To Wed a Scandalous Spy (34 page)

She would not leave him. No matter the man he was, no matter the things he did, she loved him even so. No one had ever loved him like that.

With Willa, he could be safe. With Willa, he was home. He let the pain free, let it burn through him, let the acid loss sear his heart.

She held him while he sobbed, stroking his hair, rocking him slowly to and fro, and saying the one thing that he could hold fast to, the one thing that would save his broken soul.

"I love you."

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The next morning, Willa woke to find herself in her own bed, dressed in a new nightgown. Sitting up, she looked around her and tried not to feel dismissed. When she and Nathaniel had fallen asleep together, after gently making love for hours, she had felt so much a part of him.

Now, finding herself on the other side of a closed door made her feel as if last night's emotional union had never happened.

Then it occurred to her that perhaps Nathaniel didn't know any better. How could he? After all, he had never been married before. Yes, that must be it.

Well, she would take care of that lack straightaway. She dressed in one of her new gowns, which had been delivered at some point the day before, and after quickly pinning her hair up knocked on Nathaniel's door.

At his invitation, she walked inside to see him shaving himself, a frustrated manservant dancing about him.

"Master Nathaniel, please let me… I'm sure it would be better—oh dear, not that way—"

Nathaniel stopped to smile at Willa. He waved the razor at her. "Good morning."

Willa smiled back, her eyes widening at the poor fellow who was having conniptions over the way Nathaniel was casually handling the razor. "Oh, sir… do be careful—oh my—

Nathaniel stroked the razor one last time down his neck, then tossed it into the basin, much to the dismay of the valet, and wiped his face with a towel. He turned to Willa.

"Stinson believes I can't feed myself yet, either." He pulled her into a hug, lowering his cheek to the top of her head. "Go away, Stinson."

"Yes, sir… Oh my—such a way to treat a fine instrument—" Muttering all the while, Stinson cleared the shaving debris and left the room.

"Your father is being buried today," Willa said softly.

"Yes. Since the arrangements have been made for some time, I decided it was best to act on it." He breathed deeply. "Do you think me dishonoring him with this swiftness?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Was he the sort of man to prolong matters?"

Nathaniel snorted. "Not in the slightest. He was a very decisive sort."

"Well, then, I think you've answered your question."

"You're wearing something new." He stood back, still holding one hand. "Let me look at you."

Smiling to see the dark moment ease, Willa spun once for him at the end of his arm, then laughed softly when he pulled her close again, this time her back to his chest. He folded his arms about her. "Oh, wildflower. You are so alive. You chase the darkness away."

She tilted her head back to kiss him tenderly. She felt his erection grow behind her. "I need you so," he whispered in her ear.

"I'm here," she murmured back. He knelt and then stood, pulling her hem to her waist, petticoats and all. His long fingers probed her, one of them passing through the little slit in her drawers and entering her slowly and deeply.

She gasped, and her knees began to shake. He stayed behind her, kissing the back of her bent neck, one hand holding up her skirts, the other thrusting rhythmically inside her. She felt herself becoming slippery for him, as she always did, and his finger became two fingers, thrusting ever deeper.

"Grab hold of that bedpost," he whispered, "and stand on your toes."

Made pliant by his imploring tone and his persuasive touch, Willa did as she was told. She bent to wrap both hands around the bedpost before her and rose on her toes.

"You look so amazing like that. So beautiful."

She sensed him moving more fully behind her. The weight of her skirts was laid down upon her bent back, and then Nathaniel's other hand joined the first, only this time from the front. He dipped two new fingers into her slick readiness, then used the moisture to caress the sensitive place just in front.

It was divine. It was shocking. His two hands moved more and more quickly, his fingers rubbing, stroking, thrusting in rhythm together, until she was bucking shamelessly into his hands. Until she had to wrap both arms around the bedpost and bury her face into her sleeve as she soundlessly screamed her climax.

She had scarcely begun to recover when he entered her. She was so wet and ready that he drove deeply, burying his length in her with one stroke. She cried out and quivered anew.

