The Spy Wore Petticoats

"Your lordship will have to wait while I ring my maid. It is cold here for me and I cannot go out in this alone," she said, indicating her gown.

It was always dangerous to deny a noble instant gratification of his whim, but she was discovering she could do so with impunity provided she had a suitably feminine excuse. Not only did men underestimate her, as her sister predicted, but they also had their own ideas of what all women were like, and apparently, this included constant worry over their clothing and other infirmities of mind. She had to admit, she had indulged the same ideas before her training, but now...now she realized how often such excuses were mere contrivance and how stupid men were to simply accept them at face value.

"Of course. I shall meet you at the gazebo," he said, shuffling off under his cloak in an obviously childish attempt at disguise.

Charlotte rang for Madame Deveraou and together they managed to work the Orchid sufficiently for her hopes. She hurried down to the main floor and slipped out the back door. At the gazebo she found the count waiting impatiently.

"I thought you were going to change?"

This time she did not even panic, though she roundly cursed herself for the mistake.

"I did change! Surely, your lordship can tell the difference between this gown and my dinner gown?" she said petulantly.

"I'm so sorry dear, of course I can,. It's just that the light is feeble here. Shall we go?" he asked, extending his arm.

Amazing, she thought as she took his hand. It was simply amazing that a man could deny the evidence of his own senses. She would have meditated further on it, but remembering her earlier vows, she turned her full attention to the situation at hand.

He led her out into the fragrant gardens and soon the lights of the house were lost behind hedges and trees.

"Now, my dear. You had promised to tell me the purpose of your visit," he said as his hand moved from her waist to her rear.

"My brother is held in the Tsarina's dungeons. He has begged that I come in person and plead for his release. That is why I must get to the court and why I travel with such a man as Ivan Daggeroff."

"I had wondered. He seems so churlish, while you have such obvious breeding. I have twice now almost come to blows with him."

Charlotte barely contained a laugh. The thought of the count striking Ivan and the Russian's sure response was quite amusing. Any man who thought he was Ivan's match had ego to spare.

"I am glad you did not, he is rather strong," she ventured.

"Bah. I have no fear of any man, especially a low born Cossack."

"You are most brave," she said, twisting her hips slightly and inviting him to take further liberties.

"Well, yes, of course I am. Now, I have arranged for you to stay with friends in several towns along your route. I have many friends in Westphalia and Hanover, even a few in Posen, but I do not know if you can stay there yet, as missives, even those sent by fast horsemen, take so long. I have made sure your driver is in possession of the list and will provide you with a letter of introduction."

As he spoke, he pressed his hand inward and squeezed her rump. She cooed and wiggled back against his hand.

"Now, it is time to show how grateful you are," he declared.

Charlotte wasted little time, dropping to her knees and opening his pantaloons. She was slightly disappointed by the lack of seduction, but it did give her a better chance of escaping with her secret intact. Especially if she could bring him off with her mouth.

His prick, as she had noted at the dinner table, was short, but almost preposterously fat. It was still only semi-erect, so she closed her fingers around the base and began to lick the head and shaft. It stiffened quickly under her ministrations and soon she was sucking more into her mouth and gently bobbing on it. She felt some fear when she first tried to take it all, but as fat as it was, it wasn't so long as Ivan's and she only gagged upon it once in some five minutes of swallowing it.

She could feel his hips jogging and he was grunting. She doubled her pace, knowing he was close to spending, but he roughly pushed her away.

"Enough!" he declared hoarsely.

He was panting and even in the cool evening air, his face was bathed in sweat.

"Bend over and lift you skirts, quickly, I feel as though I am about to explode!"

"I cannot your lordship. It is a long way to Russia and I cannot risk getting pregnant, as much as I need you," she said, hoping her voice sounded afraid.

"Of course milady. I shall be happy with just taking your plump arse," he said with difficulty.

Now was the moment of truth and Charlotte was in an agony of fear and humiliation as she hesitantly leaned over and rested her arms and chest on a stone wall. The count wasted no time in flipping her skirts up. Her voluminous petticoats forced him to use one hand to hold them out of his way, and even then, his view was obscured. He managed to line his prick up with her rear entrance and pressed forward a time or two. He snorted in frustration and caught her hip with his hand. Using that leverage he thrust forward brutally, driving his whole shaft into her quivering bottom.

