Ten

Her eyes widened, making them appear more black than deep brown. They were already dark with desire. Rafe hadn’t realized he would enjoy undressing for a woman so much, but Collette’s gasps and audible swallows just encouraged him. And now that he was naked, he wanted her to disrobe.

Fingers trembling, she reached for the pins holding her bodice. She couldn’t quite free the one she’d taken hold of, and she looked down, a lock of her hair falling over her shoulder. He wanted to wrap his hands in that hair and tug it back so he could kiss her neck. He wanted to spread it over his pillow as he bent over her.

Finally, she freed the pin but dropped it on the blue coverlet of the bed. Rafe lifted it before it could be lost and cause one or both of them injury in a few minutes. “Will you allow me?” he asked.

“To undress me?”

He nodded.

“I can do it.”

He took her hand in his, kissed the pads on her fingers. “I’d rather neither of us ends up as a pin cushion. Besides, you might like my efforts.”

“Very well,” she said, her voice catching.

He had undressed many women, more than he cared to remember, and it was a simple matter, but he took his time with her. He liked the anticipation as he revealed each little swath of flesh. He liked the way her bodice sagged with the removal of a pin and the way they clinked when piled on top of one another. Then there were ties and laces and all of the complicated fastenings underpinning a lady’s clothing. Finally, he removed the pretty, little muslin dress and petticoats, and she stood in chemise and stays.

“Turn around.”

When she turned, he forced himself to draw a deep breath. He’d needed her to face away from him. She was absolutely glorious. With her breasts barely contained by the stays and the half-moons of creamy flesh within reach, he might have bypassed undressing her at all. He wanted that flesh in his hands and in his mouth.

And he wanted this to last more than three minutes. And so he would force himself to slow down and take his time. He took hold of her laces and began to loosen them, then slid the stays over her hips. “Untie your chemise,” he whispered in her ear. Brushing her hair aside and over the opposite shoulder, he rested his chin on her shoulder as he watched her tug at the tie holding the drawstring chemise closed.

And then that too fell to the floor, leaving her in stockings and slippers. He rather liked her wearing that and only that. “That’s better,” he murmured. He trailed his lips over her shoulder and along the back of her neck. Gooseflesh appeared where his lips touched, and she shivered. His hands had been at his sides, but now he brushed them over her shoulders and along her arms, then back up again and down her back. In the firelight, her skin was the color of a blushing rose. Her back was long and straight, her hips a lush curve after what seemed like a tiny waist.

And her bottom.

It was full and heart-shaped. He ran a hand over it, loving the way the skin was as silky soft as the rest of her. “You really are perfect, aren’t you?” he said, pressing a kiss to her neck, just behind her ear. She inhaled sharply. He dragged his lips across the back of her neck and, lifting her hair from her shoulder, kissed her behind her other ear.

“I’m really not,” she said.

Rafe drew back. He wasn’t used to women arguing with him when he complimented them. Of course, most of the time, those compliments had been part of an act, the opening volley of a seduction that, if successful, would yield useful information for Draven’s troop. Rafe didn’t have to give meaningless compliments tonight, and he hadn’t. Slowly, he turned Collette to face him. Keeping his eyes on hers, he cupped the sides of her face gently. “To me, you’re perfect.”

Her cheeks turned pinker than they already were. For some reason, the admiration embarrassed her.

“You mean, other than the fact that I’m a spy.”

He shrugged. “A small detail that only makes you that much more interesting.” His fingers traced the bones of her cheeks and trailed across her lips, then down her pointed chin and across her long, graceful neck.

“You’re the perfect one, Rafe,” she said, putting her arms around him. He felt the hard tips of her nipples brushing against his chest.

“That might be the first time you’ve used my name. I like how it sounds on your tongue.”

He brought his mouth to hers, kissing her, and she sighed and kissed him back, pressing her body against his. His hands refused to take things slowly, and he couldn’t stop touching her everywhere. Her sighs and moans told him exactly where to linger and where to return, and when his hand slid between her thighs and cupped her, she murmured, “Rafe. Yes.”

