MARIAH WOKE SLOWLY, reluctant to leave the dream that had brought a smile to her lips. Spencer was touching her, sliding his hand over her, not in a demanding way but the way a blind man might, trying to learn her.
She opened her eyes to a dark room and a dying fire and turned over onto her back, to see the outline of Spencer’s head as he lay beside her, his head propped up on his hand.
“It’s time you change out of your clothes and go under the covers, wife,” he told her and then she saw the white of his teeth as he smiled. “I thought I could volunteer my assistance.”
Mariah felt something begin to curl deliciously in her lower belly. “Oh, you did, did you? What time is it? And, by the way, you’re looming again.”
“It’s my new mission in life. To loom over you. Do you hate it?”
She stifled a yawn. “I’m still deciding. Now tell me the time.”
“It was past three when Rian and I left Chance. And, as you seem to have this obsession with the time, we’ll all be leaving the house at ten to begin our reconnoiter of the parks.”
Mariah’s chest rose and fell in a sigh. “And this is what you woke me from a sound sleep to tell me?” She turned her back to him. “Go away.”
Instead of obeying her, he began loosening the buttons on the back of her gown. Pressing his lips to the skin he revealed each time another button was eased free of its mooring.
“Spencer…no,” Mariah half pleaded, and then sat up, knowing she couldn’t go to sleep again. “I’m hungry.”
He freed three more buttons. “Not shy, are you, wife?”
Mariah swung a fist behind her, hoping to connect with solid flesh, which she did. “For food, Spencer. For pity’s sake.”
“Ah,” he said, jackknifing to a sitting position himself, “but you knew what I meant. Not being a gentleman, may I tell you how happy I am that you may be a lady but also a bit of a hellion?”
“Hellion?” Mariah slid to her feet on the carpet and grabbed the plate of food, taking it with her to one of the chairs in front of the low fire. “I traveled with my father, Spence, to some places where the only other female companionship were the women politely known as camp followers. I’m probably considerably more than a hellion, thank you. And not a lady at all.”
Spencer followed her, taking the plate from her and breaking off a piece of cheese, which he promptly fed to her as he propped himself on the arm of the chair. “As I’ve admitted I’m no gentleman, I suppose that’s only fair. Eleanor’s our lady, you know—she can’t seem to help herself. And now Morgan is supposed to be a lady, seeing as how she’s Ethan’s countess and they move in Society. But I don’t think she’ll ever be Society’s idea of a lady.”
“Julia told me Morgan and Ethan are traveling and won’t know anything about what we’re doing until it’s all over. Until we’ve either succeeded or failed. And if we fail, the entire world will know.”
Spencer put the dish in her lap and sat down in the facing chair. “But only we will know that we’ve personally failed. That’s…that’s…”
“Quite a burden,” Mariah finished for him. “We have to tell someone, someone else, someone in a position of power.”
Spencer opened the top two buttons of his shirt, his neck cloth long since discarded. He decided not to tell her what he and Chance and Rian had planned for early in the morning. “Chance told me that he’d hinted to several of his former colleagues at the War Office that the true head of the Red Men Gang was still at large. He told them that last year, when he helped Jack and Eleanor capture the nominal leader and turn him over to the authorities. According to Chance, a few people laughed at his warning, a few more dismissed the idea as nonsense and a few more were curiously silent. Two days later, while Chance was still in town, someone took a shot at him on his way home from his club. That was enough to get him back to his estate and to tell him that not everyone wanted him talking about Nathaniel Beatty.”
Mariah ripped off a small piece of bread and held it in front of her mouth. “Who is Nathaniel Beatty?”
“If we’re right, Edmund Beales. That was the name he used last year. He had begun to move in Society, only discreetly. We can only wonder who his friends are and who is in his pocket—how high in the government these new friends may be. So, you see, we’re a little reluctant to share our suspicions with anyone.”
“Leaving us with the responsibility to save the Prince Regent and the others.” Mariah shook her head. “No, we can’t do that, Spencer. It’s too dangerous. Surely there’s someone we can trust.”
She was like a dog with a bone, his wife, and quite correct. “All right, I give up. We have thought of one person we’re confident we can trust. Wellington.”
Mariah put the plate on the table next to her and eagerly leaned forward in her chair. “Oh, yes. Wellington. He’d be perfect. The man is a true hero and a true patriot. How do you plan to contact him?”
