One Night of Surrender: The Brothers Mortmain, Book 1

by Evie North

  In the glow of the dying candles she was magnificent.

  “Touch yourself,” Gervais commanded, his voice husky.

  “W-what?”

  “I want to watch you pleasure yourself, Katherine.”

  “But…”

  “Do as you’re told.” His smile took the edge off his stern order and she hesitantly ran her fingers down her stomach and into the curls at the apex of her thighs. Sliding her fingers within the fleshy lips she found her pearl, already so sensitive. Slowly she began to stroke herself in the same way he’d done moments before. She was surprised at how easy it was—some instinct took over and if she listened to her own body, the building sensations, she knew exactly what to do. She’d closed her eyes to concentrate but now she opened them and saw him watching her, and as they gazed into each other’s eyes, she exploded in ecstasy.

  The tremors made her cry out and it took a moment to regain her composure.

  He drank her in for long minutes before he gave an impatient flick of his fingers for her to come to him.

  Gervais thought she might resist—there was that hint of rebellion in the pouting bottom lip—but she came, slowly, gracefully.

  He reached out to touch, running his fingers over the curve of a hip, the cinch of her waist, cupping her breasts in both hands to bring them to his mouth. She made that little sound in her throat he enjoyed hearing and he drew her closer, between his thighs, his rigid cock hidden by the coverlet he’d draped around himself.

  Suddenly he heard voices, and the clanking of keys.

  Katherine heard them too and they froze until the sound passed by. It was a reminder that their time together was finite and they both knew it.

  Urgently he began to kiss her, suckling on her breasts, but she was tugging at his hands, pulling him up to his feet. The coverlet fell from him and tentatively, eyes shining, she reached out to clasp his cock where it reared up between them. Her fingers tightened and he groaned deep in his throat.

  “What do you want me to do, sir?” she breathed.

  He tried to read her face through his haze of desire.

  She didn’t seem to be afraid. Instead there was a tenseness about her that spoke of need, of want, just like him.

  “Take me in your mouth,” he commanded in a deep, rough voice.

  She looked into his eyes, uncertain, trying to read his thoughts, and then she gave a quick nod of her head and sank down to her knees before him on the luxurious Turkish rug. She seemed to set herself before she leaned forward and began to lick the head of his cock, delicately, like a cat.

  Gervais could see she was mimicking what he had done to her and he would have smiled if he could have. Clever girl. He thrust against her mouth and she opened her lips and let him in, and then a little more.

  “Oh yes,” he groaned. “That’s it. And grasp the base…”

  For a moment he was lost in the sensation, but as his pleasure built he knew he didn’t want to spill into her mouth. Not her first time—and her only time with him, he reminded himself, but hastily pushed the thought away. He reached down to raise her up and holding her close he kissed her mouth to mouth.

  “Come to bed,” he murmured against her lips that tasted of him.

  A sound outside. Were they readying the gallows?

  He quickened his steps, pulling her along as if they were in a race, and they fell on the bed together, laughing as he rolled her over and on top of him, clinging, their naked flesh grinding together. He felt his cock brush against her thigh and she stilled, feeling it too. She lifted herself up with her hands pressing against his chest, and gazed down into his face.

  Reading the question in her eyes he said, “I’m entirely at your disposal, Katherine.”

  Chapter Eight

  Katherine hesitated.

  This was very daring of her, but during this night she’d become very daring. Gervais had helped her to do that. She’d felt as timid as a mouse when she arrived and now…now she was contemplating riding her man like a stallion.

  She lifted herself upon his body, until she was kneeling on either side of his thighs. Gervais lay still and complacent, but he was watching her, his eyes half-open and gleaming darkly. Was he worried about what she intended? She smiled to think that her highwayman might tremble.

  Reaching out she brushed his cock with her fingers, then held it more firmly. He liked that. She had been able to tell when she knelt before him how much he liked it. The way his face changed, his mouth softened, and he looked younger and less careworn.

