“Of course. I must be off myself. Angela is no doubt waiting to hear news of the day.” He, too, took her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. She hoped Leo didn’t feel the shiver of longing that traveled through her. What surprised her was that it was not quite as strong as it had once been. Age, she supposed, and the passage of time.
“Do give her my best,” she ordered.
“I will.”
“And tell her that I shall be over to discuss with her when we may next do the waters.”
“I know she’ll look forward to seeing you.” He nodded toward the man holding her other hand. “Leo, do take care with her.”
“I always do.” There was a possessiveness, a challenge to his tone that was not normally there.
After Lynnford strode away, she leaned in to Leo, welcomed the curling of his arm around her. The display was inappropriate, but then she had a reputation for the inappropriate. Now was not the time to worry about it overmuch. “He’s proud of Stephen.”
It was all she needed to say for Leo to understand what she meant, the undercurrent of her words: he was proud of his son. “Of course he is, sweetheart.”
She tilted her head back to study him. “Do you think Stephen should know the truth about his father?”
Leaning down, he brushed a kiss over her brow. “Are you thinking of telling him?”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t know. What if it should cause him to hate me?”
“Then he is not deserving of you as a mother.”
She smiled at him. “You always know the right things to say.”
“Then may I have that dance now?”
She gave him leave to escort her onto the dance area. He always managed to lighten the weight she carried on her shoulders, but this one remained, nonetheless. She would have to determine how best to unburden herself. But not tonight. She wanted nothing at all to ruin the night for Stephen.
After she and Stephen finished their dance, Mercy went in search of Fancy. She had to find her, talk with her, here, now. She spotted her quickly, standing near some fronds. Her nerves knotting, Mercy approached her. “I wondered if you might like to step out on the terrace for a bit of brisk air.”
“I would. Thank you.”
Once outside, they moved quietly to a corner where they would not be seen or heard.
“Your husband seems quite smitten with you,” the woman who’d given birth to John said.
“I love him, Sarah.”
“Fancy. I left Sarah in Paris.”
Mercy nodded. “You left John as well. And me. With no word. For the longest I didn’t know what to do, or if you were planning to return.”
“I’ve never been very good at ciphering,” Fancy said, “but I stood there watching you dance, striving to determine how it was that you and Stephen could have a son when it has been but six months since I last saw you. I was also considering the conversation that Stephen and I had and what was not said. Does Stephen know you are not the boy’s mother?”
“I am John’s mother. In my heart. From the moment you placed him in my keeping—”
“Oh, that’s rich. I go through the pain and humiliation of bearing an illegitimate child and you reap the rewards by marrying his father, a knight of the realm.”
“He wasn’t a knight when I married him. You had no desire to marry him. You said so in Scutari. Besides, you are betrothed now, to a marquess—”
Fancy laughed harshly, an unhappy sound reverberating from her throat. “Betrothed? Wherever did you get that notion?”
“You said you were with him.”
“As his mistress. He is my benefactor.”
Mercy hardly knew what to say. Why would a woman choose being one man’s mistress over being Stephen’s wife?
“Don’t look so shocked,” Fancy said. “I’m the illegitimate daughter of a duke. No man with the means to provide for me as I wish to be provided for is going to want to take me to wife. And no man would take me as mistress if I came with the baggage of a child. A man needs to be reassured that a lady in my position knows what she’s about and would not litter the world with his bastards.”
Mercy couldn’t believe the cold, calculating attitude. “But surely you cared for Stephen.”
“He was fun. No more than that.” She laughed lightly. “I can see you still don’t understand. Darling, you wear a string of pearls. I am draped in diamonds.”
But I have Stephen, Mercy thought. And he was worth far more than baubles and frippery. And she had John.
Fancy turned away from her and gazed out on the lighted garden. “How does my son fare?”
“John is well.”
“Give him a kiss for me tonight, would you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, I’d best get back to Dearbourne,” Fancy said, spinning back around.
