Man Of My Dreams: Secrets Of Midnight Part 22

It was her last conscious thought as she cried out, her fingers digging into the mattress . . . and nearly Donovan's last conscious thought as well. To have Corisande lying beneath him, trembling, moaning, her beautiful body spread to him, her woman's flesh so wet and hot and quivering to accept him was the sweetest torture he'd ever been made to bear.

But he made himself move very gently though he was dying to thrust himself deep, deep inside her, entering her only the slightest bit before he pulled himself out, making her suffer, too, as sweetly as he had known she would. He teased her again and again until she was panting his name and clutching wildly at his shoulders, begging him to release her from something he knew she had never experienced before.

Begging him desperately while her body had begun to shake as he was shaking. His s.e.x was throbbing so mercilessly that it was the most difficult thing he had ever done not to bury himself inside her warmth, her tight softness, and grant himself the release he so craved.

Only her mounting whimpers made him hold fast, her flesh beginning to pulse and quiver and contract around him until Corisande threw back her head and suddenly arched her hips to meet his. Donovan was unable to contain himself any longer as she screamed incoherently at the height of her surrender. With a ragged gasp he thrust through her maidenhead, his body gone rigid as he was rocked by the deepest, fullest release he had ever known.

"Ah, G.o.d, Corie! Corie . . . !"

Corisande heard Donovan's hoa.r.s.e cries only dimly through the ecstasy that consumed her, expanding out from an incredible fullness deep inside her that she scarcely realized was his body until she opened her eyes long moments later, feeling entirely sated. Donovan was resting upon his elbows, the weight of him pressing her down into the mattress, a tender smile upon his lips though his eyes held concern.

"Did I hurt you, Corie?"

She shook her head, remembering a twinge of pain, but it had been nothing to the pleasure. At once she felt him relax upon her, and she relaxed, too, unable to keep from closing her eyes.

"Ah, no, woman, ah, no. No sleep yet."

She felt him lift his hips from her slowly, flickering her eyes open in surprise when he sank just as slowly back inside her, but not all the way, his body rubbing against her, teasing once more that soft sensitive place that ached and tingled all over again. She jerked, gasping, and Donovan smiled quite devilishly.

"We've all night, Corie, remember?"

Chapter 32.

Corisande blinked open her eyes, feeling as if she'd just awakened from some extraordinarily unsettling dream.

Of course, she and Donovan hadn't . . . No, no, no, she would never have allowed it, never have- "But you did," she whispered to herself, suddenly afraid to move, afraid to shift even a baby toe as she watched bright patterns of sunlight play across the deep green rug. Which confirmed she wasn't in her room where the rug was cornflower-blue, but in Donovan's . . .

Oh, Lord. And it was morning, a brilliant morning, but how late she couldn't say. She scarcely remembered falling asleep, but everything else, everything else suddenly came flooding back to her, and her face began to burn. Her face, her body, as if Donovan were still kissing her, still touching her, still holding her.

Corisande squeezed her eyes shut as another memory drifted through her mind, this one very vague, hardly a memory at all because she'd been so exhausted, but more unsettling still than any of the others. Had Donovan really said that he loved . . .

Now Corisande did move, her heart racing as she raised her head from the pillow and glanced over her shoulder only to stare almost blindly at the empty s.p.a.ce beside her. At the rumpled covers, tossed to the side but bunched against her in such a way that she had been almost certain Donovan was lying next to her, sleeping.

But she was alone.

She sat up, her gaze sweeping the silent room.

Of course she was alone. d.a.m.n him! d.a.m.n him! Just as she would be alone a few weeks from now when Donovan sailed away from Cornwall, away from Britain. The pain that cut through her heart was more excruciating than any she'd known.

And she could bear it no longer. Of course the man didn't love her! Had he said he wanted to stay with her? That he no longer wanted an annulment? She had no vague memories of that, no, none at all, and even if he had said those things, it didn't matter. It wasn't as if she loved him too!

Corisande threw back the covers, her throat tightening not so much at her nakedness or the scarlet splotches of blood staining the white sheets as at the bald-faced lie she had just told herself. She vaulted from the bed and ran for her room, swiping away the ridiculous tears that had sprung to her eyes.

Oh, yes, she had to end this madness and end it now; she could no longer stay under this roof. She would just have to think of some other way to help the tinners. She hastily poured water into the basin and began to splash herself, making as much of a mess and even more than had Donovan, washing his smell from her, washing all traces of last night from her body and then quickly toweling herself dry.

