until he couldn’t breathe. She withdrew and squeezed his shoulder muscles, then his arms.

“I’m glad,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to just take me like this?” His stamina had deserted him. One more kiss like that, one more roll of her body over his cock, and he was sure he would come like an explosion.

“You can go deeper from behind,” she said, and he moaned, imagining it.

“Right,” he said, or thought he said, as they shifted positions.

He was practically blind with lust, deaf with it. He felt as if he floated in her scent as it rose about them in a cloud, spicing the air and settling on his skin like a million tiny touches. He licked up the length of her bare spine, sucking on each vertebrae, inhaling her with his mouth and nose, and almost didn’t notice her reaching hand on his cock until he bumped against the slick lips of her cunt. “Oh, Christ,” he said. “Tanneken. Let go.” Her fingers loosened and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“I want you now,” she said.

“Christ, I want you, too,” he said, easing the head of his cock between her lips. Her scent changed, grew richer, and her cunt grasped at him, slick and hot. He stopped, tears of pleasure knotting his throat, and tried to regain control.

Tanneken wriggled backward, taking him a bit more. He gasped and dug his hands into the sheet. “Do you want this to last more than five minutes?” he asked. It had been far too long since he’d had sex of any kind.

“Deeper,” she demanded. “Fuck me.” She thrust her hips back, and suddenly he was engulfed head to base in heat, in wetness, in her rich scent.

He couldn’t think. He thrust raggedly, with none of his usual finesse; Tanneken thrust back against him, her round arse thumping into him even as his balls slapped into her, both of them grabbing at the sheets, the blankets, each other. He hooked one arm around her waist and found her clit by moving his hand until she cried out, and stroked her there softly in counterpoint to their rough intercourse. It was fast, messy, glorious.

Tanneken growled when she came, her cunt squeezing him over and over as hot cream spilled over his hand. He sank his teeth into her shoulder and she shuddered against his belly again, this time moaning and burying her face against the pillow.

Noel’s arm shook from holding his weight. “All right?” he asked. He was barely able to get the words out.

“Yes,” she said, low and sultry. “I want to be on top now.”

She was going to kill him. Noel clenched his jaw and shifted onto his back. Normally, he loved this position and the gorgeous view it provided, but now he was beyond anything but craving, his skin on fire, his cock ready to pulse out of his skin. “Fuck me, damn it,” he said.

Tanneken grinned and licked her lips. She had two dimples. Dazed, he watched her shove her long hair behind her shoulders and cup her breasts from beneath, lightly grazing her thumbs over her engorged nipples. She rolled her hips and he cried out.

“Mine,” she said. She bent over and set her teeth in his neck. She swiped with her tongue, pinched up a layer of skin, then let it go and licked again. Her hard nipples rubbed his chest like hot brands.

“Yours,” he agreed, surging up with his hips.

She muttered in Flemish and began to ride him much more slowly than he would have liked. Her heady scent fluttered into his nostrils with each shaky inhale. Restlessly, he ran his hands up and down her sides, at last finding a grip on her arse. She didn’t seem to mind if he dug in his fingers, so he held on there to restrain himself from moving his hips.

When she began to speed up her riding, he closed his eyes. She squeezed him from within, until he felt his whole body was clenched in wet heat. Shudders rippled over his skin and he thrashed beneath her, losing control of his muscles almost as if he were shifting forms. She rode him harder, leaning over so her nipples brushed his chest, grinding herself against him. When she came this time, he rushed after her, muffling his cries in her shoulder as his cock jolted deep inside her, each separate convulsion rippling more pleasure from his head to his heels. Then his exhaustion caught up to him, and he drifted, barely aware of her surreptitious touch on his cheek. “Yes, I will marry you, if you make the process of getting children so entertaining,” she whispered, and he smiled before he fell asleep.

LUCILLA COULD NOT IMMEDIATELY LOCATE CRISPIN, which was frustrating in the extreme, as she knew that if Kauz had the slightest inkling of danger, he would pick up his secret laboratory and move somewhere else, probably deeper within German territory, and they might never find him again.

