Her Secret Lover

by Sara Bennett

  The combination of storm and man was exciting, as if she were caught up in something stark and primeval, where civilized behavior had no place. At this moment anything was possible. The past and the future ceased to exist, and there was only here and now.

  His kisses made her ache, and she helped him unbutton her bodice, as eager as he to have his mouth and hands upon her. At the first touch she knew this time it wasn’t going to be enough. He was right; they must consummate this passion between them. And if there was a cost, then she would worry about it later.

  He gathered her breasts into his hands, and they felt heavy and swollen, so sensitive when he brushed her nipples, and then bent to suckle upon them, that she made little sounds of want. Such pleasure. Antoinette sighed, fingers tangling in his hair, and he lifted his head and smiled into her eyes. Their mouths fused, tongues mating, and he rested his weight lightly upon her.

  She felt his hand tugging up her skirts and petticoats, and she wound her legs around his as best she could, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

  Not for him, either.

  He moved away and sat staring down at her, enjoying the sight of her dishabille and her mouth swollen from his kisses. Then, with a wicked smile, he began to work on her fastenings once more. The bodice was soon removed; the long, tight sleeves came free with a sharp tug or two. Her skirts and petticoats were more difficult, but he freed her, and then slid her stockings down over her legs slowly and with minute attention, before untying the waist of her drawers and slipping them off.

  She was naked.

  As Antoinette lay before him, letting him look at what no other man had looked upon before, she wondered at herself. She’d always expected to feel embarrassed at such a moment, self-conscious in regard to her shortcomings, but she wasn’t. Instead the expression on his face made her very aware of her sensual beauty. She felt confident and feminine, and in control of her own destiny.

  He brushed the curls between her thighs with his fingertips and smiled when she gasped softly. He began to unbutton his trousers, his smile broadening at her rapt attention. His cock sprang free, rising up eagerly. She reached out toward him, but he caught her fingers in his and instead raised them to his lips.

  “You’re too clever with these little hands. I’ll lose control,” he said. “I don’t want to make love to you like a lusty youth with no finesse, Antoinette. I want to pleasure you as you’ve never been pleasured before.”

  He began to kiss her again, and she lost herself in his slow, deep caresses. Soon he lay down on top of her, and his body molded itself to hers, his skin hot and hard where hers was soft. His thighs opened hers, and she felt his member press against her core. Antoinette went still, quivering.

  “I can feel you,” he murmured, bending to nip at her lips. “So warm and wet and ready. Are you ready, Antoinette?”

  “Yes.” She had never been so ready for anything in her life.

  He pushed inside some more, then withdrew, slowly, the stem of his manhood teasing her aching bud. That familiar tension was building inside her, clenching in her lower belly and making her thighs tremble. She arched up against him, knowing she needed more from him, but he held her hips steady, refusing to allow it. His member slid inside her again, and he groaned into her mouth.

  “You’re mine, all mine…”

  “Yes, yes, all yours.”

  She felt as if she had a fever, trembling and aching and delirious. If he didn’t bring her to the peak she so desired this time, she’d scream, she told herself. He slid deeper, filling her, and her body was able to accommodate him perfectly. She didn’t want him to withdraw, tightening about him to hold him inside.

  Beneath her fingers she could feel the warm, damp skin of his back, and she reveled in the touch and smell of him. Everything combined to increase her desire. The way the tips of her breasts brushed against the hair on his chest, the movement of his muscular thighs within hers, the weight of his body, which could have been frightening and claustrophobic and dangerous, and yet now felt almost protective.

  With a deep breath he withdrew again, every muscle rigid with the need to control his own pleasure. “Oh,” she wailed, “don’t stop.”

  “I want to make you feel better than you’ve ever felt before,” he said, his jaw tense. “I want it to be like the first time.”

  She managed a laugh. “I promise you it will be.”

  He thrust into her again, deeper this time, and a hot, aching pleasure rose up inside her like a tide. He reached down, his fingers finding her swollen bud, and suddenly the tide surged up over her and she cried out in ecstasy. Her body spasmed, squeezing him like a fist as she climaxed.

