Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 03] Read online

  THE ROGUE

  “Once you’ve read a Liar’s Club book, you crave the next in the series. Bradley knows how to hook a reader with wit, sensuality (this one has one of the hottest hands-off love scenes in years!) and a strong plot along with the madness and mayhem of a Regency-set novel.

  —RT BOOKclub Magazine

  “Bradley continues her luscious Liar’s Club series with another tale of danger and desire, and as always her clever prose is imbued with wicked wit.”

  —Booklist

  “Celeste Bradley’s The Liar’s Club series scarcely needs an introduction, so popular it’s become with readers since its inception … Altogether intriguing, exciting, and entertaining, this book is a sterling addition to the Liar’s Club series.”

  —Road to Romance

  TO WED A SCANDALOUS SPY

  “Warm, witty, and wonderfully sexy.”

  —Teresa Medeiros, New York Times bestselling author

  “Funny, adventurous, passionate, and especially poignant, this is a great beginning to a new series … Bradley mixes suspense and a sexy love story to perfection.”

  —RT BOOKclub Magazine

  “A wonderful start to a very looked-forward-to new series … once again showcases Celeste Bradley’s talent of creating sensual and intriguing plots filled with memorable and endearing characters … A non-stop read.”

  —Romance Reader at Heart

  “Danger, deceit, and desire battle with witty banter and soaring passion for prominence in this highly engrossing tale … Bradley also provides surprises galore, both funny and suspenseful, and skillfully ties them all in neatly with the romance so as to make this story more than averagely memorable.”

  —Road to Romance

  MORE …

  “A fantastic read … Bradley successfully combines mystery, intrigue, romance, and intense sensuality into this captivating book.”

  —Romance Junkies

  THE CHARMER

  “Amusing, entertaining romance.”

  —Booklist

  “Bradley infuses this adventure with so much sexual tension and humor that you’ll be enthralled. You’ll laugh from the first page to the last … The wonderful characters, witty dialogue, and clever plot will have you wishing you were a Liar too.”

  —RT BOOKclub Magazine

  THE SPY

  “Only a clever wordsmith can make this complex, suspenseful tale work so perfectly. Bradley pulls us into the wonderful world of the Liar’s Club and gives us a nonstop read brimming with puzzle after puzzle.”

  —RT BOOKclub Magazine

  “With its wonderfully witty writing, superbly matched protagonists, and intrigue-steeped plot, the third of Bradley’s Liars Club historicals is every bit as much fun as The Pretender and The Impostor.”

  —Booklist

  “A must for readers of the Liar’s Club series and a good bet for those who haven’t yet started … I unhesitatingly recommend.”

  —All About Romance

  “Ms. Bradley has an effortless style to her prose.”

  —The Romance Reader

  “A Top Pick … the best of [the Liar’s Club] so far. Bless Celeste Bradley … She just seems to get better at it as she goes along.”

  —Romance Reader at Heart

  THE IMPOSTER

  “Bradley carefully layers deception upon deception, keeping the intrigue level high and the tone bright … Readers will race through this delightful comedy of errors and eagerly anticipate the next installment.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “With delicious characters and a delectable plot, Bradley delivers another enticing read brimming with the mayhem and madness that come with falling in love when you least expect it. The devilishly funny double identities, witty dialogue and clever twists will captivate.”

  —RT BOOKclub Magazine (Top Pick)

  “Don’t miss this second book of the Liar’s Club series. With humor, passion and mystery, it’s absolutely delightful in every way! I can’t wait for the next one.

  —Old Book Barn and Gazette

  THE PRETENDER

  “Totally entertaining.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Julia Quinn

  “An engaging, lusty tale, full of adventure and loaded with charm.”

  —Gaelen Foley, USA Today bestselling author of Lord of Ice

  “Bursting with adventure and sizzling, Bradley certainly knows how to combine engaging characters with excitement, sensuality, and a strong plot.”

  —Booklist (starred)

  “Bursting with adventure and sizzling passion to satisfy the most daring reader.”

  —RT BOOKclub Magazine

  “A charming heroine and a dashing spy hero make The Pretender a riveting read … [E]ntertained me thoroughly from beginning to end.”

  —Sabrina Jeffries, USA Today bestselling author of After the Abduction

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks Titles

  by Celeste Bradley

  Surrender to a Wicked Spy

  To Wed a Scandalous Spy

  The Rogue

  The Charmer

  The Spy

  The Impostor

  The Pretender

  One Night

  with a

  Spy

  Book Three in the Royal Four series

  Celeste Bradley

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks

  NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  ONE NIGHT WITH A SPY

  Copyright © 2006 by Celeste Bradley.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  ISBN: 0-312-93966-3

  EAN: 80312-93966-3

  Printed in the United States of America

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / April 2006

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

  Every ruler needs a few men he can count on to tell him the truth—whether he wants to hear it or not.

