Midnight Bride

by Marlene Suson

  “Do not touch me. I do not ever want you to touch me again!” Perhaps if she said it often enough, even she might believe it.

  “Rachel,” he pleaded, “you are my wife. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone or anything. I did not think I could love as much as I love you.”

  She regarded him with suspicion, unable to reconcile the furious, hating man who had banished her from London with this penitent, loving one.

  Did she dare trust this change in him? Or would he be transformed again into the hateful stranger who denied their child was his? Since the moment he had done that, Rachel had been haunted by the terrible fear that when their babe was born, her husband might take it from her and give it to strangers. The possibility made her voice shrill. “I will never let you tear my child from my arms.”

  “Our child,” he corrected.

  She eyed him with suspicion. “You said you would never believe the child I am carrying is yours.”

  Jerome looked agonized. “Oh, God, I did not mean that, my love. Even when I said it, I did not mean it!”

  Could Rachel chance believing him? Their child’s fate was at stake. She said defiantly, “I will not let you give my baby to strangers to raise.”

  He was clearly appalled. “I would never do that. I would not deny my child its mother.”

  There was such shattered sadness in Jerome’s eyes that Rachel was certain he must be remembering all the times as a child that his own mother had deserted him.

  “What a bastard you think I am.” His jutting jaw quavered. “And perhaps I deserve it. What I said to you in my jealous fury was beyond the pale, but I was too consumed by my own pain to think rationally.”

  Jerome’s searing self-loathing for his conduct slowly began to thaw Rachel’s frozen emotions. He ran his fingertips caressingly along her cheek, sending a little shiver of pleasure through her. She had never expected him to touch her so tenderly again.

  “Believe me, my love, I intended to beg your forgiveness for questioning our babe’s paternity as soon as I saw you again.” His eyes were filled with empathy and remorse. “Do you think I do not know how much hurt I have caused you? I would give anything to be able to erase it.”

  Before she realized what he was about, he pulled her into his arms. She tried to push him away, but he would not let her.

  “No, I need to touch you. I need to reassure myself that you are alive. You cannot know, my love, how frightened and devastated I was when I found you gone and that empty milk glass on the terrace. I was so afraid that you were—his voice cracked—”dead.”

  The agony in Jerome’s face told her how much he loved her, but the wound he had inflicted on her own heart was still raw.

  “Please,” he begged, “you must believe that I love you.”

  She believed it, but could she trust his love? He had loved her before, too. Yet he had been willing to believe that she had written those terrible letters and, in his fury, to disavow their child. That memory reignited her anger at him, and she shoved him away. “I told you trust was the basis of love, and I no longer trust you.”

  “I deserve that.” His voice was hoarse with self-disgust. “No one knows better than I what it is like to have one’s love and trust destroyed. You see now how hard it is to trust again once you have been terribly hurt.”

  Yes, Rachel did, but that did not make it any easier for her to overcome her wariness of him.

  “I thought I paid an awful price when I discovered Cleo’s infidelity but the price will be infinitely higher than I thought if, by crippling my ability to trust, it has cost me you.”

  Jerome looked so shattered and penitent that Rachel again had to stifle an urge to reach out to comfort him.

  “Listen to me, my love. What we have together is very special. Very rare. What I felt for Cleo was nothing compared to what I feel for you. And that is what made me so vulnerable to you. Please, forgive me.”

  Did she dare?

  Suddenly, he captured her mouth in a kiss full of tenderness and hunger. Rachel tried to push him away, but she failed.

  “No-o-o-o.” What began as her protest faded into a reluctant, elongated syllable of pleasure as his hand caressed her breast with erotic finesse. Fiery longing exploded within her.

  His mouth wooed hers with a heated intensity that melted her resistance.

  He broke their kiss, his beautifully sculpted face tormented by regret. “I am so sorry my love, that I doubted you. I swear I never will again.”

  “How can I believe that?” Sadness tinged her voice. “You have disappointed me so often.”

  “I know, my love, but never again. Word of a Parnell.”

  But Rachel was not convinced. “What if Kerlan tells you that I have taken a lover here, one of the footmen?”

  “I would not believe him. I may be a stupid idiot at times, but I am also a man who learns from his mistakes. Forgive me, my sweet.”

