Mistress by Midnight

by Nicola Cornick

  Garrick felt the anxiety tighten in his gut. “Merryn,” he said, “please don’t do this.”

  She shrugged. “I thought you would refuse. I have asked you time and again and now I am tired of asking. So instead I thought I would seduce the truth from you.”

  The cloak slipped a little farther. She was holding the ribbons across her breasts now. Her shoulders were completely bare, all pale creamy skin and delicate curves and hollows. Garrick’s mouth dried. Was she wearing anything at all beneath the cloak?

  “Have you been drinking?” he demanded, willing his errant body into stillness while every instinct he possessed demanded that he reach out and grab her.

  Her gaze drifted to the brandy bottle. “No. But I see that you have.”

  “Not enough to be incapable.”

  “Oh, good.” She gave him a smile he had never expected to see on her lips. It was full of wicked knowledge, not Merryn at all. And yet the Merryn who had lain with him on the velvet bed of the bordello had been just such a wanton. Their wild lovemaking had woken her to physical pleasure. And they had released something in each other that could not be satiated. That desire stalked him now.

  Merryn’s lowered the black cloak another inch, revealing the curves of the tops of her breasts. Garrick’s body, supremely indifferent to the control his mind was trying to exercise, sprung to even greater attention.

  “This is madness.” His voice sounded so rusty that he had to clear his throat. “Seduce the truth out of me? I have told you the truth.”

  “Not all of it.” She drifted closer. The cloak swung out, the hem brushing his leg. He caught a glimpse of bare thigh beneath and his mind spun. Dear God, she really was naked beneath that cloak. Her scent, that elusive fragrance of bluebells, enveloped him. He imagined he could feel the warmth of her skin. His head swam with memories of the wild wicked passion they had shared.

  “Awaken a virgin to pleasure—” he ground out.

  “And she wants more.” Her gaze drifted to his, glittering blue with desire. “Quite.” She smiled at him.

  “So this is all about sex,” Garrick said. “You could try waiting until after our wedding. You only need exercise self-control for one more day.”

  We have reversed roles, he thought. It was usually the rake who seduced and the lady who protested.

  She came close to him, putting her hands against his chest. Her breath tickled his ear. He thought she could easily let slip the velvet ribbons, and then the cloak would come tumbling off. He prayed it would not—and simultaneously hoped that it would.

  “It’s not about sex,” she whispered. “It’s about honesty.” She drew back a step. Her gaze held his. “There was complete honesty between us when we made love before,” she said. “I do not believe that you could make love to me again and lie to me, too.”

  “I assure you,” Garrick said, reaching for cynicism as his last defense, “most men would have no problem with that at all.”

  “Most men, perhaps.” Her gaze was fearless. “But not you.”

  Dear God, it was a mad idea, but as he watched the cloak slide farther down her shoulders, Garrick had the disconcerting suspicion that it might just work. She was right in that he had been building defenses against her from the very first, blocking her out because there was such a valiant integrity about her that he had known one day he must fall before it—and that he could never allow himself to do so.

  “I have never lied to you,” he said painfully, truthfully, knowing it was no real answer because he had omitted to tell her so many things.

  “We’ll see.” She had turned away, seemingly indifferent. The velvet edging at the neck of the cloak was below her shoulder blades now, the rich black a stark contrast to her white skin. Garrick’s body tightened unbearably. His throat was dry and his entire body shaking with the need to exercise such self-control over his raging lust.

  “Merryn,” he said, a last-ditch attempt, the last plea of a soldier overwhelmed by opposing forces, “no—”

  Too late…

  She turned back to him and allowed the cloak to slide down her body so slowly that he almost groaned aloud. She was not naked but the gown she had chosen—if it could be dignified with such a name—was designed specifically to inflame rather than quench his desire. For a start it was transparent white, clinging to her breasts, so high and firm, showing the nipples dark through the gauze. It skimmed the gentle curve of her stomach, caressed her rounded thighs and drew Garrick’s gaze irresistibly to the shadowed valley between them.