“You? Not we? You’re a constant surprise, Mariah. I’d thought you’d demand to be a part of that plan, too.” Spencer leaned over and took the small loaf from the plate, breaking off a piece for himself. “He supposedly rides in Hyde Park every morning just after daybreak. Hell, people line the streets every morning just to cheer him as he passes. At any rate, his charger, the famous Copenhagen, enjoys a good gallop from what we hear. Chance and I will be waiting for him this morning. If we can’t approach him directly, Chance’s own mount, Jacmel, will do the trick for him. Wellington admires fine horseflesh and when Chance gives Jacmel his head the Duke will notice, or so my brother hopes. After that it’s up to Chance to convince the man of the truth of what we believe.”
“So you’re saying that the future of the world as we know it could possibly depend on a horse?”
Spencer smiled. “A horse and the way Chance rides him, which is fairly magnificent in itself. I agree, it sounds insane. But there’s no other way to approach the man in relative privacy, not in these few days, and we’ve convinced Rian that kidnapping the fellow is out of the question. It would be easier if Ethan were here to throw around his title and consequence, but he isn’t.”
“I wish my father could be here. He served with Wellington on the Peninsula, before he was made a quartermaster. They spoke several times. Perhaps if I were to approach the duke, to tell him about my father…”
Spencer shook his head. “Ah, there it is. I knew you’d find some way to have yourself included. But truthfully? If Chance’s idea doesn’t work, we could think about that. But you’ll need a few more gowns, Mariah. You’ll need them in any event, but especially if you want to try to get us an audience with the Iron Duke.”
Mariah felt her temper rising. “So you’re going to shunt me off, send me shopping with Julia?”
“Actually, I thought we’d go to Bond Street together tomorrow, you and I.”
“Oh.” Mariah was nonplussed and rather amazed at the way her heart did a small flip in her chest. “Really? Just the two of us?”
Spencer smiled. “Just the two of us and please realize the enormity of my sacrifice. I’d rather face a dozen howling Americans than set foot in any shop filled with lace and satins. However, at my count, you own two presentable gowns, Mariah, as I won’t consider anything you brought with you when you arrived at Becket Hall. And I’m most certainly not including what you’re wearing now.”
She took his hand and stood up, pretending not to notice how handsome he looked in the orange glow of the fire. “What’s wrong with—oh, never mind. It’s obvious what’s wrong with it,” she said, looking down at her much let-out and then nipped in again grey gown that was now travel stained and wrinkled from having slept in it. “All right, I suppose I will have to go shopping for a few more things such as we found in Calais. But not until the afternoon, please. I want to go to the park with you to reconnoiter. I have a fairly good military mind, you know.”
“I believe I will spend the next fifty years learning the scope of your talents, yes. I’ll be interested in just where you think we should set our perimeter. According to Clovis, you personally positioned the guards each night after Moraviantown.”
Mariah nodded, remembering those weeks; in the swamp, on the way north to safety. “Papa and I spent many a long winter’s night discussing battles both recent and ancient. I know where Alexander made his mistakes, where Caesar overextended his troops, how the Americans turned defeat into victory during their revolt. Papa had wanted a son, I believe,” she ended, smiling, “but when he got me, he eventually decided to make the best of the situation. I only wish I’d learned how to ride. I was always stuck in a wagon with the supplies, you understand. And I hated being inside that coach on our way here, instead of riding with you.”
Spencer stepped closer to her, stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Once we’re done with Beales, and Morgan and Ethan are home again, I’ll take you to Tanner’s Roost. They raise horses, you know. You’ll have your pick, as my wedding gift to you, and I’ll teach you to ride.”
“I…I’d like that,” Mariah said, aware of the dark fire that had come into Spencer’s eyes as he continued to look at her, as he cupped her chin in his hands. “Mostly, I think I like talking about a time beyond this monster, Edmund Beales, a time for us to…to get to know one another.”
Spencer slid an arm around her waist, drawing her closer. He hadn’t come to her tonight with the intent of being serious but some things had to be said. “I already know one thing, Mariah. I know I want you in my life. A few months ago, I didn’t even know you or William existed. But I felt your absence. I felt the need for you both. I just didn’t recognize that need—that emptiness—for what it was. The part of me that was missing, has been missing all my life.”
“Spencer, I…” Mariah said, raising her hands to his cheeks. “Thank you.”
He gave a small chuckle. “Thank you? Am I frightening you at last, Mariah? I’ll admit that I’m frightened.”
“Then I suppose…I suppose it’s better that we be frightened together?”
“I’m sorry about the other night. For thinking you were only looking for…for a safe haven.”
Mariah bit her bottom lip, nodded. “But I was, Spencer. Think of it. Alone, nearly penniless, carrying a child—even responsible for Onatah. I didn’t know what I’d find when I found you, found Becket Hall. I didn’t, couldn’t, expect to fall into one of the deepest gravy boats in all of England, be welcomed so openly—even given the promise of a new life in Virginia. How could I have known that? But I’ll be honest. I didn’t travel halfway around the world because I longed for nothing more than to see your smiling face again.”
