Sleepless at Midnight

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  He brushed a damp curl from her cheek. “Yes, it was.”

  She cleared her throat. “Um, Matthew?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you recall how I said I want to experience everything I can, just this once, with you?”

  One corner of his mouth quirked. “I’m not apt to forget such an arousing statement.”

  “Well, I’ve changed my mind.”

  “I’m afraid it’s a bit too late.”

  She shook her head. “No, I mean the ‘just this once’ part. I’m afraid that I found that so incredibly delightful that ‘once’ is simply not going to be enough.”

  “I see. So you wish to have your wicked way with my body again tonight?”

  “If you don’t mind terribly much.”

  “I’ll try to grin and bear it.”

  Her smile bloomed and she pulled his head down for a kiss. And as his lips met hers, he knew that just once wouldn’t be enough for him either.

  When his inner voice informed him that one million times wouldn’t be enough, he managed, with a great deal of effort, to ignore it.

  Chapter 16

  Dull gray streaks of a rain-soaked dawn were just touching the sky when Matthew slipped from Sarah’s bed. Before reaching for his clothes, he gazed down at her, momentarily unable to look away from the picture she made, her hair fanned out across the pillows, one bare shoulder peeking from beneath the counterpane. After they’d made love a second time, she’d fallen asleep, her head pillowed on his chest, one arm slung across his abdomen, one thigh nestled between his.

  He’d remained awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to her breathe, brushing gentle kisses against her hair. Absorbing the feel of her cuddled against him.

  But now their night was over and he needed to return to his own bedchamber before the household arose. With his gaze still resting on her sleeping form, he scooped up his breeches from the floor and donned them. Leaving her bed and walking out of this room were proving far more difficult than he’d anticipated. He’d expected to enjoy their night together, seducing her, introducing her to lovemaking, teaching her to enjoy pleasure.

  But he hadn’t expected to feel as if he were the one being seduced. The one being introduced to the beauty of lovemaking. The one being taught all the nuances of true pleasure. In spite of his previous experiences, it was at her unpracticed hands that he’d learned the difference between merely slaking one’s lust and sharing the physical act of lovemaking with someone you cared for.

  Nor had he anticipated the profound sense of peace that filled every crevice of his being. It seemed as if he’d exhausted himself for years searching for that elusive calm to fill his soul. Never would he have expected to find it in the arms of a virgin spinster. In fact, if anyone had suggested he would, he’d have laughed.

  Which just showed he had a lot to learn. And Sarah—sheltered, innocent Sarah, who hadn’t seen or done even a fraction of things he had—knew more about life and love, generosity and kindness, than anyone he’d ever met. And in only a few short days she’d be gone from his life. Unless he found the money.

  If he did, he could—and would—marry Sarah. At the mere thought, all the lonely darkness he’d envisioned looming on his horizon turned bright gold with sunshine. Which meant he had to find the money. It had to be there. He had three days and the remaining acres of the rose garden in which to find it. And by God, he was determined to do so.

  He grabbed up his wrinkled shirt and quickly finished dressing. Then, after brushing a tender kiss against Sarah’s temple, he quit the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Striding quickly down the corridor toward his bedchamber, he’d just rounded the corner when he halted. Walking toward him, less than a dozen feet away, was Daniel. Daniel who was frowning and looking down and clearly hadn’t noticed him yet. Daniel who’d obviously been outside because he was soaking wet and more than a little bedraggled.

  At that moment Daniel looked up and his footsteps faltered. Their gazes met, and for just an instant something flashed in Daniel’s eyes, something Matthew couldn’t decipher; a look he couldn’t recall ever seeing from his friend before.

  Matthew’s brows rose and his gaze ran down Daniel’s sopping, mud-splattered clothes. “Where have you been?”

  In the exact same manner, Daniel’s brows rose and his gaze ran over Matthew, noting, Matthew knew, the rumpled, disheveled state of his clothing. “I think it’s obvious where I’ve been,” Daniel said in a low voice, walking closer to him. “Outside.”

