A Rose at Midnight

by Jacqueline Navin

  Yet ever since Magnus had given it to her four days ago, she had fought a battle of conscience.

  This single piece of jewelry could pay the fees for the finest sanatorium in Switzerland, but could she bear to betray her husband?

  She wondered if she should simply tell him about James. If there was one thing she had learned, it was that Magnus was a kind man, with a well-developed sense of responsibility. Surely, upon learning of his brother-in-law’s condition, he would wish to help.

  But would he hold her deception against her?

  She had misled him. She had done more than that—she had openly lied to him. Caroline was not foolish enough to believe all men were like her father, but she couldn’t help think of Louis Wembly and how he had coldly, unfeelingly dismissed everyone else’s feelings and needs as unimportant. He had been a disgusting man, consumed with himself, so much so he had committed the most despicable act of depravity a person could dare.

  Magnus was not like him, not the Magnus she was discovering. But there were the rumors. He was a jade. He didn’t even argue that point. Being called a scoundrel only made him chuckle. And his moods were unpredictable, his good will unreliable.

  True, he was generous. Even caring. He had, at times, been vicious as well.

  If she told him, and he turned her out—if for nothing else than for not having been completely forthcoming from the beginning—then her brother’s life was forfeit. As much as she was growing to care for Magnus, as much as she might admire him, she could never trust him that far, not with something so precious.

  Gazing at the necklace, she realized she hadn’t yet tried it on. Perhaps she was afraid if she did so, she wouldn’t be able to part with it. Rising, she went to the looking glass and attempted to fasten it around her neck. A shadow shifted behind her, and warm fingers brushed hers aside.

  “When I decided on this particular piece, I confess to having delighted images of seeing you in it, and only it.”

  Magnus finished closing the clasp and grasped her shoulders, placing a light kiss on the back of her neck. Loosing the tie at her waist, he opened her dressing gown and slipped it off, leaving her naked in the moonlight.

  “You are so very lovely,” he said breathlessly, brushing his lips behind her ear. His eyes locked with her reflection and she stood transfixed by the smoldering gaze. Reaching around her, he grasped her breasts, then traced lightly over the flat of her stomach, testing the gentle swell of her hips, stirring her passions with one sweep of his hands.

  Whirling, she threw herself into his arms.

  Life settled into a pleasant routine at Hawking Park. Caroline’s days were filled with her duties as mistress, her nights with her duties as wife. Magnus was a fabulous lover—tender, passionate, experienced, inventive and intuitive.

  She hadn’t even realized he had suffered no attacks in a great while until she was seated across from him at the breakfast table and saw a trickle of sweat run down his temple. He loosened his cravat, still trying to concentrate on his newspaper.

  “Henry!” he called. At the servant’s appearance, Magnus ordered, “The fire is too high.”

  Henry looked puzzled and Caroline frowned. The weather held the typical chill of October, and the room was in want of the comforting warmth emanating from the hearth. She stood and said, “Thank you, Henry. I will take care of it.”

  Magnus looked up from his paper. Caroline said, “Magnus, come over here by the window, if you would.”

  He might have thought she wished to show him something. Folding his paper, he stood, then stopped, wavered and sat back down.

  “Call Arthur!” he demanded.

  “Magnus, let me—”

  “Call him! And get the hell out of here! I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  “But you told me you wanted me to attend you when you were sick.”

  “I changed my mind! Now get—damn it!” He broke away to lay his head in his hands. His muffled voice sounded. “Arthur—get him!”

  Caroline rang the table bell and sent Henry in search of the majordomo. But she was determined not to leave.

  Back at her husband’s side, she said, “Do not waste your strength. I am telling you right now I am not going to leave you. You are not to be ashamed, Magnus. You are ill. I am your wife, and my place is with you. You need me.”

  He didn’t speak, just shook his head. Arthur arrived. Caroline explained, “He started sweating and feeling overwarm only a few moments ago. Should you call the footmen to take him upstairs?”