"Oh God!" He grasped her hips and pierced her again. Again and again, each time plunging as deeply as he could. "I can't get enough of you."

She was off again, her orgasm taking her by surprise so that she didn't think to muffle her cries.

The sound of her climax echoing through the room was more than Nathaniel could withstand. With only one more wild thrust, he groaned and ejaculated into her, his shaft throbbing intensely. The power of it shook him to his bones.

"Oh my," she whimpered. Her knees failed her suddenly, and she slipped away from him to sit on the carpet.

Thinking that the floor looked mighty inviting at the moment, Nathaniel collapsed next to her.

"Please note," he panted. "Still dressed."

"Well, yes." She breathed deeply, trying to calm the shivers that still racked her. "Although it might behoove me to don a fresh pair of drawers."

Nathaniel leaned forward and kissed her ear. "I'll tell you what," he whispered. "Don't bother with the drawers today, and I'll meet you in the library this afternoon for another romp."

"Nathaniel," she asked suddenly, "about what happened last night…"

His eyes darkened. "I'm so sorry, Willa. I promise that I will always listen to your wishes when I come to you."

She shook her head. "Will we share a room when we are officially married?"

He looked at her oddly. "Why would we?"

"Well, where I come from, a husband and wife sleep in the same room, in the same bed."

Nathaniel smiled and rose to his feet, seeing to his buttons as he stood above her. "Likely they simply haven't the room to spare." Holding out his hand to her, he pulled her to her feet. "Fortunately, we don't have that problem."

She stood, but she didn't smile back. "Fortunately," she said, trying to keep the hurt from her voice.

"I'll walk you down to breakfast, wildflower, but then I'll be checking on my father's funeral arrangements." His smile was gone.

Willa chided herself for her self-centeredness. Nathaniel had far more pressing things on his mind than their sleeping arrangements..

She forced herself to smile at him and took his arm as they left his room. It was silly to worry about something so trivial, anyway. No doubt she'd soon become accustomed to it.

It was only that separate rooms made her feel like an amorous convenience, not a wife.

Nathaniel wasn't quite sure what was wrong with Willa this morning. Likely she was simply tired from their second long night of lovemaking. Then he was distracted by the fine ebony casket being carried down the front stairs. The back stairs would have been too narrow, of course. He ought to have thought of that—

Nathaniel knew he had allowed no reaction to cross his face, but still Willa tucked her hand into his and squeezed.

"Give it time, my love," she murmured.

She always knew when he was hurting. He towed her a few steps away from the front hall. Pulling her close, he held her and allowed himself to be held. When the ache eased, he pulled away and smiled at her. Running a fingertip from the soft dent above her collarbone down her silken skin to the neckline of her gown, he reminded her of her promise. "Do not forget. We have an appointment in the library this afternoon."

She shivered, and her dark eyes studied him. Leaning close, she placed her palm on his neck and pulled him down to kiss him soundly.

He narrowed his eyes. "You will pay for that, you know."

"Gladly." She blew him a kiss. "Now, go manage things. I'll take care of things here."

Nathaniel may have been disgraced, but it seemed to Willa that Randolph had been very highly esteemed. People from all classes of life were there to see him laid to rest.

She saw Clara standing next to a very handsome fellow who must have been Lord Etheridge. She saw Sir Simon with a rather smugly increasing woman who looked entirely interesting.

Lord Liverpool was there as well, although Nathaniel did not seem happy to see him.

In the back, behind the family and upper-class guests, there gathered a rather tearful band of servants. All wore the livery of one or the other of their titled guests. One coachman was a wild-haired giant whose scars made Ren Porter's dim by comparison. Another was a small, ragged man with pointy features and an elfin tilt to his ears when he removed his natty footman's hat.

Just as Nathaniel had requested, Willa stood with the family, supporting Myrtle in her grief. Nathaniel himself kept several yards back from the mourners, who left a wide space around him.

Willa was so proud of him, standing tall and straight against all the stares and vicious whispers. Proud, too, of his sensitivity, for she realized that the disturbance would have been much worse had he insisted on taking his rightful place at the graveside.

He was letting his family mourn—allowing the day to be about the ceremony of release and grief, not about him.

