Mistress by Midnight (3 page)

He had shed everything save his shirt, breeches and boots. Once Laurette was at his feet, she couldn’t possibly miss his nearly painful arousal. Now it was Con’s turn to close his eyes to banish the sinful vision of her on her knees from his fevered brain. He was intent on her pleasure tonight as well as his own.

He heard the rustle of her silk skirts as she slid from the satin and velvet bedcovers. He would dress—and undress—undress to perfection, jewel-like colors to showcase the gold of her hair and blue of her eyes. If anything, she was more beautiful to him than she had been before, not that society would count her amongst its diamonds. Her brow was too fierce, her mouth too wide, her nose and cheeks and décolletage spangled with freckles that she still, he could see, took pains to hide. He had once seen the freckles everywhere, had traced them with his fingers and tongue as she writhed beneath him.

He laughed as she tugged off his second boot, landing ingloriously on her rump. He extended a hand to her.

“Now it’s my turn to help you undress, but I expect to find you completely naked and willing when I come to you in the future.”

Laurette turned her back to him, ramrod straight. “I trust you’ll set a schedule for me. I’m not going to prance around nude all day.”

Con set to unfasten the tiny row of pearl-like buttons. There were far too many of them for his liking. “Perhaps I will permit you a robe, then. Something sheer and easily removed. One never knows when I will wish to slake my hunger for you.”

Laurette turned around angrily, causing a button to come off between his fingers.

“You are joking!”

“I am not, madam. Oh, rest assured, your wardrobe will be full of dresses to wear if we go out, but behind the door of your new house you are to be absolutely available to me at any time of the night or day.”

“But—but what about the servants? Or aren’t I to have any?”

“I’ve hired a completely discreet couple. They are aware of my predilections.”

“You are inhuman! I will not consent to such a thing!”

“Let me refresh your memory. Ten thousand pounds is at stake, Laurette. And Vincent Lodge. I believe it requires extensive renovation. I shall see to it.”

“It’s flat-out blackmail. And the lodge belongs to Charlie, the utter worm. I don’t care if it falls down around his ears.”

Con smiled and put the loose button on the bedside table. “There. That’s more like the old you. I see you haven’t lost all your temper.”

“You’ve not begun to see it!”

He watched as Laurette looked around the room rather wildly. Con believed she was very close to finding something to throw. His possessions were valuable, his servants extraordinarily light sleepers and quite devoted to him. He pulled her close.

“You are my mistress, Laurette. I have my requirements, and you have your duties to fill. You may not always like them, but you will bow to my will in this and all things.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes now gray with tears. “And if I don’t? Shall you send Charlie to the Fleet and me along with him? I don’t believe you will, Con. Not even you could be so heartless.”

“Don’t tempt me, Laurette. You have forgotten about the child.”

“Beatrix!” she hissed. “Leave her alone as you left the rest of us!”

Con clamped his mouth shut in fury. In her eyes, he would always be the one who walked away from his vows. All of them. She cut him to the core because she was right.

This evening was a shambles. He was a cur for using Beatrix Isabella Vincent, the one pure thing between them, to manipulate her into his bed. A desperate fool, as well, because he would get her there any way that worked. His need was so strong his honor was but a distant memory.

“Let’s not put my resolve to the test. I don’t think either of
us would care for the results,” Con said at last, releasing her. He watched as she tore into the rest of her clothes, tossing them to the floor.

“There!” she spat. “I am naked. Use me as you will.”

Despite the danger, Con laughed. “My little martyr, Saint Laurette. I believe there is a special place in hell for the both of us, but I intend to take you to heaven first.”

He chuckled again as she snorted, turning his back to shuck the rest of his clothes. He was embarrassed by the evidence of his eagerness. “Get in bed,” he ground out. He had not dared to look at her long in her defiant fury, her white skin speckled with gold in the lamplight, her eyes more brilliant in their scorn.

No, this evening was turning into a disaster of the very first order.

He heard her flip back the covers, tumbling the embroidered pillows to the floor. One came very near him. At least she was throwing things not apt to attract the attention of his staff. Tomorrow night would be better, as they would be in their own haven. He must remember to present the key to her new house to her before he sent her back to her brother’s lodgings.

