The Spy Wore Petticoats

Charlotte smiled, pleased with herself despite the nagging concern that she was acting too girlish.

"The count is one of those men Julia told me about, one of the ones I simply cannot afford not to impress. Did you notice him when we arrived?"

"Oh yes, a rather handsome man, but with a stork's legs."

Charlotte chuckled at the imagery. It did seem to sum him up rather well, although she would never have thought of it in quite those terms.

"Did you notice what he was wearing?"

"You know, I didn't. I was not looking mind you, but I seem to remember it being very plain."

"Exactly. It came to my mind that he might like simple things, and my white corset is the least decorated of those Julia got me."

"Hmmm, that might be, although what a man likes on himself may differ from what he likes on a lady. Still, you might have a point. White it is then."

Charlotte smiled and waited patiently as her maid slowly laced her into the corset. At first its biting embrace had galled her, but now she felt almost naked without it.

"I suppose you'll be wanting your white gown too?"

"If you please."

"Of course."

Her white gown was the least ornate of those Julia had procured for her. That wasn't to say it was plain; on the contrary, it was heavily decorated. The designer, however, had gone for an effect of understatement. Here, it would still stand out as overly ostentatious, but at Louis's court, it would draw attention for its lack of said quality.

Madame Deveraou admitted Ivan. He was dressed in all black and looked handsome, Charlotte had to admit.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"You look rather dashing this evening. Going to make a play for the countess?" Charlotte asked playfully.

He gave her such a withering look that Charlotte fell back a pace involuntarily.

"For your own safety, I would suggest you not make jokes along those lines. I have already rebuffed that cow twice and will not be responsible for my temper if you mention her in such connection again. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Remember, let me do the talking," he reminded her as she took his arm and they descended the stair towards the dining room.

The dining hall was huge, with a vaulted ceiling that was lost in darkness and a table shaped like a giant cross. A steward showed them to their seats. Charlotte was placed next to the count, at the head of the table, while Ivan sat next to the countess. On her right, a plump fellow with a very pleasant smile was seated.

As the first course was brought in, the count leaned forward and looked past his wife to speak to Ivan.

"So tell me, Daggeroff, what business brings you to my lands?"

"The Lady de Toberville has urgent need to reach Elizabeth's court in my homeland. It is to there we travel."

"And what business might you have with the Russians? If I may be so bold," he said, turning his attention to Charlotte.

Charlotte had rehearsed her story over and over again, but as his keen eyes bored into hers, she was struck with the idea that a little hesitancy might pique his interest more than the whole story. Making up her mind, she looked furtively around before speaking.

"If it please, milord, I would prefer not to say in such grand company."

"Of course, of course, we shall speak of it later," he replied, turning back to Ivan.

The gentleman on her right was a baron, if she was translating his words correctly. He seemed very pleasant and affable and several times during the early courses he had her giggling with his amusing takes on the other guests.

She noted after the soup that Ivan had scooted his chair next to the woman she assumed was the baron's wife. This bothered her for several reasons. The first, and most major, was it might serve to intensify the countess's apparent dislike of them. It also might serve to create a problem for them if he were caught in an indiscretion with her. Under no circumstances would she permit herself to examine the other reason. She simply could not accept that she might also feel a little bit of jealousy.

Charlotte felt a hand upon her knee and turned quickly. The count's chair now sat next to hers, the big wooden arms touching where there had been almost a foot of space between them at the beginning of the meal. He was trying to catch her eye, but Charlotte was instead looking apprehensively at the countess. With the man on either side of her scooting his chair towards his feminine companion on the other side, she now sat alone. The fury on her face seemed to know no bounds, and Charlotte blanched when she turned a baleful eye upon her.

"So tell me, how are you enjoying our hospitality?" the count said, again squeezing her knee to make sure he had her attention.

Charlotte placed her hand over his and smiled. "It has been magnifique."

