Kisses Like a Devil Read online

  The hotel’s maze of gilded walls, huge oil paintings, and overstuffed furniture under lofty ceilings, glittering mirrors, and enormous candelabra was superb camouflage. Had to be, given his London-made evening clothes. He wouldn’t have worn them otherwise.

  Hell, he wouldn’t have come on this trip, unless he thought it would have helped big brother Neil, trapped in China with that crazy rebellion going on. The entire family had come to Europe to push for a united European army to rescue those trapped diplomats in Peking, where Neil had last been heard of.

  Granted that, they’d settled back to wait for news of the army and Neil. And they prayed, long and often.

  Even a blind man could tell Paris was the best place for Mother to be distracted from her worries. So here they were, in a two-year-old hotel, the fanciest place he’d ever seen.

  But boring—until that very brief telegram this morning from Brian, the brother who’d taught him the better ways to cause mischief and get out of it.

  He stepped behind another palm and eyed the front desk again. What was the telegrapher up to?

  His oldest sixth sense warned him before the words came. “Any word yet?”

  “No, no cable yet.” He spun to meet his brother Spenser.

  Blue eyes looked back at him and immediately relaxed, the way they always did when the two of them got back together. Everything was always better side by side. Strangers couldn’t tell them apart very well but family always did: Spenser had the quicker smile but Marlowe could move faster.

  “Have you asked the desk clerk?” Spenser asked

  “No. Where did you leave the parents?”

  “A café in Montmartre. I told Father you wanted to show me a new brothel.”

  Marlowe stared at him.

  “What’s wrong?” Spenser frowned.

  Marlowe grabbed his fifteen-minutes-younger brother by the shoulders and shoved him behind a potted palm.

  “You dunce!” he hissed. “Do you honestly think Father will believe you walked out on a concert by two of the opera’s top sopranos to visit some whores?”

  Spenser knocked Marlowe’s hands off. “Why not? I do it all the time.”

  “Yeah—but you don’t interrupt good music for it.”

  “Oh hell.” Spenser hesitated, their hands clenched in each other’s starched shirtfronts.

  “Cable for Mr. Donovan.” The clerk’s voice rang like a bell, the slip of neatly folded yellow paper enthroned on his silver tray.

  “I’ll take that, thank you,” William Donovan announced and plucked the precious message off the tray. Hooded blue eyes considered his two youngest sons, while he fished for change in his pocket and used it to dismiss the previously bored clerk.

  Marlowe pasted a polite smile on his face, reminding himself to breathe steadily. They hadn’t done anything wrong—yet. They’d only done what big brother Brian had asked. Just because almost nobody pulled something over on Father was no reason to panic, right?

  Then Mother glided up, looking remarkably young and pretty in her new Paris evening dress.

  Shit. None of them had ever gotten away with anything around her, assuming she was well enough to observe them.

  She rested her small hand on Father’s arm. His attention immediately changed, shifting from his sons to his wife. “Shall we go up, sweetheart?”

  “Who is the telegram from, dear?”

  “I don’t know; I wasn’t expecting one.” He glanced briefly at his sons before focusing again on his wife. Good; if Mother was around, his first concern was always for her comfort. “But I’m sure it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  Mother tilted her head, her tiny hat balanced like a bird on her curls. “How charming of the boys to present us with a surprise from Brian.”

  Marlowe choked.

  “You cannot be serious, Viola.”

  She considered her sons then patted her husband’s arm and freed herself. “We’ll take coffee in our suite, while you read it to us, dear,” she pronounced.

  “Us?” Spenser questioned.

  Marlowe didn’t dare glance at his younger brother. How far was he willing to push the parents?

  “All four of us, of course,” she clarified. Her eyes swept over the two of them again, their deep blue almost impossible to read.

  “Viola!” her husband protested.

  “I believe all of the Donovan adults, William, should listen to whatever Brian has to say.” She swept toward the elevator without a backward glance.