  This was for him, Katherine thought, but for her as well. For she’d discovered she enjoyed giving this man pleasure.

  She leaned forward and nuzzled against his shaft. He was like velvet-covered steel and she ran her tongue from base to tip. He groaned, lifting his hips toward her. Creeping closer, she rose up on her knees and toes until she was positioned over his cock. And then slowly, ever so slowly, she sank down.

  He reached to clasp her hips, steadying her, giving her support, but nothing more.

  She let herself slide down a little, taking more of him, and then again. It felt so good, she felt so good. Her pearl slid along his cock, sending pleasure like a shock through her tense body, and with a gasp she did it again.

  “It feels so…so good,” she managed to say.

  Her sheath clenched about him. She instinctively worked her inner muscles in a manner she’d never thought possible. Gervais groaned and thrust upwards, filling her.

  In this position she felt as if he was even deeper inside her, that he was even bigger. She rocked her hips and the sensation made them both groan. Then she tried to slide up and down him but it was hard work. Soon she discovered that by leaning forward slightly, resting her palms upon his chest, she could manage it far better.

  Lifting and settling, experiencing the heat and length of him inside her, her own body thrummed with growing excitement. Her breasts were almost in his face and he began to kiss them, his mouth hot and wet, his tongue stroking her nipples. She was close, so close. His caresses were enough to begin to push her towards the edge.

  As if he knew it, Gervais rolled her over, tumbling her down onto the bed, and he began to thrust into her with a wild passion. At the same time her own passion built again until she was almost senseless. He shouted at his release, his hips pummelling her and then his body went rigid as he spilled his seed deep inside her.

  They lay together, panting, perspiration beading on their bare skin despite the growing chill in the stone room now the fire was out. Sex had a smell, Katherine had discovered, a hot, musky smell. It was the smell of pleasure and gratification and sheer bliss.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Katherine froze, but Gervais touched her face, waiting for her eyes to meet his. “I asked for water, to wash, before…” He let the words drift, then gave a wry smile as he climbed from the bed and, picking up one of the covers from where it lay by the table, wrapped it about him, at the same time calling for whoever it was to come in.

  Turnkey Martin opened the door and behind him shuffled some burly men with a metal bath and several steaming buckets of water. They kept their eyes averted as they set the items down and promptly turned and left. However the turnkey paused to murmur something to Gervais, before quietly closing the door and locking it.

  Slowly Katherine climbed from the bed. Her body ached and her sheath felt raw. She would be sore tomorrow…today, but perhaps it would be good to be sore. To remember.

  Gervais was busy pouring the buckets of water into the bath, then he took up a piece of soap and lifted it to his nose to smell. “Hmm, orange blossom,” he said with pleasure.

  Katherine came closer, watching him, as he stepped into the tub and lowered himself down. It was small, his knees were under his chin, but he splashed water over his body, soaping his skin, with evident enjoyment.

  She supposed this was the last bath he would take, the last time he would wash himself with sweet soap and experience the warm trickle
of the water over his skin.

  “Let me,” she said, coming to kneel by the bath. She soaped him gently, cleaning every inch of him. And as she touched him she remembered that she was washing herself off this man, this warm and vibrant body, and he would be dead soon. He would be cold in the grave or, worse, dissected upon some surgeon’s table before his gaping students.

  Her hand trembled but she refused to give in to despair. If there were tears then they fell from her eyes into the water, and if he noticed he didn’t say.

  Finally she washed his hair. He ducked his head while she used the empty wine jug to tip rinsing water over him again and again, until his dark hair slicked to his head.

  He needed shaving, but when she asked he smiled and said it was unlikely they would allow him a razor in case he decided to cheat the hangman.

  “I will have to go to the gallows with my beard,” he said, rubbing his hand over the rough whiskers that had appeared on his cheeks and jaw. They were dark, like his hair and eyes.

  She kissed him, little desperate kisses finally finding his mouth, her lips soft against his.

  He held her face in his palms. “Hush,” he whispered, and using his thumbs wiped away the tears. “You will be free soon, Katherine. That is something to celebrate.”

