Mistress by Midnight

by Maggie Robinson

  “A-all? What do you mean?”

  “I see the young fool didn’t tell you.” Con pulled open a drawer, fisting a raft of crumpled paper. “Here. Read them and then tell me one paltry night with you is worth ten thousand pounds. Even you cannot have such a high opinion of yourself.”

  Laurette felt her tongue thicken and her lips go numb. “It cannot be,” she whispered.

  “I’ve spent the past month buying up his notes all over town.” Con’s smile, feral and harsh, withered her even further. He now followed in his father-in-law’s footsteps.

  “You did this.”

  “You may think what you wish. I hold the mortgage to Vincent Lodge as well. You’ve denied me long enough, Laurie.”

  Her home, ramshackle as it was. Beatrix’s home, if only on brief holidays away from her foster family. Laurette had forgotten just how stubborn and high-handed Conover could be. She looked at him, hoping to appear as haughty as the queen she most certainly was not.

  “What kind of man are you?”

  “Not a good one, I wager. I offered you my name once. I shan’t do so again. Your refusal still rings in my ears. But I need a mistress. You once played the part to perfection. The position is yours if you want it.”

  Laurette considered. She could do it, but he would pay—far more than the price of her brother’s losses.

  She scooped up her hairpins from her skirt. “All right. The notes, if you please.”

  Con locked them into the desk drawer and pocketed the key. “Very amusing. You’d toss them into the fire and laugh all the way home. No, my dear. We are going upstairs. Now. As a show of good faith. The vouchers will be destroyed once I engage your services in a binding agreement. A year, I should think, will suit me.”

  Laurette’s lips twisted in distaste. How had she ever thought to get around this man? She was as much an innocent as before. “But it will not suit me.”

  “Still full of misplaced pride, I see.” Con ran a long finger down her cheek and she felt herself flush. “Six months, then. Surely you can endure my lovemaking for that amount of time.”

  “I shall endeavor to do so.” He might own her body, but never her heart. Not again. Six months would seem an eternity. “What of Charlie?”

  “He’s about to go on a Grand Tour. A trip to the Holy Land is in order, with a tutor, far from the gaming tables and whores. Yes,” he added, as she stiffened beneath his fingers, “your brother has devoutly been studying all manner of carnal pleasures. I spoke with him this afternoon. He’s actually most eager to get away.”

  She shivered. “Does he know what you plan for me? For us?”

  Con raised another irritated eyebrow. “Come now. Give me points for discretion. I know how to be a marquess now. I’m not still some love-struck boy. I’ve kept my tongue this time.” He cupped her cheek, almost tenderly. “It’s all arranged, Laurie. A little house on Jane Street, not far from here. You may even have the child visit if you desire.”

  “Beatrix. Her name is Beatrix,” Laurette whispered.

  Con pulled her to him, kissing her forehead. “I know her name. I am her father, after all.”

  Chapter 2

  Holding a taper, his heart flickering in rhythm with the candle, Con clasped Laurette’s hand as they mounted the stairs. The circumstances were not ideal. She was not far wrong to think he’d orchestrated the swift sinking of young Mr. Charles Vincent, although Charlie had been floundering in deep water without any initial assistance from the Marquess of Conover. When the rumors reached Con’s ears, it had been a simple matter to inquire about the well-being and solvency of his country neighbor and take him about Town. It was not Con’s fault Charlie was such a complete mutton-head.

  The boy couldn’t match his sister for spirit or consequence. God had played a joke making Charlie the heir, not that there was much in the Vincent treasury to inherit. Con had done his research. Laurette would have a pittance when she turned thirty next year. Their guardian should be shot, but Con had planned a more subtle revenge for Sir Zachary Billington. He knew all about the perfidies of greedy guardians. His own had taught him well.

  They stood now before his bedroom door. What transpired this night marked the beginning of both their lives. Laurette didn’t need to know she’d be a mistress for much less than six months if he had anything to say about it. Con was looking at the future Marchioness of Conover. He’d done everything, would do anything in his power, to make it so. Laurette had refused him once. She would not do so again. He couldn’t permit it.