In the few moments before he responded, her mind ran through a catalogue of observations. The first was that his forwardness, in such close proximity to his wife, tended to make her think he was a very reckless man. The second was that he seemed absolutely sure she would respond positively. That made her believe his ego must be large and could therefore be stroked, to her advantage. The third was an instantaneous decision on something she had been debating a while. She would play coy rather than bold with this one.

"So glad you approve. We rarely receive visitors from Louis's court. How has your journey been?"

"It was grand at first. I was traveling under the protection of the Duke de Fleury and he had arranged for us to stop at the homes of his friends. Now that I have left France it is more difficult, since I know no one here."

"Well, milady," the count said, his hand sliding up her thigh, "I know many people here and in Prussia. I should be glad to arrange for some of them to extend their hospitality to you."

Charlotte lowered her eyes and gently squeezed his hand.

"You are too kind, milord," she murmured.

"Not at all, I enjoy doing favors for beautiful ladies," he said, emphasizing the word favors.

Perhaps she would have missed that emphasis five months ago. The gentleman on her right didn't seem to notice, but now, she missed far less. She knew she must carefully frame her response.

"I should be most appreciative."

"Of course you would," he said, guiding her small hand to his crotch.

Charlotte vividly remembered Ivan's story. She had convinced herself it was only a story, something the big man made up, but now? She wondered just how often she had sat at a table and not realized what was going on around her. She wondered idly if she was the only one at court who wasn't in on the sexual games.

She also wondered if her friends had been laughing at her naivety behind her back. It depressed her, even more so when she realized that, including the count, she would have had sexual encounters with more men than women in her life.

"Are you all right my dear? You look upset?"

She instantly forced a smile and an enthusiasm she didn't feel.

"Overwhelmed, by your kindness," she said quickly, pausing after "overwhelmed" long enough to impart a double meaning.

The count smiled smugly as Charlotte massaged his growing prick through his pantaloons.

Stupid, she chided herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid and even worse, careless. This isn't about your miserable showing as a lover, this is about the security of your nation and the safety of your family, she railed at herself. She resolved to save her introspective ponderings for when she was alone and to pay strict attention to what she was doing. A quick recovery had been possible here only by a flash of inspiration and the count's ego. She could not rely on such fortune every time.

She cursed herself when she realized she had done it again! She was gently stroking the count's prick, though she didn't remember him taking it out. Luckily, her many evenings in Ivan's company had apparently provided her with a useful reflex. She thanked the fates again and turned her full attention back to the count.

His prick was fat but not very long, and she found it easier to stroke with just three fingers and her thumb rather than her whole hand. Conscious of the many guests at the table, she wasn't able to use more than her wrist, and then, only a slow, languorous action was possible. Charlotte placed her free hand in her lap and turned her body slightly while reclining against the corner of her chair closest to the Count's. In this way she shielded her engaged hand from half the table and would appear to have her hands in her own lap to the other half.

Through the next two courses, she ate almost nothing, but kept up steady attention to the count's cock. He came during the main course, a stiffening of his body the only sign. Charlotte carefully wiped her hand on the side of her chair before enjoying the dessert.

When she returned to her rooms, Gustav was sitting quietly in a chair, reading by lamp light. Madame Deveraou was no where to be seen.

"What are you doing here?" Charlotte inquired after locking the door.

"Yes, well, Daggeroff thought you might have need of me," he said as he put the book down.

He seemed nervous and ill at ease. His normally sallow complexion was even more pale and she suddenly had an inkling of what was going on.

"Too busy with the baron's wife to visit me himself?" she said caustically.

"Please, milady. He is an oaf and can be quite churlish, but in this case, I think his intentions were good."

"It's quite rare for a servant to speak so of their master," she observed with a smile.

"He knows quite well how I feel about him. I've made no effort to hide it."

"You intrigue me," she said, taking a seat on the small settee.

"I do?"

"Yes. You seem a man of refinement and breeding. How did you end up in the employ of man so obviously lacking in both?"

"That, is quite a long story."

"We seem to have some time," she observed.

"My father was a man of high station. He afforded me a classical education and my life was idyllic, until my mother died. Are you sure you want to hear this?"

