To Wed a Scandalous Spy (33 page)

"No!" God, he sounded desperate, but he didn't care. "Stay, please."

"Very well, then, listen carefully. To me, you are not a monster, or a cripple, or any of the other things you like to call yourself. You are a fine, admirable man who has been through much, and it shows on you. That is all."

She cocked her head. "If I cut off my hair, would I stop being who I am?"

"It is hardly the same—"

Her cool fingers landed on his lips, stopping his words. "You must listen."

He wanted to kiss her fingertips but did not. She leaned close to him, placing her hand on his face once more. "You are
not
a beast."

Aching longing merged with the laudanum. He reached for her, tugging her down with his fingers gently twined in her hair, and pressed his mouth dreamily to hers. The laudanum bottle slid from her hand to the carpet with a thump.

When she gently but firmly pulled away from him, there were tears in her eyes.

"I love Nathaniel," she said.

But she didn't look happy about it.

"Then where is he?"

She shook her head sharply and stood. "Good night, Ren Porter."

The door closed softly behind her. "Good night, Lady Reardon," he whispered.

Nathaniel delivered Sir Foster to Lord Liverpool's private residence.

Liverpool was outraged. He stood in his front hall in a russet dressing gown and nightcap. "You brought him
here
?"

Nathaniel grimaced. His face hurt and his clothing had been sliced to ribbons, letting in a distinct draft. He was in no mood. "Have you seen what I have living in
my
house?"

He passed Foster to Liverpool's men with cool indifference. He had lost so much, simply to find this man—

He pulled Foster back with a hard grip on his arm. "Foster," he shouted at the nearly unconscious man. "The fire, Foster—was that you?"

Foster blinked fuzzily at him. "Coal chute."

Nathaniel tossed him back to the footmen. "That was him. Find out what he's been looking for."

He turned to go.

"Reardon! I thought the idea was we would follow him to the Chimera?"

"He poses an immediate danger." To Willa. "I'd recommend locking him up tight and finding out what he knows about this mysterious item from Maywell's notes."

Liverpool cleared his throat. "I would speak to you for a moment."

Nathaniel turned. "You know, my lord, you still maintain a commanding manner, even in your nightshirt."

Liverpool's lips twitched, but Nathaniel defied anyone to identify a sense of humor in the Prime Minister. He followed the man into a very nicely appointed study. Liverpool sat behind a massive desk. Nathaniel declined taking a seat or even standing before him like a wayward servant Instead, he wandered the room, poking at a globe, checking for dust on portrait frames… "Your housekeeper has my compliments."

"I'm sure she'll be happy to hear it," Liverpool said drily. "I want to speak to you about this 'broomstick bride' I've been reading about."

"I wouldn't say that phrase again if I were you," Nathaniel said mildly.

"All right," Liverpool said easily. Too easily. Nathaniel watched him closely.

"I don't know precisely what happened to you on this mission, and frankly, I don't care. This could be an excellent opportunity to cement your position in Society."

Since Nathaniel's position in Society ranged somewhere between back-alley mutt and sewer scum, this did not sound promising for either Willa or himself.

"I was rather hoping we could uncement my position in Society, now that Foster is in custody."

Liverpool pursed his thin lips. "Need I remind you that I have yet to enter into negotiations with Louis Wadsworth for his information on the French Minister Talleyrand? I have not yet decided Louis's fate, but if his father's treachery becomes public, I will lose a very valuable bargaining chip."

And if Nathaniel was a hero, it would follow in the public eye that Wadsworth wasn't. "So what is this plan of yours?"

"Send that woman away. We'll tell the world that she couldn't bear you and left you to live in shame and seclusion in the country. Isn't there a cottage on Reardon land she could have?"

It was all beginning to sound a bit familiar to Nathaniel. "She won't do it." He smiled. "She's taken a fancy to me."

He folded his arms. "Besides, you once told me that the Royal Four should be married and settled. That it made them much less the object of curiosity."

