by Linda Sole
He could wait one more night to take her. She was his because she had come to him, and he would try not to hurt her. Perhaps one day the beast would rise and she would run from him in disgust, but until that time he would explore the new feelings she had brought to life.
*
Constance felt something tickling her face. She stirred and moved her head as it came again…like a soft breeze. Opening her eyes, she looked up into Moraven’s eyes. He was bending over her, blowing gently at her to wake her so that she was not startled. A hot flush spread over her as she remembered what she’d done – coming to his bed like a wanton to wait for him.
‘I’m sorry…’ she whispered. ‘I shouldn’t…’
Her words were lost as his mouth covered hers in a sweet, strangely tender and yet demanding kiss that drew her heart from her body. The feeling was so good, so right, that Constance forgot her embarrassment. She forgot her doubts, her fears of the future and her mother’s teachings. All she could think of was the man whose body felt warm and hard as he drew her against him, his fingers trailing down her back, his mouth nuzzling at her neck.
‘We don’t need this…’ he murmured and pulled her shift up over her head, tossing it to the ground. ‘That’s better. Now I can really see you – see your beauty, the loveliness that you hide from others is mine to see and touch. You are mine, Constance, never doubt it. You belong with me. I shall never allow you to leave me.'
His words were nectar to her starved being; her body and mind responded with all the innocence of first love, for she did truly love him. She had tried to tell herself that love was foolish. He wanted her but for a man wanting was not always loving. She would give all that she had because she knew she could not deny him, but he would give only a little of himself.
Moaning softly, Constance pressed her naked flesh to his. He felt so good, the silken length of him and the sprinkling of light hair that arrowed down his chest to his manhood – that hot hard spear pressing against her thigh so insistently. He was fully aroused and ready for her, she knew that even as his fingers stroked and explored, making her gasp with pleasure. She felt the moisture run between her thighs. Never had she experienced such feelings. Constance had never known a man, never even been kissed except as a game in childhood. Yet her body was singing, understanding what was required of her as she opened to him, offering her silken moisture to his touch.
Still he stroked and kissed, making her body come alive as she writhed and whispered his name over and over, wanting something more but not knowing what she needed. He leaned over her, gazing deep into her eyes, smiling as he ran a finger over her full lips.
‘Are you ready, my sweet? Do you want me to come into you now?’
‘Oh yes,’ she breathed. ‘Make me yours. I want…’
She wanted everything. When he pushed up into her she understood, opening wider, welcoming the length of him; then as he reached her hymen he stilled and looked down at her. She reached up and pulled his head to hers, kissing him. He hurt her when he broke through and she gasped but he kissed her softly, stroking her face and hushing her and then he began a slow sweet sweeping rhythm that made her moan. Soon the pain was forgot as she was taken to a place she had never been, her body dissolving in pleasure so that she fell apart.
Afterwards, they lay together for a while in perfect peace, blissful and unthinking, then Moraven stirred and raised himself to look down at her. Her cheeks were wet with tears. He bent his head and licked them away.
‘Did I hurt you so much?’
‘No, only at first, then I forgot because it was so nice.’
He chuckled at her choice of words. ‘That is the first time I’ve been told it was nice – marvellous, better than ever before, earth shaking but nice? Now that puts me in my place, Constance.’
‘Forgive me. I did not know what to say. Being that way with you was all those things and more but lying here now is warm and nice – do you not think so?’
‘You were virgin,’ was all the answer he gave. ‘Why do you cry – because I have ruined you?’
‘I did that for myself when I first allowed you to stay here – nay, before that when I took your purse…when I first became the comtesse. If what we did is the completion of my ruin it is by far the best thing that has happened to me in a long time.’
‘Yes?’ He stroked her cheek. ‘You’ve had a rotten time of it since your father died I think? Coming here as a maid when you should have been here in your own right, enjoying the social scene.’
‘From what I’ve seen there is not much to enjoy. I find society uncaring and hard for the most part.’
‘In certain circles I would agree, but there are other men and women who would make better friends for you, Constance. Forgive me for robbing you of the life you ought to have had. By taking your virginity I may have made it impossible for you to marry.’
‘In truth, what chance do you think I had before today?’
‘Very little,’ Moraven replied, but there was doubt in his eyes. ‘I hope I did not force you, Constance? I would not have done so for the world.’
‘No, you did not force me. I told you yesterday that I was willing to be your lover.’
‘Yes, you did,’ he said and rolling over, left the bed. ‘You had best go back to your own room before Heloise is about. In time she will know about us, but I must win her over first – show her that I can be trusted not to harm you.’
Feeling suddenly shy, Constance reached for her shift and pulled it on before leaving the bed. Moraven had shown no embarrassment as he walked naked into the adjoining dressing room and she could hear the noise of his ablutions. She pulled on her gown and ran hurriedly from the room, covered in blushes. How immodest she had been. No wonder he was annoyed to discover her a virgin. His apology had made her feel guilty. Did he feel obliged to her now? She knew that she loved him with all her being and she’d held nothing back as they loved – but she was no nearer to discovering his true feelings for her than she’d been previously.
