The Duchess and the Spy (24 page)

Dash it all, she did like him, whether she loved him or not, was a different matter entirely. She had sent out the invitation and he had ignored her, blasted man. She would not have him blaming her for a loveless wedding night, whenever the fancy struck him.

She tied her dressing gown tightly, and then followed in the direction from whence he had gone. She found herself walking for what seemed to be an age, until she stopped at a firmly shut door. She tried it, and was surprised to discover that he had not locked it. She found him sitting in a chair by the fireplace with a brandy in his one hand, or what she assumed to be brandy. She walked toward him, and watched him stiffen as she approached. He still looked bloody handsome even though he had loosened his cravat and taken off his jacket, and vest. He stared at her and tightened his hold on his glass.

*****

Christopher groaned. She was a vision, of that much he was sure. He had drunk too much and he was seeing things. He shook his head to clear the apparition, and when he looked in the direction of where she had been, he discovered with a lump in his throat that she was still there. He swallowed thickly, placed the glass on the table beside him, and instead, drank her in as she glided towards him. He had never noticed how gracefully she walked until now. Her glorious red hair hung down her back, and ended just above her rather shapely bottom. The pastel pink she was wearing complimented her hair, rather than seeming gaudy. Her eyes were wide and impossibly green, and her dark thick lashes were blinking rather quickly as if she was nervous.

“You left me,” she whispered.

“I left you for your own good,” he muttered, wishing that he hadn’t abandoned his drink. She knelt down beside him, and carefully rested her hand on his arm, as if she were afraid that he might pull back. But he wouldn’t, he couldn’t pull back from her. She beckoned to him, and no matter how hard he tried he would not be able to avoid her, not for anything in the world. He had never been truly attracted to a woman since Ashley, and though he had had relationships, they had never lasted more than a fortnight. He stared at her angelic face, and resisted the urge to begin kissing her and never stop.

“I am your wife,” she pointed out, trying to gain his attention, which at the moment was focused on her rather impressive bust line. He swallowed thickly, and then stared back into her green eyes. “I will not have you telling me that I neglected my wifely duties,” she whispered, sighing as his blue eyes flashed with anger. He jumped up from his chair and glared over at her.

“Damnation woman,” he began watching as she wearily eyed him. “I will not have you coming to me out of your blasted wifely duty! If you sit in front of me much longer you will have bewitched me into taking you out of lust!” He stepped toward her and grabbed her by the shoulders. She dared him to shake her with the expression in her eyes, but was startled when he pulled her against him, and began kissing her as if his life depended upon it. He swept her up into his arms, and made his way back to the other chamber that housed the impressive looking bed.

He laid her gently upon it, and then reached for her tie to her dressing gown. He slipped it off of her, and watched as the sheer silk nightdress was exposed. He breathed in sharply, and reverently reached toward her. She writhed on the bed beneath him, as her nightgown became tangled around her legs. He slowly brought it up to her hips, and stopped suddenly when she began pushed him away. He dropped his hand, and watched as she gathered her strength and sat up. He fought to control his raging desire, as she quickly pushed her nightdress back down over her trembling knees.

Dear God, he had been mistaken, for she was no light skirt. He recalled all of the times, he’d called her tart and strumpet, and heat flushed his face.

He made to soothe her, but she shrunk away from him, as she continued to gasp for breath. “I thought that I could, but I am afraid I cannot. I’m ever so sorry, my lord,” she said brokenly, her voice flooding with emotion, as she searched for her dressing gown. Realizing that the search was futile since he had thrown it on the floor, she scooted beneath the covers, and then, for extra good measure, she brought them up to her chin. “I believed that I could be your wife, totally and completely, and I knew that it was the expected thing to do, but I do not know why, but I can’t! I told myself that I would never let it happen unless I loved the man, and you were right on one count, there were scads of men that desired me, but they never got anywhere, except perhaps for a sore groin or a bloody nose.

“My Uncle Duncan showed me how to protect myself, and I daresay he was a bloody fine instructor…and then, there’s my magic to think of…it kept me safe when all else failed. However, I never resorted to actually using my gift, unless my hand was forced. Had I been discovered by the wrong sort of people the consequences for me would have been dire.” She glanced over at the nightstand and said, “I know that woman. I assume she is your Ashley?”

“Yes,” he whispered, though in truth the woman that had haunted his mind night and day since her untimely death, hadn’t once entered his mind, and he’d found himself thinking of her less and less since he’d become reunited with Isabella. He was devoted to Isabella whether she wanted to believe it or not.

Ashley was gone, he would never have her back, and though he hated to admit it, life did have to go on. He had to go on. Isabella was his wife—and that was a position that Ashley had never possessed though she had coveted it.

