You Only Love Once (14 page)

“Christ,” he said between gritted teeth. His hair fell forward, tumbling over his brow. The muscles of his arm under her neck flexed and hardened. Angelique dug her toes into the bed, straining against the unspeakable pleasure of his touch inside her. She ran her hand down his bare chest to his waist, letting her nails bite into his skin. With two quick twists she popped the trouser buttons free and then she had him in her hands. From the guttural curse he whispered in her ear, he was as much in her thrall as she was in his. She raised her face, welcoming his ravishing kiss as she curled her fingers around him. He was thick and hard and so alive, burning hot. She gripped and squeezed, imagining him driving
inside her, and felt her own inner muscles quiver and melt in anticipation.

He tensed and jerked in her hands, then shoved himself off the bed. “Take off the dress,” he growled, kicking off his shoes and peeling off his trousers and undergarments. “Now.”

Angelique sat up and reached for the buttons at her back, but obviously not fast enough. Nate was naked in front of her, and her eyes were drawn to the sight. How much the clothing had concealed, she thought; he was neither skinny nor gangly, but lean and hard with muscle. While she was still staring, he caught her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Never mind,” he whispered as he turned her around and pushed her forward until she braced her arms on the edge of the bed. “I'll do it.”

He undid the first few buttons in a rush, then paused. The bodice loosened and sagged forward, and his arms came around her, his hands slipping inside the dress to cup her breasts again. Lightly, leisurely he stroked her, his long fingers circling and pinching her nipples until they stood up tight and hard. Angelique gripped fistfuls of the coverlet to hold herself up as he played with her—there was no other word for it. He had his hands on her bare breasts and he was playing with her body. She felt the heat of his breath at her nape, and shivered as his lips whispered over her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut and curled her toes into the carpet. She didn't want this; it was only to be a quick tupping, to take the edge off her body's needs. She didn't want him to spend an hour exploring her skin. She didn't want it, but somehow she seemed unable to stop him.

At last he slid his hands out of her bodice, leav
ing her breasts heavy and aching. He opened a few more buttons, pulling apart the edges and running one fingertip down the ridge of her spine to the lace-trimmed edge of her corset. Her back arched instinctively, but then his mouth was there, his tongue swirling over her skin until she melted again. With agonizing slowness he pushed the dress down her arms and then over her hips until it was a pile of fabric around her legs. With one tug he untied her petticoats, and shoved them down with the dress. The cool air on her bare thighs made her skin tingle and burn, as if she could feel his gaze moving over her. Angelique still stood bent over, palms flat on her bed, paralyzed with desire. He was doing this to torture her. She gathered her wits and stood upright, desperate to recapture some control of the moment, but he pushed her back. He took her hands and placed them back flat on the bed, holding them there a moment with his arms braced around her, his chest pressed to her back.

“Not tonight,” he breathed. “Tomorrow you can take me, dominate me, and do with me what you will. Tonight I take you.” His words rippled across her skin, dark and seductive. Her breath came out in a faint moan at the thought of all he might do to her, and what she could do to him tomorrow.

With quick, sure movement he pulled at her shift, hanging down her thighs below the corset. There was a rip, and the next thing she knew it was gone; he spread his palms over her buttocks, now bare. “You tore my chemise,” she gasped, scrabbling for thought as he stroked his hands over her bottom and down her thighs, then back up, shaping and molding her flesh.

He laughed, rough and low. With short, quick movements he unbuckled the sheath strapped around her leg and tossed it away. “Sweetheart, I'll buy you a new one. Blessed saints, you're beautiful like this.”

“Faceless?” she flung back, twisting to peer at him over her shoulder.

His face was dark and taut in the lamplight. At her question he grinned, a savage expression that only made her shiver again. “You want to see my face? You want me to know who it is I'm making love to?” Without waiting for a reply, he flipped her over, pressing her down onto the bed. He loomed over her, his hair falling forward in a rumpled wave to shadow his face. “Did you think I would forget?” He swooped down to kiss her. “Did you fear I don't know?”