  “I can do it myself,” came Magnus’ hoarse reply, preempting his manservant.

  “Let me help you, my lord,” Arthur said, draping Magnus’ arm about his shoulders.

  “Get her out of here,” Magnus said, but the strength of his voice was fading. Caroline stepped up to take the other arm on her slim but sturdy frame. As she struggled under the weight, she said, “You might as well tell him to conserve his energy, Arthur, and quit arguing about it. He may be larger than 1, but he is not at his best right now, and I am determined to stay by his side.”

  Arthur nodded, and the two of them concentrated on helping their unwieldy burden up the stairs. Arthur started down a corridor which led away from the master suite, and Caroline corrected him. “I know he goes to another room when he is sick, but as I shall be attending him, I think his normal apartments would be best.”

  “Arthur!” Magnus growled weakly.

  Caroline ignored his feeble protests. They succeeded in getting him into the room, stripped, and into the bed. Caroline had seen no cause to involve the valet, convention be damned.

  “What is normally done for him?” Caroline asked of the manservant.

  “He has medicine, which I shall fetch. Just cool cloths and keep him clean.”

  Magnus’ voice was barely a croak. “Arthur, get her out!”

  “Shhh,” Caroline soothed as Arthur went to see to his duties. “I am with you, Magnus. Do not worry, you shall recover like you always do.”

  He said something she didn’t understand. “What?”

  “Chamber pot!”

  Caroline reacted quickly, getting a small dustbin to him in time to avoid soiling the bed.

  “All right, lie back now,” she crooned when he was through. A servant arrived with water, and Caroline immediately began swabbing his sweat-soaked body with a damp cloth.

  “Medicine.”

  “Yes, Magnus, Arthur will be here in a moment with it.”

  She touched the cloth to his legs and arms, his torso and neck and forehead—everywhere where the flesh burned with fever. Arthur arrived and administered the dosage which sent Magnus into blessed oblivion.

  “I’ll stay with him now, ma’am,” he said.

  Caroline shook her head. “No, Arthur. I am here.” At his hesitation, she said, “Go on.”

  The servant didn’t argue, seeming to approve of Caroline’s taking control.

  By the time Arthur left, Magnus was sleeping quietly, the soft, even sound of his breathing familiar and reassuring to Caroline’s ears. He looked peaceful, as natural as when he slept by her side. The clamminess of his skin told her the fever had broken. Arthur had mentioned this attack did not seem bad, so Caroline hoped the worst was over.

  Nevertheless, she sat on the edge of the bed, unable to still her hands as they smoothed the thick locks from his patrician brow or traced the contour of his cheek. He was such a beautiful man, she marveled. She leaned over to press soft kisses on his forehead, curling up next to him, murmuring soft words of reassurance as she drew the coverlet over his nakedness.

  When he roused a few hours later to retch and shiver and tell her to get the hell out of the room, Caroline held him, gently settling him back and calming his temper. Before he fell back under the effects of the laudanum, he muttered, “Just you wait until I’m well.”

  Caroline smiled at the threat. He would certainly have more than a few words to say to her, she knew. She—and Arthur as well, poor soul—would h
ave hell to pay for her insubordination. But she would not leave him, not even for fear of what he would do later.

  As the day wore on, she remained. When night fell, she had a servant bring in a large chair close to the bed. There she slept lightly, aware of every breath Magnus took. Sometime before dawn, he opened his eyes. She came instantly awake.

  Magnus said, “You, my dear, are in a great deal of trouble.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Magnus made good on his promise to punish her for disobeying him by being disagreeable, disgruntled and downright nasty for the next week. He stated emphatically, and at least once every time they were together, that Caroline was never to invade his privacy when he was ill again. These admonishments she took with implacable calm, which incensed him all the more.

  “I will set you out without a farthing if you ever dare such a thing again!” he thundered one evening at dinner.

