While You Were Spying (Regency Spies Book 0) (47 page)

“You tell me often enough. I thought it was time I told you.” She beckoned him, and he came down over her again, his weight supported on his forearms.

He stroked her cheek with a finger. “Do you believe it yet? That you’re beautiful.”

She smiled at him. “Yes.”

And she did. She finally felt beautiful. In his eyes she saw nothing but admiration, and in the role he’d given her as mistress of his house, she’d earned the admiration of all around her. She felt confident, intelligent, capable. For a brief time, she’d allowed her feelings of worth to be taken from her.

Never again.

Ethan kissed her, his lips gentle, his tongue probing until she opened for him and he could tease her into sighing and arching. His hands stroked her body, pausing in the places he knew she was the most sensitive until she was flushed and panting with need.

But just when he would have entered her, given her body what it craved, she took his shoulders in her hands and pushed him back.

“Not this time.”

The look of surprise on his features belied any protest and she pushed him onto the satin wrapper and straddled him. She’d never been so bold with him, and the dark golden hue of his eyes told her he liked it.

She leaned over, letting her long hair tease his chest and stroking his hard, velvet member.

“I want you,
cara
.” His husky voice shot a bolt of heat through her, and she positioned him at her entrance, taking him inside her slowly.

She tortured them both until he filled her to the hilt and she could rock back and forth, driving herself mad with the swollen feel of him against her too-sensitive flesh.

His gaze never left her face, and his eyes were filled with love and trust. He loved her, saw her, trusted her. At the moment he trusted her to bring him pleasure, but he’d also won the battle within himself. He trusted her with his heart. She could see in the way he looked at her that it was hers for the taking, hers to cherish and protect.

“I love you,” he murmured, seeming to sense her thoughts.

“And I love you.” She gave herself to him, taking all of him in turn, and when the climax came they shattered together.

She dozed, her head resting against his chest, her body fitted to his side, the crackle of the fire warming them, when a loud racket roused them. Tucking her wrapper around her, Ethan rose and went to the window, parting the curtains. He grinned when he turned to her. “Come and see.”

She wrapped herself in silk and joined him, gasping when she looked outside. The world was a fairy tale covered in white, clinquant snow. It glittered in the brilliant sunlight—a million diamonds winking at her.

In front of the house, some of the servants were having a snowball fight. Francesca had insisted that Ralph, Roxbury’s messenger, stay for the night, and he was in the thick of it. She turned to Ethan. “Let’s join them!”

He gave her a mischievous grin. “I hope you don’t mind the cold and wet. I won’t show any mercy.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of demanding any special privileges—not that a rogue like you would even grant them.”

They dressed quickly, and a few moments later Francesca breathed in the crisp, fresh air. Snuggled under the thick blanket of white, the world seemed new and full of possibilities.

Her life was new and full of possibilities too. The servants waved at them, still playing at their winter games, but it seemed to Francesca there was only Ethan and her. She glanced at Ethan and saw him watching her, his expression sober.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“More and more every day,” she answered truthfully. “Do
you
trust
me
?”

He cupped her face, his warm hands against her cool skin. “Yes. You teach me to trust more and more every day.”

“Maybe we’ll teach each other.”

His amber eyes heated. “I’m an excellent student.”

“And I’m reputed to be exceptionally quick-witted.”

“Well,” he said, releasing her. “Let’s see if your legs are as quick as your mind.”

He bent down and scooped up a pile of snow, but she was ready for him. When he looked back at her, she hit him squarely in the chest with a snowball she’d hidden behind her back.

He glanced down at his chest and then to her, blinking. “Madam, I believe this is war.” He began to compress the clump of snow in his hands. “And I think it only fair to warn you that I intend to win.” He raised his snowball menacingly, and Francesca took off in a run.

Her feet slipped effortlessly through the feathery snow, and as she reached the top of a small rise, she whirled around. In front of her sprawled Winterbourne Hall, gleaming and majestic, and looking very much like home. Behind her lay the wilds of Yorkshire, waiting to be discovered. And striding purposely toward her, a mischievous grin on his face, was Ethan.

She beamed at him. He actually thought he could win—the rogue.

He was wrong, of course. She had him, had his love. They were both victorious.

T
hank you to my fabulous agents for the input on cover design, formatting expertise, and for championing this book (sometimes even championing it to me!). In particular, thank you to Joanna MacKenzie and Abby Saul for their wonderful editorial suggestions.

Thank you to my efficient and clever friend and assistant Gayle Cochrane for the countless tasks you take off my hands.

Thanks also to the Shananigans: Barbara, Patti, Ruth, Sarah, Kristy, Lisa, Connie, Misty, Susan, Flora, Nicole, and last but not least, Sue.

Thank you to the bloggers and reviewers and readers, who support me in more ways that I can count. I’m so grateful to be a part of a community where such generosity exists.

