Elinor did not know why she should be nervous. Perhaps the feeling stemmed from Winn’s refusal to tell her the nature of his test. Perhaps the feeling stemmed from the triumphant glint in his eye when they had been alone in Lord Melbourne’s office. Or perhaps the feeling grew out of her own fears of inadequacy. What if she did not have the skills to become a spy? What if being a wife and mother were all she could do?
She had always been proud of these roles, but now she wanted more—adventure, excitement. And she wanted to be part of something bigger than herself. She wanted to know she’d had a hand in preserving the British monarchy and protecting her future sovereign.
She peered through the windows of the carriage she and Winn occupied, watching the other conveyances rattle by. Their lights jounced brightly, and she could hear the happy, excited voices of the occupants they passed. The ton was flitting here and there, to this event or that, without a care in the world other than who would hop into whose bed. Once she had been so bored and desperate for entertainment, she’d thought that existence exciting—or at least desirable. She had coveted the most sought-after invitations and spent fortunes on the newest French styles.
Now she wore a gown she had barely glanced at when Bridget dressed her, and she was going home rather than to the theater.
Winn was seated across from her, and she couldn’t have been happier.
Except she still had to pass his test.
“You look nervous,” he said. His eyes had been closed, and she would have sworn he was dozing.
“Not nervous, merely curious. What did you tell Melbourne when you spoke to him?” When she and Winn had exited Melbourne’s office, Smythe and the secretary were waiting outside. Winn had nodded to his superior, and she’d strained to overhear the conversation. Coincidentally—or had it been?—Lord Smythe had spoken to her that same moment, and she hadn’t been able to hear.
“I told him you would give him your answer tomorrow.” He peered at his pocket watch. “Which I suppose means later today.”
“I will give him an answer?”
“If you pass the test, you may give him whatever answer you choose. If you fail, you must tell him you will not be a part of this mission.”
She would not fail. “How will I know I have passed?”
“You will know.”
Those words did little to reassure her, and her stomach was tied in knots by the time they arrived at their town house. Winn escorted her inside, and they silently handed wraps, hats, and gloves to the butler and footman. Relieved of her outer garments, Elinor stood immobile and uncertain. Should she retire to the drawing room? Winn’s library? Where would this test commence?
Winn leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Prepare for bed then dismiss your maid. When you are alone, I’ll tell you the nature of your test.”
“Am I to take it tonight?” she asked.
“I see no point in putting it off.”
Elinor nodded and climbed the stairs. What would Winn have her do? Prove she could disguise herself? Escape a locked room? Decipher a coded message? She was not certain she could successfully accomplish any of those feats.
“Are you feeling unwell, my lady?” Bridget asked as she helped Elinor don a robe over her serviceable linen night shift. Elinor had not known what one wore when taking a spy test, and she had chosen the most practical thing she could think of. Winn had told her to prepare for bed. Why did he not want her to prepare to sneak out of the town house undetected?
“I’m fine, Bridget. Merely tired. Thank you. I will do the rest. You are dismissed.”
Bridget bobbed. “Yes, my lady.”
As soon as the door closed, Elinor ran to bolt it. Then she checked to be certain the door between her chambers and Winn’s was unlocked. She’d already checked it, and it was still unlocked. She pressed her ear to the wood and heard the low rumble of masculine voices and then Winn’s chuckle. He certainly did not seem nervous.
She took a seat on her bed, rose, paced, sat down again, and folded her hands in her lap. Then she decided perhaps sitting on the bed was all wrong, jumped off and raced to a small chair in the corner. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, tried to look bored, and even lifted a book and pretended to read.
Where was Winn? What was taking him so long?
Unable to stay seated, she jumped up again and paced the room, pausing to glance at her reflection in the looking glass. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. Her hair hung down her back in loose waves, and she wondered if she should have told Bridget to leave it pinned up. Elinor grabbed a pin and hastily secured her hair in a severe bun. Was that the look she wanted?
“Are you ready?” a voice said from behind her. She spun around and stared at Winn, who was resting one shoulder on the door frame. His arms were crossed over his chest.