At the wardrobe, she skipped over all the lightweight colorful dresses Rose Polkinghorne had made for her and grabbed one of her own, donning the familiar gray cloth garment as a sudden commotion of carriages pulling onto the drive carried to her from outside. Tugging on a white stocking, she hopped on one foot to the window, her eyes widening as Arundale footmen came out of the house to meet the half dozen carriages while others began carrying trunks down the wide steps.

Oh, no, Nigel and Charlotte couldn't be leaving already! Not when she planned to use them if need be to- "Good morning."

Corisande spun, dropping the other stocking as she stared at Donovan, stared at how handsome he looked plainly dressed in a full-sleeved white shirt, black breeches, and riding boots, her senses suddenly gone wild.

"You don't have to rush so, Corie. Nigel and Charlotte are at breakfast, plenty of time yet to say good-bye. I didn't want you to miss them so I came upstairs to wake you."

His voice was so low and husky, his gaze wandering over her so intimately, that it was all she could do to keep her presence of mind. She bent to retrieve her stocking and then turned away from him to tug it on, seeing out of the corner of her eye that Donovan had raised a jet-black brow, a teasing smile on his face.

"I don't really see that such modesty is necessary-"

"No, of course you wouldn't, but I don't b.l.o.o.d.y care what you think!" Her voice had caught, but that said, Corisande felt much emboldened as she went back to the wardrobe to get her shoes. She wasn't surprised to find that Donovan's smile was gone when she whirled to face him again, his expression sober, his eyes grown very dark.

"Your greeting isn't exactly what I expected, Corie."

"Oh? And what did you expect? After you-you seduced me? Took advantage of me when I was distraught, overwrought, hardly myself-"

"Good G.o.d, woman, are we back to this nonsense again? Of course I didn't seduce you!"

He'd shouted, and Corisande jumped, backing up against the door as he sighed heavily and came toward her, his tone much more restrained.

"What's wrong, Corie? Why are you acting like this?"

"Acting? Oh, yes, that's exactly the point here, isn't it, my lord? Well, I'm not going to act anymore, no, not another day, not another hour, not another moment. Our agreement is finished, Donovan. Over! I want an annulment and as quickly as you can arrange one, your b.l.o.o.d.y inheritance be d.a.m.ned!"

Corisande turned and grabbed for the doork.n.o.b as Donovan's voice suddenly grew very low behind her.

"Woman, you're not going anywhere until we have this thing out-"

"I am going-to my father's house, which I should never have left in the first place, and don't you dare try to stop me! If you do, I swear I've a very entertaining story I'm sure your brother would love to hear- Oh!"

Donovan had reached above her head and slammed the door back into place, then spun Corisande around so roughly that she felt a moment's fear. His face had grown as swarthy as she'd seen it, though his eyes held a trace of desperation.

"I suggest you consider very carefully before leaving this house or revealing anything to my brother, if you care at all about the welfare of your friends. I doubt Captain Oliver Trelawny would relish time in prison if his smuggling activities became known to the king's excis.e.m.e.n. Or any of his crew."

Corisande gaped at him, wholly stunned, while Donovan felt his gut twisting at her incredulous silence, which was a telling sign of what his warning might just have cost him.

h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation, this wasn't how he had imagined the morning would be! He hadn't come up here to threaten her friends but to wake her with a kiss and to tell her again that he loved her. Corisande had been so sleepy last night when he finally revealed what lay in his heart that he doubted she had even heard him. Now she would probably never believe him; dammit, why couldn't he have thought of some other way to prevent her from leaving him?

"So . . . so you followed me the other night to the cove?"

"What did you expect me to do?" Donovan's gut twisted all the more when he saw her stiffen. "Good G.o.d, you'd just been nearly strangled on the heath! I couldn't believe it when I overheard you asking Peggy Robberts to pretend her babe was coming so you could ride out again to G.o.d-knows-where; then, to discover you're a smuggler-"

"Fair trading is what we call it here!" Corisande countered hotly, so hurt, so indignant, so furious she didn't know what to do. Donovan, love her? Ha! She must have been dreaming to have come up with such a preposterous thought! "And it's what has kept this parish from starving, my lord, long before you ever set a foot in Cornwall!"

She turned around and flung open the door this time before Donovan could stop her, but he soon caught up with her, grabbing her arm to pull her to face him.

"Corie-"

"Don't fear, Donovan, I took note of your threat. I'm not going to ruin things for you with your brother," she half whispered through her teeth lest any servants were near. "I'm sure he and Charlotte are growing quite impatient to bid us farewell. We should go."

"Yes, but we're going to talk of this later, Corie, do you understand me? We will talk later."

