Secrets of Midnight

by Miriam Minger

  “Are you planning to just sit atop that horse or come in for supper?”

  “Of course I don’t intend to sit out here all night!” she snapped, only to catch herself when she spied Ogden walking stiffly to the door. The happiest marriage in Britain, remember?

  It was more for her family than anything else. If Linette was so distressed just to have her gone from the parsonage, she could imagine how her sister might feel if she believed Corisande was unhappy. Marguerite too. It would crush her. She truly thought Corisande was in love. So for now she would play the part, however difficult—and the way this night was going, she was clearly in for a chore.

  “Oh, hello, Ogden,” she began breezily, very much aware that Donovan had stiffened. “My husband says that supper is ready.”

  “Yes, my lady, so it is. I’ve come to tell you that Grace is ready for me to serve.”

  “How wonderful! I’m simply famished.” She glanced back at Donovan to find him scowling at her but, unperturbed, she gifted him with the most contrite smile she could muster. “I’ll be in shortly, my love, as soon as I return my horse to the stable. I know you can’t be happy that I didn’t use the carriage today, but I so enjoy riding. And this gelding is so much faster than Biscuit. Surely you can forgive me.”

  He said nothing, which didn’t surprise her. The visible tension in his body was enough to tell her that he wasn’t amused at all by her remorseful performance, although she didn’t care what the man thought! Actually she was quite beginning to enjoy herself. Suddenly the tables had been turned, and now she had become the bold charmer. But it was no more than he deserved for all the false smiles he’d given her and, to that end, she gave him another grin of her own.

  “You’re much too serious, Donovan,” she playfully chided him. “It’s really no large matter. I know you’ll be a dear and understand. I’ll be right back—”

  “I’ll take the horse.”

  Donovan had come down the steps and reached up to lift her from her mount almost before she could blink, but Corisande wasn’t going to let this golden opportunity escape as her feet touched the ground. She flung her arms around his neck before he could blink, saying innocently, “There, you see? I knew you’d forgive me. Oh, Donovan, I’ve missed you so much! Did you and Henry have a good day at the mine?”

  Donovan was so startled, he found himself leaning toward her, his eyes upon her smiling lips, his arms going around her, but he stopped himself just in time. The wily chit! What new game was she playing now?

  “We had a fine day,” he muttered, disengaging himself but not too abruptly. Ogden was standing there watching them like a somber-eyed hound, after all. Even if the servants thought he’d married for monetary reasons, he couldn’t just shove her away like an indifferent cad. Good God, he wasn’t his bloody father! “You’d best go inside,” he added gruffly, not liking at all the tempting pressure of Corisande’s hands upon his chest. “It’s starting to rain.”

  “Ah, so it is. You’re such a dear to think of me. Don’t be gone too long, darling.”

  Gone too long, darling? Clenching his teeth as Corisande ran up the steps and hurried inside, Donovan vowed in that moment to hire extra help before tomorrow was done. If there were only footmen around the place, he could follow her right now and take her aside and demand what she was up to, but first he had to go to the damned stable. That is, unless …

  “Ogden, you take the horse to the stable.”

  The butler’s eyes nearly bugged from his head, and he backed up inside the door. “Me—me, my lord? But I don’t know anything at all about horse—”

  “It’s simple, man! You hold these reins and lead the way. He’ll follow you, nothing more to it than that. And when you get to the stable, just call for Will the coachman. He’ll handle things from there.”

  “Oh, oh, but I—”

  “Go to it, man.” Donovan cut him off, having sprinted up the steps. “Don’t worry about supper being served late. We’ll await you in the dining room.”

  At least that’s where he believed he might find Corisande, Donovan thought darkly to himself, leaving Ogden shaking his head as the man disappeared outside. Donovan strode across the entry hall past the drawing room, but he stopped suddenly and retraced his steps, intuition striking him. Good God, if Corisande was emptying the sherry decanter again…

  Donovan was nearly tempted to kick in the door to catch her red-handed, but somehow he restrained himself and entered the room quietly, deciding that might be just as effective as he soundlessly closed the door behind him. Yes, Corisande was there, standing with her back to him in front of the fire, and she looked as if she were lifting something to her mouth, her head tilting as she made to drink—

  “Dammit, woman, stop right there!”

