The Spy Wore Petticoats

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Colleen Thomas
Colleen Thomas
3,926 Followers

Around and around they went, his attacks coming very close, but forever the saber's blade deflected the rapier's point at the last instant. Charlotte found her skirts were a severe impediment to her ability. Not that they had to be; she just wasn't used to them. The constant swish and sway of them, as well as the added weight at his hips and the corset's tight grip were distractions he could overcome, but only if he lived long enough to practice. Seconds ground away to minutes, and the nobleman's attacks began to grow less swift and come less often. His breathing was labored and the entire leg of his pantaloons was soaked in a deep crimson stain.

She took a chance after a thrust went wide without her help and flicked a backhanded slash that scored his arm below the shoulder. The dagger flashed, ripping upward into the space her stomach should have occupied, but Charlotte had expected it and carried through with her body behind the blade. A quick spin and her saber caught the rapier's blade and again pushed it away from her breast.

She waited again, not attacking but simply standing, her blade at the ready. The color had drained from her opponent's face and his lips were turning blue. His blade faltered and drooped, leaving a perfect opening on his right side, but she declined to take the opening. When he realized she wasn't going to move, he finally spoke.

"Bitch," he spat.

"If that is so, then you have been bested by a bitch. Drop your weapons," Charlotte replied.

"I think not. My esteemed uncle will no doubt make me wish I were dead and with this leg, I have no chance of making the frontier before his agents are after me. Besides, my patron will not offer me protection for failing him. Better to die now, although there is little honor in my parting."

With desperate bravado he lunged at her, his blade extended. There was no chance in such a thrust. She was set and had her guard up. She parried easily and her riposte passed cleanly through his chest.

"You had little honor left," she responded, wrenching her blade free.

"Oh my goodness, you're wounded mam'zelle," Madame Deveraou called, rushing forward to inspect a scratch on Charlotte's arm.

"Help me untie the men, we must be away from here quickly."

In a few minutes the attackers' bodies were stripped of weapons and the coaches were rolling again.

***

"There is more to you than meets the eye," Ivan declared as he drained a bottle of wine.

"If you say so," she replied, while reloading the shorter pistol.

Once it was primed, she slipped it back through her skirts and into the pocket and began reloading the other.

"You are a competent swordsman."

"I'm better than competent."

"True. I myself am no match for De Fuy."

"Had he recognized me, things would have gone quite differently for us. We have dueled before, and he still caries the scar from it. Still, I have never fought in skirts and there are many differences I must learn to account for," Charlotte said thoughtfully.

"If you wish, I will spar with you. I'm no master, but there is little doubt in my mind that you are, which is quite surprising."

Charlotte watched him for a moment and then something dawned on her. Something she had not thought of before.

"You were selected for this mission because you can do many things, were you not?"

"Of course."

"Passing myself off as a woman is not my only talent. Merely the most obvious," she said carefully, in flawless Russian.

Daggeroff seemed taken aback, and then laughed deeply.

"No, I suppose that alone would not be enough to make you a good diplomat or spy. Although you seem able to use it to great advantage at need."

He took another deep pull on the wine bottle and laughed again.

"Come then, we shall make a pact. You will teach me the mysteries of the blade and I shall teach you many things. By the end of this trip, we shall both be better able to carry out our duties."

Charlotte nodded, although she wondered exactly what the big Russian thought he could teach her.

***

"Non! Non, non, non," Charlotte said impatiently, "Such slashing may be fine from the back of a horse, but you leave your entire side open to a riposte if you miss."

"Bah, this is impossible," Ivan said, wiping the sweat from his eyes.

"If I can do it, you can do it. Now again. En guard."

Over the last two hours they had battled back and forth across the large ballroom in the Count De Homerville's estate in the champagne country. They had been here three days, allowing the horses to rest. There had been a lot of rain and the poor beasts were in bad shape.

The count had been away, but was due home this very evening, so Ivan and Charlotte were getting in some more practice with their blades. They had both decided it was better if no one saw her using a sword, so one of the footmen sat inside the door, acting as both door ward and, ostensively, as Ivan's partner while the mademoiselle watched.

