Shana Galen (20 page)

“I’m burning up.” His breath tickled her temple lightly. “But you’re not shivering…yet.”

“Hmm?” Charlotte murmured, tracing his earlobe with her teeth. Freddie’s fingers clenched her thighs more tightly. She tilted her gaze up at him. “Why would I shiver?”

Freddie ran his hands up her legs, pausing at the juncture between them, the pressure from his fingers so light that she could barely feel it. But she knew he was there, felt the slightest caress, and almost jumped as he grazed the sensitive skin. “Ah, now you’re shivering.”

Charlotte glanced down. The folds of her skirt blocked the movement of his fingers but not the sensation. He cupped her gently, then inserted one finger, sliding it against her, repeating the motion until she couldn’t stop herself from arching and crying out.

At the sound of her voice, Charlotte flushed. “Stop, Freddie. Someone will—oh!”

Freddie’s fingers rasped against her slick, swollen folds mercilessly and she was lost again
momentarily. “You…must…stop,” she finally managed.

“Very well.” His movements ceased and he withdrew his hand, leaving it resting gently on her thigh. Charlotte blinked once. She hadn’t really expected him to stop. Hadn’t really wanted him to, but she couldn’t very well ask him to start again when he was only doing what she asked. And it
was
for the best.

Resigned, Charlotte reached down to straighten the material of her skirt, but Freddie moved quickly and caught her hands. “Lie back.”

Charlotte met his eyes. Oh, George Washington. He didn’t really intend to stop after all. She bit her lip in frustration and indecision. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

A ghost of a smile curved at his lips. “I’ll stop anytime you say.” She narrowed her eyes, and he added, “Give me one moment.” Charlotte pressed her lips together, and Freddie whispered, “Lie back.”

She did. The chaise longue must have been at least six feet in length because Charlotte didn’t even reach the head. She sank into the padding, her feet dangling at the knee from the bottom.

Suddenly Freddie grasped her legs and pulled her forward so that she was pressed intimately against his bare chest. Before she could respond, he rubbed against her, the light dusting of hair on his chest stroking her. Charlotte didn’t know
whether to protest or wriggle against him. He repeated the provocative motion, then flipped up her skirt in one quick movement.

The forbidden feel of the air on her tender flesh combined with the heat from Freddie’s chest pressed against her was exquisite. Charlotte closed her eyes, deciding she would stop him. Just one more minute. And then, unexpectedly, he moved away. Charlotte opened her eyes in time to see Freddie bend down and kiss her lower abdomen. She trembled as his tongue laved a path from her belly to her auburn curls.

Freddie moved lower, and a jolt of pure pleasure shot through her. With a vague memory of what he’d done the night before, and a keen sense of embarrassment at having allowed it, Charlotte levered herself on her elbows. “No—don’t—
what
are you doing?”

Freddie peered up at her. “Making you ache.” He bent again, touching his tongue to her. “And burn.”

“Yes!” Charlotte cried out before remembering herself. “I mean, no! You—oh!” She fell back on the chaise as Freddie parted her thighs and pressed his mouth against her once more.

And then nothing mattered but the feel of his tongue swirling against her. She was acutely aware of everything—the pressure of his thumbs against the skin of her thighs, the tickle of his cheek when he turned it, the rush of blood in her
head and the thumping of her heart. She no longer heard the distant drone of the orchestra music or the rise and fall of people’s voices. There were only Freddie and she: her breathing in tune with his every movement, his knowing response to her slightest tremor. Vaguely she wondered how such a complicated man managed to make everything so simple.

And it was simple: she was meant to be with him. Charlotte knew it intuitively, knew it physically, and now knew it consciously. She would never have permitted anyone else to touch her this way. Couldn’t imagine why she allowed Freddie, except that she trusted him. When she needed help, he was there to offer it. When she needed to laugh, he could be counted on to supply the humor. When she needed passion, he proved more than equal to the task.

Of course, he was a warrior, whose shields and bastions would be difficult to breach, but she loved him in spite of it.

She loved him.

And with that undeniable realization, Charlotte gripped the arms of the chaise. Freddie stroked her expertly once more, withdrew to discard his clothing, and plunged into her. With a cry, Charlotte came apart.

