The Gentleman Spy: A Guardian/Ward Historical Romance

Chapter 32

Emerald had watched the man prowl towards her, something familiar in his movement sending a thrill through her body. At her side had been a friend of Mr Lyon’s who was dressed as a chimney sweep and saying something about a horse he’d seen at Tattersall’s, but her attention had all been on the man in the aubergine coat, his shirt open at the collar. She hadn’t been sure if it was the words or the silken way he’d said them that had caused her skin, all of it, from her hairline to the tips of her toes snug in her satin dancing sippers, to burn.

He’d spoken with an American accent, but his eyes—he could disguise himself as much as he pleased, but she would always know those winter-blue eyes. She’d been certain it was Beau, and her consciousness had told her that he’d come just for her even if her heart had been reluctant to let her believe it was so. She’d listened to the familiar assured tone of his voice, focused on the full softness of his lips and how they formed words when he spoke. Under the guise of anonymity, she’d felt free—and after her scare in Piccadilly, a little reckless too.

When he’d drawn her to him during the waltz, he’d engulfed her in his desire, and a wave of awakening had coursed through her. A little voice inside had warned her of the dangerous game they were playing, but she’d blocked it out, determined to be bold and follow the path of her own choosing.

It had been a mistake to let him attend her outside. Not because she would ever regret a night spent in his company, but because she didn’t wish to deny herself his touch and no longer had to. Alone in near darkness, surrounded by nothing but the sound of her excited heart thrumming and his heady, earthy smell, she could ask for what she wanted: him.

He pinned her back against his chest, the rigid sign of his arousal momentarily startling her. Then he groaned, the sound acting as a match lighting every nerve ending in her body. She’d done that to him, and the realisation thrilled her.

Emerald reeled when he massaged her breast through the silky fabric of her dress, but when his fingers slipped below the neckline and found her tender nipple, she knew she was lost. After weeks, months, years agonising for such a moment, if he wished for everything, she would give it to him, even if it meant ruining herself.

He found the juncture between her legs, the pressure of his fingers against her most sensitive part strange at first and exhilarating. The more he stroked her there, the more her limbs shook, as if trying to contain all the energy and heat trapped in her body. Little beads of sweat glistened at her hairline. His touch was gentle but demanding. He was kindling a fire inside her and wouldn’t stop until she burned brighter than the sun.

She rolled against his hand, panting through the low, feral noises to bear the exquisite torture. Her core coiled. Emerald didn’t know what release she was chasing, only that she was spiralling with desire and growing lightheaded as sensation claimed her.

‘Let go, little bird,’ he whispered against the bare, damp skin of her neck. The words sent a shivering command down her back and to her centre, and her pleasure came, pure and explosive. His warm hand covered her mouth, catching her frenzied cry of delight, and he held her tighter as her body jerked. As she came back to herself, his fingers continued to rub her sensitive sex at a slower pace, each gentle caress sending a tiny tremor of delight through her.

Her body went limp, useless in his arms. The intensity of the moment had made her skin tingle and her body throb, but in the silence after, an entire lifetime of being taught desire was reserved for shameless, unprincipled women made her feel like an explanation for her wanton behaviour was necessary. When she failed to find the right words, he offered his own. He forced her eyes to meet his so she could see there was no rebuke or disgust, only support, reassurance, and acceptance.

There would never be a world where Emerald could fall asleep after such a night, not least because as she lay in her own bed, her ears strained, catching every little noise that might possibly be him walking to his room. She’d found his eyes on her, or he’d caught hers on him, several times after they’d returned to the ballroom, but she had no idea when he’d left, if he’d been home for hours, or if he had gone out to one of his clubs.

The greater hindrance to restful sleep, however, was how every time she closed her eyes, she could see him, hear him, smell him, feel him. The memory, burned in her mind, set her ablaze. Emerald kicked off her bedcovers, certain fire, not blood, ran through her veins. She rolled to one side and then the other before returning to her back and suppressing a groan. She reached up both hands to adjust the pillow under her head in a feeble attempt to ignore the way her body ached for him, her breasts tingling under the soft cotton of her nightdress, the pulse of desire at her core.

Emerald held her breath as she brought her index finger to her nipple. She made slow, small circles, mesmerised by the way it peaked at her touch. Her whole stomach clenched, forcing her breath out in one harsh, ragged gasp. Once more she closed her eyes, folded her hands over her middle, and attempted to think of anything calming: the sound of the creek at Oakmoss, the first snow of winter, being crushed against the hard planes of Beau’s chest. He had told her the pleasure churning inside her was nothing to be ashamed of.

With her eyes still closed, Emerald dared to trail a hand down her taut abdomen until her fingers rested at the juncture of her legs, hovering over the patch of springy curls. She shifted, parting her legs a little. She imagined his arms wrapped around her, his hand where hers was now, and pressed her fingers against her mound as he had. A sharp intake of breath broke the quiet of her room, and she began rocking her hips in long, slow motions.

Emerald swallowed tightly, the bud at her centre growing more sensitive with every movement. As if by instinct, her fingers started to stroke, increasing the friction created by the thin fabric of her nightdress. She brought her other hand up, taking turns to circle and caress each hardened nipple as she had minutes earlier. A little moan escaped her parted lips, and she writhed against herself as her pleasure built. In the dark behind her eyes, images of Beau undressing for her. She imagined the lean muscles of his body flexing under her touch as she traced the lines of his tattoo. A finger at her neck mimicked the tickle of his breath, the teasing graze of his kisses. Her hips lifted, her body worked into a frenzy, and she cracked like lightning before the thunder. Vibrant delight, intense and incandescent, surged through her, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. Emerald’s thoughts fragmented as she panted with contentment, her consciousness slowly returning to her own body.