Mercy thought she saw a glistening in Fancy’s eyes, but Fancy blinked them back so quickly, she couldn’t be sure.
“Really, my dear, you shouldn’t wear your heart on your sleeve. Even in Scutari, I knew where your affections lay.”
“Why were you there?”
“For Stephen, of course. I’d known him in London, but I was not yet ready to give him up. I wasn’t exactly honest about my experience and training, but I was still able to impress Miss Nightingale. Imagine my surprise, though, when I discovered the hospital where we would work was so far away from where the soldiers were fighting. As happy as Stephen was to have me near, once he returned to the regiment, there was no hope for it. I could not see him. It grew wearisome. Then, of course, I had to leave.” She touched her white gloved hand to Mercy’s face. “I think you are the only friend I ever had. I knew if you knew the child I carried was Stephen’s that you’d go to Paris with me. Still, I misjudged you. I didn’t think you’d use the child to land the father.”
“It was not my intent,” Mercy confessed earnestly. “I thought he was dead. I was returning John to his family.”
“But you told them you were his mother. Why would you tarnish your reputation so?”
Mercy nodded with the weight of the shame of it. “I had fallen in love with John by then. I was afraid I’d not be able to remain in his life if they thought he was not mine. You won’t tell Stephen … the truth, will you?”
“What sort of friend would I be if I did?”
She glided away, her movements so smooth and sensuous that it was as though her feet didn’t even touch the ground. Now it was Mercy who turned and stared out at the garden. Why was she not calmed by Fancy’s reassurance? Why did she feel that she was standing on a precipice and that one false step would send her spiraling over the edge, snatching from her both John and Stephen?
Chapter 19
Mercy awoke screaming his name.
Stephen had been lost in his own torment, visited by what he could not remember, which was no visitation at all really, just a bleak emptiness, so he was still awake, drawing comfort by feathering his fingers over her hair, when her shriek rent the night. She was already in his arms, having nestled there after a passionate session of lovemaking once they’d returned from London. The late hour hadn’t mattered. They’d teased and taunted each other in the carriage on the journey back. It was a wonder they’d not ripped off their clothes in the entry hallway as soon as they’d closed the door behind them.
Now she struggled to free herself of his embrace. He only held her nearer.
“Mercy. Mercy. Sweetheart.” He cooed, he whispered, he tenderly stroked her back, but she’d have none of it. She thrashed about, lost to the demons that tormented her. It had been weeks since they’d invaded her dreams. He’d begun to think that she’d conquered them. She was so strong, so determined that she put him to shame when it came to battling the irrefutable horrors of the past.
He had no doubt that he was responsible for her anguish tonight. His damned knighthood had reawakened all her dormant memories. The reason behind the accolades, his actions that were heralded as bravery. They all served as reminders of
where she’d once been. It probably hadn’t helped at all that he’d asked so many questions of Mercy concerning Fancy. He’d been stunned to see her at the ball Claire had arranged in his honor. Even more shocked to discover she’d been in the East, one of Miss Nightingale’s angels. He’d have never thought she had the inclination to help others. He’d enjoyed her company immensely but he’d always known that she placed herself above all others. He could not reconcile the woman he’d known with the woman Mercy had told him about. And pestering her for information had no doubt served to bring to her mind all that she’d done, all she’d seen. All the men who had died while she looked on. How powerless she’d been. How little she’d been able to alter.
But she’d done so much good. He was certain of that. He’d read the accounts about Florence Nightingale. Mercy had been at her side. She’d done many of the same deeds. She’d walked through the wards carrying a lamp, tending to the sick and injured. Had tended to him.
He had no memory of it, but he could see her so clearly in his mind. She’d been wrong with her insistence that he couldn’t recreate the memories. Perhaps they were not as vivid or as precise or as true as what he’d experienced. But still, he could envision her bending over his uncomfortable bed, wiping his sweating brow, giving him words of comfort. Compassion filled her. He didn’t know how to grant her the same relief.
