Dark Angel (Entangled Edge)

by TJ Bennett

  His grip on my back brought me flush against him. His hardness pressed against me, making me quake down to my knees. “You have come to show me what I might have had if I had chosen differently. I cannot bear it. I might have done so, once, was prepared to. But now,” he said roughly, “now I will risk anything to have you. And you must not let me.” His hold on me became almost painful, his voice harsh and low. “Run from me, Catherine, for your own sake.”

  He frightened and confused me. I did not understand him. No one had ever looked at me the way he did, not even Jonathan. Gerard consumed me with his gaze every time he turned my way.

  But why did he think he was being punished? “Why are you bad for me, Gerard? What have you done?”

  “Nothing.” He released me abruptly. “Go. While you still can.”

  I stumbled back, knowing I should heed his warning, knowing I should run, but he was man in such pain I could not bear to turn away. I could not bear to see his anguish. I could not bear to leave him alone.

  Slowly, I reached out and touched his face, my fingers trembling. He closed his eyes as though my touch was unbearable to him, but when he opened them again, I saw gratitude and fury and resignation mixed into a potent brew.

  “You see,” he whispered, “I have done my duty to you. I have warned you for the last time, and now you have no excuse. I vowed to protect you, but I am not strong enough to protect you from me.”

  He dipped his head and captured my mouth. The sweet longing of his kiss tempted me even more than his fierce passion could have. The flower bushes rustled; a strange wind kicked up the tree branches overhead. Petals showered us, landing in feathered caresses on his black hair and my flushed cheeks. He moved back, pulling me with him until we bumped against a secluded stone bench away from the garden path, then settled down upon it. He drew me onto his lap, never letting go, never breaking the kiss, his deft fingers roaming over me, leaving trails of fiery heat in their wake.

  I lifted my head, gasping as his mouth pressed against the hollow of my throat, at the feel of his hard thighs beneath me.

  “You are seducing me,” I said stupidly.

  “Yes.” He gently bit my earlobe. “I am.”

  “Don’t…” But I gripped his head, kissing his warm temples, threading my fingers through his thick hair, the need to hold him, sooth him, comfort him with my body overwhelming me. His woodsy scent, tantalizing and persuasive, mingled with the floral bouquet and enveloped me. “It would be wrong.”

  “I know,” he rasped. “I am a dark devil. But you are my angel of light, soft as a raindrop, sweet as morning dew…” He murmured his absurd and beautiful poetry in my ear.

  I nearly submerged beneath the tide of his emotions when, intoxicating me with pleasure, he turned his head and licked his way into my mouth as though I were a dish of cream.

  Somehow I found the strength to pull away, panting softly. “I am no angel. I have done terrible things.”

  “Nothing you could do would ever be terrible,” he whispered. “You’re perfection. You’re brilliant.” His hand slid down my hip. Whatever momentary attack of conscience he’d had seemed to have left him. His fingers moved lower, stroked over my stocking-covered calf, then wrapped around my ankle. “I’ve waited so long for you, only for you.”

  His passion bewildered me. “Why me, Gerard? What possible interest could I hold for you?”

  His deep chuckle flowed over me. “Don’t you know?” He nuzzled my ear. “You are my equal. You’re independent, loyal to a fault, and so stalwart in the face of danger. ”

  I stared at him, not able to believe his description of me. “So is a good hunting dog, but I am the one in your lap.”

  He burst into laughter. “Oh, Cat, you make me smile when nothing else can. You please my soul. And unlike a good hunting dog, you have lips that were made for kissing.”

  Petals floated off his hair and landed between my breasts where the cameo hid, burning my skin with its presence.

  I smiled, ignoring its message, for once, and Gerard’s wicked tongue was my reward. He kissed me, teased me, liquefying my resolve, heating my response while his fingers sought warm flesh, while his mouth roamed across my cheeks and over my eyes and against my lips.

