Midnight Without a Moon

by Emma Wildes

  Not at all certain what to say, Jessica stayed silent, feeling the sway of the very elegant carriage as they rolled along the cobbled streets.

  Her life back in Kent, threaded as it had been with desperation and secrets, suddenly seemed much, much simpler.

  Chapter 8

  The night breeze smelled like fall, all narcotic leaves and dying flowers, drifting through the open set of French doors that led to the balcony off his bedroom. Trenton felt it brush his sweat-sheened skin as he thrust back into the hot, wet passage of the woman on her hands and knees in front of him. His hands cradled her slim hips, his tanned fingers stark against the pale perfection of smooth skin. Jessica’s silken hair spread over her graceful back in a luxuriant curtain. With each plunge of his hard cock into her body, she made a low, sexy noise deep in her throat, her inner muscles clenching against the carnal invasion, her body moving forward a fraction despite her braced arms.

  He liked taking her this way, he decided in pure unadulterated sexual bliss, from behind so he could feel the press of her soft bottom against his stomach. She certainly seemed to like it as well, for he felt the liquid heat of her arousal coating his stiff shaft, and heard the rising moans of her approaching climax.

  Sliding one hand around her thigh, he fingered the swollen bud between her legs as he gave a hard, deep push. She cried out in pleasure, falling forward as her vaginal walls rippled and milked him, her delectable bottom in the air as she convulsed and shook. Waiting until her orgasmic rush subsided, Trenton deliberately controlled his own roaring need for release and began to move again, in slow long strokes, in and out of her still pulsing vagina.

  “No,” she moaned. “Trenton, please. Oh…God in heaven.”

  “You want me to stop?” he asked on a low laugh, certain of his answer.

  “Yes…No…I can’t take it.” A gasp.

  In a sensual, dark whisper, he leaned forward and said in her ear, “But you are taking it, taking me, every inch. God, it feels good when you come. I’m barely hanging on as it is, sweetheart. Do it again, and take me with you, Jess.”

  She obliged him in only seconds, making tight fistfuls of the bed linens as she found that sublime pinnacle once more with a helpless scream. When he felt his cock squeezed by those exquisite, involuntary inner tremors, he couldn’t help but pour into her with a tumultuous, rapturous release, his orgasm violent and wild, leaving his muscles shaking as Trenton spun away to the heavens and then fell slowly back to earth.

  Brushing the tumble fall of hair from her back, he kissed her nape before gently sliding free. Falling onto his back, he could not help but let a small laugh rumble from his chest. “For a man who avoided marriage for so long,” he admitted candidly, trying to catch his breath, “I am certainly enjoying the devil out of my honeymoon.”

  “I’m pretty sure the term devil is appropriate somewhere in any sentence where you mention yourself,” his beautiful wife muttered dryly, with the usual candor he found refreshingly different from all the ton beauties who simpered and cajoled and placated so skillfully.

  Chuckling, he slowly traced the elegant curve of her spine, her slender, supine form still face down and relaxed. “Since we are just newly wed, I suppose I should have taken you somewhere. Italy, perhaps, or Greece. I’m sorry. Since everything was so rushed, it never occurred to me.”

  “Since you didn’t plan on getting married in the first place, I hardly think I can fault you, my lord.” Rolling over, Jessica gave him a sleepy smile. “If most honeymoons are like ours, I would guess a bed in London suffices as well as a bed in Athens or Delphi. Since our outing to see your mother the other day, we have barely left the house.”

  It was true. They’d been in London a week now, and he kept her up half the night and most of the day, making love to her with an enthusiastic and insatiable hunger that startled and almost alarmed him. He monopolized her time—and body—with a completely uncharacteristic need for something he had never desired before. The odd thing was, it wasn’t all sexual, though it was hard to define exactly. He liked her company; that was certainly part of it; he always had liked her, even when she was just a rebelliously mischievous child. Jessica was also intelligent and refreshingly unspoiled, which might be what he found so captivating.

