The Trouble With Moonlight (37 page)

“How did you know it was me?” His ability to find her no matter the circumstance still amazed her.

“We’re connected, you and I.” He opened his eyes and smiled. A flutter raced about her rib cage. “Do you remember the brooch I gave you with the bell?”

She nodded, but he narrowed his eyes.

“Why are you wearing black during the daytime? It is daytime, is it not?” He started to roll to his back, but she stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. Although it appeared his back was well bandaged beneath a thin nightshirt, she thought it would be painful with his weight on it. She smiled down at him.

“This is all I had to wear, sir. You have all my clothes.”

“As well it should be.” Delight teased his eyes, and he ran his hand lightly up her arm. “If I had my way, I’d keep all your clothes under lock and key, and you’d have to remain naked for me both day and night.”

“Under lock and key? Do you truly believe that would keep them from me?”

He barked a laugh. “It appears I’ve taught you too well. I’ll not be able to hide anything from you.”

“As well it should be,” she replied, enjoying their repartee.

He patted the side of the bed. “Sit here so I don’t have to strain my head to look at you.”

She obliged, though it was difficult not to touch him when he was so scantily clothed and so very near. He took her hand in his, then issued a mock frown. “You stopped wearing my brooch.”

A guilty pang pulled at her lips. She didn’t think he had even noticed that she’d stopped wearing it. She hadn’t intended to hurt his feelings. “The moonstone doesn’t go well with black. Society insists that one in mourning wear only jet.”

“And when did you begin caring about society’s rules?” He smiled. “I bought that brooch thinking that it would rob you of the ability to sneak up on me. I would know where you were at all times. However, I’ve since learned that I don’t require you to wear a brooch. My heart always knows when you’re about, and when you are not.”

She melted a bit inside, even before he tenderly kissed her hand. How she would miss him, both in the dark as well as the day. She stroked his hair away from his face.

“The problem is,” he said, “I can’t bear for you to be away from me any longer.”

“But you said the mission—”

“The mission be dammed. Last night, I convinced myself that you were not coming back. I tried to come to the house to tell you, but—”

She stilled him. “I only went to check on Portia.” His brow lifted so she answered his unasked question. “She has recovered without memory of what transpired, though she regrets that her first ball gown is ruined.”

“I’ll send her many more. I owe her that much.”

“I had planned to return with you last night, but your carriage was gone. Rhea told me she saw you fall. I thought that you had purposely left without me. That you no longer needed me, now that the mission is complete.” A lump formed in her throat at her admission.

“I shall always need you.” He kissed her hand again. “I know that I insisted that it was for your protection, that we could not share a future together. For years I have maintained a distance between myself and others, under the rationalization that their welfare could be placed at risk through their association to me. Marcus reminded me last night that every person I have ever loved had abandoned or betrayed me.”

“But that’s not true. Marcus lied,” she interjected.

“Yes. It was true,” he insisted, “until I met you.”

Her heart ached for him. No wonder he kept her at arm’s length when she initiated a kiss. He was as afraid she would hurt him as she was of losing him.

“Looking back,” he said, “I suspect that was the real reason I maintained those distances. By refusing a relationship, I was protecting myself from being hurt when the other party departed. Last night, when I believed that I had lost you, I realized that by denying myself a future with you, I was denying the one chance I had at true happiness. I never realized how lonely I was until I faced the possibility that you would not come back, that you would move away to protect your own interests. That is to say, little thief that you are, you slipped in and stole my heart and made it your own. I don’t want protection anymore, Lusinda. I want you. I want to marry you.”

Love blossomed full in her chest. Tears gathered in her eyes. Never had she thought she would hear those words, and yet this man, this very special man, who knew about her unnatural talent, still wanted her, still loved her, as if she were normal.

“Yes,” she said, though it emerged as a whisper. His eyebrow quirked as if he didn’t understand. “Yes!” she proclaimed a bit louder. The tears broke through the barrier and streamed down her cheeks.