She couldn’t have said anything more arousing. He lowered her to the bed, bracing himself on his elbows to keep his weight from crushing her. She wrapped one leg around his waist, but, though it was torture to wait, he refrained from accepting the invitation. Instead, he ran his lips over every inch of her, stopping to worship at her breasts, which were firm and heavy in his hands. She was damp where his hand had cupped her, but he wanted her unquestionably ready. He dragged his mouth down past her navel, around her hips, over her thighs, then parted her thighs. He was about to taste her when her legs tensed, and she levered herself on her elbows. “What are you doing?”

He raised a brow. “I was about to kiss you.”

“There?”

He almost smiled. He should have realized she’d probably never done this before. A few quick trysts with a tutor had not taught her everything. “Yes.” Using his finger, he traced the sensitive flesh. “Here. And here.” He slid over the small nub hidden between her folds. “And here.”

Her eyes closed for a moment, then opened very slowly.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“If I do like it?” she asked, voice husky with need.

“Then say my name.” He spread her legs again and kissed a path from her inner thigh to her sex. She jerked at the first touch of his mouth there, and he paused.

Then he heard her murmur. “Rafe.”

She tasted sweet, her flesh quivering, and her body responding to every flick of his tongue or caress of his lips. “Rafe,” she said again and again. And when he flicked the small bud that he knew would give her the most pleasure, his name became all but a chant until she fell back on the bed and seemed to lose all power of speech. Rafe could have done this all night. She was glorious on the cusp of ecstasy, her body rising and falling with her rapid breaths, her cheeks pink, her hair a tangle of waves spread over his bed. Her legs were long and all but wrapped around him. He was tempted to start all over again so he could draw her pleasure out further, but he needed to see her climax. He wanted to watch as the coil of pleasure unwound through her body.

“Rafe,” she said again, her voice a plea.

He spread her further, teasing and suckling until her hips pistoned beneath his hands. She cried out when she came, the words unintelligible, though he liked to think he heard his name. And then all he could do was stare at her because she was so amazingly beautiful. He wanted to do it all again, do it even better, but his cock had other ideas. Normally he could ignore his own needs, but tonight his cock throbbed to be inside her.

Of course, that was a risk. He’d protect her at the crucial moment, but there was always a chance of pregnancy. “Collette.” He looked down at her and lifted a lock of hair from her forehead. Her eyes opened slowly, the color of midnight and just as brilliant. “I want to be inside you. I’ll do my best to protect you, but if you don’t want the risk, I understand.”

“Yes,” she murmured, lifting her arms to wrap around him. “I want you. All of you.”

“You can say no,” he managed as his willpower began to desert him.

“I’m saying yes. Rafe, yes.”

He positioned himself between her legs and kissed her long and slow as he entered her. She was tight and wet and hot. And thank God she was not a virgin because he could barely restrain himself as it was.

He had the unexpected urge to thrust mindlessly until he found release, and the impulse shocked him. No one had ever made him lose control like this. Her hands scraped down his back and gripped his buttocks. He’d held back slightly, but he couldn’t resist that invitation and sheathed himself completely. Her head fell back on a moan and he gritted his jaw to hold on to what little power he still had over himself. Taking her arms, he slid them up and pinned her wrists to the bed with his hands. With her arms over her head, her breasts thrust out, and he took his time teasing her distended nipples, suckling them until she was grinding her hips against his.

She wanted him to move faster and harder, but he kept up a slow, deep penetration that from the tightening of her muscles around him would bring her to a deliberate, powerful climax. She’d kept her eyes closed, her lashes fluttering with each of his thrusts, but as he began to move a little faster, she opened her eyes and her gaze fixed on his. The intimacy of that moment was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He felt a zing of connection and all but heard the click of a lock inside him open. He wanted to look away, wanted to break the hold she had on him. Her eyes seemed to look right into him, into the part of him he’d never let anyone see—the part that wasn’t a charming gentleman, but a boy who desperately wanted to be loved.

And then there was the shot of guilt because he wasn’t the hero she thought him to be. He’d manipulated her into telling him her secrets, and though he hadn’t seduced her into his bed, he was fully aware that, if she knew about his mission, she wouldn’t be here with him. They were enemies, but he was the only one who knew it.