Ivan was learning the intricacies of the blade while Charlotte was learning to cope with swishing petticoats and controlling her breathing in the corset. She had discovered that her foot work was more difficult, as the skirts impeded many of her lunges, but overall, she was becoming very comfortable fighting in them.

"That's enough for me," Ivan said, sheathing his blade.

"Just as well," Charlotte said, tossing her blade to Michael.

The footman caught it awkwardly and returned it to the scabbard he wore.

"We should both be making ready to greet the count when he arrives."

"If you say so. I would prefer to spend some time with the Lady Caveol," Ivan grinned.

"What? Did the countessa turn you down?" Charlotte asked innocently.

"She did. The chambermaid was more accommodating," he replied, her sarcasm lost on him apparently.

Charlotte shook her head as she exited the large, ornate room and made her way through the labyrinthine maze of halls to her room. Ivan was a source of constant wonder to her. He seemed to be possessed of an unquenchable appetite for sex. He also seemed totally devoid of any concern over how that desire was satisfied, or with whom. While that seemed to be the over weaning part of his personality, the rest was just as incomprehensible to her.

He was intelligent, but his mind seemed to bore in on a very few things to which he applied it. He picked up physical skills as easily as some men picked up new suits, but even though he spoke several languages, he couldn't read or write. He had a violent temper and could be extremely brutal, but occasionally, he would seem almost jovial and normal.

Charlotte put her traveling companion out of her mind as her maid helped her disrobe. Once down to her corset, stays and stockings, she dismissed Madame Deveraou and lay down for a nap before dinner.

Her dreams were troubled and she slept fitfully, waking suddenly when the door to her room stealthily clicked shut.

She had time only to look up before a dark figure jumped on her, placing a hand over her mouth.

"Shhh," Ivan hissed. "What are you doing!" she demanded when he uncovered her mouth.

"I was in the stable when I head two men talking. We are betrayed. The count has been here since yesterday and a force of his men are moving at this very minute to surround the house and take us prisoner."

"What shall we do?"

"Get dressed quickly and come with me," he whispered.

"I can't get dressed quickly!"

Ivan growled and threw the comforter off the bed and pulled her to her feet. Charlotte noticed the way his eyes roved over her body and felt herself flush

"Ivan," she whispered urgently, "I can't leave my clothes. Especially the valise."

"Damn, woman, we'll buy you new clothes, didn't you hear me? Our lives are in danger!"

Despite his words, he didn't seem in any particular hurry.

"What did you hear, exactly?"

"At tonight's banquet, the wine is to be drugged. Once we are asleep, a small force of men will kidnap you and kill off myself and the servants. They are taking you somewhere, but where I know not. Considering the quality of most villains, I do not think your secret will be kept long, and once it is discovered, they will probably do away with you as well."

Charlotte thought for some time. Ivan simply stood, admiring her petite form. He seemed to be in no hurry and listened attentively when she spoke.

"Gather the men. As soon as the guests begin arriving, have them hitch the teams and pass out the weapons. They can move the coaches in with the rest of those the guests arrive in. There should be many coaches, so no one should notice two more. As soon as the staff is busy with serving the food, I'll have Madame Deveraou pack my things and you make sure the men know to help her load them."

"How?" he interrupted.

"She can drop them from the window. This side of the house should be dark. Once they are ready, arrange some signal so you and I know."

"And then?"

"We shall both attend the banquet. I am sure you know how to seem to be drinking without really taking much, yes?"

"I do, but do you?"

"No. But a lady only sips, and I should be all right. Once they clear the tables, it's likely the men will retire to the smoking room while the ladies retire to the parlor. There should be a good deal of milling around and while it is going on, we shall both make for the coaches. If all goes well, we will be away before they know we are gone."

"Tis a bold plan, but I guess you are right. So I shall let the men know," he said, moving towards the door.

"Ivan?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever were you doing in the stables?"

"Fucking the cook of course," he replied simply and was gone.

Charlotte tossed the blanket back on the bed and rang for a maid. She sent for Madame Deveraou and quickly let her know what needed to be done. She then dressed and dismissed her maid.

