Man Of My Dreams: Secrets Of Midnight Part 18

Corisande gave him a kiss on the cheek. The man reeked so miserably of wine and spirits that she was grateful when Donovan whisked her cloak around her shoulders and led her outside. But she didn't readily accept his hand up into the waiting carriage, looking back as the front door closed behind them.

"I can't believe he said that about Lindsay-that she's never forgiven him. Lindsay loves him dearly. She endured Lady Somerset all these years because of him! I've never heard her say one ill word about her father."

"That doesn't mean such a hurt isn't there. Even close friends can't know everything about each other, Corie. Do you think Lindsay knows everything about you?"

She didn't answer; she couldn't, her throat suddenly grown so tight as she stared at Donovan that she was unable to breathe. That he could have voiced, however indirectly, the very thing . . .

"h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation, woman, it was only a simple question! Don't look so glum. I would have thought you'd be smiling with delight as we drove away. Ah, well, all that wonderful arrogance for nothing."

Chapter 26.

Corisande gaped at him, stunned. "So it was on purpose -oh!"

Donovan had scooped her up and deposited her inside the carriage so abruptly that she had to fight to catch her breath, her stomach flipflopping in her throat.

"Shh, Corie, do you want the old termagant to hear us?" he demanded as he climbed in beside her and rapped on the roof. The carriage at once rolled into motion as Will Brighton snapped his whip over the two matched bays' heads. "At least now she isn't quite sure what happened. Let her wonder."

"But why . . . ?" Corisande didn't finish the question as suddenly she and Donovan were cast into heavy shadow when the lights of Somerset Place faded away, the carriage lanterns providing only a dim glow. She felt him shrug, the two of them sitting so close together that his arm rubbed against hers.

"The woman was irritating. And rude. Treating her husband like a lapdog. Intolerable to watch."

"Oh."

Corisande didn't know why she felt so disappointed as a weighty silence fell between them-for heaven's sake, what had she expected? That Donovan would say he'd done it all for her? He might be more of a gentleman than she'd ever imagined, but she didn't need him to stand up for her, no, not at all, nor did she want his protection- "Of course, she wasn't very kind to you either. That was d.a.m.ned intolerable too."

Her stomach suddenly turning upside down, Corisande glanced at Donovan to see that he was staring at her in the dark, and she quickly looked away. "I-I grew used to Lady Somerset's rudeness a long time ago-"

"Well, there's no excuse for it. We were invited guests in her home, but she ignored you from the very start."

"That shouldn't have surprised you. I told you her invitation had absolutely nothing to do with me. But you're the son of a duke-"

"Yes, dammit to h.e.l.l, so I am, and most of the time it's brought me nothing but trouble." He gave a dry laugh that to Corisande held bitterness too. "Except tonight, of course. Rank does sometimes have its benefits. Did you see her face when I sent away the turtle soup?"

Corisande began to chuckle, shaking her head. "Oh, she was aghast, she really was. And her beloved painting, Donovan. I'm sure she expected glowing compliments, but you sat down at the table with hardly a grunt."

"A grunt? I don't grunt, wife. I said 'hmmm.'"

"Well, it might as well have been a grunt. I've never seen anyone's face so red. That was Sir Randolph's wedding gift to her, you know. She wanted that painting desperately, so Lindsay told me, and Sir Randolph bought it for her at an auction."

"He should have sold Lady Somerset at that auction instead," Donovan said bluntly, chuckling now too. "For a shilling."

"No, I think a pence. Definitely a pence." Corisande laughed at the thought, imagining Olympia Somerset surrounded by a roomful of silent, horrified bidders. But she really began to laugh when, to her surprise, Donovan suddenly raised his voice to a high-pitched falsetto, intoning, "Oh, Randolph dear!"

It was so ridiculous, hearing him mimic Lady Somerset, and she didn't think she'd ever giggled so hard. When she was able to calm herself she had to try it, too, but this time she added with a haughty ring, "Bring our guest a brandy, will you?"

"Oh, yes, that was much better than mine."

"No, no, yours was better."

"Really? Good G.o.d, that woman had a vicious flair for ordering her husband about, didn't she?" Donovan's laughter had abruptly died down, and so did Corisande's as he added almost under his breath, "Poor fool. Another marriage made in h.e.l.l."