Her eyes drew him in, trusting and honest. And then, because he couldn’t take it any longer, he shifted position, turning her onto her belly and lifting her hips so he could enter her. “Collette?” he asked, waiting for her permission. He ran a hand over her bottom, then kissed the pale flesh and eased a hand over her slick, swollen sex. She wriggled her bottom and he slid his cock over the flesh he’d teased with his hand. She gasped.

“Rafe.” She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes glittering with excitement. When he entered her again, he took his time as much for himself as for her. She moved with him, her hands digging into the coverlet as her pleasure mounted. When he felt her body tighten, he reached around and opened her folds. Finding the slippery nub, he circled it slowly until she bucked and her muscles clenched around him tightly.

And that was when he lost control. His hips moved on their own, his body taking what it wanted, with hard, deep thrusts. He had enough mental capacity left to pull out before he spilled his seed inside her. Instead, he spilled it harmlessly onto the coverlet.

His valet would have something to say about that. At the moment, Rafe didn’t care. He pulled Collette into his arms and onto the other side of the bed, holding her for a long moment until he could catch his breath and perhaps understand what the hell had just happened.

* * *

Collette felt Rafe’s arms come around her, pulling her against him so their bodies were pressed together, her back to his chest. Her body still sung, weak and limp from the things he had done to her. She hadn’t known lovemaking could be like that. She hadn’t known she could feel like that. Yes, she’d enjoyed it before, but Rafe was… She didn’t even have the words.

Perhaps that was because the experience had been more than physical. Yes, his skills there were probably unrivaled. Even inexperienced as she was, she knew he was a man with tremendous patience and sensitivity. He knew when to hold back, when to move faster, when and where to touch her. He’d been so focused on her, so attuned to her every breath, that when he withdrew, she couldn’t help but notice. Something had happened when their gazes had locked that had… What was the word? Unsettled him?

No, she hadn’t minded the way he’d flipped her over or the way he’d taken her from behind. But she’d had the smallest flicker of doubt niggle her brain. And for the first time, she’d wondered if he didn’t have something to hide.

He kissed her shoulder, the stubble on his cheek tickling her. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”

“Because we were friends,” she reminded him.

“I’m still your friend.” He kissed her ear. “And as such, I should take you home. It’s almost two.”

She only had about three hours before Lady Ravensgate’s servants would be up and her absence noticed. But she couldn’t stand to leave the warmth of his arms yet. She’d felt so alone the past few months. For once, it was comforting to feel as though she didn’t have to carry the entire weight of the Napoleonic army on her shoulders. And, of course, it helped that the shoulders bearing some of it were muscled and strong.

“Let me regain my strength,” she murmured. He didn’t object, merely gave his acquiescence with another lazy kiss on her shoulder. She closed her eyes, warmth tingling through her as he ran a hand through her hair, down her back, then fondled her breast. His movements were languid and easy, but they roused her nonetheless. When her nipple hardened against his palm, she felt his sex respond in kind against her buttocks.

“You like that,” he murmured in her ear, rolling the pebbled point between his fingers and squeezing gently. She gasped out a breath. And then his hand repeated the gesture on her other breast and she felt an answering tug of need in her belly. His hand slid down, his fingers brushing over her sex. She heard herself moan with pleasure, but she couldn’t seem to find the energy to be mortified at what she was allowing. Again.

His finger stroked over that little nub that made her whole body purr, and then he skated lower and slipped inside her. A second finger joined the first, while the heel of his hand pressed against that nub. Her hips moved with the seductive rhythm he played, and she felt him grow harder against her skin. “Lie still.” His voice was a rumble through the haze of pleasure engulfing her. “You don’t have to do anything.”

But she didn’t want to lie still. She felt as though she’d spent her whole life lying still and allowing others to dictate her life. Now she would take what she wanted, and she wanted him. She grasped his wrist with her hand, and he paused. “You don’t want this.”

