Midnight Mistress

by Ruth Owen

  “I did not. I would have helped you, but you chose—Please, you are hurting me.”

  “I haven’t even begun.” His eyes glittering with lethal promise. “You called me a betrayer—well, Lady High and Mighty, it seems you’re a traitor too. But of course, my kind doesn’t matter to the likes of you. Your breeding is too refined for dirt like me.”

  “That’s not true,” she cried. “I … I cared for you. Very much.”

  He circled her waist and pulled her against him, grinning wickedly at her shocked gasp when she felt the hard evidence of his lust. “I care for you, too. Very much,” he mocked. “But I draw the line at trading my body for favors. I sell secrets for gold—but I’m not a professional like you high-born dells, who are ready to do any randy fop for a lofty title and a—”

  Her fierce slap knocked him silent—for a moment. He rubbed the livid welt and smiled with malice. “That … was a mistake.”

  “You are a shameless cur,” she cried, struggling against his hold. “You have no decency, no honor. I shall be glad when they hang you. I hate you. I despise you. I—”

  His mouth fused to hers in a crushing lass.

  His kiss was as ruthless as his grip. There was no love in it, not a trace of regard they’d once shared. It was a bold, carnal seduction, nothing more. But it was Connor who was doing the seducing, and Juliana couldn’t have stopped wanting it any more than she could have stopped her heart from beating.

  Desire that had been building inside her for weeks raged in her like a furnace. She didn’t want this. She couldn’t want this. But as Connor’s hot, thorough caress moved from her lips to the sensitive lobe of her ear, she knew he’d already won the battle that had barely begun.

  “I hate you,” she breathed weakly.

  “Yes I know,” he growled as he laved moist, searing kisses down the column of her throat.

  “I mean it. I despise—oh, Connor!” She sank her fingers in his hair and brought his mouth to hers, eager for more.

  For a thousand lonely nights Connor had dreamed of having her in his arms, savaging her with all the aching hunger in his damned, burning soul. His tongue spiraled down into the sweet, wet heat of her mouth. He buried his fingers in the abundance of her hair and held her fast for the plundering assault of his lass. He feasted on her lips, eyelids, and chin before lingering in the pounding hollow of her throat. He could taste the salt on her skin, a remembrance of the death he’d narrowly saved her from. The naked fear of that moment returned, stoking the already white-hot flames of his desire. If she’d died … if I’d lost her forever …

  His mouth took hers, drowning her in a caress far darker and hungrier than the ocean beneath them.

  She was fire. In all her dreams, she’d never imagined the deep, coiling heat that pulsed from her core. It was nothing like the tepid fondlings of her admirers. She buried her fingers in his chest hair, loving the way he was made, gorging on his strength and power. For the first time she knew what a woman was made for—what she was made for. Pleasure. Seduction. Connor.

  “Juliana,” he whispered against her throat, his husky voice seducing her every bit as much as his hungry caress. “I need you. God, how I need you.”

  Her blood bubbled like molten lava. His hands were everywhere, coaxing and fondling her yielding body with the same brutal mastery as his wicked kiss. He was a villain and a traitor, and she wanted to hate him with every fiber of her being. But he was also Connor—her Connor—the man she loved with every broken piece of her heart. Her duty to her country vied with her love of the man, the two forces warring in her soul. She leaned against his chest, exhausted by war and passion. “Connor … you are tearing me … apart.”

  His caresses ceased. Slowly, as if every muscle in his body ached, he raised his head and stared down into her eyes. The pain in them ripped her soul. He dropped his arms and turned away. “Forgive me, my lady. I will not trouble you again.”

  “Connor. Please … I want to … but how can I love you when you have given me every reason to distrust you? How can I believe in you?”

  “You did once,” he offered quietly. “Without thought or reason, you believed in me without question, and trusted me with your heart.”

  “Yes, and you shattered it! You asked me to marry you when you already had another lover.”

  Connor froze. “What are you talking about?”

  “You heard me,” she stated as she went back to the bed, and slumped down on to the edge with barely contained misery. “I know you loved another.”