Kauz would not have been fooled long by the canine corpses that had been left for him, if there had been enough left of them for Kauz to examine; the decoys were only a delaying tactic. Kauz would be suspicious because his two captives had escaped so close together in time, even though they were being held miles apart. He would know his captives could not have escaped without help; but would he expect them to return? Would he consider the wolves or their rescuers enough of a threat that he would have to find a new location for his experiments with captives? If so, their only hope was the difficulty of moving a facility that possessed such complex needs.

Lucilla was also counting on Kauz’s arrogance to keep him
in place. Finally, once Crispin and his colleagues attacked Kauz’s larger, official laboratory, the one the German government knew about, Kauz’s lines of communication would be kept so busy he would, hopefully, become distracted. In the best case, some of his men from the secret facility would be sent to the official laboratory, and Lucilla and her group would have fewer opponents to overcome as they set about acquiring Kauz’s research and destroying whatever they could.

The courier Pascal lent to her returned quickly, but with the news that her brother had journeyed to Paris on leave.

Lieutenant Meyer was also on leave, while their battalion was engaged in helping to lay a railway to the rear of the line of battle. In the midst of her annoyance at their absence, she felt a niggling curiosity—were the two men on leave together? Had Crispin gotten his wish? Or was he even now sitting, alone, at a darkened table in a smoky café, lost in regret?

It was an odd feeling, to worry about her little brother’s romantic life. She had never done so before because there had never been any romance for him, or not any she’d known of; even knowing what she now knew about him, it was difficult to imagine him in that light, though now that the idea was in her mind, she had a strong intellectual curiosity concerning what two men might be like together. She had always been so busy with her studies, and later with her work, that she had never had enough time for Crispin, for either his joys or his griefs. Now, as she wondered what he was doing, she keenly felt the lack.

Private Hailey arrived at the hospital late that same evening, bearing a large rucksack over her shoulder. Lucilla stared at her, nonplussed at her appearance in the ward, but quickly surmised she’d read the message intended for her officers.

Acting as if Hailey had been expected, she said, “If you can take a seat over there, I’ll show you where you can sleep when my shift ends.”

Her shift lasted well beyond its allotted time, and when she returned to find Hailey, she found her deeply involved in a game of cards with three of the patients, one of whom hastily stubbed out a cigarette as she approached.

“Come along, Hailey,” she said.

Hailey apologetically discarded her cards and shoved a pile of coins into her pocket. “Yes, Sister.”

Lucilla led her to the kitchen, which, fortunately, was deserted, and put on the kettle for tea. “Do you know where my brother is? Did Lieutenant Meyer go with him? It’s urgent that I find both of them.”

Hailey, who was still standing near the door, rocked uneasily from heel to toe and back again. “Why?”

Lucilla’s gaze snapped to her face, which was a study in blankness. Tea-colored eyes stared back at her, but gave away nothing. Lucilla said, “I know what my brother is, Hailey. He told me himself. And he told me what his hopes were. So tell me, can you find them?”

“Paris,” Hailey said. “I’ll need a ride.”

The road to Paris was in awful shape. Bob clung desperately to the Zouave piloting the motorbike and tried to ignore the fragments of cold mud whipping her cheek and splatting on her goggles. Periodically, the rear wheel would skid in a puddle and the bike would be knocked askew, sometimes careening far enough to one side that the Zouave’s boot would scrape through mud; he would shout in French, right the machine with a disconcerting jerk, and off they would speed
again, weaving in and out of various ambulances, lorries and the occasional horse-drawn wagon. Aside from trains, she had never traveled so fast in her life, especially not balanced half on a seat and half on a saddlebag.

Traffic grew heavier as they approached Paris, necessitating that the Zouave slow down. Bob fumbled the envelope from her jacket pocket with gloved hands and checked the hotel’s address once again. Inside was a scribbled note from Captain Ashby, dated a mere two days before, with details of their irregular mission for the French. It definitely beat being back with the battalion, laying a railway in the rain.