  He stood but she stayed kneeling, watching as he found his clothing—clean clothing folded upon a chest—and began to dress. Grey trousers and a cream silk shirt, a waistcoat of red and gold swirling threads, and an expertly cut jacket. He pulled his polished boots back on, while his cravat he left till last, tying it carelessly about his neck.

  “Let me,” she said, and came to help.

  “My father offered to send me a valet,” he said, with a poignant smile, “but I refused. Newgate doesn’t require one to dress for dinner.”

  Her laugh was almost a sob.

  With a groan he bent his head to kiss her, feeding off her lips and mouth, his tongue desperately mating with hers. Katherine wouldn’t have imagined it possible, but suddenly desire reared up inside her, as hot and as desperate as ever. He pulled her body to him, his own warm against her naked, chilled flesh, and in two steps had her pressed against the tapestry on the wall. Fumbling at his recently buttoned trousers he freed himself.

  She felt the embroidered cloth against her back, abrading her skin as he lifted her up, her thighs wrapped around his waist. Her breasts ached from the rub of his waistcoat, her nipples peeking from the friction, and he squeezed her bottom in his big hands as he entered her, sliding deep inside her once more. Her sheath felt raw but her body didn’t seem to care. She was wild for him, already coming as he gave several rough, desperate thrusts up into her. And when he buried his face in her breasts, both of them shuddering from the experience, she held him closer.

  Gervais had never come like that before. He wondered if he could survive it. He stood, panting, holding her still impaled upon him, feeling light-headed from lack of sleep. He made a decision then that he would think only of Katherine’s face when he stood before the crowd. As they cheered and jeered he would picture her beautiful smile and the way she arched her throat and cried out when he came deep inside her.

  He could bear it then, he thought. He could bear anything.

  A knock came on the door again.

  Katherine clung closer, wrapping her arms tight about him, but he gently pulled them away and let her slide down to her feet. For a moment they stood pressed together, both warm and very much alive, and then he stepped away and began to neaten himself.

  “Do I look like a gentleman highwayman?” he said, spreading his arms for her inspection.

  Katherine nodded, and then reached to smooth back a lock of his damp hair. She might have clung to him again but he moved backwards, away from her, still watching her. And then he took another step and another. He was moving further away and she stood and let him.

  “Adieu,” he whispered, his dark eyes delving into hers, and then he turned and strode quickly to the door.

  When it opened Katherine saw there were three gentlemen waiting, along with Turnkey Martin and two guards. On wobbly legs she reached the safety of the bed curtains, but the men didn’t come into the room. The three gentlemen were embracing Gervais, the elder one with grey hair and a stern lined face. Of the younger two, one was fair and taller than Gervais, and he wore a black blindfold about his eyes, and the other was dark, though not so dark as Gervais, and similar in height. His father, the Earl of Mortmain, and his brothers, come to say their farewells.

  Their grief was palpable. Covering her mouth with her hands to muffle her sobs, Katherine turned away. A moment later she heard the door close and then steps moving away down the stone corridors.

  He was gone.

  She was alone.

  The night was at an end.

  Chapter Nine

  The cock had crowed some time ago and Katherine’s sobs had worn her out so that she slept. Afterwards she had bathed herself in the now-tepid water, then dressed in the feminine attire she’d found in a neat pile upon the chest by the door. It was clean and well-made and there were slippers for her feet and a bonnet for her hair. She looked like a lady.

  Gervais had thought of everything for her new beginning.

  She felt so numb that even the raw discomfort from their couplings was welcome, if only to remind her she was alive. Although it also reminded her that he was dead. Dropped before a waiting crowd outside the smoke-blackened walls. But she didn’t want to think of that. She preferred to remember him alive and vital, his dark eyes glinting with laughter and reckless desire, his lips smiling as they kissed hers.

