Midnight Bride

by Marlene Suson

  Then he gathered her back in his arms and held her silently, comfortingly. Rachel did not know what to make of this man with his mercurial twists. One moment he was infuriating, the next charming. He had been by turns grim, angry, amused, protective, cynical, teasing, brusque, and gentle. His constantly changing manner toward her did nothing to quiet her own pain and roiling confusion. At this rate she would soon be ready for Bedlam.

  Both the afternoon and the coach grew progressively warmer. Maxi still slept on the seat opposite them. Jerome shed his riding coat.

  After a time, he observed, “You are too hot in that cloak. Why do you not take it off?”

  “I cannot with you sitting there.”

  He raised one golden eyebrow in challenge. “Why not?”

  “I have no gown. I am in my dressing sacque.”

  “I have seen you with less on.”

  “That was different,” she said in a strangled voice. Then she had thought that he cared about her. Now she knew better.

  “Why was it different?” he asked, sounding amused.

  No doubt he would laugh at her stupidity if she told him. Her chin raised defiantly. “Please, leave me alone.”

  Cursing under his breath, he signalled for the coach to stop. “As you wish,” he said brusquely. “I will finish our journey on Lightning.”

  He was out of the coach before it had fully stopped. As he mounted his chestnut stallion, Rachel heard Ferris say, “I am astonished you would leave Morgan behind.”

  “When he hears the details of my departure from Wingate Hall,” Jerome said sardonically, “be assured his curiosity will drive him post-haste to Parnlee after us.”

  Who was Morgan? Rachel wondered as she removed her cloak.

  The coach clattered forward. She immediately missed Jerome’s presence. She seemed to feel the bumps and jolts of the road more sharply without him. God help her, but she wanted this baffling, exasperating man.

  As Jerome rode beside his coach, he thought about the exquisite creature whom he was going to make his duchess. He knew it was a terrible mistake to marry such a beauty. It would only bring him unhappiness—even heartbreak.

  Yet he had no choice. He could not leave her at Wingate Hall for an unknown killer to claim her life.

  His discovery of the dead kittens had so shocked and horrified him that he had scarcely known what he was doing when he had marched into Rachel’s room and carried her down to his coach.

  His mind had been fixated on the single thought that he must get her away from Wingate Hall. If he had to marry her to do it, then he would. He would do anything to save her, but he had no time to consider why he was acting so unlike himself.

  He had seen the confusion he had caused Rachel mirrored in her eyes. Little did she know that he was even more confused by the contradictory emotions buffeting him. He was a man at war with himself.

  He would be marrying a woman who would no doubt bring him misery and he would be hurting another woman, Emily, who did not deserve such treatment. It was true that he had never made her a formal offer, but Emily had long expected he would. He did not delude himself into thinking that he loved her, but he felt guilty as hell. Emily was far too good a woman for him to hurt as he was being forced to do.

  What a coil, Jerome thought with a weary sigh. There was no honourable way out of it for him. So he had to do what was most important.

  And that was saving Rachel’s life.

  By marrying her, he would also be salvaging her reputation and quieting his own nagging conscience about having ruined her.

  He also intended to hold Morgan to his promise to give up his highwayman career. So several goods would come out of his marrying her, but Jerome had to admit that more than altruism was involved in his decision to marry Rachel.

  He could no longer deny to himself how much he wanted her. He had been shocked by the realization that he could not tolerate the thought of another man, even the brother he dearly loved, having her. He had thought bedding Rachel last night would cure him of his desire for her, but instead it had only intensified it.

  After he’d suggested she remove her cloak, the thought of seeing her enticing body again in her dressing sacque had made him so hot and hungry that he had not dared remain alone in the closed coach with her. He had jumped at the excuse to escape.

  He sighed. He might be able to hide the truth from Rachel, but he could no longer hide from himself that he had come to care for her far more than he should, fool that he was.

  But he would not let himself fall in love with her. The Duke of Westleigh must not be weak. If he loved her, this breathtaking creature would break his heart as surely as the sun sets each night.

  Chapter 19

  Rachel stirred groggily as strong arms lifted her from the coach seat where she was sleeping. The pleasant, spicy scent that enveloped her told her that she was in Jerome’s arms. She forced open her sleep-weighted eyes and saw that it was dark.

  They had stopped once earlier at a wayside inn for dinner. It had been dusk then. Since she had only her dressing sacque beneath her cloak, she could not go into a public place, and Ferris had brought her a tray of food.

  Although she had been too proud to ask Jerome, Rachel had secretly hoped that he would join her and eat in the coach. Instead he had said brusquely, “You need not worry that I will spoil your dinner by subjecting you to my unwelcome presence.”

  Hurt by his curtness, she could not bring herself to tell him she would actually welcome his company. So, while the men ate in the inn, she had dined in lonely solitude, which further depressed her flagging spirits.

  Within a few minutes of leaving the inn, the rocking and swaying of the coach had lulled her to sleep, and she had not awakened until Jerome had scooped her from the seat. It was so dark that she could make out no more than the outline of the structure to which he was carrying her.

  He stepped into a small, dimly lit entry and strode down the hall of what appeared to be a deserted cottage. She looked up at him questioningly.