"Oh no, that is indeed true. We must never be perceived to be at all mysterious. Even you. That is why it is best to have you safely off the Marriage Mart. There would always be some ambitious mama thinking that if only she could paint you in a different light, her daughter could marry a lord."

Nathaniel frowned. "Then you confuse me, Robert."

But Liverpool was thinking. "Yes, that will do nicely! To cement your reputation as Lord Treason, you should cause her to reject you—leave you quite publicly even. Send her back to her country life, Nathaniel. She'll be happier there."

"She's happy with me."

"She is now. It's the first flush of love. Anything seems possible, even surviving overpowering scandal for the rest of your life. Do you truly want that for her? If you care about the girl at all, you'll do it and do it gladly."

Nathaniel closed his eyes tightly, but he could not block out the truth of what Liverpool was saying.

The Prime Minister's voice softened slightly. "I know how you've suffered under this pretense and I commend your sacrifice. Yet, how can you truly defend this idea of yours to keep her? She had no conception of the future she was tying herself to. I do not see how you can bear to hold her to it."

Liverpool was right. There would always be another fire, another mudslinging, another encounter with a bully like Finster. Sooner or later, it would not be mud or harsh words or smoky distraction. Eventually, it could be something more dangerous.

More fatal.

He knew Willa. He knew she'd never leave him. He couldn't force her, either. He could send her to Reardon, but he knew she would simply turn around and come back. Derryton wouldn't hold her. Hell, they'd probably take up a collection to pay her coach fare back. Even if he bound and gagged her and put her on a ship for Africa, as soon as she managed to get the gag off she'd only cajole the captain to turn around and bring her home.

Back in Reardon House, Nathaniel braced both damaged fists on the edge of his desk. He inhaled deeply once, then again. Then he whirled and strode to the brandy decanter that always stood full and ready, despite the fact that the servants had never seen him drink any.

He pulled a glass toward him and filled it with a great careless splash. He gazed at it for a long moment. Not since the day he'd realized who his father was—the day he'd decided who he himself was going to be—not since then had he taken a drink.

He tossed the full glass back in two swallows, then filled it again.

The Cobra didn't take spirits. The Cobra kept his wits about him, his emotions controlled, his hand steady.

This wasn't a job for the Cobra. This was a task for the dark man inside.

Nathaniel threw back his head and swallowed the second glass. Already he could feel the heat burning away the walls of control.

This was not a noble act—no fine, protective deed.

He was going to destroy something beautiful.

He was going to break Willa.

Upstairs, Willa still waited in Nathaniel's room. She renewed the fading fire, then clambered onto his great bed to watch the flames. It was warm in the room, but she felt cold without him. She pulled the robe over her feet, then laid her head on the pillow. She could wait for him here.

It must have been a while, for the fire had gone quite low, but it seemed as if she had only shut her eyes for an instant when she opened them at a scraping sound in the room.

Nathaniel was bending low over a chair, pulling ineffectually at his boots. Willa's heart sank. He was drunk, she could tell. When one was raised above a taproom, one learned to recognize drunkenness when one saw it.

He tottered, then sat clumsily on the floor. With both hands, he still could not remove his boots.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," muttered Willa, and slid off the bed to help him. She squatted beside him and pushed his hands away from the boot, frowning up into his face.

"Let me—"

She gasped, dropping his foot in her horror at his face. "Dear God, Nathaniel, who did this to you?"

"Won'erful brawl. Too bad you missed it. I could have used that ri' hook of yours."

She couldn't believe it. Men and their fights! She rose to light a candle, then gathered the basin and cloth from his washstand.

He was straggling to get up when she returned, but she shoved him back down. "You might as well stay on the floor. I've a feeling you'll end up there again anyway. Besides, this makes it easier to reach you."

She dabbled the cloth in the water and began cleaning his face. "I really must teach you how to guard your left. You shouldn't have let them touch you."

"S'no fun if you don't bleed a bit," he argued amiably. He blinked up at her from where he sat. "The other fellows look much worse than me."

"Don't be so proud of yourself. Dick can wade through a taproom brawl and come out with nothing but scraped knuckles."

"Well, but… but he's real
big
."

