Too Hot for a Spy Page 2

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No, I didn’t, Mr…. What did you say your name was?”

  “Sebastian,” he said in a husky, sex-filled voice. “Call me Sebastian, dearest Livy.”

  “I’ve not given you leave to address me thus, have I?”

  “No, Livy.” He planted a kiss on her neck.

  “You, sir, are impertinent.” But she didn’t stop him when his fingers traced the edge of her gown, causing goose bumps to raise her flesh.

  In one swift motion, he pulled her to her feet and kissed her hard, his tongue bruising the inside of her mouth.

  Shivers and thrills slithered through her body when he held her close enough to feel his erection. In a mindless haze, she ground into him, pressing closer, wanting more. One of his thumbs rubbed her breast through her gown and she moaned. He edged her bodice down and freed one nipple, teasing the nub between two fingers.

  “Good God! What do you think you are you doing, sir?” She gasped when he bent to take the rigid nub into his mouth.

  He backed her into a nearby tree, out of sight of curious onlookers. His lips returned to her nipple while one hand gathered her gown all the way up to her waist so his hand could gain access to the searing heat between her thighs.

  “Don’t! Stop!” she breathed in an anguished moan.

  He removed his mouth and looked into her glazed eyes, but his hand had already found what he was looking for. His fingers began to work their magic, an easy task, for she did not struggle. Amused, he said, “Which do you mean, my lady? Do you mean me to stop? Or do you mean don’t stop?”

  But he already knew the answer, for she was wet with desire. His mouth crushed hers to muffle her screams when she climaxed. He waited for her spasms to end before he smoothed down the skirt of her gown and tucked her nipple back into her bodice. All the while, his lips rained little kisses on her ear, on her neck, on her eyes.

  “Thank you for a lovely diversion, my lady. I can’t wait for our next encounter. What did you say your name was?”

  Her voice shook with rage. “Who gave you leave to assault me thus? You’re an unspeakable cad! It may interest you to know that I don’t know your name either, Mr.—whatever your name is!” Without waiting for his answer, she wheeled away and stalked off.

  She missed the sight of his lips curling with satisfaction. Bloody hell. She’s a temptress. The chit enjoyed our little tryst as much as I did. Hope she doesn’t have a designing mother waiting in the wings.

  In a whisper, he said, “My name is Sir Sebastian Brooks, milady. You won’t forget me.” He watched her disappear in the direction of the ballroom, content in the knowledge that he had won the match. He hadn’t lost his touch after all. She’d paid attention to him in the end, hadn’t she?

  Olivia reentered the ballroom through the terrace doors only to find herself facing her father, who waited with a man she had never met before.

  “There you are, Livy. I’ve been searching all over for you. I want you to meet Lord Wentworth, a good friend of mine,” said her father. He turned to a middle-aged, portly gentleman, one who had already lost most of his hair. “This is my daughter, Lady Olivia Fairchild.”

  Olivia bit back a groan. “Happy to meet any friend of my father’s, sir.” Her eyes darted right and left, contemplating escape.

  “Your father sings your praises, ma’am. I can see with my own eyes he speaks the truth, for you are beautiful. May I engage you for this next waltz?”

  Her father glared at her, his eyes pointing to the gentleman in an unmistakable gesture. “Um, I’d be delighted.” She took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the floor, but kept scanning the crowd.

  At the end of their waltz, Olivia curtseyed to her partner and hurried away. She vowed to burn her father’s ears for entertaining the idea that she would welcome an offer from such a ridiculous excuse for a man. Wentworth was as old as Father was, for heaven’s sake!

  Olivia had almost given up hope of finding the object of her search when she saw him chatting with two matrons not ten steps away. She cleared her throat and waited for him to turn in her direction. “Viscount Sidmouth? What a pleasant surprise. I never thought to meet you here in this mad press of people.”

  “Good evening, my dear. Having a good time?” The elderly gentleman’s words were courteous, but the look in his eyes told Olivia he had no idea who she was.