Spencer grinned down at her. “Oh, now I’m crushed.”
“No, you’re not,” she told him seriously. “We did what we had to do. For William. But I’ll try to be a good wife to you, Spencer, I promise. I’m going to try very hard to be a good wife.”
Spencer laughed, then scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed, dropping her so that she actually bounced on the soft mattress. “Very well, good wife. For starters, let’s see how obedient you can be when you put your mind to it, shall we? I suggest we begin with getting rid of that horrible gown.”
Mariah sat up, looking at him through her spill of flaming hair. “Horrible? No, not horrible. Horrendous. And there are so many tiresome buttons.”
“Now that’s an invitation,” Spencer said, stripping off his shirt as he joined her on the bed, turned her onto her stomach. “And just to make sure you’re never tempted to wear this horrendous gown again, I believe it’s time you were shed of the thing, once and for all.”
She felt his hands at the middle of her back, as he’d already opened several of the buttons, and then felt a sharp tug as he pulled at either side of the gown, ripping it straight down past her waist, buttons flying everywhere, the aged material giving easily under his strength.
There was need on both sides. There was apprehension on both sides. There was the moment without knowing what the next days would bring. There was their future, tantalizingly close, dangerously far away, possibly out of reach.
With so little in their control, they took the moment they had. Coming together with a heat born of that moment, knowing that danger and possible disaster loomed in their futures, ready to rip away all that they had, all that they might hope to have.
It was a mutual devouring, an explosion of the senses. Touch. Taste.
Mariah allowed Spencer to be the aggressor that first mind-shattering night of their marriage. She’d experienced, savored, marveled, enjoyed.
But they were equals now, each knowing the limits to the pleasure they could give each other and knowing that the pleasure was limitless.
What he had done, she did now, sliding down his body, learning it, touching…tasting.
There was no shame, no hesitancy, no fear. After all, morning might never come. Why not take all that the night could hold for them?
Spencer’s kisses were long, drugging, and returned with a new daring that surprised them both.
Her hands learned him, shaped him, cupped him, brought forth a response that made Mariah feel powerful, if not in complete control.
He would teach her to ride, he’d said, and he began his lessons when she thought she was sated, ready to curl against him and find sleep once more. But sleep was the last thing on her mind when he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Encouraged her to straddle him, move with him, move against him even as he held tight to her waist, guiding her onto him, into her.
He was so deep inside her, filling her so completely, but she wanted more. More, harder, faster.
As he skimmed her rib cage with the lightest touch, then teased at her nipples, she lost all thought and could only react. Moving against him, grinding against him, throwing back her head as she rode him, drove him, straining to take him deeper.
“Hold me…hold me…please,” she begged him and he lifted himself up, pulling her tight against him as she swung her long legs out and then wrapped them around him even as she dug her fingers into his strong back, nipped at and kissed the side of his neck, suckled hard at the sweat-slick skin; not knowing why, just that he tasted so good.
They moved together, rose together, hung suspended together, exploded and crashed through the universe together and then fell back against the mattress, reluctant to let each other go, even as they slowly recaptured their breath and slipped into sleep….
Spencer heard the knock on the door and willed it away, willed the world away.
“Lieutenant, sir? All pardon, sir, but you said to wake you all prompt at five. Mr. Chance is already downstairs and halfway through a fine mess of coddled eggs. You’d best hurry, sir.”
“Yes, thank you, Clovis,” Spencer called out, already easing from beneath Mariah, who still lay half on top of him, some of her long hair caught under his shoulder. “Sorry, sweetings,” he said as she moaned softly and then turned onto her side.
Gathering up his clothes, he slipped off to the dressing room, splashed cold water on his face, then quickly washed, ran his wet fingers through his hair and pulled on the clean linen Clovis had laid out for him the previous evening. He all but dove into his hacking jacket and breeches and then carried his boots into the hallway, to put on once he was downstairs, and saw Chance waiting for him at the front door.
“Well, don’t you have the look of a happily married man,” Chance said, watching as Spencer sat down on the third step from the bottom and pulled on his boots. “And injured in battle, I see, as well.”
Spencer looked at him owlishly.
Chance raised his hand, pointed to the side of his own neck. “You’ve a lovely advertisement of your wife’s ardor, just there. I’d pull my neck cloth higher, were I you, to spare your bride’s blushes—and Rian’s, if he should see it. He’s such an impressionable lad.”
