To Catch A Fallen Spy (Brethren of the Coast Book 8) (17 page)

to catch a fallen spy

chapter eleven

September yielded to
October, and the leaves turned, the summer blossoms dropped their petals, and the nights grew cold as the landscape prepared for the advancing winter. For Elaine, a chill of another sort invested her world, given Ross’s continued disinterest. After the discussion with Sabrina, Elaine drew an imaginary line in the sand, with her one-month wedding anniversary as the point of no return. Until that date, which rapidly approached, she occupied herself with her husband’s social calendar, and it presented far more challenges than she anticipated.

As a high-ranking member of the government, he attended numerous dinners amid the military set, and it was a new experience for her. Unlike the
ton
, which departed for their country homes to celebrate the holidays after the Little Season, the heart of the British Empire never slept, and those responsible for its maintenance remained on watch, in the city.

“My lady, would you like me to fetch your pearls, as they will go lovely with your burgundy gown?” asked the maid.

“What a wonderful idea, Mary.” Sitting at her vanity, Elaine situated a long, thick curl at her throat, to emphasize the relatively low-cut bodice. “And bring the matching ear fobs, please.” After a final assessment, she strolled down the hall and met Ross at the landing. Smoothing the lapels of his black coat trimmed in old gold, she met his remote stare. “How dashing you look in your formalwear.”

“Thank you.” As usual, he extended a curt reply and made no effort to compliment her appearance, and that wounded her.

Could he not understand that the injurious effect of his indifference was not a matter of pride or vanity? Indeed, in her own home, Elaine blended into the background, as a statue, a painting, or another useless knickknack. What had been her salvation—her private residence, had mutated into another venue in which she persisted in much the same fashion as the leather inserts on the walls, and that was the cruelest cut of all.

Swallowing her agony, she summoned the fragile façade that shielded her from the guise of society and her husband, as it was time to play the part of adoring wife. “Shall we loiter in the foyer, as our guests should soon arrive?”

And so commenced the
entre act
, and she sailed on the main stage. As she received her callers, she imparted various compliments intended to foster fellow feeling, casting the occasional doting glance at her refined agent provocateur. Later, at the head of the grand dining table, she traded frivolous bits of conversation, as inside she fractured with each passing hour.

“Let us toast to Mrs. Logan, for this delicious meal and most agreeable hospitality.” Field Marshal Moore raised his glass.

In unison, the visitors said, “To Mrs. Logan.”

In that instant, Elaine wanted to cry, because no one ever noticed her. If only Ross had thought to acknowledge her efforts, but he remained stoic at the opposite end, as he appeared lost in discussion with a general, or some such.

“Field Marshal Moore, you are too kind.” With that, she draped her napkin over her plate and stood. “Shall we gather in the drawing room for port?” As her guests filed into the hall, she flagged Wodehouse. “Wait five minutes and bring in the tea trolley and some shortbread. And serve the Fladgate, as it is not too sweet. It is my understanding that General Graham prefers a dry dessert wine.”

“An excellent suggestion, Mrs. Logan.” The butler bowed.

When she turned her attention to the crowd, she discovered the dining room empty but for the servants. Mustering a stiff upper lip, she strolled into the well-pointed receiving chamber, which she had altered to feature sage green wall coverings flocked in white and a coordinating damask sofa and Hepplewhite chairs, which accentuated the mahogany trim and furnishings.

“How are you finding married life, Mrs. Logan?” With a vast deal more than amiable countenance, the grey-haired Mrs. Moore smiled. “And this really is a charming residence. Given the years I have known Sir Ross, never have I been invited to partake of his hospitality, and I was that amazed when I heard gossip describing a beautiful fiancée and impending nuptials, but here you are, pretty little thing.”

“Well I hope this will be the first of many happy occasions.” Offering her excuses, Elaine made the rounds, as would a proper hostess.

A particularly clumsy lieutenant general dropped a square of shortbread, and she bent to retrieve the wayward morsel. From her unique vantage, she peered at Ross, and he met her stare ever so briefly before continuing his discourse. It was as though he looked right through her.

For the remainder of the evening, she persisted in a state of disquietude, suffering in silence while she projected the air of happy ingénue, but it was a falsehood. It was a lie. It was an obscenity she could scarcely tolerate another minute, but she persevered until the last guest departed.

In the foyer, she rubbed the back of her neck. “You may leave the service until the morning, Wodehouse, as it has been a long night.”

“I shall oversee the removal of everything to the kitchen, Mrs. Logan.” He snapped his fingers, and two maids rushed into the drawing room.

It was a protracted walk to her chamber, as she mulled the events of the small party, and with each successive step she abandoned the masquerade as the maples shed their leaves, until nothing remained but bare branches, twisted and knotted, exposing the scars and flaws.

By the time she shut the door and crossed the floor, her invisible emotional wounds, bloody and abraded, toppled the last of her calm exterior. Rotating slowly, Elaine studied her reflection in the long mirror, and a foreign creature, beaten, broken, and starved for affection stared back at her, and she despised what she spied.

Ripping the pearls from her neck, she sobbed and then tore the sleeve of her gown. With a wail of despair, she wept and ripped her bodice, as she would destroy, part and parcel, every scrap of the fabrication. Suffocating beneath the false veneer she concocted as a shield against prying gazes, she let fly a wild cry, wrenched and tugged, fighting the silk material, that she might break free of the invisible ties that bound her. She kicked off her slippers, reduced her garters and hose to tattered remnants and then dropped to her knees, just as Ross burst into the room.