  Bloody hell, he chided himself instantly. Stop trying to elevate lust into something more. He’d been infatuated before, but always mildly so, with easy detachment waiting in the wings. This was more intense, but then again, this situation was certainly different since she was actually his wife.

  Part of it was her undeniable beauty, and the fact that few women—and he was no novice when it came to the fairer sex—had her open and undisguised sensuality. He was a lucky man because his pretty, young bride liked sex. In fact, he’d go so far as to say she loved sex. More than once, he’d been the one awakened by her light, persuasive touch, even when he’d thought they were both exhausted and spent. Any guilt he felt for his persistent passion was assuaged easily by her eager response to his lovemaking.

  It was simple if one viewed it from a practical male perspective. He liked fucking her, and she most delightfully liked it when he did so.

  “Still,” he said, shaking off his unwanted musings, “you are a new bride, and all women, or so I’m told, have romantic notions about what their weddings should be like. Since ours was certainly simple, what can I give you? The Declan jewels are quite a collection already, but perhaps I should have something commissioned for you alone. A necklace? Do you fancy diamonds, Jess?”

  Her smooth brow creased. “Don’t be ridiculous, Trenton. I know for a fact that you have paid off my father’s debts. My mother wrote me, and she is infinitely relieved and happy. That is a gift I cherish more than some glittering bauble.”

  As he could easily afford it, he merely shrugged, reaching over and palming the soft weight of one of her splendid breasts, lightly toying with the rosy nipple. “An indefinite loan, made to your brother, which we can settle when Bonaparte is defeated, and he comes home from this hellish war. I would have done it long ago had I known. It has little to do with you. Come on, Jess. All women love pretty things. Give me a hint, sweetheart.”

  Supple and lissome, her luscious, nude body was pale in the starlight, giving the bedroom a shrouded glow. Her dark blue eyes were half-closed, shielded by her long lashes. “I think you have been generous enough. I shudder to think what the dressmaker’s bill will turn out to be. New things are delivered everyday.”

  “My mother’s gratification, not yours.” Trenton couldn’t help it. .His voice tinged with irony. “As for bills, you should see hers. My father left her an allowance from the estate, generous to my mind, but she never fails to overspend. I am expected, naturally, to make up the difference. I think she does it to spite him, even in his grave.”

  “Though I don’t know any details, it does seem to me that their relationship might have been less than perfect,” Jessica murmured tactfully, watching him touch her from under those half-lowered lashes.

  That was enough of an understatement that Trenton laughed out loud and lightly squeezed the satin mound in his hand. “She despised him as a profligate rogue. And he loathed her, as well, for her prudish social snobbishness and pretension. I suppose it is my misfortune that I look exactly like him, at least in her eyes. It does not endear me to her, in case you didn’t notice during our excruciating session a few days ago.”

  “I noticed.” Jessica’s face was shadowed, her expression unreadable. “It’s patently unfair to blame a child for the father’s sins.”

  “I so agree, but I am a man now, and it no longer bothers me.” It wasn’t precisely the truth, for he found his mother’s constant pointed barbs stinging, but long ago he stopped trying to win her approval. Letting his hand wander, Trenton ran lazy fingers along her ribcage, over the smooth plane of her stomach, to between his wife’s slim inner thighs, feeling the slickness of his spilled sperm with a surprising sense of satisfaction. “I never really thought about
having children before, except, I suppose, in the abstract sense that I am supposed to do so someday.”

  “Neither had I.” Her breath caught audibly as he lightly caressed her damp pubic hair, running a fingertip along the slightly swollen, very lubricated lips of her sex. Her thighs parted immediately to allow his touch, and Jessica’s full breasts quivered in reaction to his carnal exploration as he began to stroke her labia. He parted the folds, revealing the tender pink flesh between, the saturated tissue so soft and inviting.

  Trenton grinned as he found her female opening and slid a long finger deep inside. “As often as we seem to repeat the process necessary for procreation, I don’t suppose it will take long for you to conceive.”

  “You are rather demanding.”