His loving had been sweet, careful and tender, bringing her pleasure. He could she knew have taken his own pleasure much sooner without thought for her feelings. Madeline’s husband had never once considered his wife’s pleasure. Constance knew from the bruises on her mistress’s body how violent and cruel the comte had been time after time. Moraven was a very different man and she was fortunate to have gained her first experience of love at the hands of an expert. No man could be that good at making love without a deal of experience. She on the other hand was a novice and must have disappointed. He had been looking for the bold adventuress he’d believed her at the start and in her ignorance she had been unable to do more than let him carry her away on a tide of pleasure.
She would try to do better next time, she decided. If touching and kissing, stroking the sensitive areas of the body with his tongue gave her pleasure, perhaps he would gain pleasure if she did something similar to him. The thought brought a flush of heat to her lower abdomen and she felt her feminine juices run. The idea that she might touch and kiss him, as he’d touched her, was exciting and it made her want to be back in his arms, but there was too much to do. Heloise would be down soon and the day and all its chores would begin.
Moraven stared at his image in the mirror as he shaved. Was that shame he could see? It damned well ought to be. How had he deceived himself into thinking her an adventuress? She was virgin and as innocent as any society miss on her first venture into the drawing rooms of London.
Well, he’d ruined any chance she’d ever had of a good marriage. No gentleman would take his leavings and Constance was not the sort to lie. Not that he wanted her to marry someone else. The idea made him clench his fist and bare his teeth. She was his and he intended to hold on to her, though he knew that it was unfair to make her his mistress – and that is what she would be however she liked to think of their arrangement herself. In the eyes of the world she was a fallen woman and he’d done that to her. She had truly braved the perils of
Paris society for the sake of those unfortunate children, taking nothing for herself but the coins she needed to support the two of them. No wonder her servant looked at him as if she could plunge a dagger into his heart. She probably would if she suspected how easily he’d deflowered her mistress.
She given herself to him so sweetly. He hadn’t forced her – but perhaps his determination in hunting her had made her feel she was trapped, that he would leave her to her fate if she did not give him what he wanted. If that were the case he was a rogue indeed.
Constance was too lovely not to have attracted the attentions of a decent man in time. He suspected that her parents were gentry, even if the minor country sort. She might never have made a grand marriage – but perhaps a parson or a baron might have spoken for her if he hadn’t blundered in and squandered her most precious asset.
Such a sweet gift. She was precious and lovely and he prayed that he would never hurt her, as he knew he was capable of doing. He would try to make her happy. When he left Paris she would go with him and he’d buy her a house of her own, give her a settlement just as if she were his wife – which she would be in all but name.
Why not give her even that? He considered the idea, turning it over in his mind before discarding it. Moraven knew his limitations, knew his faults too well. Sooner or later he would do something to hurt her. She would stare at him with reproach, as his mother had just before she died.
‘Why do people say such things of you, Willis?’ she’d asked with almost her dying breath. ‘You were such a good boy…my loving son. What have they done to you? What have you done to them that they should speak of you with such disgust?’
He’d been too proud to beg for her understanding, too bitter to explain that his friends had been mistaken – that they were unfair when they accused him of being a traitor and blaming him for the deaths of men who had walked into a trap.
‘You were as much to blame as I, Harry Pendleton,’ he said in voice caught with emotion. ‘You spoke openly of the mission that night. I had no idea he was in the shadows listening, but you gave the secrets away not I.’
Neither of them could have known they had an enemy nearby. Neither of them could have known that every word they spoke was overheard and later repeated. Yet he had carried the blame all these years.
It no longer mattered. He smiled as he realised the burden he’d carried had gone. He had never been a traitor. Indeed, he’d given important service to his king and country, but burning at the back of his mind had been the injustice of his erstwhile friends’ accusations. Now he no longer cared if they though him worthy of trust – except that he would have Constance think well of him.
He had other friends who would acknowledge her – and he would make the kind of friends that she would feel comfortable with. They could live quietly, mixing with a different kind of society.
He was planning to live with her instead of visiting when he chose? That was a new idea. It was a little raw about the edges and needed some more thought. Besides, first he must make sure that Renard was out of the picture. He couldn’t leave it to others no matter how much he might like to walk out of the whole dirty business. He had to be sure the man was no longer a danger.
Moraven had made certain his enemy was well aware whom he had to thank for the loss of the children Renard was selling, as if they had no feelings or meaning. He’d wanted to make his enemy so angry that he might lose his caution and step out of the shadows, but last night had changed things. If Renard suspected that Moraven cared for Constance her life would be at risk. He’d planned to stay here until the affair was over and they could leave for England together, but now he might have to make other plans.