  Mother was fighting for their right to hear Brian’s cable? They’d never been regularly included in family councils before, Father being inclined to prioritize their college studies.

  Marlowe took a few quick strides and offered her his arm. Spenser fell in behind, followed a moment later by their father. The senior Donovan’s bristling silence filled the elevator cage, keeping the attendant’s eyes darting nervously between them.

  Their enormous suite overflowed with gilded chandeliers and mirrors, overstuffed furniture, and grandiose oil paintings. Marlowe eyed the fancy gimcracks and headed for the window seat, where he could pretend he was breathing fresh air. After they returned home, he hoped to spend a month in the Sierras, maybe two, and scrub Old World fussiness out of his skin.

  Much more the diplomat, Spenser ordered coffee and tea, using the telephone.

  “The message is from Brian,” Father announced, pocket knife casually hanging between his fingers, “and it’s coded.”

  He flipped the knife shut and shoved it into his pocket, its razor edge no longer needed to slice open the cable.

  Coded? The hair on Marlowe’s neck stood up. Neil and Brian had taught them the Donovan & Sons cipher. But he’d never personally used it on anything more important than lists of supplies.

  “Decode it, will you please, Marlowe? I’d like to change my coat and I believe your mother may want to remove her hat.” He couldn’t interpret Father’s expression.

  His heart stuttered. “Of course, sir.”

  He was seated at the desk, still staring at the result, when they returned a few minutes later.

  “Well?” Spenser demanded.

  Marlowe cleared his throat.

  MARLOWE AND SPENSER STOP MEET ME ST NICHOLAS PASS STATION EISENGAU TO MORROW SIX PM STOP MUST DESTROY ARTILLERY BATTERY STOP VITAL TO AMERICA WE DO SO STOP BRIAN

  “Blow up some cannons? Bully!”

  Marlowe grinned wryly and continued to watch his parents. His twin usually kept his Donovan fighting streak much more deeply buried than the rest of the family.

  “It’s too far,” Father announced abruptly. Why had Marlowe never noticed the white at his temples? And he seemed to have aged another decade in the last minute. “I’ll go instead.”

  “An artillery battery has four guns.” Marlowe tried to be tactful. “Spenser and I can handle it, since Brian will need a lot of help.”

  “No, you’re too young. This will take somebody with more experience.”

  “We’ll all go.” Mother set down her coffee cup.

  “Viola!”

  “Both of the boys must go and they’ll need your aid, William. You have more experience with explosives than any of our sons except Neil.” Her face twisted for a moment before she went on, “I’m coming, too.”

  “No, never, Viola.” Deep grooves bracketed Father’s mouth.

  “You’ll be working amid rocks and dynamite. I know more about that world than anyone here except you and we need everyone we can get. Plus, I can fit into places the three of you can barely even observe. If Brian is asking for help—saints preserve us, Brian—the need is dire.”

  “Don’t ask me to risk your life, Viola.” His harsh voice was barely a whisper.

  Marlowe and Spenser glanced at each other, not daring to speak. Mother understood explosives? But Father didn’t even like to let her go out into the rain. He’d never agree to have her come along.

  “William.” She took her husband’s face in her hands. “My health has been e
xcellent for years. You can’t wrap me in cotton wool forever.”

  “I can’t risk losing you, after we came so close to being parted.” A muscle throbbed in his cheek.

  “You never will, dearest.” She kissed him gently on the corner of his mouth. He slid his arms around her and rested his chin on her hair, his eyes completely focused on her.

  Marlowe’s breath hung in his throat.

  “Very well,” Father muttered. “The entire Donovan clan will destroy those cannons. May God be with us.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The once lasciviously cozy suite had become frigidly efficient. Meredith had even altered her wardrobe, shifting into neatly tailored suits, rather than the more daringly sensual silks he’d bought her. She’d just donned a wool version, which was so formidably conservative any passerby would take her for an upper servant such as a housekeeper. He couldn’t even see her magnificent cairngorm brooch under it.

