by Tamara Gill
The room rocked, and for a moment Merrick thought he might fall out of bed. Nausea spiked in his gut, and he groaned. He would never drink again. Never, ever again.
…
Merrick woke with a start at the sound of the door clicking shut, before the bed dipped to his side. “Shush.” A finger pressed over his lips and a slight figure to his side straddled his hips.
He mumbled, the words foreign and chaotic. Was this a dream? A lithe figure straddled his legs and the intoxicating fragrance of roses filled his senses.
Isolde…
“Is this a dream?” He smiled, unable to open his eyes. For some absurd reason his lids were like stone and wouldn’t cooperate. It meant only one thing—this was a dream, and a very good one by the feel of it.
He clasped Isolde’s slender hips, reveling in the feel of her form so close to his. The juncture between her legs rubbed against his cock, and he hardened with need. For months, he’d wanted to sample every morsel that made up his betrothed. To taste her sweet flesh, to give and receive pleasure.
“We’re not married yet.” He laughed, the loud sound making his head spin faster.
She laughed, a husky sound that was full of need, a temptress in his bed. The sound was odd, not Isolde’s usual laugh, and he opened his eyes only to see complete darkness in the room. “You should go back to your room—” This is only a dream. No one can harm anyone with such a dream.
She cut off his words with a demanding kiss, a kiss that left him in no doubt where this rendezvous would end. Her tongue swirled with his, and he lost all thought of being gentle, of taking his time, of savoring the moment. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her and taking everything he could give.
“This is the best dream, Isolde. Thank you for this gift,” he said, fumbling for her shift and lifting it over her body before throwing it to the ground. He wanted to feel with his hands what temptations she had to offer him, to learn the dream version of his love as much as he’d learn her true form on the morrow.
Her ample breasts rocked against his chest, her nipples beading into hardened nubs against his palms. He leaned down, taking one into his mouth, laving at the nipple, kissing it until it peaked like a sweet meat.
Isolde moaned, and his breathing hitched. Her hips swayed in a dance of desire, rubbing against his shaft, and he gritted his teeth. Her breasts, full and heavy in his hands, were larger in this dream version of Isolde than the real-life one. He chuckled, halting a moment as nausea spiked through his gut.
“Hurry,” she whispered against his ear, before taking his lobe into her mouth and biting it gently.
His body roared with need and he rolled her beneath him, hooking her long, perfect legs about his hips. “Impatient, my love?”
“Oh, yes,” she moaned, her feet pushing his ass and his cock toward her core.
He growled at her begging and clenched his jaw, trying to halt the overwhelming need to push within her heat and take her. His alcohol-induced brain fought for clarity, but too many whiskeys had dissolved all clear thought. None of this is real in any case, so why did it matter?
“Isolde, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted you like this. The past twelve months have been the longest I’ve ever lived. To be so close to you, yet denied our joining, has been a never-ending torture.” He took a calming breath. “I’m foxed, my love. In fact, not only can I not see you, but I feel like I could topple from this bed at any moment. Are you sure you would not like to postpone?” What am I saying? Postpone sleeping with Isolde? The alcohol had obviously impeded his mind.
“Make me yours,” she purred, rubbing herself against his member, sending the blood in his veins to pound.
“Blast it.” He slid into her, heedless of her gasp of pain. He desperately tried to pull his self-control together, to stop and allow her time to catch her breath, but when her hands clasped his nape, her bottom lifting a little, allowing him to deepen his stroke, there was no going back.
He breathed against her neck, placed small reverent kisses across her skin as he started the smooth glide and dance of making love to his future duchess. She was the sweetest thing he had ever held in his arms, welcoming, needy and warm, her core so tight he fought not to lose himself before bringing her to climax. But it was no use. For so long he’d wanted her in his bed, to hear her delectable sighs whispered against his ear. It was too much, and Merrick allowed the pleasure to coil through him before losing himself within her. His dream version of Isolde was magnificent, and it left him longing to sample his bride in his wakeful hours.