"In!" he triumphantly crowed.

Charlotte chewed her bottom lip furiously to keep from crying out. Strangely, it actually hurt a good deal less than Gustav's gentler penetration. It still hurt of course, but the pain soon gave way to that delightful pleasure as he began to pump into her. His hips were flying, making a smacking sound as they banged against her thighs and bottom. It felt so good she forgot for just a moment why she was doing this and just enjoyed the sensation. Charlotte was therefore horrified when she realized her manhood was quickly growing.

She pulled her hands free of the wall and thrust them back between her legs. She was waiting in terror filled anticipation, but the count didn't even slow.

"That's it bitch, play with your kitty. On your return I will fuck it for you, if you ask nicely," he grunted.

She realized with relief that he thought she was merely taking her own pleasure. Her cock was fully erect now and was rubbing against her petticoats in a most delicious way. The added sensation, coupled with the pounding her rear was taking, culminated in an orgasm so strong her knees went weak. As she spent deliciously into her petticoats, the count gave a hoarse cry and filled her with his seed.

As he pulled his prick out, she collapsed to her knees. It was partly contrivance, to make sure he didn't have a chance to closely examine her, but partly it was what her body wanted to do. The count leaned against the wall and panted. When her breathing calmed, Charlotte stood and brushed the grass from her skirt.

"Thank you, your lordship, I have never in all my years been so thoroughly fucked," she said in the most seductive voice she could manage.

"Thank you my dear. Had I but known of the charms of French women, I would have visited Louis's court long ago."

"I would have broken his fool neck," Ivan declared.

"Of course you would have. I didn't tell you to anger you, I thought you would find it as amusing as I did!" Charlotte cried in frustration.

As Ivan seethed, Charlotte shook her head and looked out the window. Two full days' travel from the baron's house and he was still in a foul mood. Giving up on getting anything approaching civil conversation from him, she sank into herself. She knew what waited for her there and it irritated her all the more that Ivan would provide no diversion to keep her from facing it.

The guilt had plagued her since her first night with Gustav and it had become infinitely worse when she had to face the fact she had enjoyed the count's less than gentle handling as much if not more.

Even now, she would happily spread her legs for the thin manservant. Since their first time, she found herself returning his glances and encouraging him. He had, however slipped back into his shy and reserved state and she felt the sinking feeling that she would have to initiate a repeat if she wanted one. And she did want one; it was only a matter of finding the time and place where it could be effected and overcoming her nagging doubts. These were less strident than she had expected, which only made her shame deeper. Even the serious recrimination wasn't doing much to stifle her suddenly awakened appetite for sex.

Not even her appetite for sex, she thought. She enjoyed his wit, his company and the deep understanding between them. Her feelings were so jumbled and confused. She wished she could just make a swift and sure decision, like the one to have sex with him, but she found such decisions did not come easily when she had time to really consider them.

"Charlotte," Ivan said softly.

She looked up immediately, but he had his head cocked to one side and a strange look.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Arm yourself, we are being followed."

"How can you tell?"

"I've not been so preoccupied as you. I've seen dust in the air far behind us, and have heard the sound of hooves when the coaches slow after dark. They are staying close during the evening, but hanging back much further during the day. I suspect they watch us from high places and then cut across country to pick up the road at a point we have recently passed."

"What shall we do?" she said, reaching under the seat to retrieve her pistol.

"I know not. They seem to be following with a purpose and I suspect an ambush is set somewhere up the road. If it is so, then I fear your tryst with the count may have been in vain."

"Do you suspect he has betrayed us?"

"How else would they know where we intended to go, with enough surety of their conclusion to set an ambush?"

"We don't know there is an ambush set," she said carefully, fearing an outburst.

"No, we do not, but if not then why follow us at all? Last night we stopped on the open road, far from any settlement. Why not strike then?"

"Is this why you have been so irritable?" she asked.