Still holding his wrist, she turned and pushed it onto the bed. “I do, but I want more. Let me show you.” At some point, she had lost her slippers. She straddled him and watched as his throat worked. His eyes skimmed down her body, and he licked his lips. She knew he wanted her, knew he desired her. She took the evidence of that with one hand and stroked its length. Rafe closed his eyes and his legs tensed beneath her. She suddenly understood why he seemed to enjoy giving her pleasure so much. It was heady to see the power she had to stoke his desire.

She rose and positioned herself above his erection. He opened his eyes and she could see he fought to stop himself from wresting control back. The hand she held clenched and opened. “Please,” he murmured.

She took him inside her, moving her hips until she found a rhythm she liked. He watched her and moved with her, complemented her. She linked her fingers with his on the bed, leaning over him as their bodies came together again and again. This time, though he might have taken her breast into his mouth or used his strength to shift positions, he didn’t look away from her. “You’re close,” he said.

She didn’t know how he knew. She could barely answer. Her body demanded release, but it eluded her. “Yes.”

“Stop waiting for it,” he said. “Take it.”

She shook her head, not knowing what he meant. “Touch me,” she all but begged, releasing his hands and leaning back. If he simply touched her, she knew she would come apart.

“Oh, no. It will be better if you take it. Claim it.”

“I can’t!”

“You can. Christ, you’re beautiful.” His eyes raked over her again. “I want to watch you come.”

Her hips moved faster, her body using his to reach higher. But just as she felt insecurity or modesty, he gave her another compliment, another encouragement. She knew he was close as well. His hands gripped hers more tightly, and his voice had become a husky rumble. Her own words had deserted her and she moaned as she slid over his hard length one last time. And then the whole world seemed to go black as everything inside her unraveled. She cried out, and either he broke their grip or she did, because he pressed his hand against her sex and then the world went white hot as her climax climbed higher. She bucked and took until the pleasure ebbed, and then he slid out from under her and she heard his gasp of pleasure as he spent himself into the coverlet.

She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t expected that even at her most vulnerable, even at the moment when she had clearly been using him, he would protect her. Her heart lurched and the lump in her throat made it difficult to breathe. She lay back on the bed, and when he turned to look down at her, she was rendered completely breathless. His violet eyes looked sleepy and seductive, his mouth was fuller from their kisses, and his hair was wild about his face. And, of course, he was still completely and magnificently naked.

“Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, and you will never make it home tonight.”

“I can’t quite believe I’m here with you.”

He sat beside her and brushed the hair back from her forehead. “I feel exactly the same. How did we get so lucky?”

She smiled up at him and he bent to kiss her, then stopped himself. “If we begin this again, I’m afraid you have no hope of returning to Lady Ravensgate’s undetected. As much as I want you to stay, I really must take you home.”

She nodded. The look of regret on his face was real. He did want her to stay as much as she wanted to stay.

“Do you need help dressing?” he asked.

“No.” She’d had to dress herself earlier that night and had chosen clothing she could manage on her own. They both rose and he pulled his trousers on, then padded to the door.

“I’ll bring us some wine and cheese. I haven’t even fed you.”

“There’s no need,” she said as she pulled the chemise over her head. But he waved away her protests and was gone. Alone, she smiled to herself. She should have been telling herself not to fall in love with him. She knew she wasn’t the first woman he’d brought to his bed or probably even the first he’d wanted to stay the night. But was she wrong to believe that, when he said the words to her, he’d meant them?

She had been in his arms, and what they had shared was more than just physical. Something had happened between them, and she’d known he’d felt it too, even if he’d shied away from it. Dare she allow herself to think of what might be? What her life could be like once her father was safe again, once the nightmare of the last few months of her life was over. Could she and Rafe be together? Would he want to marry her?

Was she leaping far, far ahead?

The last was probably true enough. And she had better finish dressing.

She struggled into her stays and her petticoats, then began the laborious process of pinning her dress together. She had almost finished when she could have sworn she heard voices. She paused and listened. Yes, she definitely heard voices. Hadn’t Rafe said he didn’t have any servants living in the flat? Who could he be speaking to?

