Chapter Twenty-Six

 

 

 

OLIVIA STOMPED ACROSS the wine cellar to the corner laboratory. The count’s indecent offer rang in her head. All her training to become a societal liaison was a resounding success. She attracted only men with prurient desires. She glanced at Ian. Decent, honorable gentlemen weren’t interested. Her mistake to hope otherwise.

But now was not the time to wallow in self-pity; threats had a way of generating inspiration, one of which had struck. Snatching up a pencil, she scribbled out a critical insight. That was the right equation. She reached for the Franconian multipunch she’d smuggled to the laboratory beneath her skirts. Moments later she held a series of cards that would allow for a smooth insertion of the needles.

Ian appeared at her elbow, and she caught a whiff of the jasmine perfume favored by Katherine. Her heart ached, but she refused to acknowledge the irrational flare of jealousy that made her stomach burn. “Impressive,” he commented, bending over her work.

Once such recognition would have made her beam with pride. Today she rather felt like smacking him. For challenging the count. For not immediately launching into an account of his time with the countess. She didn’t look up. “I need your arm.”

Without hesitation, Ian unfastened his cuff and rolled up his sleeve. “My sister?”

“Elizabeth is fine.” She flipped a series of levers, locking the device into place. “The metal framework positions the injectors, but the program controls their descent. To test the response of the pressure sensors, the injectors should release fluid—‌water—‌when they encounter resistance from your skin.”

“Fine?” Impatience roughened his voice. “That’s all you have to report?”

So he need not elaborate, but she was expected to detail her time away from him? Unfair. “Our visit lasted mere minutes. We shared a cup of tea. I inquired as to her health.” Olivia didn’t mention the contemplated escape plan. He was certain to object. Elizabeth would consult Wei about the particulars, and only then would Olivia inform him of their plans. “We discussed Warrick.”

Shifting impatiently on his feet, Ian pressed for more information. “And?”

“He gave her a promise stone. This.” She pulled the smooth lump from her pocket and dropped it into his free hand.

Ian turned the gray stone over in his palm. He stuck it to the incubator’s metal door. “Magnetite. A magnetic mineral.”

“Does it mean anything to you?”

“No.” But he slid it into his pocket.

Olivia could feel his questioning gaze on her as she flipped a switch. Good. Let him wonder what she left out. The small motor of the device began to hum. “If this works, there will be no avoiding the needles. I cannot program the hydraulics until they are in place.”

“You seem rather…‌ steady, considering the topic.” He chose his words carefully. Too carefully.

“I am annoyed.” She planted her hands on her hips. “My blood pressure is elevated.”

“As is mine.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.

Nostrils flaring, he leaned forward. “Fine. Directness it is. Look me in the eye, Olivia, and explain. Picking a lock? Waltzing from the laboratory over a dead body? Skulking about speaking to guardsmen? In German.”

“Father insisted all his children speak German, the language of Britain’s sworn enemy. Now hold still,” she snapped, refusing to meet his eyes, refusing to relent until he shared whatever had passed between him and Katherine. “I don’t need additional variables.”

“German. The better to spy upon Britain’s enemies?”

What could it hurt, a small boast? “I speak French and Icelandic as well. A little Russian.”

“A very agent-like answer, which is to say, not really an answer at all. Not that it explains the lock picking.” He reached for her chin, but she stepped back and glared at him. She’d had enough of such treatment.

Gears turned, silently and smoothly, gradually encasing Ian’s forearm in a copper and steel cage. The pressure sensors leaked fluid as they bit into his arm, stopping just as they threatened to break skin. A twinge of guilt niggled; there would be bruises, but his arm was locked in place. What better time to begin an interrogation?

“You smell of Katherine’s perfume,” she accused. “Explain that.”

He flipped a lever. The injector released with a slow hiss. “You’re jealous.” He sounded surprised. “Why?” Lever by lever, he set his arm free.

“Perhaps it’s all a part of my act. I am supposed to be your wife.” This argument was ridiculous. They weren’t married. He’d made her no vows. Why then could she not let the matter drop? “What brought the two of you so close today? Don’t bother denying it. I’ve heard enough stories, endured her allusions to your past along with her appreciative glances at your backside.”

