Seduced by a Spy (19 page)

“W—what would you suggest?”

“You will have to suffer the consequences of your slip.” His lips were now just inches from hers. “I’m sure your instructors did not let you off lightly.”

“No. I was usually made to run around the perimeter of the school grounds.”

“Ah, corporal punishment.” A wicked light glittered in his gaze. “The same is true in Russia.” His fingers were toying with the fastenings of her shirt. “In St. Petersburg, cadets are sometimes made to stand naked in the snow to teach them a lesson.”

“It is mild and sunny,” said Shannon as the linen slowly slipped from her shoulder.
So why was a shiver skating down her spine
?

“Then I will have to think of some other physical test of—” He stopped short on seeing the tattoo above her left breast. Black as midnight, the hawk in flight was the badge of the Academy’s full-fledged Merlins. “What have we here?”

“Our troops cannot wear their rank as gold braid and scarlet regimentals.”

“How unique. As is everything about you,
golub
.” Orlov paused a fraction, his stubbled cheek leaving a trail of prickling heat as he took a closer peek. “It gives you the look of… a pirate. Scottie would be duly impressed.”

His breath tickled against her flesh.

“It’s not something I’ll be showing to him anytime soon.” In reply, she could only manage a faint whisper.

“Far too provocative for a young boy,” agreed Orlov. “It might encourage improper thoughts.” Slowly but surely, his mouth feathered across the tracing of ink. “Immoral thoughts.”

Shannon found herself helpless to resist. Should she beg for mercy? Orlov claimed to have no heart, but perhaps she might appeal to some lingering shred of decency.

However, when she opened her mouth, it was only to surrender to the moment
. Fire and ice
. It was chilling how easily Orlov could melt her resolve.

She moaned. His tongue was like a lick of flame, burning an indelible imprint on her flesh. Her shirt was now a tangle of limp linen around her waist, and as his nipping kisses slid down to the rosy peak of her breast, she tried to muster a last fight.
Duty versus desire
.

“Th—this is likely not a good idea.”

“Likely not,” he answered, his voice somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “But rational thought rarely triumphs over our more primitive passions.”

Passion.
Shannon tugged his shirt open and threaded her fingers through the finespun curls. In the slanting afternoon light, he looked like an icon. A work of art. Golden highlights gleamed in his hair, and the blue of his eyes and the bronze of his skin were luminous, lustrous as precious pigments. Angled cheekbones, a lean face, all shaped by a master’s hand…

She felt the breath squeezed from her lungs as his touch slid over her ribs to the fastenings of her breeches.

“Alexandr.” All of a sudden, her whisper was lost in the sound of other voices swirling in the breeze.

“Bloody hell.” Orlov was quick to react. He shot to his feet and pulled her up. “Get dressed,” he ordered, brusquely, indicating her folded gown and cloak. “And hurry.”

He was right, of course. Her attire—what little was left on her person—would provoke a number of uncomfortable questions.

“Help me with the fastenings,” she said, tugging the shapeless dress in place over her breeches.

His hands lingered for an instant on the nape of her neck before deftly tying the tabs.

No doubt he had a great deal of practice in such matters, Shannon thought as she snatched up her shirt and stuffed it beneath the tangle of herbs in her basket. Somehow the idea hurt, a sharp twinge that was far more painful than any physical cut or bruise. Turning, she stumbled.

Orlov steadied her slip. “Are you all right?”

She nodded mutely.

He hesitated, his eyes searching, then looked away. “Take the path that leads down to the gardens. I’ll duck into the trees and see what I might overhear.”

“Right.” It was a good strategy.

“And Shannon…”

She looked around, expecting a tactical detail.

His mouth caught hers in one last lightning kiss. “Be careful.”

A reminder of the dangers lurking close at hand?
Shannon allowed a wry smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll not let my guard down a second time today.”

He flashed a half smile and was gone.

Hurrying her own steps, Shannon ducked around a thicket of gorse, unmindful of the thorns scraping her skirts, and cut through the copse of oaks. A few moments later, she was back on the footpath, her collection of cuttings ample explanation for her presence on the moors, should anyone think to ask.

She slowed to a leisurely pace, yet her breathing remained ragged. She had no right to feel possessive, no right to feel as though the damnable attraction that drew them together was anything more than skin deep.

Pleasures of the flesh.
Orlov made no secret of his womanizing. A man of his virile appetites must be unused to going so long without a female sharing his bed. No doubt, the primal urges were coursing through his veins.

Strange, it seemed she too had urges, no matter that she wished to deny it. He set off the strangest longings in her. Though trained to be tough as tempered steel, she softened like putty in his arms. It puzzled her. And frightened her just a little.