His bare chest.
Elinor swallowed.
He still wore his boots and his black trousers, and in his hand he held a glass of what appeared to be wine.
Elinor smoothed her robe. “Of course. I’d prefer to get this over with.”
Winn gave her a fleeting smile. “Wine?” He held the glass out to her, pushing off the wall and walking toward her.
She frowned. “That is for me?”
“I thought you might need it.”
Was this a trick? Had he drugged the wine? Poisoned it? Was this part of the test? As though he read her mind—or more likely the expression on her face—Winn said, “This is not part of the test.” He set the wine on a small table next to the bed. “I was merely being courteous. A rare thing, I know.”
Elinor really believed she would scream if he did not tell her the nature of the test soon. Her nerves were frayed, and she was exerting an immense amount of willpower not to begin wringing her hands.
Winn walked toward her, and she had to check the urge to take a step back. There was something feral and almost lionlike about him when he was without his shirt. His chest gleamed bronze in the firelight, and the muscles tensed as he moved, like those of a predatory animal. “It occurred to me in Lord Melbourne’s office,” Winn was saying, “that you have probably never encountered a fallen woman.”
Elinor blinked. She had not expected him to return to this conversation. “I have seen members of the demimonde at the theater and at various balls and such.”
“And how did these courtesans strike you?” He took another step closer, and she caught the faint scent of the polish used to shine his leather boots. It was a dark, masculine scent, and underneath it she detected the barest hint of the spicy scent of his shaving soap. Had he shaved for her?
“I don’t understand.”
“What was your impression of these women?” Winn was before her now, and he raised one hand and tucked a finger in a lock of hair beside her ear. Slowly, he pulled the curl free of its confines so it slid over her shoulder, tickling her neck.
“I…” It was difficult to think with Winn touching her, but perhaps this was part of the test. She thought back to the courtesans she’d seen. She’d been curious about the women. She was not supposed to take an interest in them, which made them all the more intriguing. “They were fashionable,” she said slowly, trying not to think about the way Winn wrapped her hair around his finger. “And laughing. Flirtatious, I suppose. Surrounded by men.”
“Is that all?”
She sensed there was something more he was waiting for her to say. She closed her eyes in an attempt to recall the courtesans as much as to avoid looking into Winn’s alluring gaze. “Sensual,” she said, the word crossing her lips before she even had time to think it. She remembered full red lips, plunging bodices, round, white shoulders, dark, knowing eyes. “I suppose they struck me as sensual creatures.” She opened her eyes.
Winn was looking at her, his expression unreadable. “And do you see yourself in this light?”
Elinor’s heart began to pound again. Her brain screamed a warning, but she had come too far now. She thought of her prim necklines, her matronly figure, her always-proper behavior. “No. But—” Elinor recalled the scarlet gown she had worn to Mary’s ball, the one that had made Winn’s eyes go dark with desire.
“But?” Winn prodded.
“But I do not think I am completely devoid of sensuality.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“You will need that quality to pass this test.” Winn’s hand slid down her robe, gliding over her breast and pausing at her waist. He flicked open the knot of her robe and pushed the garment off her shoulders. “Your test, Ellie, is to seduce me.”
***
Winn returned to his room and slumped in the chair beside his bed. Elinor had looked so shocked, so… completely at a loss when he’d told her of the test, that he’d taken pity on her and allowed her a few moments to prepare. He had no hope she would pass this test. And that was exactly the result he wanted. He did not want her to pass the test. She’d be safer at home. The Barbican group would find a way to apprehend Foncé and dismantle the Maîtriser group without involving his wife and family.
As the hand on the bracket clock beside his bed inched slowly around the clock’s face, Winn became more and more certain Elinor was not even going to attempt the test. He was not surprised. She had never been one to take the initiative when it came to their lovemaking. And yet, Winn couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed. Would it have been so bad if Elinor had at least attempted his test? Wouldn’t it have been rather enjoyable if she had passed? Not that he would have allowed her actually to seduce him. He would have stopped her.