  “And you are simply too tempting to resist.” She was slick and welcoming, the sight of his hand between her legs very arousing. “You feel like warm satin inside,” he said huskily, testing the soft give of her vaginal walls. “I can’t quite believe it, but I’m getting hard again just from touching you.”

  “That’s good,” Jessica said on a soft pant, “for while your finger is nice, my lord, it certainly doesn’t compare to another part of your anatomy.”

  “My, my, Lady Declan. What a luridly suggestive thing to say.” Trenton grinned, her intemperate enjoyment of his manual manipulation infinitely arousing when her hips lifted and twisted as she clenched against his invading touch. “However, since you seem so very wet and primed and ready, I might be able oblige you again with that particular anatomical organ you mention. It feels nearly ready. How does it look?”

  Her dark blue gaze moved to where his penis lengthened against his stomach, rising higher with each second, which was amazing considering the recent sexual excess of the past hours. “It looks very promising,” she whispered, opening her thighs suggestively wider, her spread legs an implicit invitation.

  He hardened further with predictable desire. This time, when he entered her, it was with a leisurely penetration that flooded his senses. He kissed her as he moved in a slow rhythm in and out, sweet long languorous kisses that matched the muted starlight outside the windows of the townhouse. London slept as he gave his bride pleasure and tenderness, and when they both reached the erotic paradise of sexual fulfillment, he found himself drifting to sleep in the tangle of her pale hair, the sweet scent from her skin intoxicating his nostrils, his arms unwilling to relinquish the soft weight of her body as she sighed against his neck and snuggled against him.

  It’s never been quite like this, the alarming, wayward thought crossed his mind again just before he sank deeply into slumber.

  * * * *

  The afternoon sun warmed the oriental carpeting and fell in blocks across the informal parlor, though the air outside was chilly. A small fire crackled in the hearth. Gage Reichert sat back comfortably on a velvet-covered settee and tried to stifle his guilt over the covert reason for this little gathering.

  At least his wife was behaving herself and being gracious, though she had certainly initially resisted the idea of the Earl of Declan and his new bride coming over for afternoon tea. Her friendship with Alison might suffer, she pointed out, but he had countered with the logical argument that his friendship with Trent was just as important, and Dorothy had grudgingly agreed. Luckily, the two women seemed to be conversing amiably enough, and he knew at heart that Dorothy was fair-minded and would judge Jessica on her own merits if prodded that direction. Sitting next to one another on a low patterned sofa by the tea trolley, they were a study in the contrasts of feminine beauty; his wife lushly full-figured, her face healthily pretty, her long chestnut curls piled on top of her head, while the new Lady Declan was so slender and blonde.

  Gage sipped from his cup, wondering exactly how he was going to pull off a direct communication with Trenton’s wife, especially when his friend couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. It was subtle, but unmistakable, how her new husband watched Jessica Wyatt’s every move. To say that Gage was surprised at the obvious infatuation was an understatement. He’d seen besotted men before, but Trenton? Never.

  His icy cold mother had drilled it into his head since he could walk that he was certain to turn out to be a lascivious rakehell like his father, and from sheer repetition, Trenton had apparently finally believed her and done his best to fulfill that prophecy. The fact that Trent was actually very different in personality from his careless, irresponsible parent seemed to be overlooked by them both, but Gage had never thought his friend shallow, nor selfishly unfeeling and cold. Quite the opposite. However, that Trent was wary of committing himself to a lasting relationship was hardly a surprise, given his parent’s animosity toward each other.

  It looked remarkably like his hasty marriage to the new countess might just change all that, and Gage was delighted for him.

  It made him even more deeply concerned over her involvement in something that might put her life at risk, but it couldn’t be helped. He had his orders, and if he refused, that sly old fox Farin would simply send someone else to approach her. As it was, revealing his own identity to the lady in question was probably risky, but he felt it was the best course of action. All he needed was a few moments alone with her.

  Setting aside his cup, he drawled into a lull in the conversation, “Trenton tells me you are a country girl at heart and find London a bit oppressive, Lady Declan. Surely you have some kind words about our fair city.”