“You don't know me,” she managed to say. “Not really.” He kissed her again, his arms flexing as he lowered himself on top of her. Despite her words, Angelique was reaching for him, clutching at him.

“Not for lack of trying.” He settled his weight between her legs and spread her knees wide. Again he stroked her, smiling his wicked smile at the way she inhaled and how her body arched at his touch. When she reached for him again, he caught her wrist and pinned it to the bed. In frustration she swiped at him with her free hand; he was holding her motionless when she burned to move, to slide and rock and push her hips into the mindless ecstasy of his fingers inside her. He laughed, then caught her second hand and held it, too. Now she was helpless, her arms spread wide and his hips lodged between her thighs. She could feel his sex nudging against
hers, not driving inside her the way she wanted. She lifted her hips in silent pleading as a tear leaked from her closed eyes. He was a wicked scoundrel for naming tomorrow her turn. It meant there would be more of this addictive pleasure tomorrow. She could no longer deny she wanted it—him—voraciously.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers. “Angel, look at me.” She forced open her eyes, and saw his face tighten as he finally thrust inside her.

She gasped at the invasion. He seemed to fill her completely and her muscles tightened around him in reflex. That made him shudder and drop his head for a moment. With a leisurely movement he pulled back, then thrust again, so hard and fast her hips rocked off the bed. A slow withdrawal, a hard thrust. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her arms still pinned flat to the bed by his hands. She writhed under him but couldn't escape his grip or speed his movements. He was destroying her, scraping away at her control and reducing her to a mass of nerves, defenseless and vulnerable to everything he did. She tossed her head, trying to wriggle free, and he chuckled in her ear, although it was a strained sound.

“Don't fight me,” he said through his teeth. “Tonight is mine.” Every time he surged into her, he seemed to hit something raw and vital that sent jolts of intense pleasure through her. When she felt her climax gather and break inside her, as swift and stunning as if she had fallen off a cliff, Angelique almost wept from the relief and exquisite bliss of it.

Nate felt her spasm around him and instinctively caught his breath; the sensation was similar to being thrown headfirst into the ocean, deep and dark
and suffocating. He buried himself inside her once more, letting the contractions of her climax pull him under, and came with a gasp not unlike that of a drowning man finally surfacing for air.

He stayed where he was until the last aftershock had faded away, holding her. Angelique was limp and trembling beneath him, her dark hair tangled about her bare shoulders. One curl lay across her cheek, and he brushed his lips over it, smiling at the silky feel of it against his skin. Wearing little more than her corset, her hair wild and disheveled, she was an intoxicating, seductive sight—but what Nate loved best was her face, soft and peaceful. Now she wasn't the sharply beautiful spy with the hard eyes of a courtesan, but just a woman, well sated and flushed beautifully pink with satisfaction. A woman who wanted him in spite of everything between them. A woman who couldn't deny her own needs and wants anymore. A woman he was in mortal danger of completely losing his head over…if he hadn't already.

“I thought you would kill me,” she said faintly. She hadn't opened her eyes yet.

Nate laughed, even though his heart still thundered and his chest ached with each breath. “You can take your revenge tomorrow night.”

“If I can move.” She sighed, stretching languorously. She ran one stocking-clad foot down the back of his calf, and Nate's stomach jumped at the soft tickle of her toes on his skin. “I may not leave this bed for a week.”

“An excellent idea.” He felt his eyelids weighing down upon his eyes. “I don't think I can walk to my own.”

For a moment she didn't respond. She might have gone to sleep; her breathing had grown soft and deep. Nate sighed inwardly, knowing he was an idiot to have hoped she might want him to stay, especially after what he had said to her earlier. Accusing a woman of playing a whore was rarely the best way to win her heart. In all his life, Nate had never felt the debilitating combination of fear and anger and desire he'd experienced tonight. He wanted to shake her and hold her and then make love to her again and again, until she swore on her mother's grave that she would never put him through that again. He'd completely lost his control, been crude and offensive, and unlike every other lady of his acquaintance, Angelique had replied in kind. There wasn't another woman in the world like her, and he'd be damned if he'd lose her now.