  After all these years as a somber widow, I should have been ashamed to lie across his lap with my skirts rucked up to my knees while he crooned his admiration, but instead I felt desperate and treasured and not at all inclined to stop my slippery descent into sin.

  I pulsed with desire and squirmed on his lap until he grew hard beneath me.

  A low vibration emanated from his chest, a sound of luxury and approval somewhere between a growl and a purr. He pressed his cheek to mine. “Are you trying to tease me?”

  I nodded.

  His smile deepened.

  “I will teach you how to do it properly,” he rumbled, “to withdraw and tempt and take away what I want, only to give it back again at your whim.”

  “Later.” I hungrily turned his face to mine.

  “Later,” he agreed and kissed me so thoroughly I forgot to breathe.

  He did not have me then, although I do not know how he found the strength to restrain himself. I had no notion of doing it, God knows. Instead, he kissed me once more, smoothed my skirts down, and rose with me in his arms as though he were a pirate about to carry me off like newfound treasure.

  However, as fate would have it, Jeffries interrupted us. He could not have seen us in our secluded spot, but the entire household probably knew where we had gone. He called out from the door set into the garden wall.

  “Master? Mrs. Blackpot has come at your instruction. Shall I tell her to wait or to return tomorrow?”

  Gerard dropped his forehead against mine with a groan. “Damn my efficient minions to a fiery and everlasting hell. I’d already forgotten about that woman.” He looked at me, his gaze sparking with heat. “I will tell him to send her away.”

  I bit my lip, my arms clinging around his neck. “It would be rude. They probably roused her from a dead sleep as it was. I had no idea they would bring her here tonight. Most decent people are in bed at this hour.”

  “Which explains why we are out here,” he quipped.

  “Hmm. Yes, I suppose it does.” Still, I did not think it would be right to send her away. “Jeffries,” I called, “do tell Mrs. Blackpot we will see her in a few minutes, won’t you?”

  Jeffries hesitated a long moment before speaking again. “Very good, madam. I shall put her in the Blue Room.” I heard the door close, indicating he had left.

  Gerard cocked an eyebrow. “Now he is taking orders from you. You are masterful in your own right, little cat. I sometimes feel the strongest urge to obey you myself.”

  He set me on my feet. My knees wobbled but held.

  “Go meet your Mrs. Blackpot.” He took a steadying breath. “I, however, am forced to demur. I am in no condition to receive company.” He pressed a kiss to my brow and whispered into my ear. “I will come to your room later and ravish you. Do not say no, because I will not listen. I have quite decided, and I always get my way.”

  Gazing at him steadily, I suspected I would regret this—but not tonight. The lure of a night of passion with Gerard was too strong. I had a new understanding of the mistakes Jonathan had made when he had turned to another woman and why. But I was with Gerard now, and his smile was brilliant in the moonlight.

  My heart stuttered to a stop and tumbled headlong at his feet.

  “Wait for me,” he called softly over his shoulder as he disappeared into the night.

  I had no idea if we had any future together, but I would not dwell on that shadowy unknown for now.

  Tonight, I intended to be with the enigmatic man I was already half in love with.

  But first I had to deal with Mrs. Blackpot.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Returning to the house, I attempted to pull myself together, twisting my hair, which had unraveled because of Gerard’s questing fingers, back u
p into its chignon and stabbing it into place with the few pins I could find. I smoothed the wrinkles out of my crushed skirts and located a tall mirror in the corridor.

  My green eyes were bright, the color in my normally pale cheeks heightened. My hair was mussed, untamed fiery tendrils trailing around my face and neck. My lips, swollen from Gerard’s kisses, had taken on the color of ripe berries.

  There was no hope for it. I looked like a woman who had been tumbled.

  I sighed. Perhaps Mrs. Blackpot, never having met me before, would not notice. I tried not to think of what I would look like in the morning after Gerard was through with me. And then tried not to dwell on whatever iniquitous plans he had for me tonight, but it was rather like telling oneself not to think of elephants. One immediately began picturing pachyderms.