  He swept her up into his arms and carried her through the doorway.

  “Put me down at once!”

  Con grinned. She all but beat her fists upon him. However, that would have required more energy on her part, and his Laurette seemed intent on playing the rigid doll. He was looking forward to loosening each limb, and plying her with his fingers and his tongue, until she was enslaved … ensorcelled. He hoped he’d not lost his knack to satisfy her. It had been over a decade since he’d touched her—touched any woman—and longer than that since he’d slept with his relieved wife as he’d done his reluctant duty. Their son was proof that at least something of value had come out of the ill-fated union.

  Con laid Laurette on his bed gently, as if she were precious porcelain that might shatter at any moment, and stepped back to light more lamps. Soon the room was ablaze, as bright as daylight.

  “Open your eyes, Laurette.”

  He watched the mulish set of her mouth. He could kiss the difficulty away, but ground rules were to be set. He watched as she gaped in wonder at the furnishings—the richly tented bed, the intricate carvings casting shadows on the gilded walls.

  “It’s like a seraglio.” She didn’t sound pleased.

  “Just the effect I was going for, my dear. You will find your new abode decorated in a similar style.”

  “I trust there will be just one concubine at a time.”

  If she only knew. “As my mistress, you will see to all my pleasures. Should I require an additional companion to join us, I will of course inform you.”

  He supposed he shouldn’t delight in the angry flush that spread up from the cleft of her breasts to her cheeks. She really was too thin and too pale. Worry and genteel poverty were apt to steal youth away, Con knew first-hand, but he was determined to reinstate some of hers, if possible. He had failed badly last year, but would not do so now.

  “How does it feel to be worth over ten thousand pounds?” he asked, tearing his tie off. “I expect to get my money’s worth, you know. It was once very good between us, Laurette. I have fond memories.”

  Laurette sat up, pulling up the bodice of her dress, much to Con’s disappointment. “What is that scent?”

  “Incense, my dear. Do you like it? It burns in the brazier on the hearth.”

  The fire was roaring, just as he liked it. England was a cold and colorless place after his time in the Orient. While he had abstained from many of the delights of the East, he had been enamored by the smells and tastes, the vibrant hues and decorative patterns. He knew people muttered “Mad Marquess” behind his back, but he was damned if he would return to the half-life he’d had when he was first married. Every blandly fashionable thing that Marianna had purchased to decorate his houses had been carted off as soon as he stepped foot on English soil. The only trace of her lay in the color of his son’s eyes.

  “I do. It smells like a gentleman’s cologne.”

  Con experienced a twinge of jealousy. From what he knew, Laurette had lived like a nun. He did not care to think of her nose buried in the crook of some gentleman’s neck as she inhaled the vapors from his body.

  “I prefer it to all others. I’m glad you approve. I shall need help with my boots.” He sat down on a crewel-work chair.

  He had shed everything save his shirt, breeches and boots. Once Laurette was at his feet, she couldn’t possibly miss his nearly painful arousal. Now it was Con’s turn to close his eyes to banish the sinful vision of her on her
knees from his fevered brain. He was intent on her pleasure tonight as well as his own.

  He heard the rustle of her silk skirts as she slid from the satin and velvet bedcovers. He would dress—and undress—undress to perfection, jewel-like colors to showcase the gold of her hair and blue of her eyes. If anything, she was more beautiful to him than she had been before, not that society would count her amongst its diamonds. Her brow was too fierce, her mouth too wide, her nose and cheeks and décolletage spangled with freckles that she still, he could see, took pains to hide. He had once seen the freckles everywhere, had traced them with his fingers and tongue as she writhed beneath him.

  He laughed as she tugged off his second boot, landing ingloriously on her rump. He extended a hand to her.

  “Now it’s my turn to help you undress, but I expect to find you completely naked and willing when I come to you in the future.”

  Laurette turned her back to him, ramrod straight. “I trust you’ll set a schedule for me. I’m not going to prance around nude all day.”