  Somewhere beyond the languid sense of pleasure she knew he was still driving deep inside her, and then he gave a shout as he, too, found his peak. For a moment his weight was heavy on her, his mouth against her neck, his breath hard and hot, and then he eased himself from her and, turning her on her side, wrapped his arm over her and lay pressed against her back. She felt his face nuzzling her hair, and his hand reached up and cupped her breast.

  He hadn’t noticed she was a virgin.

  Not that Antoinette wanted him to, but she’d heard enough whispered conversations and half-caught confidences between married friends and servants that it could be painful, that first time. Thinking about it, she wondered now whether he had breached her maidenhead when she was seated upon him, and that was why she’d felt no discomfort.

  His fingers rolled her nipple, tugging at it, and his open mouth moved over her cheek. She turned her head, and he kissed her. After a moment she was aware of his body shifting, his member rising hard against the globes of her bottom. To her surprise she felt her own flesh begin to tingle and ache, and the place between her legs, although a little sore, melted once more.

  She should tell him no. She should get up and dress and leave before things could get any more complicated. But he was already turning her over, slipping his body over hers and into hers, and Antoinette welcomed him with an eagerness she couldn’t disguise.

  Her enemy, the highwayman, the man sent by Appleby to take away her one chance of freedom, was now her lover. And if that was an odd and dangerous twist, then it didn’t feel like it. As he drove deep inside her, Antoinette knew it felt absolutely perfect.

  Chapter 16

  “Miss!”

  Antoinette had crept upstairs to her bedchamber, thinking to take solitary sanctuary there, but as she closed the door, her relief was short-lived. Mary’s shocked cry made her jump. She turned with an involuntary shiver, goose bumps rising on her wet skin, her dark hair a wild, bedraggled mess.

  Mary’s dark eyes were enormous. “You’re completely drenched, miss! Whatever happened to you?”

  Fortunately, Antoinette had prepared her story on the way home. “I was out walking when the storm came. I tried to shelter but…well, you can see. I waited for ages for it to stop, but when it didn’t I ran for it.”

  She tried a self-deprecating laugh but broke off in the middle to give another shiver. Mary began to work on buttons and hooks and eyes, muttering about unnamed others who’d caught chills in weather such as this and their ensuing long, slow, and painful deaths. “That’s what Mrs. Wonicot says at any rate,” she ended, as if that was the final word on the matter.

  “I have always been blessed with good health,” Antoinette assured her, and sneezed.

  Mary stripped her of her dress. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this was ruined,” she said reprovingly. “Just like the other one.”

  “Like the other one?”

  “The other dress that was ruined, miss. Torn in the…the accident in the coach on your way here. Two dresses ruined seems very careless.”

  “Careless” was not the word for it, but Antoinette couldn’t be bothered arguing.

  Mary began work on petticoats and other undergarments, soon stripping Antoinette to her frozen white skin. Gratefully, Antoinette accepted the quilt Mary drew from the bed, wrapping it around hersel
f and perching on a chair in front of the fire.

  “I suppose His Lordship buys you lots of pretty things, miss.”

  Antoinette opened her mouth and closed it again.

  “A ruined dress would mean nothing to you.”

  She ignored Mary’s envy, holding out her hands to the flames, but she felt stiff and awkward, as if the truth was written in big black letters across her white face.

  “Where were you walking?” Mary was sorting the clothing into sodden piles, oddly intent.

  “In the woods. I stepped off the path. The trees were so thick, so close, I was lost. It took me a while to find my way back.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone into the woods.” Mary spoke sharply, but when Antoinette looked around at her in surprise, she forced a smile, softening her tone. “They do say as the ghost of Miss Priscilla Langley roams those woods. She was something of a witch, even though she was the only daughter of Sir John Langley.”

  Mrs. Wonicot’s Sir John.

  “Who were the Langleys? Did they live here for a long time?”

  “They were the lords of Wexmoor Manor for hundreds and hundreds of years.”