"So are you."

"I am?" He seemed ridiculously pleased that she thought so.

She put a bit too much pressure on the cloth.

"Ow!"

"I wish you had not gone drinking tonight. I wish you had let me be here for you."

"S'all right. You can be here for me now."

His hands moved in front of her, and she realized he had untied the dressing gown.

She backed away. "This isn't—"

He rose swiftly before her, the bumbling boy gone. In his place was a man with lust in his eyes. He stepped closer, pulling on the dressing gown. "Off."

It was so overlarge that it slid right off her. She let it go, still backing away.

"Nathaniel, I don't—"

"I do." He sprang forward, catching her by the front of her nightdress. "C'mon, Willa. I want to do it to you."

She felt a little sick at his words. He didn't sound like a husband or even a lover. He sounded like a… a customer, and he made her feel like a trollop. She pushed at him.

"Get off, Nathaniel. I don't like you like this."

"You said you wanted to do wicked things. You said you'd take me in your mouth."

He followed her as she backed away. Two more steps and the bed hit the backs of her legs. Then he was pressing against her and she was trapped.

He tugged at her bodice with both hands.

"I want to see your nipples."

She pushed at his hands, but he pulled at the strings tying her gown closed. The ties popped under the force of his tugs, tearing free. Then his hands were on her. They were hot and rough and she couldn't fend him off. "Stop," she blurted. "Please,
stop
."

"I want to touch them." He put both her shielding hands over her head and held them there. Then he bent his head to take one nipple into his mouth.

Unable to struggle at all, Willa was horror-struck. Nathaniel wasn't simply drunk and clumsy. This was something else. He wasn't going to stop, no matter how she protested. This wasn't the man she knew, the man who brought respect to the most playful of bedroom games. This wasn't the man she'd defended, the man she'd sworn to stand beside—

The man she'd sworn to stand beside.

Abruptly she ceased her struggles. She let her wrists go limp in his grasp; she stopped twisting her body away from his seeking mouth. When he raised his head, she met his gaze levelly. "Let me go."

He pasted on a sickening leer. "I like you like this."

"I cannot do what you wish," she pointed out matter-of-factly. "If you want me to take you into my mouth, I can hardly do it from here."

Startled, Nathaniel released her hands and stepped back. He half-expected her to make a run for her own room, but she calmly shed her ruined nightgown and knelt before him naked. His cock pulsed in response to her lush beauty. Her dark hair tumbled over her bare shoulders and breasts, and when she looked up at him from her position her blue eyes were like still pools.

Before he could react, she'd unbuttoned his trousers and pulled his shameful erection into her hands.

"You cannot make me leave you," she said softly. "No matter what you do to us both." Then she bent her head to take him into her mouth.

Her words hit Nathaniel like a shot to the heart. He couldn't do it.

Pulling himself free from her grip before she reached him with her mouth, he bent to sweep her into his arms. The fear he'd seen in her eyes had made him die a little inside, but the faith in her calm gaze destroyed him.

"Oh, wildflower, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He wrapped his arms around her and frantically pulled her close. She held very still, trembling slightly in his embrace. It tore a hole in his heart.

"Oh God, Willa. I'm sorry. I wouldn't… I'd never—oh, wildflower, forgive me, please."

She didn't speak. Nathaniel felt the hole in his heart grow larger, tearing even as he had torn her gown.

Then the darkness all poured from the open break in his heart.

The fear that his disgrace would endanger her. The desperation that he would never be worthy enough. The grief of watching his father dying. The pain of losing any chance to redeem himself in his father's eyes.

The emotions welled up within him, and he clung to Willa tightly. "Don't go," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry. I need you.
Please don't go
."

Very slowly, he felt her arms come around him, loosely and carefully at first, then holding him more tightly. A vast wave of relief swept him, weakening his every fiber. He fell to his knees, sliding down her until he knelt before her with his face pressed to her bare belly.

He was gasping for air, his emotions thundering through him like a cavalry of need. Her arms wrapped tightly around him, pressing him even closer. He clung to her.