  She tilted her head and offered a flirtatious smile. “Meeting you, sir, has made my evening wonderfully complete.”

  Flattered, the viscount eyed her with approval. “Really? How so?”

  “We met last summer at Lord and Lady Marshall’s garden party, but I’m not at all sure you recall it.”

  “Of course I remember you. How could I forget such a beautiful young woman who flatters me?” The viscount was a slight gentleman with only a few strands left of his hair, yet his keen brown eyes hadn’t lost their sharp intelligence.

  Olivia checked her grin. The poor man hadn’t a clue. “That day last summer, my lord, when you revealed to me your secret, was the best day of my life. It changed me forever. Believe me when I say that your brilliant plan has never once left my thoughts.”

  The viscount tried to hide his puzzlement, but she gave him no time for reflection. She lowered her voice. “Trust me, my lord. My lips were sealed from that day to this. I revealed to no one your innovative plans. Of course, I was deeply honored to have you share your secret with me then. I only hope…”

  She bent her head and examined her slippers, annoyed because they were beyond repair now that Lord Wentworth, unable to see beyond his protruding stomach, had ruined them with his clumsy feet.

  Her eyes returned to the home secretary’s face. Should she shed a tear to advance her purpose, or would that be too theatrical? she wondered. She decided she shouldn’t. It might be overdoing it.

  To her advantage, the home secretary was not too old to enjoy a harmless flirtation. “What is it you hope, my dear?”

  Olivia looked around her. “Might we continue our conversation out on the terrace? The issue you spoke of to me is so sensitive, I’m sure you wouldn’t wish it to become common knowledge, my lord.” She took his arm and led him out, well aware that his eyes had glazed over. He still doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

  She found an unoccupied marble bench out of earshot from inquisitive guests, took his hand and said, “First, let me thank you for arranging for me to be employed in your office sir. Of course, I’m very happy to be of service to you in any way I can. Indeed, my position is quite gratifying, but…”

  “I gave you a position? What is it that you do in the home office, my dear?”

  “I have been charged with handling secret documents, sir, but I yearn to give so much more of myself to my country. So much more.”

  “You’ve placed me in a state of utter bewilderment, my dear. What on earth are you talking about?”

  Her words rushed out like an avalanche. “I’m talking about your plan to train women as spies, of course. In truth, I have followed the progress of those plans, from the rebuilding of the property to the training program. I know it is already in place.”

  The viscount eyed her with suspicion. “How do you know such a plan exists?”

  “I came across the papers in the course of my work.”

  His gray eyes smiled as an indulgent grandfather might to a child. “I’m not sure I understand you. What is it you’re really after, my dear?”

  Olivia laughed, showering him with the musical sound of bells. “Ah. You have me there, my lord. I won’t lie to you, of all people. Like everyone else who petitions you, I want something from you.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “No, no. I didn’t mean to imply that you are too forward.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” She took a deep breath, looked both ways to make sure no one overheard her, and said, “Last summer at the Marshall garden party, you shared with me your desire to establish a program for women to be trained for clandestine
work. A woman spy is a brilliant idea, if I may say so, sir. Will you honor your promise and assign me as one of the candidates, my lord?”

  The viscount scratched his head. “Well, I…”

  As if she hadn’t heard him, she continued, “To be in the forefront of such a bold program has become my life’s dream. You did promise you would consider me as a candidate for training, you know. May I hold your feet to the fire? Will you keep your word to me?”

  “You wish to be a spy? An odd request, my dear. You can’t imagine how dangerous such an occupation can be. What put the idea into your pretty little head? You are much more suited to marriage and a family.”

  Olivia now produced her single tear. To add weight to it, she sniffed. “My duty to my country comes before marriage and raising a family, my lord.”

  “Now, now. No need to weep,” the home secretary said, squirming in his seat.

  “Sorry, sir. It’s just that I feel so passionate about this. The first training class is about to begin…”

  He paused in thought. “You will have to allow me time to give your request some serious consideration.”