  Corisande spun, so startled she nearly dropped the small bottle of perfume she had just pulled from her cloak pocket. Her heart hammering, she stared at Donovan, who was staring right back at her, although he looked somewhat confused as he glanced from her to the sideboard and then back again.

  “What … what is that you’re holding?”

  Corisande felt a wave of irritation as she realized what he must have been thinking, but she made herself answer sweetly as she held up the bottle in one hand and the cork stopper in the other. “This?”

  “Of course, that. What else could I have meant?”

  “Oh, a glass of sherry, perhaps? Maybe the whole decanter?”

  He stiffened, scowling, while Corisande merely smiled, her aggravation all but forgotten as she felt immense enjoyment in teasing him. “It’s perfume, my love. Something I found today in Porthleven. I’ve never really worn any before, but now that I’m Lady Donovan, well, it seemed the thing to do.” She took a quick moment to dab some at her throat, which was exactly what she’d been about to do before Donovan had startled her, then held out the bottle. “Would you like to smell for yourself … ?”

  When Donovan shook his head, obstinately holding his ground, Corisande shrugged. “As you wish. It’s a lovely scent, I assure you, though probably not as fine as perfume you’d find in London. But it was the best I could afford.” She closed the bottle and slipped it into her pocket, then turned back to the fire and swept off her cloak, shaking it free of moisture before folding the garment over a chair. “It didn’t take you very long at the stable. I thought I’d wait for you in here. The fire looked so inviting, and that dining room is so huge and drafty—”

  “I didn’t go to the stable, Corie.”

  Corisande whirled around, Donovan having come up so close behind her that she nearly fell into him, his big hands locking around her upper arms to catch her. But he didn’t let her go, instead jerking her against him.

  “I had Ogden take your horse to the stable so I could come and find you. What game are you playing now, woman? I thought we’d dispensed with the happy bride.”

  Donovan’s harsh grip was hurting her, but she refused to show her pain. She also refused to give in to the anger threatening to overflow, instead remembering her sisters as she said evenly, “You may be done with your charade, my lord—and it seems from your recent churlish behavior that you are, but I’m not comfortable playing the martyr. I don’t want to appear the wronged bride, the miserable bride, the spiteful bride. Besides, I heard no whiff of any gossip about us today in Porthleven, so there’s simply no sense in acting as if something is wrong. I’d prefer to go on just as we were before, if you don’t mind—”

  “Dammit, woman, I do mind!”

  His outburst was so vehement that Corisande could only stare, but in the next instant Donovan looked almost angry with himself as he abruptly released her and went to sink into a wing chair.

  “Ah, do what you will.”

  “That’s what you told me earlier, and I fully intend to.”

  “Like wearing that damned lavender perfume?”

  Corisande almost smiled, for he sounded so much like a sulky young boy. But he didn’t look like a boy, oh, no, her spending
a full day away from him making her all the more aware of just how acutely masculine he was, the room fairly crackling with his presence. Shoving away the disquieting thought, she murmured, “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

  “Noticed? Ha! You can smell the stuff halfway across the room.”

  “Yes, I thought you’d like it.”

  That comment brought another scowl, Donovan’s tone accusing as he glared at her. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Actually, I am,” she admitted, probably the first time she had said anything to him with such honesty. “I don’t know why it should make you so furious, either, but I suppose since you’ve gotten what you wanted—at least as far as finding someone to marry you—there’s no more reason for you to act anything but a callous, ill-tempered boor—”

  “Is that what you truly think of me—no, woman, don’t even answer that,” Donovan just as quickly amended, shoving his fingers through his jet-black hair. “Hell and damnation, I already know.”

