The Spy Wore Petticoats

She didn't stop gently sucking and stroking until she had milked him dry and his cock began to soften. Only then did she release him and crawl up on the bed next to him.

"That was...extraordinary," he said in an awed whisper.

Charlotte beamed and played with the heavy growth of hair on his chest.

For a while they just lay there, kissing and fondling one another until, to her amazement, his cock began to stiffen again. This time he took control, rolling over on top of her and kissing her while she spread her legs for him. His entry was gentle and even the pain seemed good to her. She moaned as he began to drive into her and yelped when he nipped her left nipple. His mustache tickled the sensitive flesh of her breast as his tongue and teeth teased her nipple.

Charlotte moaned, tossed her head and arched her back. Slowly the sensations built until she knew she would die if she did not climax soon. Victor seemed to sense it, his hand sliding down to grip her and firmly stroke. Like magic Charlotte exploded, spending wildly as her lover filled her with his seed.

They fell asleep in each other's arms, Charlotte finding it the most serene sleep she had had in many months.

Charlotte moved down the hall at a slow pace. She wore a heavy cloak that concealed all but her face. This was made up to perfection. Beneath she wore the uniform of a member of the guard. Victor was escorting her and the guards paid them scant attention.

Outside they were stopped by the Tsarina's head counselor.

"This is highly unusual, marshal. You know how we feel about foreign influence upon the Tsarina."

"The circumstance is unusual, but come, milord, what danger do you see in one woman talking to another? Surely there will be no policy change here, unless it be to French chamber music at the next ball," Victor said dismissively.

The counselor smiled as if chiding himself and laughed.

"As you say, I have become too suspicious. The Tsarina will see you, milady. Her day is done, and she is about to retire, so please be as brief as you may."

Charlotte entered to find Elizabeth sitting at her writing desk.

"I must say, I was surprised at Marshal Sikorsky's urgency. What could you have to say that could be so important, I wonder?"

Charles threw off his cloak and stood up straight, causing the monarch to gasp in shock.

"I am Charles De Locke, Captain of Dragoons and emissary for King Louis of France. I am sorry for the deceptions, but someone wishes our two nations to remain unallied and that someone has ruthlessly slain all other emissaries," he said, bowing stiffly.

"Upon my word."

"I have here a letter from the king's own hand, asking you to consider an alliance. I hope you will read it and look favorably upon it," Charles said, handing her the letter.

Elizabeth read it carefully several times before she sat back down.

"I must admit, it has occurred to me that such an alliance might be necessary against the growing power of Prussia. The marshal has long favored such an alliance, as have I, but my advisors insisted that France make the first offer, so we did not seem to be afraid of Fredrick."

"We have tried, but some force has worked against us."

"I do not doubt your words. It takes man of exceptional skill and devotion to duty to pull off the masquerade you have. I, myself, never for a moment doubted you were exactly what you pretended to be."

"Thank you, your Excellency."

"Now, we must look to how to best handle this. Obviously I cannot offer a treaty to you. Just as obviously, when I propose it, my counselors will demand to know where the offer came from. By then, you should be out of Russia. Have you made plans for your return?"

"No, your Majesty. All of my energies have been spent upon getting here and surviving long enough to present King Louis's offer."

"Well, then. I suggest you continue with your present course. I will give you a letter answering Louis's and welcoming him sending emissaries. I shall also arrange for you to take ship back to France. I have just the man in mind, a loyal captain who happens to be Dutch. You should have no trouble in his ship getting back to your master."

"You are too kind," Charles said with an enthusiasm he did not feel.

"To keep secrecy, you shall depart from Riga. None will suspect you there. I shall see you again in a week when the arrangements are made. I'll instruct the marshal to secretly recall his riders, thus giving me the excuse of having news of your brother."

Charles nodded. He had not missed her continued glances at him, as if doubting her sanity. It was warm praise for his skill, in his own opinion, at least.

"Leave me now. I have much to do and I am sure you wish to lower your visibility as much as is possible."

"Yes, your Grace," he said, bowing again.

"Oh captain?"

"Yes?"

"I will have a wig maker sent for. Please do wear it. I am not the vainest of monarchs, but the idea that a man's hair looks better than my own is not one I am very happy with," she said, smiling.