  “Juliana, I fully admit that I’ve done a number of despicable things in my life, but when I offered for you I was pure.”

  He’d meant to allay her doubts. Instead the misery in her eyes increased. “Save your pretty speeches. After you left the house that night, I followed you to your rooms. I was … was going to run away with you.”

  It had taken him years to construct the high, unbreachable ice wall that guarded his heart. It took her a heartbeat to melt it. He stared at her, experiencing the giddy, innocent wonder he hadn’t felt since the night she had pledged to be his wife. “You were going to give up your life of privilege, your entire fortune, for me?”

  She nodded. “It was foolish, but I did not discover how foolish until I reached your courtyard. I looked up at your window, and I saw … There was a shadow on the curtains, on the curtains I’d made for you … You were in her arms … and I knew you’d never truly loved me. Never.”

  He told himself it was better this way. He had already cost her so much—her trust, her honor, almost her life. He could not take more. The best thing he could do for her was to walk out of her life forever, leaving her with the belief that he’d never been worthy of her love. What was one more lie on top of so many?

  Swallowing his misery, he walked to the door and reached for the handle, knowing he was doing the right thing, the best thing, the honorable thing …

  A thing he could no more do than he could stop loving her.

  “Juliana, the woman you saw that night. She was my sister.”

  For a long time, there was no sound in the cabin save for the creak and groan of the ship’s timbers. Then Connor went to the window and stared out at what was left of the night. “I told you that my mother died, but I never told you how. ’Twas in childbirth. A baby girl, fragile as a bud. My mother died within hours of her birth. But before she died she made me swear to take care of the babe. As if I needed urging—to me she was perfect, the one good thing in the filth and squalor that was my life.”

  He wiped his hand over his face, recalling the horror of those dark days after his mother’s death. “During that winter, keeping her alive was what kept me alive. I stole everything I could lay my hands on—not proud of it, but it was all I could do to keep food in our bellies. By some miracle we survived through spring, and I found an innkeeper’s wife willing to take her in for a few pennies. Over the years I sent them every piece of blunt that came my way, and saw her whenever I was in port. I never told your father—he had already done so much for me that I had no right to burden him further. My sister was my responsibility.

  “I thought she was safe and well, but as my own life became busier, and my own hopes for a future with you began to absorb my attention, I started to see her less and less. I relied on her letters as truth. It proved to be a disastrous error on my part.

  “On New Year’s Day, the very morning after I offered for you, she appeared at my door in a deplorable state. She had to leave the city at once, and the only way I could think to get the money to help her was to take it from your father’s strongbox. ’Twas the rash act of a desperate young man, but at the time I saw no other way. Her honor was at stake. Indeed, perhaps her life.”

  Behind him, Connor heard the ropes creak under the mattress as Juliana moved off the bed, but she said nothing. Her silence cut his heart. He’d hoped for a word of understanding, acknowledgment, anything. But she had gone through a lifetime of changes that night, and this final revelation
might have been just too much for her gently bred soul to endure. “Whatever the reason, I still stole the money from your father, a man who had shown me nothing but kindness. I do not expect your forgiveness any more today than I did years ago. All that I can offer is that I have paid a thousand times over for my dishonor, because I lost you. And I hope that, someday, you might find it in you to—”

  “You idiot!” Juliana stood behind him, transformed from a heartbroken waif to a furious warrior whose eyes blazed with pure murder from the depths of her “gently bred soul.” “Do you know the agony I suffered over you, the years of … Why did you never tell me that you had a sister?”

  “I told you. My sister was my responsibility. You and your father had already done so much for me. I planned to tell you after we were wed, but as a man of honor, I couldn’t expect—”

  Juliana hit him on his shoulder.

  Connor rubbed the stinging spot. She’d never best William Mace, but when her blood was up, she could deliver a prime mendozy. “Quit this foolishness.”

  “I only wish I had a cannon! Man of honor, my barnacled hull! Your idiotic gallantry broke my heart.”

