Mistress by Midnight (23 page)

“Why, Con? You don’t even know me anymore.”

He frowned. “That’s not true. I’ve learned a great deal about you over these past weeks.”

“I have been horrible to you. Mostly. Except in bed.”

She didn’t look a bit guilty, and why should she? He had been just as determined to claim her as she was to push him away.

“I don’t know if I can answer you.” He ran a finger down her freckled cheek. “You are a part of me. I thought we were a part of each other.”

She inched back from his touch. “Don’t distract me. I want to talk.”

“And I want to make love to you. One more time.”

She was tempted. He saw it in the flush of her cheek and the way her top tooth bit her bottom lip. His eyes traveled to the pulse at her throat, which leaped. Her hands twisted nervously over his treasures.

Gently he pried her fingers open and plucked the rock and the bag from her palm. “Let’s put these in a safe place. I should hate to lose them now. They have been with me through many trials. A bit of home. A bit of you.” She glanced up at him, perhaps understanding what these odd objects meant to him still. “My pants are not going to join my shirt, are they?”

Laurette shook her head. Con limped to his trousers and slipped them back into a pocket. Lost in thought, she had not moved from the grassy bank, but had now enfolded herself so he was denied the joy of looking at her body.

“If we—” Her whisper was lost over the rush of the water. He leaned in to catch her words. “If we make love here now, Con, it will be the very last time. Forever. I cannot marry you and resurrect the past. There would be talk. It would hurt James and he would hate me. Blame me for you leaving.”

Com weighed her words. There was not a soul alive in his two villages that did not suspect Laurette had been his lover before he married. She had spent years reclaiming her reputation, enough so she could run her little dame school.

Could he ever make James understand the bond that was between them? She had asked him why he loved her and he could not adequately explain even if he had Dr. Johnson’s Dictionary handy.

Con didn’t really believe in fated love. He had seen too much of the seamy side of the world, where women were sold as slaves and men took their pleasure when and where they could. Here in this country, most ton marriages were business arrangements. If mutual respect developed, all well and good and downright amazing.

But Laurette was his soul mate, absurd as it sounded. He
loved the girl she was, and the woman she’d become. If he lost her altogether it would be like cutting off his arm.

But he had a child to consider. Two, actually. And the woman he loved without reservation seemed to think that both of them would hate her if the truth were revealed. He couldn’t agree, but had to acknowledge she knew them both better than he did. He pushed his wet hair back.

“I don’t want to give you up, Laurie. I had to once and it almost killed me. I couldn’t think straight.”

“You are not thinking straight now, Con.”

He managed a smile. “Ah. That explains it. The Mad Marquess strikes again.”

She laid a hand on his forearm. “Look. I know you’ve moved heaven and earth to get us to just this spot. Together, under the sky, as we once were. But we have secrets wrapped in secrets now that should remain unspoken.”

“Tell me one of yours,” he said fiercely. “Tell me you still love me.”

Her eyes were filled with pain. “Do you really need to ask? I tried so, so hard not to. You broke my heart once.” She turned away from him and spoke to a rock. “I can’t trust you with it again. You want more than I can ever give. Please find someone else to help you raise your son.”

Con wanted to howl at the perfect sun that shone so perfectly on this perfect green Yorkshire hill, with its perfect rainbow waterfall. Instead he took the imperfect woman next to him in his arms. “If this is the last time, we must make it perfect.”

H
e felt a little like Adam to her Eve leading her carefully through the spray to the low flat rock behind the falls. It felt hot enough to bake something as he settled on its surface. Laurette stood above him, her face now devoid of emotion. She seemed fixed on the lazily drifting clouds that shadowed her eyes. He tilted her hips toward him, his hands looking brown against her pale, gold-flecked skin.

If she got her way, he’d never touch her like this again, never see the contrast between them, never fit themselves together as they were meant to be.

He’d make her regret that.

But no. He’d given her enough to regret already. Instead, he’d give her something she couldn’t forget.