Charlotte returned to spending her days at court, sewing or in other ladylike pursuits, and her nights in Victor's bed. They were both insatiable, and it was all she could do to eat dinner with him before she threw herself upon him. For his part, he seemed spurred to greater and greater lengths, often pleasuring her three or four times before they fell into exhausted slumber.

They both knew their time together would be limited. It wasn't something they discussed, but each knew it. And they also accepted it. She could never ask him to leave Russia. He would never ask her to abandon her mission. The knowledge gave their relationship a bittersweet character and their lovemaking an even greater urgency.

It was actually two weeks before she received a letter from the Tsarina, along with instructions to hurry forthwith to Riga. Charlotte sent a man to tell Victor she needed to see him and another with word to Ivan, just returned from Kiev, before hurrying to her rooms.

She dressed quickly after secreting the letter in the safest place she could think of. A footman arrived and with urgency told her the Tsarina urged her to go at once. She had made her own coach available. Charlotte put her sewing kit away and handed her valise to the footman. She glanced once around her room, regretting the things she must leave. She especially regretted the jewelry and gowns, but she had to travel light and fast now. When she turned she found Ivan standing in her doorway. He was holding his saber in his hand and smiling sardonically.

"I will have the letter now," he said

"It's far safer with me," she replied.

"You don't understand. I am not taking it to France."

"You're...one of them?" she said in shock.

"Of course," Ivan said with a mock salute.

"But you..."

"Helped thwart them? You will never understand little one. Had you not arrived in the capital and I showed up still alive, De Fleury would have had me dead. You have never understood your patron. He's the most ruthless, vengeful, single minded man in Europe. It was in my best interests to make sure you arrived safely. And it doesn't hurt that all of Peter's other agents failed. My reward will be the greater for their folly."

"But why?"

"Peter is paying me handsomely to stop you. He supports Frederick, of course, and has no interest in a French alliance. The letter if you please."

Charlotte snatched up the saber lying on the table and faced the big Russian, who laughed.

"You have erred in teaching me all your tricks," Ivan said, assuming a fighting stance.

"You should know better."

"Perhaps, I watched you down those idiotic nobles on the street."

"That was you then? In the shadows?"

"Of course. But I didn't wish to kill you, so I withdrew when the soldiers came."

Charlotte had no time for this and knew she could expect no help. She raised her blade and darted forward, thrusting towards his eyes. Ivan moved to parry, but at the last possible moment, Charlotte twisted her blade, driving it below Ivan's guard and scoring a deep gash above his hip.

They both circled, but Ivan kept himself between her and the door. He thrust and Charlotte parried, following with a riposte that scored another deep gash, this one on his arm.

Ivan cursed and dropped his blade, quickly drawing a pistol.

"I forget you aren't really a woman. You didn't teach me as much as I thought."

"One is taught in accordance with one's ability to learn. You will never be more than a fair swordsman," she said proudly, holding her head high.

"Perhaps, but you will never be more than a fair spy. The letter."

"No."

"Apparently you don't realize it, but I am the one holding the pistol," he said.

Before she could reply, there was a rush of boots and the diminutive Victor suddenly charged through the door to grapple with Ivan.

"Run my love!" he exclaimed.

The first time he had risked his life for her, she had been slow to react and only providence had spared him. She would not tempt fate again. Rather than run, she darted left, placing herself behind Ivan. Charlotte steeled herself for the thrust, but at the last moment, she could not.

She had shared too much with this man. He had opened her eyes to so many things and so many pleasures. She couldn't kill him, any more than she could let him kill Victor. In an agony of indecision, Charlotte drove her blade into the bundle of muscles in Ivan's shoulder at the precise moment he tore his other hand free and delivered a stunning blow to Victor's chin.

He staggered back, still holding the pistol as Charlotte rushed to Victor's side. She realized her lover's danger and stood quickly, interposing herself between him and the wounded Ivan. He had dropped the pistol and held his injured shoulder. She saw blood welling between his fingers.

"You should have killed me," he said quietly.

"I cannot. I will not," she said, dropping her saber to clatter on the cold floor.