She leaned down to kiss him, and he pulled her into his arms and rolled onto his back with her firmly in his grasp. He winced and she tried unsuccessfully to struggle free. “Your back!”

“It hurts,” he admitted, “but it hurts more to be without you.” He kissed her hard and deep, silencing all her protests. Her body responded in the tightening of her breasts and a yearning to press intimately close. Concern for his injuries, however, prevented her from doing so.

“Soon, my love,” she said. “First, you must heal.”

He took a deep breath, then smiled. “Having you with me is like Portia’s touch, a healing miracle. I feel much stronger already.” He hugged her tight. She laughed, then pulled back, afraid that his amorous antics would truly cause more injury. She sat up and looked down on him. Life with Locke would be sweet indeed, except for . . .

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “A cloud just slipped over your face.”

The man could almost read her thoughts. Perhaps he had some unnatural talent of his own. “It’s Pickering,” she said. “I know you’ve said he is a close friend and trustworthy—”

“He’s gone,” Locke said. Lusinda’s expression must have reflected her surprise. “Marcus told me that Pickering was the one who told him of your special talent. He observed you that night in the conservatory. Tavish had his men checking his movements. Apparently, he has run to Russia, afraid of my retribution.”

Lusinda placed her finger across his lips. “It is good that he is gone. I believe that he was jealous of your affection toward me.”

“Then he saw that to which I was blind. Forgive me, Lusinda, for ever making you think that I didn’t care. I have cared for you since the night I didn’t see you.”

She leaned down and kissed him again, knowing that this was only the first of many, many shared kisses.

LOCKE SAT AT HIS DESK IN HIS VERY OWN LIBRARY, in his very own house, reading his very own book, by the light of his very own oil lamp. As Lusinda said, they had put down roots, much like the moonflowers she introduced to their very own tiny garden.

He studied the pages in front of him with great intent, all the while stroking Twilight, a suspected offspring of Shadow, whose contented purr vibrated through his chest. He smiled. He would purr himself if he could. He had never imagined life could be so sweet.

He broke from his studies for just a moment and raised his glance to a photograph of Lusinda propped on his desk, and another one on a bookshelf of the entire Havershaw family with him at the center. Never would he have believed such a thing was possible. Never at least, until he met Lusinda.

Life had changed dramatically in such a brief period of time. He had a family, and a rather marvelous, spectacular, and unique family at that. His reputation in Her Majesty’s service was no longer one of master thief and cracksman, but rather master teacher and strategist. Now that he knew he would never uncover anything as valuable as Lusinda in a dark moonlit study, he left the recovery of secrets to younger, more ambitious men.

He glanced out the window. A full moon hovered over neighboring rooftops. The scent of moonflowers drifted to his nose, drawing a smile to his face. Lusinda. He turned his head toward the tantalizing jingle of jostling metal coins.

A bright pink low-cut bodice fringed with gold coins undulated in the air before him. A slight distance below the bodice, low-slung harem pants encircled by a plum-colored veil rolled side to side in the fashion of a belly dancer. Only this dancer had no belly, nor arms to support the tiny brass discs that chimed a rhythm. At least, no visible belly, or arms, or head.

Twilight jumped off his lap to crouch in anticipated attack on the shaking coins.

“Where did you get that outfit?” James asked, wishing that she had chosen to remain visible for this treat. He’d enjoy seeing the sensual sway of her heavy breasts and the lift and roll of her stomach in the dance movements. His groin tightened at the thought, but he understood why she chose this night to dance for him. The moon was waxing near its full strength, and she was embarrassed by her distended belly.

“The last time we were in India, I asked a dancer to show me how this was done,” she said, completing a perfect hip roll. “Do you like it?”

The veil lifted and swirled while she spun in a tight circle amidst the jingle of the bouncing coins, and the futile attacks by Twilight.

“I like it very much.” He shifted his chair to the side, then slapped his thigh. “Come here,” he ordered in a guttural groan.