He would return his knighthood that second if it would release her from the bondage of this nightmare.
He trailed kisses over her face, repeated her name. Suddenly she was clutching him, her fingers digging into his sides, and he knew he’d be bruised come morning. But it didn’t matter. His discomfort was nothing if it brought her peace.
“Take me,” she gasped. “Please take me. Make me forget. Make me forget it all.”
He kissed her as though he would die if he didn’t. She responded as she had earlier, with fire and passion. She pushed on him, rolled him over onto his back, and straddled him. She rained kisses over his chest, did to him what he wished to do to her. He wanted to carry her to new heights, wanted to cast her demons into perdition.
It was not fair that one such as she should be so tormented.
He threaded his fingers through her coppery hair. Longer now than it had once been, not as long as it would one day be. He wanted to see it spread out over his chest, his groin. When she was over him like this, he wanted her hair to provide a curtain that closed out the world.
Even as the thoughts scurried through his mind, he knew he would be content if she were bald. Nothing was more precious than this moment. The past, the future, what did they matter, when every nerve was centered on what she was doing? The caress of her fingers, the swirl of her tongue. The heat of her mouth enveloped him.
“Christ!”
He nearly came off the bed. His back arched, his eyes squeezed shut, his fingers dug into her shoulders, and he forced them to loosen their hold. He didn’t want to bruise her, but he needed to touch her. He opened his eyes to the sight of his angel eagerly ravishing him. Sweet Lord. Fiery molten lava pumped through his veins. Each deep breath into his lungs brought the musky scent of sex: his and hers. She was aroused by what she was doing as much as he was. He wondered if he might die of the sensations. His heart beat so forcefully that he was certain she had to feel the pounding through his body. She was driving him to madness.
“Enough! Enough, Mercy.” Reaching down he lifted her. “I need to feel you around me.” His voice was hoarse, his throat felt raw.
Grabbing her hips, he impaled her. She was hot, so unbelievably hot. Scalding. She cried out, not in pain, but in ecstasy. Tangling her fingers in her own hair, she arched back and rode him. He pumped ferociously. He cradled her breasts, relishing the weight in his palms. She ran her hands over his chest. Then she cupped the back of his head and kissed him, deeply, thoroughly, in near desperation.
It occurred to him that perhaps she was still locked in the throes of the nightmare. Never had she been so wild, so bold, so … imaginative.
Their grunts and moans echoed around them. Everything within him tautened, demanded release—
She arched back, calling out his name, her body closing in around him with the force of a vise. Unbearable pleasure ripped through him. He jerked, pumped, shattered.
Spasms shook him as he fell back from somewhere he’d never been before, a height he’d never before attained. He swallowed hard, his breathing harsh and heavy.
She flopped down on top of him, and he felt warm liquid running in rivulets along his chest. Her rasping sobs tore at his heart.
“Mercy, are you crying? Sweetheart, did I hurt you?” He’d rather lose the left arm she’d told him he’d fought so hard to keep, or his leg, before hurting her.
“I’m going to lose you,” she whimpered. “I know it. You’re going to leave me.”
Working his hands beneath her, he cradled her face, forcing her to look at him. Tears filled her whiskey eyes, eyes he wanted to gaze into when he took his last breath.
“Mercy, sweetheart. You’re not going to lose me. And I’ll never leave you. I’ve fallen in love with you.”
They were words he’d never spoken to another woman. Tensing, he waited for thunder to boom and lightning to strike, for surely the angels were laughing at his downfall. He, who had always been so damned careful not to involve his heart, was holding his breath, waiting for her to—
“Say something.”
She opened her mouth, closed it. Her eyes misted. Her delicate throat worked as she swallowed. A bright smile formed. Joy turned the whiskey to gold. She released a light laugh. “I love you, too.”