His face showed incredulousness and then something else, some strong emotion Charlotte could not read.

"I have rolled many a wench, Charlotte De Toberville, but never one quite like you."

"You are still more than a match for me. Will you kill me now? Or stand there until the guards come?"

"I will do neither. The Tsarina is not known for her pity and Peter will not think twice about having me killed to keep his treachery to her a secret. I will fly, if mademoiselle will do me the favor of not calling the guards down upon me?"

"Fly. Know that I bear you no ill will, even now."

He started for the door, but stopped and smiled at her.

"Do not tarry. If I have heard of your mission, it is a good bet others have as well. Even now there is a party of soldiers on their way to arrest you," he said.

He then smiled, blew her a kiss and disappeared into the darkened hallway.

"He is right, my love," a voice slurred behind her.

Charlotte whirled and knelt beside him. His jaw was obviously broken and it was apparently painful for him to speak.

"I shall fetch a doctor."

"No! You must fly. I will be all right."

"I cannot just..." she said plaintively.

"You must, but fear not, I shall put down this treachery and when you return, I shall be waiting. Go now, before I am unmanned and beg you to stay."

She nodded, but her feet seemed to be made of iron and it became harder to leave him with each step. Even when she reached the coach and saw soldiers approaching she could hardly make her self board it.

"Fly," she called at last, when they were almost in musket range.

"Where?"

"To Riga on the Baltic, and don't spare the horses," she called up.

She did not allow herself to cry until they were far into the night and no sound of pursuit had come.

It was days later when she reached the port of Riga. The ice was fortunately already melted enough to allow ships to pass. She quickly boarded the Dutch ship that had been waiting her arrival, and by evening she was far out to sea.

She was looking over the rail when she felt a presence behind her.

"You may relax, milady. There was no other ship in port to give chase."

She turned to face the handsome young captain.

"I do not fear pursuit. I was worrying about my maid. I was forced to fly, and now I fear for her safety."

"She will be fine. The Tsarina will protect her. All of your servants and your things will make it safely to France. The Tsarina is very good about such things."

"You seem to know much of my business," she said quietly.

"I do. I know almost everything. The Tsarina has been my patron for a long time and trusts me implicitly."

Charlotte shivered and he took her hands in his own.

"You're cold. Let us go inside. If you wish, you may share my cabin or I shall move to the mate's."

Charlotte didn't want him to bunk out. She was lonely and missed having sex regularly. Yet, she knew she couldn't just say yes as a real woman would. For the first time, she felt herself resenting being born a man.

"I see your hesitation. Would it help if I told you I know all your secrets?" he whispered, gently pressing his hand to the small of her back.

"All of them?" she asked.

"Well, the one that I hope is causing you to hesitate," he said, flashing a brilliant smile.

When she cocked her head, he nodded just enough to let her see. She knew she missed Victor. If she were honest with herself, she missed Ivan and Gustav almost as much. If she were truly honest, she missed her maid more than any of them.

She loved Victor, but knowing in advance the situation would force them to part made that separation at least bearable because she has prepared herself for it.

She missed Ivan's wit, his charm and insatiable appetite for life. And for her body, if she were being honest. She also missed having him to lean on, to trust with some of the burdens. His betrayal seemed inconsequential to her, as much a part of his devil may care attitude as his constant need for sex.

She missed Gustav's intelligence, his gentle adoration and soft hands. She could never love him as she loved Victor or desire him as she did the big Russian, but she did have great affection for him. And they shared a sympathetic understanding she had not found with anyone else.

But of them all, her maid's absence was the one she felt most keenly. It was she who Charlotte looked to for companionship and understanding, above all others. And it was her absence that was most keenly felt.

There were many attractive men out there, she thought as she stared at the young captain. She saw no reason to deny herself the pleasure of his company. Should she return to Russia, she would be more than faithful to Victor, but he was not here and she had no illusions that she would ever see him again.

Her choice then seemed clear. Pine for those she was separated from or go on trying to enjoy life, such as it was. She didn't need Marcus Aurillius to tell her what she should do.

Charlotte smiled and followed the Captain into his cabin. It was small and sparsely furnished, with a desk nailed to the deck and a large rope bed with many comforters and quilts on it.

