Page 29 of A Lady’s Handbook of Espionage

Callahan shut the door behind him and leaned against it, studying his fake wife through narrowed eyes.

Isabel’s gaze darted to the window as if calculating her odds of escaping his wrath via a swan dive into the shrubbery.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned. “I’d haul you back before you made it halfway down the lattice.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

“Of course not. You were only admiring the fucking vista, weren’t you? Enjoying the view of the gardens and whatnot.”

He shoved off the door and walked towards her. Isabel held her ground, but tension thrummed through her, the slightest hitch in her breathing as he invaded her space.

She deserved to squirm.

“Tell me,” he continued, “did my instructions not to do anything on your own simply fall out of your pretty head? Or are you congenitally incapable of following orders?”

“I just—”

“Just couldn’t resist a locked door, is that it? Just had to go poking around in some posh git’s unattended correspondence like an addled magpie?”

She snorted. “I was taking a turn about the house and happened to find myself outside Harrington’s rooms. Nothing untoward about that, is there?”

Such a liar. Such an absolute bloody menace. Isabel Dumont was many things, but innocent had never been one of them.

Callahan caught her chin between his fingers.

“Let me make this simple for you. Sass me all you want. Swindle your way through life. Hell, stab me again if it makes you feel better about how badly you want me to throw you down and fuck you raw. But you do not . Get. To lie. To me. Are we quite understood?”

“I thought lies were part of our arrangement, Mr Ashford ,” she said, not backing down an inch.

“Is that the only currency you think we trade in, Mrs Ashford ?”

A savage craving rose in him, the kind of need that revealed the animal in his skin that wanted to bite her until she submitted. Until she confessed what they both knew.

“This is a fake marriage, remember?”

“You want to know what I think?” he asked. “I think you’ve spent so long lying that the truth feels foreign.”

Her pulse jumped under his thumb. Fast. Nervous. Excited.

“Our marriage may be fake, Isabel, but the way you look at me isn’t.

Your body gives you away every time.” He watched her pupils dilate, heard the small catch in her throat.

“Some nights, I lie awake thinking about all the ways I could shut that smart mouth of yours. Maybe I should fuck it into submission.”

Those green eyes flashed. For a moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. The distant strains of violins from the garden filled the silence.

Then she lunged.

Her mouth crashed against his. The kiss was wild and starving – more war than surrender.

Like she was trying to prove something. She bit and sucked and conquered.

Fighting him for control, but he was bigger, stronger, and just as desperate.

Growling, he angled Isabel’s head to deepen the kiss, sweeping his tongue along hers.

She bit his lip hard, and the copper taste of blood flooded his mouth. Callahan groaned. If anyone walked in right now, they’d see the Ashfords about to fuck like they were fighting. They’d see her pressed against him like she was trying to climb inside his skin.

And Callahan wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Not when she made that little sound in the back of her throat – half whimper, half demand.

Let someone see him claim her. He’d spent long enough denying himself when it came to Isabel Dumont. He wanted to drown in her, to map the terrain of her body until she was seared into his memory. Until she was all he could taste, all he could feel, the only prayer on his lips.

“Reckless,” he growled against her throat. “Impulsive. Infuriating woman.”

“Overbearing.” She clawed her nails down his back. “Autocratic. Insufferable man.”

Callahan twisted his fingers in her hair. “Do you have any idea what happens to overconfident little thieves who get caught trespassing? The consequences when they push too far and provoke the worst in the men charged with minding them?”

Isabel strained against his hold, breath coming faster. But Callahan kept her pinned in place, his next words whispered in her ear.

“They get punished.”

He spun her around and bent her over the desk. Gripping her skirts in his fist, he yanked them up, baring her silk stockings and undergarments.

She stiffened, craning her head to glare at him. “If you lay a single untoward finger on me, you uncivilised reprobate, I’ll—”

“Quiet,” he ordered. “This is a lesson in what happens to naughty girls who don’t do as they’re told.”

She squirmed. “What if Harrington comes in?”

“Then he’ll get a fine demonstration of how I deal with my troublesome fake wife.

” He grazed his teeth over her racing pulse.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve imagined having you bent over for me.

So here’s what’s going to happen now, Mrs Ashford .

I’m going to discipline you for your reckless behaviour.

Then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember why we were fighting. How does that sound?”

“You’re twisted.”

“And you’re wet.” He yanked her undergarments down her thighs. “Spread your legs.”

She didn’t move.

“Now, Mrs Ashford.”

Isabel released a stuttering breath but obeyed with a stern look over her shoulder. Even positioned for punishment, she radiated the command of a queen.

This woman would break a better man than him.

Good thing he wasn’t better.

“There’s my girl,” he purred, smoothing his palm over the curve of her backside. “Tap the desk three times if my attentions become unwanted.”

Straightening, Callahan shrugged off his jacket and laid it over a nearby chair. Then he rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Now, where were we?”

The first crack of his hand against her right arse cheek rang out.

Slap.

Isabel jolted forward. “ Fuck .”

“Language,” he said, trailing fingertips down her spine. Taking his time. “How many do you think it will take for you to act like a proper wife, Mrs Ashford? Five strikes on this pretty arse? Ten? How many before the lesson sinks in?”

“However many my darling fake husband deems sufficient,” she demurred.

“Hmm. Such good behaviour already. One might conclude you’ve a taste for this manner of correction.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

“Six should do it,” he decided. “But only if this arse is red when we’re done.”