She didn't answer, glancing away as tears suddenly leapt to her eyes-Lord help her, she was a mess. She started when she felt Donovan's fingers at her chin; he obviously wished for her to look at him, but to see her sniffling and crying was the last thing she wanted right now. She wrenched herself away and ran down the hall, scarcely hearing his ragged sigh.

Yet further discussion was not to be, at least not that morning or into the afternoon. No more than a few moments after the Duke of Arundale and his d.u.c.h.ess-whining already about the length of the journey in front of them -and their entourage rolled away in their big black carriages, Henry Gilbert came galloping down the drive with news that one of the mine shafts was flooded from last night's storm. No men had been injured, thankfully enough, but Donovan should come straightaway to survey the damage.

So Donovan had gone, not to Corisande's surprise, although she was taken aback when he ordered Henry Gilbert to stay at the house to ensure that she would not be left alone for the day. Left alone? Ha! More likely to keep an eye on her! She had at once gone upstairs to her room, having no wish to share company with the man, and now here she stood at her window. The sun was already beginning to set in a blaze of orange and crimson fire, and still Donovan had not returned.

Which was fine with her. She hoped he would be gone through the night, and then they wouldn't have to talk, but she hadn't enjoyed being left with only her roiling thoughts to occupy her either.

She had already decided she wasn't going to meet the Fair Betty tonight no matter if the signal came; if Donovan did come home and find her gone, he might guess her destination and try to disrupt the landing. Better that she didn't go there at all. Oliver would have to manage on his own.

But thinking about those three men-now that had plagued her. That they might soon be enjoying the hearth fire and eating supper at the Trelawnys' inn was almost too much for her to bear. They might even be plotting to kill her.

She had only to think of that ominous warning . . . "Now you know when you hear from me again, madame, you will not doubt that my words are true!" . . . and it was like reliving once more the horror she'd known on the beach. Just to recall how close she had come to drowning left her shaking and yet growing angrier by the moment. Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! Why should she be wondering when they might strike again when she knew exactly where they were staying?

Finally Corisande could stand the endless pacing in her room no longer. Her mind was made up. But she couldn't just go there and confront them. They would laugh in her face. But they wouldn't dare laugh at her if she . . .

Corisande's heart was racing before she got to Donovan's room; the vivid memories she had tried so hard to hold at bay hit her with full force as soon as she saw his bed. A bed that must have been made hours ago-Lord, she could just imagine what Ellen Biddle must have wondered upon seeing the blood. Two deflowerings?

Shoving the thought away, Corisande concentrated upon her search, and it didn't take her long. She found Donovan's pistol easily in the bottom wardrobe drawer, a shiver coursing through her when she traced her fingers over the smooth barrel, wondering how many men he might have shot- "Oh, Lord." She didn't muse any further on that score; Donovan was an army officer after all. Instead she hid the pistol beneath her cloak and quickly went downstairs, deciding she would leave through the front door and let everyone wonder. She should have guessed Henry Gilbert might be watching for her. The agent rushed from the drawing room, his huge Adam's apple bobbing nervously.

"I'm going out for a stroll, Gilbert," she began, only to see that the scrawny fellow had the audacity to step in front of her.

"F-forgive me, Lady Donovan, but Lord Donovan asked that if you go out anywhere, I should accompany you."

"I only plan a short stroll, there's no need to trouble yourself-"

"But it's no trouble, my lady, truly. And if I don't, I'm sure you understand that His Lordship will be most displeased with me."

"Henry."

"Y-yes, my lady?"

Corisande drew out the pistol and leveled it at the man's stomach, and Henry Gilbert's eyes nearly popped from his head. "I strongly suggest you go back into the drawing room and have yourself a nice brandy. Are we understood?"

She didn't have to say another word as the agent slipped and slid across the polished floor in his haste to oblige her. And when Corisande turned back to the front door, she saw that the footman had disappeared too.

Lord help her, now if things would only go this smoothly with those Frenchmen.

Chapter 33.

"Why, they're not here, Corie. Left in the wee hours of the morning, they did, half knocking down my door to tell me they were going on their way. Pah! Good riddance, I say! An' do 'ee think they left me an extra pence or two for how well my Oliver and I treated them?"

Corisande jumped at how hard Rebecca Trelawny slapped the wet cloth upon the trestle table, the woman clearly disgruntled as she scrubbed vigorously.

"An' that's not the worst of it! A fine new fishing boat was taken during the night, can 'ee believe that? Slipped out of the harbor without a soul giving any notice at all-which is no surprise! After that gale an' the shipwreck, why, everyone was exhausted and snug in their beds, giving no heed that there might be thieves among us."

