Midnight Without a Moon

by Emma Wildes

  “But until then, we still don’t know if it is important or not.”

  “I would guess it is important, Trent, or else they wouldn’t have bothered to encode it. Are you certain you cannot explain to me where it came from? I admit, it isn’t every day a civilian—much less a titled gentleman like yourself—strolls into my office and dumps something like this on my desk.”

  There was absolutely no way Trenton wanted to connect his wife with that scrap of paper, and even the mere mention of smugglers or Kent might do that, so he shook his head. “Regretfully, I can’t say.”

  “Well, I am not sure, either, that I can reveal the contents of the message once it is read.” Gage smiled thinly. “They might not even tell me. It happens.”

  “I guess we are at an impasse, then.”

  “On this subject, perhaps.” His friend lifted a fair brow. “How about a drink? You have been rusticating in the country for several months. Come now, let’s catch up.”

  He’d done what he could, Trenton reminded himself, relaxing a fraction. Since the message was unreadable, it was likely Jessica had no idea what she was carrying—not that it made the situation any better, but perhaps that was why she refused to discuss it so stubbornly. “I’d love a brandy,” he admitted.

  “Brandy it is.” Gage got to his feet and moved to retrieve a decanter and glass from a small table by the rain-dampened window. “When did you get back in town?”

  “Last evening late. I was slightly…delayed on my journey.” Trenton grinned when he recalled the little inn and that soft large bed. “But pleasantly so.”

  Handing over a crystal glass, Gage laughed. “I think I recognize that particular look on your face. Knowing you, she’s gorgeous. Are the lady and I acquainted?”

  “It’s unlikely.” Trenton thought about Jessica’s very brief sojourn in London several years ago. She’d been noticed, of course. With her feminine, compelling beauty, she would be, but was gone so quickly society had undoubtedly forgotten. “Actually, she’s Stephen Fairman’s sister, so perhaps you’ve met at one time or another.”

  His glass arrested close to his mouth, Gage stared. “I beg your pardon?”

  “We’re neighbors,” Trent expounded briefly, “and yes, she is very beautiful.”

  Without taking a drink, his friend lowered his glass. His pale eyes reflected dismay and disbelief. “You are dallying with Stephen’s sister? I thought the two of you best of friends. It isn’t like you, if you’ll forgive the censure, to do such a thing.”

  “We are very good friends indeed, but I still plan on dallying with Jessica often as I possibly can. Of course, she is my wife.”

  “What?” Looking astounded, Gage seemed to remember the drink in his hand and took a convulsive gulp. He sputtered, “You’re married? You?”

  “Indeed.” Trenton added ironically, “Not quite as I envisioned the entire affair, but the young lady in question doesn’t seem to follow the normal rules of protocol anyway. Jessica is a delightfully unpredictable creature, and I predict ahead a life of utter chaos.”

  Recovering a little, Reichert muttered, “As a married man of two years, I can almost promise that. What an interesting development. Tell me, does Alison know?”

  It was hardly like Trenton and the lovely Lady Tate had an agreement of any kind, but not a surprising question. After all, Alison and Gage’s wife, Dorothy, were fast friends; that was how he’d met her in the first place. Trenton shook his head. “To be truthful, I can’t quite conceive of how to politely communicate this change in my life. A note seems a little cold, but dropping by to tell her in person might spark a scandal I absolutely don’t need as a newly married man. I am not certain as how to proceed.”

  “Word will get around soon enough,” Gage cautioned. “As a gentleman, maybe a note would be the thing, after all. I’ll explain to Dorothy your reservations over a face to face discussion.” He added in a mutter, “I don’t know if you realized quite the depth of the lady’s attachment, Trent. Alison Tate isn’t going to be happy about this, and though she might be my wife’s good friend, I have to say I think she has it in her to be very vindictive.”

  “Do you?” Trenton responded slowly, sipping his drink. “I can’t see there is a hell of a lot she can do. Marriage is irrevocable. Besides, I have really never given her the slightest hint that I might propose. Where the rumors started, I am not certain, but other than briefly considering it because she would be suitable, and I’m nearly thirty, I really had no intention of ever suggesting a permanent alliance between us. Our brief acquaintance was delightful in some ways, but not the important ones, I’m afraid.”