The Zouave left her at the Hotel Lutetia with a cheery salute and more incomprehensible attempts at English, then rattled off, his scarlet trousers flapping in the wind. She found her handkerchief and wiped most of the mud off her face before swathing it in her muffler, hunching her shoulders against the cold and trudging across the hotel’s cobblestoned courtyard.

Inside wasn’t much warmer than outside. The concierge was also wrapped in a muffler, and the end of his nose looked distinctly red. He at least spoke some English. Hailey was able to make herself understood once she unbuttoned her coat to display her uniform and pointed out the names she wanted in the register.

Meyer came down to meet her, closely followed by Daglish. They looked clean and warm and well fed, and she was startled by her stab of jealousy. They in turn looked startled to see her. She dug out the letter, bundled in with the other papers she’d brought. “Got some important news.”

Meyer and Daglish exchanged a glance. Meyer said, “You look chilled to the bone. Come on up to our room.”

Once climbing the staircase, it became evident to her that
the two officers were clean and she was not. It wasn’t the mud so much as the fact that she hadn’t had so much as a wash since she’d left Sister Daglish, and before that, it had been weeks since she’d had a real bath. She’d been hoping for one on leave, when she could get some privacy; maybe there’d be a chance of one before they had to leave Paris. Though there might not be time. She’d likely need to scrape the dirt off herself with a knife. Twice.

The door of their small room had barely closed behind them when Meyer asked, “What is it?”

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Ashby’s alive!”

She wasn’t prepared for Meyer’s knees to go. Daglish grabbed him before he could hit the floor and eased him onto the bed, where he sat staring at her as if he was about to weep, but grinning, too. Daglish looked at the neatly printed list she held and said, puzzled, “Is that my sister’s handwriting?”

Explanations took rather longer than she had expected. Unlike her, the two officers easily accepted that Ashby had been found by a French spy, and had seconded them to help destroy a German laboratory, while Ashby and the French were to destroy another. Until she’d met the Zouave courier, who’d appeared in record time to carry her to Paris, she’d had her doubts; she’d believed Ashby was alive, she’d recognized his handwriting, but had thought the rest of it an elaborate joke.

Meyer was confused as to how Lucilla Daglish had become involved, but her brother said that she knew a man with the French army. He left it unspoken exactly how she knew him, but his implication was clear. Hailey confirmed that he meant the mysterious Major Fournier, and stored this new information away.

She produced the map drawn by Major Fournier and the
list of supplies that she and Sister Daglish had arrived at together. The fabric and notions were for Bob to make camouflage clothing and masks like those used by snipers, to enable them to pass as closely as possible before beginning their bombardment, which would involve as many jam-tin grenades as the three of them could manufacture in the time available. Major Fournier had promised tobacco tins, guncotton and fuses for those, with apologies that he could offer nothing better; the French had no more proper grenades than the British.

By this time, she was sitting on the floor, not wanting to dirty any of the furniture or, worse, get lice in the sheets; Meyer had the bed, and Daglish the chair. Daglish said, “I played cricket. I should be the one heaving the grenades.”

“I’ll keep a pipe going for you and light the fuses,” Bob said. She still felt filthy, but at least she was pleasantly warm in the steam-heated room. The wine Meyer had poured for her didn’t hurt, either.

Meyer said, “Perhaps you should stay behind, Hailey. We could get into serious trouble if we’re caught.”

“No. Sir.”

“We’re officers. We’d be much better off if captured. And—”

“No. Sir.” She rose and shrugged out of her coat. She knew why Meyer was trying to keep her out of it. He didn’t want to risk a woman. But Lucilla Daglish was going to risk her life, and so was the Belgian woman spy. Hailey wasn’t about to be left out. “Is there a proper bath in this place?”

“And a shower bath,” Daglish confirmed with a sly grin, acknowledging his own delight in this luxury. “Want my soap? I’ve got some cresol soap, too, if you want it.”

“Do I!” she said, grateful to her toes. Cresol soap killed lice.