  “Did Sir John own Wexmoor Manor before Lord Appleby took over?”

  “No, that was Sir Adam. Sir Adam Langley was…is Sir John’s son, and it was him that owned the manor before Lord Appleby took it over. His son, Master Gabriel, was meant to inherit, but…”

  Her voice trailed off, and instead she began busying herself again with Antoinette’s clothing.

  Antoinette’s shivers were fading as the warmth of the fire seeped into her cold flesh. She was even becoming drowsy. She’d closed her eyes and was close to drifting off when Mary spoke again.

  “I wouldn’t go into those woods again if I was you, miss. You might fall and hurt yourself, and no one would find you. Except the ghost of the witch, of course.”

  “I don’t believe in witches,” Antoinette said sleepily. “Besides, Priscilla was probably an herbalist.” That would explain the lingering scent of herbs in the cottage.

  Mary ignored her. “If you fell down and hurt yourself, Lord Appleby might think you’d run off, miss,” she said, with an odd little laugh. “I reckon he’d sack the lot of us, and then we’d all be looking for new jobs. So you see, miss, we can’t let you wander around alone in the woods.”

  The girl was giving her a warning. Antoinette drew her quilt closer about her, as if for protection. “You don’t need to say anything to anyone about what happened, Mary. I feel foolish enough as it is. Let’s just forget it, shall we?”

  Mary hesitated. “I’d like to say yes, miss, but surely it’s my duty to tell His Lordship if I think you’re putting yourself in danger?”

  “Mary, I wasn’t in danger.”

  “But, miss, it isn’t just ghosts to be found in those woods. What if some man was roaming about and he saw a pretty lady like you? I wouldn’t like to think about what might happen to you. What he might do to you. And how would I tell His Lordship that?”

  She knew. Antoinette gripped the quilt tightly, her knuckles white. She didn’t understand how, but Mary knew.

  It was no use confronting her, or confessing. The girl might feel compelled to act. But there was another way. “If…if you like you can have another of my dresses. Not the ruined one, but perhaps the royal blue? I believe it would suit your coloring very well, Mary.”

  Mary had bent over to gather the wet clothing into her arms, hiding her face. “If you say so, miss,” she said tonelessly. “I never refuse a gift, and as you’ve so kindly offered…” She paused. “Maybe I’ll have the green instead. I’ve always fancied myself in green.”

  “Very well, Mary. I’m sure the green will look just as good on you. And…thank you for your circumspection.”

  But Mary didn’t answer, and the door closed behind her.

  Alone, Antoinette sat and stared into the flames. Mary had guessed, but once she’d got what she wanted she seemed to lose interest. Antoinette hoped she wouldn’t say anything to the Wonicots, and more importantly she didn’t want Lord Appleby to know. If he decided to take her back to his house in Mayfair and force her into marrying him, she would be lost.

  One dress seemed a small price to pay.

  Antoinette snuggled into her quilt and sighed. Outside the rain was still falling, but softly now, gently running down the windowpanes. The sound was soothing, lulling her into forgetting her troubles, and remembering instead the pleasure of being in his arms. Her body ached in strange places, and she smiled. She’d told herself she was giving herself to the highwayman to take the initiative from Appleby, but that was far too simplistic. As was “giving.” They had given and taken from each other.

  Did all women feel thus? She couldn’t believe it. There were too many unhappy wives in the world for that. If, she thought smugly, they all had a man like the highwayman waiting in the shadows, they wouldn’t have to be unhappy.

  She stretched. Would he come to her again? Remembering the burning kiss he’d given her as he left her at the edge of the woods, she thought that he probably would. And anticipation made her smile.

  Mary had to stop when she reached the landing, the wet clothing clutched tightly in her arms. She was shaking and the skin across her forehead felt tight, and there was a burning sensation behind her eyes as she held back tears. But they weren’t tears of sorrow.

  Mary was angry.