As silence reigned once more except for the carriage's rumbling and creaking, Corisande turned her head to find Donovan wasn't looking at her any longer but staring out the window into the black night, his body gone tense beside her. So tense that she couldn't help but think of Lindsay's letter and of last week, too, when Donovan had said unhappy marriages were far more common among those of his station. Something inside her suddenly wanted to know more, much more.

"You . . . well, you make it sound as if all marriages are miserable."

"From what I've seen, most of them are. b.l.o.o.d.y miserable."

"My parents' marriage wasn't miserable. They loved each other dearly."

"Then they were lucky. My parents hated each other. Of course, my father deserved to be hated. You were more right about him than you could ever know. He was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d through and through. Everything to him was money. He married for money, made my brother, Nigel, marry for money, ruined people's lives for money-just look at Arundale's Kitchen. And he played with money."

"Gambling?"

She knew Donovan's eyes were full upon her now, and she swallowed hard.

"Yes, gambling. But never enough to threaten his dukedom. That's why he squeezed every last shilling out of his business ventures. My mother couldn't stand it, the devastation the man wrought for years without blinking an eye. She finally left him when a woman who worked at one of my father's cotton mills came to Arundale Hall to tell him that her three children had all starved to death that past winter for want of food. Do you know what my father did, Corie?"

She shook her head, dread filling her.

"He hit her across the face when she refused to be silent, knocking the poor woman down the steps. She struck her head at the bottom and died. My mother never spoke a word to him again."

Corisande didn't know what to say, the bitterness so thick in the air she could almost taste it. And she supposed some of it was aimed straight at her. Yet if Donovan was no gambler, why hadn't he just said so? He'd never denied anything of which she had accused him-but then again, why should he? He probably didn't care at all what she thought of him-which hurt . . . more than she could have ever imagined.

"So your parents were happy?"

Astonished at how quiet Donovan's voice had become after the horror of what he'd just told her, Corisande nodded. "Yes, they were. Very much."

"What happened? To your mother, I mean."

"A fever struck the parish, and many died. My mother, Lindsay's mother-"

"Lindsay's mother too?"

"Yes. We'd known each other before, but I think that's what drew us close. Her losing her mother, me losing mine. It was a terrible time."

"And your father?"

Corisande sighed, drawing her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, the thin muslin dress Rose Polkinghorne had made her offering little warmth against the night's cool air.

"He's been as you've seen him since the day my mother died, although he was worse at first. We had to beg him to leave her grave-he loved her so much. They'd never been apart for even a day since he'd saved her from a shipwreck. She'd just escaped from France, the Revolution, only sixteen years old. But that's all I ever knew. My mother never talked about her life there. She always said her life had begun the moment she met Papa."

Falling silent, Corisande couldn't believe she'd shared so much with Donovan; it had come out of her like a flood. He must have been amazed, too, for he said nothing for long moments until he exhaled heavily.

"I envy the man."

Corisande looked at Donovan in disbelief, his face hidden in shadow. "My father?"

"Yes, to have known so rare a thing as what he shared with your mother. Not based upon money, or arranged, or forced upon him, but found only by the purest chance."

"And look what it did to him."

Corisande had spoken so softly that she doubted Donovan had heard her, his words unsettling her entirely. All she could think of was how her father had wept and wept as if he couldn't stop, wept for days while she huddled with her sisters, closing her eyes and ears to pain more wretched than she ever wanted to hear again. She had seen then how much it hurt to be in love, and had vowed she wanted no part of it. No, never. Never- "Corie."

Donovan's voice was so husky that she felt shivers spiral down her spine; suddenly she wished that the carriage wasn't so dark so she could see his face, not just hear him.

"I just wanted you to know that you looked very beautiful tonight at the Somersets'. I didn't say anything earlier, but I should have. You were stunning."

Wholly astounded, Corisande bit her lip, tears springing to her eyes. Beautiful? Stunning? d.a.m.n him, now he was taking his b.l.o.o.d.y truce too far!

"I don't care if you thought I was no more decorative than a turnip!" she blurted out, bunching her cloak and shifting away from him. "I've no more need of your ridiculous compliments, my lord, than you defending my honor to Lady Somerset-oh! What are you- Let me go!"