His family never approved of Ashley, and his father had even forbidden him to marry her, while her mother had wept for him, saddened by the fact that he had fallen in love with someone other than Isabella. But he had been undeterred, and they had planned to be secretly wed, anyway. Ashley had died before becoming his Marchioness, and the vision of her falling into the water, after being shot by a damnable frog would forever linger in his mind. He had been unable to do anything but watch, and when he had finally gotten free from his bonds, he had dived into the water, and had never found her. The rough waters in the English Channel had swept her away, and taken her life just as it had taken a great many things.

“How would you know her?” he asked, intrigued, and a little unsettled by the thought. Ashley had been an orphan, and had been raised by her charitable cousins. They had tormented her day after day, and she had been treated no better than a servant. She had been forced to scrape by in her early days, by doing whatever she could to make money. Then, when she had been thirteen, a distant uncle had taken advantage of her, and had forever ruined her life. After that, she fell into deep despair, and never found a proper place in life, until she had met him. She said that being with him was like coming home, and she would never forget the kindness he had given her. She would have made him a fine wife even if his family had disapproved of her.

His mother and father on the other hand, would welcome Isabella with open arms and his mother would cry tears of happiness and relief. His five siblings would rave over her, just as they had chummed around with her that summer so long ago. Perhaps that was why he was so hesitant in bringing her to London. However desperately she wished to go. He was being selfish. Though they sparred incessantly, he welcomed her company, and even found himself looking forward to her society.

Isabella had had three brushes with death since he had met her, and she had faced it as calmly as if she were having tea. He knew that she was a sensible woman, but she was a brave woman as well. She possessed courage that some fully grown men, never had. She was a remarkable woman, and he knew that though they had been coerced into marriage, he would have eventually sought her hand anyway.

She would make him the ideal wife, as long as she overcame her irrational fear of him. She said that she didn’t love him, but he didn’t think that he loved her either. When she had almost been shot that night, he had been consumed by such a dread that he hadn’t been able to move for a full five seconds. And when he had finally moved, he had been filled with such rage, he had believed he would shake the life out of her. She always evoked such passion in him, whenever she was in danger, and that was a sign that he wasn’t completely indifferent to her after all.

“I confess that I do not know how I know. That is the problem you see. I cannot for the life of me, recollect where I met her. And, yet, I do know her, Christopher. Trust me on that point. I never forget a face, even if I did forget her name. I met her once or twice, and you can be quite sure that I will tell you when my memory corrects itself. Hopefully when my memory strikes a chord about Ashley my magic will return to me as well—I feel so lost without it.”

He still wasn’t convinced that she knew Ashley, but he would let it go for now at least. He sighed, and began to take off his clothes, just as Isabella rolled over. “Don’t you have somewhere else to sleep?”

“What, are you afraid that I will ravish you?” he inquired, as he pulled back the covers and climbed inside.

“I am not afraid of you. I am afraid of myself. I have been known to have wicked thoughts, and desires concerning you.”

“Is that so, that alone intrigues me. The passionate French blood in your veins just might work to my advantage.” He smiled at her, watching her eyes light up with fire. “Well, my dearest, you can be sure that I will not attack you in the middle of the night. I would never touch you unless you welcomed it. However, if you are so inclined, do feel free to attack me, I’ll welcome it gladly,” he sighed, and carefully arranged the bedclothes around himself. Now he was going to get her all riled up, and when she was riled up, her passions were on fire.

“I do not know what to say,” Isabella murmured, grasping her pillow tighter. More and more, he was becoming the man that she remembered. Though she had been a silly young lass, and completely enamored of him, he had been a kind and gentle sort that had never uttered one cruel word in the presence of others. Perhaps, they were meant for each other. For life’s realities had pricked them both, and it had made each of them bleed. She laughed. His last comment had made something snap inside of her, and it was finally in a good way. Though he exasperated her to no end at times, she still felt a genuine fondness for him, and when she’d told him she’d had wicked thoughts concerning him—she’d been speaking from the heart. He fascinated her, and she did feel her heart going out to him…and along with her heart, her body was in want for him. She’d never been carnally involved with any man in her life, and yet, the thought of their bodies joining together in the old mating dance made her heart thrill with anticipation.

“Isabella,” he murmured softly, turning toward her. She kept her back to him, and felt his hand softly come to rest on her shoulder. “I am sorry I had no right to make such utterly ignorant assumptions about your character. We were married, my dear, for truly no reason at all, and yet I confess I would not have had it any other way.” He let his hand rest there, as it breathed comfort into her body.

She felt a tear slip down her cheek, and merely pretended to have fallen asleep, for she could not speak after he had affected her so. He broke past her barriers, and touched her heart with his heartfelt apology.

“Sleep well.” She heard him murmur, as she started drifting off. The day had worn her out, and even though she was tempted to explore this newfound neutral ground between her and her Saint, she needed sleep.