  For such a short time he had been hers and only hers, but in that brief time she had been changed. She’d become a different woman. Despite her grief and sadness, Katherine came to the conclusion it had been worth knowing him, if only for the transformation he had wrought in her. And her freedom, of course. No more filthy cells and brawling cellmates, no more watery gruel and gaol fever.

  This morning she would walk out of Newgate a free woman.

  In time Turnkey Martin returned. His mood was sombre although he gave her one or two curious little glances. He led her out of the sumptuous room and down the dark, grimy corridors and staircases. She followed him in silence until they reached a small door away from the main entrance and all its attendant bureaucracy.

  “Best not to let the pen dippers see you,” he muttered. “The gentleman made a private transaction with the governor.”

  He then took her on a circuitous route until she was standing outside the huge walls and gatehouse of Newgate.

  The air was chill. Katherine shivered and drew her cloak about herself. Ahead of her lay the city of London and its populace, all with their own concerns, none of them caring what had happened to her. It was a daunting prospect, but one Katherine reminded herself she had faced before.

  “Kathy girl?”

  It was the turnkey. Katherine had forgotten he was there. She turned to face him and discovered Martin was holding out a leather drawstring purse.

  “Your man left you this,” he said. “Better keep it close. Plenty of thieves around here.” He twisted his face into a moue of distaste.

  She took the purse and opened it. There were coins inside and a square of folded paper. Removing one of the coins she held it out to her friend.

  “Nah, I couldn’t take that,” he insisted. “You’ll need all you got, Kathy.”

  “Please,” she insisted, and pressed the coin into his palm. “You have been a good friend to me. Thank you.”

  “Well,” he shifted his feet, embarrassed. “Good luck, Kathy.”

  Katherine slipped the purse inside her dress, between her breasts for now, and felt the comforting weight. At least she wasn’t completely destitute and this might tide her over until she found work. But for now it was time to go. Time to look to her future.

  The prison gates were ornate and grimly impressive and she was glad to get beyond them. She kept glancing over her shoul
der as the gates got further away until eventually they were swallowed by the crowded buildings of London town and the press of humanity.

  At first she had the sensation that she was floating along, like a ghost, but then as she walked further she realised it was because she was hungry. Food would help her to think straight and allow her to consider what to do next.

  Katherine stopped at a pasty shop and bought a hot meat pie. She took out the drawstring purse and shook out a coin. The scrap of paper was still there and this time she took it out to read before returning the purse to the safety of its nest.

  There was an address written in dark ink.

  For a moment she stared. Was this Gervais’s writing? She’d never seen his hand but assumed it must be. The clothing, the coins, and now somewhere she would be safe. Was that what this meant?

  Her heart lifted. She needed somewhere she could rest for a time until she decided what she was going to do.

  She began to eat, biting into the pastry and then licking the gravy off her fingers like a child. She ate as she walked and pieces of pastry flaked over her chin and collected on her clothing. The cold air was still sharp and a shower washed some of the dirt away from the cobbles at her feet.

  Doubts circulated in her mind. What if the address was a bawdy house? If it was she could say no, couldn’t she? That truly would be the last resort. She knew women, desperate women, turned to the streets and the brothels to keep their bellies full of food and clothing on their backs, but she did not think she could do it. And she did not believe Gervais would send her to such a place.

  The pie gone, she wiped her hands fastidiously on the handkerchief he had given her, that scrap of linen he’d handed to her outside the old Bailey when they first met. She’d found it on the floor, amongst the rags he’d torn from her body. She realised, with an inner tremor, that it was one of the few things of his she had. Even the scent of him had been washed from her body before she left, replaced with orange blossom soap.

  Katherine asked directions from a street vendor, and she soon found herself in a better sort of neighbourhood. She was tired and it had been a long walk with the cobbles bruising her feet through the thin soles of her slippers. She wasn’t really dressed for walking. Boots would have been a better choice. She pretended to scold Gervais in her mind and then scolded herself for doing so. Entering a narrow laneway she stumbled and almost fell. She righted herself, catching her breath. There was a street sign on the wall of the corner building and reading it Katherine realised she’d almost reached the address she was searching for.