Excerpt EVERY MIDNIGHT
The Hero Returns
A quarter of
a mile away the gates opened. Thunder rolled low in the
distance.
Not
thunder. Horsemen raced down the drive, their mounts lathered.
She watched them tear up the lawn as they spread out and
galloped towards the Folly. She could clearly see the Beast
riding in front of his wolf pack.
Her heart
began a thunder of its own.
If he
thought she lingered, waiting for him, she meant to disabuse him
of the notion. Lizzie drew a shaky breath, gathering her
dignity against the Beast’s arrogance, against his disdain for
her.
Now was not
the time to let childish fears surface. At almost twenty-two,
she was long past girlish palpitations.
And what was
the point of her leaving the outriders outside the park if he
meant to ruin the drive and lawn with his pack of inebriated
friends? Some of them could hardly stay in the saddle. No
doubt the new Viscount Felmont couldn’t wait to begin his
beastly debaucheries. Carriages full of whores likely followed
him at a more sedate pace.
The Beast
dismounted, momentarily lost to view in a noisy crowd of horses
and men. His voice, a low rumble, drifted over the lawn.
Raucous laughter greeted his words.
The Beast
emerged near her berline like a dark shadow in the sunlight. He
slammed open the door in search of what? Poor Aunt Tempest. A
faint cry of female distress brought a cheer from the Beast’s
sodden companions.
Drat the
man! What had happened to his manners?
Aunt
Tempest’s hand pointed in her direction from the carriage
window.
Lizzie’s
legs froze.
The Beast
turned to stride towards her. One man hurried after him. She
forced air into her lungs and waited for them to approach.
She’d rather die than show fear, or worse, faint at his feet.
To her shame, she had done just that the day the Felmonts had
celebrated her betrothal to the Beast. Even her mother had
found it vastly amusing ... but those days were long gone.
The Beast
was hatless, an almost certain sign he was foxed. He moved with
his odd loose-limbed grace, his long legs covering more ground
though he took fewer strides than his companion. They left a
silver trail in the morning dew coating the lawn.
Even the way
the Beast walked towards her seemed insulting. She willed
herself to be calm.
He stopped.
Close enough to touch.
His dark
brown hair had been bleached at the ends by a foreign sun,
showing a strange reddish color, as if he had been singed in
hell’s fire and spat out. Maybe Satan had no use for him
either.
He had a
handsome face if the Felmont likeness could be overlooked, not
that Lizzie intended to try. His mouth was wide and finely
sculpted. The skin ran tight around his jaw, which had not seen
a razor this day. His deep blue eyes looked down the length of
his long nose at her. No, not really at her. He looked around
her, to the side of her, and for a moment he studied her wet
hem. One side of his mouth drew down in a quirk of disgust.
“Miss
Tempest, I am sorry to see you haven’t managed to escape your
fate.” His voice swirled around her like honey. She felt the
sound of his words long before she made sense of them.
The breeze
brought the scent of the Beast to her nose. He had washed not
long ago and changed his clothes. He smelled of soap from the
Priory, as he always did. Of jasmine almost hidden by the low
note of musk. Strange, how the nose remembered such trivial
things.
His hand
reached out.
Lizzie
retreated with dignity. She didn’t want to be touched by the
Beast.
He had
obviously called at the Priory to fortify himself with brandy, a
scent that made her take a further step away from him. The
Beast sober was bad enough. She dared not imagine what he must
be like deep in his cups. Not that a drunken Felmont was
anything new to her.
“Allow me to
introduce my friend, Rackham.” He turned to the gentleman
standing several yards away. “Miss Elizabeth Tempest, the woman
who ruined me. The woman who has pretended to be engaged to me
for these last six years so she could do as she pleased with the
Folly.”
The slender
man stopped dusting at his disheveled town attire. He removed
his hat to wave a greeting as if he stood miles away. His fair
hair fell over his forehead with boyish charm--he was obviously
not a Felmont male.
Quentin
Seraphim Dacey Felmont, the fifth Viscount Felmont, the Beast
from the Priory and now the owner of Felmont’s Folly, smiled at
her. He smiled at her like the Devil welcoming the damned and
drawled in a soft voice, “My dear Lizzie, do I get a kiss of
welcome? No? It is with great difficulty I hold myself back.”
Lizzie did
not doubt it. All Felmonts lived to satisfy their wicked urges.
He lowered
his head to whisper in her sensitive ear, “As you refuse my
kiss, I have only to decide which to do next. Burn the house
down and let you watch, or help you escape and then burn the
house down.” He called to his friend, “Rax, how long do you
think the Folly will burn?”
“Gracious,
all day and night. Can’t detain a lady for so long,” Mr.