He smiled then, briefly. She felt a shiver and remembered how handsome and disarming he could be when he chose.

"I can not stand the waiting. I would prefer to ride out and face them at a place of my choosing, but that is impossible. So we wait for the blow to fall and it drives me insane."

"Why have you said nothing till now?"

"I didn't want to alarm you," he replied simply.

When Henri pulled over for the night, she felt a nameless dread. Not danger exactly, but something oppressive, like the feeling in the air when the clouds hung low and the thunder rumbled.

The night passed quietly although Charlotte didn't sleep. After two more days of it, she was as irritable as the big Russian. After another long day, they pulled over in a secluded copse of trees near a small river. Try as she might, she was simply too tired to stay awake all night and sometime during the early hours she fell asleep.

She awoke to a shout, followed swiftly by the discharge of a musket. She was alone in the coach and barely had time to sit up when the door was thrown open and a dark haired rouge with a nasty scar jumped into the coach and delivered a backhanded slap that brought the taste of blood to her lips. She was still dazed when he grabbed a handful of her hair and literally dragged her out by it.

One of the footmen lay face down by the fire in a pool of blood. Madame Deveraou screamed from the back coach and Charlotte felt fear for her own safety vanish. Henri was nursing a deep wound in his arm, guarded by three men. The other two servants were both sprawled out on the ground, though she could not tell if they were dead or merely unconscious. Of Ivan there was no sign.

The dark haired man dragged her to her feet and slammed her against the coach.

He held his arm under her chin, forcing her head up, and in his other hand a dagger appeared.

"The countess sends her regards," he hissed.

Charlotte's hand slipped to her skirts and closed on the butt of her pistol.

"She asked me to mark up that pretty face, so you can know how it feels to be ugly," he sneered as the dagger moved to her cheek.

Charlotte cocked the pistol. There was no mistaking the sound and his eyes widened. She saw the fear there and felt sure her anger was mirrored in her own eyes. She had no time to draw it, and though it pained her, she simply tilted the gun and shot through her skirts and petticoats. The fragile cloth did not even slow the heavy lead ball as it tore through them and upwards, into his stomach. Still rising, it clipped his spine and exited through his back, carrying him several feet from her.

She threw herself into the coach as the men guarding Henri charged. The wounded coachman kicked out and tripped one of them, and they grappled in the mud. The other two grabbed her and dragged her out of the coach. She came out with her back to them and her saber in her hand. When one tried to spin her around, she lashed out and disemboweled him as the other stared in astonishment.

She gave him no chance, driving the glittering blade into his guts. She heard a flintlock cock and turned to find the one Henri had knocked down holding a musket. He had it leveled at her stomach and she knew she was about to die and closed her eyes. The sound came, the explosion, but she felt no shock, no blow that would signal her doom. She opened her eyes to see Ivan Daggeroff standing on the edge of their campsite, a smoking pistol in his hand. The guard was already down.

Charlotte ran back to the coach to find two men trying to get their pantaloons up, their blades out and their wits about them. Her first slash neatly castrated one and her second emasculated the other. Both howled and fell to the ground, holding their mangled privates. She watched coldly as they bled to death before her eyes.

Charlotte looked in the coach, fearing the worst. Madame Deveraou was lying on the floor, her skirts ripped and her top torn completely off. She sat up and tried to cover her large breasts with the shreds of her top.

"Are you all right?" Charlotte cried.

"Yes mam'zelle. I am fine. A little bruised, but no worse for the wear. Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said, helping the older woman to her feet.

Her maid saw the two bodies on the ground and spat upon them.

"Never trust a woman with a blade," Ivan remarked.

His eyes were wild and his face grimly satisfied. There was blood upon his hands. He looked terrifying, but somehow fascinating. A force of nature, she thought, as elemental as a storm.

"Where were you?" she accused.

"I woke to the sound of them closing in. I did not wish for us all to be caught like rats in a trap, so I slipped out and crawled through the brush until I was outside the circle of them. I had hoped to foil their attack, but they must have had some prearranged signal. For whatever reason, they hit you before I could locate the one I was stalking. Unable to prevent the attack, I was forced to watch and wait. I couldn't risk using my only shot with the servants all down and you in the hands of that ruffian."