Suddenly the voices lowered as though hushed, and Collette told herself she was probably hearing things. Or there was a perfectly good explanation for a visitor at almost three in the morning.

Her fingers trembled as she tried and failed to secure the last pin of her bodice. Her skin suddenly felt cold and the blood pounded loudly in her temples. She had no reason not to trust Rafe. None. But the hair on the back of her arms prickled.

Still in stocking feet, she moved silently across the thick rug in Rafe’s bedchamber and to the door. The bedchamber opened into a small sitting room with a desk and a comfortable chair that had a stack of books beside it. Rafe Beaumont apparently liked to read. A quick glance at the titles told her all the volumes were fiction. She saw Emma and Waverley as well as poetry by Byron on the stack. Nothing that might edify the mind, as her father would have said in his mock-scolding voice. She smiled remembering his words and knowing that she and Rafe had similar tastes in literature.

She almost turned back to the bedchamber to slide on her slippers and return some order to her hair, but she heard the voices again. This time she was sure of it—Rafe’s voice and that of another man’s. Silently, she padded to the door of the sitting room, which had been left open but a crack. She inserted her fingers in the crack and eased it open farther. She had no wish to be seen by anyone and completely compromised. Collette Fortier’s reputation didn’t matter. As the daughter of an assassin, no one paid much heed to whether or not she was a virgin. Her character was already irreparably damaged. But Collette Fournay couldn’t be caught in Rafe Beaumont’s flat. She couldn’t afford for the ton to realize they had spent even a few minutes unchaperoned, much less hours.

“You have to go,” Rafe was saying. She knew his voice at least, low and melodic with just a hint of playfulness. Though he sounded less than playful at the moment.

“I see.” The other man’s voice hinted that he knew exactly why Rafe was sending him away. Collette could imagine Rafe often had female companionship, and the fact that she was the female here only made her feel cheap and tawdry. “I’ll come back in an hour.”

She couldn’t hear Rafe’s response, and she widened the crack. Rafe and another man were in the drawing room. Rafe had set the wine and a plate with cheese on a table near the door she had opened and presumably left it there to answer the door. If the man he was speaking to had called on him at three in the morning, the two must be good friends. And the way Rafe was speaking to the other man and attempting to guide him by the shoulder spoke of familiarity.

She couldn’t really see the other man. He was tall, slightly taller than Rafe, and thinner. She thought she saw dark-blond hair.

Rafe glanced back at the door and she pulled it closed silently, her breath catching in her throat at the near miss.

“Step outside with me,” he said, his voice low. She heard the outer door open. Collette thought about returning to her toilette. Not ten minutes ago, she had been in bed with Rafe, trusting him with both her body and her heart. Nothing had changed in a few minutes. Why shouldn’t she trust Rafe now? Why did her skin feel prickly and her heart beat faster? Her fingers tightened on the door handle before she cracked it enough to squeeze out, then ran across the drawing room to press her ear to the outer door. The men must have been standing on the other side.

“—after speaking to Neil. Your idea to send her a false note was brilliant. Much better than throwing her in front of the cart.”

“I’m not entirely inept,” Rafe said.

The blood thudding in Collette’s temples thudded harder, and she had to clench the door to keep standing. She didn’t understand the other man’s words. She didn’t want to understand.

“Did she believe it? Did you find out everything from the little spy you needed? If not, we had another idea.” The visitor’s voice lowered even further.

She couldn’t make out his words or Rafe’s low response. Not that she cared. Her mind had put it together, despite her heart’s refusal to believe.

Tonight, last night, probably every moment she’d known Rafe Beaumont had been a lie. He’d known she was a spy, and he’d seduced her to find out what she knew.

No, that wasn’t quite true. He hadn’t had to seduce her. She’d practically thrown herself at him.

Collette backed away from the door, but she didn’t hurry to return to the bedchamber. Her legs felt as though they were stuck in heavy mud, and she could barely manage to lift them to trudge through it. The latch on the door lifted, but Collette did not move. The door opened, and the visitor saw her first. She gasped reflexively. His face was horrible, disfigured. She couldn’t see very clearly, but the quick glimpse she had gave her the impression of skin too smooth and too pink stretched tight over the bones of what might have once been a handsome visage.

