Sins, Secrets and Spies, page 1
Contents
Title Information
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
A Word From Maggie
Maggie's Novels
SINS, SECRETS, AND SPIES
by
Maggie Carpenter
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Published by: Dark Secrets Press
Cover Design : Fantasiafrogdesigns
Visit the author at:
https://www.Amazon.com/author/maggiecarpenter
www.MaggieCarpenter.com
CHAPTER ONE
Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Verity held her breath and focused on his powerful thrusting. She was chasing her climax, it was almost upon her, and clinging to her lover’s back, she lifted her hips under his sweating, panting body. It was so close, so tantalizingly close, and she pushed her mind back to the dark, delicious pleasures that once possessed her. The days and nights that were filled with torrid, unspeakable decadence.
He was behind her, flicking the exquisitely torturous tawse bringing a keen sting to her bottom—his fingers were exploring her impossibly wet womanhood—his lips were whispering devilish promises in her ear…
The orgasm seized her, and gasping her way through the tingling spasms, she heard her lover release a heavy groan into the pillows next to her head. Moments later his flaccid member slipped away, and letting out a long, satisfied sigh, she closed her legs doing her best to trap his essence. He grunted, then rolled off her, leaving her in peace. He knew better than to speak or to attempt to hold her.
Sinking into the bed, again she sighed. Forcing back the brimming tears, and swallowing the heat in her throat, she surrendered to the warmth of the afterglow.
One of these times it would happen. A powerful orgasm would fly her into the ether, and her beloved Jack would be there waiting. They would merrily dance, and he would hold her as he used to, give his blessing to the child she had just conceived, and she could live happily for the remainder of her years. It would be a different happiness, but happiness nonetheless.
She had experienced the amazing flight from her body only with Jack. Though she held the hope that she would find it with another, and the result would be a precious baby, the months had turned into years, and her chosen path was becoming ever-more difficult.
Her legs still tightly pressed together, she rolled over and picked up the two cloths she had ready on the bedside table. Handing one to her lover, she placed the other against her womanhood to soak in the leaking moisture.
“What a storm,” he remarked as a roar of thunder rolled overhead. “I’m not looking forward to the ride home. Bloody nuisance.”
“You should have brought your coach,” she murmured, wiping herself then slipping out of bed.
“It was a perfectly fine afternoon when I left,” he frowned, “and you are well aware that if I’m on horseback I can cut across the fields and be here in half the time.”
She didn’t respond, and dressed only in her corset, she ambled to the tall windows that overlooked the front lawns.
“Verity, you really do have a very nice backside,” he declared, propping himself up on an elbow.
“You know I don’t like compliments,” she quipped. “Please don’t.”
“But it looks especially lovely today. I’ve never seen it framed quite so beautifully. It must be that corset,” he remarked, not taking his eyes off her. “I felt compelled to tell you.”
He didn’t have to tell her, but men were like that. They thought if they expressed their admiration for her body, or her face, or her dress, or whatever, it would create closeness. But she had no desire to be close to them, or to adore them. There was only one man she adored. He lived high above the clouds and visited her dreams.
Verity wasn’t unhappy, nor was she happy. Since her beloved Jack had so tragically died, that’s how it had been. No ups, no downs, just a long boring evenness that had become her life. The pounding rain wasn’t helping. She needed the sun to come out. She needed to ride, she needed to wander the gardens, she needed to-
“Verity, come back to bed.”
Sighing, she ignored his request and studied the dribbles hurrying down the window panes. Lord Richard Smythe III was just one of several lovers. He was all panting and sweat and driving forward to their mutual climax. Sometimes that suited her…sometimes. She had to be in the right mood for Richard, and when she was his fervor was contagious.
“I’m going down for some tea,” she declared, moving towards her screen.
“No, come back here. Tea can wait.”
She paused, and taking a breath, she stared across at him.
“No, Richard, you can wait.”
She heard his humph of displeasure, but his response wasn’t unexpected and it didn’t faze her. Rarely did anything faze her. Walking behind the screen she idly wondered why she bothered with it, and she supposed keeping with tradition at certain times was probably a good thing. She couldn’t be bothered dealing with her many undergarments, and it was impossible dressing without her maid. She would have to call for tea instead of going down. Donning her long, red silk robe, she wrapped it tightly around her body and strolled across the room to the bell cord. Two pulls meant tea.
“You’ve changed your mind?” Richard asked hopefully. “You’re staying?”
“Only because I cannot abide the trouble of dressing,” she replied, moving back to the window. “I do wish this jolly rain would stop. It seems as if it’s been raining for days.”
