Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series

by Vivienne Lorret

  A curse, indeed, Bane thought, for he understood suddenly that the only happiness he’d ever known had just walked out of his life.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “I hate to admit it, but I’m surprised Eve’s plan worked after all,” Sophie said as they stood together near the punch table in the ballroom. “Lady Amherst is even here, all abuzz over the renewal of Mr. Clairmore’s intentions. She is taking full credit for it, reminding everyone how her steadfast support kept you in society and therefore in William’s admiration.”

  Both Merribeth and her aunt knew the truth. She would not marry him. However, since he knew that two failed engagements would not look good on him, William had asked her to pretend they were engaged for the remainder of the party. Perhaps he even believed she’d change her mind. Merribeth didn’t mind having his company, whatever his reasons.

  “I’m just as baffled over the success of the scheme as you are.”

  As Eve predicted, being seen with William had given Merribeth’s reputation a much-needed boost. She even danced with him for the first set, with all appearances of an understanding between them. Soon, word would spread that Mr. Clairmore was the type of young man who didn’t know his own mind, and her place in her tribe would be restored. Even though she wouldn’t marry him, Merribeth could now live with Aunt Sophie without sullying her by association.

  “I expected her to be more triumphant,” Sophie mused, staring down into her amber punch. “Instead, she seems quite upset about something. Earlier, I caught her murmuring that she refused to fail. Yet when I asked her, she looked startled and told me I was hearing things.”

  “Odd. I’ve never known you to hear things,” Merribeth added and then gave her aunt a sly grin. “Of course you read about strange things all the time.”

  Sophie offered a small grin in response. “I don’t suppose there’s any use in worrying over it now. Shall we take a turn and soak in the splendor of the ballroom one last time?”

  Setting down their cups, they walked together.

  For someone as reputedly destitute as Lady Eve Sterling, she certainly spared no expense for the ball. Serving girls from the village had been hired to help with the cleaning and kitchen work and temporary groomsmen to help with the carriages lined up outside. The number of Eve’s guests had tripled in the course of a single day, and each one was offered a room in the massive estate—a fact that was very peculiar to Merribeth. If all those rooms were finished, then why had she been given one so distant from Sophie?

  It was a puzzle she wasn’t likely to have answered before she left.

  The grand ballroom was alight with scores of candle flames, all winking through crystal teardrops hanging from the chandeliers. Nearly a full orchestra played in the minstrels’ gallery, filling the chamber with a score of sweeping music.

  “I was surprised to learn that Lord Montwood had gone already,” Merribeth said, her gaze skimming the dancers. He hadn’t said his good-byes, either, which made her wonder about the haste of his departure.

  Sophie adjusted her spectacles and looked askance at a new guest, Lord Coburn. Standing with Daniela Pearce, the two looked to be on very affectionate terms. “It is my understanding that he’s in quite deep with a certain new arrival.”

  Merribeth nodded in understanding. “Although, one would think a person as well schooled on scandal as our hostess could have prevented their meeting by not inviting Lord Coburn.”

  Her aunt frowned. “That thought occurred to me as well.”

  When they neared Lord Amberdeen and the colonel, deep in conversation, they ceased their exchange. As they passed, what Merribeth overheard caused her heart to stop.

  “Knightswold had the right of it,” Amberdeen said with a nod. “Breeding his mare with Rhamnous would have made a fine racehorse.”

  “A shame,” Colonel Hamersley said on a deep exhale. “The foal had promising bloodlines. Now, it seems neither it nor the mother will survive.”

  Merribeth covered her mouth and bit back a sob.

  Gypsy made a sound of distress as her labor pains grew stronger. Everything seemed to happen at once. The birthing sac protruded but with only a single hoof. The other hoof was locked inside. The mare stood, walked around the stall, and lay down again, looking to Bane for help. Even though this was her first birth, she knew something was wrong too.