A
s an immaculately dressed Lord Dewhurst led Lady Dewhurst through the crowds on the stairs a few minutes later, Charlotte was absolutely positive that everyone at the ball knew what Freddie had just done to her. She felt that it must be written all over her face. And, catching a glimpse of her features in one of the foyer’s mirrors as Freddie ordered their carriage, Charlotte almost groaned.

She looked completely debauched. Her hair was down, her dress wrinkled, her cheeks glowing. Not to mention that it was much too early for them to leave the ball. Then Freddie was behind her in the round gilded mirror, smiling. “Wait until I get you in the carriage,” he promised.

“The carriage?” Charlotte couldn’t keep a
tremor of her excitement from seeping into her voice.

“Oh, yes. We have unfinished business, Madam Yankee.”

Charlotte grimaced at the nickname, then laughed anyway because Freddie was beside her, and he wanted her, and nothing else mattered.

“Speaking of unfinished business,” Lord Winterbourne said, coming into the foyer from the dining room. “May I steal your husband for one moment, Lady Dewhurst? Lord Selbourne and I need a private word.”

“Of course,” Charlotte said, and all the delicious warmth of a few moments before dissipated. Cade. They would be talking of Cade, and if she and Dewhurst left the ball now, how would she warn Cade? Freddie gave her a look rife with promise, then turned and followed Winterbourne.

She watched her husband go, the thrum of him inside her still a lingering feeling. Perhaps Cade wasn’t here at all. He’d managed thus far on his own. Surely he could smell a trap when one was baited for him.

Silently she prayed Cade was safe and far, far away. Then she prayed Freddie would return to her soon. Prayed he would make good on the promise that had been in his eyes. Feeling a bit too warm and too dreamy for conversation, she stepped outside and meandered down the drive.
A flurry of footmen and grooms along with a smattering of guests alighting from carriages swirled around her, but she paid no notice. She saw the dark man extricate himself from the tight cluster of footmen as she passed, but her gaze drifted by him without pausing. She continued strolling, the feel of the cool English breeze pleasant on her warm flesh.

She saw the hand move behind her before she felt its weight on her shoulder. “So it’s true. You’ve turned traitor.”

Her lungs seized up and her heart thumped wildly against her ribs as Charlotte turned sharply toward the low male voice with the familiar drawl. She almost tripped, but Cade caught her. Before she could speak, he tugged at her elbow, leading her into a dark patch of shrubbery. When their figures were obscured from any onlookers, Charlotte hissed, “Cade! Oh, George, but I prayed you’d be far away from here.”

He gave a short bark of laughter. “Why? Are your own countrymen so repulsive to you now? Lottie, how could you marry that filthy spy? If your father knew, he’d roll over in his grave.”

Charlotte shook her head, her fingers gripping Cade’s sleeve desperately. “No, Cade. You don’t understand. I’m not really married to Freddie. It’s all a ruse to get to you.”

Cade’s eyes darkened. “I see.”

“No, no, you don’t see,” Charlotte said. “I had no choice. After you abandoned me, I had to do what they said.”

“I told you I’d come for you. If you had just waited—”

“Waited? How was I to know what those men intended? I did what I had to do to survive. What I had to do to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Cade sneered. “How can spreading your legs for an English bastard protect me?”

Charlotte flinched back. She’d never heard this tone in Cade’s voice before. He was just scared, pressured, and desperate. She would be, too, in his place. “Cade,” she said in her most soothing tone. “I’ve only played the part of Freddie’s wife so that I could protect you. The English government knows that you’re a spy. They want to capture you and try you for treason. I thought I could warn you, help you get to safety, and Freddie said that innocent or guilty he’d pay me one thousand dollars to play the part of his wife.”

“He’s paying you?”

“Yes. Don’t you see? The British have taken so much from me. I thought this time I could take from them, buy back Burton & Son Shipping, make everything like it was.”

But Cade was shaking his head. “Oh, Lottie. How did you ever become involved in this?” His voice was that comforting, older-brother tone she remembered.

“But I told you—”

He placed a finger over her lips and shushed her. “Do you trust me? We haven’t much time.”

“Of course.”

“Good, then let’s go.”

“But…” Charlotte glanced back at the Winterbourne mansion. There was no sign of her husband on the walk or in the doorway.

“Charlotte, quickly. Come with me.”