  “I was trying to protect you. I was—oh no you don’t!”

  As Juliana hauled back for another strike, Connor’s hand struck out and captured her wrist. Deprived of the use of her fists, the still-furious woman attempted to kick him in the shin. Cursing roundly, Connor gathered up the struggling hellcat and dumped her back on the bed, where he pinned down her flailing fists and legs before he continued. “Listen to me! My sister was badly abused. The man who’d seduced her was a powerful peer, one of your cousin Grenville’s set, and he was obsessed with her beyond reason. He’d already set men to track her. She pleaded with me not to tell the marquis or your cousin for fear the fiend might catch wind of it.”

  “You could have told me. My mother’s jewels—”

  “—were not mine to take. I loved you too much to ask.” He laid his forehead against hers and breathed a sigh of heartache. “Maybe I did make foolish choices, but I was one-and-twenty, and still more boy than man. And my sister was only fourteen.”

  Fourteen, Juliana thought, her anger fading. Two years younger than she’d been at the time. She turned her head to the side, sickened. “That poor girl. Who was the man?”

  “I know not. He never gave his name, and they met in a secluded apartment. She knew he was nobility from his manners and the names he mentioned—including Grenville’s. At first I’d intended to return and see that the devil paid for his infamy, but I was … prevented. By the time I was able to return, the trail had long since grown cold.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “I’d have moved heaven and earth not to,” he murmured as he brushed cherishing kisses across her brow. “I wanted to save you from the knowledge that such animals existed. It was my duty to protect you.”

  “I wasn’t a child,” she protested softly as his lips moved to her throat.

  “You were a babe. So was I.” Lord, she was pure temptation. Unable to resist, he feasted on the sweet flesh behind her ear, and felt her breath catch in response. “I need you, Princess.”

  “We need each other,” she breathed, bound up in a love neither could resist. “We always have. But between my stubborn pride and your foolish honor—”

  She went absolutely still. Alarmed, Connor raised himself and gazed down into her troubled eyes. “Juliana?”

  “Connor, these past months at the line have taught me something of human nature. And it is hard for me to fathom that a man who once gave up everything he had or hoped to have—including marriage to a wealthy heiress—to save his sister would turn around and sell out his country for a few pieces of brass.” She paused, her beautiful eyes narrowing with a businesswoman’s shrewdness as she asked, “So what is really going on here?”

  He opened his mouth, but instead of words, the sound of thunder rocked the cabin. Connor sat up, wrapping Juliana protectively in his arms. The thunder sounded again.

  “It’s getting closer,” she said, instinctively pressing closer. “ ’Tis a spindrift gale, sure.”

  “That is no storm,” he stated in a funereal voice. “That’s cannon fire.”

  “What’s the situation, Mr. St. Juste?”

  “French corvettes,” Raoul said as he handed Connor the spyglass and pointed to the grim brightening in the storm-gray east. “We did not see them in the rain. Two, I think.”

  “Make it three.” Connor lowered the glass and gripped the rail. “Dammit, why send that land of firepower after a supply convoy?”

  “Perhaps they are not after the convoy?”

  Connor’s jaw pulled tight. “Then they are in for a disappointment.”

  He started to stride down the deck, taking a quick survey of the ship. “The lads have beat to quarters, but even they’ll have a time of it against three armed—Mr. Barnacle!” he bellowed, “keep your ham-fisted assistant away from that cannon block, or we’ll all be meeting Davy Jones.”

  “Aye, sir,” Barnacle said sheepishly.

  Connor approached the assistant. “Remember, ’tis not the first shot that matters, but the last.”

  “Aye,” the lad said as he returned to his cannon, clearly elated at the thought of the approaching battle.

  Connor watched him, a grim smile crossing his face. He’d seen the face of war too often to feel any thrill at the prospect. Men would die today. Maybe he would die today. And by God, he wanted to live, now more than ever.

  For a precious instant he allowed himself to savor the memory of Juliana’s sweet declaration of love, of the impossible, unexpected wonder that she had been willing to give up her life of privilege for him all those years ago. At that moment nothing could have dragged him from her side—except the volley of French guns.

