"Caleb…"
"That's right, sweetheart. This time, I want you to remember." His attack resumed, turned relentless. Deep, thorough kisses that stirred her blood and sent her arms up to twine around his neck. He kissed her as he shoved up her skirt, found her core, and began to stroke her. He knew exactly where to touch her, how to caress her, used his skillful hands until she was trembling, wet and ready, and begging him to take her, making soft little whimpering sounds in her throat.
One of his big hands worked the buttons on the front of his navy blue breeches and he freed himself. Caleb lifted her and she felt his hardness poised at the entrance to her passage. With one deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.
Oh, dear God. He was as hard as stone and so big he filled her completely. He eased himself out, then thrust back in. Deep strokes impaled her, rocked her against the trunk of the tree. He cupped her bottom, bracing her as he drove into her again and again. Pushing her skirt up out of the way, he wrapped her legs around his waist, began to drive deeper, faster, harder.
Her head fell back. Her body trembled, tightened. Pleasure rolled through her in powerful waves.
"That's it, sweeting. Let go." And she did, her body shaking, quivering, straining, the pleasure so intense she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.
Caleb reached his release a few moments later, the muscles in his shoulders going taut as he spilled his seed. For long moments, he said nothing. Then his forehead dropped down, and rested against her own, and he just held her.
Reality began to drift in and her mind began to clear. She remembered where they were and that someone might stubble upon them, even out here in the farthest, darkest reaches of the garden. Caleb must have remembered as well, for he gently set her back on her feet.
He finished buttoning his breeches, then began to help her straighten her clothes. For a moment he paused, and she realized he was looking at the wine-colored, star-shaped mark on her left shoulder.
"I noticed this the last time we made love. What is it?"
She shrugged. "A birthmark. When I was little I prayed it would go away, but obviously it never did."
He traced the mark with his finger, looked down into her face. "I don't want you kissing Mondale."
Lee sighed. "Lord Andrew knows about the troop movements in Spain, Caleb. That is the reason I was kissing him."
"What are you talking about?"
"That's what we were doing on the terrace… talking about the war. I let him kiss me to take his mind off the conversation. I wanted to discover as much as I could."
"I don't believe this. You were kissing Mondale in order to get information? Dammit, I told you how dangerous that was." He wasn't happy, but she could tell he was relieved.
"Did Mondale say how he found out?"
"Apparently he received a letter from a friend in the army. I don't know if he is guilty of being a spy, but—"
"But it requires looking into."
"That's what I would say."
"What about Wingate? Did you kiss him, too?"
"Only once and it was awful."
"Dammit, Lee."
"I won't do it again—not even to get information."
Caleb ground his jaw and turned away, trying to bring his temper back under control. He sighed into the darkness. "I don't know what it is about you. Every time I'm near you, I seem to go a little insane."
She couldn't help a smile. "I don't know what it is about you, either, Caleb, but every time I'm near you, I seem to lose all my better judgment."
He laughed softly. She liked the sound. She had very rarely heard it. Then the laughter faded and his expression slowly changed.
"Promise me you'll stay out of this, Lee. As much as I appreciate what you found out, it's just too dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt."
"I can help, Caleb. Maybe I already have."
"Don't you understand—this is dangerous! I don't want you getting involved." He shook her. "I want your word you'll stay out of this."
Lee sighed, recognizing defeat in the determined look on his face. "All right. But I'm still keeping my eyes and ears open. That is the least I can do."
Caleb bent his head and kissed her. "As long as you stay out of trouble."
"Whatever happens, I won't do anything without talking to you first."
Caleb's hard look warned she had better be telling him the truth.
"So you think Mondale may be our man?" Colonel Cox sat on the opposite side of the desk in his Whitehall office.
"I don't know, sir. According to my source, Andrew Mondale has information about Wellesley's troop movements in Spain. My source says—"
"And your source, Captain, would be… ?"
Caleb cleared his throat. He had hoped to leave Lee out of this. "Vermillion Durant, Colonel. A situation came up. I had to make a decision. Based on what I knew of the girl, I decided to trust her with the truth of my mission. She volunteered to help our cause and came up with the information on Mondale."
"I see."
Caleb just hoped he didn't see too much. "According to Miss Durant, Mondale got the information through a letter he received from a dragoon captain in the 60th Regiment."
"That's hard to believe. Those letters take weeks to get home. The information would have been old news by then."
"Maybe not. Maybe the captain had a friend returning to England, or maybe it was just a lucky guess."
"It's possible. No doubt about it. Still, we'll need to put a man on Mondale, see where he goes when he's not out at Parklands, chasing after Vermillion Durant."
Caleb wisely made no reply, since recently he found himself chasing after her nearly as much as Mondale and the rest of her lapdogs, a fact he found irritating as hell.
"Are you planning to rejoin Major Sutton this afternoon?"
"I've some errands to run first. I'll be heading back out there this evening. We'll be staying for the balance of the week." Or as long as they could stretch their invitation. He prayed something would break before courtesy required them to leave, but it didn't look good.
"Very well. I'll put a man on Mondale, though I can't say I'm happy about it. I know the boy's father. It will break the man's heart if his son turns out to be a traitor."
Caleb didn't disagree. He was thinking of his own father and how much it meant to the earl to have a son so well thought of in the army. Perhaps in a way he understood Vermillion's desire to please the aunt she loved like a mother.
Unfortunately, in Lee's case that meant leading the life of a courtesan when she deserved far better.
He worried about what she would do the night of her birthday. She still seemed uncertain. If she chose a protector, as she had earlier vowed to do, the odds were slim that she would pick him. Once his assignment was completed, he would be leaving, returning to Spain. He couldn't take her with him; he wouldn't do that to her or any other woman.
Military life was simply too hard, too grueling, too painful for a female. Even an officer's wife suffered the deprivation, the close quarters and lack of privacy, lack even of a decent bed. To say nothing of the misery of being shuffled from pillar to post during the long campaigns.
Caleb swore softly as he thought again of Lee and the decision she would make the night of her nineteenth birthday.
17
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Dressed in her long white night rail, her hair brushed and plaited for sleeping, Lee stood in front of her bedchamber window, staring out into the night. She hadn't seen Caleb since last night when they had made love in the garden.
A warm flush rose in her cheeks as she remembered his angry, ardent passion. She could have stopped him. Caleb wasn't the sort of man to press himself on a woman, no matter how angry he was. But once he had touched her, kissed her, she hadn't wanted him to stop. She only wanted more. They had never made love in that way and she couldn't help wondering how much more there might be to experience—if only they had time.