He grinned and threaded his fingers through her hair. “I know. You told me when you were so very angry at me that day in the library. Terrified me, you know. Saying the words to you now. They seem inadequate somehow. They should be larger, bigger to encompass all that I feel for you.”
“They’re perfect.” She laughed again, buried her face in the curve of his neck. “I want to run through a field, climb a mountain, swim an ocean. You have filled me with such joy.”
“Give me a few more moments and I shall fill you with something else entirely yet again.”
She jerked upright, her cheeks burning a bright red that almost matched her hair. “Were you shocked by what I did? I don’t know what possessed me.”
“Feel free to shock me anytime.”
Her laughter touched him once more, as soft as the tinkling of glass bells. “I rather enjoyed it.”
“As did I.”
She gnawed on her lower lip. “Jeanette tried to tell me … but I didn’t believe her. But I know now that I would do anything at all for you. Anything. I thought I loved you in Scutari, but what I have come to feel for you since we married … it knows no bounds. It’s terrifying and yet, and yet it makes me feel so remarkably safe.”
He studied her beloved face. “Then why the nightmare? Did all the talk today of my supposed exploits bring it all rushing back to the surface?”
“It doesn’t matter. I think I’ve banished them for good. You’re mine now. And I know nothing will ever change that.”
Chapter 20
Lady Lyons?”
Mercy thought she’d never grow accustomed to the new name. She was sitting on the floor playing with John in the nursery at Roseglenn, playing as much as she could with someone who was more interested in his hands and his feet than anything she could wave before his eyes. She glanced up at the serving girl. “Yes, Winnie.”
“You’ve a visitor. A Miss Whisenhunt. She says it’s most important that she speak with you.”
Icy dread slithered down Mercy’s spine. Stephen had gone to London to see to some matter. She wanted Fancy gone before he returned. She scrambled to her feet with such urgency that she nearly lost her balance. “Where is she?”
“In the front parlor, my lady.”
Mercy rushed out of the nursery and down the stairs. It didn’t matter why Fancy was here. Stephen loved Mercy. He had told
her so. He had shown her so. They were a family, the three of them. Nothing would break them apart.
She came to a halt in the hallway near the front parlor. She patted her hair into place, wishing for the first time that she’d not cut it, that it was still as long and glorious as it had once been. It had outshone Fancy’s. She pinched her cheeks to ensure she had color. She straightened her spine. She felt as though she was preparing to face an army of Cossacks. She was prepared to win.
With a confidence she didn’t exactly feel, she strode into the parlor. Fancy was standing near a glass case, studying the various figurines that adorned it. Turning, she smiled, one that didn’t reach her eyes.
“I hope you will forgive me for intruding, my lady, but I have an urgent matter with which I’m certain you can help me.”
Mercy didn’t quite trust that smile. “I assisted you once before, Fancy, in Paris. I’m not certain I have anything else to offer you.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Not even tea?”
Mercy felt everything within her tauten. Why the deuce was Fancy truly here? She had the power to tear asunder everything that Mercy had built. As calmly as possible, determined not to give any hint as to her trepidation, she wandered over to the wall and yanked on the bellpull. When the serving girl appeared, she said, “Tea please.”
“And biscuits,” Fancy said. She held up her hand, showing a small amount of space between thumb and forefinger. “As well as little cakes if you have them.” When the maid left, she looked at Mercy. “I do so enjoy sweet things.”
“What precisely is it that you want?”
Ignoring Mercy, Fancy lifted a small clock from the mantel, studied it, and set it back down. “You do have a very nice residence. I’d have not thought Stephen would do so well for himself.”
“It’s Ainsley’s. He allows us to live here through his good graces. He can take it away at a moment’s notice.”
“But he won’t. He’s the good brother. The one who watched out for the other two, even though he’s the youngest. Stephen resented his brothers. Their titles, their power, Ainsley’s wealth. That’s the reason he worked so hard to excel in the bedchamber. He wanted to outshine his brothers in some regard, so why not pleasure? Has he shared all this with you?”
Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman Page 25