For the second time that evening, her perception surprised her. He wanted to tell her, wanted to explain himself, but he was unsure of the sympathy of his audience. She could tell, too, that he was a sensitive man, and was afraid of being laughed at. How many times had she stood before a lady and desperately wanted to speak, only to have her fear of rejection rob her of her voice?

"I would very much," she said in a softer voice with an encouraging smile.

He returned it nervously and licked his lips. Even with that encouragement he had to turn to the window before he could continue. She had done the same countless times when she couldn't bear to face someone as she spoke, and her heart went out to him.

"When my mother died, my father became enamored of a certain young woman. She was young, beautiful and, unfortunately, betrothed to a certain young man. My father pressed his suit regardless and they ended up eloping. I can still remember packing my things in the middle of the night and the long sea voyage to England. Things were good there for a year or two, but they should never have stopped running. The enmity of the man she jilted knows no bound, either of time or distance."

"My father was executed for treason. They made us attend the hanging at gallows hill. My step-mother ended up in a debtor's prison, despite the fact that she had money and owed no debts. She was of delicate constitution and died quickly in those conditions. My brother was conscripted into the English navy, where he died soon after of a brutal flogging."

"How horrible!"

"Yes," he said, spinning on his heel to face her, "How horrible."

His face was drawn as if he were in real pain and his eyes were frantic, but he breathed in deeply and seemed to gain his composure.

"I took ship back to France, traveled to Paris and threw myself upon the mercy of our tormentor. It amused him to take me on as a tutor to his children. I gave up all claim to my birthright and my station. So you see milady, alone of those who know your secret, I can understand you."

"Surely, Ivan Daggeroff was not the man who authored your family's fall?" she managed.

"That idiot? No. The man I owe such a debt of hatred to is none other than your patron, the Duke De Fleury. As he is using you, so too, he has used me. He is a cold hearted man, milady. People are tools to him and he will toss them away without a moment's hesitation. Remember always when you deal with him that there is no soul behind those eyes."

"I shall."

"Where was I? Oh yes. I served him as a common servant for a while, until I met Daggeroff one evening while he was working for the duke. Apparently, the duke realized the flaws in his favorite weapon and so I was sent along to help smooth over some of his rough spots. To his credit, Daggeroff recognized his own weaknesses, and while he is contemptuous of me, he has never been cruel. I flatter myself that he has come to rely upon me more than he wishes to."

"You poor man," Charlotte said, rising and instinctively hugging him.

He was stiff and she wondered if perhaps she had gone too far, but she quickly realized he was fighting his emotions. She understood that all too well. Her first thought was to release him and turn away, allowing him to gather himself, but she hesitated. Was that too a masculine reaction? What would Julia do? She would hold him, until he broke down. But was that the same? After all, she and Julia had a deep relationship, where her meetings with Gustav had allowed no real time to get to know one another. Yet she did like him and she...cared for him, though in what way she wasn't sure.

It would take some sign from her, she realized, and her sister's oft used expression came to her lips almost unbidden.

"It's going to be all right," she whispered.

He was trying so hard, but she could feel his body wracked by the sobs he couldn't control. She just held him, allowing him to cry until he mastered his emotions. She should have despised him for such weakness, but she did not. How many times during her training had she cried herself to sleep? He eventually mastered himself and stepped back. His eyes searched hers, apparently expecting her to show contempt. She returned his stare unflinching, sure that there was none to be seen.

"Thank you," Gustav whispered.

She couldn't find words and so just nodded.

He leaned forward then and kissed her. It should have startled her, but it didn't. It seemed the natural conclusion to the moment and she kissed back without hesitation. When the kiss broke he suddenly blushed and looked at the floor. He turned from her and put his hands behind his back, his agitation obvious.

She found it curious, and only after placing herself in his position did she realize he was embarrassed at taking such a liberty. Oddly, she hadn't even given thought to it as taking a liberty, it had seemed so natural. She understood, she thought. A servant stealing a kiss from a lady was definitely out of bounds. Even as she thought it another thought came. Or perhaps, he is embarrassed because he has longed to do so and now feels himself a cad for taking advantage of her kindness?

