The Longest Night

by Jennifer Ashley

  Mary chafed at the delay, however, because she wanted to retrieve Valentin’s clothes from the woods before anyone found them. Valentin himself had not been seen or heard from since the shooting.

  “This one is easy,” the doctor said cheerfully as the round bullet clinked into the bowl. “I’ve wrenched out many a ball lodged right into the bone when I was a surgeon on the Peninsula. Sawed off my share of legs too. This is the most interesting wound I’ve tended since I became a country doctor, except for the poor lad gored by one of his oxen two summers ago.”

  Mary offered no comment. She wiped away blood while the army surgeon turned doctor sewed the wound shut, then she helped him make the ambassador comfortable.

  The sun slid behind the horizon as the doctor packed up and left, the Longest Night beginning. Mary callously handed the bowl and bullet to the nearest footman, suggesting he clean the bullet and offer it to the ambassador as a souvenir. Then she hastened down the stairs to see the doctor out, hoping to slip away and fetch Valentin’s discarded clothes.

  Too late.

  The ambassador’s valet, a small, fastidious Nvengarian who’d excused himself during the doctor’s work, came in the front door carrying Valentin’s clothing and boots.

  Mary moved to intercept him. “I will take those.”

  “Isn’t that Baron Valentin’s coat?” Julia came charging out of the drawing room with her father on her heels. “Where is Baron Valentin?”

  “Where did you find ’em?” Sir John asked. He touched the coat as the valet handed it to Mary.

  The valet only had a smattering of English. “By the frozen water,” he managed.

  “Strange place for the fellow to disrobe, eh?”

  “He didn’t disrobe, Papa. The wolf took him.” Julia clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh dear heaven, the wolf’s eaten Baron Valentin!”

  Sir John looked shocked, the valet confused. Mary snatched the boots. “Julia, please. If you examine these clothes you will see that they are quite whole. What wolf undresses his dinner before eating it?”

  “Oh.” Julia looked doubtful. “But why on earth did the baron leave his clothes near the pond? How can he run about without them?”

  “Perhaps somebody stole ’em,” Sir John suggested. “Shoved them down there, planning to fetch them later. Baron Valentin can tell us if he has any missing. Where is the fellow, by the way?”

  “Still trying to discover who shot the ambassador, I’d imagine.” Mary turned away to the stairs.

  “Oh, that chappie wasn’t shooting at the ambassador,” Sir John said in his ingenuous voice. “He was shooting at me.”

  Mary swung around in surprise. “At you, John? Why on earth should someone shoot at you?”

  “No idea, my dear,” Sir John answered without worry. “But Duke Rudolfo pushed me out of the way and took the bullet himself.” He puffed out his chest. “Damned decent of him, I’d say. Good fellow, that ambassador, even if he is foreign.”

  * * *

  The wolf approached the house under cover of darkness, sensing the warmth within. The mansion was a bulk of shadow in deeper darkness, the lower floor black, with only a few lights in the upper floors.

  The strange ditch the English called a ha-ha might keep out a wandering tramp, but to a nimble animal it presented no barrier. Valentin easily leapt the ditch and scrambled down the bank to the shadows of the house.

  On the back wall, which faced the pond, two square windows showed candlelight. The wolf knew the window on the far left was the ambassador’s bedroom, the one on the far right, Mary’s.

  Nvengarians considered logosh demons. Logosh regarded themselves as simply logosh—beings who had inhabited the Nvengarian mountains for eons. They were shape-shifters, able to take animal, demon, or human form as they chose.

  Valentin was only half logosh, and he’d always found shifting painful. He clenched his teeth as he forced his wolf limbs to change to the demon’s. Fur became skin, paws became claws, and his thighs thickened with logosh muscle. All creatures but logosh considered the logosh’s demon form hideous, but in it, Valentin could climb.