  No underwear. She wore no underwear at all.

  His body hardened into painful arousal.

  “Where did you get that gown?” he said, and he barely recognized his own voice.

  “I borrowed it from Tess’s wardrobe.” There was defiance and a hint of anxiety in her voice. “I wanted something that would not be too difficult to remove.”

  God almighty. Garrick thought he might just explode with lust.

  The velvet cloak slipped and slithered sinuously down to pool at her feet.

  This was the moment, Garrick thought, that a gentleman would pick up the cloak, wrap her in it, propel her out through the door and call a carriage to take her home.

  He looked into her eyes and saw nervousness there as well as bright, burning desire. In that moment he knew that she was afraid. She thought he would reject her. She thought that he would laugh at this mad plan she had gambled everything upon and send her away. Despite the harlot’s gown and the attempt at wantonness she was too inexperienced to know if her strategy would work.

  A huge tenderness filled Garrick to see the anxiety in her eyes. He gave a groan, caught her bare shoulders and pulled her to him, kissing her with a famished desperation that was as much a product of his despair as of his lust. She made a gentle humming sound of pure satisfaction and anything-but-pure desire and pressed close to him, her breasts soft and yielding against his chest. He kissed her with hunger, with craving, and felt his self-control shatter and his emotions reel. This was wrong, the very last thing that he should do when he had a stark choice to make between letting her go and tying her to him in a barren marriage. Yet instead of releasing her he held her locked against him; he drove his hands into her hair and covered her face with tiny, frantic kisses.

  “I need you…” He spoke hoarsely, the words torn from him. She had no idea of the depth of his longing and his desperation. She was the only light in his darkness and he knew he did not deserve her. Yet miraculously she was not going to turn him away. She lifted a hand to his cheek; her lashes fluttered, she smiled at him. Garrick felt as though a fist had smashed straight into his heart, transmuting his raw hunger into something far more frightening and profound.

  He held her for a moment longer, his face pressed against her hair, shudders convulsing him deep inside. Then she made a slight movement, bringing her lips back to his, and he abandoned thought and kissed her long and deep, her bare skin hot and smooth beneath his hands, her mouth eager and demanding under his. Garrick reached out, swept all the household accounts from the long mahogany table, the piles of paperwork it had taken him so long to compile, picked her up and sat her on the edge of the table. Her head fell back, the golden hair spilling about her like a drift of corn in the sun. Garrick’s lips nipped and kissed the soft line of her shoulder and down to the slopes of her breast. The hunger drove him hard. He fought the urge simply to spread her and take her. That was not good enough for Merryn, that he should sate his lust on her. He wanted her pleasure more than his own, wanted to bind her to him with every bond of physical desire he could use. Yet he knew he wanted more than that; he wanted to smash the barriers between them and claim her soul as well as her body.

  He pulled back. “Do you want me to stop?” he demanded roughly.

  “No.” Her word was a whisper. “Don’t stop.” He felt her make an effort. “But…”

  “Yes?” He paused, his lips hovering over the ruffle that edged the neckline of the scandalous gown.
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  “The gown…” She sounded dazed, bewitched. “It was supposed to come off.”

  Garrick took the neck of the gown, gave it one sharp tug and freed her breasts.

  “Oh!” Her eyes opened wide in shock and pleasure, and Garrick’s body quickened in response.

  “Oh,” she said again, this time on a whisper, as he took her nipple in his mouth, licking, sucking until she squirmed. She arched to the touch of his lips, bent back like a bow, and Garrick allowed his hands and mouth to plunder her, caressing, demanding, roaming now over the soft skin of her breasts and brushing the quivering tautness of her belly. Her skin felt hot and so sensitive. She vibrated beneath his touch. Garrick watched her face, dreamlike in its delight and discovery, and felt humbled by the openness with which she gave herself up to him, utterly exposed, utterly vulnerable. Desire tugged at him again but he leashed it, repressing his own needs ruthlessly as he continued to pleasure her until she was visibly trembling and crying out helplessly to him.