  She bestowed upon him one of her cool perusals that so annoyed him. He almost came up out of his chair. “Don’t give me that superior look,” he snapped. “I know what you’re thinking—you’ll do what you please since I won’t be in any state to argue. But I promise you, if you so much as step foot in my rooms when I am.sick, I’ll have your bags packed and you will be back at the Ordinary so fast your head will spin!”

  Daintily chewing a morsel of chicken, Caroline stated, “You cannot do that. It is not in our contract.”

  “Contract?” He did come out of his seat. “Contract! You little minx, I’ll show you to flout that damned piece of paper before me, try to blackmail me with it!”

  Calmly, she speared another bit of meat. “Actually, quite the contrary was stipulated. You expressly asked me to attend you.”

  His mouth worked in mute outrage. Caroline seemed completely unperturbed by his rising temper, eating sedately with no more than an occasional polite glance to acknowledge he was speaking.

  Stalking away from the table, Magnus rubbed his hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. Devil take her, he had never felt so close to throttling a woman as he did now.

  He was unaware she had come up behind him until he felt her hand on his shoulder. “Magnus, please do not upset yourself. You may bring on another attack.”

  He didn’t turn around. “Isn’t it enough that this illness is robbing me of my life? Of any future? Of seeing my child even born? Must you allow it to unman me, Caroline? Can’t you at least leave me my dignity?”

  There was a long silence. “There is no loss of dignity in being ill, Magnus,” came her gentle answer. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Nothing to be ashamed of?” He angled a glare her way. “Perhaps you haven’t been paying attention. My whole life is something to be ashamed of. And if I had an intact brain, I might have sense enough to feel badly about it. Too much debauchery, I’m afraid, has damaged my mind. Now, I shall reap my just rewards. Dying slowly, unfinished. Well, there are some who would say it couldn’t happen to a more deserving fellow.”

  “I would not say that, Magnus!” He was surprised at the vehemence in her voice. “You have given me so much. Let me give back something to you.”

  “You do, Cara mia. Every night.”

  Her eyes flashed, and her nostrils flared wide. “Yes, I do, don’t I? I never refuse you from my bed. I give all, and when I am with child, I will have fulfilled my part of the bargain. In return, you give me gifts. Necklaces, clothes, money.” She took a step back. He was horrified to see the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. He had never thought to see this woman cry, this strong, invincible bit of femininity who had taken his worst and given it right back to him with nary a flinch. Her next words were barely a whisper. “That makes me a whore, then. Doesn’t it?”

  He recoiled. God, he hadn’t meant to say those things. “Caroline, don’t.”

  “It’s true. If not your wife, then what? If I am not to be a part of you outside of the bedroom, then I am nothing more than a simple harlot. How you must despise me.’

  Despise her? Dear Lord, didn’t she understand it was himself he despised?

  She turned away and he reached for her. She didn’t resist. God, she had never resisted him, not once. She had always done exactly as he required.

  Yet, a small, tortured voice inside him urged, she was not so innocent and giving as all that. She had demanded an allowance, and had asked him for it when he had neglected to pay on time. She had not demurred at any of his generosity, not even prettily for effect. And—how could he forget?—she had only married him for his money.

  He let his hand fall away. He couldn’t make this right with words.

  “And how you must hate me in return,” he said. Her head came up. “If you think yourself a whore, then it is I. who have made you one. And a martyr to boot.”

  “You know nothing about me, Magnus. For all of your thorough investigation, you do not know me. Or why I need to be with you when you are ill.”

  His mouth was suddenly dry. “Why, then?”

  She gave him a long, haunted look. “If I told you, you would never accept it.”

  “What would you tell me?” he ground out viciously, aware that she was treading desperately close to his most vulnerable fears. “That you care?”

  She took in a quick breath and let it out. “Yes.” She was watching him like a cornered doe. “I do care about you, Magnus.”

  Something inside of him snapped. “And would you continue to care so much, I wonder, if the money stopped? If you were still running around in rags? Or if your family were shivering this winter in whatever hovel you came from?”