  Con set to unfasten the tiny row of pearl-like buttons. There were far too many of them for his liking. “Perhaps I will permit you a robe, then. Something sheer and easily removed. One never knows when I will wish to slake my hunger for you.”

  Laurette turned around angrily, causing a button to come off between his fingers.

  “You are joking!”

  “I am not, madam. Oh, rest assured, your wardrobe will be full of dresses to wear if we go out, but behind the door of your new house you are to be absolutely available to me at any time of the night or day.”

  “But—but what about the servants? Or aren’t I to have any?”

  “I’ve hired a completely discreet couple. They are aware of my predilections.”

  “You are inhuman! I will not consent to such a thing!”

  “Let me refresh your memory. Ten thousand pounds is at stake, Laurette. And Vincent Lodge. I believe it requires extensive renovation. I shall see to it.”

  “It’s flat-out blackmail. And the lodge belongs to Charlie, the utter worm. I don’t care if it falls down around his ears.”

  Con smiled and put the loose button on the bedside table. “There. That’s more like the old you. I see you haven’t lost all your temper.”

  “You’ve not begun to see it!”

  He watched as Laurette looked around the room rather wildly. Con believed she was very close to finding something to throw. His possessions were valuable, his servants extraordinarily light sleepers and quite devoted to him. He pulled her close.

  “You are my mistress, Laurette. I have my requirements, and you have your duties to fill. You may not always like them, but you will bow to my will in this and all things.”

  She looked up at him, her blue eyes now gray with tears. “And if I don’t? Shall you send Charlie to the Fleet and me along with him? I don’t believe you will, Con. Not even you could be so heartless.”

  “Don’t tempt me, Laurette. You have forgotten about the child.”

  “Beatrix!” she hissed. “Leave her alone as you left the rest of us!”

  Con clamped his mouth shut in fury. In her eyes, he would always be the one who walked away from his vows. All of them. She cut him to the core because she was right.

  This evening was a shambles. He was a cur for using Beatrix Isabella Vincent, the one pure thing between them, to manipulate her into his bed. A desperate fool, as well, because he would get her there any way that worked. His need was so strong his honor was but a distant memory.

  “Let’s not put my resolve to the test. I don’t think either of us would care for the results,” Con said at last, releasing her. He watched as she tore into the rest of her clothes, tossing them to the floor.

  “There!” she spat. “I am naked. Use me as you will.”

  Despite the danger, Con laughed. “My little martyr, Saint Laurette. I believe there is a special place in hell for the both of us, but I intend to take you to heaven first.”

  He chuckled again as she snorted, turning his back to shuck the rest of his clothes. He was embarrassed by the evidence of his eagerness. “Get in bed,” he ground out. He had not dared to look at her long in her defiant fury, her white skin speckled with gold in the lamplight, her eyes more brilliant in their scorn.

  No, this evening was turning into a disaster of the very first order.

  He heard her flip back the covers, tumbling the embroidered pillows to the floor. One came very near him. At least she was throwing things not apt to attract the attention of his staff. Tomorrow night would be better, as they would be in their own haven. He must remember to present the key to her new house to her before he sent her back to her brother’s lodgings.

  The key. That reminded him. His desk drawer key was still in the pocket of his waistcoat, as well as a tiny yellowed sheer muslin bag stitched full of tarnished beads, and a flat pinkish rock. It would not do for Laurette to find any of them in the night and for him to lose some of his advantages. She need not know about the other weapons in his arsenal yet. He swung a picture from a wall and opened his safe. He heard another snort as he placed the items safely atop some papers and bank notes.

  “You don’t trust me?”

  Con shrugged. “Perhaps I don’t trust myself. One night with you might drive all sensible thought out of my head, and I might release you from your obligations.”

  “A man like you can surely find other female company.”

  “One would think so.” He joined her under the covers, covers which she had drawn up to her stubborn Vincent chin. He’d seen quite a bit of that chin lately as he watched Charlie dig an ever deeper hole for himself. But the nights with the young idiot were more than worth it now that he had achieved Laurette’s concession. She was where she belonged, even if she didn’t know it.