But going back to his own bed wasn't the end of things between them, and he of all people knew it was sometimes best to beat a tactical retreat in order to regroup for another attack on the stronghold. Things had changed between them now—not everything, but enough. She wanted him, and that was all he needed to know, for now. Gently he shifted, thinking to leave without disturbing her too much.

She stirred as he started to rise from the bed. Her hand reached out for his. “Stay,” she said quietly, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Unless you wish your night to be over so soon.”

And Nate smiled slowly back at her.

This was more than enough, for now.

H
e left her room in the gray hour before dawn the next morning, with a soft touch on her cheek and the flash of a smile at her wistful sigh as he slipped out of bed. She listened to him gather his clothing from the floor where he had thrown it the night before, and then the empty silence when he had gone. His night was over.

She rolled into the depression left by his body, and stared at the ceiling. His warmth and scent still clung to the sheets, surrounding her with the reminder of how much trouble she was in. Deep inside her heart, Angelique admitted she didn't want it to be over. Last night would be seared into her memory until the day she drew her last breath. If she'd had any sense of self-preservation, she would have let him leave after that first, explosive, time. She probably could have survived it well enough, armored herself against any foolish sentimentality, and gone on with her physical desires sated. But instead she told him to stay, and he had.

As a rule, she didn't go to bed with other agents. It was bad practice; lovers grew careless if affection was involved, and ruthless if it was not. Even
Ian, who had flirted with her furiously at times and hinted he wouldn't let an affair interfere with their work, had been easy to keep at a distance. She knew most men were frightened of her in some way or another, even the ones who were willing to risk it for a chance to get beneath her skirts. Nathaniel Avery, though…Nate refused to believe her angry denials that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Nate held her down and made her let him please her until she stopped fighting it. And after he dominated and controlled her, after he had all but forced her into unspeakable pleasure, he offered himself up to her mercy tonight.

But what was she to do, now that she had crossed that line? It was too late to pretend she had been seeking only a physical release. When she had invited him to stay, he had tucked them both between the sheets and simply held her for a while, stroking her back lightly until she dozed off. When she woke in the full dark of night, he had been still holding her, still stroking her, and then he made love to her leisurely, stretching out the sinuous pleasure for what seemed like hours until she almost broke under the sheer rapture of it. And then he did it again, just before he left. Another night like that, and she would never recover.

Angelique stretched her arms over her head, wishing she could just stay in bed for the rest of the day, dreaming away the hours before tonight.
Her
night. How was she to match what he had done?

She should have been exhausted. Her muscles ached even through the residual glow of contentment, and she would feel him between her legs with every step she took. Nate had kept her awake much
of the night, and she should close her eyes and get another hour of sleep before Lisette came to stir the fire and bring her breakfast. But instead, her eyes were open and her mind ran onward. They must be discreet. Lisette was her maid and loyal to her, and even if she disapproved of Angelique's actions she would never voice that disapproval to anyone, especially not to someone who might report back to John Stafford. Angelique had no idea about Nate's man, Prince, but it certainly wouldn't be in his best interest to cause trouble now. If anyone else was watching them, though, it could reach the wrong person's ear. And she wouldn't at all doubt the possibility that Stafford might send someone to see how she was faring.

So today she must act as if nothing had happened between them. She must be as bored and dismissive of Nate as she had been before she had held his head to her breast and smiled at the touch of his lips. Before he had run his wicked, clever hands over her bare skin and brought her to the pinnacle of ecstasy. Before she had felt a small, lonely part of her heart warm to his smile. And most of all, she must push the thought of tonight from her mind.

She rose from the bed and dressed. The magenta gown with the shredded hem lay in a pool of silk beneath her petticoats, on the floor where Nate had left them when he stripped her. She shook the petticoats out and draped them over the chaise, then inspected the dress. It was a dangerous dress, as Nate said, and certainly had its uses, but it was fairly well ruined. Still, she smiled a little as she laid it across the petticoats. Perhaps Lisette could replace the skirt.

