Married By Midnight

by Julianne MacLean

  She had forgotten what it felt like to be playful, as she had once been in her childhood.

  And tonight she had trusted Garrett enough to allow him to hold her in his arms, to kiss her, and flatter her. She had allowed herself to feel desire. And she was unsettled by the fact that her body still burned for more.

  Chapter Seven

  “I am quite convinced there is an attraction between them,” Charlotte said as she spooned a poached egg and a slice of ham onto her plate at the sideboard.

  Rebecca and Chelsea were already seated at the table finishing their biscuits.

  “I think so, too,” Rebecca replied. “It was quite obvious last night when he took her hand and dashed off into the darkness with her the instant you suggested they should be partners. And when we found them at the end, Lady Anne was blushing. There can be no doubt about it.”

  Charlotte sat down at the table and spread her napkin on her lap. “Do you think anything happened between them? A kiss perhaps?”

  Chelsea sat back with her coffee and exhaled on a sigh. “Now I am disappointed I went to bed so early. It sounds like I missed a great deal of excitement.”

  “Not at all,” Rebecca replied. “Though it was more than a little amusing when Charlotte howled like a rabid wolf.”

  “Not a wolf,” she explained. “I was the inconsolable ghost of a murdered monk who was separated from his great love.”

  Chelsea laughed. “Ah. Well, that is not nearly half so bad. Were you trying to frighten them?”

  “I was having my revenge on Garrett for all his shenanigans when we were children... But you are both missing the point. What do you think about Garrett and Lady Anne? Is there any chance they might truly fall in love and decide to pursue a real marriage?”

  Rebecca sliced into her ham. “If that happens, it will be higher forces at work to be sure, for I know that was not Devon’s intention when he and Blake searched the whole of England for a suitable bride. They were specifically looking for a woman who would be content with the pretense of a marriage, not a real one.”

  “Not just be content,” Chelsea added. “They were looking for someone who was also seeking independence. I believe Anne is that woman.”

  Charlotte regarded them both shrewdly in the morning’s winter light beaming in the windows. “That may have been their intention, but I am beginning to believe father’s curse is not really a curse at all, but some sort of magical boon. So far, three out of my four brothers have all been muscled into matrimony against their will, and all have found their perfect mates. You are both blissfully happy, are you not?”

  Rebecca and Chelsea agreed.

  “You see? I think Garrett may also be on the verge of discovering the same sort of happiness. He has been away too long and for that reason has forgotten all of us. Now I believe he is remembering happier times. And Anne is wonderful, isn’t she? They are a strikingly handsome couple and seem to possess similar dispositions as well. They enjoy talking to each other and there is an undeniable spark of attraction between them. Have you noticed? I certainly have. I think it is only a matter of time before they realize they are madly in love with each other, and he will decide to stay here at Pembroke where he belongs.”

  Rebecca sipped her coffee. “Perhaps you are right. You are his twin, after all. You know him far better than we do. But I also think you should be careful not to get your hopes up.”

  Charlotte lifted her gaze. “What do you think, Chelsea?”

  When Chelsea smiled she was astonishingly beautiful, warm as the sun. “I think you are a born matchmaker, Charlotte, and Garrett will have to watch out if he wants to hold onto his bachelor lifestyle after the wedding day.”

  Charlotte dug into her poached egg. “I don’t believe I will have to do much of anything, except watch this so-called curse take its natural course. Those two are meant for each other and he is most certainly not meant to return to Greece.”

  Rebecca and Chelsea shared a hesitant glance.

  “Watch,” Charlotte said. “You will soon see that I am right. Come Christmas Day, he won’t be going anywhere because he will be blissfully happy in the arms of his beautiful new wife, and all will be exactly as it should be.”

  The clocked chimed on the mantel, and Charlotte ate her breakfast with gusto.

  * * *

  Garrett could not sleep. He lay tossing and turning for nearly two hours wondering what the devil he had gotten himself into—agreeing to marry a woman he’d never met for the sole purpose of collecting his inheritance. He’d thought it would be a simple affair.

  The lady in question had agreed to the terms of the contract, which was to live separate lives after the wedding day. He therefore expected to avoid any awkward romantic situations with her, yet here he lay as randy as a schoolboy because he had taken her into his arms the night before and kissed her sweet honey lips until he couldn’t think or breathe.

  God help him. She really was the most beautiful creature he had ever encountered, and his body was still throbbing and aching with desire—which was not part of the plan.

  Anne had made it clear she did not wish to become entangled in a sordid affair—and thank God for that, for he certainly didn’t want to desire her or heaven forbid fall in love with her. But he did want the money. Just the money.

  A noise in the corridor caused him to sit up in his bed. What was it? A groan? A sob? It sounded eerily like one of Charlotte’s ghostly howls in the underground passages. Was she playing tricks again, or had the spirit of a murdered monk truly come to haunt the Sinclairs?

  Tossing the covers aside, he slipped out of bed, pulled on his dark green silk night robe, tied the sash, and moved quickly to the door. With a gentle click, he turned the knob and peered into the dark corridor.