****

Isabella was in the forest again. Struggling to run through the dense foliage, as her hair escaped the white cap she wore. Her knee ached, and her head pounded, and yet, she kept on running. She heard him calling her name, and she ignored him, not willing to face the man that was her destiny. Her heart raced, and her hands were clammy. She wanted to be free, free from the confines of her life.

Then, it happened just as it always did.

She tripped and fell, staring back in fear at the man pursuing her. Her heart pounded so loudly, she could hear it her ears. Gasping for breath, her chest rose and fell with each laboured breath. His dark cloak swirled around him buffeted by the night air. The hood he wore was pulled over his face. She strained to see him, wishing the hood would fall back and reveal his features. She sensed she knew him, yet she could not recognize him. She craned her neck up, all the while scrambling away from him, as he came for her. She was so weak, so tired, and pain exploded through her leg. Her magic would not heed her will. She was helpless.

She was trapped. Frozen in a moment of time, her eyes rested on his pistol, and then a shot rang out. She screamed with paralyzing fear. Her time had run out. Only death awaited her.

She woke with a start, just as she always did after that familiar nightmare. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and she was sweating so, that she pushed the covers off of her. She felt him beside her, and barely moved when he pulled her to him. She fell against him, and wrapped her arms around him.

Christopher felt the convulsions ricocheting through her body, and tenderly rubbed her back as she tried to control her breathing. It was early morning, and the scullery maid had already come and lit the fire. Feeling the wetness on her cheeks, he gently wiped her tears away. He didn’t understand her nightmares, and wished that he could make them all go away. She looked wary, and was clasping onto him so tightly that he feared that she would squeeze the life out of him. He was extremely fortunate not to have her angry with him, or she would probably be hurting him.

“You are safe,” he murmured. “I am here.” She tightened her hold when he whispered those words, and stared up at him, in pleading wonderment.

“Don’t ever leave me alone,” she whispered, fear laced through her voice. “I don’t trust easily, but I feel safe with you. Even when we fight.” She chuckled. He laughed along with her, kissing her tenderly. She immediately responded to him, pulling him down so that he was raised above her.

Being in Christopher’s arms, made her feel safe and wanted.

She relaxed, and felt herself drowning in his blue eyes. The memory of the black hooded man quickly faded, and instead, she was grasping onto the image of Christopher, holding onto him for dear life. She needed this. She needed him—he was her anchor. She wanted to love, and be loved in return, even if she wasn’t ready to openly admit it to him, she felt something for him, and it was earth shattering. Never had she been so attracted to a man, or even considered letting a man touch her the way that she let him.

His hands roamed along her thinly clad body, ever so lightly, so that she barely felt his sweet caresses. Shivers of exasperating delight ran through her at his tender touch. This man was a dangerous man to his enemies, and yet, here he was showing her his true nature with the ones he loved.

His kisses were filled with enthralling fire, and she felt them igniting her very soul. She wanted to immerse herself in the moment and never let go. She wanted to give everything that she had for this man, and become blissfully content before something dire happened to her. She could feel the shadows closing in, from what she had been suffering through her nightmare. A sense of foreboding had plagued her for months now, and she knew that whatever was waiting for her, she wanted to have a joyous moment to remember.

Christopher would make her happy, and then she would be able to face anything. Even the end of a pistol, wouldn’t scare her. When her time came, she would die with a peaceful heart, knowing that she had been loved, and she had loved in return.

She felt as if she were falling, falling into the unknown. But what she found in the unknown would give her enough courage to face anything in her life.

“Do you want me?” he asked, breaking away from her long enough to study her features in the early morning light.

“Oui,” she whispered. “I mean, yes.”

He studied her for a few moments, and then decided that her answer was enough. He couldn’t get enough of her, and he doubted that he ever would.

She was a pivotal part of his life, and he had known as soon as he had met the woman she’d become in France that she would disrupt and play havoc with his life, but that she was the only woman that had ever stirred something this primal within him, that made him want to discover what it would be like to take a chance. A chance on love, and this time, nothing would make him give her up, not for anything in the world.

France could go to hell. He didn’t care who she was or what she was in England to do. She was his, and she would be his for the rest of forever. He would deal with whatever she’d come to do here and they would face their uncertain future together, because he was damned if anyone would ever take her from him.

He kissed her again, and felt her tremble beneath him. Passion rolled through him, the likes of which he had never experienced before, not even with Ashley. But then Isabella was so very different in every way. She was a contradiction upon herself. She was beautiful, and haughty, and had an air of regality about her, that made her seem like she was a princess. Her hair was wavy and flaming red. Ashley’s had been straight and brown, with no life to it, unless she spent hours primping it.

Isabella’s eyes were the most vibrant green that he had ever seen. They had life to them. It was almost as if he could see into her very soul, when he stared into them. Ashley’s eyes had been guarded, and she had never completely displayed her emotions through them. They had been hazel, and though attractive, they hadn’t stopped his heart the way that Isabella’s did. She felt a wide range of emotions. Emotions that Ashley had never displayed to him.