His ears burned red, but he refused to bite. “Why did you not tell me that you knew her?”

“Also not an answer.” Olivia crossed her arms. They were getting nowhere. Grudgingly, she informed him, “Lady Katherine and I were never formally introduced.”

“Yet she attended your debut?” Ian’s eyebrows flew upward.

“Uninvited, yes. She rather ruined the event. If not for her I would…‌” Be married to a traitor. Perhaps widowed. All true, but not the reason for her anger. Her frustration. She stared into Ian’s brilliant, blue eyes. For the first time, she wanted a man for himself, not simply to complete an assigned task, to move another rung higher toward her goal. Sharing secrets and desires had twisted her feelings into something new, into something she didn’t recognize.

“Your insinuations are unfounded,” he said, shaking his head. “I—‌”

She didn’t want to know; it would hurt too much. Olivia turned and stalked away. It was darker midst the wine barrels and easier to hide the tears that welled in her eyes. How stupid of her to let emotions rule her behavior. She’d been warned—‌again and again—‌never to let the heart grow fond.

His footsteps followed. “Olivia, wait.” He caught her by the hips and spun her around. “Before we met, I proposed to Katherine. A misguided attempt to fulfill an obligation the Queen forced upon me to marry, to produce an heir. But there is nothing between us. There never was and never will be. Not only is she married, she’s a Russian spy.”

Blinking at the onslaught of unexpected information, she repeated, “A spy?”

He nodded and a flood of words rushed forth. Her jaw dropped as he spoke of tame pteryformes with reinforced hides and an offer to emigrate east. Her stomach flipped. Why did every escape scenario involve aerial acrobatics?

“Did you not inform me that China is the leading producer of antimony?” she asked, recalling the murderously coded punch card slipped into the butler’s daily schedule of commands. “If so, why attempt to kill Zheng? Why not also invite him to Russia?”

“Russia possesses antimony, but has yet to fully develop its mines. A resource they would expand if they possessed the ability to quietly generate their own elementally enhanced soldiers.”

“And no one would be the wiser until they marched upon their enemy.”

“Exactly.” His voice grew harder as if his words twisted with steel wire. “Now. What did Katherine do to you? Steal away your suitors?”

An entire failed Season explained so simply. Katherine a spy. The countess had indeed stolen her suitors. Or, rather, targets. Close enough. “Yes.”

“Good. For as much as you hate to think of me with her, I hate to think of you with another man.” His hands still at her hips, Ian backed her against the stacks of wine barrels as he stared into her eyes. “I never wanted to touch her. But you,” his voice grew rough, making her entire body hum with awareness, “you drive me insane.”

Flames flickered behind his eyes. With a little fanning, could she set him ablaze?

Always her targets’ physical interest in her had been something to be manipulated and endured. But with Ian…‌ Finally, Olivia understood what made otherwise intelligent young women follow gentlemen out on balconies, down stairs and under the shelter of a private arbor, risking both their reputations and their futures. She shouldn’t act on these feelings. She knew that. Yet after breaking so many unwritten rules, why not overstep a few more?

A thrill ran over her skin, and a deep hunger settled low in her belly. Lifting a hand to his cravat, she tugged his mouth close. “How fortunate for you, then, that you are my first…‌ instructor,” she whispered. “And know that I very much enjoyed yesterday’s practical, hands-on tutorial even if we reached no definitive conclusion.”

Ian dropped his gaze to her lips.

“Might I persuade you to offer another private lesson?” Heat flooded her as she dragged her hands down his chest and slipped her fingers beneath the edge of his waistband. She shocked herself with her boldness. “A more advanced lesson?”

His laugh was low and dark, but he didn’t pull away. “You won’t give up, will you?”

“Do you want me to?” She brushed her thumb against the topmost button of his trousers.

“No.” Dipping his head, he caught her lips with his own, and for a moment she forgot to breathe. He pulled away. “But I want something in return.”

“And what is that?” She freed the button.

“You claim not to be a spy.” His fingers fell on the tiny jet buttons beneath her chin, unfastening one after the other, moving steadily downward. “Yet neither are you a civilian. Explain.” He paused. “Or shall we cancel today’s class?”