Probably.
She had never tried to seduce him, at least not overtly. And this was why she could not be allowed to risk her life playing the role of a prostitute at a brothel.
This was no game. If Foncé’s lieutenant suspected she was a spy or in the service of the Barbican group, he would not hesitate to kill her. And Elinor would never be believed in the role of a wanton.
Suddenly, the door between their rooms creaked open. The doorway was empty. Frowning, Winn craned his neck, supposing he had simply not latched the door properly when he’d shut it.
And then Elinor appeared, and Winn’s jaw dropped. The fire burned in the hearth, and the lamp beside his bed illuminated the room, but they did little to chase away the shadows. And yet, even in the dim light, Winn could see enough that a jab of arousal cut through him. Elinor stood in the doorway in a pretty white chemise with a wide neck, held together by silk ribbons tied in an innocent bow. But what she had done to the chemise was anything but innocent. The linen material was damp. It had to be to cling to her body so. And cling it did, molding to her every curve and slope. She moved forward, and the linen dragged against her legs, revealing the rounded shape of them—and yet revealing nothing, as she was still covered from neck to knee. Winn felt his mouth go dry.
“No greeting?” she said, still moving forward. She moved slowly, a feat he had not thought her capable of. She was always moving quickly and efficiently. There was nothing efficient in her movements now. They were languorous, smooth, and—God help him—sensual. What had possessed her to dampen the material? And why had he never thought to douse her with water before? He would have, had he realized the effect.
“Is your tongue tied in knots?” Her brows arched. “I sincerely hope not. You might need it.”
Winn blinked. Had his wife just made an innuendo? She had never done so before in his memory. What, exactly, had happened in the half hour they had been apart?
“I did not think you would come,” he finally replied.
She nodded, stopping directly in front of him. Her dark nipples were hard and pushed through the wet fabric clinging to the swell of her breasts. The fabric then fell to her waist, where it slid into a V at the juncture of her thighs. “It took me a few moments to dress.”
“I see that. Are you cold?”
“Freezing.”
He reached for her, but she stepped to the side. “And I will need you to warm me with your hands, your body, and your mouth.”
Winn’s hands gripped the arms of the chair, sensing if he rose now, she would only find another way to avoid him.
“But not yet,” she said, reaching out and putting a finger on his chest. “First, we must rectify a most distressing situation.” She pouted, and Winn gaped at her. He had never seen his wife pout. Not once in all of the fourteen years he had known her. And yet, her full red lips had turned down in a moue he found irresistible. He could think of so many things he’d like her to do with those lips. Winn shook his head. This was his wife. He had to remember that, but she was making it quite difficult. She was acting far more the role of the—
Bloody hell. She was doing it. She was playing the courtesan, and she was succeeding. She was going to pass this bloody test if things went on as they had been. He needed to make it more difficult on her. Mentally, he was aware he needed to ensure she failed.
But physically—physically, he was desperate for her to succeed.
“What situation?” he asked warily.
“You, my lord, are wearing too many clothes.” She moved toward him, and Winn tried to scoot back—a feat all but impossible in the chair. But he could see where this would lead. If she managed to undress him, he would never be able to keep his wits about him. But instead of reaching for him, she turned her back on him. For a moment, Winn was confused. For a moment, he was completely and utterly distracted by the way the thin, wet fabric clung to her bottom.
And then she bent over, took one boot between her knees, and pulled. She had never removed his boots before. It was a task relegated to his valet, and not one Winn ever paid much attention to. But he was paying attention now. He could not help but stare at the way her hips wiggled and the way the fabric of the chemise only hinted at what he wanted to see. Horrified, he pulled back his hand just before it could clamp on the flesh of her bottom.
“There!” She dropped the first boot on the floor and looked over her shoulder at him. “That’s one.”
Oh, how he wanted to put his hands on her hips and bury himself inside her. It would take nothing to lift the chemise and plunge into her warm depths. She was not wearing anything underneath. He could see that quite clearly.