  The gown, obliging as ever, fell open as he pulled it up. He parted her thighs, his fingers finding her core, stroking, sliding deep. The caress wrenched a gasp from her and Garrick covered her lips with his again, a reassurance as well as a demand. He felt her respond; she reached for him then, to draw him close, but he held her off for a moment, fumbling with his breeches with hands that shook so much he thought he would never manage it. He was utterly undone, aching, desperate, yet the need to treat her gently even in the center of this maelstrom of desire had him exercising a fierce restraint.

  He felt Merryn stiffen slightly at the first touch of his body against hers, as though she had suddenly realized how vulnerable she was in this position. He opened her gently, pushed upward, and felt her body start to yield to him.

  “Open your eyes,” he whispered.

  He saw the precise moment that Merryn caught their reflection in the mirror, the dark, erotic image of herself seated on the edge of the table, thighs pale, widespread, skirts about her hips, breasts bare, her golden hair falling about them both like a silken curtain. She gave a keening cry and he slid deep inside her and felt her body sheathe him so tightly he almost came. He held still for a moment and felt her ripple and clench about him and the bliss was so intense he thought he might fall. He grasped after control against the barrage of sensation that assaulted him, withdrawing from her a little. He stroked her again and felt her whole body tighten in response. She grabbed his hips and pulled him into her, and Garrick could resist no longer. He claimed her, sinking deep, pulling out, driving them both fiercely onward. Possessiveness flared in him, the need to claim her surrender and to know she was irrefutably his. Yet alongside his triumph was a vulnerability that terrified him. She could bring him to his knees. She had already done so. He was lost.

  It was his last thought. Merryn’s body clenched and released him again, sending shards of exquisite pleasure tumbling through him. It tore a harsh groan from his throat as he finally relinquished control and emptied himself into her. The pleasure flowered through him, a flood tide of passion that swept him to madness, a sweet delight he had never imagined. He drew her close and held her to his heart for a timeless interval.

  Finally he released her. He was still breathing so hard he could not speak. Merryn lay back on the table, the books and papers scattered about her like petals in a storm, the candlelight shifting and shimmering over her body in bars of light and shadow. She made no effort to move or to cover herself and seeing her lying there so abandoned, so beautifully decadent, made Garrick want her all over again with a hard, fierce need that drove him to despair.

  So it had not been enough. He had almost lost his mind. He had been driven to the edge by the force of his release. He had taken Merryn, mastered her body again, claimed her undeniably as his, and yet… And yet something was missing. It prowled along the edge of his consciousness, taunted him from beyond his understanding.

  He wanted more. This was not enough.

  Merryn shifted. As he watched her, his cock twitched and the lust tightened in his gut. This time he ignored them. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her across to the nearest chair, sitting down with her on his lap, pushing the tangled hair away from her face.

  “Was that what you wanted?” he demanded.

  She turned her head and a slow smile played across her lips. “Not precisely, your grace. Though…” she gave a languorous little wriggle that made Garrick grit his teeth against the new onslaught of temptation “…it was very, very nice.” She sat up a little. Her hair fell like a rich golden curtain about her face, hiding her expression.

  “I had planned to stop at a crucial moment and ask you some questions,” she said.

  Garrick gave a snort of laughter. “You planned to stop?”

  She cast him a sideways look. “I see that I miscalculated.”

  “You did,” Garrick said. “That was never going to work.”

  “I realize that now. In my inexperience I misjudged the situation.” She stood up, moving away from him in a tangle of swirling hair and pale limbs. She lifted the cloak and swung it about her shoulders. It enveloped her. Her fingers were steady as she secured each little fastening. Only when the entire garment was sealed up to her neck did she look up and meet Garrick’s eyes. It felt odd to see her distance herself from him so deliberately. He wanted to take her upstairs to his bed, to hold her in the darkness of the night as both protection and protector, to make love to her again, to keep her with him all night and for as many of the following days and nights as he could. Merryn, on the other hand, looked as though she wanted to leave. Something cold and hard settled in Garrick’s stomach. Fear crept down his spine.