Eyes still closed, she tried to steady her breath, not realising she’d fallen asleep until Gwen opened the drapes to let the sunshine in hours later.

Beau was not in the breakfast parlour when Emerald came down. Half an hour later, eggs untouched, toast only nibbled, she was so deep in a debate with herself as to whether it was relief or disappointment she felt that she didn’t notice him stroll into the room until the dowager asked if he’d enjoyed himself the night prior.

Emerald choked on her coffee, and as the hot liquid burned her throat, she settled on wishing he’d stayed away. He looked composed. There were no dark circles ringing his eyes after a sleepless night, no downward bend of his mouth. He didn’t avert his eyes to avoid her stare, tug his sleeves, or clear his throat. It was impossible to discern if he felt guilt and shame or bliss and contentment.

He didn’t so much as flinch, and his answer, ‘Very well, thank you,’ caused her to flush through a scowl. Even though she knew it was impossible for him to say I had a lovely time compromising my ward, she wished for some sign, some acknowledgement, some confirmation she’d been right in assuming he’d come to the party for her, knew it was her. Without it, a niggling doubt crept into her mind. He’d seen her before she left, but other women had worn blue dresses and everyone had worn a mask.

She excused herself and went to the music room, playing notes as they came to her mind, until interrupted by a footman sometime later who told her his lordship was asking to see her in the sunroom. The words made her quake with anticipation and uncertainty. The walk along one corridor, down the stairs, and along another, took as long as crossing from one side of Oakmoss to the other, or so it felt to Emerald, who completed the journey on legs made of jelly.

The door was open, but she paused several feet from it, put a hand to her chest and a hand to her abdomen, and forced herself to take three deep breaths before stepping into the room.

‘You wished to see me?’ Emerald was pleased with the steadiness of her voice.

Beau turned from where he stood looking out the window. The sunlight at his back cast him in an ethereal glow, and his eyes impaled her where she stood. A rush of pink stained her cheeks, and she couldn’t stop the blush from blooming for all the money in England.

‘This is one of my favourite places in the whole house.’

Emerald blinked. Whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. Taking her time, she crossed to him, coming to a stop by his side and letting her eyes rest on the garden beyond the enclosure, showing signs of life as winter faded and spring pushed in.

‘There is so much to be said.’ There were raw edges in his voice and eloquence in the silence that followed.

Her breath caught when she felt him graze the hand at her side. He traced each finger and the lines crisscrossing her palm. Emerald found the space between his fingers and folded them in her own, marvelling at what it was like to hold a piece of him, the magnificent sensation transforming her into a creature of need.

‘Emerald?’

She spun around, although Beau did not, at the sound of Louisa’s voice, the girl herself arriving a second behind it. There was a quiet pause during which Louisa looked at her brother and Emerald, still standing shoulder to shoulder, and creases formed at the corner of her eyes, narrowing briefly in suspicion.

‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten our plans to visit Bond Street this morning?’ Lou asked, arching one eyebrow in a way Emerald never could manage.

‘Not at all.’ Her hands were curled in the folds of her dress, and she forced herself not to jump when Beau’s hand found hers once more. She flicked him, trying not to draw attention to them, but he caught her fingers and gave them a squeeze. ‘Allow me a quarter hour to change, and we can be on our way.’

Louisa held her in a look so full of incredulity Emerald almost laughed. ‘All right.’

When Louisa retreated, Emerald whirled on Beau, whose shoulders shook with mirth.

‘Insufferable man. We’re not done here,’ she said, feeling back on familiar ground.

‘I do hope that’s a promise you mean to keep,’ replied he, with a boyish, mischievous smile she’d never seen him wear before.

Emerald left him, her own lips curling unconsciously upwards.

She couldn’t remember anything she and Louisa discussed while they strolled in Bond Street, the younger girl recalling Emerald’s attention to their conversation more than once with humour lurking in her eyes. The shops they visited and the items she purchased would remain a mystery till Emerald sorted through the packages the footman carried home.

Later, she paid no mind to which gown Gwen selected for the theatre and found herself taking her seat in the Avon box without the slightest idea of how she’d arrived there. It was a shame she was so distracted; the play was new and much anticipated on Drury Lane, featuring Edmund Kean and a new fellow—William something—Emerald had never heard of, and depicting Napoleon’s defeat by the English.

At the first interval, her ladyship went across to pay her respects to the Marchioness of Bath, while Emerald begged off, savouring a few moments of peace. When the curtain of their box pushed open not long after the dowager left, she said, ‘Have you forgot something, ma’am?’ and jumped out of her skin when a very male voice answered.

‘Not at all. My apologies for startling you. I wished to say hello, and to discover if you had any interest in seeing what goes on behind the curtain.’ Mr Babin was grinning, but there was a hardness about his features and in his eyes.

‘That’s kind, but I wouldn’t wish to worry her ladyship with a protracted absence.’

He came into the box, and Emerald stood to counter her urge to shrink back a little. Mr Babin placed a hand on her arm, and when she tried to yank it away, he said, ‘I’m sorry, I really must insist.’

‘Unhand me.’ As she issued her demand, she felt something small, hard, and deadly at her side.

‘You see why I cannot.’

Emerald stood motionless, frozen in fear. ‘If I scream?’

‘I shoot.’

‘You’d never get away.’ Emerald willed someone, anyone to enter the box at that moment.

‘You wouldn’t be here to know one way or the other.’

The casual way he spoke such callous words sent a shiver of fear down her spine, and when he nudged her, she squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and began to walk.