***

As she had hoped, the local gentry had turned out in great numbers to welcome the count back to his estate. What she had not counted on was her own popularity. The women bombarded her with questions about Louis's court, from the latest styles to the juicy gossip. She thanked heavens that Julia had prepared her, drilling the most salacious news into her head daily, as well as other gossip.

As her sister had predicted, she had no lack of male attention either. There were so many sons of this baron or that, that she soon lost count. She was introduced to young gentleman after young gentleman until her poor head was spinning, and she was quite happy when the steward announced that dinner was served.

Her dinner partner was a tall, handsome man named John, scion of a local family of landed gentry. He was urbane, witty and interesting, unlike so many of those she had met. Down at the other end of the table, Ivan was dining with a pretty young woman whom Charlotte hadn't met.

The count was a gaunt man, with a white wig and more frills on his clothes than Charlotte had. Even if she had not known he was plotting against them, she would have disliked him. There was an aloof arrogance about him that she had seen before, but it was his eyes that sent a chill down her spine. They were black and seemed purely of evil.

Charlotte was careful with her wine, sipping only now and again. Even so, a serving man kept her goblet full. The woman sitting next to her, a Madame Letre, was deep in her cups and deep in conversation with her dining partner. Charlotte placed her own glass close to the older woman's, and then picked up the lady's near empty one the next time no one seemed to be looking.

As the meal wound down, people began to rise, and soon there was a large group of people in various states of drunkenness milling about. Charlotte saw an opportunity and slipped out a side door. She hurried to the place under the large oaks where those carriages and coaches that had not been sent home were sitting, found her own and slipped into it. She was just beginning to fear something had gone wrong when she heard footsteps.

Moments later, Ivan joined her, with his drunken dinner mate in tow. He had barely shut the door to the coach before Charlotte heard the traces snap and they were off.

"What?" Charlotte started, but he held his finger to his lips.

"How do you feel?" he asked as the girl leaning on his shoulder giggled.

"I feel..."

She had felt fine only moments before, but as the adrenalin of her escape wore off, her head began to spin and she felt faint.

"Ah, it is hitting you then. My little doll here had had far more than you," he said with a grin.

"Who is she?" Charlotte managed.

Her voice sounded strange, like she was very far removed from where the words had been spoken.

"Oh? You have not been properly introduced? This is Lady Trael, daughter of Baron Trael."

"Why in God's name did you bring her? Now the very hounds of hell will be after us!"

"Not so. I took the liberty of knocking your dinner mate senseless and stuffing his body in a closet. I also noticed several couples making their way into the garden maze. When it becomes apparent you are missing, it should also be apparent he is, and when they notice I am missing, they will also notice she is. The natural assumption, then, will be that we have found a private place to get to know each other better, or that we are playing games in the maze with other couples. No matter which they decide, it will be a long time before they begin to wonder and even longer before a pursuit can be mounted."

"Brilliant," Charlotte conceded, "but why bring her with us?"

"Because my afternoon fuck was interrupted," he laughed.

The girl was giggling and trying to work the opening of Ivan's pantaloons. Charlotte found herself watching in a kind of fascination as his monstrous cock was finally freed. The girl cooed happily and wrapped her hand around it, stroking it lovingly.

Charlotte turned her head out the window, hoping the night air would clear it, but Ivan called her softly.

When she turned back, the girl was on her knees between his hairy legs.

"Pay attention, you might learn something," he said.

The tone of his voice made it clear he was giving an order, not making a request. She wanted to turn away, but his eyes held her and against her will, she followed them to the girl between his stout legs.

She pulled the foreskin down, exposing the fat head, and began to run her tongue over it. She circled it several times before sucking the head into her mouth. Charlotte wrinkled her nose but couldn't tear her eyes away as the girl's cheeks hollowed and she began to make soft noises that were incomprehensible. Ivan smiled and placed his hand on her head, pushing it down. The girl took more of his massive cock into her mouth, but not much more. Ivan relaxed and her head rose; then he pushed down again. After a few moments the girl took up the bobbing rhythm without his help.