She was torn. She did not want to leave Freddie, but she had known Cade all her life, and he needed her. She would find Freddie later and explain. She would ask him to forgive her for helping Cade escape.

“Very well,” she said to Cade. “Let’s go.”

He had a carriage waiting and instructed the driver to take them to Freddie’s town house to retrieve Addy and then to the docks. Charlotte gave the driver the directions, and when the carriage was under way, Cade sat back and gave her a hard look. “I must be frank with you, Charlotte, and I can tell this is not information you will welcome.”

“What is it?”

“It concerns your—Dewhurst.”

She nodded, encouraging Cade to continue.

“He was right. I am a spy, and at this moment I’m in possession of a file of codes which could turn the tide of world events.”

“What do you mean?” Charlotte gaped at him. “Which codes?”

“The codes the British generals are using to cipher their missives to one another. With this information, the French can decode the British army’s secrets. The French generals will know troop movements, supply lists, battle plans.” Cade smiled triumphantly. “Our friends the British are doomed. And therein lies American victory. But first we have to deliver the ciphers, and we must sail for France tonight.”

“But—” Charlotte did not continue. She could not. Her throat had constricted, closing her airway tight. Though she had no loyalty to England, there was something patently unfair about this strategy. It seemed like cheating to steal the Brits’ own codes and use them against them.

If Cade succeeded in delivering the codes, would that guarantee France victory? What would that mean for Lucia and Lord Selbourne, Sebastian, Lydia, poor Wilkins, even Mrs. Pots? And what would it mean for Freddie? How could she be part of something that might destroy the lives of so many people she cared about and the man she loved? But how could she choose between her enemy and her friend?

“I know you want to return to Charleston, and we will,” Cade was saying. “First I must deliver these documents, and then I’ll take you and Addy home again. Ah”—he peered out the windows of the carriage—“we’ve arrived.”

Charlotte looked out the window as Dewhurst’s
town house came into view. How could she tell Cade that she was already home? How could she let him go, knowing that those codes might hurt the people she’d come to love?

“Dewhurst isn’t exactly a pauper, is he?” Cade said, staring at the house. “Does he keep banknotes lying about?”

“I—I don’t know,” Charlotte stammered, sickened at the idea of taking Freddie’s money.

“What about jewelry? Something we can sell for a quick profit?”

Charlotte bit her lip. “I don’t feel right taking his money, Cade.”

“But you told me he promised you a thousand dollars. He owes you a bauble of some sort at the very least.”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I couldn’t take that. Not now.”

The carriage slowed, and when it stopped Cade fixed her with a hard look. “Why not? What’s happened to change your mind?”

“I just”—Charlotte twisted her fingers in the satin of her gown—“I don’t think it’s right.”

“Is that so?” Cade’s face contorted into a rictus of rage that she didn’t recognize. She realized he frightened her now. “Charlotte, I don’t have the time or leisure to play the sympathetic friend. These codes”—he patted his breast pocket—“won’t wait for your lust for Dewhurst to run its course.”

“Cade!” Charlotte shrank back from the ice in his tone. What had happened to the man she’d known in Charleston? The sweet-natured, brotherly friend?

“I saw you dancing with him, Lottie. And I saw him drag you from the ballroom. You followed like a bitch in heat. If you want to spread your legs for a British bastard, that’s not my affair, but for God’s sake, at least take the money you’re owed for it.”

Without thinking, Charlotte slapped him. Hard. She was immediately shocked at her action, then regretted not hitting Cade harder when he only laughed. He grasped her elbow and pushed her out of the coach. “Slap me all you like, Lottie, when we’re in Paris. Right now, you’ve ten minutes to collect your maid and money.”

“Stop it, Cade.” Charlotte struggled to free herself, but Cade marched resolutely up the walk. “I’m not going with you. I’m not going to Paris, or Charleston, or anywhere with you!”

“Oh, yes, you are.” They reached Freddie’s door, and Cade hauled her up against him. “You know I have the codes. Do you think I can leave you here alive with that information? You’ll come with me because if you don’t, I’ll have to kill you.”

Charlotte made a strangled gurgle of surprise.

Cade put a hand on the back of her neck. “Now, don’t make a scene. Get Addy, get the money, and
we get out. No one will be hurt, unless you decide to play the heroine.”