"I'm sorry I can't offer you nicer accommodations. My ship isn't really made for passengers," he apologized.

"Pray don't mention it," Charlotte replied.

Only a single lamp lit the room, and it made the place feel cozy. Charlotte felt herself relax and watched appreciatively as the captain stripped. He was a young man, with blonde hair and blue eyes. His chest was broad, but his muscles were lean. His chest was covered in blonde hair as were his stout legs. His cock was of average size and width, but Charlotte was fascinated by his blonde pubes.

His hands were big and clumsy as he helped her out of her gown and chemise. Her petticoats also caused him trouble, and she had the suspicion he had not been with many ladies. At least, not ladies in the sense of those who dressed the part. She had no doubt his good looks and charm allowed him a girl in every port.

Charlotte retained her corset, stockings and stays. They were a comfort to her and since they in no way impeded having fun, she kept them on. His hands were big and his manner was rather rough. Not rough in the sense of being physically harsh, but rough in the manner of a man who thinks of sex as something to be done quickly while the maid was in the mood.

They kissed and she gently stroked his prick as his hands roamed over her arse. His tongue explored her mouth with enthusiasm if not great technique. He broke the kiss and jumped on the bed, lying back and holding his prick up invitingly.

Charlotte threw a leg over his body and positioned herself above him. He spit on his hand and rubbed it all over his prick. She grasped it and guided him to her entrance and then slowly lowered herself up on him.

Charlotte road slowly, enjoying the sensations. He was no Ivan, nor even a Victor, but at this point, she felt just wonderful as his cock slid in and out.

He came quickly and Charlotte was rather disappointed that he rolled over and went to sleep almost immediately. Still, he was warm and she slept without nightmares for the first night since she fled the capital.

They were five days out when she awakened to the sound of cannon. Rushing out on deck, she saw the captain swearing as men hauled down the sails.

"What is it?"

"Damned English. They ordered us to heave to and when I refused, they opened fire. They are going to board us."

"Can't you do something? Outrun them?" she asked, feeling a chill of dread run up her back.

"No, damn them. This isn't a warship and that is. She's faster than we are and far better armed."

Charlotte watched as the frigate lowered a whaleboat and it was rowed across. A young officer in the traditional royal navy blue jacket came aboard.

"What is the meaning of this?" the captain demanded.

The lieutenant looked at him coolly and then to Charlotte.

"By order of his majesty, the king, this woman is to be taken aboard the Indomitable and taken to England."

"You can't do this!" the captain fumed.

"We can and we will. You can turn her over peaceably, or we can sink this ship and pluck her from the ocean. The choice is yours."

"I will not give up a free woman to you. This is piracy!"

"Captain," Charlotte said quietly.

"Yes, milady?"

"I will go with them. You and your men should not have to die for me."

"I am captain here!"

"Yes," she said softly, "and as captain you have your men to think of. Will you please assist me in gathering my things?"

As soon as they were alone in the cabin she began packing her valise.

"Charlotte, I cannot let this happen, my honor..."

"If you fight, you will die. And if you die, Elizabeth will not know that I have been taken. We both have our duty to do. Yours, while distasteful, is clear."

By her fifth day onboard the Indomitable Charlotte had already figured out much of the strange politics of the ship. Despite having only observations - none of the sailors would speak to her - she was fairly sure of her conclusions. Reading men had become second nature to her by now, and much of the body language and non verbal interaction was as clear as crystal to her.

Captain Townsend had turned his cabin over to her, as honor required, but he had made no advances. He didn't seem interested in her at all, except as a social better whom he didn't like dealing with. Charlotte had discerned that the captain was interested only in the cabin boy, a dark haired lad of perhaps thirteen. At first she had felt sorry for the boy, but where she wouldn't have gone farther than that a year before, she found more to it than her simple assumption.

She realized, after an incident on deck, that the young boy was actually a tyrant of the worst sort. Pampered, adored, and with the absolute master of the ship wrapped around his finger, he was drunk with power. At his word men were flogged. He never worked or did anything but lounge on deck and create problems. The men were all sullen and only the first mate seemed loyal to the captain.