  Her hand moved so quickly, he never saw it coming. Her flattened palm landed with a loud whack on his cheek. The sting shocked him. She had hit him again.

  “Congratulations,” she snarled. “You have finally succeeded in convincing me you truly are the mean-spirited, obnoxious boor you seem so proud of being. If you wish me to admit my fault, I shall. I was wrong about you. Wrong to care about you. I hope you are fully satisfied.”

  Whirling on her heel, she stalked toward the door. Magnus’ flesh still tingled from her slap, and a blinding rage was fastening its talons around his heart.

  She stopped, turned, and added, “And the month is almost up. Please do not be late with my allowance. I would not like to ask for my fee a second time.”

  That last comment broke him. Magnus was in motion before he realized it. In one fluid movement, he grabbed her and took her with him to the closed door, pinning her against it and pressing himself upon her until he could feel every feminine contour. “If you want your fee, madam, you will have to earn it like every other whore must. On your back.”

  She swung, but this time he caught her wrist and jerked it behind her. This caused her to arch, a position perfectly suited for his mouth to come down over hers.

  To his utter shock, she bit his lip! His head snapped back.

  “Get away from me. I hate you!” she cried.

  “Ah,” he said dangerously, “how contrary you are. A moment ago, you profess to care, now you hate me. Well, at least in this you are not alone. My detractors are legion.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she flung. “Why do you have to act like such a blackheart?”

  “Because that is what I am,” he uttered, his lips crushing hers once again. She struggled only for a moment. Slowly, her mouth responded, and with a weak, breathless cry, she surrendered in his arms.

  He would ravage her right here, he would, if some shred of sanity hadn’t remained, born of the need to protect her from shame. The servants were in and out of here all the time. Even as he ached to punish her, he would not allow such a thing.

  Dragging her upstairs by her arm was no better, but they were lucky enough not to come across any of the staff. Magnus all but flung her into his chamber before locking the door behind him.

  She faced him like a wild thing. Her hair was coming loose, pale tendrils falling seductively in her face. Lips parted, luscious, tempting him beyond thought.
Regret slammed into him, nearly bringing him to his knees, but he could not turn back now. His blood was on fire, out of control, thundering in his ears and filling him with need. He closed the distance between them in a few short strides, and she held out her arms to him, welcoming him even now.

  “Dear God,” she breathed against his lips. “You are a fiend.” He covered her mouth, crushing the words. He knew they were true. He was an unutterable, loathsome coward. His deft hands divested her of her clothing, lingering at her breasts, at the cleft of her legs. God, he could not help himself. She tugged at his clothes, helping him off with his garments. Naked, they tumbled into his large bed. Her hands gripped his hips while a soft, urgent moan sounded in the back of her throat. Without preamble, he slid inside her, the sensation a bone-jarring searing of pleasure and a homecoming at the same time. She moved, rocking her hips to stroke his embedded shaft, and he rose and fell in time to her motions. Pleasure exploded, consuming him, lifting him, bearing him to fulfillment as he heard her quickened breathing. He felt her stiffen and give a small, sharp cry.

  He fell beside her, gulping in huge lungfuls of air.

  Caroline lay staring at the ceiling. Without looking at him, she said, “Are you done with me, my lord?”

  He almost groaned. “Caroline, I.” He what? What could he tell her? He didn’t even know himself what lay in his heart.

  She rose, gathered her clothes and left him.

  The first thing Caroline did when she reached her rooms was go to the chair where she hid the necklace. She took it out, and without looking at it, stuffed it in the pocket of her cloak. Tomorrow she would see about selling it, Magnus and his mother be damned. James was going to the sanatorium. It was what she was here for, after all.

  The next thing was to scrub her body with the frigid water left in the basin while her mind worked.

  What was wrong with her? she wondered. How could she respond so strongly to him when he had behaved little better than a beast? He was odious, he was horrid, a dreadful, terrible monster who had no human feeling.