  “Any particular reason? The weather is foul, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I noticed. As a matter of fact, I was looking for you. When I discovered you weren’t in your bedchamber, I concluded you’d insanely decided to go digging in spite of the storm.”

  “And you thought to help me?”

  “I thought, at best, to stop you. At worst, to make certain no harm came to you. But clearly my conclusion as to your whereabouts was dead wrong.” His gaze shifted up and down the corridor. “I’d like to change into dry clothes. Shall we continue this discussion in my bedchamber?”

  Matthew nodded his agreement. Anyone could come upon them in the corridor, and he didn’t want to risk being overheard.

  Once in Daniel’s chamber, Matthew leaned against the mantel and stared into the glowing embers while his friend changed clothes. When Daniel joined him, his hair was still damp but he wore clean fawn breeches and was shrugging into a fresh white shirt.

  “Why did you go to my bedchamber?” Matthew asked.

  “I couldn’t sleep. I thought perhaps you might be suffering the same fate and would care to join me in a brandy.” He gave Matthew’s disheveled clothing a speculative look. “Since you weren’t in your own bedchamber—or outside—the question is, in whose bedchamber were you? The beautiful heiress you’re hoping to marry, whose fortune you need so desperately? Or the plain spinster, whom you can’t take your eyes off of, who lacks the much-needed fortune?”

  Matthew pushed off from the mantel and narrowed his eyes. Before he could speak, however, Daniel held up his hand. “No need to respond. The answer is obvious. Which presents you with quite a conundrum.”

  “It does nothing of the kind.”

  He gave Matthew a searching look. “You’re planning to take Moorehouse as a mistress? Rather awkward, seeing as how she and Lady Julianne are such close friends. Quite frankly, I’m surprised you’d suggest such an arrangement and even more surprised that Moorehouse would agree to it.”

  “There is no arrangement. Nor is there a conundrum because I’ve no intention of marrying Lady Julianne.”

  Daniel halted in the act of fastening his shirt. “You found the money?” he asked sharply.

  “No. I’ve decided to find a different heiress—if necessary.” He related his plan to finish searching the rose garden over the next three days, then depart for London if the money wasn’t found.

  When he finished, Daniel said, “So I’m assuming your departure for London will mark the end of your spectacularly unsuccessful house party.”

  “Yes.” He frowned. “Although I wouldn’t call it spectacularly unsuccessful. Haven’t you enjoyed yourself?”

  “Certainly. But ensuring my good time was not the reason for this gathering. It was to procure yourself an heiress. I suppose it’s useless to point out that if you’d concentrated your energies on Lady Julianne, you could right now be preparing to marry a woman that most men would sacrifice a limb—or two—to wed.”

  “Pointing that out would not be helpful, no.”

  “Still, all isn’t lost as far as Lady Julianne. You could still—”

  “No,” Matthew cut in, his tone terser than he’d intended. “Lady Julianne is out of the question.”

  “Because of her friendship with Moorehouse.”

  “Yes.”

  “I see,” Daniel said, nodding his head slowly. “Have you told Moorehouse you’re in love with her?”

  Matthew blinke
d. “In love with whom?”

  Daniel looked toward the ceiling. “ Moorehouse, you dolt.”

  For several seconds it felt as if the floor beneath Matthew’s feet shifted. “When did I say I was in love with her?”

  Daniel gave a quick, brittle-sounding laugh. “You didn’t have to say it. My friend, you are as transparent as glass, at least to someone who knows you well. Every time you look at her, speak to her, you light up as if you swallowed a candelabra. Your feelings for her are plain in everything you’ve said and done.” Daniel cocked his head and gave him a questioning look. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

  “Know what? That I look as if I swallowed a candelabra?”

  “No, you dolt. That you’re in love.”

  Matthew shot his friend an icy glare. “That’s the second time you’ve called me a dolt.”

  “You can thank me later for my forthright honesty.”

  “I’ll do nothing of the sort.” He frowned and turned to stare into the fire. Daniel’s words seeped through him, the truth stunning him, yet somehow not surprising him. Finally he turned back to his friend and after clearing his throat said in a somewhat sheepish voice, “It would appear I’ve fallen in love.”