Lisette knew at once. Her maid came in with a
tray while Angelique was doing her morning exercises, and stopped when she saw the bed. An arrested expression stole across her face, and then she looked at Angelique with such maternal concern it made her hackles rise.

“What?” she snapped.

“Nothing,” murmured Lisette, hurrying to set the tray down. “Nothing at all, Madame.”

Angelique scowled and tried to concentrate on her exercise. It was hard to stay as strong as she needed to be in order to make up for her petite stature. Being slim and flexible could take one only so far. She raised the heavy iron bar above her head and swung it in slow, controlled circles as if fighting an imaginary swordsman. Ian had taught her some of these motions, and she had added to them. The exertion required her to bathe every morning after she finished, but the taut power in her muscles was worth it. She knew she looked dainty and delicate, and being even a little bit stronger than expected was an invaluable advantage.

“You will be going out today?” Lisette asked. She took up the laundry without batting an eye at the ripped and crumpled gown.

“Later. And then again tonight, after dark.” Angelique held the iron bar above her head and slowly lowered it behind her until the muscles at the backs of her arms ached. With a grateful sigh, she set the bar aside and wiped her face with the fresh towel her maid held out. “Today I will be at leisure.”

Lisette raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. She went in and out of the room as Angelique ate breakfast, preparing the bath and laying out an old, comfortable dress. By the time Angelique finished
bathing and dressing, and Lisette was pinning up her damp hair, it was barely past ten. “Has Mr. Avery risen yet?” she asked idly, watching her maid's deft fingers twirl her hair into a neat twist.

“Risen, and gone, along with that man of his,” said Lisette. She poked in the last pin as Angelique started in surprise. “I only heard them leave when they closed the door. Like ghosts, Madame, they move without a sound.”

Indeed. Angelique hadn't heard a single sound herself, even though she'd been awake since Nate left her room. She had just assumed he had crawled into his own bed and gone back to sleep. Not even a squeaking stair had betrayed them. What could they be doing? she wondered, and then she shoved aside the thought. She had work to do today, and if Nate stayed away and lessened her distraction, so much the better.

But what was he doing? For a man who tried so hard to wheedle her intentions out of her, he hadn't mentioned anything of his own plans. Perhaps he had none, and was merely improvising again. Or perhaps he had lied to her about improvising, and had carefully planned every last moment of last night…

She sprang to her feet with an impatient huff. She would make herself mad if she thought about him all day. This was what she had feared last night; this was what she could not allow, even given her tacit acknowledgment that he would be back in her bed tonight, and perhaps the night after. It was an affair, nothing lasting. When they had caught their man, Nathaniel Avery would go back to America and she would retire to a quiet life in the country. Or per
haps travel abroad for a while. A quiet life in the country sounded very…quiet; perhaps too quiet at the moment. She could see Italy, Russia, even France. Perhaps Melanie would go with her.

“Find the market basket, Lisette,” she called out. “I shall go for a walk.” She had planned to go later, but suddenly wished to be out of the house. She got out her plainest bonnet and draped a drab gray shawl around her shoulders. The dress she wore was simple and plain, a soft beige color; completely unremarkable. Her maid hurried in with the basket. “What would you like from the market?” she asked, letting her dimple show impishly as she hooked the basket over one arm.

“Fresh berries,
s'il vous plait
,” said Lisette with a smile. “And no more ripped skirts.”

Angelique hesitated. “Can it be repaired? Can the skirt be replaced?” Lisette made a dour face. “Well, toss it out if not. I liked the color.”

Lisette smirked. “
Oui
, Madame. It is a lovely color.”

She gave the woman a severe look as she went to the door. “Do not begin.”

“No, Madame.” Lisette waited until she put her hand on the doorknob to ask, “And what shall I say to Monsieur Avery, if he should return while you are out?”

Angelique froze. She was accustomed to Lisette's impertinence, but this touched her too closely. Slowly she turned. For a long moment she fixed a rather haughty stare on her maid, who just stared boldly back. “You may tell him,” she said quietly, “that I have gone
out
.” And she closed the door behind her.