  Morro whined softly from his bed by the balcony, clearly agreeing with Brian’s opinion. Perhaps he could convince her to change clothes by persuading her to start a game.

  Brian’s cock, always half full near her, strengthened hopefully.

  The rough-coated dog settled back down, paws thumping the silk cushion. He wouldn’t openly argue with his goddess.

  Brian cursed silently and started on his third silk tie of the evening. Living with an angry woman had to be easier than going to war, which he’d already successfully accomplished. Hell, last night he’d even slept on the floor.

  “A note came for you earlier,” he remarked, finally achieving a result he could live with.

  “Really?” She’d probably have displayed more interest in a conversation about Chinese women’s voting rights, or lack thereof.

  “It’s on the table.”

  She accepted the spectacularly respectable hat from her maid with a curt nod and picked up the innocuous envelope. Good; he’d managed to prick her attention about something.

  The Frenchwoman slipped out the door silently, discreet as ever.

  Meredith considered the plain white envelope for a long minute before opening it. An instant later, she snorted loudly and threw it into the fire.

  “What is it?”

  “Colonel Zorndorf offers me his hand. He’s convinced that a course of hard work and religion, plus rigorous discipline, will bring me back to the path of righteousness.”

  “The self-righteous son of a bitch!” Brian’s hands closed into fists. “What the hell was he thinking of?”

  “Oh, he’s very clear he wants me to become his secretary again.” Bittersweet laughter touched her voice.

  Brian lightly brushed her shoulders and she jerked away from him.

  Red mist clouded his eyes, the hunger to destroy every man who’d ever harmed or failed her. “Meredith,” he croaked.

  Damn but he could do better than that. He’d always been able to have any woman he wanted. For that matter, any prize he’d ever hungered for.

  He cleared his throat and tried again. “Meredith.”

  She straightened her shoulders, setting herself halfway across the room from him. She faced him with a false smile stretched across her lips.

  His stomach spiraled into his boots, faster than rotten fish falling off a fork.

  “I have to go to Altstadt tonight, at the other end of the lake, to visit a sick friend,” she announced, her eyes meeting his briefly before sliding away.

  She was running away from him? His pain was so deep he could only grunt acknowledgment, while his brain tried to work. He had no time to think about where she was going before she continued.

  “I’ve arranged for a seat in the servants’ launch, where Sazonov will never look for me. And I’ll take the servants’ stair down to the quay so he won’t see me. Please convey my excuses to Grand Duke Rudolph for missing the gala aboard his yacht. You can say I’m inclined to seasickness, or whatever the freshwater equivalent is.”

  Brian cast her a disbelieving look. “I hadn’t planned to take you. It will be little more than an orgy by sunrise when the yacht finally docks again.”

  “But everyone else is going.” Comprehension flashed into her eyes and she blushed hotly.

  “I would never take my fiancée to such a party.” There, he’d mentioned her nightmare subject again.

  Her expression, which had been almost friendly for a moment, turned shuttered again. “I will not marry you or anyone else, Brian. I would never sign my life over to a man’s control.”

  “I swear our marriage wouldn’t be that way, Meredith.” Brian took a step toward her and she flung up her hand.

  He stopped in his tracks, a knife twisting into his gut.

  “Will you be my friend, Meredith?” he asked when he could trust his voice.

  “Would you agree to marry another woman if I say yes? If that is all I let you become?”

  He gaped at her. “Hell, no!” rocketed out of his mouth before he could stop himself, surprising him more than her.

  “You’re too damn stubborn for your own good,” she remarked.

  He shrugged, wondering when the devil she’d come to matter so much. Never before had there been a woman he couldn’t walk away from. Oh, he’d been furious when Mary FitzAllen had left him at the altar but he’d regained his equilibrium within a month. He’d even ultimately been wryly amused she’d misjudged his income so greatly as to run off with another man.

  Would he sleep well again if Meredith’s hair wasn’t tickling his shoulder? No, God help him, he probably wouldn’t.