She slowly took more of his cock, leaving a shiny coating of saliva on it each time she came up. Charlotte noticed the girl's hand was under her skirt, and she had no doubt what that meant.

She felt strangely aroused herself, and noticed her hand had involuntarily slipped to her own skirts, though she wasn't as brazen as the girl in her stroking.

Soon Ivan groaned and caught the girl's head. He began to rapidly jog his hips and she started to gag.

Moment's later Charlotte nearly gagged when Ivan's thick white sperm began to gush from the girl's widely stretched lips.

She collapsed on the floor when he released her and didn't move. Ivan smiled at Charlotte and stuffed his still semi-erect cock back into his pantaloons. Charlotte held her head in her hands as the world began to spin.

"Sleep," she heard him say in Russian as she spiraled down to blackness.

***

When she awoke the first thing she was aware of was the taste of cotton in her mouth, like she had tried to eat a pillow during the night. The next was a blinding headache that seemed to originate at the base of her skull and radiate through her whole head. She groaned and tried to sit up, but her muscles didn't seem to want to obey her commands and she was very sluggish.

"Here," someone said, and thrust a bottle into her hand.

The wine was surprisingly cold but had little taste when she finally got it to her mouth. She was aware of the swaying and jostling of the coach, so she knew they were moving, but it took several sips of the wine before her mouth tasted normal and several minutes of deep breathing before her head cleared.

When she opened her eyes, Ivan sat across from her with an amused expression on his face. There was no sign of their guest, and a basket of fruits was sitting next to him on the seat.

She started to move, but felt her stomach rebel and her head swim.

"Sit still. Breathe deeply and only take small sips of the wine. You got a lot more of the poison than is good for you," he said.

"Where is the girl?" Charlotte asked, after her nausea passed.

"I left her with the doctor in Reims."

"The poor thing, you've ruined her," Charlotte said accusingly.

Ivan laughed and took a deep draught from his own bottle of wine.

"She wouldn't be the first, but I think you are wrong. I had Gustav write her father a nice letter and sent it by a fast rider. I told him that she had wanted to ride in the coach and you had been happy to let her, but during the ride both she and yourself had become very ill. Not knowing the area, I had ordered the coachman forthwith to Reims, since it was the nearest town I knew of that might have a doctor. I spread my wine around; there will be several cases of people who got ill. I think she will come out of it with nothing worse than a sick stomach and sore jaw."

"That was...kind of you," Charlotte managed before another wave of nausea hit her.

"Kind? Not I. Your plan was good in so much as it got us away, but as with most amateurs, you didn't think it through. If the count realizes we escaped him deliberately, he will act decisively. If it appears we escaped because some bit of tail wanted a joyride, he will consider his options and most likely send out fast riders ahead of us and just set another trap. Uncertainty on his part is our best chance."

"You seem well versed in this game."

"Did I not mention my dear? I've played at intrigue for many patrons across the years."

"No, you hadn't."

"Well, it's an old game for me."

"What time is it?" she asked, shielding her eyes against the bright sunlight streaming in from the coach window.

"It's past noon."

"Shouldn't the sun be over there?" she asked, indicating vaguely towards the back corner of the carriage.

"Nay. I've ordered the driver to go north."

"But..."

"Do not cross me on this, mam'zelle. I do not know how deep this conspiracy runs, but we must get out of France by the shortest route. Who knows how many of those we are supposed to stay with are part of the conspiracy against you?"

"I suppose you are correct. I am not thinking clearly," she replied, drawing the shade.

"No. But it will come in time, should you survive. I was not sent just to keep me out of the bedrooms of the court's ladies. You have no experience and De Fleury was well aware of that. He counts upon you to act the lady and he counts upon me to get you to Elizabeth's court, where your charade will be useful. Few will suspect you of being a spy, and fewer still will suspect me, but some few people know that we are. It is against those that I must turn my mind, while it will be up to you to secure us passage and lodging now that we must leave the borders of France."

"This is all too much for my poor head," Charlotte whined.

"As with most women, it is beyond them to think. Be that as it may, you have to do your part and it is not going to rely on your wits," he said with a chuckle.

Colleen Thomas
Colleen Thomas
3,926 Followers
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