“I’ve wanted this for so long, Merrick. What a pity it wasn’t my name that you moaned. But never mind, I shall have that too, eventually.”
The words acted like a bucket of cold water and nausea spiked through his gut. “Isolde?” The answering chuckle was the final death knell. Leonora.
“Have you guessed yet who your dream lover is, Your Grace?”
The word no reverberated about in his brain. Merrick stumbled from the bed, his hands grappling for the chamber pot in the dark. He wretched into the container, over and over again, his mind seizing on some way to change the last moments in this room to anything but what they’d been. Oh God, he’d finished in her.
With the cuff of a nearby shirt he wiped his mouth, slumping on the floor. “How dare you.”
The door to the chamber opened, spilling light throughout the room, revealing the woman on his bed. “Oh, I dare, Your Grace, and it seems my dare has paid off.”
…
Isolde sat up with a start, hearing the light knock on her door. She frowned. Who’d need to see her at this late hour? With the wedding tomorrow, she had excused herself early last night, wanting to look her best. To be all that she could be for the man she loved.
She smiled at the thought of Merrick and climbed out of bed, grabbing her shawl and wrapping it about her shoulders before opening the door. Nothing but a darkened hallway, sporadically lit with the moonlight that came through the windows that ran one length of its side. Farther along, toward Merrick’s room, a candelabrum burned low on a hall stand and would soon be snuffed by its own melted wax.
She stepped into the hallway, looking about but seeing no one. Isolde pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders when a shiver ran down her spine, the chill of the night air colder than she thought it should be this time of year. Turning to go back into her room, a crackle underfoot made her look down to see a small missive folded neatly on the floor.
Her name was scrawled across it, and she picked it up, breaking the seal. Unable to read it where she was, she walked into her room and lit the candle by the coals still glowing red in the fire grate. The writing was unfamiliar, and the letter even more so.
Lady Isolde,
I’m sorry to write this letter, My Lady, but you need to know the truth of the man you’re marrying. As a good Christian woman, I believe people deserve happiness, and yours would not be complete within a marriage of lies and deception. I beg you to go to the Duke of Moore’s room where, unfortunately, all will be revealed.
Sincerely very sorry for you.
It was not signed. Isolde walked back out into the passage, and she looked toward Merrick’s room at the end of the hall, the double golden doors closed with no light visible from beneath its threshold.
Her stomach twisted into knots. The truth of the man you’re marrying? What did that even mean?
She stood still, debating if she should go and see if he was still awake. Show him the missive and ask why she was being warned away from him in such a way. Again, she read the note, scrunching it in her hands and wishing it to Hades. Who would write such a thing to a bride the night before her wedding? A cruel hoax that wasn’t the least amusing. She trusted Merrick more than anyone. He would never hurt her.
She would not sleep at all, lest she speak to him, so Isolde walked toward his room and stopped when a door farther along the passage opened. Her father stepped out into the corridor, his brow rising when he sp
otted her.
“Isolde, what are you doing at the duke’s bedchamber door?” He came up to her, looking at her with a mixture of mirth and censure.
She ignored his question, holding out the missive. “Father, was Merrick in good spirits when you left him tonight? He wasn’t experiencing concerns over our forthcoming marriage, was he?”
He shook his head, confusion clouding his eyes before taking her note. He read it quickly. “Not at all. In fact, he was in high spirits.” His words trailed off when a feminine giggle sounded from behind Merrick’s door.
Isolde swallowed the dread that threatened to bring up her dinner. Surely she was hearing things. An animal outside or a servant belowstairs, but when the noise sounded again, this time followed by a groan, Isolde’s dread turned to horror. She met her father’s gaze and would forever wish she had not.
The duke’s visage took on a murderous edge. “Isolde, go back to your room,” he said more firmly than he’d ever spoken to her before. He pushed her toward her room. “Now,” he finished in a voice that brooked no argument.