Spencer clapped a hand to the side of his neck. “Jesus. Do you have to notice everything?”
“Not really, no. But what I miss, Julia catches, so now you’re twice warned. Are you sure you don’t want to go back upstairs? I could manage this without you, you know.”
“Perhaps,” Spencer said, getting to his feet, taking the gloves, hat and riding crop that a red-faced, clearly in-awe Clovis held out for him. “But how many men can say they’ve spoken directly to the Duke of Wellington?”
“Thousands, probably,” Chance told him as a footman opened the door and they stepped out to the flagway where their mounts waited, Jacmel giving the groom fits as he danced in place and fought to be free. Spencer’s bay stood docilely, but that didn’t mean the horse wasn’t ready to run. Fernando just played his cards closer to the vest, as it were, and wouldn’t try to bolt until Spence was on his back. “The trick, I’m afraid, will be in having the man speak to us in return. Shall we?”
Jacmel settled once Chance had his feet in the stirrups, which was when the bay, with Spencer just sliding his left foot into the stirrup, tossed his head and reared up on his back legs.
“As wild as his master,” Chance said as Spencer fought the horse back under control. “Or is it that he’s still taking revenge for getting him shot?”
Spencer drew up alongside Chance, grinning. “No, he bit me for that, so we’ve called it even. God’s teeth, Chance, this city stinks. It smells old and filthy and everything is yellow with dust. How do you stand it?”
“All cities smell,” his brother said as they made their way to the park gate. “It’s why we have parks. Sometimes, if we’re lucky, we can even look up in a park and see the sky without a chimney pot in the way.”
They reined in their mounts just inside the gate and Chance swore under his breath. “But not today. God, look at this mess.”
Spencer half-stood in the stirrups as they walked the horses forward, to see wooden booths and stalls and endless rows of tiered plank seating being nosily hammered into existence on every side. Banners were being hung; cooking pots were strapped on the backs of strong men in leather aprons; lanterns were being carried up tall ladders and tied to tree branches. There were already at least three dozen small replicas of ships floating at the edge of the waters of the Serpentine. As far as he could see, the perimeter of the large park was being cluttered with clever distractions and lined with convenient places for assassins to hide. Add several thousand people to the mix in a few days, and their task was beginning to seem impossible.
“What are those buildings in the distance?” he asked as a group of laborers in white smocks cut across their path, leading a string of donkeys with bales and sacks strapped to their sides.
“Just a small conglomeration, although there is one building that might concern us. The last one on the right—the powder magazine.”
Spencer didn’t like that. “Munitions are stored here in the park? Isn’t that convenient.”
“I know. When we get closer, you’ll see that I’ve already stationed ten of our men in the area. But it’s a fine mess, isn’t it? It’s no wonder we’re the only ones here to exercise our horses. We can only hope Wellington hasn’t decided his Copenhagen would be happier in Richmond Park. At any rate, let’s give them their heads. From here to that first group of plane trees over there,” he said, pointing with his riding crop. “Do you see where I mean? Just past the banner proclaiming that stall as the home of the Veteran Prince Blücher Ices and Stout, no less.”
Spencer didn’t answer, as he’d already put his heels to Fernando’s flanks and was off in an immediate gallop. He wasn’t being unfair; he simply knew that Jacmel would have Chance at the trees in time for his master to dismount, light a cheroot and probably smoke half of it before Spencer arrived, because the stallion was built for speed, the bay for endurance.
And exactly as he’d supposed, Chance and his mount went flying by a few moments later, just as a group of five uniformed men on horseback cantered toward them from the opposite direction. The man in front was taller than the rest, his uniform the most elaborate. When he held up his gloved hand the men with him immediately reined in their horses and they all watched Jacmel race across the ground, scattering startled workers and kicking up large clumps of dew-wet turf, Chance sitting him low, moving as one with the horse, as if slicing a battlefield in half.
“Ah, brother, I’ll say this for you, you do know how to bait your hook,” Spencer murmured as the tall man whose distinctive features had been captured in a thousand broadsheets urged his large, full-chested charger to follow where Chance had led. By the time Spencer joined them, it was to be introduced to the Iron Duke, who scarcely seemed to notice him.
“An honor, sir,” Spencer said, tipping his hat as he inclined his head in a small bow.
“Yes, yes,” Wellington said off-handedly, his eyes still on Jacmel. “Not for sale, you say? Not at any price?”
“No, sir,” Chance told him, winking at Spencer before adding, “This horse has no price, even if many men have theirs. If I might have a moment, sir? Forgive me, but I have deliberately set out this morning to speak to you on a matter of grave importance. I have news I feel safe only for your ears, your grace. News that makes me fear for the life of our Prince Regent.”