The invisible dancer stepped around his desk until she stood within an arm’s distance. He leaned down to kiss and fondle her protruding stomach. Then he reached around to the curve of her back, while he licked the belly button that pushed out at the apex. He felt her shudder through his palm.

“Soon you won’t be able to do that,” she said.

“I shall always do this.” He placed his ear against her skin, listening for the sounds of life within. “I’ll just have to lean further to reach your belly.”

He felt her hand in his hair and sighed in contentment, or perhaps it was a purr.

“Have you been studying?” she asked.

“Indeed I have.” He glanced up at her, resting his chin on the curve of her stomach and feeling the smooth silk of her skin push at his throat. “When the time comes, I can serve as midwife if need be.” He let his hands drop down to fondle her buttocks. “Even if I can’t see you, no one knows the shape of you as intimately as I. Nothing bad will happen to you if little Locke decides to make an appearance at the height of a full moon, I promise.”

As if in response, the baby rolled beneath his chin. Lusinda tugged on his arms, a signal to stand. He did so and pulled her into his arms for an embrace. Her cheeks were damp. Tears of joy, he suspected. She seemed to move to tears quite quickly these days. He kissed the tear tracks, tasting the salt on his lips.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t be crying. You make me so happy. I don’t know why I’m always—”

He placed his finger on her lips. “I thought you might want to steal a kiss.”

Her back straightened, though he could feel her smile vibrate in the air between them. “James, I’ve told you time and again, I’m not a—”

His kiss swallowed her words.

Turn the page for a preview
of the next historical romance
by Donna MacMeans

THE SEDUCTION OF A DUKE

Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!

“CHAMBERS, I DON’T THINK THIS IS A GOOD IDEA.” Percy glanced at his reflection in the mirror, twisting from side to side, admiring the fit of the military blue jacket with the gold braid trim of a Prussian prince. “This costume was meant for you. The note said as much.”

“Ridiculous,” William picked up the brilliant green papier-mâché frog head that would ultimately complete his costume. “I much prefer wearing your costume. This headpiece will allow me the freedom to move throughout the crowd without the demands placed on a performing pig.”

“So now I’m a pig, am I?” Percy laughed. “Seriously, why are you doing this?”

The painted face on the frog held a ridiculous grin; the eyes were much larger than those on a natural frog. It would certainly hide him completely. William slipped the hollow construction over his head until the neck opening rested on his shoulders.

“Hiding in that mask won’t stop my questions,” Percy said. “We’ve gallivanted about Newport for several days now and you’ve still not told me why you’re here.”

The mask muffled the sound of Percy’s voice, but William heard enough to understand the gist of the question. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to answer it. He peered out of the mask. He could see, but not clearly. The world took a darker turn when wearing the mask. He felt confined, hot, trapped. Yes, definitely the latter. As restrictive and uncomfortable as the headpiece felt on his shoulders, he didn’t remove the covering. He picked up the green gloves that had come with the costume.

“You’re going to propose to her, aren’t you?”

William raised his head but didn’t address Percival’s question. To speak of what he was about to do would make it too real, too embarrassing.

“Miss Winthrop. She’s the reason you’re here, isn’t she?” William started to reply, but the sound was amplified inside the mask, making the sound of his own voice painful to his ears. Placing hands on either side of the head, he lifted the mask off his shoulders. The warm, humid air of Newport brought relief to his overheated face.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Percy said after a glance. “Men have married women for their dowries for centuries. It’s an English tradition.”

William looked away, discomfort souring his stomach. “It’s not part of my tradition. I had thought never to marry again after Helen died. If there were any other way . . .”

“You must have loved Helen a great deal.”

William frowned. Revisiting past injustices would serve no purpose. He picked up the sword that had accompanied the prince costume and tested the point with his finger. “The engagement is to be announced tonight at the ball.”

Percy’s eyes widened. “Tell me then, why are we switching costumes?”

“I’d like a chance to view the chit without her knowing that I’m her intended.” William handed the sword to Percy, who placed it in its scabbard. “Women act differently once they discover I have a title. I’d like to experience how it feels to be an unknown.”