She lifted the other boot, positioned it, and wriggled it off. He could have told her that was not the best way to go about the task, but he could not seem to form words with her bottom wriggling like that. He was doomed. If this continued, he was never going to be able to resist her.
No man would.
She turned to face him again, smiling mysteriously. “And now, my lord, we may begin.”
Winn swallowed and hoped she had not noticed he was waving the white flag.
***
Elinor saw Winn’s throat working and did not know what it meant. Was he having a difficult time keeping the bile from rising in his throat? Was she completely disgusting him? She dared not risk a glance at his nether regions, and so she did not know if she was succeeding in her seduction or, as she feared, a complete and utter failure. Oh, she was going to make a fool of herself, that much was patently obvious. But at least she had tried. Winn said he did not think she was coming. Well, she had never been one to give up easily, and she was not done with him yet.
She only wished he would show some indication of what he felt. Did she arouse him at all?
And why had she said, “we may begin”? What did that mean, and what was she supposed to do now? He was looking at her expectantly, and she supposed she had better do something soon or she would fail this test before she had even begun. Seduction… seduction… She had no idea what to do next. Perhaps she would do something to keep him from staring at her so intently. She bent and pressed her lips lightly to his. She had to rest her hands on something to keep from toppling over, and the closest available surface was Winn himself. She slid her hands over his thighs and forgot she was supposed to be the seducer. How could his thighs be so muscular? How could they be so hard and solid and sculpted beneath her hands?
Her belly tightened, and she tried to focus on something else. She’d been kissing him lightly, but now she nipped playfully at his lips as she ran her hands up and down the length of his thighs. She could feel his muscles tightening beneath her hands. Did that mean she was affecting him? If she were truly a courtesan, she would not falter. She would not question her power. If she were truly a woman of pleasure, she would take her pleasure. Her way.
And what gave her pleasure? Kissing Winn. The feel of his mouth against hers. She deepened the kiss, slanting her mouth over his. How strange to be the one controlling everything. She was so used to Winn kissing her, Winn touching her. But now she could do as she liked. And she wanted to continue kissing him, to explore his mouth, revel in the taste of him, savor the feeling of being joined together—mouth to mouth—and soon body to body.
She teased his lips until he opened for her, then dipped her tongue inside his mouth. He tasted of mint, the same mint with which she cleaned her teeth. Hesitantly, she touched her tongue to his and felt a shock of arousal flash through her. Kissing him like this was familiar and novel all at once. In some sense they were still Elinor and Winn, but in another she was a wanton Cyprian and he the man who wanted her, the man who would pay any price to possess her.
She kissed him more deeply, sliding her hands up his thighs until she felt the bare skin of his abdomen. His muscles were tight there too, his body hard, his stomach flat. It rippled beneath her fingertips, and for the first time she thought she might be affecting him. She thought she might be seducing him. She stroked his tongue with hers and stroked his chest with her hands, noting how his muscles bunched when she caressed his skin, how his nipples had hardened, the way he sucked in a breath when she tweaked them.
Elinor could not have said what possessed her, but she could not resist closing what little distance remained between them. She straddled him, one leg on either side of his, and slid up his body, resting her bottom on his thighs and taking him by the shoulders. Even his shoulders were sculpted, the muscles beneath giving her a sense of the power he held leashed. He could take over at any moment. He could throw her to the floor, lift her into his arms, take her swiftly and hard. But he was allowing her to take control. Her hands scraped over the planes of his back and then dove into his hair to tangle with the short dark curls. She fisted a hand and moved his head so she could better access his mouth. Amazingly, he did not protest, but allowed her to have her way.
Feeling bold, she slid her body closer to his until they were joined but for the scraps of clothing between them. But even through the material, she could feel the heat of him. She could feel the heavy, hard maleness of him, straining against the fall of his trousers.
He wanted her, and she wanted to feel his need.