  Gorgeous in a deep rose afternoon dress that flattered her undeniably shapely body and set her unusual pale gold hair to advantage, she turned to him and smiled. Her eyes were also remarkable, a very dark blue, and her gaze direct. Jessica Wyatt said wryly, “I am spoiled by all that fresh air and green pastures I am used to, sir. But truly, I don’t know that I’ve seen that much of London to be a judge of what I like best.”

  The swift glance she exchanged with her husband was both warm and intimate, and left little doubt why she hadn’t been flitting around town and seeing the sights. Gage laughed, remarking dryly, “No, I think that is understandable. However, we have something that might make you feel a little like you are at home. In the countryside, there are always animals of some sort underfoot. Tell me, my lady, do you like puppies?”

  Sitting in a wing chair, his long legs crossed at the ankle, Trenton lifted a brow. “Don’t tell me your spaniel bitch had an illicit love affair, Gage?”

  “Apparently so, though we were unaware if it.”

  “I’d love to see them,” Jessica said, her expression animated. “I adore puppies, but I then again, I can’t imagine who doesn’t.”

  “I don’t, I’m afraid.” Dorothy wrinkled her brow apologetically. “They make me sneeze dreadfully, so I can’t even as much as touch one. But certainly, if you would like to see them, Gage must take you. Rita has them hidden in the garden, but she’ll let Gage visit, for that dog absolutely adores him. Trenton and I will stay here where it is warm and comfortable and devour more of Cook’s lemon tarts.”

  Gage rose, thinking with satisfaction that his pretty wife couldn’t have done better if he’d asked her to. He had no idea if Trenton found puppies interesting in the least, but now he had no choice but to stay and keep Dorothy polite company. “I think you might want your cloak,” he remarked to Jessica. “It is a bit chilly this afternoon. I’ll be right back.”

  A few minutes later, with her dark blue cloak settled around her slender shoulders, he escorted the countess into the garden, the drooping flowers evidence of the cold nights they’d had recently, his breath just slightly misting the air.

  As soon as they were well away from the house, he said without preamble, “I am Oxbow.”

  Glancing up sharply, Jessica Wyatt looked at him with amazed confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

  Coolly—and rapidly—since they certainly shouldn’t be gone any length of time, he expounded, “I am Oxbow, the man who first contacted you months ago to ask about decoding the messages. We have since exchanged nearly a dozen communicat
ions, my lady.”

  One hand strayed to her throat, clutching her cloak together as she stared and stammered, “You? Are you serious? You must be, for how else do you know? Does Trenton know this?”

  “Not bloody likely, if you’ll excuse my language. Secrecy is a must in my line of work, I’m afraid,” Gage answered bluntly. “You have been a great help to us, Lady Declan. When your brother wrote and explained that he thought your unique gift with numbers might help us, I was dubious, I admit. But you are a marvel, Madame, if I may say so, and I have been pressured to beg you to continue your service to the Crown, despite your recent marriage.”

  So fair and lovely, she simply gazed up at him for a long moment, and Gage felt he could almost see the transient flow of emotions mirrored in her eyes. Then she said in a subdued voice, “I did it before because anything that would help finish this war would bring Stephen home. I accepted money because we needed it, but that is no longer the case. If I do continue, I am simply a volunteer, agreed?”

  “That would make it simpler, actually. One less link from us to you.”

  “I have a feeling Trenton will be fearfully angry if he finds out.” Her voice quivered slightly.

  “With us both,” Gage agreed grimly, “but he is really the least of our worries. This task involves some risk, my lady. I am sure your brother thought you would be perfectly safe squirreled away in Kent, your identity unknown, but apparently, rumors started to surface anyway. Unfortunately, the easiest means of moving the messages to you were through characters that might be loyal to the crown, but also not of the highest moral fiber. By nature of their chosen trade, they move secretly up and down the coast, so they are useful. But they are not trained soldiers, and one of them must have talked about you.”

  “I did my best to disguise myself, but running around the countryside masked and cloaked is not all that easy, sir.” Jessica’s smile was rueful.