  Another tragic sob echoed off the walls and Garrett quickly shut his door. His heart pounded like a hammer. Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? He didn’t believe in ghosts. He certainly was not afraid...

  This was ridiculous. It had to be Charlotte.

  Quickly lighting a candle and picking up the brass holder, he pulled the door open and burst forth into the corridor to look left and right.

  The candlelight cast peculiar shadows across the floor as he swung it around. There was no one about—and damn his heart for beating so fast.

  He took a moment to catch his breath and think about what to do. If he had any sense in his brain, he would go back to bed and ignore Charlotte’s tomfoolery...but if he did that, he’d only be plagued by more lustful thoughts of Lady Anne and her soft, warm lips, and he’d spend more hours tossing and turning in bed and driving himself completely mad.

  Hearing another distant, hollow moan, he turned in the other direction and caught a flash of white moving toward the stairs.

  If that were a ghost, he’d eat his nightshirt.

  With swift, determined strides, he hurried to the end of the corridor and held the candle aloft. “Hello!” he called out. “I know you’re there. I saw you.”

  A chill draft blew across the floor. He heard the heavy creaking of a door and was about to threaten this mischievous ghost with physical violence when he saw what appeared to be a bright silky glow. His stomach dropped. Then he heard a voice.

  “Garrett, is that you?”

  Christ. He really needed to get some sleep.

  “Yes, it’s me. Is that you, Lady Anne?”

  She was dressed in a white silk robe and carried a flickering candle as she approached. Her wavy black hair was long and loose about her shoulders. He nearly fell over at the sight of her, so beguiling was she in the golden light.

  “I heard howling and moaning,” she said. “After last night, I confess I’ve been a bit spooked. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Nor could I,” he replied. “Have you been skulking about in the corridors? Was it you I saw a moment ago?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gazed at her for a strange, shivery moment that seemed to pulse through his veins. “I saw s
omeone running...I think. Someone dressed in white.”

  She turned the other way. “It couldn’t have been me. I only just came out of my room this moment.” She gestured toward the door. “This is my room, right here.”

  He turned to glance at it.

  At least now he knew where she slept—a necessary piece of information for the wedding night when he would enjoy the pleasure of consummating the marriage.

  All of a sudden he lost himself in a fantasy of removing her nightdress and running his hands over those sweet, naked curves. The wedding night would be a great pleasure indeed.

  Anne gazed at him for a lingering moment, as if unsure what to do. Perhaps she had recognized the lust in his eye and was concerned he had come here to seduce her. It was not an unreasonable assumption after the way he behaved the night before.

  In an effort to ease her mind, he let out a soft chuckle. “I believe Charlotte is up to something.”

  Anne’s shoulders immediately relaxed and she exhaled a breath. “Ah, that makes sense. Thank heavens. I was beginning to think this place was truly haunted, and I’m not sure I could have held on to my courage until Christmas.”

  She shivered and rubbed a hand over her upper arm.

  “Are you cold?”

  “A little. Thank you, by the way, for lending me your dinner jacket last night.”

  “It was no trouble,” he replied, wondering what would happen if he offered her his robe now and invited her back to his room to sit by the fire and sip some brandy. He let his gaze roam leisurely down the length of her lovely body. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to keep from imagining all sorts of wicked, sensual delights.

  “And we won the race,” she quickly added, as if struggling to fill the silence so he couldn’t suggest a chancy drink by the fire. “I quite enjoyed myself.”

  “As did I. The cake was delicious tonight.” For a fiery instant he wasn’t sure if he could wait until the wedding night to touch her again. His desire for her was palpable, like some sort of erotic drug taking over his senses.

  When his desires began to feel more like some form of torture, he decided it was time to say goodnight and return to bed, but another moan caused them both to jump.

  “Did you hear that?” Anne asked.

  Garrett raised his candle high over their heads. Together they hurried to the end of the corridor and spotted another flash of white heading into the south wing.

  “It’s my father,” Garrett said. “He must be having some sort of episode. We should get him back to his room.”

  They both hurried to pursue him.

  “Father, wait!” Garrett shouted as they drew closer. “Let us help you!”

  The duke halted and swung around. His face was ghostly white and creased with a wretched look of terror. He dropped to his knees and cupped his hands together as if in prayer.

  “Are you all right, Your Grace?” Anne asked, kneeling down beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder.

  “I couldn’t find my way back,” he replied. “I’m so frightened.”

  “There’s nothing to be frightened of. We’ll help you.” Garrett pulled his father gently to his feet.

  Anne and Garrett walked on either side of the duke, quietly leading the way.

  “Did you have a bad dream?” Anne asked.

  The duke regarded her with confusion. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

  They walked in silence until they reached the duke’s door and all three entered the chamber.

  “Everything will be all right now,” Garrett said as he helped his father into bed and covered him with the blankets.

  The duke’s stricken eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. “It’s so cold outside. There is a curse on the palace, you know. If it freezes, the palace will shatter like glass.”