  Miss Antoinette Dupre hadn’t been lost in the woods. She’d gone there on purpose. She and Master Gabriel had lain down together in the leaves and joined their bodies. Mary had known as soon as she saw the higgledy-piggledy way Miss Dupre’s clothes were fastened, and the stains. She’d seen what men and women did when she was at home, in her village, spying on the beach when the young people went courting. Mary had always imagined herself and Master Gabriel, together, when she remembered those images.

  Now Antoinette Dupre had stolen him from her.

  She didn’t blame Gabriel for what had happened. Men were easily swayed by a clever woman’s tricks; she accepted that. It was the woman who was at fault, and this woman was another man’s mistress. She had everything. She had no right to set her sights on Mary’s Gabriel.

  The tears overflowed and spilled down her cheeks. She bent her head, wiping them away on the wet clothes, furious with the world and everyone in it. What did she care for dresses, whether they were blue or green? Her dreams for a rosy future were ruined. In tatters. Like her heart.

  No! I won’t let her have him!

  She thudded down the stairs, heading toward the laundry. Master Gabriel was hers and always had been, and she wasn’t about to give him up. She had never doubted that one day Gabriel would marry her, and they would spend the rest of their lives together, here at Wexmoor Manor. It was meant to be, and nothing was going to interfere in their predestined future.

  Mary thought again about how she’d tricked Miss Dupre into more or less admitting that something had happened in the woods. She’d been so quick to agree to give Mary the dress, to stop her telling. And that was because she was afraid of what would happen to her if Lord Appleby heard about her tryst with Master Gabriel.

  And what would happen? Mary decided he’d have to come and take her away, or at least take her somewhere else, well away from Master Gabriel. Take her away…

  Suddenly Mary smiled. Her future wasn’t ruined, after all. In fact her future was safe in her hands. If Lord Appleby was to take Miss Dupre away, then Gabriel would be hers again. So Lord Appleby must be told, and she would be the one to tell him.

  Mary knew Lord Appleby lived in London—as did anyone important—but she didn’t know his exact address. She could question the Wonicots, but she didn’t want to stir their curiosity, and she didn’t want them to stop her. Perhaps she didn’t need an address? Lord Appleby must be a well-known figure in the capital, and therefore a letter would surely reach him? Just as a letter to Sir James Trevalen addressed Devon would surely find its way to his home. It made se
nse to her, and she decided it was worth the risk.

  Yes, she would write to Lord Appleby and tell him what his mistress was up to. She’d not only be keeping her dreams intact, but she’d be saving Master Gabriel from the clutches of a woman who wasn’t nearly good enough for him.

  Because Mary Cooper was quite certain that the only woman good enough for Gabriel was Mary Cooper.

  Chapter 17

  Gabriel propped his bare feet up in front of the fire and raised his glass of Lord Appleby’s expensive brandy. “To Antoinette,” he said, and smiled. What a woman! He’d never met anyone like her. One moment she was the sensual mistress, and the next a wide-eyed innocent. Just when he thought he had worked her out, she’d surprise him again. He felt permanently off kilter. And permanently aroused.

  Here he was ready for her again, despite being barely able to stagger home after their encounter in the rain. If she was standing before him now, he’d pull her onto his lap and spread her legs and love her as he wanted to. His pocket Venus; he found her perfect in every way.

  Except that she was Lord Appleby’s mistress.

  With a frown, Gabriel took another sip of his brandy and brooded. There was also the problem of the letter that she possessed and he wanted. If he didn’t get it, then he would lose Wexmoor Manor, and Aphrodite would lose Aphrodite’s Club; Appleby would make certain of that. Gabriel had made a promise to her the night he went to see her in London, after he punched Appleby and then ran from his Mayfair house in the rain. He had to have the letter, and if he couldn’t persuade Antoinette to give it to him out of the goodness of her heart, or the power of her passion, then he would have to take it by force.

  And Gabriel knew that Antoinette would hate him if he did that. He would lose her forever—always assuming he had a chance of possessing her for more than a brief while. He needed Aphrodite to advise him, he told himself with a wry smile. She was good at giving advice on matters of the heart.

  He imagined the infamous courtesan sitting before him.