More Than A Mistress

by Ann Lethbridge

  His expression softened as he gazed on her. Regret filled his eyes. It echoed in her heart and her soul.

  Then he covered her with his body.

  Her core ached for his entry, but her mind yearned for more. This would be the last time they would lie together and she longed to bring him more pleasure that he had ever known. A gift he would never forget.

  He didn’t resist when she pushed at his shoulder. He rolled on his back, the candlelight and the wicked smile curving his lips making him less angel and more devil. She straddled his hips.

  He grinned up at her. ‘Feel like going for a ride?’ He reached down to lift her up.

  ‘Lie still,’ she ordered. ‘If I am the rider, you must obey my commands.’

  His jaw clenched. For a moment she thought he would refuse, but he let his hands fall to his sides. ‘Tally ho.’

  She dipped her head and kissed his lovely mouth, nibbling his lips, tasting with her tongue the fruit of wine and his own special flavour. When he responded with his own darting taste, she sucked hard, holding him fast, punishing him for his boldness. Immediately he held still, clearly understanding.

  Her insides tightened deliciously. This would be a night to remember for them both. She faltered at the thought of never seeing him again. Never knowing his touch again. Or the feel of his mouth on her body. Agony speared between her ribs. She fought a cry of anguish.

  Now was not the time for sorrow. There would be years and years to feel sad. Now was the time for taking pleasure and giving pleasure and sharing pleasure.

  She broke free of his mouth, pressed her breasts to his hard wall of chest, moving her lips over his cheekbone, his stubble-hazed cheek and jaw, feeling the roughness of beard and the strength of bone beneath. She licked the rise of his Adam’s apple and the hollow beneath and inhaled the faint scent of bay and musky sweat.

  She learned every dip and contour, every bone and pulse point, where he had hair and where his skin was silken smooth and warm beneath her hand.

  She tweaked first one nipple, then the other, feeling his groan of pleasure laced with pain deep in her core.

  Reaching down between them, she found his shaft hard and eager. Felt his need to drive home in the tension of muscle and sinew as he drew in a swift gasping breath.

  ‘There is something I have always wanted to try,’ she whispered.

  He looked down at her, one of those male considering glances that is full of amusement laced with a healthy dose of wariness.

  ‘You’ll think me very strange. You might not like it. Perhaps it is better left unasked.’

  His expression changed, became more heated. Feral. ‘Try me.’

  Dare she? She took a breath. ‘I’ve had the dream of a man who obeys my every command.’

  His eyelids lowered a fraction and she looked away, suddenly embarrassed, wishing she hadn’t spoken.

  A warm hand gently drew her face around. ‘I’m hard just thinking about it. If it is your wish, it will be my very real pleasure.’

  Excitement clogged her throat. ‘Put your hands above your head,’ she ordered in a husky voice.

  She sensed a slight hesitation, but he did as requested.

  ‘Open your legs.’

  ‘Merry—’

  ‘No talking.’

  He pressed his lips together and widened his thighs.

  A generous relinquishing of control for a man who liked to be in command. The heat of shared passion in his eyes drove her to heights of arousal such as she’d never encountered before. She could scarcely breathe for the thrill of it.

  One hand on his shaft, she brought him to her entrance, the other she used to torment his erect nipple. His chest rose and fell on ragged breaths as he fought to hold still beneath her hands. His eyes squeezed shut. His lips drew back in a grimace, revealing white even teeth. She traced the outline of muscle on his chest with the tip of her forefinger. She stroked him against her folds. ‘Do you want to be inside me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, hoarse and low.

  ‘I don’t think you are ready.’

  He opened his mouth to protest and then must have thought better of it, because he simply gazed at her from eyes hazy with pleasure and sadness.

  ‘Raise your knees.’

  He followed her order. Straddling his groin, she rested her back against his thighs. His shaft jutted straight up between them. She circled the tip with her finger. So silky soft. She bent forwards and flicked it with her tongue. He pressed upwards, seeking more prolonged contact.

