A Spy Unmasked (Entangled Scandalous) (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Robert poured himself a glass of whiskey and set the decanter down on the nightstand by his bed, an arm’s length away. Leaning back on the oak headboard of the four-poster in his room, he let out a long held in breath.

After leaving the women, he had stealthily retrieved Sophia’s bloodstained wrapper from beneath the billiard room settee and returned to his bedchamber. He’d dispose of the evidence on their way to London.

He drained his glass and poured himself another. He was tired but suspected sleep would elude him for the remainder of the night. His blood had yet to calm. His rioting emotions had nothing to do with Brass’s attack, or their near escape from the constable, but from the danger posed to Sophia.

He should be grateful she’d at least left him a note telling him of her plans to meet Brass, but he was too angry at the risk she’d taken. And when he’d opened the conservatory door and found her covered in blood…

He’d known fear…true fear unlike any he’d experienced before; the stress of a hundred prior missions had paled in comparison. For a fleeting instant he’d thought her injured.

She could have died and left me just like—

His gut clenched tight, and he took another swallow of the whiskey.

Within seconds of observing the scene, instinct and training had taken over. He’d acted quickly to stop Delmont’s malicious plans to frame Sophia for a violent crime.

But he hadn’t been able to prevent complete disaster.

She had been found half-naked in his arms, ready to be ravished. Her reputation was destroyed; they’d have to marry at once.

The thought should shock him to the core. Repulse him. Frighten him. It didn’t.

Instead he’d known a possessive fury at the thought of her harmed in any way tonight. The unnerving truth was undeniable: Viscount Delmont and the mastermind suspected Sophia. The blackguards deemed her a threat to the secret group, and therefore, they wanted her eliminated.

The stakes had clearly risen. Sophia’s safety…her very life hung in the balance. They must not be given a second chance to harm her.

He’d told Jane that he would marry Sophia. He had every intention of carrying out that statement, but unlike Jane, he wasn’t solely concerned with Sophia’s reputation. As an unmarried lady without her father’s protection, Sophia was an easy victim. He’d be in a better position to keep her safe as his wife.

He would be breaking his vow never to remarry. But he’d broken his own vows before and had suffered the consequences. This time, he would be saving an innocent woman’s life.

He’d have to stay emotionally distant. He understood himself enough to know that this would require every ounce of his strength and resolve. Sophia tempted him at all levels—intellectually and sensually.

He closed his eyes and let the alcohol ease his tension. The house was quiet as all the guests had retired for the second time that night. He focused on his breathing—in and out—and concentrated on relaxing.

Images flashed through his mind, blinding in speed as the dream returned. He was on his knees in the bushes outside DeForte’s house.

The fuse was set. Check.

The explosives in place. Check.

The rotation of the guards. Check.

The Comte’s carriage slowly rambled up the stone drive and came to a stop before the enormous country house. The door opened and DeForte stepped out. Robert’s breath caught. He waited for the first sight of Gwendolyn. A dainty slipper appeared on the lowered step, a voluminous pink gown followed. A woman stepped down.

Chestnut hair, not blond.

Taller and curvaceous, not petite and slender. His mind struggled to comprehend.

Sophia! What is she doing here?

He knew to expect the explosion, but nonetheless it caught him off guard. A flying roof slate cut his temple, and blood oozed into his eye. His ears rang as if he had stood inches away from a tolling church bell. He opened his mouth to scream, but his lungs filled with smoke and the stench of burning flesh singed his nostrils.

Someone firmly grasped his shoulder.

“Robert! Wake up.”

Reacting instinctively, he grasped the hand and squeezed. A female whimper pierced his brain.

His eyes sprang open, struggling to focus. “Sophia! What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk. Please…you’re hurting me.”

He instantly released his grip and sat upright. “Bloody hell! Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

“I knocked as loud as I dared without alerting anyone. When you didn’t answer, I opened the door. You were tossing in bed and mumbling in your sleep.”

He ran a shaky hand down his face. The dream had been frighteningly vivid. Never before had he pictured another victim in place of Gwendolyn. But Gwendolyn hadn’t been in DeForte’s carriage. It had been Sophia when the fuse had reached the explosives. Sophia who would have been blown to pieces.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

He opened his eyes to see the look of concern etched on her face. Her green eyes were large orbs, her full lips slightly parted. She wore the same blue gown she had changed into when they were questioned by the constable, but there were creases in the fabric and tendrils of chestnut hair had escaped the knot at her nape and curled around her neck.

Slowly, she reached out to push a wayward lock from his damp forehead. Despite everything, pure lust blasted through him and he was powerless to quench it.

“You shouldn’t be here. What of your cousin?” he said darkly.

“She knows. I came to talk.”

“We can talk tomorrow.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.