  He sounded so disgruntled, Corisande didn’t know what to make of it, but she had no chance to say anything as a loud knock sounded in the room. Immediately Donovan lunged from his chair and went to throw open the door, revealing a rather mussed Ogden, his white gloves muddied and his clothes somewhat askew, yet his dignity still quite intact.

  “The horse is in the stable, my lord, and supper is served.”

  As Ogden turned stiffly to lead the way, Corisande thought Donovan might go ahead without her. But to her surprise, he held out his arm to escort her, clearly resigned to the role she wanted to play although he still didn’t look very happy about it. In fact, she doubted that for the brief duration of their marriage, she would ever see him smile again, which made her feel oddly wistful. He had the most handsome smile, and that boyish grin last night …

  “We’re not going to the guillotine, Corie. Just to supper. Unless of course, Grace’s roast beef and Yorkshire pudding is overcooked now thanks to you coming home so late. Upon a horse, no less, not inside the carriage that I requested.”

  “Ah, yes, but you’ve already forgiven me for that, remember?” she said lightly as they proceeded arm in arm to the dining room, although her mood suddenly didn’t feel so light.

  She wasn’t sure why, either, which was just as strange. Perhaps Donovan’s surliness was simply wearing her down. With her luck, she’d probably prattle by herself at one end of that absurdly long table while Donovan swirled his wine at his end and said little … which was exactly what happened.

  Lord, Ogden must think she was a ridiculous chatterbox to have carried on and on about her day—well, as much of it as she could safely discuss, leaving out her meeting with Captain Oliver Trelawny altogether and the unsettling incident on the heath—but she’d had to do something to fill the silence. Thankfully a glass of red burgundy had helped, but she’d pointedly been given only one while Donovan’s glass was refilled twice though he had barely touched the last.

  Then he’d been given a snifter of brandy after their dessert of buttermilk cake—a familiar Cornish recipe of Frances’s that had given her some comfort, Grace Twickenham thoughtfully doing her best to help Corisande feel at home —while she was served a bracing hot cup of green tea. But she didn’t want bracing, she wanted to go to bed. Tomorrow would be as full a day as the one she’d so exhaustively described. Oh, Lord, and she had only to think of that huge mattress she must share with Donovan to start feeling nervous all over again.

  She wanted to get to their room first. Oh, yes, she wanted to be safely under the covers with her eyes closed and her back turned before Donovan even came up the stairs. So she began to yawn well before he’d finished his brandy, great, long, exaggerated yawns she did little to hide.

  And she ceased talking too. Why continue when she was speaking largely to herself? The only time Donovan had showed any interest was when she’d mentioned Linette crying herself to sleep, and he’d said at once that her sisters were welcome to visit the house as often as they wished. She’d been surprised, warmed by his response actually, and had thanked him, but as for the rest, she might as well have been conversing with a brick wall, Donovan was so brooding and unsociable. At last she could stand the weighty silence no longer, and she rose from her chair.

  “Go on up if you’d like,” Donovan said gruffly before she could utter a word. “I’ll be there shortly.”

  So at last the man speaks! she fumed, using every bit of her restraint not to lash out at him and thank him for the enlivening pleasure of his company. Instead she said, primarily for Ogden’s benefit—the butler had been standing stiff as a statue beyond Donovan’s chair and listening to them all night, after all—and quite meaningfully enough to raise a stoic brow, “Don’t be too long, Donovan, my darling. I’d be so disappointed to fall asleep before you kiss me good night.”

  Oh, Lord, had she really purred that ridiculous nonsense? Was she mad? Seeing that Donovan had stopped swirling his brandy, his midnight eyes full upon her as she hastened from the room, Corisande wanted to kick herself, but instead she fled up the stairs.

  It was the nervousness taking over, she was certain of it. Making her tongue rash. Making her foolish. Last night at least she’d had sherry and champagne to dull her senses, but tonight she had nothing to calm her racing heart. Yet she remembered her heart pounding last night too—oh, bloody hell, she didn’t want to think about it!