But she was a Merlin. And Merlins were up to any challenge.

Chapter Seventeen

Shaking off the sexual heat of Shannon’s touch, Orlov was now fully alert. The steps had turned for one of the more secluded paths leading down to the loch. He took a shortcut through the trees, his feet moving lightly over the pine straw, and slipped into a rock crevasse overlooking the trail. Hidden from view, he went still. A few minutes later, the voices sounded again.

“I was sure you had forgotten me. And your ardent promises.”

Annabelle.
What mischief was the minx up to now?

“How could you think such a thing!” exclaimed her companion. From his angle of view, Orlov could catch only a partial glimpse of the fellow—sandy hair, slender build—but the burred Yorkshire accent made it clear he was not one of the London party.

“As if any man could forget you, my love,” went on the stranger, his tone turning a touch reproachful. “I told you I would find a way to be together. But it was not easy finding a way to pass you a message.”

The young lady gave a furtive look around. “My brother would die if he knew I was meeting you on the sly.”

So, the loyal Lord Norbert had followed the young lady to Scotland?
Orlov gritted his teeth to keep from swearing aloud. Yet another entanglement to trip up this mission. It was as if some great, malevolent spider was spinning a web around the McAllister castle.

“Forgive me if I have put you in an awkward position. I simply
had
to see you.”

“My brother has threatened to turn you away if you show up at the castle doors.”

“It doesn’t matter, darling. I found lodging in the village of Boath. And I have a plan that will soon solve all of our problems.”

“So you
do
love me?” Annabelle’s tone was at once arch and unsure.

“With all my heart!” assured her admirer. “If all goes well, in another week I shall sweep you away from here, my dearest angel, and then we shall be married. I have it all arranged with a local justice in Inverness.” A pause. “Please tell me you have not changed your mind.”

“Never!” Annabelle let out a trilling laugh. “La, it is all so romantic. All my friends will be green with envy! Just think of it. A dashing adventure, a hint of danger…”

Orlov grimaced. Someone ought to have curtailed the silly chit’s reading of horrid novels.

“And then I shall be Lady Norbert—a
grand dame
who no longer has to listen to the carping complaints and silly restrictions of my boring family.”

So, Lord Nobody had proved to be a very persistent fellow. Orlov hoped the fellow possessed a great deal of patience as well. Though that seemed highly unlikely, given the mad rush on both of their parts to elope.

“We shall be very happy, Bella, just you and I,” promised Norbert. “But for now, you must be very careful not to give away our plans. It must be our little secret.” He hesitated a fraction. “You are sure you are not in danger of incurring the wrath of your brother? I worry that he may begin to suspect something and keep a closer eye on you.”

“Pooh! I’m not afraid of Robert. Besides, he’s usually so foxed by breakfast that he wouldn’t notice if I showed up for my coffee in the nude.”

“Oh, but I would, sweetmeat.”

A giggle, followed by long, mewling moans. The kiss seemed to go on forever.

Orlov winced. The girl seemed desperate to offer herself up on a platter to any man who cared for a taste. Shifting his shoulders against the stone, he prayed they would quickly move on, so that he could get back to his own business.

Twigs snapped, pebbles crunched underfoot. Annabelle’s laugh cut off in a high squeak.

Bloody hell.
Surely they were not…

Orlov ventured a quick peek over the ridge of stone.

The fellow’s bare arse was buried in a frothy swirl of petticoats as he braced the girl against a tree.

Swearing another silent oath, Orlov ducked back into his hiding place Perhaps with the right guidance Annabelle’s wildness could be tamed into some semblance of common sense. But he did not have high hopes for her future happiness.

He could not help comparing the girl’s utter lack of self-restraint with Shannon’s disciplined devotion to duty. One born to privilege and pleasure, one born to pain and poverty. One was a spoiled brat, one was…

How to describe Shannon?
His mouth crooked, her kisses still sweet on his lips. She defied capture in words. Adjectives like courage, strength, principle did not spell out the full depth of her character. A man might spend a lifetime in her presence and still find new surprises every day.

A shrill shriek cut off his musings. At least the tupping had been blessedly brief.

“Oh
, Stephen
!” Annabelle’s voice melted to a tremulous titter. “Will we do this often when we are married?”

“As often as you like, my darling.”

“Mmmmm.” Her skirts rustled in the breeze. “The plan… you will come for me soon?”

“Yes, my love. Very soon, I hope. I need another few days to arrange everything. I’ll send word as we planned. You will be ready?”

“Oh, yes.” A girlish giggle. “I know just what you expect of me, and you need not fear that I will have a last-minute change of heart. This will be fun.”