  Bane went to help her. The timing was crucial. He needed to unlock the elbow joint and pull it free. Reaching in, he discovered the situation was far worse than he imagined. The foal’s head was turned as well. It was trapped inside, battering against the pubic bones with each contraction. It would take a miracle to save them both.

  If he lost them, he would have nothing. Nothing but his quest for revenge—revenge that was cold and ruthless and could never ease the ache he felt inside. Revenge would never challenge him with summer blue eyes and the wicked arch of a dark brow.

  There was only one person who’d offered him anything close to the contentment he’d felt when his parents were still alive.

  Only with her, it was so much more. With her, he felt the sun on his face, no matter the hour of the day. The darkness he wore as a cloak around him had fallen to shreds. He couldn’t sew it back together if he’d wanted to. He was forever changed.

  Forever.

  A tremor ran though him. Could he truly value revenge more than her?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The ball ended on a final swell of music that flowed in through Merribeth’s open window. The steady murmur of voices told her that many guests were still milling along the corridors.

  All she could think of was Bane. After learning that Gypsy wasn’t expected to make it through the night, she knew his heart would be breaking. Gypsy was much more than a horse. She was a symbol for all that he’d lost, all that had been stolen from him, and more. To him, she was like family.

  No matter how things had been left between them earlier, she couldn’t let Bane believe he was all alone. And she was willing to risk her recently renewed reputation to make sure he knew someone cared.

  Without changing out of her gown, she opened the window to her balcony and climbed out. The full moon crested over the treetops, bathing this side of the manor in pale, silvery light. While her path wasn’t hindered by shadows, the gap between their balconies and the distance to the ground turned her stomach weak and watery. As luck would have it, his window was left open.

  Be brave. Those words had become her mantra. She repeated them again and again as she climbed over the wide railing. Holding on with hands that had gone icy with fear, she reached out with her slippered foot to the rim of Bane’s balcony. In truth, it was no more than a step away from hers, if she were on the ground and walking at a normal pace. However, since she was so high up, the distance seemed more like a wide gulf.

  Merribeth wasn’t about to turn back. This was too important—not only for tonight but for the rest of her life.

  She didn’t want to leave the party tomorrow morning with anything unsaid. Bane deserved to know, in the very least, that someone cared for him. Someone was willing to share the burden of his pain. Someone loved him.

  And tonight she would tell him. No matter what it cost her.

  Emboldened by her decision, she pushed off from her own railing and launched herself at his. Before she knew it, she scrambled up over the side and was taking in a great lungful of air as if she’d scaled the manor.

  No sooner had she slipped into his room than she heard a key in the lock of Bane’s door. She held her breath and stood perfectly still in the space between the open window and the bed.

  When he walked in, he turned to face the door immediately, setting the key inside the lock. Not wanting to startle him with the sound of her voice, she continued to wait, air locked up tight in her lungs, burning to get out.

  For a moment, he merely stood there, pressing his forehead against the door as he let out a ragged exhale. His loss over Gypsy must be breaking him into pieces. She longed to comfort
him, to ease his pain, and help him forget, even if only for a night.

  Then, he lifted his head and walked in the opposite direction, toward his dressing room. He didn’t bother lighting a candle. The moon was bright enough for her to watch his progress. However, once inside, he was cloaked in shadow.

  Unable to see him any longer, she could only listen. The simple fact that she was here, alone with Bane, struck her with a sudden sense of clarity. She could hear her own pulse, the beats rushing so close together that it sounded as if she stood beside a waterfall. Somehow, above the din, she heard the rustling of clothes. Waistcoat and shirt, she imagined, were removed hastily and dropped to the floor.

  She swallowed. Surely, now was the time to announce her presence. Still, her voice did not come.

  The splashing sound of water as it poured from pitcher to bowl drew her attention next and kept her mind stirring. More splashing followed. Her pulse pounded in her ears in a terrible rush now. She felt dizzy and realized belatedly that she needed to release the breath she’d been holding and draw fresh air into her lungs. When she did, the sounds died away. At any moment, he would leave the dressing room and see her.