No. Not that. Anything but that. “I’m not a field agent,” she breathed. “I am—‌was—‌a societal liaison.”

The last button popped loose, and he pushed her bodice apart. He yanked her corset downward, spilling her breasts free. “Beautiful,” he said, lifting a finger to trace their swell. “What—‌exactly—‌is a societal liaison?” He cupped the weight of one breast and ran his thumb across her nipple, scraping it with the tip of his nail.

She gasped as the thrill of his touch shot through her entire body, then regrouped, gathering in a tight knot of need between her thighs. “An innocent young woman who marries whomever the Queen chooses.” Arching her back, she pressed her breast fully into his warm hand, demanding more. “Marries a gentleman whose activities are suspect.”

“A target. Such as Lord Snyder?” He bent his head low, the slight stubble of his chin rasping against her skin as he nibbled the sensitive tip. “Answer me, Olivia.” The hot wet of his mouth engulfed her nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth.

“Yes!” Warmth flooded her sex and left her mewling. Aether. She clawed at the buttons of his waistcoat, needing to feel more of him. The heat of his bare chest against her own, its crisp hairs brushing over her skin. Increasingly desperate fingers hurried down the row of buttons before greedily applying themselves to those of his shirtsleeves.

He caught her wrists. “And you were to…‌?”

“Flirt, marry, take control of the household. Keep my mouth shut and my eyes and ears open. Report any and all suspicious behavior to my superiors.”

Dark eyes looked down at her, waiting.

She whimpered. What more did he want? “A societal liaison is not field trained. I’ve no ability to fly a dirigible, steer a submersible. Slip about in any manner of disguise. I’ve never used a pistol, a sword—‌or any knife, save those found in a kitchen.” Not for lack of trying, but no amount of badgering agents had convinced them to train her in even the most basic of techniques.

He released her wrists. “Am I your new target?”