  “Then you’ll entertain it? Oh, thank you, sir. To me, that is clearly tantamount to a yes. I knew you would honor your word to me. A man who has been prime minister and now heads the even more important position of England’s home secretary, has earned his place in history, to be sure.”

  Viscount Sidmouth had the look of a helpless bear whose foot was caught in a trap, but Olivia gave him no chance to wriggle out of it. “Be assured I shall reveal our conversation to no one, my lord. My lips are sealed.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Forgive me for taking such a liberty, my lord, but you do remind me of my beloved father, the Duke of Heatham. Do you know him?”

  “Tony Fairchild? We went to Oxford together.”

  “You see? I knew there was a positive connection between us!” She stood up without letting go of his hand. “I shall make you proud of your decision when you allow me to be the first woman to enter your training program. It’s getting late, my lord. I must leave you, for my dear father is waiting to take me home.”

  When she reached the terrace door, Olivia turned to wave to the viscount. She wasn’t surprised to find him looking confused, his brow lined with worry.

  When Sebastian found the home secretary seated on the terrace bench where Olivia had left him, the old man was in a thoughtful pose.

  “Are you all right, my lord? I’ve come to escort you home.”

  “Oh, it’s you, Brooks. Yes. I’m fine.”

  “It’s growing late, sir. Are you ready to leave? Shall I call for your carriage?”

  “In a moment.” He raised his eyes to the spymaster and patted the seat next to him. “Tell me about your new training program, Brooks. Has it begun yet?”

  Sebastian wondered why the viscount showed such a sudden interest when he never had before. “We hope to begin next week, sir, but…”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Nothing we can’t resolve, sir. We’re one man short of our quota.”

  The two sat side by side, the viscount lost in thought, Sebastian unable to decide whether the old gentleman was growing forgetful or whether he had something pressing on his mind.

  “Let me ask you something, spymaster.”

  “My lord?”

  “No. Not now. See me Monday, Brooks.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “You may escort me to my carriage.”

  When he had handed the home secretary in, Sebastian folded the steps, closed the door, nodded to the driver, and stepped out of the way, all the while wondering what was on the old man’s mind.

  Chapter Two

  London—Monday, The Twenty-fourth of June

  “Afternoon, sir.”

  “Sit,” Viscount Sidmouth said. The home secretary, a short man, was conscious of his lack of height. Both the enormous desk and the high-back leather chair in which he sat were raised on a platform. The elevation was a reminder to visitors of who was in charge.

  Sidmouth templed his fingers. “Tell me all about your new recruits.”

  The old man’s up to something. Better tread carefully. But what? “Well sir, at twenty-two, the oldest is John Carter, a battle-smart soldier. We can expect good things from him. The next is Harold Perkins, aged twenty-one. A brilliant mind and a whiz at codes and deciphers. He’s one of Aaron Foster’s protégés. The youngest man—a likeable lad—is eighteen. Rufus Riggs was under my command. He acquitted himself well during the war. In fact, he was awarded a medal for bravery. And finally, we have a matched set.” Sebastian grinned.

  “Matched set? What do you mean?”

  “Identical twins, sir. Robert and William Reed are twenty-year-old country boys. None of us can tell them apart.”

  Sidmouth allowed himself a small chuckle. “Twins, eh? That’s good. They’ll confound the enemy wherever we send them.”

  “Exactly what we had in mind.”

  “Have you found anyone to fill the last spot?”

  “Not yet, but we have several promising applicants in mind, sir. My staff and I will decide this week.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ve already selected the final candidate.”

  “Indeed?” Why, the old bastard is meddling in my affairs. “I’m sorry, sir. That has always been my privilege. I respectfully request that you leave it that way.”

  Sidmouth swiveled his chair and stared out the window of his office for a time. When he turned back, he said, “I do not usually interfere, nor do I make important decisions lightly, spymaster, but I am convinced this is the right one. A ground-breaking one, if I may. I’ve had it in mind for at least a year.”

  “He must have very unique credentials to have attracted your notice, sir. Who is he, may I ask?”