Charlotte looked into his face and knew he was capable of inflicting the pain he promised. Who was this man? Certainly not the same boy who’d rescued her kitten from a tree when she was five or danced with the wallflowers at balls. Something in Cade had changed, hardened him. Whatever it was, she was obligated to protect the innocent bystanders. She couldn’t allow Mrs. Pots, Wilkins, even Hester to get in Cade’s way. Thankfully, Freddie had given most of the staff the night off.

With a last look at Cade, Charlotte opened the door and peered into the foyer. It was empty and only dimly lit. The staff had not anticipated their master and mistress would return so early and would probably not think to light the chandelier for several more hours.

Charlotte motioned to Cade to follow her across the foyer and up the stairs. She prayed none of the staff would be curious enough to venture out of the servants’ quarters to investigate who was home, and she was thankful Cade was silent and moving as stealthily as she. They climbed the stairs, and Charlotte led Cade to her own bedroom. Addy sometimes sat in the rocking chair by the window and sewed when Charlotte was away. Her maid didn’t feel easy around the other servants and valued any time alone.

When Charlotte opened her door, she breathed a sigh of relief to see Addy was indeed inside. Her maid turned to see who had entered, and Charlotte had to shush her with a finger to her lips. Only when Cade was inside and she’d closed the door did Charlotte speak. “Addy, quick, get our things together. We’re leaving.”

Addy rose, her dark eyes bright with surprise. “We is leaving, Miss Charlotte? Tonight? We is going home?”

“Yes, Miss Addy,” Cade said. “After a brief stop in Paris.”

Addy looked from Charlotte to Cade, then back again. Charlotte knew her friend could see the fear on her face, but Addy remained as composed as ever. “I s’pose one more trial on this here long journey won’t kill me.”

She opened Charlotte’s armoire and began pulling out dresses and hats, but Charlotte said, “No, Addy, leave all that. We’ll only take what we came with.”

Addy set the dresses back and gave Charlotte a slow appraisal. “And where is that Mr. Dewhurst?” she asked. “Isn’t he coming?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No, of course not.” She tried to affect humor and lightness. “Freddie wouldn’t deign to allow his name to be spoken in such an unfashionable place as Charleston.”

“But he know you’re going?”

Charlotte shifted. Why was Addy drilling her
now? What did she care for Dewhurst? “No, Addy. He doesn’t know, but I’m certain he’ll have a dinner party to celebrate when he learns that I’m gone.”

Addy gave her a curious look. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the type to run away, Miss Charlotte. Leave and not even say good-bye. I never took you for no yellow belly.”

“Oh, good God, Addy,” Cade said. “Can you save the lecture until we’re under way?”

“Addy,” Charlotte said, crossing to her and attempting to soften Cade’s harsh rebuke, “it’s better this way. Trust me. I’m an inconvenience to Freddie. An inconvenience he’s grown fond of, but an inconvenience nonetheless. He’ll be glad that I left this way. It’s easier for everyone.”

“It’s easier for you,” Addy said. “You ain’t got no choice to make this way.”

“Choice?” Cade said. “What choice is there? Would you rather she stay here as his whore than return home where she can rebuild her life?”

“Hmpf,” Addy said, crossing her arms. “You don’t know everything, Cade Pettigru. That Mr. Dewhurst was goin’ to marry my sugar.”

Cade laughed. “Is that what he told you to lure you into his bed?”

Charlotte’s face flushed, and she felt the tears spring to her eyes. “Addy, I want to go home,” she whispered.

“And you sure ’bout that?” Addy asked.

“Yes!” Charlotte answered, exasperated. “There is no way Freddie would want me to stay. No way. Unless—” She broke off as a figure stepped into the room behind Cade and silently closed the dressing room door behind him. “Unless—”

“Unless he loved you,” Freddie said and raised his pistol.

Freddie watched the blood drain from his wife’s beautiful face. No, she wasn’t his wife, he amended. She was a woman playing his wife, a woman he had made love to, and when he’d left her alone for five minutes, she’d run off with another man. Freddie pointed his pistol at that man: Cade Pettigru. Finally the spy was before him, and undoubtedly on his way out of the country with the new British codes.

If Freddie had emerged from Winterbourne’s house three seconds later, the codes might well be on their way into enemy hands tonight. How many men would have died when secret English orders and plans were deciphered if he had not seen Charlotte climb into the carriage with a man? This man. This
traitor.