Isolde stood her ground. In no way was she going to leave until the truth of the situation was revealed. “I have a right to know what Merrick is about, Father.” She took a shuddering breath, her heart pumping a million miles too fast. “No matter what it is. Please open the door.”
Her father made some unmentionable comment that at any other time would’ve shocked her, but not tonight. What she was about to see might kill her. Ruin all her hopes and break her heart. Her papa turned toward the ducal chamber like a man going into battle. He grabbed the handle, swinging the door wide and giving them the perfect view of Merrick’s bed.
Or at least the perfect view of the woman sitting up in Merrick’s bed.
Naked and hair mussed from bed sport.
The blood drained from her face, and the room spun. She stood, mute, shocked to her very core, as Letty smiled her way, triumph written across her every feature.
“Ah, Isolde, I see you received my note,” Leonora said, smirking.
Isolde had once thought her friend pretty, but not anymore. Tonight she was the ugliest creature on earth. She had given her the note so she would walk in and witness them together? What friend did such a thing?
The door handle was cool, and Isolde held onto it like a lifeline as her attention refused to shift from the two people who had ruined all her dreams. Her best friend since childhood and the man she loved had made love, enjoyed each other like a married couple.
It can’t be true… This is a nightmare…
Her gaze blurred, and her stomach lurched. Isolde raced to a nearby potted plant and heaved up everything she’d consumed at dinner. The smell of earth filled her senses, and for a moment she thought she would faint. But the sound of her father’s voice, a ducal roar that was scathing, startled her from succumbing to the malady.
“Get out of that bed…now!” her father demanded, going about the room and lighting every candle he could find.
Never had such disgust resonated from her nonchalant parent.
Not Merrick. Please not him.
Her betrothed scrambled to his feet beside the nightstand, his chest as bare as Letty’s and heaving just as fast. Merrick held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what’s happened here.”
The lump in Isolde’s throat threatened to choke her, and the pain that tore through her would surely maim. Tears ran freely, and she wiped at them without a handkerchief. “Why?”
“Oh, my darling, Isolde. I’m sorry.” He looked toward the bed, stepping quickly to its side and wrenching the sheets up to cover Letty. “Let me explain. Please,” he said, swaying and grasping the post of the bed to stabilize himself.
Was he drunk? Did he think to buy himself out of this mess by claiming to be in his cups? How could he be so cruel? Isolde moved to stand beside her father.
“I don’t understand it myself,” Merrick said, meeting her gaze.
“Pray, tell me, Moore, what the hell you think you’re doing compromising your future wife’s closest friend?” Her father spat the words, his face mottled in anger. “Explain yourself, boy, before I take you outside and put a bullet through your cold black heart.”
Merrick rubbed his hands through the hair on the back of his head, his face as pale as a moonlit night. “I…”
“I will not ask again,” her father said, his patience clearly running out.
Merrick shook his head. “What I have done is unforgivable. My only excuse, as feeble as it will be, is that I thought Miss Hart was Isolde. I thought it a dream.”
“Clearly not,” Isolde whispered. Merrick took a step toward her, and her father stepped between them. She was glad of it. At the moment, Isolde did not wish Merrick to touch her, to come within a foot of her. How dare he treat her with so little respect? Had they not been caught, would he still have married her on the morrow with not a whisper of him ruining her friend the night before?
“Isolde, you must believe me. I didn’t know it was Miss Hart. I would never do this to you.”
He strode toward a chest of drawers and quickly pulled on a clean pair of breeches. Unmoved, she noted his hand shook as he fumbled with the buttons, but nothing he said or did could change what she’d seen this night. What this meant for them. He pulled on a shirt that had been absently discarded over a chair, ruffling his hair to further disarray.
Yet, if they kept what had happened here tonight between those present, marriage was still a possibility. No one ever need find out and, in time, Isolde would one day forgive him his mistake.