  Created in the time of the Normans, when King William the Conqueror found himself overrun with “advisors” more concerned with their own agendas than with the good of the whole, the Quatre Royale were selected from the King’s own boyhood friends. Lords all, and bound by loyalty rather than selfish motives, these four men took on the names of ruthless predators while acting as the Quatre, keeping their lives and identities separate from their true roles …

  … to act as the shield of deceit and the sword of truth in the name of the King.

  Courageous as the Lion

  Deadly as the Cobra

  Vigilant as the Falcon

  Clever as the Fox

  The appointment is for life—the commitment absolute. Bonds of family, friends and even love become as insubstantial as a dream when each hand-selected apprentice takes the seat of the master. All else is merely pretense, kept for the sake of secrecy and anonymity. For it is true that the iron bars of duty cage the hearts and souls of …

  … THE ROYAL FOUR.

  This book is for my family members who were so devastated by Hurricane Katrina. You inspire me with your strength and resiliency. To Jack, Dave, Gretchen, Steve, Virginia, Claudia, Janine and all of your loved ones … thank you for making me feel at home again.
r />   I would like to thank the Bad Pennies for their support, and I would like to extend special thanks to Darbi Gill, who listened to me talk about the story long past the point where I stopped making sense.

  Prologue

  ENGLAND, 1810

  The moon is full and swollen in the dark lapis sky. A bright path shines on the glassy lake, leading me in, calling me onward. I want to follow. I want to feel the lake on my bare skin.

  A tingle on the back of my neck at the hint of sandalwood on the night breeze. No, there is no one there.

  The water will be cold silver, slipping silky fingers into places it would never reach through a bathing costume. I reach to untie my wrapper—and his hands come about me from behind. “Let me.” His voice is deep enough to make me quiver, but not a growl.

  My breath catches in my throat. “I told you to never come here again.”

  “I cannot stay away.”

  I look down to where large, competent fingers slowly tug free the knot in the satin belt. He lets the ends fall and spreads his open hands over my belly. I close my eyes at the heat that sinks into my skin and let my head fall back against the firm shoulder there. He rises behind me like a fortress, a wall of strength and protection that will never fail me. He is wrong for me, but I cannot resist him.

  He presses warm lips upon my temple and I turn into his arms, leaving my wrapper behind to slip to the grass. I am as naked as he. His arms come around me and for one, long perfect moment he holds me pressed close to his heat and strength. His embrace is a pledge, a vow, and I nod in understanding before I open my eyes.

  I may look upon his form—I must look upon it, and caress and take pleasure in it. His great chest rises with each breath, which comes more quickly as I allow my fingers to explore the plates and cords of muscle that shape him. I slip my hands up to trace the thickened strength of his arms to his broad shoulders—those shoulders I do love to rely upon—and then back down. I especially love to trace the risen vein that throbs in each forearm, and to feel his blood jump at my touch.

  Then I take his large, square hands in mine and press them to my breasts, giving him the weight of them in his palms. His organ rises between us, rigid and hungry, without shame. “Do you want me? “ I know he does, but I need to hear him say it.

  “I want you.” His hands tighten on me, not cruelly but possessively. I close my eyes and let my head drop back.

  “Tell me why.”

  “I want you because I was made to fit within you. I live to lose myself in your wetness and your heat. I love—”

  No. Wait. She couldn’t have him say that. Good heavens, love was the last thing she wanted on her plate! He was a plaything only. That thought sent a tiny shiver through her and put a naughty twist to her lips as she bent to scribble in her diary once more.

  I stop him with trembling fingers over his lips. No. Not that. Even I dare not dream of that.

  “I need you.”

  That was better. Not as dangerous.

  I flow against him, melting into his skin, wishing I might stay in the circle of his protective, urgent embrace forever.

  He sweeps me into his arms, lifting me lightly from my feet. With me in his possession, he strides into the lake. The water is cool, not chill, on my heated skin and it slides over my nipples and between my bare thighs like a sweet invader, tightening my flesh and making me shiver. He spins me in the water, creating a wake of shimmering wavelets that continue onward to break up the flawless pale path to the moon. I won’t be going there tonight. I will stay here, in my lover’s arms.

  He stops with the moon behind him, throwing him into silhouette, and only then do I look up to see his dampened hair curling about the shadows of his face. He kisses me and allows my body to slide down his until we are pressed breast to chest once more. My feet do not touch bottom, for I am weightless under the heat of his mouth.

  I wrap my arms about his neck and my limbs about his waist. His erection presses demandingly to me and I ease myself down onto his thickness.