  He moved swiftly and noiselessly up the wall to the lighted window and peered into what must be Mary’s dressing room. An open wardrobe showing neat rows of garments stood next to an armless chaise. At the dressing table, ribbons had been sorted tidily, as had her cosmetics and jewelry. Not one stray glove, hat, or handkerchief rested on any piece of furniture. The pristine neatness of it made him want to smile.

  Mary leaned over the washbasin near the window, scooping water from her hands to her face. She’d slid her bodice from her torso, letting the fabric hang limply from her waist. The short corset and her chemise beneath were splotched with water.

  Valentin hooked his claw around the edge of the casement and pulled, surprised when the window opened easily. Mary had left it unlatched, just as she hadn’t drawn the curtains. She likely thought no one would see her in this high window, with plenty of woods and fields between her and the house in the next valley.

  He’d meant to be silent, but at the window’s slight squeak, Mary raised her head and looked around. She did nothing—no scream or startled cry came from her, no fear. She watched silently, her eyes wide, her hands dripping, while a logosh climbed into her chamber.

  “I do hope that’s you, Valentin,” she said, her voice faint. “Or is there another logosh running about the place?”

  Valentin willed his body to become human again. His fingers ached as they moved from claw to human flesh, then his face flattened, his hair grew warm on his head, and his back straightened. Valentin growled, fisting his hands, willing the pain to stop.

  Mary stepped past him to close and latch the window. She jerked the heavy drape across it, and when she turned around again, he moved to her, standing close.

  “What happened to you?” Mary whispered. Her dark eyes held worry. “What did you find?”

  Not now. Valentin was naked, he hurt, and he needed her. He wrapped his arms around her, jerked her close, and slanted a kiss across her mouth.

  Mary made a protesting noise in her throat, but then she sagged against him, holding on to him as tightly as he clung to her. Valentin unraveled her coiled hair, pulling it loose, burying his hands in it. He tasted the water from the basin on her lips, mingling with the sweetness of her.

  This was why Valentin had returned to Britain, to find Mary, to kiss her, to love her. To persuade her to come home with him. This time he would not leave without her.

  He spread kisses down her neck to where her breasts swelled from her chemise. Mary cradled him against her, fingers furrowing his hair. He tugged at the laces of her corset, loosening them and spreading the corset open with his broad hand.

  Valentin raised his head to kiss her lips again. “Let me love you, Mary.”

  “Yes.” The word was a gasp. “My bedchamber …”

  Valentin was too impatient to seek a bed. He pulled the laces from her stays and let the corset fall, unbuttoned her chemise and pushed it down as well. He caught her unfettered breasts in his hands—they were full and round, the breasts of a beautiful woman. He licked between them, loving her scalding heat.

  Mary unhooked her skirts and petticoat and pushed them down her hips. Her chemise floated downward with them, fabric puddling on the floor. Her stocking-clad calves brushed Valentin’s legs, but otherwise, she was as bare as he.

  She leaned into him as he moved his hand down the back of her thigh. “I wish I could be young and beautiful for you,” she said softly.

  What was she talking about? Valentin gently turned her around to face her mirror, which put her backside against the swell of his cock. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known,” he said and nipped her ear. “Look at yourself.”

  The mirror reflected them together, her pale body wrapped in his darker limbs. Valentin’s large hand rested on her breast, wisps of her long hair curling around his fingers. He slid his hand down her abdomen to the dark tuft
between her thighs, smiling when he found it pleasingly damp.

  “Your body is my heaven.” Valentin touched each part of her as he spoke. “Your thighs have strength, your hips are smooth, your breasts …” He returned his hand to the heat beneath them. Her nipples were dark, tight points he wanted to suckle. “I love your breasts.”

  Mary traced her lower abdomen, which was softly rounded. “I’ve had a husband and a lover, and I have a grown son.”

  Valentin rolled her nipple between finger and thumb. “Why should these things make you less beautiful?”

  “Because you are young and strong, and … heartbreakingly handsome. You should be with a young woman, one who can give you a family.” She smiled sadly. “I’m rather past it.”

  “Past it?” English expressions baffled him.

  “You make me feel like a giddy girl, but I know how old I am.”