The key. That reminded him. His desk drawer key was still in the pocket of his waistcoat, as well as a tiny yellowed sheer muslin bag stitched full of tarnished beads, and a flat pinkish rock. It would not do for Laurette to find any of them in the night and for him to lose some of his advantages. She need not know about the other weapons in his arsenal yet. He swung a picture from a wall and opened his safe. He heard another snort as he placed the items safely atop some papers and bank notes.

“You don’t trust me?”

Con shrugged. “Perhaps I don’t trust myself. One night with you might drive all sensible thought out of my head, and I might release you from your obligations.”

“A man like you can surely find other female company.”

“One would think so.” He joined her under the covers, covers which she had drawn up to her stubborn Vincent chin. He’d seen quite a bit of that chin lately as he watched Charlie dig an ever deeper hole for himself. But the nights with the young idiot were more than worth it now that he had achieved Laurette’s concession. She was where she belonged, even if she didn’t know it.

“What do you mean to have me do, my lord?” she asked, a look of clear indifference upon her face.

“I want you to lie absolutely still.”

Laurette looked at him, frowning now. No doubt that was what she planned to do in a hopeless attempt to depress his ardor. “Is this a trick? Don’t gentlemen expect some sort of response from their whores?”

“You are not a whore! You are my lover, and my wish is for you to lie quietly. I want to reacquaint myself with your body. It has been too long.”

“Not long enough,” she muttered.

“Hush. Not a sound.” Con peeled the coverlet away. Her own scent of rosewater and woman entranced him. Her breasts were fuller than he remembered, although the rest of her seemed too lean. He must fatten her up. With another child soon, he hoped. He brushed the powder from her chest with a linen handkerchief. “No more
maquillage,
Laurette. You are fine as you are.” He didn’t want to taste the bitterness of her rouge and powder, but wanted to see every inch he had worked so tirelessly to buy into his bed.

Every cell inside him screamed to fuck her, and fuck her fast. Yet he needed to ration his touch or everything he’d planned would be ruined. With one fingertip he lightly tapped the tip of her freckled nose, then slid down the gentle indentation over her mouth. He rested on the artificial color of her upper lip for a moment before he blotted it away with the handkerchief. Her lips parted as he removed the rest and then his finger returned to stroke the moist edge of her lower lip. She snapped her lips shut, inadvertently trapping him in
side. Her tongue retreated, so he settled for a quick sweep of her teeth before he extricated himself.

“Are you buying a horse, my lord?”

“You are not to move
or
speak, remember?”

He continued to draw his invisible line upon the bone of her stubborn chin, its soft underside and down the column of her throat. He paused between the V of her collar bone, which was far too visible for his liking. The gap between her breasts was warm, her heartbeat faint. Her nipples had stiffened with the tickling sensation, but he resolutely stuck to his path. He dipped straight down her flat stomach to her navel and swirled a bit, just for a change of pace. Glancing up, he saw her golden eyebrows were contracted. They needed plucking, but that could wait for Nadia. Laurette’s eyes were closed but she was paying close attention. He angled his finger slightly until his nail joined the procession down her belly to the golden curls at the juncture of her thighs.

Her hair there was unbearably fine and soft. But he had other plans for it. He combed through, still with just one very fortunate finger.

“The concubines remove this. You will also. To make it easier for me.”

The shock on her face was comical. “You are mad.”

He only smiled. “So they say. Mad enough to bind and gag you if you not hold your tongue and obey me.” She went silent beneath him. Soon he would make it impossible for her to stay silent.

He hovered over her bud. Was it his imagination, or did Laurette strain up a fraction of an inch to give him access? No matter. It was far too soon. He leaned back, observing his handiwork. It seemed to him she was not quite so sacrificial. There was the slightest gap between her thighs and she no longer clenched her hands into the bedcovers. His fingertip slowly retraced its assault back up to her nose, omitting the sidetrip into the warm haven of her mouth.