"You think those men took it, then?" Corisande had scarcely asked before Rebecca hit the table with another resounding whack, causing several old fishermen to lift their heads from their ale with some apprehension.

"Ais, so I do! I told Oliver from the very first when those three came round asking for rooms that they had a mean, harsh look about them, but he laughed an' gave me no mind. I told that to the constable, too, just this morning, but there's nothing to be done now. The boat's gone, they're gone-" Rebecca paused, straightening from the table to study Corisande. "Why would 'ee be asking for them, Corie? Aw, no, don't tell me they stole from the church!"

"No, no, nothing like that," Corisande hastened to a.s.sure her, although she didn't quite know how to explain why she was looking for them. She certainly couldn't tell the truth; Rebecca would worry, and with Oliver still being out at sea . . . "Um, well-"

"Ah, Corie dear, give me a moment, will 'ee?" Rebecca threw the cloth over her shoulder and rushed across the smoky room to the hearth. "I've got a leek an' pork pie cooking-my Oliver's favorite-an' he'll have a fit if the crust is scorched."

More than grateful that she'd been spared from struggling for an explanation, Corisande called out, "That's all right, Rebecca, I must run! Take care now."

She was gone out the door before the woman had turned from the oven. The pistol Corisande held beneath her cloak was clasped so tightly in her hand that her fingers had begun to cramp. With dusk quickly fading into darkness, she leaned with a sigh against a wall, filled with as much relief as fury that her attackers had apparently left Porthleven.

So what had that French b.a.s.t.a.r.d meant, then? When she heard from him again? Obviously they wouldn't dare to return to the village now, not after stealing a fishing boat if, indeed, they had been the ones to commit the crime. But who else would have done such a foul- Corisande gasped, her thoughts scattering, as a thunderous cannon shot shattered the peaceful stillness and a huge explosion of water burst high into the air only a hundred yards from the end of the quay. In shock she looked farther out to sea where a ship under full sail was making directly for the harbor while behind her another ship, much larger, bore down in hot pursuit.

Oh, G.o.d, a revenue cruiser giving chase, she was certain of it, while in front . . . in front . . .

As shouts went up throughout the village, people spilled from their homes and rushed down to the harbor. Corisande began to run along the quay as more cannon boomed, the shots clearly intended as a direct warning for the Fair Betty to heave to and allow herself to be boarded. For now Corisande was convinced the hapless cutter was Oliver's; she watched in horror as another roaring blast sent up a great plume of water so near to starboard that she feared the cannon fire might have struck the ship.

"Lord help us, oh, no, oh, no, 'tes my Oliver! My Oliver!" Rebecca Trelawny's hoa.r.s.e cries rent the air, the woman at once grabbed by neighbors as she nearly toppled from the quay in her desperate frenzy.

Corisande had never felt so helpless as she watched the Fair Betty, so close now to harbor, finally slacken her speed and give way to the king's cruiser. A hue of such outrage-whistles and curses and catcalls, boos and hisses-arose from the village that she had no doubt Oliver and his crew would hear it and take heart that their neighbors and friends were with them in spirit.

She added her own voice to the wild melee, shaking her fist, shaking the pistol as an eight-oared galley filled with armed excis.e.m.e.n was launched from the cruiser, and she gave no heed that she was squeezing upon the trigger. She was knocked to her knees when the weapon suddenly fired, her ears ringing so loudly from the deafening crack as she struggled to rise that she didn't hear Donovan shouting until he was almost upon her.

"Good G.o.d, Corie, put that d.a.m.ned thing down! Will you have them think someone's firing out there and start a battle?"

Flushing with chagrin, she dropped the pistol as if it were a live snake, and Donovan grabbed up the weapon and shoved it into his belt.

"I-I'm sorry," she began, only to stiffen when he hauled her to her feet, deep indignation filling her. "For heaven's sake, why am I apologizing to you? You had a hand in this, didn't you? Somehow you found out about Oliver returning tonight and you alerted the king's men! I should have known you'd be here to watch-"

"I'm here because once again, woman, I had to come looking for you!" Donovan pulled her along with him to where he'd left Samson. "And thank G.o.d I did too. Come, we've got to hurry."

"Hurry? Are you mad?" Corisande tried to wrest herself free, but Donovan's grip upon her arm was like a steel vise. "I can't go, I have to stay here! G.o.d knows what they're going to do to Oliver-"

"You can't help him, Corie. His fate is in the Crown's hands now. But your father needs you and Frances too!"

She stopped struggling, noticing for the first time how grim Donovan looked, his face etched deeply with worry.

"My father? What's wrong? What's happened?"