  “Women have a way of romanticizing sexual interest,” Gage agreed with a shade of gloom in his voice. “I actually tried to tell my wife I thought Alison might be making some assumptions that were not necessarily based on fact, but instead on her high hopes to become the next Countess of Declan.”

  Dryly, Trenton murmured, “Her ambition was one of the qualities that made me wonder if that spectacular body and her experience and enthusiasm for certain pleasurable activities was worth it. I dislike feeling hunted.”

  “There are worse things than being chased by a beautiful woman,” his friend pointed out. “We should all have such ill luck.”

  Trenton thought of Jessica and her impetuous nature. “I suppose you are right, but my days of being available for pursuit are over.” Finishing his drink, he stood, giving his friend a lazy smile. “I have this unsettling feeling I am going to have my hands full for the next fifty years as it is.”

  * * * *

  Lifting a sheaf of papers carefully and glancing underneath, Jessica felt both guilty and determined. No doubt her new husband would be incensed if he came home and caught her rifling his study. Worse than that, there would be also a whole new barrage of questions concerning the document he had confiscated the other evening.

  Damnation.

  He’d taken that scrap of French paper...and then he’d taken her. Her face still heated when she remembered the way she’d cried out his name at the height of ecstasy, and the slick motion of him moving inside her.

  But she needed the paper back, as she had obligations, and it was important. The best thing was to search quickly and get out as soon as possible.

  His desk was tidy but dauntingly full of correspondence, ledgers, and books. There seemed little doubt that if Trenton decided to use the needle-in-the-haystack method of hiding the missive she wanted back, Jessica would never find it. What’s more, at least three of the drawers were securely locked. Chewing her lower lip as she stood in indecision, Jessica couldn’t help but contemplate that a picklock would come in very handy at this moment. Stephen had even shown her how to use one once, back before he was supposed to be drinking brandy and smoking tobacco, though he pilfered both regularly from their father’s stock. It wasn’t a skill she had ever needed to utilize, but right now, it might serve her well.

  The sound of voices in the hallway made a small spurt of panic run up her spine. She cast around, seeing absolutely nowhere to hide. Besides the big desk, there were bookcases lining every wall, a thick patterned rug on the floor, and two comfortable leather chairs by the fireplace. Quickly picking up a piece of blank paper from a neat stack, Jessica sat down in the chair behind the desk and pretended to be writing something.

  It was just in the nick of time, for the door opened. A young man said over his shoulder, “I’ll just wait for him in his study, Winters.” Catching sight of Jessica, her pen poised theatrically, he stopped in the act of actually entering the room, his face registering surprise. “Oh, pardon me. I wasn’t aware this room was occupied.”

  Even though it had been several years since she’d seen Thomas Wyatt, he looked so much like his older brother, there was no mistaking his identity. Not quite as broad in the shoulders, but certainly as tall, he was five years younger, and his dark eyes lacked that sophisticated cynicism that Trenton displayed so naturally. Instead, his handsome face reflected
polite curiosity over her unexpected presence, which was understandable. Jessica smiled and stood to offer her hand. “Hello, Thomas.”

  His gaze was puzzled as he came forward to bow over her extended fingers. “Please forgive me, but have we met?”

  Not certain whether to be flattered or insulted that he didn’t connect the woman before him now with the child she’d been, Jessica said evenly, “We’ve been neighbors all our lives, I believe, though I can’t remember the last time you were in Kent. My mother tells me you’ve been traveling in Asia, which sounds fascinating.”

  His brow furrowed for a moment, then his gaze sharpened. “Jessica Fairman?” he said incredulously.

  Realizing that Trenton had probably not had the opportunity to tell his family about his impetuous and sudden marriage in the short time they’d been in London, she said hesitantly, “Well, actually, it is Jessica Wyatt now.”

  “What?”