  “No. Not ‘he.’”

  “A woman?” Sebastian’s voice raised a full octave. “You can’t be serious, sir. No woman is capable of mastering our rigorous training program. It’s just not possible.”

  “Lower your voice, Brooks. The walls have ears and I don’t want this spread about. It is my firm belief that a woman would be a distinct asset in the business of intelligence gathering.”

  “But sir! Think of the demands of our program. Calisthenics. Boxing. Martial arts. Fencing. Riding. Swimming. Codes and deciphers. You can’t expect a mere woman to succeed in such difficult tasks. It would be beyond her physical and intellectual capacity.”

  “I don’t agree, spymaster. There are precedents, you know. Other countries have used women as spies for years.” He frowned at the spymaster.

  Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “No, sir! Absolutely not. I will not accept a woman in my program!”

  “Perhaps you’ve misunderstood me. I am not giving you a choice, spymaster. I’ve already sent the young lady a letter of acceptance.”

  Sebastian stood abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process. “You’ve done what?”

  “You’re shouting again, Brooks.”

  “With all due respect, your interference in the affairs of my program is damnably unconscionable! I won’t have it, sir. I. Won’t. Have. A. Woman. In. My. Program!”

  The home secretary did not raise his voice, yet his words were menacing. “Pick up that chair and sit down. Who do you think you are talking to me that way, you hothead! I am your superior!”

  Sebastian had never heard that threatening tone from Sidmouth before. It surprised him into obeying the order, though his eyes continued to smolder.

  When he was seated again, Sidmouth added in a conciliatory tone, “There is no doubt in my mind that you will accept my decision, Brooks. You are a veteran of the war, well accustomed to accepting orders from your superiors. Where would England be if you hadn’t obeyed Wellington? Try to remember that you have an excellent record in the army and now you are under my command. Don’t besmirch that outstanding record by resisting me in this.”

  Sebastian refused to be soothed. “What if I refuse to
accept your…decision, home secretary?”

  Sidmouth shook his head in regret. “I would never have thought it of you, but if you cannot obey my orders, you leave me no choice but to thank you for your faithful service to the Crown”—he paused for effect—“and accept your resignation.”

  Sebastian was stunned. “Resignation? You would force me out?”

  “No one is indispensable,” said the man who had once been prime minister.

  Both men were silent for what seemed an eternity.

  At last, Sebastian said, “Am I meant to pamper this woman spy, sir? What if this woman you’ve chosen fails our program?”

  Sidmouth shrugged. “If she fails, she fails, but I expect you to give her every opportunity to succeed. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” Defeat colored his words as if they were in mourning.

  “Good. The location of Wilson Academy is secret, is it not? Send word to my office as to when the young lady will be escorted there. That will be all, spymaster. Good day.”

  “Good day, sir.”

  By the time Olivia had finished collating the papers in her files, it was half past five, nearly the end of her workday. She stacked the folders in a neat pile. I’ll wager no one bothers to look at these once I’ve tucked them away in their proper file drawers.

  She had read through each and every one when she put the pages in proper order, but in her view they didn’t amount to much. At the very least, most of them contained nothing even a spy would take the trouble to read. With titles such as, “Committee to Facilitate the Quartermaster’s Supply System” and “Agenda for the Meeting of the Home Secretary’s Task Force on Office Reorganization,” there was hardly anything earth shaking in any of them. No intelligent person would consider these reports worth the paper they had been written on.

  Her supervisor had warned her to collate all the folders and store them in the filing room before she left her desk at the end of the day. The man had the gall to insult her intelligence as well. “You do know how to alphabetize, don’t you, Fairchild?” How petty.

  There were at least forty folders to be filed in alphabetical drawers and less than half an hour left in her workday to accomplish this odious task. She took a deep breath, picked up the pile, and staggered down the hall to the filing room. She was forced to sidle along the wall since she could not see very well above her heavy burden. As she neared the end of the hallway, she let out a sigh of relief. The filing room was just around the corner, a mere dozen steps away.