Meyer started to speak, then stopped. Daglish glanced at him. “Something wrong?”

She stared him down.

“No,” Meyer said. “Nothing. Take my towel, Hailey.”

The bath was heaven. She locked the door and showered first, three times, before having a lovely soak in the tub. Then she changed into her clean uniform, shoved the other into a laundry bag and hurried downstairs to see about getting a room for herself. Sleeping in privacy was the greatest luxury she could think of at the moment, and that way, Meyer and Daglish would have one final night of privacy, as well. They might never have another chance, poor buggers.

She wasn’t sure what to do about Daglish. His sister knew her secret, as did Ashby and Meyer. And she knew that Daglish was a sodomite. He wouldn’t be likely to tell, for fear she would expose his secret. They neither of them could throw stones. But she’d grown used to keeping her mouth shut tight about herself, and it wasn’t as if there was a real need for him to know. If he knew, he might start to treat her differently, as Meyer had just tried to do. It didn’t matter if he did it out of kindness, it was still hard to take when she’d been in battle just as much as they had. Maybe more, because usually she was running through fire without any protection.

Maybe it was Meyer with whom she needed to have a talk. She remembered him once admitting that his inevitable fate at cricket was to be chosen last, so it wasn’t as if he could take her place in grenade throwing. Aside from that, it didn’t look like this war was going to end anytime soon, and if that was true, she would be working with him for a long time to come. She wouldn’t be able to stand it if he treated her like a china plate.

She bolted her door securely before daring to crawl naked between the clean bed linens. The well-worn cotton caressed her scrubbed skin with heavenly softness. She lay in luxurious abandon for a long time, listening to the occasional traffic on the street below, and thought on the future. Sister Daglish had a lover, or at least a potential lover, as well as her work. Sister Daglish was not as self-sufficient as Bob had thought. Or, rather, she was, but she also had a man. Could Bob manage the same, while still keeping her independence and her career?

There was always leave. Daglish and Meyer had managed quite nicely. Only time would tell if they could maintain the necessary separation between duty and sex. She’d never had an inkling, until he’d told her, that Meyer and Ashby had been lovers, so perhaps Meyer would be good at that. Daglish, she wasn’t sure. It had been clear to her that he pined for Meyer at all sorts of inopportune moments. Maybe it would be easier for him, now that he’d gotten what he desired. She’d fucked Meyer, and enjoyed it quite a lot, but she hadn’t felt the urge to shag him silly every time she saw him. Perhaps that sort of thing could work out.

Except she had the added problem of not being what she seemed. It was bad enough to be thought a sodomite. If she were discovered to be a woman, she would be out of the army in a heartbeat, with no pension and probably criminal charges levied. For all she knew, it might be treason to offer your weak womanly body to protect the shores of Britain, or some such rot. Compared to that, sneaking off on one’s leave to help destroy an enemy laboratory was small potatoes.

The following morning, she did her necessary shopping, then took the train with her two officers out to the countryside. She
rode in a carriage full of enlisted men, of course, and won a couple of guineas and a packet of cigarettes at cards before Daglish poked his head in the door to fetch her for their stop.

As promised, a lorry awaited them, driven by a French nun, small and round and wrinkled like a dried apple, who waited patiently beside the cab with her hands steadily counting off a rosary.

Bob remembered the rosary she’d found in Ashby’s things, adorned with an enameled circular seal of a wolf lying down with a lamb. So far as she knew, he’d never taken it out of its velvet pouch. She was suddenly glad she hadn’t yet had time to send it to his mother. He was still officially listed as
missing
, not
killed
, and for once it was the truth. When they saw him again, she would give him the rosary.

She wished Ashby were here now, to tell her what to do. He’d always had a dab hand with advice; not as comforting as Meyer usually was, but getting right to the point and reminding her that things weren’t as bad as they looked. He’d probably tell her to forget about what she’d done with Meyer, and he’d be right. So when the nun dropped them off at a spacious billet in a little hamlet half-destroyed by shelling, she immediately took her sewing supplies and carried them into the dining room.