She shook her head and held her ground. “You were having a nightmare.”

Yes, I was. And, in it, I murdered you.
Ghostly fingers of the dream still lingered in his mind. He pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to clear the vision.
Get a hold of yourself, man.
It was just a dream, damn it.

He looked at her. She stood proudly before him…vividly alive and alluring. Her delicate perfume teased his nostrils.

“You called out a woman’s name,” she said hesitantly. “Gwendolyn.”

His insides froze. The name sounded entirely wrong on her lips. “Did I?”

“Is there a woman in your life?”

The flash of pain in her emerald eyes was his undoing. For a heart-stopping moment, he wanted, with a desolate loneliness that cut as deep as a well-honed blade, to share his darkest secrets with her. Years of buried guilt and pain wrestled deep in his chest, yearning for release, knowing the compassion in her heart and the comfort of her body would offer a healing salvation for his tortured soul. His tongue felt thick in his mouth as he struggled with the words.

At his prolonged silence she must have assumed the answer to her question was yes. Her painful expression shuttered and was replaced with a look of firm resolve.

“I shall leave with Jane first thing in the morning. We will not return to London. You do not have to act honorably and there doesn’t have to be a wedding,” she said.

“Sophia—”

“I will tell Lady Delmont that I have cried off from our betrothal. There will be an incredible scandal and I will surely be deemed a jilt, but your reputation will be untarnished.”

“Sophia—”

“It will be difficult to walk away before those responsible for my father’s murder have been brought to justice, but I trust you to see that Viscount Delmont and the mastermind are arrested for all their foul deeds—”

He grasped her upper arms and shook her. “Sophia, stop.”

Her facade cracked, and tears welled in her eyes. “I refuse to come between a love match.”

The words came surprisingly easy to him then. “Gwendolyn was my wife. She died two years ago during what was supposed to be my last mission. The explosives I had planted for a treasonous French double agent killed her as well.”

She stilled in his arms, and her mouth gaped. “I’m sorry. That must have been devastating.”

“It was. I had sworn never to remarry.”

“You can keep your vow.”

“No. I can’t and I won’t. Viscount Delmont is a dangerous enemy. I won’t let you go unprotected. You’re marrying me and that’s final.”

“Please…you don’t have to do this.”

He realized that she might still refuse him, and he knew a possessiveness so fierce he acted the only way he knew how. He crushed her to him and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. His lips were hard and searching, devouring her softness. He expected her to protest, to push away. Instead a brief shiver rippled through her, and she parted her lips and yielded to his dominance as their tongues tangled in urgent abandon. In that instant, the loneliness, the guilt, the pain…all fled on a savage swell of desire that stole his breath.

Desperately wanting more, he unfastened buttons and hooks and pushed the gown down her arms. Her shift was embroidered with tiny flowers, and he traced the petals with his fingertips. She arched her back, and he cupped her full breasts, grazing his thumbs across the thin fabric covering her diamond-hard nipples.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he knew he was dangerously close to ravishing her. He had never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Sophia, but she was a virgin who deserved to be initiated slowly and gently by her first lover. His skin burned for the heat of her touch, his lust threatening to override reason and restraint.

Drawing upon every remaining thread of his will, he pulled back. Their eyes locked, their ragged breath came in unison.

“Sophia, if you stay I won’t be able to stop. You’ll be mine.”

“I know,” she breathed.

“There’s the risk of a baby.”

“Can you take…measures?”

“There are ways.”

“Then make me yours.”

The last vestiges of his control shattered.

He growled deep and low. Picking her up, he carried her to the bed and eased himself beside her. He pushed her clothing down to the swell of her hips. He licked one nipple then sucked it into his mouth and eased himself between her legs.

Her fingers kneaded his chest and fumbled with the buttons of his lawn shirt, but his patience had dissipated and he tugged on the buttons and pulled off his own shirt and tossed it to the floor. The feel of her breasts on his skin made him tremble with need.

He worshiped her with his mouth, a series of slow, shivery kisses on her lips, her neck, each of her breasts. All the while his hands worked her gown and shift down her legs until yards of fabric fell to the floor. He made quick work of the drawstring of her drawers and her stockings until they too were tossed aside and she was gloriously naked beneath him.

“Ah, Sophia.” He gazed down upon the golden glow of her body in the flickering candlelight. “You are so beautiful.”

She reached up and caressed his jaw. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful. Not just your face, but here,” she said, lowering her hand to rest it against his pounding heart.

As he stared into her eyes the hardened shell around his heart cracked open. The world and its troubles tilted on its axis and then melted away until only Sophia existed for him. He was drowning in sexual and possessive need and he could not stop himself from fully marking her, claiming her as his.