“Elaine?” When he glimpsed her crawling on all fours, he rushed to her side. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“Let me go.” In desperation, she clutched his forearms. “Please, I beg you, let me go. Divorce me. Shame me. Do what you wish with me, but do not ask me to live this lie for another day, because I cannot do it.”

“Shh.” At once, he sat on the rug and lifted her into his lap. “What lie? What are you talking about, as we are married?”

“No.” She shook her head, as she had to force him to admit the truth. “We are not married, because we have never consummated our vows.” At that point, she collapsed against him. “You do not want me. You told me as much, but I did not believe you. I thought I could make you want me, but I see now I was wrong. I was so very wrong.”

“Elaine, please—”

“I thought I could give you what you wanted, but I cannot.” The realization, the harsh truth settled as a bitter pill, and she unleashed a fresh torrent of despair. “I cannot do it. Do not ask it of me.”

“But I did not know you were unhappy.” As she whimpered, he rubbed her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “What would you have of me?”

“I would be yours, irrefutably.” A dull ache pervaded her chest, and she shredded the front of her chemise. “There are many things I can accept, but I cannot survive your continued indifference, because you are killing me.”

#

You are killing me
.

Again and again, the desperate plea echoed in his ears, and Ross could not stand it. Framing Elaine’s tear-stained cheeks, he set his lips to hers. It was a kiss meant to calm and soothe, but she exploded the instant their tongues met and twined.

Yanking his hair, she shifted to straddle his thighs, and the sheer wretchedness of her emotional state served as a poignant catalyst to something far more intrepid, something daring; something that would not be denied. Hunger flared, building momentum with every beat of his heart, searing heat poured through his veins, urging him to advance on and lay claim to virgin territory.

And he wanted her.

Wanted her legs twined about his body, her ankles seated to his flanks, her arms wrapped about his shoulders, her fingers speared through his hair, as he took her for the first time. On the thought, he bent and rose on one knee. Then he lifted her in his arms. In seconds, Ross carried his bride into his private suite and eased her to his bed. But when he tried to withdraw, so he could divest himself of his shirt and breeches, as he had been undressing when she garnered his attention with her distress, she refused to yield.

The softness of her feminine curves, the rush of her shivery breath, as she renewed their kiss, the tempting sashay of her thighs combined to a pose a perfect storm of passion, and he answered with a few hungry maneuvers of his own.

With a single flick of his wrist, he wrested the last vestige of her chemise from her, and it dawned on him that Elaine, naked as the day she was born, rested on his black counterpane. Sitting upright, he pulled the candlestick on the side table closer to the bed and admired his bride.

Her mouth, succulent and ripe, posed a study of absolute perfect, and he trailed a finger along the outline. Then he traced the gentle sweep of her swanlike neck, drew imaginary circles on her chest, and inched lower, to mark the outline of a rose-tipped peak.

“Ross, I need you.” A tear coursed her temple, as she reclined in the pillows. “I need you.”

The beauty of her plea, pure and without reservation, touched him to his core, and he could not deny her. So many rejoinders traipsed his brain, but he could not summon sufficient strength to voice a response. There was something about her that called to him, to some primal aspect that sought to protect and defend her. That was why he could never resist her.

Dipping his chin, he unbuttoned and removed his shirt. Standing, he unhooked and doffed his breeches and then locked the door to his chamber, as he would brook no interruptions. Before he faced his wife, in all his aroused glory, he inhaled and tried to summon calm.

It occurred to him that he could give her release, he could bring her to completion without claiming her, because he knew not how he would survive if he made love to her and did not please her. That he could never outlast.

With a plan in place, he strolled to his wife, crawled onto the mattress, hovered above her, and kissed her. In a slow dance, he visited with his mouth every aspect of her lush landscape, stopping to dart his tongue in the cute little indentation of her belly. Anticipating resistance, he parted her legs to rest between them and was surprised when she complied with nary a blink of her eyes. With his hands at the back of her knees he spread wide her thighs, exposing her most intimate flesh.

Lowering his head, he exhaled against her sweet little curls, and she shuddered. “Are you afraid?”

“No.” She sniffed and dried her cheeks on the sheet, but the unfailing directness of her stare posed a challenge.

Cradling her hips, Ross savored his first taste of her virgin sweetness and drank her in, drank in the promise of redemption to be found in her waiting embrace. Setting his mouth to her pliant confection, he suckled and laved, pushing her further into the passionate arena, as he reached down and pleasured himself.

He ached to claim his bride, to take her, to possess her as she begged to be possessed, but he feared his dark past might never free him, and he would not stain her goodness with his shame. But he longed to lose himself in the lure of her heat, as she was pleasure incarnate.

Just when he feared he might lose the battle waging within him, she stretched long her limbs and screamed, as completion enfolded her, and he lifted his head to admire the sight. All breathy sighs and sultry sashays, she wriggled atop the blanket, and it took every ounce of strength to resist her fire.

As he scooted to the side, Elaine came alert, wrapped her arms about his shoulders, and pulled him down. “Please, do not leave me.”

Covering her with his frame, he tried to be gentle, but he could not manage gentleness, as his starved body craved desire and satiation, fire and conflagration, seduction and splendor. Hot, wet, and slick for the taking, she dug her nails into his back as he plumbed her most tender flesh.

“Lift your ankles and wrap your legs about my hips, sweetheart.” When she did as he bade, he thrust and plunged into her decadent depths, and somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he thought he heard himself groan.

Holding stock-still, Ross gritted his teeth, as his seed threatened to burst forth, and only when he gained sufficient control of his instincts did he move. But when he initiated the dance, the world tilted on end, the walls of his chamber melted away, and the nightmarish recollections of his past yielded to the enticement his wife presented.