She pinched his left arm sharply. ‘If you’re having me on, I will murder you.’
Raising his eyebrows, he lifted his free right hand. ‘I swear that I am not jesting or pranking. General Lord Wellington requested you by name.’
Moving her hands, she grabbed his lapels and pulled him closer to her until her body brushed his chest. She was most certainly not wearing a corset and a wave of longing shot through him. He took a sharp inhale of breath and tried to think of England. It did not work.
‘Tell me. Tell me. Tell me,’ she repeated, her lips close to his.
For a moment, Samuel could not think of anything except for how much he longed to kiss her lips. Touch them. Suck them. Bite them.
Frederica pressed the full length of her body harder against his and he could have spontaneously combusted right there on the spot. ‘Samuel, please tell me!’
Shaking his head, he managed to clear his mind enough to say, ‘The general would like for you to accompany me to pick up letters from an intelligence officer in Genappe.’
She blinked her long eyelashes twice before squealing loudly enough to wake the entire house. ‘He wants me to be a spy!’
Most people thought spies were dishonourable; trust Frederica to want to be one. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him roughly. His whole body was on fire for her.
Trying to keep his wits about him, Samuel said, ‘You are not a spy. The appropriate term is an intelligence officer and you would not be one. You are simply going to accompany me to get the letters. Your presence is to allay suspicion from locals.’
Frederica laughed and pressed a hot kiss underneath his ear. ‘Oh, Samuel, I have always wanted to do something truly important and I would love to be a spy for the army.’
She nuzzled his neck and he found himself placing his hands on her waist, pulling her closer to him. Frederica’s lips made a slow burn from his neck to the corner of his mouth, pausing a hair before reaching his desperate lips.
‘Say that I am a spy and I will kiss you.’
‘Companion.’
Giggling, she kissed the other side of his face, near his mouth. ‘Not good enough.’
‘Intelligence officer,’ he whispered.
Frederica kissed his chin with a giggle. ‘Spy or nothing!’
Looking into her hazel eyes, he knew he would tell her anything when she was in his arms. ‘Fine. You are a spy.’
Her lips pressed against his open ones and her tongue entered his mouth. Her lips ravaged his as her tongue stroked his, finding the most sensitive spots in his mouth. When she moaned against his lips, Samuel knew that she was going to be the death of him. Her fingers moved from his neck to his hair and roved through it, claiming everywhere she touched. He knew when her silken mouth slanted over his again, that Frederica was not a novice kisser, but an experienced one with great technique. He had never felt such a thrill. Not on his first horse ride or sailing with the wind in his hair. It was like learning how to kiss all over again. Frederica had remade the art into her own.
Unmarried young ladies were not supposed to be experienced, but Samuel did not care. No, he enjoyed the fact that she knew how to set them both ablaze. Nor did he care about any of the men she might have kissed or the women that he had. They were all in the past. And not worth remembering.
Frederica broke the kiss, but stayed encircled in his arms. They were both breathing heavily. Her face was beautifully flushed from the kisses. Samuel felt a surge of possessiveness that he had never experienced before. She was his now.
‘When do we start?’ she asked breathlessly. Her breath against his lips.
‘Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock,’ he said, kissing her neck beneath her ear. ‘And we probably won’t be home until four or five o’clock in the afternoon. Be prepared for a long and hard ride.’
‘I look forward to it,’ Frederica said with a giggle, and he realised that his words had a double meaning. A proper young lady would never make such a euphemistic jest, but he had always known that his betrothed was anything and everything but proper. Which in this particular moment did not seem like such a bad thing.
He forced himself to step back from her, his control already slipping, and the butler was just behind the door. ‘Try to be dressed next time when I come.’
She smiled at him saucily. ‘Are you sure that you would prefer that?’
Rendered speechless, he left the room without a word and was escorted to the door by Harper. Touching his swollen lips, Samuel realised that the butler had been right after all: it had been a romantic rendezvous.
Chapter Eight
Frederica descended the narrow wooden stairs thirty minutes to nine o’clock the next morning. She wore a lavender riding habit with two rows of brass buttons down the bodice, giving the article of clothing a military look. It was all the rage in London fashion this year. She donned a matching lavender bonnet with feathers that looked more like a sailor’s tricorn than a feminine hat. Clutching her reticule, she ensured that her pistol was there and loaded.
Frederica politely asked Harper to call for her horse to be saddled.