He left her long enough to remove his trousers. Her gaze roved down his body and widened as it came to rest upon his hardened manhood. Then she smiled tentatively up at him and opened her arms. He came to her in a rush of desire and captured her lips in a hungry kiss while his hands explored the curve of her hip, her stomach, and lower still.

His fingers grazed her feminine mound, parting the silken curls that shielded her femininity. His breath was ragged as his finger eased inside, testing her. She was blissfully wet, and her throaty sighs and trembling limbs told him that she was ready, but he had an overwhelming need to taste her first, to claim her in every way.

Sliding down her body, he cupped her bottom and raised her core to his mouth. Her musky scent drove him as he flicked his tongue over her sensitive bud. She gasped in surprise, tried to twist away, and grasped fistfuls of his hair. He wouldn’t relent and continued to lick and lave her petal-soft skin until her inner thighs quivered and she moaned and writhed beneath him.

His body cried out to sink inside her and ravish her in mindless possession, but he held back, bringing her to the peak of pleasure, holding her there.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “Please, Robert. I need…”

He rose above her and eased the tip of his shaft into her slick sheath.

“Robert,” she breathed.

He slid inside her slowly until he reached the barrier and then plunged inside in one powerful stroke. He groaned deep in his throat, the pleasure was so pure and explosive. She was so hot and wet, sheathing him like a glove.

She gazed up at him with big green eyes, and his heart ached that he’d caused her pain.

“Are you all right?” he asked hoarsely.

She nodded bravely.

“Wrap your legs around me.”

She complied, and he slowly imbedded himself to the hilt. He withdrew and thrust once, kissing her hungrily. Through sheer force of will, he slowly repeated the motion, until she began arching her hips and meeting him halfway. A passionate moan slipped through her lips, and she raked her nails down his back.

All thoughts of going slowly flew from his mind as he breathed in deep, soul-drenching drafts and plunged inside her, their bodies in exquisite, sensual harmony. He wouldn’t last, couldn’t last, and just as he thought he would explode, her inner walls tightened around him and she cried out in blissful surrender. He withdrew, abandoning himself to the ecstasy, spurting his hot seed across her soft belly.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sophia awoke slowly, aware of the warmth of Robert’s body beside her, the heady scent of lovemaking, and the ticking of the mantle clock. Her limbs felt languid as if she was floating in a warm bath.

He was on his side, his arm around her. He appeared to be sleeping, and she was free to study him at leisure. He looked almost youthful, completely relaxed and without the continuous wariness that she had learned to spot in his gaze. He was skilled at disguising his watchfulness to others, but it was there, hidden in the blue depths of his eyes. Her gaze roamed lower, and she noticed scars on his chest, thin white slashes of puckered skin. She wondered what had caused them.

She had so many questions, but soon the faint light of dawn would peek through the curtains and threaten their temporary sanctuary.

She shifted and eased away, hoping not to wake him.

Muscular arms instantly tightened around her and his eyes opened. “Did you think to escape so easily?”

“Only as far as to my room.”

“It’s a little too late to fear repercussions from your cousin.”

“It’s not Jane I fear, but the rest of the household.”

He nuzzled her neck, sending a warm shiver through her. “Truly? Or do you have regrets?”

“None. Although, I would like to know more about you.”

“Ask and I shall try to answer,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

“How did you get these?” she said, tracing the scars on his chest. His skin was warm and damp.

“Each has their own story.” He pointed to a thin scar on his right pectoral. “This one was from a particularly stubborn safe door. This one,” he said, pointing to the scar on above his right hip, “was from jagged glass as I crawled through a broken window.”

“And this?” She touched the three-inch long scar above his heart.

Sadness reflected in his eyes. “That was from a piece of flying brick from the explosion that killed Gwendolyn.”

“You blame yourself?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“I’d rather not talk of it.” His voice, though quiet, had a tenseness that forbade further questions.

He was retreating behind the all too familiar mask of detached spy and she didn’t want that. Not now. Not after what they had just shared.

“How did you become a safecracker?” she said, changing the topic.

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I was a young Oxford student in need of funds. I saw an ad in the
Times
that was paid for by renowned locksmith Joseph Bramah offering two hundred guineas to anybody who could pick his newest lock.”

“Two hundred guineas!”

“Bramah described his new lock as ‘Impregnable as the Rock of Gibraltar.’ Needless to say, he was overly confident in his invention when issuing the challenge. All manner of people showed up that day, many petty thieves and burglars. And of course, one impoverished university student.”

“I take it you were successful?”

“It took me six hours and twenty-seven minutes, but I finally picked the lock and proved it wasn’t invincible. What I didn’t know was that people other than Joseph Bramah were watching. I was approached by the Marquess of Wendover soon after to work for the Home Office. In my youthful ignorance, I thought spying and safecracking exciting work and wanted to help my country.”