  “I was going to ask you,” Merryn said slowly, “if it was Kitty who killed Stephen. I think she did. I think there must have been a terrible accident and that you took the blame.”

  The shock slammed into Garrick with physical force. Lost in the welter of his feelings for her he had almost forgotten her quest to seduce the truth from him. But Merryn, of course, would never forget. Merryn was completely single-minded. And she was so close to the truth now—so close and yet so utterly wrong.

  The silence stretched so taut that the ticking of the grandfather clock seemed almost to split his eardrums.

  “You are mistaken,” he said hoarsely, when he could speak. “Kitty did not kill Stephen.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Merryn said. She was holding the material of the cloak tight about her neck now, like a shield. What he saw in her eyes now was different from all the other times she had confronted him. There was no anger anymore, no frustration. There was nothing but shining hope, so pure and confident, and—he shuddered to see it—love. Garrick could not bear for her to love him, not with what he had done. Not when he was so undeserving. Not when he was about to smash her hope and her faith once and for all. He could taste bitterness in his mouth.

  “I have been looking at things the wrong way around,” Merryn said. “You are good and noble, Garrick. You have always done your duty—”

  Garrick knew he had to stop this now, before Merryn stumbled onto the truth. He felt as though his heart was snapping in two. “I am neither of those things,” he said gruffly. “You are deluded, Merryn. I am neither good nor noble and I thought I had just proved that to you.”

  She shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “I have no complaints that you could not resist me,” she said. She took a step closer to him and placed a hand on his arm. “I love you,” she said softly. “It is that simple. And I could not love you if you were the cold-blooded murderer you claim to be.”

  I love you…

  Garrick flinched. “No,” he said. He shook. This was too much; he could not accept it. Once he would have given so much for the love of a woman like Merryn Fenner, before Kitty’s betrayal, before Stephen’s murder. Now it was too late. He had killed a man and destroyed too many lives to deserve such generosity of spirit, especially from Merryn. The images danced before him, vicious memories.
Kitty screaming, Stephen dying, lives changed in a second, hideous consequences stretching over the years. Those could never be wiped out by Merryn Fenner’s love. It was impossible. He looked into her face, saw her determination and the clear, pure love in her eyes and felt his heart snap.

  “No,” he said again. “Merryn…” He cleared his throat. “You think that you are in love with me,” he said, “so you want me to be all that is good and heroic. The truth is that I am not. I never was and I can never be.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot believe that—”

  “Believe it,” Garrick said harshly. “Because I killed your brother and in the end that is the only thing that matters and it will always come between us.”

  She shook her head. “No—”

  Garrick thought savagely of the letter. There was only one way to end this, he thought. He had to tell her what he had done, what Stephen had done, but keep Kitty’s secrets.

  “Merryn,” he said. He knew he was going to break her heart and shatter her illusions, but there was no other way. “Please listen to me,” he said. He tried to make his voice as gentle as he could even as he knew there was no gentle way of telling her. “I did kill Stephen,” he said. “There was no duel. You were right about that all along. I found Kitty and Stephen together. There was an argument. Stephen tried to kill Kitty and I shot him. That is why I am not the honorable man you want me to be.”

  He saw the shock explode in her eyes. She backed a step away from him. There was an anguished, frozen moment. Merryn’s face, so rosy with animation a moment before when she had laid her heart beneath his feet, was now so pale he was afraid that she would faint. Her eyes were dull, opaque. “No,” she said again. She pressed her hands together and Garrick saw how much she was shaking. He wanted to touch her, to take her in his arms, to offer comfort for the grievous hurt he had inflicted but the torment in her eyes warned him to stay away.