“That’s the spirit.” Her lover laughed softly as he brushed a kiss to her upturned face. “What a lucky man I am to have chosen such a daring darling.”

“What does he look like?” Shannon checked the priming of her pistol, then tugged on a black knit cap in readiness for her round of the nightly patrols.

Orlov’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Sandy locks, well-muscled thighs, and a hairy arse.”

She bit back a laugh. “Well, if he points his weapon at me in the dark, he is going to be singing his marriage vows as a soprano.”

He chuckled, then abruptly changed his own tune. “In all seriousnes, be extra vigilant out there.”

“You think the randy Lord Norbert is here to steal more than the chit’s virginity?”

“The thought occurred to me.” Orlov ran a hand through his hair. “We can’t afford to overlook any possibility.”

“True.” Shannon thought for a moment. “However, I doubt a professional like D’Etienne would risk exposing himself to the opposition for a quick tupping.”

“You have a point,” he admitted. “Still, don’t let down your guard.”

“That goes without saying.” After making a minor adjustment to hammer and flint she added, “You would think that the girl would have enough sense to wait for a ring on her finger before lifting her skirts.”

“I would not have thought you such a stickler for propriety.”

“I am not being prudish,” she replied. “Merely practical. In negotiating a deal, you should never give away your most valuable bargaining chip without getting something of equal value in return.”

“Ah.” His expression was hidden by the flutter of the draperies. “So you have no moral objection to sleeping with a man out of wedlock?”

Shannon knew he was being deliberately provoking. Still, she could not keep a faint flush from coloring her face. “Seduction is part of our schooling,” A blade slid into the hidden sheath of her boot. “It’s all part of the job.”

“And you are, of course, the consummate professional.”

There was an odd sort of note to his teasing that made her look twice before turning for the open window. “As are you, Mr. Orlov.”

“Indeed?” The Marquess of Lynsley looked up in some surprise from his study of the weekly military reports. “Show her right her in, Graves—” He rose as Mrs. Merlin marched by the startled secretary, her silk skirts a fluttering contrast to the starkly masculine furnishing of his ministry office. “Never mind.”

“I would not normally intrude on your schedule, Thomas,” she said, once the door had closed. “But I have just received news that D’Etienne has been spotted near the Scottish border.”

“You are sure?”

The headmistress nodded. “He was positively identified by one of our former students. And seeing as Seville witnessed the assassination of our envoy in Holland, I am sure she would not mistake his face.”

“The Amsterdam mission.” Lynsley heaved a heavy sigh and fell silent for several moments. “This is a devilish dilemma. The question is whether to send word…”

“Or?” asked Mrs. Merlin.

“Or reinforcements. We can’t afford any mistakes.” His jaw hardened. “I don’t want to let him get away this time.”

“You are concerned about Shannon.” It was more a statement than a question.

“We both know that she can be volatile. And while her handling of the Irish mission was commendable, I am unsure of how her passions will affect this particular assignment.”

The headmistress withdrew a sheet of foolscap from her reticule. “In reviewing what we know of this man Orlov, perhaps there is reason to worry.” She hesitated. “Do you trust Yussapov?”

The marquess made a face. Despite his patrician air and elegant tailoring, he was no stranger to the cutthroat underworld of clandestine missions. “I trust no one in this dirty game we play, save for you, Charlotte. However, in this case, it seems that the prince’s interests are the same as ours. So I don’t expect a double-cross.”

“But you cannot overlook the possibility,” she said softly.

“You have had some time to contemplate the options,” he said. “Any suggestions you care to offer?”

“If you wish to send one of our own as a backup, we could dispatch Sofia.”

“In what guise?” Perching a hip on the edge of his desk, Lynsley began to drum his well-tended fingers upon the polished wood. “The area is quite isolated. Any new arrival at the McAllister Castle will not go unnoticed. We already have a governess in place, and the servants are all local folk.”

Mrs. Merlin nodded. “The same concerns occurred to me. But given Sofia’s dark looks and her talent with the tarot cards, I thought she could masquerade as a traveling Gypsy. With Marco, our assistant fencing instructor, playing the role of her husband, the two would make a formidable force to reckon with.” She paused. “Assuming that Shannon is having any difficulty in completing the mission on her own.”

His expression was unreadable as he turned and walked to the windows. A mizzled mist hung heavy over the spires of the nearby buildings, fuzzing the outlines of stone and slates to hazy shades of gray. “There is no clear answer.”

“There never is.”

He allowed a small smile. “Then I suppose we had best err on the side of caution. Can they leave by nightfall?”

“They are packing their bags as we speak.”