A Kiss at Midnight (27 page)

“What?”

“If you don’t stop rubbing against me like that, this is going to be a very short and disappointing first encounter.”

“I like it,” she said, smiling up at him and wiggling. “It makes me feel . . . warm. And soft. And”—her cheeks turned rosy—“wet.”

He framed her face with his hands, brushing her lips with his, and suddenly she felt that part of him, nudging against her.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please.” Everything in her body strained, as if all her concentration had gone to that fiery place between her legs.

His eyes were black with desire. “I need to put on a French letter, as commanded,” he said, grabbing something from the bedside table. And then, a moment later . . .

He was larger and hotter than she would have imagined. He slid partway into her, and stopped, whispered something that she couldn’t understand.

She drove her hands into his hair and arched toward him. “It’s not enough,” she panted, and heard a groan that was almost a laugh . . . and then he drove forward again.

She screamed, but not because of pain. It was the feeling of being owned, possessed and taken, the sense of another person, not just any person, but Gabriel,
Gabriel
.

He pulled back. “Does it hurt?” he asked. “Talk to me, Kate. We don’t have to continue. We can—”

“Please,” she panted.

“Please stop?” He was hanging above her, his jaw tight, his eyes black with passion. “Does it hurt too much, love?”

“I can’t—”

“You can’t take it,” he said, withdrawing even more. “I understand. I’ve been told I’m too large before.”

“Damn it,” Kate cried, finally finding her voice. “Come back, Gabriel. Come—come now!” And she reached down and pulled him fiercely toward her.

His smile flared with pure wild joy. “That’s my Kate,” he crooned, and he stroked forward.

She arched her back instinctively, coming to meet him. He was too full, too big, too perfect. It was the very edge of tolerable. “Again,” she gasped, willing her body to accept.

Obligingly, he performed.

And again.

And again, again, again, again, again. He pumped into her until his breath was nothing more than a hoarse rasp, and sweat dampened both their bodies.

“Sweetheart,” Gabriel said, “you have to, I need you to . . .” but he lost his voice and she didn’t know how to follow the heat and the madness where her body wanted to go. Until . . .

Until she discovered that if she tightened . . . if she squeezed . . .

He let out a hoarse bellow, for one thing. Every time.

And she . . . it made flames lick down her legs and up her middle, and she arched her back again, welcoming the joy and the wildness, the sweat and the pleasure, and then . . . there it was.

Wave after wave of heat crashing through her body, until she cried with wanton pleasure, dug her fingers into him, and hung on.

Thirty-five

T
hey had washed, and made love again, slow and sweet, cuddled under the blankets, as the night air grew chilly and then freezing.

“I should go,” she whispered, at some point in that long night.

“I feel like bleeding Romeo and Juliet,” Gabriel said. “Don’t start telling me about the lark, Juliet, because they don’t fly up this high.”

“I have to go,” she said, feathering kisses on his neck.

“No.” He sounded like a stubborn little boy. “No.”

She laughed against his neck and tucked her leg a bit more securely between his. She had never imagined feeling so happy, so safe.

“I will never forget you,” she whispered, because it had to be said. She had been brought up to make proper goodbyes, to say her thank-yous, to take her leave. “And I will always remember this night.”

His arms tightened around her. “You’re turning me into Romeo.”

“Romeo didn’t swear as much as you do,” she said, tracing a pattern on his chest with one finger. “It’s not princely.”

“Nothing I do is princely since I met you,” he said. “Not this night, not—not any of it.”

She couldn’t stop herself. “Just don’t forget me.” He was silent, and her heart faltered.

“Do you know what Romeo says to his bride when she’s lying there in the tomb?” Gabriel asked.

“I don’t remember,” Kate admitted.

“He promises to stay with her forever. Maybe there’s something else, and then he says,
Never from this palace of dim night will I depart again
. I have the palace, Kate, I have the palace, and still I can’t stay with you.”

“Doesn’t he kill himself at that point?” Kate asked cautiously.

“Yes.”

“I’d rather not be part of that,” she said. “I must say, Gabriel, that the literature you fancy seems very dark.”

“I suppose there’s a parallel between Dido and Juliet,” he said.

“Ridiculous women,” she said, resting her chin on his chest. “I adore you, but I’m not planning to build a funeral pyre in the near future.”

She felt his chuckle before she heard it, felt his smile in the kiss he dropped on her hair. “That’s my Kate.”

“I don’t have a romantic bone in my body,” she said unapologetically.

“I would bet I could make you squeal in verse.” And then he started kissing her again.

But she didn’t need a singing lark to know the truth. Years of rising with the dawn told her that it was near, that she had to make her way back through those corridors.