  “At least now that you’ve admitted it, I can stop calling you a dolt. What do you intend to do about it?”

  “Do?” Matthew shoved his fingers into his hair. “There’s nothing I can do other than what I’ve been doing—search for the money, which unfortunately isn’t looking hopeful—and, barring a last minute success, plan to marry an heiress.”

  “And your feelings for Moorehouse?”

  Matthew briefly squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long sigh. Suddenly weary, he said quietly, “If the money isn’t found, I’ll simply have to ignore them. There is more at stake here than my personal feelings. I made promises. I gave my word. I have responsibilities to many people other than myself.”

  Daniel nodded in an approving manner. “Wise decision. As I once told you, one woman is much the same as another, especially in the dark. Even more so after several brandies. ’Tis therefore foolish to base one’s marriage on anything other than purely practical reasons—money, heir-begetting, titles, property. To base it on something as nebulous as the capricious yearnings of the heart is tantamount to idiocy.”

  “Right.”

  “And it’s not as if you have a choice, assuming the money isn’t found. You must marry an heiress.”

  “Right.” By God, this talk with Daniel was making him feel much better.

  “And it’s not as if Moorehouse will be left without companionship.”

  “Right.” He frowned. “What?”

  “No need to worry that Moorehouse will suffer from loneliness after you embark on your lifelong journey of wedded bliss. Jennsen’s already making plans for her to visit his London home.”

  A sensation akin to steam spewing from his ears shot through Matthew. “Jennsen? How do you know?”

  “He told me this evening over the backgammon table.”

  “And Sarah agreed to this?” The mere thought tightened his stomach into an aching knot.

  “He hasn’t asked her yet. But he intends to.” A muscle ticked in Daniel’s jaw. “Intends to ask Lady Wingate as well, so the entire thing is all proper.”

  “Bastard,” Matthew uttered.

  “Damn bloody bastard,” Daniel agreed. “But as you’ll be wed to someone else, you certainly can’t begrudge Moorehouse consolation in the company of another man.”

  No, he couldn’t. But damn it, he did. With every cell in his body. His hands tightened into fists. The thought of Jennsen touching her, kissing her, making love to her, made him feel sick inside. Made him want to break something. Like Jennsen’s damn jaw.

  Daniel cleared his throat. “I feel it necessary to point out that you’ve fallen in love with the wrong woman. Your life certainly would have been much easier had you lost your heart to Lady Julianne.”

  “I agree. But since I didn’t, there’s only one thing I can do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Hope and pray that I find the money.”

  Later that afternoon, Matthew strode across the lawn toward the groundskeeper’s cottage. The rain had finally stopped and the grass resembled wet dark green velvet glittering beneath the intermittent bursts of sunshine as puffy clouds blew across the cerulean sky. Tildon was arranging for tea, and Matthew wanted to speak to Paul then return to join his guests.

  One guest in particular.

  Bloody hell, it was now going to be even more of an exercise in torture to keep his expression and words neutral. To hide his desire.

  His love.

  As he neared the groundskeeper’s cottage, he saw Paul exit the modest bungalow-style dwelling and make his way along the flagstone walkway. When Paul caught sight of him, the groundskeeper halted as if he’d walked into a tree. He cast a quick look back toward the cottage, then raised his hand to shade his face from the sun.

  “Afternoon, m’lord,” he called so loudly Matthew wondered if the man’s hearing had become afflicted—or if he believed Matthew’s had.

  “Good afternoon, Paul. Are you all right?”

  “Fine, m’lord,” Paul continued to holler. “Just surprised to see ye here. Is there somethin’ ye be needin’?”

  Matthew noted the ruddy color staining the groundskeeper’s cheeks and the glance he shot over his shoulder toward the cottage. “I want you to cut flowers for several special arrangements I’d like in place as soon as possible, definitely by dinner this evening. You’ll need to cut enough for larger displays for the dining room table and foyer and a smaller one I’ve yet to decide where to place.”