He’d done all he could for the nuns and he would place further measures in train that should protect them into the future – but now his main concern must be for Constance. Perhaps he ought to send her on ahead so that she would be safe. She might argue with him, but he could send Ferdi or Dodds with her, as well as her own servants – if they chose to accompany her to England.
He might have to find somewhere else to stay until he was ready to leave. By leading the rogues here, he had used Constance as bait and she’d understood and been willing – but he was no longer prepared to run that risk. He wanted her safe in England, waiting for him.
Would she go without him? Would she feel that he was pushing her away?
Moraven wished with all his heart that things were otherwise. If he were a better man…but the past could not be erased just because he wished it so.
He had things to do, people to see. All this must wait until his return. Before he left, he would make certain Constance had some money. If he were killed suddenly and she happened to have fallen for his child…his blood ran cold at the thought of her predicament. He would leave her a draft on his English bank, which she could use in an emergency.
He wrote out the amount and signed it with his usual flourish. Ten thousand pounds would see her set up in a modest house for the rest of her life. She could live as a widow and none the wiser, providing she kept her secret. He placed the draft on the dressing chest where she could not miss it and went out. She would not starve even if he were killed.
Constance was busy preparing porridge and toasted brioche when he went down to the kitchen. She had prepared eggs and a rich mayonnaise to flavour them, which she placed on a warmed dish on the table.
‘Just bread and cold meat for me,’ he said, feeling annoyed that the old woman was seated at the table and seemed intent on making a lengthy breakfast. He wanted to explain about the bank draft on the chest in his room, but could say nothing in front of her servant. ‘I have to go out shortly, but I hope to be back for dinner. Some soup, bread and cold meat is sufficient for my needs, Constance.’
He heard the servant sniff and looked at her sharply but she made no comment. ‘Have you enough money for your needs?’
‘Yes, I believe so. Do not worry. I can manage.’
‘Here…’ He took ten gold coins from his pocket and placed them on the table. ‘If you need more tell me.’
‘Have your funds arrived from England?’
‘Yes.’ He smiled at her. ‘I can afford this and more in case you are worried. Spend what you need. There is plenty more, as you will soon discover, Constance.’
He saw the old woman’s gaze narrow in suspicion but ignored her. What she thought did not count in his eyes. Constance would know how much he valued her when she saw the bank draft. He hoped she did not think it was payment and would have explained had there been a moment when she was not busy and the old woman left them alone. It seemed that neither was likely this morning and he rose when he’d eaten feeling vaguely unsatisfied. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words would not come while he had a critical audience.
He was well aware that he was not good enough for her. He’d taken unfair advantage and it was vital that Constance understood she would not want for anything. As soon as he had time he would visit his lawyer in England and change his will. Ten thousand pounds was merely to see her safely settled. She would have everything that could be spared from his estates, which must by the entail pass to his heirs - and if they had children…
He was still pondering that problem as he left the house later without having explained to Constance why he’d left the money. It was on his mind as he walked to meet his contact, though he was well aware he was being followed by not one but two shadows…
Chapter Eight
Constance told Heloise that she would see to the marquis’s room. She knew the sheets showed bloodstains – stains that would tell her servant exactly what had gone on the previous night and she wanted to change and wash them herself. Heloise glanced at her curiously but accepted the order to get on with clearing up the kitchen and the front parlour.
‘I should like the furniture polished,’ Constance said. ‘Just because we only use one room it doesn’t mean our standards should slip.’
Her smile was in place when she l
eft the room but it disappeared soon after, a thoughtful frown on her forehead. Moraven had been faintly uneasy at breakfast. Was he regretting what had passed between them? For her it had been a beautiful way to seal their love and she had held nothing back. Had her lack of reserve given him the wrong idea – did he think her wanton? Surely he must know that she’d given herself to him, because she loved him?
Was that the problem? Moraven had made it clear he would not wed her. Had she made him uneasy because he must have known that she’d been virgin when he took her? Perhaps somewhere there was a conscience that plagued him. Yet she had asked for nothing. She would never ask for anything but his love and if he did not wish for that kind of a relationship why had he made love to her so sweetly?
Entering his bedroom, she crossed to the bed and began to strip it of the soiled sheets. It was only when she had finished putting the room to rights that she saw the piece of paper on his dressing chest. She almost ignored it and then some inner instinct prompted her to look. Her name jumped out at her and she picked it up, quickly realising what it must be, though she had never seen a bank draft before let alone had one made out in her name. Her father had never kept his money long enough to need the services of a bank.
Her throat caught with a sharp pain as she saw the amount. What had he done? Why had he given her so much money? The first answer brought a slashing pain that cut her to the heart, but a moment’s reflection made her reject it. Even the most expensive courtesan would hardly expect ten thousand pounds for one night of love. So why had he given her this money?