  Valentin’s blue gaze caught her brown one in the mirror. “My body wants yours, can you not feel?” He shifted the ridge of his arousal until it slid firmly between her buttocks. “I find you desirable, or I would not ache for you so much.”

  Mary swallowed. “Lust of the moment is not the same thing.”

  For answer, Valentin turned her around again and kissed her hard on the mouth. He pulled her up into him, tasting her once more, showing her what he thought of her words.

  When he lifted from the kiss, Mary stared at him, her lips parted and red. With a growl, Valentin swept her into his arms and carried her to the narrow chaise. He deposited her there, his body pressing Mary’s down. He gazed at her, face to face, then drew back to study the whole of her, hungrily taking her in.

  Valentin splayed his hand across her abdomen. “Is past it the English way of saying you have no interest in pleasures of the flesh?”

  Mary’s brows went up, but she smiled shakily. “No, it is the English way of saying I no longer should have interest in pleasures of the flesh.”

  “Do you mean you take no interest in this?” Valentin slid his hand down to dip between her legs. He cupped her, fingers brushing the heat he found. “Or this?” He slid his first two fingers inside her.

  Mary inhaled sharply, liquid heat pouring over his hand. “No. No interest at all.” Her words were barely coherent.

  Valentin eased his fingers from her and raised them to his lips.

  Did anything taste better than a woman aroused? Did any woman taste better than Mary? It could not be so.

  Valentin leaned down and nuzzled her neck, then kissed between her breasts, working his way down to the indentation of her navel. He nipped her belly where she’d touched as she watched herself in the mirror, then at last put his mouth where his fingers had been.

  Bliss. He suckled her, surrounded by her incredible scent. Love you, Mary. Gods, how I love you.

  “Valentin …” The whisper was full of longing.

  Now. Valentin rolled to his feet and lifted Mary into his arms again. Swiftly he sat down in the middle of the chaise, pulling Mary on top of him. He showed her how to wrap her legs around him—just like that—so that he could slide into her warm, pliant body.

  She was tight and beautiful, enveloping him with arms and legs, her breasts soft against his chest. Mary made warm noises in her throat, her lips on his forehead, his hair, his brow. Valentin gripped her hips and rocked up into her.

  The beast in him roared. He’d found his mate, the true match to his soul. He would make her understand that they belonged together, that he was not leaving this place without her.

  Mary’s teeth scraped his earlobe, her wanting turning as furious as his own. The sharp little pain made him move faster, sliding in, in. She was his home, his resting place, the woman who could soothe his hurts. She was a lush armful, her long hair tumbling between them and warming him.

  “Valentin,” she said in a ragged whisper. “I …”

  He cupped her face in his hands, their bodies moving together. “What?” He willed her to say the words he wanted to hear.

  Mary shook her head, her hair brushing his face. “Love me,” she pleaded. “Just love me.”

  Valentin leaned back, pulling her down harder onto him. He wanted to tell her what he felt, how much he needed her, but his command of English fled him. He said the words in Nvengarian, that he loved her, he wanted her, for now, for always.

  He felt her body shudder. Mary opened her eyes in surprise, as though she’d never broken in climax before. Valentin feared for a moment that she’d fight it, Mary who loved control.

  Then she laughed. She dropped her head back, her glorious hair tumbling down her back. Her body rocked as she dragged everything from him into herself.

  Valentin’s excitement tipped him over the edge. They moved together, gripping, loving, gasping, she so tight on him that he couldn’t stop his shout of pleasure.

  Mary lifted her head and gazed at him, the brown of her eyes coffee-dark. Valentin wanted her to look at him like that for the rest of his life.

  “Mary …” He spoke a few more words in Nvengarian, then halted, forcing himself to repeat them in English. “You are mine. Forever. Say it is true.”

  Mary closed her eyes. She shook her head as she held him, and Valentin gave up, groaning as he released his seed. He collapsed to the cushions with Mary tangled around him, breathing like a drowning man who at last finds shore.