  “We are at Parnlee,” he said as he carried her into a cosy bedroom.

  She looked around the comfortably furnished room with undisguised curiosity. “So this is your love nest.”

  A muscle in his jaw quivered. “No, it is one of my hunting boxes.”

  “You have more than one?”

  “Yes, but unlike your grandfather, I do not use them for assignations. You are the first woman I have ever brought here, or to any of them.”

  Rachel felt an odd burst of happiness at his words. She had seen no servants, but the covers on the large tester bed had been neatly folded back as though in preparation for their arrival.

  He laid her on the bed, removed the green cloak in which she was wrapped, and draped it over his arm. With the glimmer of a smile, lie said, “Now, my lady, you are my prisoner.”

  She gulped, wondering if he meant to treat her as she had him. “Are you going to tie me to the bed?”

  His face was unreadable. “Would you like that?”

  “No,” she cried in alarm. “No more than you did. Please, say you will not.”

  “I see no need to do so. You will not run away.”

  “You are very confident of that! Do you fancy yourself so irresistible that I could not possibly leave you?”

  “I should be so fortunate! No, my confidence is based on a much more mundane reality”

  “What is that?”

  His hot gaze ran appreciatively down her body. “Your lack of clothes.”

  “Oh-h-h-h,” she wailed as he turned and left the room, taking her cloak with him. She had forgotten that she had only her dressing sacque and her chemise.

  She rose from the bed, removed the sacque, and slipped back beneath the covers in her chemise.

  Staring up at the carved walnut canopy, she wondered whether Jerome would join her in it. Or would he ignore her as he had during the journey here? She thought of the previous night spent in his arms, and a little shiver of pleasure snake
d through her.

  But now Rachel was entirely in his power. That made her nervous and even a little frightened. Jerome had shown her so many different moods today that she no longer knew what to expect from him.

  The door opened and Jerome came in. Her nervousness expanded like a thunderhead in the afternoon sky, and she rolled on her side so that her back was toward him. She heard him moving about, then the bed dipped beneath his weight.

  Her apprehension got the better of her, and she tried to escape out the other side.

  He grabbed her chemise and hauled her back, rolling her over to face him. “Where do you think you are going?” he demanded as he drew her against the warmth of his powerful body.

  He was naked, she realized, and the heat of him through her shift made her pulse race.

  “Let me go,” she protested weakly.

  “No. We must talk.”

  “Here?” To Rachel’s embarrassment, her voice came out in a nervous squeak.

  “Why not, we seem to communicate better here than anywhere else,” he said wryly.

  “What did you wish to talk about, Your Grace?” Rachel was proud of how coolly she managed to ask that. He would never guess that his naked closeness was turning her to quavering jelly.

  “Us. After our scandalous departure from Wingate Hall, the sooner our wedding day the better.”

  “That day, Your Grace, will never come.”

  “Yes, it will,” he contradicted calmly. “You will marry me, if it takes me a year to convince you.”

  His certainty irritated her, yet she was afraid that if she stayed in his arms he could convince her of anything. She pushed away from him and levered herself into a sitting position. Pulling the covers up about her neck, she retorted, “A lifetime will not be long enough for you to convince me”

  “Hellsfire, you are as stubborn as I am,” he said ruefully. “God help our children. They will be mules.”

  Our children. The thought of having his children filled Rachel with such happiness and excitement that her eyes misted, and she looked away from him, unable to meet his gaze.

  Jerome sat up, placed his fingers lightly beneath her chin, and turned her face back toward hint He smiled at her, his eyes bottomless blue pools. “You like the thought of our children, do you not?” His voice was like midnight velvet.

  She did. Oh, yes, she did.

  He bent his head and kissed her lips, gently at first, then with a hot passion that fired her own.

  Hard as she tried to resist the persistent seduction of his mouth, she could not. Soon she was kissing him as hungrily as he was her.

  His arms went round her, holding her tightly against his warm, naked skin. She could feel his heart beating at a suddenly accelerated tempo against her breast. It pleased her to know she could have that effect on him.

  When at last he lifted his lips, he continued to hold her in the circle of his arms. “Now, my sweet temptation”—his voice was a warm, gentle caress against her cheek—”instead of cutting up at me, explain why you are suddenly so adverse to marrying me.”

  She threw her head back defiantly and glared at him. “You made it very clear that you do not want me. After insisting you would never marry me, suddenly you told me that you were going to marry me. Told me! You did not even deign to ask me. You are worse than Lord Felix.”

  “No, I am not,” he protested with an irresistible smile. “I never wear musk. Or diamonds. And I sure as hell am not marrying you to ornament my consequence.”

  “You are not marrying me at all!”

  Jerome gave her an amused, quizzical look. “Am I not?”

  Rachel was awash in confusion. This morning he had been adamant that he would never wed her. Now he was just as adamant that he would and the sooner the better. “Why are you suddenly so eager to marry me?”

  He hesitated, watching her through assessing eyes, as though he were weighing various answers, trying to decide which would be most effective with her.

  And, she thought bitterly, the only one that she wanted to hear—that he loved her—would never even occur to him.