  A thrill of exhilaration went through me as I recalled the smoldering heat of his gaze before he’d departed. I was terribly conventional. And yet, perhaps it was high time for a bit of adventure in the long-neglected amorous area of my life. However, the fact that Gerard honored no personal boundaries, had a vivid imagination, and wielded magic at his fingertips was enough to give any ordinary woman pause.

  I took a deep breath and fanned my hot face with my hands, forcing myself to think of more immediate concerns, such as meeting the midwife and discovering how to stop the stillbirths on Ynys Nos. That thought returned me to a somber state and, somewhat more resolved, I went to meet Mrs. Blackpot.

  Jeffries awaited me in the main hall guiding me to the Blue Room with a bland expression as though he had no inkling his master and his master’s houseguest had been wrapped around each other amongst the flower beds only minutes before.

  When I moved past him toward the entrance of the Blue Room, he cleared his throat pointedly.

  I stopped. “Yes, Jeffries?”

  “If I may, madam,” he said, coming up behind me. “It is necessary for me to briefly touch your person, if you do not object. I assure you, this is required only as a consequence of my obligation to serve you at my master’s behest.”

  I quizzed him with a frown. “Whatever are you on about, Jeffries?”

  His hands were poised at my back. “If I may, madam?”

  “Very well.”

  He tugged at the back of my gown, and my face flooded with heat as I realized a few of my buttons must have been undone. Jeffries admirably performed the duty of ladies’ maid, normally carried out by Mrs. Jones, then stepped around me and bowed. It was to his credit that he hadn’t sent for Mrs. Jones in the first place. Probably an attempt to save whatever reputation I had left.

  “Thank you, Jeffries,” I murmured as I walked to the door, my cheeks burning with chagrin. It was one thing for the servants to guess at what I had been about; it was another entirely for me to give evidence against myself.

  “Think nothing of it, madam,” he said softly, then opened the door and announced me to the woman within the room decorated in pale hues of blue watered silk.

  The brunette standing before me appeared to be in her midforties, apart from the fact that she was at least one hundred years older. She had been handsome once, but a life of hardship had etched itself in lines around her mouth and eyes. The woman was tall and buxom, her features sharp, and her black eyes narrowed in suspicion as I entered the room.

  I smiled by way of greeting and motioned for her to take a seat. She did so, perching stiffly on the edge of a horsehair chair and glaring at me.

  I noted the old-fashioned cap of ruffled linen into which she’d tucked her curly hair, the rough hands, the blunt nails. She’d donned a sack-backed gown of brown serge with plain winged cuffs on her sleeves; side hoops held out her petticoats. The fashion might have been from the middle part of the last century, though I could not be certain. The fabric looked as though it had been turned more than once.

  I sat down opposite her, hoping to hurry the interview as much as possible so that I might return to Gerard.

  She stifled a yawn, and I was instantly contrite.

  “Mrs. Blackpot, I do apologize for rousing you at such a late hour. I am afraid there was some miscommunication on my part with the servants. I would be pleased to visit with you at your convenience tomorrow.”

  “Well, I’m here now. Best get on with it.” She squinted at me. “You’re a nurse, I hear. So, I’m to be shoved aside to make way for the master’s lady-dove? Is that his reward to Mrs. Blackpot for all her faithful service?”

  Stunned, I hastened to correct her misguided impression. “Firstly, I am not his lady-dove, by any means.”

  At least not yet.

  Is that what they were saying about me in the village? I cringed. “I am the master’s temporary guest until I can find a way to return home. And secondly, I have no desire to take your livelihood from you. I only wished to ask you a few questions and to offer a suggestion or two to aid you in performing your duties.”

  She stared at me, still full of suspicion.

  I leaned forward in my chair, trying to convince her of my good intentions. “I have certain knowledge to which you, having been isolated here for so long, may not have access. My only hope is that our talk will be beneficial to your clients. Nothing more.”

  She frowned. “Not sure I understand, but that’s all right. As long as I’m not to be thrown out like a dirty old rag, I’ll listen right enough.” She clasped her hands beneath her generous bosom. “What is it you’re wanting to know?”