  I close my eyes and press my face into his muscular neck. I don’t want to see his features, for if he has a face he will also have a name—and I must never know it.

  “Will you bathe, my lady?”

  With a start Julia, Lady Barrowby, twenty-year-old wife of the elderly lord of the manor, looked up from her writing to where her maid, Pickles, stood tapping her toes impatiently.

  Julia blinked as the fantasy faded into mundane reality. Right. It was only early evening, not midnight, and she was in her bedchamber as usual, not swimming naked in the lake. A twinge of guilt went through her. Her life in Derbyshire was wonderful, after all. Why did she feel the need to escape it into these diary entries? “So sorry. Pick. I’ll put it away as soon as the ink dries.”

  “Always scribblin’. You’ll lose your eyesight, my lady, see if you don’t!”

  “I know, Pick.” Julia capped the ink bottle with a sigh. “Did his lordship mention that he might be joining me this evening?”

  A glint of pity shone in Pickles’s eyes. She turned briskly away to hide it. “Himself went straight to his room after dinner, as usual.”

  As usual. Julia lifted her chin. Aldus hadn’t come to her in so long—and even when he had, he’d always been more embarrassed than amorous. She didn’t care about the difference in their ages. She owed him so much. She would do anything for him … if ever he should ask.

  “Humph. Good hot water gettin’ cold, too.” Pickles sniffed reproachfully, the moment of crusty pity past. “If you were still our little Jilly, I’d tan your bottom for wastin’ my time this way.”

  “Yes, Pickles.” Julia let a little Lady Barrowby creep into her voice. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”

  Pickles subsided with a last irritated grunt and held out her hand for Julia’s wrapper. Julia removed it and stepped into the now tepid water with another sigh. Pickles left the room, giving the door a decidedly miffed slam.

  Julia closed her eyes. She’d pay for that one later—she likely wouldn’t get a truly hot bath for a fortnight—but she couldn’t allow Pickles to go too far. Aldus was adamant—simply because the woman had once been one of her mother’s closest friends was no reason to allow her and the rest of the handpicked staff to badger the mistress of the grand house of Barrowby.

  Looking back, she decided tonight’s entry had been a particularly lovely fancy, full of beauty and titillation. The last line was a bit embarrassingly melodramatic—”if he has a face he will also have a name—and I must never know it”—but what did it matter? No one was ever going to read it but her.

  She slid deeper in the bath and leaned her head against the back of the lavish copper tub, letting the fantasy take over her imagination once again.

  The moon is full and swollen …

  “My lady!” Pickles burst back into the room, graying hair astray and eyes wide. “My lady, it’s his lordship—he’s collapsed!”

  1

  ENGLAND, 1813

  THREE YEARS LATER

  Husbands came and husbands went, but dreadful hair lasted forever.

  Julia, now the widowed Lady Barrowby, forced one last curling strand back into her severely restrained hairstyle and settled the black veil over it all. Her beloved Aldus had lingered for three long years in his efforts to stay with her after his initial collapse and although he’d been more mentor than husband, she had sworn to mourn him for one entire day before she took on the task he had set her.

  Just as he’d wished, she had buried him today with no more fanfare than the baker of the nearby village of Middlebarrow might have received. Now, she must pull herself together and dry her tears, for the moment had come.

  With a sigh, she saw that another pale wisp had come loose. Her hair refused to adapt to the role of highborn lady, a last holdout from the common Jilly Boots she’d once been.

  She shoved the blasted thing into submission once again, using her customary excess of pins. At last, she was ready to face down the
three intimidating lords who had gathered uninvited in her front parlor. She pressed her fingertips to the locket about her neck for a moment, then she turned and walked calmly from her bedchamber.

  All about Marcus there was chaos in the yard of the coaching inn. The impromptu visit from the Prince Regent of England had sent the innkeeper into fits of near-fainting and the people of this anonymous village into goggle-eyed ineptitude. There was noise and madness everywhere as he tried to get his highness back on the road, but deep inside him, there was a place of suspended silence.

  Marcus Ramsay, Lord Dryden, was waiting.

  Outwardly, he seemed well enough occupied by his duties protecting the Prince Regent and securing his prince’s safe journey from Kirkall Hall in Scotland to Brighton—George IV’s preferred winter destination. There was the prince’s new mistress to consider, and there were more servants and staff and Royal Minions of the Midnight Kitchen Foray than any one man could possibly need, and yet somehow Prince George still overworked them all.

  Marcus’s duties to his demanding monarch aside, there still remained a portion of Marcus’s mind that sat in that still, frozen moment of anticipation.

  He’d been waiting all his life, it seemed. The second son of a marquess, one boy child too many to hope for more than Ravencliff, the minor estate left to him by his mother’s dowry, he’d spent his youth wondering what the world would have left for him.