She overwhelmed his senses. Her skin tasted of rosewater and cold stream. He licked a path from her navel to her bare cleft, flicking within to find her plump button. The tip of his tongue pressed her flesh to his lips, where he indulged them both. To never taste her like this would be a sin.

Perhaps she thought so too. Her stiffness under his palms melted away, and her knees buckled a bit. He held fast. Twisting and tugging patiently, he was rewarded by her hitched breath and more unsteadiness, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Her fingers dug into his scalp as she clasped him closer. He was imprisoned in her embrace and grateful for it.

She cried out, begging him to stop or continue, he couldn’t tell which, but she didn’t let go. Taking that as a welcome sign, he wrapped an arm around her bottom, settling her hip in the crook of his elbow. With his newly-free hand, he slid a finger into her hot, wet slit as his tongue traced lazy circles at her apex.

She truly came apart then, her scream rivaling the rush of the waterfall.

Boneless, she collapsed against him. He pulled her down to his lap and cradled her. She was so soft and warm in his arms, so
right.
His fingers wove in her damp hair as he brought her lips to his. She opened her mouth without hesitation. How many times had he kissed her? He tried to remember their first. She must have been about six. She had shyly pecked him on the cheek to wish him Happy Christmas and he’d made a great show of wiping his face.

A few short years later he had come home from school armed with the rumors of wet tongues tangling. She had airily informed him she’d seen her mama and papa engage in such an act and that it looked revolting. He had eventually convinced her otherwise.

After that they had kissed any chance they could, practicing artlessly. When he was seventeen and about to go to Cambridge, great guilt crashed over him for toying with her as her womanhood blossomed, but she had been the aggressor then, trailing after him until they went far beyond a kiss. He wondered if she was sorry now for bestowing the gift of her body to him. He had brought her nothing but pain when he meant to ensure her enduring pleasure.

Velvet honey. She always tasted so sweet. Everywhere. His tongue swept the roof of her mouth slowly, as though he had all the time in the world. She shifted into him, pressing her pliant breasts into his chest. Her hands slid through his hair, and he was glad he didn’t follow fashion to cut it short. Her touch made even his hair feel alive. Her fingers stroked and
tangled until his scalp tingled and a warm sensation lifted the hairs on his neck.

His fingers dipped down the even bumps of her spine until they came to the cleft of her buttocks. He lifted her bottom. Obediently, she swung her leg around and sank without resistance onto his shaft.

He held her tight, breastbone to breastbone. Pressed to him, her heart still thudded wildly from her orgasms. They were locked together, perfectly still, connected so completely it was almost painful. He longed to keep her in this position until they became a part of the landscape, two old weathered stones forever joined.

Laurette had other ideas. Gathering herself, she arched up. He let her do the work this time, watching her half-closed eyes narrow and her mouth dip down in concentration. He cupped her round breasts in his palms, rubbing the nipples with calloused thumbs, watching their color change from peach to raspberry. He feasted on one while his hand reached between them. He looked down to see her bare skin glistening, his cock and fingers busy. She set the rhythm, but her nails bit into his shoulders as she lost herself to every stroke.

He brought her over again. She threw her head back to the endless sky, her expression so blissful his heart nearly stopped. Con had given her what little he could, a respite from her lonely future. He was breaths away from going with her when he realized she could not be wearing one of her little sponges. Laurette had not expected him. Indeed, she had never thought to have sexual congress with him again. He meant to say something when her mouth came down upon his for the fiercest kiss. The Mad Marquess was rendered mute. Mindless. His only thought now was to prolong the exquisite friction between them as long as he could last.

Which proved to be a very short while. His seed spilled far up within her as she convulsed around him, kissing him senseless.

They clung together on their rock, panting, her legs still
wrapped around him. He was her more-than-willing prisoner. He always would be.

“I love you, Laurie.”

He felt her shake her head on his chest, where her cheek had come to rest. “Hush.”

He lifted her chin. “I do. It’s not enough, but I want you to know it.”

She gave a little sigh and snuggled back down. He thought he felt the beginnings of a smile against his skin.