“Except for the sunshine earlier, it has been raining for days,” he grumbled, climbing from the bed and pulling on his trousers. “I should have realized it was temporary. Damn and blast, I’ll get soaked riding home,” then pausing, he added, “You are in more of a mood than usual. Is it something I’ve done, or something I’ve said?”
A wave of guilt washed over her. Richard wasn’t to blame, no-one was to blame, even she wasn’t to blame.
“No, of course not,” she said with an enigmatic smile. “I’m just in one of my glum states. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Can I help?”
“Isn’t Margaret expecting you home? You’ve been here for ages.”
“My wife is busy with—hmmm—I don’t recall exactly what it is she’s doing, but I know she’s busy. It has something to do with charity.”
“Maybe that’s what I should do. Get involved with a charity, or maybe even charities, more than one.”
“Forgive me, my dear, Verity,” he said walking up behind her, “but I’m not sure you’re the type.”
“There’s a type?” she said, turning around and frowning at him. “What sort of type?”
“Proper, you have to be proper, and let’s be honest, you are many things, but I doubt you’d be considered proper. You’re wealthy and royal, but proper? I suspect the ladies who run these things would raise an eyebrow or two if you wanted to join them.”
“Oh, poof,” she said airily, waving her hand, “just because I have the odd gentleman caller doesn’t mean I’m not proper. I’m as proper as a gold embossed porcelain plate on a white tablecloth.”
“Your reputation isn’t exactly…”
“Isn’t exactly what, Richard?” she snipped. “My reputation isn’t exactly what?”
“I can see this conversation might be headed down a path full of brambles. I think I’ll finish dressing and be on my way. Besides, your tea will be arriving shortly, and your reputation won’t be helped if Lambert finds me in here.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” she exclaimed, grabbing his arm as he turned to walk away. “You said my reputation isn’t exactly—but you didn’t finish. Tell me. Tell me right now!”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” he said solemnly. “You entertain gentlemen in your grand home! Don’t you think the gossipmongers are having a field day?”
“It doesn’t seem to have stopped the invitations,” she retorted, waving her arm at the small, ornate desk against the wall. “If I’m so scandalous, why am I being constantly invited to all these things?”
“Because you are so wonderfully—what’s the word? Not wicked, you’re definitely not wicked. Wanton! That’s what you are! You’re wonderfully wanton! You have the most delicious air about you, and people love to see it, to feel it, to be around it. Quite frankly, reputation or no reputat
A light tapping on the door told them the butler had arrived with her tea, and moving swiftly to the side of the bed, Richard grabbed the rest of his clothes and hurried towards the screen.
“Lambert is not an idiot,” she mumbled as she moved past him. “He knows you’re here.”
“Be that as it may, I care about appearances even if you don’t. My reputation is intact, and I have a wife, remember?”
“I’m, sorry, Richard,” she said, meaning it. “You’re quite right.”
She often forgot that other people were less inclined to live life so frivolously, and while she did her best to be discreet, she did it for them. Silently chiding herself for her momentary slip, she turned to make sure he was out of sight before calling for her butler to enter.
“Come in, Lambert.”
The austere butler entered, but there was no tray in his hand, and he was looking extremely harried.
“Lambert? Is everything in order?”
“I’m afraid something rather, uh, well, somewhat disturbing has occurred.”
“What is it? Has something happened to Lord Smythe?” she asked, keeping up the pretense that Richard was somewhere other than hiding behind her screen.
“Lord Smythe? I believe he is still in the library, my lady.”
“What is it then?”
“We have a stranger in the foyer. It’s raining so heavily I felt obliged to invite him in.”
“A stranger?”
“Yes, madam, and he’s foreign!”
“Foreign! From where? Did he give you a name?”
“He claims to be the secretary to a one, Count Rocco Cavaletti, my lady. I assume he’s from the continent.”
“A count? Rocco Cavaletti? That sounds Italian. Did this secretary say why he’s here?”
“He claims their carriage broke a wheel. The count is still there with the coachman.”
“Did he say where the carriage is?”
“He didn’t madam, but from his state I’d say he’s walked quite a distance.”
“In this weather five minutes would see one drenched. Have Cyrus take the large coach and rescue them. It’s going to be dark soon. We shall have them overnight.”
“Very well madam, though…”
“Though, what Lambert?”
“Forgive me, my lady, but we don’t know anything about this man, or his master. Do you think it wise?”
“I’m sure they will be perfectly fine, Lambert, but I do appreciate your concern,” she replied. “The weather is becoming worse, not better. We don’t want them drowning out there, or being swallowed up in mud.”
“Very well, madam. I’ll see to it immediately. Do you still wish me to bring up your tea?”