She reached between them and released the material covering him. He sprang into her hands, hard and hot and velvet. She took him by the root and ran her hand up and down, teasing the tip of him until she felt a bead of wetness well up. He groaned now, and she almost smiled. Instead, she pressed kisses along his jaw and his neck, feeling him shiver and jump in her hand as she continued her ministrations.
Without her mouth on his, she could hear his quick intakes of breath, his muffled groans, and the growl in the back of his throat as she touched him with long, slow strokes. She dipped her head, kissing his hard chest, sliding her body down until she knelt between his legs and could run her tongue over his muscled abdomen.
She remembered what he had done to her—had it been only hours before?—and bent to touch her tongue to the tip of him. For the first time, his hands gripped her shoulders and he pushed her back. “Stop.” The word was more of a growl than human speech.
But she had felt his body’s reaction. “You like it,” she countered. “You don’t really want me to stop.”
His hands on her shoulders tightened. “I do like it, but if you’re going to do that, if you’re going to touch me that way, kiss me like that, I don’t want this to be a game between us.”
She frowned. “You devised the test.”
“I’m ending it. I want to know this is something you do because you want it, not because you want to pass some test.”
How could she help but fall in love with him again? Even if she’d still been fighting it, she would have fallen helplessly at that moment. “I want this,” she murmured, stroking him again. “I want you. I always have.”
She touched her tongue to him again, swirling it around his tip then taking him slowly inside her mouth. In her peripheral vision, she could see his hands tighten on the chair, the skin white where he exerted pressure and attempted to maintain control.
“Ellie, you are killing me.”
And she would have liked to see what it took for his control to break, but her own arousal was building, and she needed him inside her, buried deep, the two of them frantically reaching for their joint release. Reluctantly, she released him and stood. The sheer expression of regret on his face all but made her laugh. He actually thought she was going to stop.
Instead, she bent and grasped the hem of her damp chemise. The material had grown cold and heavy, and she was glad to remove it. She wanted to feel his hot skin against her own cool flesh. Before, when she’d been in any state of undress in his presence, she’d always felt exposed and slightly embarrassed. But now she looked into the dark emerald of his eyes and saw how much he wanted her. She saw how beautiful she was to him. It made her want him all the more. It made her ache with love for this man who wanted her despite all her flaws.
“Now you,” she said, reaching for his trousers. He helped her yank them off, and she could not help but pause to admire his long, lean form. He was so perfect, so strong, so wonderfully male. She pressed herself against him, feeling the light dusting of hair on his chest rasp against the sensitive skin of her breasts. He was hot, she cool, and the contrast between them made her sigh with pleasure. She settled her bottom on his thighs, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. He rocked against her, and just the press of his heavy flesh against her sensitive core made her ache with need. She rose, positioning him, then whispered in his ear, “I want you.”
“Now,” he said between teeth clenched for control.
She was going to test that control further, because although she could tell he wanted to thrust into her hard and fast, she wanted slow and tantalizing. She was wet and hot and took him inch by inch, feeling every sensation to the fullest before he finally filled her completely. She was having difficulty holding back now as well, but she held on, knowing she would be rewarded. This was a new position for her. Years ago, before she’d conceived Georgiana, she could remember one night when they’d both drank too much champagne, and he’d set her on top of him. She’d been embarrassed then and unsure. She did not feel that way now.
Now she only knew she was controlling her own pleasure. Now she only knew that with each stroke she brought herself, and him, closer to climax. Now, she only knew if she resisted the frenzy her body called for, the mind-numbing pleasure building would explode into an ecstasy the likes of which she had never experienced.
She rode him slowly, steadily, until he was calling her name and clutching her, begging her for release. But she did not give in. She could not. Her entire body was straining for the peak of the swirl of pleasure rising within her. As soon as she thought she’d reached the summit, another peak crested, until finally she went over the edge. She trembled, bucked, exploded. Her body was alive with sensation so acute, so sharply pleasurable, she could not comprehend it. All she could do was give in to the sensation.
All she could do was let go.
With a cry, she bowed back and allowed herself to fall, knowing Winn would catch her. Knowing he would be there when she came back to herself.