He believed that Ashley didn’t know the meaning of love until he came together with her in bed. Only then did she show him how very passionate she could be. Ashley had almost clung to him, never wanting him to leave her side. She had always been there, closer to him than his own shadow. But Isabella never feared being without him, she had so much will and spirit, that she could probably take on a whole army. Isabella loved life, yet Ashley had been afraid of life.

Isabella pulled him closer to her and stared at him shyly. The fact that she was staring at him in such a way nearly did him in. Her nightgown rubbed against his chest, causing an unbearable friction. She lowered her eyelids, as he kissed her tenderly, and she moved her hands and grasped his face between them. She looked into his eyes, and studied them thoughtfully.

“You have the kindest eyes that I have ever seen. I haven’t seen any man look at me so. I don’t need my magic when I’m with you. You are my magic.” She gave way to the boldness that he felt rolling through her, and kissed him long and hard. Their tongues did the old mating dance, becoming frenzied in their intent. “I do believe, Christopher, that you are quite smitten with silly old me.”

He sighed, and broke away from her, standing up, he started to walk away from the bed.

“No. Do come back. I was enjoying myself ever so much,” She came up behind him, and wrapped her arms around him before he could get out of bed. “Why you are like hugging a warm brick wall of muscle,” she murmured, still trying to grasp onto the life that she had now, instead of the one she would one day have to return to.

She was Christopher’s wife, and she would make sure that when she had to leave, he wouldn’t soon forget her. She could only hope that when she did finally leave him, her powers would return to her in full force. She would need them in order to properly deal with Pierre. She’d always restrained herself from giving into the full capacity of her powers, but no more. Pierre deserved everything she could give him—there was a time and end for everything.

“We’ve known each other for far longer than a few measly days,” he whispered. “My mother and father always had it planned out that you would one day wed me, though I was against the whole idea. We had their blessing yesterday.”

She tilted her head when she felt him tense beneath her touch.

“So then they approved of me, but not of Ashley?” She glanced towards the miniature portrait of Ashley. There was something about the woman that sent a chill down her spine, though she could not determine why. Perhaps, it was because Ashley had loved Christopher, and he had loved her, all the while ignoring what he had felt for her. He had treated her no better than a nuisance, and she now knew why. He had been in love with his perfect Ashley. Ashley had been her rival, and she’d never known about her.

“They approved of you because of your birth.”

“Ah, yes, my noble lineage. Part of which doomed my parents,” she whispered sadly, wiping a tear from her cheek. “But I do not think that is the entire reason for their dislike,” she began, earning a searing glare from him. “Pray, do consider everything. I recognize your Ashley, and I cannot for the life of me remember from where I knew her. For all I know she could have been a French Cyprian. I beg of you let us forget her. I do not want to speak of her or think of her. And from now on, you would oblige me greatly, if you took her portrait and stuck it somewhere. I do not care where, but ensure that you place it where I shan’t have to lay eyes upon it again!” she said loudly, scurrying away from him and off of the bed. She grasped the portrait and shoved it in his hands. “I will not have another person sleeping between us. This I vow.” She moved across the room to stand in front of the fireplace.

“And I will not have secrets between us.” Taking the portrait, he quickly placed it inside of his greatcoat that hung in his wardrobe.

“We both have secrets and you know it,” she shot back, her face mottling with fury. “You, my husband, shall be the death of me!” She hated what he was doing to her. He was making her behave like a jealous wife. She threw herself into the nearest chair, and tried not to sulk.

“What did you say?”

“Why you silly man, I said that you shall be the death of me.”

“No, go back to the first part.” He strode deliberately across the room, pulling her to him.

“Christopher, my husband, for the love of God, you are squeezing the life out of me.” She smiled, even though she was trying to push him away.

“That part, that’s the bit I like.” He kissed her tenderly, causing her to emit a surprised moan. Wrapping her arms around him, she let herself be taken by him, as he pulled her up into his arms. He carried her over the short distance to the bed, and gently laid her upon it. “No other person will ever come between us, Isabella. But I shall have your word also.” She stared up at him. She had never seen this side of him before, and she couldn’t say that she was disappointed. He seemed to be everything she could have ever asked for in a husband.

“Upon my soul, I shall never allow anyone to ever come between us. This I swear.”

“From now on, you will tell me everything,” he ordered softly, staring at her with his intensely sparkling blue eyes. Ah, how she loved those eyes.

“Yes, I shall tell you everything that you need to know,” she agreed, stilling whatever disagreement was about to come out of his mouth, with her own sweetly wanting one. She ran her hands through his hair, hungrily kissing him. He played such an intoxicating game, as he began to gently nudge up her nightdress.