As the ritual drew to a close and the mourners began to leave, again they left a wide path around Nathaniel. All except for Clara. Head high, she went directly to him and put a sympathetic hand on his arm. Nathaniel covered that hand for a moment with his, then disengaged her and sent her on her way. Clara returned to her husband, who loomed nearby.

Then Willa thought she saw Lord Etheridge give Nathaniel the barest nod, hardly more than a dropping of his eyelids in sympathy. Nathaniel gave a nearly imperceptible nod in return. Curious, Willa began to watch the departing mourners more closely. It was difficult to detect at first, but she thought she saw more than one man send Nathaniel that tiny respectful nod.

How curious.

Then something else caught her eye. "Look there," Willa gasped. "Is that
him
?'

Myrtle peered at a highly decorated carriage sitting apart from the others. A stout figure was silhouetted in the window. As they watched, the figure raised a square of linen to his eyes.

"I believe it is," Myrtle breathed.

"Should I do something?" Willa was panicking. "Curtsy? Say hello? Faint?"

"If he wanted to come greet Lord Reardon, I daresay he would. I'd stay put if I were you."

Disappointed, Willa sighed. "Right. Stay put."

Finally, Willa and Myrtle were back in their own carriage, waiting for Nathaniel. Willa was watching Nathaniel, who was taking a moment at his father's graveside now that everyone else was gone, even Victoria. He made a lonely figure, tall and dark in his mourning clothes. His head was bowed.

Willa wanted to go to him. He seemed to take comfort from her presence, and she wanted to give him that. Then she saw two gentlemen approach him where he stood.

One was big and blond. The other was lean and watchful. Willa watched closely, but it seemed they only said a few words, then walked away. Nathaniel turned then and made his way to their carriage to join her.

"Well," Willa said brightly. "Those were certainly handsome gentleman. All you needed was the Fox and you would have the full Quatre Royale."

Nathaniel's gaze shot to hers. Pure horror blazed in his eyes.

"What?" Willa blinked. "What did I say?"

Failure! Again!

The man hiding in the shabby room paced to and fro. The slow-burning panic of a few days ago had blossomed into an inferno within him. He threw himself into the room's one rickety chair and dropped his face into his hands. If he failed, he would surely die. So much work, so many years of careful, brilliant planning—

He sat up slowly, a reckless madness taking over the worry within him. Perhaps it was time to change tactics. No more planning, no more careful, painstaking arrangements of events.

No more Trojan horses. No more suborning, no more manipulating, no more playing the dithering fool to cover the deadly killer inside. Only full, frontal attack would do—do or die.

Winner take all.

Lord Liverpool, the Prime Minister of England, was pacing back and forth on the parlor rug. Willa couldn't get over it. The rant went on for some time, however, long enough for the novelty to wear quite away.

"Are you telling me that you had a book, right there in Derryton, that told about the history and activities of the Royal Four? All spelled out for anyone to read?"

"Well, goodness no!"
Honestly
. "It was in Latin and in code."

Both Liverpool and Nathaniel looked vastly relieved, so Willa continued. "It took me over a year to translate it so that everyone in Derryton could read it."

"And a fine job she did, too," Myrtle chimed in stoutly.

"Well, it was a great favorite," Willa said modestly. "I used to read it aloud in the taproom in the evenings. The patrons were always so well behaved when I did."

Nathaniel sat down as if his knees had given out "Vinegar."

Willa smiled at him. "Precisely."

"What are you blathering about, Reardon?" Liverpool snapped.

"I just realized how Foster knew just where to look for her." Nathaniel started to chuckle helplessly. "You truly were bored, weren't you, wildflower?"

Willa nodded solemnly. "I was a real trial until I could read. Into
everything
." Lord Liverpool still seemed very angry. Willa appealed to Nathaniel. "It isn't as though I kept it a secret. I told you about it. It carried on a great deal about the king cobra, remember?"

He covered her hand. "Yes, you did. I'm very sorry I didn't take you up on your offer to show it to me." Nathaniel looked up at Liverpool. "What do you think now?"