  She straightened and looked down at his face. ‘Bad boy,’ she said. ‘Is that what you are? A wicked boy? You can answer.’

  ‘Yes.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘I’m evil.’

  ‘I like bad boys.’ She leaned forwards and took him in her mouth. She licked and sucked and tormented his shaft until his body shuddered beneath her. He was hanging on by barely a thread and not once had he tried to wrest back control. The man was a god. She would adore him forever.

  She released him. ‘Please, Charlie, join with me.’

  Pride filled his face and he helped her rise up. She guided him to her entrance. Slowly, delicately, she slid down his shaft, a gentle glide when he wanted hard pounding force. Each time his hips shifted, she pulled away. He groaned his frustration, the sound zinging through her blood to heighten her tension.

  When finally he was seated deep within her, she held perfectly still, squeezing him with her inner muscles, each new pull a little harder than the one before.

  He panted with the effort of remaining immobile beneath her, his shaft twitching and throbbing until she thought she might go mad with the tiny sensations tormenting her insides.

  Nothing remained of her mind, every fibre of her being focused on their joining.

  In a steady rhythm she began to ride. Lifting and lowering herself with smooth long strokes, leaning back to increase the pressure where it felt unbelievably good, watching the pleasure in his eyes and expression as he submitted to her enjoyment of his body.

  He lifted his lashes and gazed into her face with smoky eyes, his lips curved in a sensual smile, and all control left her as she rode him hard and wild, driving to completion. The tightness within stretched to breaking point.

  She shattered.

  He followed her over the edge with a moan deep in his throat, a sound of joy and despair.

  She caught the cry in her mouth and collapsed against his chest as his hips pumped his hot seed into her body.

  Shivering and shuddering, they lay together in heat and bliss. The shadow of their parting returned, like a presence in the room. Merry tried to pretend it wasn’t there.

  Charlie lay beneath her, his gaze following the shadows and patches of light cast by the candles. Never in his life had he felt so drained and replete. Or so alive. His skin prickled with excitement, while his limbs remained languid and heavy beneath her sleeping form. Tonight they’d become one. Losing her was like losing part of himself.

  Regret left an empty space beneath his ribs. A hollow in his stomach. This was goodbye. Sorrow filled him. A black emptiness. A knowledge that he would never find another woman like his Merry. Except she wasn’t his to have and to hold. She was quicksilver. Beautiful to look at. Impossible to grasp.

  But he didn’t know why.

  She stirred. Her hand tracing circles on his chest. ‘What happened at Waterloo?’

  The urge to deny tightened his throat. The thought of putting his guilt into words made his spirit shrink. She’d despise him. As she should. Hell, he despised himself for the suffering he’d caused because he’d rebelled against his lot in life. He’d done so much damage.

  She more than anyone ought to know.

  He drew in a breath. ‘Against my father’s wishes I joined the cavalry. I commanded a troop of horse at Waterloo. My orders were to take a French cannon. We charged. The French saw what we were about and sent a troop to meet us. We clashed right in front of the cannon’s mouths. The French broke really fast. In hind
sight, some of us think it was a trap.’

  ‘Who thinks?’

  ‘Read, for one. A good friend. And a good soldier.’

  The caresses ceased. ‘I didn’t think heirs of dukedoms went to war any more. I thought they left it to their younger brothers.’

  ‘I switched places with my twin, Robert. He took my place here. I went to war as him. Looking for excitement.’

  ‘Didn’t you get found out?’

  A smile pulled at his lips. ‘We are like peas in a pod. We changed places so often as lads, it was like second nature. Father always hated it when we were young.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘When the French turned and ran, we followed. Half of my men took the cannon. The rest of us, on my orders, followed the French over the hill straight through a company of their infantry waiting to cut us to pieces. A more experienced officer would never have continued the charge. I led them to their deaths.’

  ‘No wonder you have nightmares.’