"Well, Ivan sent me because he feels it likely you will need me to show you something he isn't able to at present," he said, turning back to her.

She could hear the embarrassment in his voice and despite the implications, felt sure it was the latter that had him so out of sorts and not the former.

"Which is?"

He blushed deeply and turned his head, murmuring something she couldn't catch.

"I can't hear you," she said as kindly as she could.

"He feels you will need to know how to...accept a man into your body," he blurted.

Now it was Charlotte's turn to blush. Even suspecting that was the reason Gustav was there, she couldn't help the hot flush of blood that rose to her cheeks. At the same time, she was quite angry with Ivan. She wasn't mad at him for not coming himself, but she was furious that he would put his sensitive and refined manservant in such an awkward position. Perhaps if she had not heard his story, she would not have felt such a sympathetic kinship to him. But now that she did, she recognized how humiliated he must be.

She cast about for some way to make him feel better, and the words of her maid came back.

"Perhaps, I have not been fair to him," Charlotte said, knowing full well she had. "According to Madame Deveraou, you are the best lover among them all."

"She said that?" he asked.

"Yes, she did. I was asking about what it felt like to be fucked, and she recommended I try it with you, if I chose to investigate further."

"Upon my word!"

He was obviously pleased and she found herself happy for that. Even so, the next words were hard, as they revealed a truth she had not had the power to make herself face.

"I had considered it, but you seem so distant and remote and I...I'm not very good at this, I'm afraid."

"I understand Charlotte," he said earnestly while taking her hands in his own.

"I know you do," she said gently.

"It must be terribly embarrassing for you. I'm...I'm not much to look at I know, but I would be honored, if you wished for me to show you."

"I would not want to put you in such a position," she demurred.

"Nonsense, you're beautiful and desirable. Even knowing you aren't what you seem does little to dampen my ardor. I've longed to be the one sharing your coach."

Charlotte thought carefully before responding. His feelings for her were obviously genuine, and she had to admit that Madame Deveraou's descriptions and suggestions had left her intensely curious. On the other hand, this was not necessary, either to her mission or to keeping up her disguise. Or was it? She really was at a disadvantage not knowing what it felt like. What would she do if a man demanded she do more than just suck his cock? While there would be an alternative available, could she really hope to offer it without ever having experienced it? Obviously, she would be in a better position to know if she had experience.

On a deeper level than her rational musings was something she didn't want to admit, much less face. That he had been admiring her from afar was beyond doubt and she knew the frustrations and pain that entailed. She was flattered beyond words that he thought so much of her, to sit daily and hope for a kind word or glance, all the while knowing it was futile. To be loved like that was humbling. To be so moved by those feelings was troubling, but to admit she returned them, at least in part, was simply terrifying. Terrifying in both the unfamiliarity and in the implications.

To feel this for a woman would be wonderful, but for a man? Did she dare let those feelings come forth, or should she ruthlessly suppress them?

She didn't have to face that choice, because at that moment, Gustav found his courage and wrapped his arms around her, tentatively pressing his lips to hers. She relaxed into his embrace and her lips parted. It was so natural, so unconscious, and it just felt right, in a way she couldn't explain or understand.

His kiss was gentle, undemanding, so unlike the kisses of Ivan. Yet there was a surety and confidence that made it also unlike the sweet fumbling of Phillipe. His arms were surprisingly strong and his frail body surprisingly hard. His tongue was gentle but thorough as it explored her mouth. She barely noticed his hands begin to work the intricate series of ties that held her gown closed. Her own hands fluttered from his shoulders to his elbows, unsure of where they should be.

She felt strange, helpless but safe, excited but also calm, terribly aroused but strangely patient, with none of the fears of rejection or doing something wrong that had so plagued her few seduction attempts. Both totally in control and totally out of control at once. Above all she just felt, felt the soft embrace of her corset, the delightfully satiny feel of her petticoats on her prick and the firey excitement whenever Gustav's warm hands made contact with her skin.