  Garrett took hold of his father’s hand. “Do not fret about the curse,” he said. “Anne and I will marry on Christmas Eve and everything will be fine.”

  His father inched down and rested his head on the pillow. His eyes were wracked with fear. Still mystified by this radical change in him—for the duke was not same man—Garrett stroked his forehead and hair.

  “Where’s Adelaide?” he asked. “My sweet wife?”

  “She’s sleeping,” Garrett replied.

  “Will you stay until I fall asleep?” his father pleaded.

  “Of course,” Garrett replied, while meeting Anne’s concerned gaze on the opposite side of the bed.

  She moved forward to hold the duke’s other hand. He fell back to sleep within minutes, and Garrett’s heart felt heavy like stone.

  * * *

  “He never looked at me that way before,” Garrett whispered as he quietly closed his father’s door. “He seemed so desperate and helpless.”

  “You were very kind to him,” she replied. “He’s a lucky man to have such good children.”

  They started down the corridor together to return to their own separate bedchambers.

  “It feels odd,” Garrett said. “I’ve been gone for many years and I’ve hated him for as long as I can remember. I didn’t want to come home. I didn’t care about the Pembroke fortune being lost to the London Horticultural Society. This estate meant nothing to me. But now that I am here, it’s like I am seeing everything for the first time, and I have a different father. He is not the same man he once was. To be honest, I like this one better.”

  Anne took hold of his hand. “Then it is good that you have come home. Perhaps it will help you to resolve whatever stood between you in the past.”

  He was overcome suddenly by a profound compulsion to explain to her exactly what had been standing between them. Did she even know?

  “How much did Devon tell you about my relationship with my father?” he asked.

  “Nothing, really,” she replied. “I was told only that you had no wish to live at Pembroke—or anywhere in England for that matter. That you wanted to live a separate life, unconnected to your family.”

  He held the candle over their heads as they rounded the corner and reached her door. He was vastly disappointed to end their conversation. They both paused.

  “Will you come inside for a while?” she asked. “I don’t think I will be able to sleep now, and I want to know more about you and your father. If you wish to tell me, that is.”

  Surprised by her invitation—for she had clearly voiced her displeasure when he pushed the limits of propriety the night before—he nodded and followed her into the room.

  The bed was in shambles. Clearly she had been tossing and turning as well, and he was unsettled by the extent of pleasure he derived from that observation.

  His eyes turned to the fire. It seemed quite dead, but upon closer scrutiny he discovered a few glowing embers of warmth still thriving in the ash.

  Anne set her candle down on the bedside table, and Garrett set his own down on the chest of drawers near the hearth.

  “Are you still cold?” he asked. “If you like, I can freshen this fire for you.”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

  He knelt down and threw a few kindling sticks onto the grate. Within minutes new flames caught and burned. He loaded larger sticks of wood and another log, leaned the iron poker against the marble casing, brushed the dust off his hands, and turned to face Anne.

  Her complexion glowed like smooth ivory in the dim firelight, and the beauty of her face stole his breath.

  He wondered why he had come in here. More self-inflicted punishment? Or perhaps he craved pleasure, at any cost.

  Or something more than physical pleasure.

  It had been so long since he’d felt that side of his emotions.

  “You’re still cold,” he said, watching her rub at her upper arms and feeling a strong stirring of arousal. “You should go back to bed.”

  And he should do the proper thing. He should walk to the door and leave, but he had spent the better part of the night dreaming about making love to her. He couldn
’t resist this opportunity to be alone with her.

  They weren’t playing by the rules anyway. This whole arrangement was outside the normal realm of propriety.

  He watched her climb onto the bed and slip beneath the heavy crimson covers.

  “I feel guilty,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked, slowly strolling closer.

  “Because I want to continue talking to you about your father, but it’s freezing in here. While I am warm in my bed, you are...” She paused.

  “Suffering miserably in the chill?”

  And from a host of other things, too, but he had the grace not to mention them.

  * * *

  Anne watched Garrett approach the bed and knew they were treading into very dangerous territory. He was handsome and virile, full of intriguing mystery, and after their stolen kisses last night, she was finding it more and more difficult to remember the fact that this was supposed to be a charade.

  She had been floating in a thick haze of sexual desire all day long, and when she found Garrett wandering the corridors outside her bedchamber a short while ago, she’d wondered if he might have come to steal a few more secret intimacies. She had experienced a thrill like no other and was perversely disappointed to discover he was only searching for a ghost.

  But now he was here, in her bedchamber, like a beautiful masculine dream figure, and she didn’t want their time together to end.

  “I appreciate your concern for my basic comforts,” he replied, his voice pleasantly sensual.

  As he approached her slowly, he reminded her of a hungry lion, carefully creeping closer so as not to frighten off its prey.

  She was completely spellbound. Ready to be devoured. If she had any sense, she would steel herself immediately and suggest that he leave this very instant, but any hope for responsible behavior was fading fast with each step he took closer to the bed.