 

Davis Hurst lived on a bustling street where the houses were small and tightly packed but neatly kept. She walked past it on the opposite side of the street, studying the house from beneath her eyelashes. It looked no different from any of its neighbors, and no less difficult to enter. At the end of the street, she turned and went down until she found the alley that led behind the row of houses, to see the rear entrance. Then, her errand complete, she walked on to the market in Covent Garden.

It was convenient that the street in front of Hurst's home was so busy; she could walk up and down all day without drawing much notice. A small house like that, with only a bachelor living in it, couldn't have many servants, and likely some of them went home at the end of the day. He didn't have a cook, she knew; they had learned he dined most nights at his club. A valet, perhaps a footman, would be the only people at home tonight if Hurst held to his usual pattern. With a key in her possession, it wouldn't be hard to get inside.

The trickier part would be finding anything helpful. Just by nature of what he did, Hurst would probably have taken some pains to secure his papers. On the other hand, he appeared to have a great deal of arrogance, and arrogant men were usually careless. She must be sure to check the obvious places first.

When she walked past the house on her way home, fresh blackberries in her basket, she studied the windows. Even at this hour, the shades were still drawn. She wondered how Mr. Hurst was feeling this morning, if the lump on his head ached fiercely enough, and smiled to herself. It served him right for
thinking he could take advantage of any woman.

She went around to the back of the house in Varden Street and let herself in. She left the blackberries in the scullery for Lisette, and went up the stairs to her room. It should be a simple job tonight—or perhaps a very boring one, if Hurst decided to stay home—but one must still be careful. It would be easiest if she went alone, but Nate would most likely insist on coming, especially after last night at Vauxhall. She kept her mind resolutely away from what happened after Vauxhall. That would only muddle the issue and be a significant drain on her concentration. She slipped the shawl from her shoulders and opened her door.

Nate was waiting there, sitting on a chair turned toward the window. Angelique stopped abruptly in the doorway, and he cast only the barest glance her way. “How was your walk?” he asked.

“Refreshing.” She closed the door and went to the wardrobe to put away her shawl. “And yours?”

“The same,” he said, watching her with idle interest.

Angelique waited, but he didn't ask where she had gone. Nor did he volunteer where he had gone, but she accepted that. It was only fair that she not make demands on him, if he did not make demands on her. He just sat there watching her with those cool green eyes and an unreadable expression. She crossed the room to the window and drew the draperies more fully open. “It's a lovely day,” she said, looking out at the street. The sun was bright and the sky was clear, even if the air had a chill in it. Autumn was coming.

“Indeed,” he agreed.

Angelique kept looking out the window even though there was nothing to see. It kept her back to him, and meant she didn't have to face him. It galled her that she was unsettled about facing him at all, after what had happened between them last night. This morning. Just a few hours ago, just a few feet away from where she now stood, staring blindly out the window. Angelique was not accustomed to feeling this way. How wretched that she was the one who felt awkward and unsure, while he sat there cool and composed. She should turn and go on as if nothing had happened. She should carry on as if things were exactly as they had been. They were still working for different people, with different goals in mind. Going to bed with Nate didn't change any of that; it couldn't. She had resolved to carry on as if nothing had changed, but now that he was here, his gaze almost a physical touch on her back, she found it was not as simple as she had expected.

“When are we paying Mr. Hurst a visit?” he asked.

“Tonight.” Angelique pushed all her jumbled emotions aside and turned to face him. “I am perfectly content to go alone.”

“No doubt.” He was a man of few words today, it seemed. So much the better, she told herself in aggravation.

“I saw the house this morning,” she went on. “It will be no trouble to break in. One presumes he keeps his documents close at hand. Men like him do not usually trust others.”

“Nor should they. Men like him do not inspire trust.” He tilted back his head to look up at her as she approached. “I expect you have it all planned.”

“I have the key,” she reminded him. “That makes things considerably easier.”

“What if Hurst does not go out this evening? His head may still ache from the very large rock that struck him last night.”

“If I could have found a larger one, I would have used it,” she said coolly. “As it was, I was defending my virtue and had no time to search.”