  He marched the deck to the forecastle, to where Raoul stood against the bow railing. “Three against one,” he said, shrugging. “Hardly seems sporting.”

  “ ’Tis a canter in the park,” Connor agreed, knowing neither of them meant it. “Signal the convoy ships to run like the devil. ’Tis the only way we can ensure their safety. We’ll give them as much time as we can, but tell the captains to lay on all sail. And signal the Pelican to wait. I’ve got a job—God’s teeth, what is that idiot doing?”

  Connor watched as one of the merchant ships broke away from the pack and started for the corvettes. He jumped to the forecastle and rubbed the rain from his eyes. “ ’Tis the Pelican. That young idiot Jamison must be seeking a medal. Tell him to return and lay alongside, Mr. St. Juste. I have passengers for him to collect.”

  “If you mean me,” a quiet voice behind him commented, “you had best tell him to sail on. I am not leaving.”

  Connor spun around, and came face to face Juliana in an oversized oilskin and a listing sou’wester. “I ordered you to stay below.”

  “I am not afraid of a fight.”

  “Well, I am.” Connor gripped her arm, and pulled her nose to nose as he continued. “This isn’t some Gazette article about an antiseptic battle. There are two hundred cannons on those ships, and in a little while all of them will be trained on this vessel. Not to mention the sharpshooters in the rigging, ready to pick off anything that moves, or the flaming brands they could shoot at our sails, or the rifles and bayonets we’ll face if we’re boarded. There’s death in every quarter, Princess.”

  “Then I want to face it with you. I don’t care if it is right or honorable. I lost you once, I could not bear to lose you again.”

  Her shining eyes scored truer hits than any cannon shot. There were a hundred things he wanted to say to her, and a hundred more things he wanted to do to her—and not a bloody one of them was appropriate for a water-drenched deck at the start of a battle with nearly two hundred curious sailors looking on. Bad time for a war, he thought as he handed her roughly to Raoul. “Take charge of her, Mr. St. Juste. And see that she and Jamie get on that ship!”

  Raoul glanced Connor
’s back, then returned his gaze to Lady Juliana. “It would appear things have changed,” he offered. “You no longer wish to kill our captain?”

  “No,” she admitted. “But I understand none of this. You are supposed to be spies. Connor has stolen vital dispatches. But you are fighting French ships—your own countrymen—”

  “Not my countrymen, lady,” Raoul said darkly. “I am French, yes, but I do not serve the despot Bonaparte. His murdering dogs killed my uncle, the best man who ever walked this earth. This was his ship, Le Rêve, the Dream. He had a dream of peace. At first—after the terror of the Revolution—he thought Napoleon would bring that peace. My uncle served him, as did I. But power corrupted the emperor’s once noble intentions, and my uncle left France rather than fight for a madman.

  “But Napoleon, he could not let such a man leave his court and live. He sent men to hunt him down, and slaughtered him under a flag of truce. If not for Connor, I and many of the men on this ship would be dead as well. He sailed us through a narrow passage where the larger ships could not follow, staying at the helm though he was badly wounded himself.”

  “But why did you not tell me this before?”

  “Ma petite, would you have listened?”

  No, she would not have. Until that night she would have believed almost nothing good about Connor. She’d let her pride and pain over Connor’s long-ago betrayal blind her to the man he’d become. Now she realized how badly she’d misjudged him. Now, when it might be too late.

  Another cannon volley sounded, followed by the crack of lumber. Juliana ran to the rail and peered through the rain. “The Pelican! They’ve split her mainmast.”

  “She is lost to us. Even now she lowers her colors in surrender. They will take her as a prize, but at least her sailors shall be safe—”

  His words ended as the nearest corvette fired again. The ball smashed into the Pelican, splitting the ship in two. She sank in minutes. Juliana gripped the rail, unable to believe the horror she’d just witnessed. “They’ve hulled her. With her colors down.… All those men … my men …”