  Perhaps if he seduced her? God knows she always went up in flames the minute he kissed her. He should be able to keep her for days—weeks, months?—longer with a little, highly enjoyable effort.

  He knotted his fingers into his trousers seam. No, God damn it, he wouldn’t.

  Meredith wasn’t just another pretty face and a useful body. She had a brain, too. He wanted all of her or nothing—even if it meant she used that brilliant mind to leave him in the end.

  Shit, he was in this far too deep.

  He’d have to let her go to Altstadt because he was off to blow up those damn cannons. She’d be safer at a bourgeois town among friends where Sazonov wouldn’t look for her, than staying in this decadent palace alone.

  “Our bargain stands until summer maneuvers are over,” Meredith said slowly, obviously calculating the least she was required to give him.

  “And after I’ve taken you back to Eisengau or Scotland, if you need an escort out of the country,” Brian added quickly, determined to gain the most.

  “That will not be necessary,” she snapped. “Mother will take me back.”

  “Or will she continue to seek the advantage to herself and her family?” Brian wasn’t sure anyone could humiliate that mercenary bitch enough to make her yield a long-sought goal. If Zorndorf didn’t take Meredith back—well, may the Blessed Mother help Meredith, because her own mother probably wouldn’t.

  “That’s not true! She’s my mother and she’ll understand.” Meredith was almost quivering, clearly desperate to convince him—and possibly herself. “She’s always said Zorndorf was a brute and she’ll realize I had to use any possible method to stop his pursuit.”

  Brian inclined his head, not trusting his voice.

  Meredith cast him a suspicious look before nodding. “Very well. But I’m only agreeing so you’ll stop fussing at me.”

  A muscle throbbed in his jaw. God help her if he was right.

  Brian lay on a small knob in the mountainside with his family, letting them study the blockhouse through their binoculars. They were well concealed behind some boulders edging a clump of ash trees, far from the summer palace or the headquarters. The landscape here was similar to that around the headquarters for summer maneuvers: wide stretches of pastureland edged with trees or narrow hedgerows, and spotted with occasional groves of trees. The long vistas were helpful for watching others, if one took care to be discreet.

  The massive stone block
house was actually two round buildings linked by a long bar into the shape of the letter “I,” stretching out along a cliff above the lakeshore. The northern tip of the letter was where the four cannons—the artillery battery—were placed, while the base was the railroad blockhouse where the railroad line to the palace and headquarters ended. It was also where all the railroad supplies were kept, near the river flowing out of the lake.

  The Citadel’s famous fireworks would be visible from here in a few hours, beyond the same rugged hills which had taken him hours to travel by train. Flickers of light revealed the tiny villages stretched along the rivers and lake, all of them set behind Eisengau’s rippling white line floodwall and low bluffs.

  Meredith—dearest, dearest Meredith—was in Altstadt, an hour downriver from here and a decaying holiday spot for the bourgeois. If he put a note in a bottle and tossed it into the lake, it could reach her. Folly, purest folly.

  Remember your mission, major, not the woman. Think about destroying those guns and protecting your country.

  His family was here on an old-fashioned raiding party, such as their ancestors would have recognized. The stationmaster must have thought they’d come to hike, given their sturdy tweeds and stout boots. Lord, how he’d gulped when he’d received the cable saying the parents were coming. But when he’d seen Mother, with her plus fours neatly tucked into her high-topped boots making the woolen trousers almost as baggy and respectable as bloomers—that was when he’d realized she too had come to fight, not just hold the horses.

  Father had brought three immense carpetbags, filled with an assortment of deadly tricks. Brian had another one, loaded with toys he’d lifted from Eisengau’s labs. Their horses waited just beyond the rise, patiently grazing in the eternal calm. After all, it was centuries since anyone had last gone to war inside this country’s boundaries.

  “Interesting,” Father pronounced at last. “Your small door is in the center under that snow shed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re not carrying enough cordite or dynamite to completely destroy the gun turret.”