  “Very well, m’lord. Any special sort of flowers ye’ll be wantin’?”

  “Yes. Lavender.”

  “And what else?”

  “Nothing else.”

  Paul blinked. “That’s the only sort of flower ye want cut for all them arrangements?”

  “Yes. Just lavender.”

  “Very good, m’lord. I’ll get to that right away. The blooms will be especially bright after the soakin’ they got last night.” He chuckled. “Guess you got yerself a soakin’ as well.”

  Matthew frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Saw ye last night, digging away in the rose garden. Guess they don’t make ye sneeze in the rain, eh?”

  Everything in Matthew stilled. “You saw me last night, digging in the rose garden?” he repeated, just to make certain he’d understood correctly.

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “At what time?”

  Paul pursed his lips and scratched his head. “’Bout three A.M or thereabouts. Rain had tapered off some by then.”

  “What were you doing in the rose garden at three A.M.?” Matthew asked casually.

  Something flickered in Paul’s eyes. Before Matthew could decide what, the groundskeeper chuckled. “Oh, ye know how it is when ye can’t sleep. Sometimes a walk helps to tire the body out. Since the rain had nearly stopped, I just wandered about some. If there’s nothin’ else, m’lord, I’ll get me tools and start on cuttin’ that lavender ye be wantin’.”

  “There’s nothing else, Paul. Thank you.”

  With a nod, the groundskeeper turned and walked back toward the cottage. Just before he entered, Matthew noticed a shadow move behind one of the curtains. After Paul closed the door, Matthew started slowly down the path toward the house, his mind buzzing with two things. First, Paul clearly hadn’t been alone. His yelling had obviously been a warning to whoever was in the cottage that Matthew was there. Second was the disturbing knowledge that someone had been digging in his rose garden last night. A man he knew damn well wasn’t him.

  So who was it? And why was he digging? Had he found out about the money? Or had whomever it was seen him digging and deduced he was looking for something of value—something the poacher wanted to find first?

  The only two people he’d told about the money were Daniel and S
arah. Sarah was with him all last night. And Daniel…

  Daniel had been in the rose garden. Matthew blew out a long breath and dragged his hand down his face. Daniel had been looking for him. An activity that certainly didn’t require any digging. His friend would never betray him. Which meant that someone else must have found out about the money. Or at least suspected. And was looking for it.

  By his own admission, Paul had also been in the rose garden. And the groundskeeper was clearly hiding something.

  Could Paul have found out about the money? Had Paul been the person watching him on those nights he’d felt the weight of someone’s stare? But why would Paul have mentioned seeing someone if he himself had been the person digging? Still, something didn’t ring true about Paul’s story. Who the hell walked in the rain to help themselves sleep? Perhaps Paul suspected he’d been seen and had told him his tale in order to explain his presence in the rose garden.

  Or perhaps someone besides Daniel and Paul had been in his suddenly very busy rose garden last night.

  But who?

  He didn’t know, but he was determined to find out.

  Until he did, however, if someone were lurking in the dark, someone who knew or suspected the money existed, then digging at night with Sarah was out of the question. While he didn’t relish placing himself in jeopardy, he sure as hell wasn’t going to risk placing her in danger. He’d have to finish the rose garden digging alone. Preferably during daylight hours. He’d ask Sarah for some plausible excuse should anyone question him—aerating the roots or some such nonsense. In fact, with time so short, he’d need to get in some digging right after tea. He’d prevail upon Daniel to keep the guests occupied while he did so. He’d also tell Daniel about this latest development and enlist his friend’s aid in discovering the identity of the mystery digger, as well as Paul’s guest.

  During dinner that evening he planned to announce his looming departure for London, thus marking the end of the house party. His jaw tightened. And if there was a traitor in his midst, he intended to know about it before he left.

  After a delicious dinner then the usual cards and backgammon in the drawing room, the party broke up for the evening and Sarah made her way to her bedchamber. Since Emily was suffering from a headache, the Literary Ladies had quietly agreed to meet in Sarah’s room before lunch the next day in order to dismantle Franklin so they could return his clothing to their rightful owners.