  “What do you mean to have me do, my lord?” she asked, a look of clear indifference upon her face.

  “I want you to lie absolutely still.”

  Laurette looked at him, frowning now. No doubt that was what she planned to do in a hopeless attempt to depress his ardor. “Is this a trick? Don’t gentlemen expect some sort of response from their whores?”

  “You are not a whore! You are my lover, and my wish is for you to lie quietly. I want to reacquaint myself with your body. It has been too long.”

  “Not long enough,” she muttered.

  “Hush. Not a sound.” Con peeled the coverlet away. Her own scent of rosewater and woman entranced him. Her breasts were fuller than he remembered, although the rest of her seemed too lean. He must fatten her up. With another child soon, he hoped. He brushed the powder from her chest with a linen handkerchief. “No more maquillage, Laurette. You are fine as you are.” He didn’t want to taste the bitterness of her rouge and powder, but wanted to see every inch he had worked so tirelessly to buy into his bed.

  Every cell inside him screamed to fuck her, and fuck her fast. Yet he needed to ration his touch or everything he’d planned would be ruined. With one fingertip he lightly tapped the tip of her freckled nose, then slid down the gentle indentation over her mouth. He rested on the artificial color of her upper lip for a moment before he blotted it away with the handkerchief. Her lips parted as he removed the rest and then his finger returned to stroke the moist edge of her lower lip. She snapped her lips shut, inadvertently trapping him in side. Her tongue retreated, so he settled for a quick sweep of her teeth before he extricated himself.

  “Are you buying a horse, my lord?”

  “You are not to move or speak, remember?”

  He continued to draw his invisible line upon the bone of her stubborn chin, its soft underside and down the column of her throat. He paused between the V of her collar bone, which was far too visible for his liking. The gap between her breasts was warm, her heartbeat faint. Her nipples had stiffened with the tickling sensation, but he resolutely stuck to his path. He dipped straight down her flat stomach to her navel and swirled a bit, just for a change of pace. Glancing
up, he saw her golden eyebrows were contracted. They needed plucking, but that could wait for Nadia. Laurette’s eyes were closed but she was paying close attention. He angled his finger slightly until his nail joined the procession down her belly to the golden curls at the juncture of her thighs.

  Her hair there was unbearably fine and soft. But he had other plans for it. He combed through, still with just one very fortunate finger.

  “The concubines remove this. You will also. To make it easier for me.”

  The shock on her face was comical. “You are mad.”

  He only smiled. “So they say. Mad enough to bind and gag you if you not hold your tongue and obey me.” She went silent beneath him. Soon he would make it impossible for her to stay silent.

  He hovered over her bud. Was it his imagination, or did Laurette strain up a fraction of an inch to give him access? No matter. It was far too soon. He leaned back, observing his handiwork. It seemed to him she was not quite so sacrificial. There was the slightest gap between her thighs and she no longer clenched her hands into the bedcovers. His fingertip slowly retraced its assault back up to her nose, omitting the sidetrip into the warm haven of her mouth.

  When his tongue replaced his finger, he felt her quiver beneath him. He licked her lips but didn’t try to kiss her yet, being mindful of her strong white teeth. He valued his tongue and had further use of it. She swallowed hard as he laved her throat. When it came to the hollow between her breasts, he decided it was time to make a quick departure from his previous route. Gently pinching the bud of one breast, he lazily suckled the other. He felt her hand tentative on his shoulder and shook it off.

  “Be still or I will stop.” He could tell she longed to tear a strip off his hide, but subsided into silence as his tongue trailed from her breasts to the sweet indentation of her navel.

  Now it was time. His tongue nearly skipped as he headed south, his hands parting her folds, smoothing the gold from the pink. Her sharp intake of breath was as gratifying as the moisture slicking his fingers and tongue. He settled between her ivory thighs, hoping she wouldn’t decide to use them as a vise on his poor, addled head. He was where he’d dreamed of being so long he could scarcely believe this night was true. But he wasn’t here to gawp in wonder as he inhaled the drugging rose scent of her body, or to question his sanity or his luck.