S
hana Galen is the bestselling author of passionate Regency romps, including the RT Reviewers’ Choice
The Making of a Gentleman
.
Kirkus
says of her books, “The road to happily-ever-after is intense, conflicted, suspenseful and fun,” and
RT Bookreviews
calls her books “lighthearted yet poignant, humorous yet touching.” She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston's inner city. Now she writes full time. She's happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making.

Shana loves to hear from readers, so send her an email, see what she's up to daily on
Facebook
and
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, or visit her website at
www.shanagalen.com
.

––––––––

D
ane turned and looked at the girl. She looked back at him, a challenge and a threat in her eyes. God save him. He’d only wanted relief from the ennui of the Season. He didn’t want a she-devil to contend with. Brook had said to clean her up. Dane supposed that meant clean clothes. But there was no point in putting clean clothes on a dirty body. He’d have to make her wash.

The servants’ hip bath was kept in the corner of the room. He’d only need to heat some water over the stove. Not that he knew how to work the stove. That was why he had a cook. He’d have to fetch the cook. And when he returned, the girl would be long gone. Was that such a bad thing? Dane thought not, but his brother would disagree. Dane didn’t really care about ruffling Brook’s feathers, but he did wonder why his brother thought this girl could be Lady Elizabeth Grafton, daughter of the Marquess of Lyndon. He knew the story of little Lady Elizabeth. She’d disappeared one day in the park, and despite an exhaustive search for her, she’d never been found. The nanny had been blamed and thrown in prison, but Dane suspected the poor woman was innocent. There were men who kidnapped children to send to the colonies, or for darker reasons. Dane tried to remember more details. He’d been about ten at the time, and the little girl perhaps five. So that would make her twenty now. He glanced at the girl before him. She was about the correct age.

“If you’re going to meet your parents, you will have to wash and change.”

“I don’t have parents,” she declared.

No surprise there. She was obviously the spawn of Satan. Still, it was interesting. An enterprising thief, as she seemed to be, might see opportunity in pretending to be the daughter of a marquess.

“Then you are not Lady Elizabeth Grafton?” he asked.

“My name is Marlowe.”

Dane waited.

“Just Marlowe,” she added.

“And you are not the daughter of the Marquess of Lyndon?”

“I don’t know the bloody man. Now, if you’ll just let me go—” She attempted to push past him, but Dane—pushing aside his distaste for the dirt covering her—caught her about the waist. She jumped back, and he stepped to the side before she could hit him. Looked like she had a good right hook too.

“I’m afraid I cannot let you go.”

She glared at him. “Why not?”

“So glad you asked. Two reasons, actually. First of all, my brother is a prime investigator. I don’t know how he does it, but he knows information. Which leads to the second reason. If he thinks you are Lady Elizabeth Grafton, I must give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“That’s a fancy way of saying I’m a liar.”

Dane spread his hands. “It is nothing of the sort.”

She crossed her arms under her ample bosom. “Really? Don’t you think I know who I am? I told you my name is Marlowe. I don’t know this lady you’re talking about. Now, tell me again my name is Elizabeth, and you’re calling me a liar.”

Dane stared at her for a long moment. Shocking to admit, but the girl had a point. He was, in essence, calling her a liar. “I didn’t intend to offend you.”

“You can dress a pig up however you want, but it’s still a pig.”

Now they were speaking of animals? Or was this girl more intelligent than she looked? “Are you using a metaphor?” he asked.

“No more fancy words,” she demanded. “Let me go!”

He refused to sink to her level and holler back. “There is no point in allowing you to go. My brother will only find you again.” And Dane would have to listen to a lecture for allowing the girl to escape.

“No, he won’t. I can hide so I’m never found.”

She didn’t know Brook. He could find anyone, and he was patient. He could wait years for a man or woman to surface. But Dane wasn’t going to argue that point with her. He had others yet to be introduced. “Be that as it may,” Dane conceded, “I am not about to let you go. As I see it, you have a choice: either willingly take a bath, don clean clothing, and eat a hot meal...”

“Or?” She tapped her foot rapidly.

“Or do all of that—except perhaps the hot meal—under duress.”

“Duress?”

He smiled thinly. “I force you.”

“You think you can make me do something I don’t want?” She notched her chin up in a challenge.

“Yes.”

She looked at him for a long time. He didn’t know what she saw in his eyes, but finally she nodded. “All right, but you’re not watching the bath.”

“Madam, I assure you, I had no intention of doing so. I will stand in the kitchen with my back turned. I give you my word as a gentleman.”

She rolled her eyes. “Some gentleman, forcing me to take a bath against my will.”

“Yes, I know. The horror.”

“And another thing.”

He sighed. “What now?”

W
ant to read more?
Earls Just Want to Have Fun
is the first in Shana’s new
Covent Garden Cubs
series.

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If you liked Ethan and Francesca
, they make appearances in the other books in Shana’s
Regency Spies
series, which begins with
When Dashing Met Danger
.

Other series from Shana Galen:

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  Lord and Lady Spy
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• The Jewels of the Ton
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  When You Give a Duke a Diamond
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• The Sons of the Revolution
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• The Misadventures in Matrimony
  series begins with
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