  Again, she told herself to be brave. This was what she wanted, after all. She was prepared to sacrifice her future for the man she loved. Instinctively, she knew he would be the only man she’d ever love. There would never be another who pulled at her soul and filled her heart.

  Bane stepped out of the dressing room, glancing down at the sash of the banyan he tied around his waist. She caught a glimpse of flesh and a dusting of coal black hair before he drew it closed. Her eyes were still on the banyan, curious and seeking, when he stopped abruptly.

  “What are you—how did you—”

  Merribeth’s gaze jerked up to meet his, heat flooding her cheeks. “The window.”

  Moonlight illuminated his features. Something akin to anger flashed in the depths of his gaze as he looked to the window and across the distance to balcony.

  “That was foolish and reckless,” he hissed, clenching his teeth. “You could have slipped, fallen to your”—he clenched his fists and moved a step closer, as if he meant to shake her, but then stopped. “No one would have found you until morning.”

  “Chastising me does not alter the fact that I am here, standing before you, unharmed. Would you care to rail at me some more?”

  His gaze darted from hers to the place above, where her brow arched in challenge. Suddenly, his anger receded, replaced by a different kind of heat in his eyes. She’d seen that look before.

  “You should leave. Before it’s too late. Before a maid or anyone realizes you’re missing.”

  “I’m not leaving.” She held her ground, hoping her words would keep him from noticing how she trembled.

  “Damn it, Merribeth.” He raked a hand through his damp hair. “The house is full of the very people who recently claimed your reputation was in question. You’re putting yourself at risk on the eve that your engagement to Clairmore has repaired the damage.”

  “I cannot control the fact that they make assumptions that are not true.”

  Something stirred in his gaze. Since she’d never witnessed it before, she couldn’t guess what it was, but it almost seemed both pained and tender. “You’re not engaged? But I saw—”

  “After scolding you for poisoning yourself against the idea of finding true love and happiness, how could I, in good conscience, sentence Mr. Clairmore to the same fate? As you so aptly pointed out, I do not love him.”

  All she’d ever wanted was a sense of certainty, of knowing what her life would be like, day after day. If her parents had known they would be married a paltry dozen years only to die tragically, would they have given up the chance of being together in order to live a longer, more miserable existence with someone else?

  Her heart knew the answer.

  Bane’s broad chest rose and fell with his breaths. He took a step toward her but then stopped. “Even so, you should leave. With you here, I cannot trust myself.”

  She smiled. “Then I shall trust you enough for the both of us.”

  A visible shudder rolled over him, tensing the cords of his neck. “If you heard about Gypsy, and that is why you are here . . .” He broke off, studying her reaction. Her expression must have given him the answer because he continued. “Then I must tell you that both she and the foal will live.”

  Relief flooded her, making her heart feel light and airy. “That’s wonderful news.”

  That sense of clarity returned again. Suddenly, she knew she was willing to sacrifice any hope of a certain future, just to spend one night with him. She took a step toward him. Then, because that wasn’t enough, because it seemed like she’d waited her entire life to find a place in his arms, she closed the distance.

  Her hands trembled as she reached out and laid them against the hard expanse of his chest. His heart beat fast beneath her palms. Bane didn’t move. He stared down at her, searching her gaze.

  “I know why I am here. I believe you do as well.” Her hands slid up over the silk banyan, following the line of his throat to his jaw and up until her fingertips reached the silken strands of coal black hair at his temples. They were cool and damp in contrast to the heat emanating from his scalp. She watched as his lids grew heavy.

  “This will change your fate.” His hands settled on her waist. For a moment, she believed he was going to set her apart from him and send her away. She stepped even closer, pressing her body against his, feeling the warmth pouring from his body. He was solid and unmoving. “This will change everything.”

  Undeterred, she refused to retreat. “You need me.”

  “Venus,” he rasped in a sound that was part growl and part agony. Something inside him must have shifted, because in the next moment, he crushed his mouth to hers.