  I tried not to take exception to her attitude. She had thought she was to lose her profession. “Please do not take offense at what I am about to say. I promise as well that everything we discuss will remain between us, so you have no need to fear reprisal.” I cleared my throat. “Reliable sources advise me that you counsel the women here on contraception. Would you mind telling me which methods it is you suggest?”

  A knowing smile spread across her face. “Ah, so that’s the way of it, is it? Well, normally I charge for that advice, but seeing as how you belong to the master, I’ll let you have it for free.”

  Alarm spread through me. “No, that is not—”

  She touched a finger to her nose and nodded her head sagely. “Don’t you worry. Mrs. Blackpot is one to stay mum, you’ll see. No one will hear a word of it from me.”

  I rubbed my temple with one finger and sank back in my chair, realizing there was no point in contradicting her. She would not believe me, no matter how much I protested. I could only hope she would keep her word and be discreet.

  “The methods, Mrs. Blackpot.”

  “Right.” She rubbed her hands together and proceeded to enlighten me about lemons, beeswax plugs, and withdrawal.

  Good Lord. No wonder there were so many stillbirths. “Well. I am very glad we have met, Mrs. Blackpot. Shall I tell you about the method currently in use in London? It is much more successful if used faithfully.”

  She gave me a sideways look. “I suppose hearing about it wouldn’t do any harm.”

  It occurred to me then that Mrs. Blackpot might have a conflict of interest in providing reliable methods of contraception if her livelihood depended on being a midwife.

  “A wise woman such as yourself would be able to make a tidy profit from the knowledge I am about to share. It seems to me both men and women would clamor to acquire your expertise and pay handsomely for it. However, I would have to insist you charge according to their ability to pay and offer it to the poorest women for free. No one should be forced to endure the knowledge that the child growing in her womb will be born dead. Do we have an agreement?”

  Mrs. Blackpot sucked in her cheeks and thought for a moment. I could practically hear her calculating profit ratios in her head. “What’s the method?”

  “I first heard about it during my service as a nurse to Her Majesty’s army,” I explained. “I understand the French promulgated it almost two centuries ago to prevent the spread of syphilis amongst their army, hence its nickname, the French letter. It is a prophylactic.”

  S
he squinted again. “A pro-fer… what?”

  “A prophylactic. It is a flexible covering which can be fitted over the male member in order to prevent a man’s seed from entering the woman’s womb during intercourse.”

  Mrs. Blackpot gaped, then brayed a laugh and slapped her thigh. “Leave it to the Frogs to figure out something like that.”

  I could not suppress my smile. “I witnessed a demonstration of the manufacturing process. I would be happy to share the instructions with you, if you would be inclined to pursue this.”

  Her eyes gleamed, despite the danger implied in the venture. “Is it something we could manage here?”

  “The ingredients are commonly available: sheep intestines or goat bladders. You could make them without anyone in authority being the wiser. The trick is to properly cut, cleanse, and process the intestines, and of course, the storage and instructions for using the devices are critical. That would be where your guidance would be of most benefit to your clients.”

  Her eyebrows rose in acknowledgement, and I spent another half hour describing the process in greater detail, all the while checking to make certain we weren’t disturbed. She agreed to create an initial test batch of the French letters for my inspection as soon as I could get away. In my mind, we could not begin our project soon enough. Gerard and Matthew might not approve, but what they did not know could not hurt them, and would certainly help the women of Ynys Nos.

  Mrs. Blackpot finally took leave of me with a handshake, a much happier woman upon exiting than she had been upon arrival.

  I, however, was in an opposite frame of mine. My interview with the midwife had removed the hazy glow of seduction from my mind, clarifying my resolve.

  How could I justify counseling women against the consequences of sin when I so eagerly contemplated my own affair with Gerard? What had seemed adventurous and delicious less than an hour ago now faded into the tawdry transactions between men and women that had brought low so many a soiled dove.