He waited until her fingers curled against the desktop, savouring the anticipation. Then he brought his hand down again in a stinging slap.

“Two,” he said. “Keep count. Lose track of or omit a number, and we start over.”

The third blow landed harder, a red handprint blooming on her pale skin.

“Three,” she gasped out.

“ Very good, sweetheart.”

He rubbed at the spot, waiting for her to relax. Isabel pressed back into his palm. The movement was unconscious, instinctive – a wordless plea for more.

“Submission looks exquisite on you. You should wear it more often.”

He felt her shiver at the praise before his hand came down.

Slap.

“Four.” She clutched the table hard. “Are you enjoying this, Mr Ashford? How depraved.”

“Depraved, am I? Because I think you like being bent over, Mrs Ashford.” He leaned in until his lips brushed her ear. “Is it the risk that excites you? Knowing someone could walk in and see me owning you?”

Without warning, he slid two fingers inside her.

“Oh, God .” Her head dropped forwards.

“There’s my answer. So I suppose that makes you just as depraved as I am.”

Slap.

“Five,” she moaned. “Harder, Mr Ashford. Punish me.”

Callahan let out a laugh. “That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one of these days.”

Isabel met his gaze over her shoulder. “Promise?”

Slap.

“Six,” Isabel managed, the word coming out on a shaky exhale.

“Time to occupy that mouth, Mrs Ashford.” He eased his fingers out of her and raised them to her lips, painting them with the evidence of her desire. “Suck. I want you to taste your depravity.”

Isabel parted her lips and took his fingers deep in her mouth.

Christ God, he was so hard, it hurt.

“That’s it,” he crooned. “See how beautifully you submit when properly handled?”

Pulling free from her mouth, he sank his fingers inside her once more.

Isabel shuddered. “I don’t think you put your back into that punishment, Mr Ashford.”

Something dark and possessive flared in his chest. Even now, she challenged him.

“Count out another six,” he growled, bringing his hand down hard across her arse. The mark bloomed red instantly.

Slap. Slap. His handprint was a deeper red now.

“Eight. Nine.”

“Tell me why you’re being punished.”

She panted. “I infiltrated Harrington’s chambers. Without you.”

“And?”

Slap!

“I risked exposing us both by being caught.”

His hand fell once more. Isabel pushed her backside into him, grinding against his hard cock.

“Eleven.”

“And what have we extracted from today’s session in discipline, my sweet fake wife?”

“No covert reconnaissance without consulting you first.”

“There’s my clever girl.” He delivered his last spank with a light nip to her jaw. Then he unfastened his trousers and nudged his cock against her. “I promised you a proper fucking, and I am, as ever, a man of my word. Ask nicely.”

“Please fuck me, Mr Ashford,” she moaned.

“Hold on tight, little thief.”

He thrust hard into her.

For a moment, Callahan pressed his forehead between Isabel’s shoulder blades, overwhelmed by the sensation of her, hot and tight and perfect.

“God,” he breathed. “You feel so good.”

He set a punishing pace. Each thrust was a confession, an absolution, a claiming. Isabel used the desk as leverage to back into him with every movement. Taking what he gave. Letting herself be claimed.

“Is this what you wanted?” Callahan growled, one hand fisted in her hair while the other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise. “To be fucked over Harrington’s desk?”

“It wasn’t in my plan,” Isabel gasped, “but I can’t say I’m disappointed about this turn of events.”

“No, you’re not, are you? Because the charming Mrs Ashford is a deviant, isn’t she? I’ll bet my darling fake wife would love it if people saw her being fucked and used. Wouldn’t she?”

Her fingernails curled into the table. “God, the mouth on you.”

“You made me this way, Trouble,” he whispered, low and dark. “Every time I see you, I want to put you on your knees and keep you there.”

Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? He wanted to keep her. On her knees, bent over, fucking her, fighting with her. Any way he could get her.

Callahan’s hands roamed Isabel’s body, kissing every part he could reach, loving the way she arched into his touch. His other hand snaked around to where they were joined, rubbing firmly.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Right there.”

“That’s it.” He rubbed her faster. “Come, Isabel.”

With a cry that Callahan muffled with his hand, Isabel climaxed as he fucked her harder. Harder . Giving one last brutal thrust, he spilled his release with a strangled groan.

Callahan slumped forward, pressing his forehead between Isabel’s shoulder blades as he struggled to catch his breath.

“You’re all right?” he whispered. “Was it too much?”

“I think you’ve broken me in the best possible way.”

A breathless chuckle as he withdrew from her. “Then I’ve accomplished my aim.” He righted his clothing and ran a hand through his hair.

“Arrogance is unbecoming on you.” Isabel bent to snatch up her undergarments, sliding them on with a wince. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Callahan looked around at the scattered papers and journals in Harrington’s room. “Find anything useful before I disrupted you?”

“Possibly.” She retrieved a piece of paper stuffed between her breasts. “This is a letter from Ramsgate dated two months ago. I didn’t manage to read much of it before you bent me over like an overbearing scoundrel.”

Callahan took the missive from her and scanned the contents.

“Well?” Isabel demanded as she rearranged Harrington’s effects just as she’d found them. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”

“Harrington expressed reluctance to answer Ramsgate’s questions.” He glanced up at her. “Nothing else jumped out at you?”

“Nothing of merit, no.”

“Then we’ll focus our efforts on Harrington tomorrow. See if we can’t determine what Ramsgate asked him for.”