  Chapter 7

  Mary woke in the morning with Valentin in her bed. She opened her eyes to find herself nose-to-nose with him, his blue irises wide with that otherness he had.

  Without dismay, Valentin smiled. His face was creased from the pillows, his hair pleasantly rumpled. He was so handsome, loving, and desirable, that Mary tightened in sudden panic.

  “Will it come true, do you think?” he asked softly.

  She blinked. “Will what come true?” She couldn’t remember anything they’d discussed before he’d come to her through her window last night, to hold her, kiss her …

  Valentin lifted a curl from her face, his strong touch gentled. “The legend of the Longest Night. Will the lady I spent it with be with me for the rest of my life?”

  Mary struggled to sit up. “Not if someone finds you in bed with me. I’ll be utterly disgraced.”

  “I locked the door. And what if they do discover us? Do you care so much what these English people think of you?”

  She didn’t, not at this moment. Mary put her hand to her hair, finding it warm and tangled. “Some of the people are Nvengarian. Your people.”

  “Who would not find it surprising that I want to be with you.” Valentin smiled the heart-melting smile that made anything he said sound reasonable. “If you are forced to flee the country, you can always come home with me.”

  Mary wanted to laugh with him, but her heart beat faster. If a maid did try to come in to stir the fire and found her here—she would be talked about, and Julia could be caught in the gossip. She’d be pointed at as the young lady with the scandalous chaperone, her reputation speculated about as well. Not fair, but that was the way of the world.

  “We shouldn’t joke,” Mary said quickly.

  “No? Come home with me anyway, Mary. It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Perhaps not in your world, but mine is a different place,” she said in worry. “If we are discovered, I will be the entertainment of the ton—talked about, laughed at. The matron who fell for the young, handsome foreigner with the enticing eyes.”

  A crease appeared between Valentin’s brows. “Are you so ashamed then? Of what we did? Of who I am?”

  “Of course not!” Mary’s anger rose—both at the easily shocked English and the altogether too-permissive Nvengarians. She was Scottish, neither one, but she felt pinched between the two worlds. She wondered if Egan had felt like this when he moved from Scotland to Nvengaria and back again.

  No, Egan did as he pleased and damned what everyone else thought. Egan had traveled the world, playing the Mad Highlander, entertaining everyone he met. Mary had always wished for h
er brother’s gift of easy charm. Perhaps then she’d be able to fall into Valentin’s arms and let him take her away from her old life and everything she knew.

  The trouble was, she didn’t hate her old life. Her marriage had been a failure, and now she was lonely, but she had Dougal, her family and friends, and her home at Castle MacDonald. There was nothing better in her opinion than the laughter that filled Castle MacDonald to its rafters. Even Sir John and Julia were ties to her childhood, to a friend she’d talked with and giggled with—the two of them had once run away to Edinburgh to shop without permission, feeling themselves wicked and daring.

  Mary did not want to fling away the happy parts of her life for Valentin, but neither did she want to sacrifice being with Valentin for them. Valentin seemed to think that waltzing off to the eastern edge of Europe at a moment’s notice was nothing difficult. But Nvengaria was the end of civilization as far as Mary was concerned.

  Valentin was watching her with his intense blue eyes, knowing he hadn’t won, not yet. “I’ll not give up, Mary.”

  Before she could answer, Valentin slid his arms around her and pulled her down to him.

  Mary went all too willingly. She let him kiss her, let his body heat hers. She never felt so good as when he touched her. Valentin’s returning smile told him he knew it, drat him.

  Valentin kissed her lips and her face as he gently rolled her over into the pillows. Mary wanted to tell him that he really should go before someone discovered him there. But she couldn’t speak as Valentin pressed her into the bed with his warm weight and loved her all over again.

  * * *

  Valentin descended to the breakfast room much later to find the rest of the household already at table, Mary included, looking neat and efficient as ever. Even Duke Rudolfo had risen from his bed, one arm in a sling, and was eating buttered toast with his good hand.