They sat in breathless peace, listening the steady tumble of water over the rocks. Their world was finite, about to change. His cock began its inevitable descent from her passage.

“You aren’t perchance wearing a sponge?”

She leaped up, leaving his lap empty and his cock mournful. A look of horror flashed across her love-flushed face. “Oh my God!”

“You
hush. Don’t worry. I’ll wash you.”

If a child came of this afternoon, wouldn’t she finally give in? He knew he would be over the moon. But he led her back under the waterfall. His soap was stuck between two rocks where he left it. Lathering his hands, he swabbed between her nether lips, splashing water at her as she stood deathly still. He tried to be clinical, keeping his fingers indifferent to her folds, but apparently not indifferent enough. She snatched the soap from him and scrubbed viciously. She was turning blue with cold, her teeth chattering. He took the soap and tossed it away, then pressed himself against her. “You’ll wash your skin off. Time to rinse.”

She nodded, her eyes closed as if she couldn’t stand the sight of him. “In the sunshine. The water’s warmer by our rock.”

Our
rock. So it had become her world too. He propelled her away from the waterfall. “Don’t sit down yet. I don’t want you to cut that beautiful bottom.” He reached down to clear away the larger stones until she could sit on the silty soil of the riverbed. He pitched them far down the stream, where
they made violent displays. Rock-throwing was no cure for his frustration, but it was the only activity at hand unless he tried to strangle himself.

She sat down in the shallow water, looking very much like a cross mermaid, her wavy hair glinting in the sun. “I am an idiot. You make me an idiot.” She splashed water around her body, stirring up silt.

“And you make me an imbecile, madam. We are well-matched.” He sank down beside her.

“Oh, Con, what are we going to do if I’m with child? I cannot believe we were so careless. Again! We are not children anymore. I’ve been so careful this time.”

Con knew it and was sorry for it. Compromising her into a pregnancy would have been an easy way to make her his wife. He hadn’t counted on her vial of preventatives when he first proposed she become his mistress.

He hadn’t counted on a lot of things.

“It’s most unlikely this last time will result in anything. Don’t borrow trouble. But you will tell me this time, won’t you? If anything happens?”

“At least you aren’t married now,” she said grumpily.

“I’d like to be.”

She swatted him. “Stop it! We’re done, really, truly done. You’ve agreed what’s best for the children.”

Con grimaced. “No, Laurie, you’ve agreed with yourself on what’s best for the children. I simply respect your wishes. I don’t think they’d be half so disapproving if they knew the truth. But I see from your thunderous expression I’m not likely to change your mind.” The longer he sat her with her, the more he wanted to make love to her again. Words were unnecessary obstacles between them then. The more they talked, the further apart they grew. “Get dressed. I’ll follow you back after a reasonable time. It would not do to have you return with a half-naked savage.”

She swept the tattoo on his shattered shoulder with her forefinger. Did he see regret in her eyes? If there was, it was
fleeting. She shook herself off rather like a golden puppy and tied her shift and dress on. She rolled her stays up under her arm and picked up her boots. “It’s chicken for lunch,” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t be late.”

He watched her walk barefoot over the rough grass, her back straight, her damp hair curling down her back like gilt serpents. He waited for her to turn, to wave, to come back and kiss him, and never leave. Instead, she disappeared over a hill as he sat in his cold mud, shriveling in body and heart.

This was not the end. It couldn’t be. Somehow, he would do something, even if he’d quite exhausted his bag of tricks. He’d have to dig deeper, go further. He had the rest of his life to find a way back to Laurie’s heart, or die trying.

T
here.
Had she seemed plucky enough? Insouciant? There had been a bad moment back there, when she realized they’d been careless again. Despair—and awful hope. If she were pregnant the decision would be out of her hands. There was no way she could deny another child its father, or bear to give away a part of her soul again.

She wouldn’t have to wonder if she were doing the right thing for everybody, carrying the burden, keeping silent.

She was tired of doing the right thing. Tired of sacrificing.