  ‘The worst came later.’ He swallowed the dryness in his mouth. ‘I was cut down by a French officer’s sabre. My horse fell on top of me and I lost consciousness. When I came to my senses, I was still beneath my horse, crushed, having difficulty breathing. It was dark and it was raining. All around me men were screaming, begging for water, unless they were dead. The appalling stink, the horror. The fear. It’s all there waiting every time I close my eyes. I called out. Read answered from a few feet away. We talked to keep our spirits up. Then the women came. The camp followers.’

  ‘They helped you?’

  ‘Hell, no, Merry. If they find you alive, they kill you for whatever they can find on your body.’

  ‘How could they?’

  ‘Mostly because they are starving. In daylight I don’t blame them. In the dark, they are unholy horrors. Blade and I lay very still, pretending to be dead whenever a party of them came by. Hours passed. Every now and then you’d hear a man cry out and know they’d finished him off. I let them finish off what was left of my men and did nothing to stop it, terrified I was next. I even played dead while one of them dragged me out from under the horse and stole every stitch of my clothes.’

  She gasped. ‘No wonder you have bad dreams. You could have been murdered.’

  He should have been. ‘She started hacking at Blade’s finger for his ring. He screamed. She lifted her knife to cut his throat.’ He shuddered, then chuckled grimly. ‘I stabbed her with my knife. I’d been using it to try to keep the rats away. I tied up his hand as best I could, but I was so damned scared they’d hear him and come back and finish us off I stuffed his mouth with a rag to keep him quiet. He almost suffocated.’

  ‘But you saved his life.’

  ‘Hardly. He would not have been there but for me. My men trusted me to see them safe and I led them to their deaths.’ Guilt roiled through him, bitter and black, writhing in his gut as the visions filled his mind. An older wiser officer would have seen the danger.

  ‘What happened then?’

  He shrugged. ‘They found us at first light. Me and Blade and a couple of the others.’ Then, only then, in the grey dawn, had he realised the full extent of his mistake. ‘Twenty good men died or were badly injured because I didn’t follow orders.’

  ‘But you captured the cannon.’

  ‘We captured the cannon, but my commanding officer was furious. Even more so, when he realised I wasn’t Robert. He half-expected Father to have him put in the Tower.’

  ‘I think you have to stop blaming yourself. You did your best. War is terrible, but it is over now and because of men like you the world has peace.’

  He kissed the top of her head and inhaled the scent of her hair. He felt easier within himself than he had for years. Never had he talked about the horror of that night, the fear, not even with Blade who had been there, and while the guilt would never leave him, some of the darkness in his soul had faded.

  Because of Merry. It was as if by listening she had taken some of the worst of it into herself. Relieved him of the worst of the burden.

  He rolled on to his side and took her face in his hands. He thought he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her eyelids and tasted salt. ‘Don’t leave, Merry.’

  Her answering half-laugh, half-regretful sob wrenched at his heart. ‘I can’t stay. You know I can’t.’

  He didn’t, but the finality in her voice blocked his objections. She didn’t want to stay.

  For the last time, he enfolded her in his arms.

  A fortnight had passed since Merry’s departure when Charlie joined his mother for afternoon tea in the drawing room. She always looked lovely, but in the sunlight from the window, and wearing her favourite pale lilac, she positively glowed. Robert’s news, no doubt. They’d had a letter from Italy announcing a grandchild in the autumn.

  He hoped his decision would not dim her sparkle.

  ‘Did you enjoy your ride, dear?’ Mother asked as he sat beside her on the sofa.

  ‘I did.’ He stirred the tea. Then put the cup down. There was no sense in procrastinating. ‘I went to visit Lady Allison.’

  ‘That was kind of you. I really must call in again myself before we leave for London.’

  ‘You are going soon?’

  ‘In two days’ time. Your father is needed in town.’ She sighed. ‘Politics. How is poor dear Lady Allison?’

  Charlie gritted his teeth. Poor dear Lady Allison had been horrendously unkind to Merry, even if she didn’t know of her brother’s plans. ‘Her brother’s death hit the family hard. While she has my sympathy, she knows any chance of a betrothal is out of the question.’

  Mother frowned. ‘Is this your father’s decision?’