“I shall come down, and Lambert, after such an ordeal I’m sure the count will be grateful for something hot to drink. Coffee, I think. It might be more to their taste. Have it served when they arrive.”
“Yes, madam.”
As the worried butler left, Richard stepped from behind the screen, a dark frown hovering over his eyes.
“I should stay,” he declared. “Lambert is right. You don’t know who these people are. There may not be a count at all. These men may be some sort of—”
“Some sort of what, Richard?” she said sharply, cutting him off. “Honestly! Look at the weather! Do you think a nefarious gang of thieves is roaming the countryside looking for victims in the middle of a storm?”
“One never knows, Verity, one never knows.”
“I suggest you return quietly to the library. I’ll say goodbye to you downstairs, and please hurry. I must ring for Mabel and dress.”
“I don’t like this,” he glowered, pulling on his clothes. “I don’t like this one bit.”
But Verity wasn’t paying him any attention. Walking across to the window, she stared out at the storm. She was about to host an Italian count. It was an intriguing surprise on such a dreary day. Nothing intriguing had happened in far too long, and she was delighted.
She could hear Richard mumbling to himself. Turning around she saw him blithely chattering away as if someone was standing in front of him. It was an odd habit he had. One she found unnerving. Glad he was leaving, and looking forward to her unexpected visitors, a smile crossed her face.
“Is the storm sweeping in new friends,” she mused. “Just who are these mysterious foreigners?”
CHAPTER TWO
Verity had always been attracted to the daring and unique. Blessed with courage and fortitude, she would venture out ahead of her friends, and boldly ask questions others wouldn’t. Standing at the window, staring down at the driveway below, she knew bringing complete strangers into her home could be called reckless, yet that was the appeal. It had been a long time since her life had seen anything exciting, and mysterious foreigners crossing her doorstep was very exciting indeed.
“Verity, are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Richard demanded. “You really must be more careful. I don’t like this, I don’t like this one bit. You should leave these strangers to fend for themselves!”
“Richard,” she said patiently, turning around and speaking to him like a child, “Lambert is here and I have a house full of servants. I appreciate your worry, but it is unfounded.”
“It is not! It is not unfounded!” he declared, puffing out his chest. “Lambert! For goodness sake. Lambert is a-“
“Lambert is a treasure,” she snapped, “and I’m very grateful for him. He’d lay down his life for me in an instant, but I doubt that will be necessary. He’ll keep his eye on these visitors, mark my words.”
“You inherited Lambert from Jack.”
“He’s been in service here at Wilshire Hall since Jack was a boy.”
“I wonder how Lambert feels about all your male friends, and now this—this count person being invited in.”
“I don’t have an army of male friends, as you call them,” she quipped, shooting him a reprimanding frown, “and just to be clear, he doesn’t seem to mind one bit, but it’s not his place to mind. Just because I’m cousin to the Queen doesn’t mean I have no empathy. I would be ashamed if I did not help a soul in dire straits.”
Richard felt his face flame. Once again Verity had gotten the better of him.
“Weren’t we talking about something before Lambert came in?” she abruptly asked. “What was it? Oh, that’s right, my air. What air? Before you leave you must explain.”
“Just what I said,” he replied, taking a breath. “You’re wanton. You don’t give a damn, if you’ll excuse my language. You really don’t, though I admit that is appealing in a perverted sort of way.”
“You’re quite right, I don’t.”
“Everybody worries about everything, but not you. It’s an enviable state of being. Certainly one I wish I could master.”
“It’s not something I set about doing, it’s just how I am.”
“Which makes it even more desirable,” he sighed. “Verity, can we please sit down for a moment? It’s my turn. There’s something I must ask you.”
“Very well,” she said resignedly, moving across to the easy chair in front of the fireplace. “Then you really must be on your way.”
“Please forgive me if I’m being indelicate,” he began, perching on the sofa opposite her. “This is rather personal.”
“I’m prepared, though I cannot promise to give you an answer. You know how I feel about personal questions.”
“I do, and I wouldn’t ask unless it was important. It’s about Jack.”
“Jack?” she said brusquely, unnerved by the thought of discussing her much-missed husband with anyone, let alone one of her lovers. “What on earth do you want to know about Jack?”
“Were you deeply in love with him?”
“What an odd question. Why would you ask me that?”
“If you’d rather not talk about it, I’ll understand. If it’s too painful…”
“Painful? No,” she lied. “Yes, I was in love with Jack, very much in love with him.”
“What did it feel like?”
“Another odd question! Surely you must know. Do you not love Margaret?”
“Verity, you’re being naive. I wouldn’t be here if I was in love with Margaret, at least, I don’t think I would be. When I consider what it must be to love a woman, I imagine I would wish to be with no-one else. Am I wrong?”