"I wish I could kill him again," Charlotte said vehemently.

The adrenalin was wearing off and with it came a deep sense of being violated that she absolutely did not like.

"He still lives."

"Then let us find out what he has to say."

Ivan smiled a savage grin and moved to where the man lay. Henri was tending to the man who had been shot, while the others gathered weapons and searched the bodies. Madame Deveraou went to help with the wounded man, leaving Ivan and Charlotte alone with the mortally wounded man.

"Who sent you?" Charlotte demanded.

"You'll get nothing from me," he wheezed.

Blood flecked his lips and his hands were clasped over his stomach to hold his entrails in.

Ivan stooped over him and brandished his dagger.

"You are dying mon ami, but it does not have to be quick or painless. I can make you beg for death or I can make it easy on you."

"What does it matter to me? That bitch has killed me. The Countess Hige sent me and my men."

"To what purpose?" Charlotte demanded. "Kill the big one, mark your pretty face up. Them were my orders."

"Why?"

"Why? Damned if I know. I don't ask no questions, I just do as I'm told."

Charlotte started to say something else, but Ivan drove the dagger into the man's heart. A gout of blood passed his lips and he died.

"Why did you do that?" she demanded.

Ivan stood and wiped his dagger on his breeches.

"He answered our questions and I promised him an easy death."

"I do not understand."

"Don't you? She took exception to you fucking her husband. She took more exception to me declining an offer to share her bed. For fucking her husband she wanted you punished, but me? For turning her down I was to die. Think hard on it Mam'zelle. If you wish to be a woman, you must know their priorities and the hardness of their hearts when spurned."

Once they were on the road again, Charlotte found herself considering what had transpired.

"Ivan?"

"Yes?"

"When did the count's brothers start dying?"

"I'm not sure."

"Was it before he got married?"

"Of course not. He wouldn't have married that cow if he had already grown the balls needed to take up murder," Ivan said dismissively.

Charlotte watched Ivan intently, but he seemed to have no other questions and soon fell into a deep sleep. Charlotte did have questions. Questions to which she had no answers. She wondered if the vain, bumbling, shallow fellow who couldn't even come up with a better disguise than a floppy hat was the kind of man who could murder his brothers to inherit.

Her hand unconsciously caressed her cheek. She had learned so much, but what did a woman who didn't have youth and beauty do to cope in a man's world? A woman who had outlived two husbands, married above her station, and rose to the station of a countess? A woman to whom murder seemed the answer to even minor slights?

She looked at Ivan once again. Suddenly Charlotte was sure of herself. To him, the count had to be the culprit. Despite his dislike of her, it would never enter into his head that the countess might have been behind the mysterious deaths. There was, she realized, a blindness in her companion. As Julia had warned her so often, men would always underestimate a woman. Even one who was constantly humiliated and scorned, even by the man who owed everything to her.

"Dare we trust them?" Charlotte asked.

It was eight days since the attack and the river Rhine was shimmering in the fading light in the distance. From where they were stopped she could see the cathedrals of Cologne. The wind was bitter and she felt it even through her gown.

"I believe we can. The count, for all else, seems like he was taken with you. I have no doubt he has done all he can for you, in anticipation of access to your quim when you return," he added with a grin.

Charlotte smiled back at the big man as he banged on the roof of the coach and it started to roll down the hill they were upon.

In the days following the attack Ivan's good humor had returned. The wounded footman, Gerrard, was recovering nicely, the bullet having just grazed his head. It had bled quite profusely, but other than a head ache and some dizziness, he seemed to be fine. Henri's arm was also healing, but he had been forced to give over driving to Michael. Both of the wounded men had traveled in the servant's coach, so Madame Deveraou and Gustav had ridden with Charlotte and Ivan.

"I still wish we had another option," she said.

"We could always stay in Cologne proper," Gustav noted.

"We could, but if we did, we would have to forego the hospitality of the count's other friends, as we know not who to call upon next," Ivan said dismissively.