  ‘No. It is mine.’

  Mother sipped her tea, then, head tilted on one side, looked at him. Her grey eyes twinkled. ‘Do you have some other gel in mind?’

  He grimaced. ‘You know I do. But she won’t have me.’

  Mother made a scoffing noise. ‘What girl wouldn’t have you?’

  Mother never could see anything wrong with any of her children.

  ‘I’m going to try once more to change her mind.’

  She put down her cup and put her hand over his on his thigh. Her hands were small and the skin fragile. She gave his hand a pat. ‘Why, Charle? Why this girl?’

  It was a question he’d been torturing himself with for days. Why couldn’t he just get on and do his duty as he’d promised his father when he came back from Waterloo? It wasn’t a matter of honour. She’d refused him twice. The answer had come to him in the middle of the night.

  ‘She makes me laugh. She makes me remember there is more to life than abiding by the rules.’ He turned to face his mother full on. ‘With her I believe in myself.’ He thought about speaking of love, but decided that could only be spoken of in one person’s hearing.

  ‘I wish you good fortune, my son.’

  For a moment, Charlie stared at her serious face in bemusement. She raised her brows above twinkling eyes. ‘I hadn’t seen you look happier for years, than I did the night before she left. Until your father got in his high stirrups.’

  He took her hand and kissed it. ‘Captain Read is travelling to Skepton, I am going with him, then on to Draycott House to seek out Merry.’ He let go a sigh. ‘I’m sorry if this upsets Father. I just hope he doesn’t take his spleen out on Robert as well as me.’

  The thought of being cast adrift the way Robert had left a bitter taste in his mouth, but Robert had survived and so would he.

  Mother picked up her teacup. It hovered at her lips for a moment, then she looked at him with a frown. ‘Your father gets a bee in his bonnet sometimes, you know. Why he thought I would permit him to cut Robert out of the family, I cannot imagine.’ She sipped.

  ‘Permit?’ Charlie said cautiously.

  Mother looked at him with surprise. ‘Power has a way of corrupting a man, Charles. Makes him think he can never make a mistake. Don’t let it happen to you
. Though I doubt a woman as strong as Miss Draycott will allow it.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean.’

  Mother put down the cup and picked up her embroidery. ‘Alfred can pass laws and write bills—’ she smiled a small smile ‘—but our family is my concern.’ Mother cut a skein of blue silk with a decided snip. ‘You leave your father to me.’

  An odd feeling, something like horrified laughter, rose in Charlie’s throat. He managed to keep it behind his teeth. When he finally managed to breathe, he was able to ask his question. ‘Are you saying you have Father under your thumb?’

  ‘Not when it comes to important matters of State. But here in this family, your father is not the one in charge. Believe me, none of my sons will ever be cast out again. Not if your father plans to live to a peaceful and ripe old age.’

  Side by side with the laughter in his chest, hope blossomed that no ill would come to his twin as a result of what he was about to do. Not that he was sure his efforts would be rewarded.

  Merry was a conundrum he hadn’t yet solved.

  Mother set a stitch, peering at it closely, then her grey eyes flashed up to meet his. She touched his hand. ‘Be gentle, son. She’s been hurt, I think.’

  Merry? Strong outspoken Merry? Was that what she hid behind her blunt exterior? She had a kind heart. And a courageous soul. The thought she might be in pain tied his gut in knots. That he might have added to it…

  Mother flapped her embroidery in front of his face. ‘Stop blaming yourself and go and make amends, Charles.’

  He grinned. His mother might be small, but she was exceedingly formidable and clearly very wise. ‘There is one thing I would like to say, Mother, if I may.’

  An eyebrow shot up. ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Heaven help anyone who crosses you.’

  Laughing, Charlie went off to set his affairs in order, because who knew how long it would take Merry to change her mind.

  If she would.

  He pushed that cold thought aside.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Let me show you the refectory,’ Caro said, leading the way to the back of the new house Merry had acquired in Skepton. ‘The workmen finished yesterday. It is perfect.’