  Corisande saw that her bed was turned down again the moment she entered her chamber, and wishing in vain that she might sleep there alone by herself, she quickly shed her clothes and groped inside the wardrobe for her flannel nightgown . . . but it wasn’t there. Groaning to herself, she found instead a gossamer bit of muslin trimmed with delicate pink lace, and she knew at once that Rose Polkinghorne must have come to call.

  There were two new dresses, too, but she didn’t waste time looking at them. She slipped the muslin nightgown over her head—for heaven’s sake, there was nothing to it!—and felt her face grow red with embarrassment. The fabric was nearly transparent, and it wasn’t voluminous either, like her flannel, but hugged the curves of her body like nothing she had ever worn before.

  Corisande groaned aloud this time, wishing she had thought to bring her cloak with her. She would have liked nothing more in that moment than to douse herself from head to toe with lavender perfume. But the damned cloak was in the drawing room while she was here, and with Donovan no doubt on his way upstairs …

  She didn’t tarry any longer, pulling the pins from her hair and dropping them onto the floor as she raced through the sitting room. Thank God she didn’t need the water closet tonight. She could just dive into bed and bloody hide, that thought making her bolt into Donovan’s room all the faster—

  “Good God, woman, are you trying to run me down?”

  Chapter 19

  Corisande gasped and veered to avoid careening into Donovan as he sidestepped to avoid her too. Spinning around, she gaped at him, loose strands of hair half covering her face, but she wasn’t so blinded as not to see that his shirt was hanging open—oh, dear Lord, he was already undressing!

  At least, he had been undressing. Now he was simply staring at her, his gaze sweeping over her from head to foot. With a shriek she crossed her arms over her breasts, demanding in a hoarse croak, “Turn around this very instant! Damn you, Donovan Trent, turn around!”

  But Donovan didn’t want to turn around. God help him, he wanted to stare and stare, the hissing fire burning brightly enough that he could see nearly every tantalizing inch of Corisande just as God had made her. And her nipples weren’t pink as he’d thought they might be last night, but a dusky brown he could plainly see through her nightgown even as she desperately tried to cover herself. A dusky brown like the muslin-veiled triangle at the heart of her thighs.

  “What are you doing here? I—I only left the dining room a few moments ago. What are you doing here?”

  She sounded nearly beside herself, her voice having become a high-pit
ched squeak. It was enough to make Donovan cease his staring, barely, and look at her stricken face.

  “What do you think I’m doing here, woman? You told me not to be too long, and I do sleep here.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but this time no words came at all. Instead she turned and fled toward the bed and tore back the covers, leaping beneath them and pulling them up to the bridge of her nose.

  In fact, she looked like a tousle-haired mouse peeping out at him, and thank God, too, that Corisande had covered herself, giving him much-needed respite to calm his thundering senses. He’d almost gone after her, the sight of her trim, heart-shaped bottom all the temptation any man should be made to stand in one lifetime. Ten lifetimes! He doubted he’d ever seen any woman fashioned more seductively, lithe and long-limbed and yet curved and round

  Groaning to himself, Donovan went to the washbasin and filled it with water, then bent over and splashed himself full in the face. He did so, not once but several times, wishing that it wasn’t tepid but ice-cold. Ice-cold to stop this infernal burning inside him, this madness he seemed scarcely able to control.

  By the time he stopped splashing himself he was drenched, his chest matted and soaking, his shirt dripping wet, as well as his breeches and boots. And yet he felt like hanging his head in the water, doubting the dunking had done him any good.

  Dammit, why had he raced up here? Corisande hadn’t meant those bloody words, he knew that, which was nothing new to him.

  He’d been called darling countless times before, my love, my heart—by elegant, beautiful women who uttered such endearments as easily as they changed lovers. Even Nina hadn’t meant them, lovely ebony-haired Nina with her sultry dark eyes and scarlet lips, his mistress for a time and the mother of his child. And it had suited him fine, always had. He’d never been bothered at all, no, never given it a second thought or yearned for even a moment that those words might be heartfelt.