  His expression of disbelief was so comical that she couldn’t help but give a slight laugh. “You could say,” her explanation was dry, “that Trenton swept me off my feet. We were married, I’m afraid, rather hastily. I am sure he intended to tell you himself as soon as possible.”

  “Are you telling me that my oldest brother, Trenton Wyatt, the Earl of Declan, confirmed bachelor and cynic, is actually is married?” Thomas waited until she sank back down into her chair before dropping into one of the wing chairs by the fireplace, stretching out his long legs and running a hand over his face in a gesture of patent incredulity. “I’m sorry for my shock, but quite frankly, I wasn’t certain I would ever see the day he chose the life of a tame married man. I suppose you are the explanation for why he has been spending so much time in the country.”

  Considering the whirlwind brevity of their romance—if it could even be labeled as such—she was not the explanation, but Jessica only said neutrally, “I am not at all certain Trenton plans on being tame in the least—”

  Breaking off as she heard the distinct sound of her husband’s voice, answered by the butler’s low intonation, she felt a flicker of alarm. Damn, she thought darkly, not only did she not find the paper, but now Trenton would know she had been in his study. He wasn’t a fool, which made things a lot more difficult.

  When he came into the room a moment later, raindrops gleaming on his dark hair, he didn’t do more than slightly narrow his eyes when he saw her perched behind his desk. Greeting his brother with true warmth, the two men clasped hands firmly after Trenton gave Jessica a small formal bow. “Thomas, it’s good to see you. Winters told me you saw the carriage and deduced I was back in London.”

  “I did and took a chance on catching you.”

  “I’m glad you did. Tell me, how are the twins?”

  “They’re in Ireland right now, looking at racing bloodstock for their new stable venture.”

  “Yes, Peter wrote me and said they were going. I’ve offered to invest. And Mother? Should I be prepared for anything?”

  Watching uneasily and wondering just how she was going to explain her presence in her husband’s study, Jessica couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of dismay at the mention of her new mother-in-law. Lady Olivia was a formidable woman who despised the country and stayed in London all year, firmly immersed in the whirl of society. How she would feel about her son choosing a young bride not from a titled, wealthy family was not a guess, since it was no secret she had been shoving the daughters of the haute ton under his nose for years. What’s more, when the dowager countess learned they were forced to marry under scandalous circumstances, she would be even less pleased.

  “She’s fine,” Thomas said, lifting his brows speculatively, “though I suspect you will be on the carpet for marrying so secretly. The grand wedding she envisioned will now truly be just a dream.”

  “Yes, well,” Trenton looked thoroughly unrepentant, his dark smile surfacing, “I wasn’t ever going to go through all that anyway, so the point is moot. The notion of a huge production was part of my distaste for the entire idea. Pleasing her, also not necessarily my first priority, as it never seems possible to do so.”

  Thomas gave Jessica an appraising glance and grinned. “Instead, you pleased yourself. I can see why, of course. Congratulations, brother, on your beautiful new wife.”

  Jessica acknowledged her brother-in-law’s gallant compliment with a gracious smile, wondering nervously exactly how to escape. Rising, she murmured, “I am sure the two of you wish to talk. I will take my paper and finish this letter upstairs. Pray excuse me.”

  “There is a small writing desk in your suite, my dear,” Trenton informed her as she came around the desk, his expression benign. “Perhaps you didn’t notice it.”

  “Is there?” Feigning innocence with what she hoped was a convincing yawn, she said, “Everything is so new to me here. I suppose I’ll find my way around in no time. Right now, I think I might take a nap.”

  “The past few days have been rather adventurous, haven’t they?” Her husband’s words were light, but there was a glint in his dark eyes that was unsettling. As she went to walk past him, his hands caught her waist and he leaned forward to brush a light kiss against her temple, whispering, “I’ll be up in a little while.”

  Not certain if that was a promise or a threat, Jessica escaped into the hallway with a mumbled good-bye to Thomas, realizing with irritation that her wayward body had responded to the casual caress with enthusiasm, her nipples tightening and a slight unsettling dampness growing between her legs. Of course, Trenton’s tone had been overtly suggestive, so maybe he wasn’t suspicious after all. That would be nice.