  His lips recaptured hers, his tongue courting her. He unbuttoned her chemise and pushed it from her shoulders. It fell about her hips.

  Desire exploded within her as his skilful hands caressed her body, but still she wrenched her mouth from his and said, “What if I tell you that Tony Denton is arriving tomorrow to take me to London?”

  Instead of the scowl she expected, her husband grinned at her. “But you would not tell me that because it would be a lie, and you would not lie to me, would you?”

  Jerome had her there. “What if Denton follows me here as he did to Royal Elms?”

  “I know you would have nothing to do with him. My guess, however, is that Denton, having won his wager with Birkhall, is undoubtedly on his way to London to collect his winnings.”

  Rachel stiffened. “But he did not win. I never—”

  Jerome placed his hand gently over her mouth. “Contrary to what all London thought, you were not the object of the wager.”

  “Who was?”

  “Emily Hextable. She was the woman with whom Denton was spending his nights in my dower house.”

  Rachel began to laugh. She could not help herself. “Amusing, is it not?” From Jerome’s sarcastic tone, it was clear that he did not find it so. “As Morgan so kindly pointed out to me, I might have married her and been bored, miserable, and cuckolded. Thank God, you saved me from that awful fate by abducting me, my sweet temptation. Please, my love, come home to Royal Elms with me.”

  “No! Now that Sophia is dead, I must remain at Wingate Hall to undo the damage she has done. I have so much to do here before Stephen returns. After all, he trusted me, and I will not disappoint that trust.”

  Jerome sighed in defeat. “Very well, then I will stay here and help you.”

  “I do not want you here! Only think how much you dislike the North.”

  “I love any place you are.” His jaw set stubbornly.

  “I will not leave Wingate Hall until you come with me. I do not care how many months it takes.”

  Knowing how much Jerome loved Royal Elms, Rachel was astonished that he would forsake it to remain with her at Wingate Hall. It told her as much about his love for her as his words did.

  He pushed her gently onto her back and gazed down at her, his cyan eyes brilliant with appreciation and adoration. “You are the most breathtaking, wonderful, exciting creature I have ever seen. Say you will forgive me.”

  “No-o-o-o-o.”

  Her refusal faded into a moan as his mouth spread kisses over her face and neck. As his hands moved lovingly over her body, he murmured, “Please, forgive me.”

  She did not answer him. His head dipped and his mouth closed over the crest of her breast. She arched beneath him in pleasure.

  He placed both hands gently on her still flat belly and, lowering his mouth to it, bathed it with kisses.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Telling our child how much his father loves and wants him,” he said in a voice as soft and caressing as midnight velvet.

  Rachel’s heart thudded with joy and love and exci
tement.

  Jerome raised his head, and his gaze met hers. “I cannot wait, my love, until I can hold this babe we have made in my arms. Do not deny our child his father. Forgive me my moment of jealous insanity”

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

  “Forgive me,” he murmured, as he turned his attention back to her breast. His mouth suckled it as his hand again explored her body, sending waves of heat and desire through her.

  “Forgive me,” he begged.

  Actually Rachel already had, but she was in no rush to tell Jerome so. She was enjoying too much his method of seeking her forgiveness.

  He laid seductive kisses down her body that sent quivers of pleasure through her.

  “Forgive me,” he pleaded as his tongue teased her, and his fingers skilfully exploited her most sensitive spots, building within her an aching need for him.

  She was writhing, desperate for his body to free her from the hunger that gnawed at her. But he showed no inclination to do so.

  Instead he was using everything in his erotic repertoire to bring her to the brink of fulfilment, then retreating. It was like a carefully orchestrated dance, and he was driving her out of her mind.

  “Please,” she begged when she could stand it no longer.

  “Forgive me.” He lifted his head, and she saw the love and humble entreaty in his eyes. “Forgive me for ever doubting you. I swear I never will again.”

  And she knew that he would not.

  “Forgive me, my one and only love.”

  She could bear his sweet torment of her no longer. “Yes-s-s.”

  His eyes were suddenly misty with unshed tears of relief. As his mouth closed over hers again, he murmured, “You will never regret it, my love.”