Not a question she wanted to answer. She parted the linen, exposing hard planes of skin and muscle to view, humming in appreciation. “My education seems to have stalled.” With a single finger, she traced the hair of his chest as it narrowed over his stomach to disappear behind the edge of his unbuttoned waistband. “I do so wonder where this directs my attention.” Sliding her hand beneath the material, she cupped his long, thick—‌and very hard—‌length. “This is supposed to fit inside me?”

~~~

He groaned, but caught her wrist and twisted away. “No. It’s not.” No matter how much he wanted her. “That is a far more advanced lesson than I am prepared to offer.”

Standing there in the shadows, her bodice gaping open to expose the smooth skin of her generous breasts and their rosy nipples to the flickering light of the torches, she was his every fantasy. He swallowed and leashed the primitive beast that had roared its approval the moment she’d touched him. Conscious choices needed to be made, and logic needed to prevail.

She raised her eyebrows. “I begin to doubt the qualifications of my tutor.”

Ian almost laughed. “In your enthusiasm, you rush past several important steps.”

“Oh?”

“If you will stop trying to divert my attention…‌” He stabbed his fingers into her hair and pulled her close, kissing her deeply, tasting tea and sugar on her lips. Stepping forward, he crushed her against the stacked barrels, reveling in the feel of her taut nipples against the rough hairs covering his chest. Only when her heart pounded next to his, did he drag his mouth away to stare down into her dark, unfocused eyes. “Am I your new target?” he repeated. He hated using her—‌their—‌desire against her, but he wanted answers.

She huffed in frustration, digging her fingernails into the muscles of his back. “No. I mean, yes.”

“Which is it, Olivia?” Her nibbled her neck and her knees sagged. “Did Mr. Black send you? Was that you in the alleyway?”

“Yes. I was only to plant the devices in your luggage. But you were about to leave. It was the perfect chance to prove my worth as a field agent without first having to take a husband…‌”

Curious. He dropped his hands to her sides and gathered the wool of her skirts and petticoats in his hands, drawing their hems upward—‌and found no other undergarments between them and her stockings. Lust knocked reason aside and growled low in his throat. His hands swept over the firm, round swells of her buttocks, and catching her beneath her thighs, he lifted her as he pressed his straining shaft against her center. Sweet torture.

“Ian!” Her hips flexed. “Please. Don’t stop.”

He froze. Didn’t dare move. He was too close to the edge, too close to taking her here, now, against this very wine cask, but he suspected she was a virgin. And he had more questions to ask. He inhaled deeply, willing control, forcing his body to cooperate. A question—‌and perhaps her answer—‌might dampen his lust. “Do you have an assigned target?” he asked between gritted teeth.

“I do. In Rome.”

“Who?” Olivia as someone else’s wife. The thought didn’t sit well.

“Can we not talk of this later?” she pleaded, squirming against him.

“No.” He shifted and dropped one of her legs, letting that foot touch the floor. He trailed a finger up her soft, smooth inner thigh, his gaze locked with hers. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he found her hot and wet. For him. God, he wanted inside her. Now. Instead, he slipped a single finger along her damp folds. “Tell me who, or I’ll stop.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders. “Bastard.”

“Such language.” What he wouldn’t do to hear her scream in pleasure. But he stilled his hand.

“A Baron Volscini,” she gasped. “He is old, nearly eighty. Widowhood is a requirement for a woman to work in the field, but I don’t want him. I want you. I want this.” She pressed against his hand.

“Of your own free will.”

“Yes!” Frustration laced her voice.

“No more lies, no more attempts to manipulate me?” To survive, they needed to cooperate, to work together.

Lifting her eyes to his, she whispered, “Only if you promise the same.”

“Done.”

“Then no more.”

Ian heard the truth in her words and knew she was doing nothing more than trying to direct her own fate. As was he. Together, they had a chance of escape, of a future they controlled. Did he dare hope?

Enough. This lesson had become all too serious. He bent his head low and his lips brushed across hers, tender and sweet. When he pulled back, he let a naughty grin tug at his lips. “Then it’s time to bring this lesson to an explosive climax.” He pressed the pad of his thumb against her swollen center and stroked a slow, circular pattern. “What would you have me do, Olivia? Kiss your full lips? Tease your stunning breasts, or should I concentrate all my attention here, between your legs where your body is hot and begging for my attention?”

“God, Ian.” Her hands wrapped around his neck. “I can’t think. I can barely stand.”

“Choose.” He gritted his teeth.

“Between,” she gasped. “But more. I need…‌”

He slid his finger deeper into her tight channel, working her. “Better?”

Face contorted in frustrated pleasure, her hips bucked against his hand. “No. Still…‌ empty.”

So perfect. His body ached for release as he slid a second finger inside, stretching her, filling her. He wanted her to the point of mindless insanity, but as her eyes fell closed on a groan, he vowed her first time would not be here, in a cellar.

Instead he would taste her, feel her come apart in his mouth. With one hand he pinned her hips against the barrel as he lowered himself to his knees. Tossing her leg over his shoulder, he clamped his mouth against her hot, wet center and teased her with his tongue, with his lips—‌all while plunging his fingers deep inside her.

~~~

“Oh!” she cried out, arching her neck, tipping her head backward against a wooden cask as the room turned upside-down. Shockwaves of new, spectacular sensations rolled over her as he licked and—‌she gasped—‌sucked. His fingers withdrew and plunged again. “Oh, yes. That. That!” It was almost too much.

Heart pounding, lungs gasping, and skin burning hot, a fever consumed her, one that was increasingly demanding release. She strained against him shamelessly, burying her fingers in his hair. “Ian, I—‌”

Something snapped and she came apart beneath his mouth, his hand. She bucked, crying out as her climax tore through her, spreading outward in waves, leaving her limp and drained.

Carefully, he lowered her onto the floor beside him and wrapped an arm about her, pulling her tight to his side as he drew deep, ragged breaths.

“Mmm,” she hummed against his bare chest. “That was wonderful.” Far, far better than she’d dared hope or imagine, because it was Ian, a man she wanted to touch her. She looked up into his tense face. Instinctually, she knew his body was tense with unmet need. Reaching for the buttons at his waist, she purred, “It’s only fair we both finish.”

He caught her hand. “No.” There was no heat left in his eyes.

“But.” After such intimacy, how could he—‌

“Look.” He pointed. “We’re not alone.”

A tiny, brown bird fluttered above them. A nightingale.