When his tongue replaced his finger, he felt her quiver beneath him. He licked her lips but didn’t try to kiss her yet, being mindful of her strong white teeth. He valued his tongue and had further use of it. She swallowed hard as he laved her throat. When it came to the hollow between her breasts, he decided it was time to make a quick departure from his previous route. Gently pinching the bud of one breast, he lazily suckled the other. He felt her hand tentative on his shoulder and shook it off.

“Be still or I will stop.” He could tell she longed to tear a strip off his hide, but subsided into silence as his tongue trailed from her breasts to the sweet indentation of her navel.

Now
it was time. His tongue nearly skipped as he headed south, his hands parting her folds, smoothing the gold from the pink. Her sharp intake of breath was as gratifying as the moisture slicking his fingers and tongue. He settled between her ivory thighs, hoping she wouldn’t decide to use them as a vise on his poor, addled head. He was where he’d dreamed of being so long he could scarcely believe this night was true. But he wasn’t here to gawp in wonder as he inhaled the drugging rose scent of her body, or to question his sanity or his luck.

No. Luck had little to do with it. He’d planned everything, fought his own better angels for this night with her. For the nights that were to come.

Time was wasting. His tongue and hands explored. She tasted clean, so sweetly familiar to him that the years might not have passed. Her honey proved the miracle of her desire. For him. Still. Deserter that he was. He had left as a weary boy and returned a weary man. But Laurette was the elixir he needed.

Con feasted on her plump flesh with exquisite precision, suckling and seducing
her
better angels. He sensed her unraveling before her cries left no doubt that this, at least, was the same as it had ever been between them. He didn’t mind her
fingers in his hair now, her nails raking his shoulders, her ragged sobs as he brought her to completion twice more before he rose up to sheath himself within her.

Tight heaven. Or perhaps it was his hell. He only knew this was where he was meant to be.

The blaze of light revealed the flush on her cheeks, the torrent of golden hair on his pillow. Her eyes were shut, her beautiful lips bitten from the stubborn resistance she’d clung to. There was no point to restraint. She was his. They belonged to each other. It had always been so.

Oh God.
He had dreamt of this, night after night, had denied himself when he could have had his pick of willing women. But they were not Laurette. It seemed a penance easily paid as he kept to his wedding vows for a vastly different reason—fidelity to a woman who was
not
his wife. The memory of the girl who was his first and only love. A girl he had doubly betrayed, a woman now. Some might say he was betraying her again with his scheme to win her back.

He made himself slow down, savoring each touchpoint between them. The glorious heat of her around his cock. Her hesitant fingertips on his jaw. Her long legs clenched helplessly around him.

She couldn’t be unaware of the spell she had cast on him.

“Look at me, Laurie.”

He wanted her to see into his soul, black and shriveled though it was. See the love in his eyes, too. But she had other ideas. She pulled him down, covering his mouth with hers, her hands well-nigh strangling him.

What an ass he was. She needed to be kissed. It was an inexcusable omission from their earlier play. An intimacy so perfect that had always been almost too transcendent to trust. They’d had years of practice before the kissing led to complications.

She was frantic now, nipping, weeping, as though she wanted to devour him. This was more than a kiss. His blood sang as
they locked together, each engaged in a sensual battle for dominance, a battle he wanted her to win.

She took him in deeper, her hips angling him to the point of no return. He’d meant this first time to be more orchestrated, more andante than allegro. But he was damned if the last note would be played arpeggio.

“I cannot last, Laurie. Come with me. Please.”

He gloried in her rise against him, the soft ivory and gold of her skin lighting the flames of the past.

They were in the field once again beneath the hot sun, his long-discarded hacking jacket tossed beneath them, her skirts rucked carelessly. He smoothed the fabric with impatience, his hands brushing against the warm curve of her belly. The scent of fresh cut hay clouded his senses. The rich dark soil pillowed softly beneath his knees. He heard the insistent buzz of insects spreading life from bramble to berry in the distance. But soon there was nothing in the natural world to divert him but her body, her scent, her cries, the heat of her skin. In their haste there were still too many layers of clothes between them, but nothing had the power to stop this summer storm or bring them down to earth. Not Con’s duty, not Laurette’s innocence, not even, when it came to it, his marriage.