“Gabriel,” she whispered.

“No.”

She wriggled away. “I must.” She toppled out of bed, and pulled on his wrapper again, curling her toes against the chill of the stone floor.

He was out of the bed too, his face set in bleak lines that made her heart hurt.

But she bit her lip and didn’t speak. She couldn’t help, she couldn’t help . . . this couldn’t be solved with another kiss, or a promise.

Two minutes later she was swathed in black lace and bundled up in his arms. “You don’t carry your aunt around the castle like this!” she gasped.

“If we encounter anyone, I’ll tell them that Sophonisba suffered a fatal apoplexy after too much brandy.”

She would have reproached him, but his tone was removed, cold as ice. “It’s not her fault,” she said, leaning her head against his chest, and listening to his heart beat.

“What isn’t?”

“That she never married, and ended up being thrown out like a piece of unwanted laundry. It’s not their fault, Gabriel, and you have to keep that in mind.”

“I never said it was.” He strode along another corridor, turned again . . . they had to be close to the door of her chamber now. “It’s Fate, that bloody impudent devil who brought down Romeo and Juliet.”

It sounded very dramatic to Kate, but she understood what he meant.

“I love you,” she said, when he put her on her feet at the door to her room. Risking everything, she pulled up the veil and looked into his face.

“I—” But the words seemed to catch in his throat, and her heart slammed against her chest at his silence.

Instead he bent down and kissed her and then, quickly, turned and left.

Kate waited until he turned the corner of the corridor, then tumbled through the door of her room. There was Freddie, waiting in the middle of her bed. He raised a sleepy muzzle and gave her a loving little woof. There were candles, guttering low on the mantelpiece. There were her book, and her slippers, and her nightgown waiting for her.

There was real life in this room, and behind her was nothing more than a fairy tale, and she would do well to remember that.

She could train herself in the boundaries of reality in the morning. For the present, she tucked Freddie’s warm little body under her chin and let him lick up the salty tears that slid onto his face.

Rosalie slipped through the door a few hours later, banging around the room, pulling open the curtains.

“No,” Kate groaned. “Please, go away. I can’t get up yet.”

“You don’t have to get up,” the little maid said cheerfully. “I have such wonderful news that you—”

“Out!” Kate said, sitting up, knowing that her eyes were still swollen. “Take the dogs with you, please. I’ll ring for you later.” And with that she fell backward, pulled a pillow over her head, and pretended to be unconscious.

She didn’t rise until two in the afternoon. She drifted listlessly over to the bell, rang for Rosalie, and then stared in the glass. It was faintly interesting to note that a deflowered woman looks just like any other woman.

In fact, she thought, leaning closer, she looked better than she had a week ago. Her skin had a glow to it, and her lips—

It must have been all that kissing that made them look crimson and slightly swollen.

Rosalie entered with a breakfast tray, followed by a line of footmen with hot water. “I have such a surprise in store for you!” she said again.

“Tell me after my bath,” Kate said wearily, sitting down at the dressing table and picking up a piece of toast.

“Drink this.” Rosalie handed her a cup of tea. “You had a nasty stomach upset last night. I felt terrible, not being able to tend to you, but Mr. Berwick said he just couldn’t do without me. I
am
good with flowers. And he promised to send you a maid. Was she helpful?”

“Absolutely. She was—she was perfect.”

“There, this will make you feel better.”

It wasn’t until she was out of the bath, dried, powdered, and dressed, that Rosalie said hopefully, “Would you like to know your surprise now?”

“I apologize,” Kate said. “Of course I would.”

“Your stepsister is here!” she said with a squeal. “Miss Victoria’s lip improved and she arrived yesterday late, but of course you were ill and not to be disturbed. Would you like me to knock on her chamber? She’s just next door. Mr. Berwick moved Mr. Fenwick up a floor so the two of you could be together.”

“Victoria is here?” Kate said, sitting down. “With my stepmother?”

Rosalie shook her head. “No. And isn’t that a blessing? Lady Dimsdale brought her, but her ladyship left immediately as she is preparing for Miss Victoria’s wedding.” She bustled to the door. “I’ll fetch her this moment. I know she’s longing to see you.”

Victoria entered the room rather tentatively, as if she wasn’t sure of her welcome. Kate got up and went over to greet her.

They could not be said to have grown up together; they had lived on the same floor of Yarrow House for only a matter of months until their father died, upon which Mariana promptly moved Kate from the nursery to the garret.

At sixteen, Kate was too old for the nursery, Mariana said, and there wasn’t any call for a poor relative to be housed on the main floor.

But Victoria had an intrinsic kindness about her that was missing from her mother, and had never joined in Mariana’s taunts or humiliations.