Both Rafe and the other man looked at her. She looked from the scarred man to Rafe and saw his expression turn from horror to guilt to resignation.

It was the look of guilt that made her snap. She didn’t care if all of London saw her. She looked at Rafe, only at Rafe, and refused to acknowledge the sting behind her eyes. “You must think I am the most foolish woman that ever lived.”

He shook his head.

“You must think me pathetic. How did you manage not to laugh at my complete gullibility?”

“Collette, I can explain—”

The scarred man looked from her to Rafe. “I should…” He didn’t finish his sentence. He pulled a mask over his face and then looked back to give her a last perusal. “Sorry we had to meet like this, Miss Fortier.”

“I’m not,” she said, voice steely. “Meeting you has been most enlightening. Not that I know your name, of course.”

“I’ll speak with you later.” Rafe closed the door and turned to her. Collette considered taking a large drink from the wine nearby, or perhaps lifting the bottle and hurling it at Rafe. Instead, she leaned back against the wall, her legs too shaky to be trusted.

Rafe came toward her, arms outstretched. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you?” She arched a brow. “I very much doubt that.” She glanced at the bottle again.

“Throwing that at me won’t solve anything.”

Perhaps he did know what she was thinking. She put a hand to her belly, which had clenched tightly and painfully, and tried to slow her rapid breathing. “What will solve things, Rafe? Tell me, because I promise you I am anxious to hear, what will make all of this better?” She’d slipped into French, something she became aware of when he answered her in the same language, his speech fluid and his accent almost that of a native’s.

“You have to trust me, Collette. I know that seems ridiculous—”

“You’re right. Absolument! I don’t trust you. I can never trust you!”

“What you heard”—he was still walking toward her, slowly but steadily—“isn’t the whole story. You have the wrong impression.”

That statement was like a slap in the face. It cleared her head immediately. “Stop.” She held her hand out to keep him at bay. To his credit, he did stop, not attempting to come any closer. “I have the wrong impression, do I? So you did not know from the first time we met that I was Collette Fortier, daughter of the notorious French assassin?”

“I didn’t know conclusively.”

“Weak, Monsieur Beaumont. An argument, but a weak one. What about this supposition—you became my friend in hopes of gathering damaging information about my father from me.”

He didn’t speak.

“And then when I didn’t reveal anything, you devised other strategies to…shall we say, persuade me to confide in you? A near-death brush with a cart outside the museum?”

He closed his eyes, his face looking pained. And still she could not stop the back of her mind from noting how beautiful he was standing there, sans shirt, his golden chest the epitome of strength and vigor, his perfect face and the hair her own hands had tousled just a few minutes before.

“And when all of that did not succeed, you—tell me if I have this right because I am a bit confused here—you wrote the note from my father’s jailer.” The note had been vague, she could see that now. The words had been generic, but enough for her to draw the conclusions Rafe had wanted. She gave a little laugh at her own naïveté. “And I believed it all. I fell right into your trap and told you everything. All you had to do was give me empty promises. And then what must have been your crowning glory, I went to bed with you. Not only did I betray my father, but I handed you my body to use as well.”

He flinched. “Collette, it wasn’t like that. You know it wasn’t like that.”

“I don’t know anything at all. I don’t even know who you are or who you work for.”

He raked a hand through his hair, his gaze downcast as though he at least had enough dignity to seem ashamed.

“I don’t expect you to tell me. And even if you wanted to, I don’t have time to hear it. It may not matter what I do at this point, but I’d rather not alert Lady Ravensgate to the fact that I’ve been telling her enemies all of my secrets.”

“I’ll take you home.”

“No. I cannot stand to see you for another moment. I’ll take a hackney, and you may secure that for me while I find my slippers.”

He didn’t argue. She watched as he went to the door and threw his greatcoat over his bare chest. Then he stepped outside.

Her legs wobbled, but she refused to fall apart. She knuckled the tears away and squared her shoulders. She didn’t care that she had just signed her own death warrant. She regretted that she’d failed her father.