Donovan had grabbed her forearm, drawing her back toward him though she tried to brace her feet upon the carriage floor, but it was no use. The d.a.m.ned leather seat was too slippery. With an outraged gasp she was brought up hard against him, his arms locking around her to prevent her from escaping even as she braced her hands upon his chest.

"How . . . how dare-"

"Easy, woman, easy! I only want to know why it upsets you so terribly to hear such praise. Is it that b.l.o.o.d.y scar on your face?"

Corisande was so astonished, she felt her jaw drop, her body going limp in his arms as if the wind had been knocked from her.

"So that's it, then, isn't it? Good G.o.d, Corie, is this how you want to go through life? Denying to yourself that you're a d.a.m.ned lovely woman and thinking when anyone says so they're mocking you? So you have a scar. It's never once bothered me-in fact, from the first moment I saw you it only made me wonder what happened to you. What did happen?"

"I-I was cut," she said hoa.r.s.ely, feeling ridiculous as tears began to spill down her cheeks, but she couldn't stop them. "Three years ago. A girl from Porthleven, Sophie Trelawny, married a terrible man, a monster. He fooled us all, me, her parents, even poor Sophie-he'd always seemed so nice. But he nearly beat her to death on their wedding night-oh, G.o.d, there was so much blood."

She bent her head, sobbing silently now as Donovan's arms tightened around her.

"Shh, Corie, shh, you don't have to tell me any more if you don't want-"

"We . . . we all took turns sitting with her," she went on, scarcely hearing Donovan as the horrifying memories a.s.sailed her. "Her parents, myself, Frances, sitting at her bedside and caring for her while a search went on for the man. But a few days went by, then a week, and they never found him. Everyone thought he'd fled from Cornwall, but he came back. He came back the night I was sitting alone with Sophie."

"Corie, it's all right-"

"He'd been drinking for days, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and he kicked in the window. He had a knife and he went for the bed while Sophie could only scream, too weak to move. I tried to stop him, but he knocked me to the floor, and when I came back at him again, he turned and cut me. I fell-I thought he was going to kill me, he was standing over me and I saw the knife and Sophie was screaming and screaming . . ."

Corisande clutched Donovan's coat even as he coaxed her to stop, jerking at the deafening memory of a pistol shot exploding in the room.

"Oliver Trelawny killed him-he'd heard Sophie screaming, poor, poor Sophie. She never recovered, died only a few days later. She'd lost too much blood . . ."

"Ah, Corie . . . Corie . . ."

Corisande gave no heed to Donovan's soothing whispers as she buried her face against his shoulder and squeezed her burning eyes shut, a great shuddering sigh escaping from her. But a long moment later, she felt him ease her backward, suddenly very much aware of what he was doing as he cupped her face in his hand, his thumb slowly tracing over her cheek . . . her scar . . .

"You must wear this as a badge of honor, Corie. Don't ever allow anyone to make you think that it's ugly. It's a thing of beauty, of courage. G.o.d help me, I've never known a more amazing woman than you. Never."

His vehemently whispered words plummeting to the very heart of her, Corisande had never felt her pulse pounding so hard as he tilted her chin, his finger tracing over her lips for the barest moment before his mouth captured hers.

She started, pulling back, but he only brought her that much more fiercely against him, his kiss as fierce, as wild. She felt suddenly as if she were drowning, Donovan drawing the very breath from her body, and she thought to fight him, if only to breathe, to live. At least until her arms found their way around his neck and she clung to him as fiercely, drawing from him, too, what he seemed to crave so desperately from her.

"Donovan . . ."

She'd said his name with a voice that sounded not her own, hoa.r.s.e, shaking, and she trembled from head to toe as his tongue swept deep into her mouth. Her fingers entwining in his hair, she pulled him closer, gasping when she felt his hand slip inside her cloak and cover her breast, her nipple taut and swollen beneath his palm. A palm that began to slowly circle, the thrilling pressure of his hand filling her with a yearning so powerful she felt she might explode from its sheer intensity.

So, too, came a fierce awareness as she was suddenly pulled onto Donovan's lap that she not only yearned but wanted to give, ached to give this man a part of herself that she'd given to no one ever before. And it was the most frightening realization of her life, the swaying, rumbling carriage, the all-encompa.s.sing dark, their panting breaths, Donovan kissing her throat, her ear, her face as his hands moved over her body and tugged her dress up over her bare thighs like a dizzying dream from which she now desperately wanted to wake.