Wellington finally drew his attention away from the horse and up to the face of the man on that horse’s back. “You do, do you? So do I, who has to watch him stuff his face with victuals and drink all the night long, until his face is beet red and his eyes all but bulge out of his head. A man can’t live long, not if he lives by his stomach. Not that he’s a patch on France’s new king, who is so rotund he has to be carried everywhere. I don’t think the man’s seen his own feet in twenty years.”
He raised a hand as he added, “Forgive me. My head is splitting, as it does each morning, thanks to the long nights of food and drink and overheated rooms, and then I rise to see this…this debacle being executed here in my beloved Hyde Park. I’m being indiscreet. But, damn, I’d rather a battle than another state dinner or overblown celebration, gentlemen, I swear it.”
Spencer bit his lips together to keep from laughing and calling attention to himself, but it was difficult to look at this straight-backed, slightly hatchet-faced yet handsome man and reconcile the fierce look to the fairly whining complaints coming from his mouth.
Wellington shook his head, clearly a man disgusted. “Louis-Stanislas-Xavier. Louis le Desiré, his few fierce friends call him. I call him a perfect walking sore, not a part of his body sound. Even his head lets out a sort of humour. He’s a blight on Paris, a blight on France, and Bonaparte—Napoléon le Grand to his Louis le Gros—must look better to the French with each passing day. Don’t travel to Paris, Mr. Becket. It is not a pretty sight.”
“Many of our fellow countrymen and women are flocking there,” Chance said, allowing the fellow his head, insinuating himself with the great and, apparently, unhappy man.
Wellington smiled, the smile looking more of a gash in his stern face. “Many of our fellow countrymen and women are bloody fools, Mr. Becket. Paris forces its gaiety where it can, but cannot hide that it has the sad appearance now of an old, ravaged woman. Houses in ruins, gutters running with mud and offal. Bonaparte’s once-fine army in tatters of both mind and body. Poor bastards, skulking in the streets, muttering that their Emperor will return with the violets in the spring to rid them of the fat, gouty brother of the man they’d sent to the guillotine and to restore France’s power across Europe. They were once fine fighting men, worthy enemies—now reduced to the starving dregs of a ruined society.”
It was just the sort of opening Chance and Spencer had been hoping for, and Spencer was the first to push his way in. “Yes, sir, poor bastards. Many would be happier to have the Little Corporal back. Many more see their own advantage in having him back and other leaders gone, other revolutions begun elsewhere.”
Chance, who had learned how to approach those in power during his time at the War Office, rolled his eyes at Spencer’s directness. “Well, brother, that was subtle. Your grace, if I might suggest we three go somewhere quiet to have a private conversation? My brother here would say it is a matter of life and death, your own included, but he’s young and still fairly hot-blooded. Unfortunately, I agree with his sentiments.”
“Will you sell me the horse?” the duke asked.
“No, sir, I will not,” Chance told him, smiling. “But my brother and I might save your life.”
“Or take it,” Wellington said, looking at Spencer, who knew he was scowling but didn’t really care. “No, I think not, gentlemen, although I’ll admit the horse was a clever ruse.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” Spencer said, Fernando sensing his mood and dancing beneath him. “It’s not my neck at risk, and nobody much likes the Prince Regent, anyway. Maybe watching them all blow to bits will be just the entertainment the citizens want. Come on, Chance. We can’t help someone too stupid to listen.”
“Hold where you are, son,” Wellington ordered sharply, raising a hand to Spencer, looking at him intensely. “Stupid, is it? Not at all in awe of me, are you, or used to taking commands?”
“I served under Henry Proctor, your grace, at the River Raisin at Moraviantown. Would you be in awe of those in command, sir, were you I?”
Wellington’s shoulders stiffened and then he relaxed slightly, shook his head. “Point taken, Mr. Becket. But I’ll ask you not to insult me by ranking me with General Proctor or his ilk. I believe I have honorably earned my own reputation.”
“Yes, sir, you have,” Spencer said, his temper still running high, considerably higher than his awe at being in the great Iron Duke’s presence. Chance might think him a hotheaded fool, but he preferred to see himself as someone who did not gladly suffer fools. And time was running short. “They’ll build a fine statue or three to you here in London once you’re dead and gone. The question is, sir, how soon do you wish them to begin?”
“Jesus, Spence…”
“No,” Spencer said, the agitated bay barely under his control. “We don’t have time to dance around this, Chance, play the gentlemen. The world could very well go to hell in a hand basket a bloody few days from now, and we’ve got work of our own to do. He’s either with us or he’s not.”