  If he was, Jessica mused as she headed for the lovely curved staircase that led upward toward the suite of bedrooms, maybe she could distract him.

  It was a sound idea. Surely, a pleasurable interlude was a clever way to make sure a noted rake forgot about everything except desire.

  It was worth a try anyway.

  Chapter 6

  Trenton lifted his hand to knock on the door of the suite of rooms adjoining his, pondering how different it felt to actually have it occupied. When he’d bought the townhouse almost ten years ago, the furnishings had come with the place, and he’d looked at the pastel bed hangings, dainty furniture, and patterned floral rug with disinterest perhaps once, ordering the servants to simply put dust coverings over everything as it was unlikely to be used any time soon. On that score, he’d been correct, but a decade later, he found that it was nice to think the airy bedroom was not simply an empty shell. Jessica had no doubt deposited whatever vials and pots of the things women always used on the Italian marble dressing table. Her clothes now hung in the closet, and she would sleep in the delicately carved bed.

  Actually, that was not bloody likely.

  She would sleep with him.

  Rapping lightly, he didn’t wait for an answer and opened the door.

  The afternoon rain had lingered late, whispering softly against the tall windows overlooking the back garden even as dusk began to lower. He’d spent longer with his brother than he intended, but since it was still hours until they would dress formally for dinner, he rather hoped he would find Jessica still napping. The room was shrouded, and his gaze sought the bed, a small frisson of disappointment making him frown as he realized it was empty.

  Damnation. God knew what his unpredictable bride might be up to if she wasn’t in her room. He fully suspected the only reason she’d been in his study was because she was looking for that volatile French message.

  “Well, it took you long enough, my lord.”

  The echo of the words he’d said to Jessica that night on the cliff came softly, her tone both husky and amused. Trenton realized that she sat at the writing desk after all, her pale hair loose in long shimmering curls down her back, her slender form wrapped loosely in a dressing gown that, he realized with an amused start, was his. It dwarfed her body, and when she stood up and faced him, he saw that as it pooled around her feet on the rich carpeting, it also gaped open in f
ront, revealing the pale gleam of her very full, very tempting, very bare breasts.

  God help him, she was naked underneath that oversized robe. Naked and apparently waiting for him.

  Lowering her lashes a fraction, she said in a breathless rush, “I haven’t been a wife very long, but I didn’t misunderstand what you meant downstairs when you said you’d be up, did I?”

  “No, you weren’t mistaken,” he murmured readily, moving forward, his erection almost instantaneous at the glimpse of bare, inviting flesh, stiffening uncomfortably inside his pants. “I take it,” his hands slid easily between parted cloth to find warm soft skin, “we need to get you a dressing gown? I suppose a whole new wardrobe would be in order, wouldn’t it? I’ll arrange for it tomorrow. Although,” he tugged her into his arms and lowered his head, whispering against her lips, “I like you best naked.”

  She tasted like heaven, her mouth willing and warm under his. All thoughts of her distinctly guilty expression when he’d walked into his study earlier banished by the promise of heaven as she melted into his embrace. Jessica kissed him back with artless reticence that charmed him, as if testing her newfound sensuality with shy, but unmistakable, enthusiasm. He was certain she’d been told—as had most of the young women of his class—that a true lady did not enjoy sex, but it was her duty to accommodate her husband’s needs.

  The fact that Jessica couldn’t hide her enjoyment of his touch was almost as arousing as the sensation of her splendidly female body next to his. Her breasts were resiliently young and firm, he could feel the mounded fullness through his clothing. When he slid his hands lower, her smooth buttocks filled his palms as he lifted her and rubbed his erection against the juncture at her thighs. He said hoarsely, “Let’s go to the bed, Jess.”

  “It’s still afternoon,” she responded, her eyes half-veiled by lush lashes as she kissed his jaw, clinging to him. “Isn’t this an odd time of day to do, well, do what we’re going to do?”