  The kiss was fierce and raw and full of the passion that had sparked the first moment they’d met. Yet this was more than mere passion. It was something greater, something desperate, and they both felt it. She reveled in the feel of his mouth on hers, as if her whole life were in this kiss. Every hope and dream she’d ever had was now here, with him. She would give him anything, everything.

  Her hands left his hair to clutch his shoulders. She needed to be closer. She needed to dive into his skin, to find the home where her heart resided.

  More insistent and demanding, her pulse pounded out the beat of the pagan drum. She rose up on tiptoe, prepared to crawl up his body. As if sensing this, he lifted her against him with one hand cupping the flesh of her derriere and the other at her nape as he deepened the kiss.

  In three strides, they were to the bed.

  They fell together in a tangle of eager mouths and limbs. The wait had been too long. An eternity had passed since they’d first met. As if to confirm he felt the same way, he lifted her so that she could feel the deliciously hard ridge of him. She parted her thighs, and he pressed his weight against her. She would have cried out his name in ecstasy if her mouth had been free. Instead, a moan rose from her throat and into his.

  His mouth moved from her lips to her cheek and then to the shell of her ear. His breath stirred a hot, erotic mix of sensations. Her fingertips dug into his shoulders as she arched off the mattress. “Lie still, I beg of you. I cannot be gentle if you continue.”

  “Then don’t be gentle,” she said, her voice nothing more than a rasp of passion. Unable to help herself, she rubbed against him. “I need you too much. I ache for you. The pain is deep inside of me. I’m overwhelmed. I feel like I could die from it any moment. Please, Simon.”

  He swore and took her mouth again, hard and hungry. His hand left her nape, drifting down to the hidden fastenings of her gown, making quick work of them. In less time than it took her to draw a breath, he tugged the front of her gown loose. He lifted away from her just long enough to pull her gown and petticoat over her head together. She helped him by raising her arms. Her stays went next, followed by her chemise. She still wore her stockings,
though somewhere along the way she’d lost her slippers. But she didn’t take too much time worrying about them as she caught the look in his eyes.

  Heat and hunger were there but also tenderness. Her heart gave a funny flip when she noticed how he trembled as he reached for her.

  Even though his hand had yet to touch her flesh, she tingled with a combination of awareness and longing. Her breasts plumped beneath his ardent gaze. Her nipples hardened in anticipation, the dusky center coming to an aching peak. He drew his hand away without touching her, and she nearly cried. But then, he lowered his mouth instead, and a cry tore from her throat all the same.

  Her hands clutched his head, knitting her fingers through his hair as the burning wetness of his kiss drew her deeper into his mouth. Lifting her from the mattress, he feasted on one breast and then the other, like a man half starved for the taste of her. He shifted his hold. His thigh pressed between hers, making the ache inside more intense. Throbbing, pulsing, the familiar beat took over, urging her to rock her hips against his thigh as he suckled her flesh.

  Then abruptly, her body spasmed in quick unsyncopated jerks. She held on to him as an unfamiliar wave of contentment washed through her, dowsing the overwhelming ache in cool bliss. “Simon,” she whispered in awe. “What was that?”

  “The beginning, my love,” he answered with a tender kiss. “Only the beginning.”

  Trying to catch her breath, she felt her lips curl into a smile. “I like the beginning.”

  Bane chuckled, though his voice sounded strained. He tilted her chin up, making sure she met his gaze for his next words. “Then remember this feeling, and trust that I will bring it back to you.”

  “Of course.” She trusted him with her heart and everything she possessed. Her fingertips ran over his scalp, threading through his silken hair, cherishing this moment with him and feeling cherished in return.

  He lifted away from her and rose up to his knees to remove his robe.

  Beneath it, he wore nothing. In the moonlight, he was bared to her greedy gaze. She sucked in a breath. He was magnificent, all sinew and muscle, from the breadth of his shoulders to the narrowness of his waist. And though her body wanted to draw in another breath at the sight of his thick, jutting flesh, she couldn’t seem to breathe. But she did the next best thing . . . she reached out and touched him.