“I love you, Isolde. Please give me a chance to explain.”
A kaleidoscope of horror went around in her mind. Her betrothed had slept with another, and on the night before their wedding. A slap across her cheek would’ve been less painful. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, failing to care how inappropriate the action was for a woman of her station. The room was claustrophobic and had an odd smell to it, like sweat and something else she’d never experienced before.
She strode to the window and pulled up the sash, breathing deep the crisp night air. Although it didn’t take away the wrenching pain that threatened to consume her, it did provide some clarity to her mind.
“How long?” she asked at length, turning to face the two people who had once been her world.
Merrick’s gaze darted between her and her father before he answered. “Just this night, but Isolde, I didn’t—”
“Since the night you met at Cranleigh,” Leonora interrupted, shrugging. “It was very wrong of us, but we couldn’t allow our last night together to go without sampling the pleasures we’ve found in each other’s arms. I’m in love with Merrick, as he is with me. We’re very sorry, Isolde, but it is what it is. You must move on from this.” She paused, smiling sweetly. “I do hope we can still be friends.”
“How dare you, Miss Hart, that is utterly untrue,” Merrick said. “She lies, for reasons that are unfathomable to me.” Merrick glared at Letty. “If you have any sense at all, any heart, you’ll speak the truth of the situation instead of spewing these vile falsehoods.”
Isolde shut her mouth with a snap, not expecting so much honesty. Yes, she wanted the truth, but brutal truth with a hint of conceit was beyond her limits at this moment. She took a calming breath. She would not be sick all over the Aubusson rug. How will I survive this?
She straightened her spine and fought to pull herself together. She was a duke’s daughter, a woman of independent means, with sound moral character. Never had she done anything scandalous. All her life she had done what she was told, had acted properly in every circumstance, although she’d never been taught about one like this. She would not crumble before the two people she’d trusted most in the world. The two people who’d betrayed her in the worst way imaginable.
They’d had enough triumph over her this eve. They would not get any more. “Were we ever friends, Letty?” she asked, reverting to the childhood name she had always u
sed for her. “A friend would not do something so deplorable.” Her lifeless voice was void of emotion, and she hated them for making her sound dead.
“For a time I think we were, Isolde.” Leonora met Merrick’s gaze. “The game is up. Isolde knows our dirty little secret. It would be best if we all accept our fates and resume life as normally as we can.” Letty crossed her arms over her chest, nodding for good measure.
Never had Isolde experienced the vile, unpleasant emotion she believed to be hate coiling through her. But she did now. She hated Letty or Miss Hart, as she would forever term her.
“You will release my daughter from the marriage contracts and henceforth she is no longer betrothed to you. Do you understand, Your Grace?” her father said, his voice quivering in anger.
Isolde calmed the panic that warred within her at the thought of losing Merrick. “Father, maybe we should allow Moore to explain fully what happened here. Everyone is assembled for the wedding. We cannot just walk away now.”
Her father was unmoved. “You will renounce any claim on my daughter and free her from this union,” her father said, taking her arm. “I will have my lawyer deal with the legalities forthwith.”
“You will marry me tomorrow, Isolde. Your father cannot set me free from a union I want as much as you. I love you. Please…”
His dismissing of the situation as a mere misunderstanding that could be thrown out along with yesterday’s coals, poked her temper. She shrugged free of her father’s grip and marched over to Merrick.
He lifted his chin, but his eyes were wild with fear. “Marry you without an ounce of explanation?” she said, fighting the tears that threatened. “If you cannot explain away this betrayal to my satisfaction, from this day forward, should we meet in a ballroom, or see each other in London, you will turn about and leave, walk in the opposite direction. You will be dead to me, Merrick. For my love of you will be dead.”
For I am dead… The words whispered through her mind and again, the image of Merrick’s tortured visage blurred before her. She swiped at her cheeks, hating the fact she was crying before two people who had no care for her, in any way.