G.o.d help her, no, she wasn't falling in love with him, she wasn't! It was impossible, it was- "Sorry, my lord, we'll 'ave to drive round to the stable, we will. There's 'alf a dozen carriages in front of the house and no room for us-Lord, wot a commotion!"

Chapter 27.

Donovan cursed under his breath, more because Corisande had suddenly flown from his lap to the opposite seat than at anything the coachman Will Brighton had just shouted out to him. But he cursed aloud when the carriage came to a jolting halt, and Will added incredulously, "It's His Grace of Arundale come to call, my lord! All the way from Dorset!"

Corisande's amazement must have matched Donovan's, for she quickly dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve and then readjusted her dress while he nearly kicked open the carriage door. Dammit, no word from Nigel first? No b.l.o.o.d.y warning? Donovan waited for Corisande to follow after him, not surprised when she refused to accept his a.s.sistance as she descended from the carriage.

"Corie, I had no knowledge of this-" he began, only to fall silent as she turned blazing eyes upon him.

"It appears our wait is over, my lord, your brother come personally to grant you the wonderful news of your inheritance! As you hoped, things have moved quite swiftly after all. Shall we go and welcome them?"

She held out her hand to him, and Donovan had no time to dwell upon the catch in her voice or that her fingers were trembling as they proceeded together to the house. The entrance was ablaze with light as footmen-most of them obviously Nigel's from their splendid royal blue and silver livery-hurried up and down the front steps carrying in baggage and huge traveling trunks. Standing at the door was Ellen Biddle, her face a bit pale, no doubt at the unexpectedness of her guests, but directing the flow of traffic quite capably all the same.

"Up the central staircase and to the left, all of you. His Grace of Arundale's chamber will be the first door on the right, Her Grace's the second."

"That hasn't b.l.o.o.d.y changed," Donovan muttered to himself as the housekeeper suddenly spied them and came flying down the steps.

"Oh, my lord, Lady Donovan! Their Graces only just arrived-five minutes past, no more. I sent them to the drawing room for refreshment, and Ogden is seeing to their needs, but of course they've brought a host of servants with them and even a trio of musicians! His Grace informed me they intend to stay only a day or so, and then they're bound for London-oh, my goodness, so much to do. I've already asked Grace to prepare a light supper, the guest bedrooms are being readied, and fires lit. Is there anything in particular you think Their Graces might require?"

Perhaps another two floors to separate them? Donovan thought dryly, although to the housekeeper he shook his head. "It seems you've things well in hand, Miss Biddle. We'll await your notice of supper in the drawing room."

"Oh, yes, my lord, of course. And how fortunate for you and Lady Donovan to arrive at such an opportune time."

Donovan felt Corisande tug her hand free at that remark and proceed up the steps ahead of him, her cheeks ablaze when he caught up with her inside the entry hall. But she refused to meet his eyes, appearing quite nervous as she glanced toward the drawing room. Meanwhile, Donovan was suddenly hard-pressed to think of anything else but what had happened in the carriage, the memory of Corisande's silky thighs making him clench his teeth. G.o.d help him, one moment longer, and she would have been his bride in every sense of the word- "Donovan, old man!"

"Oh, Lord . . ." Corisande had whispered to herself, but Donovan must have heard her; suddenly she felt him take her arm and propel her forward as a grinning gentleman who looked a shorter, rounder, and much less handsome version of Donovan came striding across the immense hall to meet them. In fact, she couldn't help thinking that based upon appearance alone, Donovan would have made a far more impressive duke than this slightly dissipated-looking man whose dark eyes swept over her with some surprise.

"Why, you've done quite well for yourself, Donovan-she's lovely. Corisande's the name, am I not right, dear lady?"

She nodded, but before she had a chance to utter a word, Donovan propelled her onward toward the drawing room, saying over his shoulder to his brother, "I'd like to speak with you in the library, Nigel. Wait for me there, if you will." Then to Corisande, he added very low, "I won't be gone long, Corie. My brother's wife, Charlotte, whines incessantly about everything, but do your best to entertain her. If all else fails, ask her if the musicians might play for you. I believe Nigel keeps them close at hand just to drown out her complaints."

With that, Donovan left her standing alone just outside the drawing room while he turned and strode after Nigel, who had obligingly disappeared into the library.