  “My conscience would not permit me to leave you behind to face an uncertain future.” His fingertips brushed her cheek lightly. “I have never evaded my responsibilities. And I am responsible for ruining you.”

  Rachel’s heart and her pride revolted at the idea of any man—even Jerome—marrying her because it was his duty The last thing she wanted was to have him regard her as yet another of his onerous responsibilities. Did he not care at all for her? In a strained voice, she pointed out, “But I begged you to ruin me.”

  “True, but I did not have to comply.” Jerome glanced downward and his gaze froze.

  She had let the covers fall down around her waist. The low neck of her thin chemise revealed more than it concealed of her breasts. Beneath his hot, sensual stare, their rosy tips tightened as though he were stroking them.

  When he finally looked up and his eyes met hers again, the passion in his glittering gaze stoked an answering hunger in herself.

  Flustered, she jerked the bedclothes up about her chin.

  He grinned. “What a shame to hide that lovely view from me.” His nimble fingers slid beneath the covers and began to unbutton her chemise.

  She tried to push his hands away but failed. “No-o-o-o,” What began as her protest stretched into a stammer of pleasure as his palm slipped beneath the thin cloth to capture her breast and gently massage it.

  His mouth found hers, and he kissed her with a fervour that melted what was left of her resistance. His hand left her breast to push her chemise from her shoulders. The thin cloth fell away, leaving her naked to the waist.

  Suddenly, he broke their kiss. With one quick, fluid move he had her on her back again. Then he took her mouth, his tongue wooing her with a wildly erotic dance. Desire bloomed within her like flowers in the spring sunshine. His hands caressed her body in a way that made her moan.

  He lifted his head from her mouth and looked down at her. There was no mistaking the appreciation in his glittering cyan eyes.

  “God, but you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” he murmured. “Say you will marry me.”

  “No-o-o-o-o.”

  Once more her protest faded into a moan as he put his mouth to her neck and sucked lightly along its sensitive cord. As his head moved leisurely lower, he said, “Please, marry me.”

  She did not answer him, and his mouth closed over the crest of her breast. His fingertips drew lazy, maddening circles on her belly. She arched beneath him in pleasure.

  “Marry me,” he murmured, as he lifted his head to turn his attention to her other breast.

  He licked its aureole as though it were ambrosia while his hand explored her body, sending waves of heat and desire through her. Her breath came in gasps.

  As his mouth moved lower, he urged, “Marry me.” He blazed a trail of hot kisses down her body that sent quivers of pleasure through her.

  “Marry me,” he urged as his tongue teased her, and his fingers skilfully explored her feminine core, drenched with her body’s plea for him.

  Rachel was writhing now in pleasure and in need. She wanted—nay, she ached for his body to free her from the desperate hunger that gnawed at her. But he showed no inclination to sate it.

  Instead he seemed bent on driving her out of her mind with his erotic assault.

  And he was succeeding.

  His tongue teased her ear. “Marry me.”

  “No,” she gasped.

  At last, she begged, “Please, no more.”

  “Marry me.”

  “No!” She moaned as his mouth and his hands resumed persuading her.

  “Marry me,” he demanded.

  Finally, she could bear his sweet torment of her no longer.

  “Marry me,” he whispered.

  “Yes... yes.” The words were torn from her in a groan.

  But they did not satisfy him. “Give me your oath, my sweet temptation, that you will
marry me. Swear to me.”

  Her body yearned wildly for his and the ecstasy she knew it would bring her.

  “I... swear... please.”

  He took her then, sweeping them to a climax so intense and stunning that Rachel was not certain she would ever be able to move again.

  Afterward she lay blissful and content in his arms. Surely a man who made such tender, passionate love to her must care for her. She clung to that hope and to him.

  The minutes passed as they lay entwined, their bodies in soothing, silent communication.

  Finally Jerome said, “I am sorry, my sweet, but we must get up.”

  “Why?” Rachel asked in dismay, unwilling to have this serene spell between them broken.

  “Now that we have enjoyed the pleasures of a wedding night, it is time we make it that legally. York is less than an hour away. We will be married at the Minster tonight.”

  “But it must be nearly midnight.”

  “Only half-past ten.” Jerome rose from the bed and went to the door.

  “You are mad,” Rachel exclaimed. “You cannot walk into the cathedral and demand that they marry us in the middle of the night.”

  He looked amused. “Can I not?”

  “Why tonight? Are you afraid that I will renege on my vow to marry you.”

  “I am trying to hold the scandal to a minimum. If we are married before midnight, I will be able to say with all honesty that I did not take your innocence until our wedding day.” Jerome grinned, a boyish, irresistible grin that set Rachel’s heart dancing. “I will not mention that the events were a little out of order.”

  He left the bedchamber but returned a minute later carrying a pink gown that he handed to Rachel. “Try this on. I think it will fit you tolerably well.”

  It was a simple, unstylish one-piece cotton gown with no frills or decoration, but it gave Rachel something other than her dressing sacque to wear.

  As she put it on, Jerome quickly dressed. The gown fit her surprisingly well.

  “Where did you get it?” Rachel asked.