“You don’t sound so altruistic now.”

“I know better.”

He stroked her skin from her shoulder down her arm. “My turn to ask questions.”

“You know everything about me.”

His hand roamed lower to explore the hollows of her back. “Not everything. Tell me about your inventions.”

She sighed, distracted by the magical stroke of his hands. How could his touch be so soothing and arousing at once?

“Tell me,” he urged.

She struggled to concentrate on his question. “You know I’ve been working on completing my father’s chemical formula. I fear I’m no closer than he was.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to know about your father’s work. What are
your
ideas?”

“I’ve been working to increase the efficiency of the electric battery. I also have prototypes for a self-tying corset and an improvement to the closed, coal-fired stove.”

“Fascinating.”

“You truly think so?”

“When we return, I plan on applying for your first letters patent.”

“You’re jesting.”

“Why would I be?”

“Father never believed any of my inventions worthy of a patent.”

“Then he was wrong.”

Her pulse quickened at his words and the touch of his warm skin against hers.

Heavens! Her heart was in trouble.

Her father had never stopped her from tinkering in his workshop as long as she never interfered in his own work. She’d loved him for his unconventional notions when it came to her, but at the same time he had never believed her inventions notable enough to seek a patent. A frown creased her brow as she thought back. He’d mostly ignored her work.

“Why didn’t you ever marry, Sophia?”

His question caught her off guard. “A scientific mind is not a desirable one, and an intelligent woman is not a sought-after wife. Men of the
ton
assumed I’d inherited my father’s eccentricity, his ‘madness.’ I had decided not to marry.”

He rose on an elbow to gaze down at her. “Then they are all fools. You are a beautiful woman, but it is your intelligence that sets you apart and draws me.”

Perhaps her heart was already lost. It was a slippery slope, a treacherous decline into full-fledged love.

“I’m not the only one to note your intelligence,” he said. “I suspect it’s why Viscount Delmont attempted to dispose of you tonight. He already knows you have been looking into Henry Heinz, and he doesn’t want to take a chance that you will not cease your efforts.”

She bit her lip. “What if we never find the evidence we need to have the viscount arrested?”

“I shall. Meanwhile, there can be no reprieve from our vigilance. Delmont is dangerous. I’ll feel much better when we are married and back in London. I expect a full report of his financial resources and we can follow up on Sir Falk and Sir Maxwell, the two other suspected members.”

“You said ‘we.’”

“I want you by my side. I’ll waste no time in moving you into my home.”

She didn’t know what to make of his statement. Once they married, it was understood that she’d reside with him. Still, she couldn’t imagine leaving the home she had been born and raised in, the home that housed her workshop. Of course, she had never planned to marry Robert either.

His blue gaze sought hers. “I know what you are thinking, and you need not worry. Ours can be a marriage of convenience. I realize you may not want me after Viscount Delmont and the mastermind are in prison.”

“But that’s impracticable. We will be married.”

“Gareth specializes in matrimonial matters. He can file for an annulment with the courts.”

“An annulment? On what grounds?”

“Tonight was magical, Sophia, but I fear I have taken advantage of your innocence. The marriage will never be consummated. You need not tell them about the night
before
your wedding. No one will question an annulment. My friends know me as celibate.”

She stared at him in amazement. How could he be celibate? Yet deep down she knew it to be true. She recalled their time together in the gardens when he had said it had been a long time for him. Yet it was the fierce need in his expression, not just of a sexual nature, that had alerted her to much, much more.

She struggled to compose her voice. “You kept away from women after your wife died?”

A flicker of unease darkened his eyes and something more. Something deep and vulnerable.

“I was mostly successful. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that the courts will permit the annulment. You deserve better. A decent man without my dark past. I won’t stand in your way. You will be free to live your life.”

His words were meant to be reassuring, but she felt anything but comfort. Clearly, he punished himself for his wife’s death. But for such a handsome, virile man of his age to refrain from women? A hollowness centered in her chest.

“You’d best return to your room. It’s been an eventful evening,” he said.

Yes, it had.

“Let me.” He retrieved a basin of water from the nightstand and a handkerchief and proceeded to gently bathe her of the evidence of their lovemaking. Then he helped her with the fastenings of her gown. Her hair was beyond repair and she smoothed it back as best as she could.

Placing a brief kiss on her forehead, he cracked the door. “Wear something pretty. We shall make haste to London and head directly for St. George’s Church.”

She tiptoed silently on the way back to her room, her thoughts flitting through her mind. The evening had been magical for her, and she’d answered truthfully when she said she had no regrets. Most surprisingly of all, he had revealed part of his past, and the tragic story of his wife’s fate made her heart ache for him.

She couldn’t help but wonder: after the investigation was over, would she want a marriage of convenience to turn into a real marriage?