“Rosalie, will you fetch us more tea?” Kate asked.

The maid whisked herself out the door and Kate sat down next to her sister, beside the fire. Freddie came over and sprang into her lap. “How is your lip?”

“It’s fine,” Victoria said, patting it. “After being lanced, it was already much better by the next day.”

“It looks perfect to me,” Kate said.

“Isn’t this castle an oddity? It’s so huge. I thought I would expire from the cold last night, at least until Caesar came to bed with me.”

“Caesar!” Kate said, startled. Her hand froze on Freddie’s head. “I didn’t even realize he wasn’t in my chamber.”

“I could hear him barking,” Victoria explained. “I couldn’t bear it, so I finally slipped over here and brought him to my room. Freddie seemed perfectly comfortable so I left him on your bed.”

She fiddled with a fold of her gown, the color high in her cheeks. Kate looked at her and knew exactly what that meant. “I didn’t sleep in my bed last night,” she said with a sigh.

“I’m not one to judge,” Victoria said.

“Why did you come?” Kate asked, softening the question with a smile.

“Algie kept writing me.” And, when Kate’s eyebrow flew up: “He writes me every day. We both do, every day since we first met back in March, at Westminster Abbey.”

“You
do
?”

Victoria nodded. “Sometime pages and pages. Algie,” she said with pride, “is a wonderful correspondent. I didn’t have a governess, you know, so I am considerably less—well—he doesn’t mind very much.”

Kate had never really thought about how Victoria’s education was affected by Mariana’s propensity to dismiss the household servants; her sister didn’t seem someone who greatly missed tutoring. But her cheeks were pink and she was still pleating her gown.

“I’m sorry. I should have fought harder to keep the governess,” Kate said.

“You did all you could. Mother is . . . well, she
is
. I thought—I’ve thought for years—that it was wonderful how you protected Cherryderry and Mrs. Swallow and most of the people on the farms. You couldn’t keep a governess on top of all that.”

“I could have tried harder,” Kate repeated. She just hadn’t thought much about Victoria, the treasured, coddled daughter. “So what did Algie tell you?” she asked.

“He said that I should come here,” Victoria said, eyes on her lap still. “He said that you were—were falling in love with the prince, and it wouldn’t end well, and that I should come rescue
you
.” She said the last word defiantly, looking up. “I know you spent years saving all the people on the estate and in the house, and Algie agrees with me, that sometimes people like that need rescuing themselves.”

Kate sat for a second and then she started to laugh. Not a harsh laugh, but the healing kind of laughter, the kind that comes after years of being alone are over, and you discover that you have a family.

It wasn’t a normal family: Henry had no pretensions to being a paragon of virtue. Victoria was illegitimate, if kindhearted, and Algie was genuinely foolish. Yet they cared for her.

Victoria perked up at her laughter. “So you aren’t angry?” she said hopefully. “I was worried that you would be irritated by my arrival, but Algie . . .”

Kate reached over and gave her sister a hug. “I think it was tremendously kind of you. I am happy to be rescued. Although I don’t mean to stay much longer; will that be all right with you?”

“Oh yes, because we have to leave after the ball, this very night,” Victoria said. “We need to marry.”

“Of course.”

“If we leave at midnight tonight, we can be in Algie’s parish by seven in the morning. Would you—would you accompany us?”

“Driving through the night?” Kate exclaimed.

“Well, the prince told Algie that he has to attend the ball. But Algie told his mother, Lady Dimsdale, that he would be home in time to get married in the morning.” Victoria looked at her hopefully. “My mother is already at Dimsdale Manor.”

Algie was not one to disobey a direct command, obviously. “Of course I will come with you. Did he tell you that I have a godmother, Lady Wrothe?”

“Yes . . . she calls herself Henry, doesn’t she? And will she take you to live with her?”

“She will,” Kate said, smiling.

“Because you could always come live with us,” Victoria said anxiously. “Algie’s mother is moving to the dower house and the two of us will be knocking about in that great house by ourselves. We’d love to have you.”

She meant it. “I’m so glad to have discovered that you’re my sister,” Kate said.

Victoria nodded. Her eyes were a little teary.

Kate squeezed her hand.

“I just wish that our father had been more gentlemanly,” Victoria said in a rush. “I wish—I wish that Algie didn’t have to marry me under false pretenses.” A tear slid down her cheek.

“He’s not,” Kate said. “He’s marrying you because he loves you, and because you love him. And that’s all anyone has a right to know about it.”

Victoria sniffed, and somewhat to Kate’s surprise made an obvious effort to stop crying. “I always believed in my father, I mean, in the colonel that I thought was my father. She even has a portrait of him, you know. Except that he never existed.”