Rackham said in an apologetic tone. “Or her horses, they are
waiting, too. You had better let Miss Tempest go.”
She didn’t
turn to look at him, not when the Beast held her mesmerized by
his madness. Burn Felmont’s Folly?
“Be a
gentleman, Rax,” the Beast chided. “A lady must be given a
choice.”
In a soft
rumble, he asked her, “What is it to be, Lizzie? Do you want to
watch the house burn first or is it enough that you have ruined
me?”
While she
took a calming breath, Lizzie let his threat dangle in the air
between them. “I ruined you? How amusing.”
There was no
use answering a madman with emotion and she had no intention of
letting him upset her. She replied in a suitably bored voice,
“As for the house, burn it to the ground if you must. It is
full of your relatives come to welcome you home. Why don’t you
burn it down after they are safely out of it and you are safely
inside?”
The Pact
The door
closed. Lizzie returned to stand behind her chair. “I have not
agreed to marry you, Felmont. Unless you agree to a marriage in
name only, I shall never marry you.”
The Beast
sat up, stretching his legs along the length of the divan. He
looked almost sympathetic. “The one thing I wanted, the one
thing I dreamed of to keep me sane in the madness of war, was my
home with a wife and children to love.”
He gave a
weary sigh. “I am ruined financially and socially if you don’t
marry me and I forfeit everything I yearn for if you do.
Bargain with me, Lizzie. Negotiate some way for us to have
children together. At least give me that. I swear you will not
have to suffer me often if you cannot stand my touch.”
A tear slid
down her cheek. She firmly quelled another by scrunching her
toes fiercely inside her shoes, a useful trick learned in trying
times. “If I did marry you, Felmont, and we,” She gulped a
frantic breath of air, “and we had children together, I’d expect
you to be faithful to me. Do you really expect me to allow you
to catch a disease--to infect me?”
She knew he
understood exactly what she feared and why she feared it. Her
mother had caught syphilis from her Felmont husband and they had
both died from it.
“I am aware
of the dangers and will take every precaution needed to keep us
both safe. If you deny me a mistress, you’d have to share your
body with me, Lizzie.” He spoke in a soothing voice as if he
didn’t speak of wickedness, as if they were talking of breeding
orchids or roses. “Are you sure you want that? Wouldn’t it be
easier to just bear my children and let a mistress take care of
the rest?”
He put his
glass on the table beside him. “To be honest, I must warn you I
yearn for a woman’s love, to have and to hold, whenever it
pleases me to please her.” He seemed to drift off into sinful
thoughts. “Can you satisfy those urges in me, dearest Lizzie,
or would you deny me my wants and scold me for them?” He gave a
look of mock sorrow as if he sympathized with her plight. “I
think you must agree to a mistress.”
“It would
not be--when you please or how you please.” Lizzie had heard of
some of the disgusting ways men used women when her stepfather
had raved in madness.
Lizzie held
her head high and lied like a Felmont. “I shall never marry you
if you insist on a mistress. As for your appetite for sin, I
might consent to endure it occasionally. Once a month is all I
offer. Surely you can live with that--it isn’t as if you find
me the least bit attractive.”
Lizzie saw
him try to quell his laughter as he signaled his refusal of her
offer.
She slid
into her chair before she spoke again. “Then once a week, if
you are going to insist on being depraved.”
He gave a
half shrug with his one good shoulder. “Lizzie, I’m a Felmont.
I can only promise not to bother you more than I have to.”
“No! There
must be rules!” She arranged her dark skirts to make sure her
ankles were not showing.
“Set them at
your peril,” he warned in a gentle voice. “If you insist on
fidelity, you get all of me and I get you, to please as often as
I yearn to. Think well before you demand fidelity, Lizzie.”
He set down
his glass as a tremor shook him. A drop of brandy drizzled down
to wet his hand. “Tell me your rules, and they had better
include every day and every night--or allow me a mistress.”
Every
night? To use her as he pleased? It cheered her to think he
found her so unattractive that he shuddered with disgust at the
idea. How could she endure him? Yet she must give in to get
him to live by her rules in this matter, to win some measure of
safety. She’d agree to whatever she must to be safe from that
dreadful disease. There was no choice about marrying him, so
she had to make him agree to be faithful.
What was the
least he’d need her? Every night if she had to, but not every
day. Surely, even Felmonts could find other interests during
the day?
She took a
deep breath. “I will come to you at midnight and you can behave
like the Beast you are. After you have finished, I shall return
to my room and you will have to wait until the next midnight to
satisfy your horrid urges.” What was she saying? Could she
even endure it once? How was she going to stand his attentions
night after night?
The fire
sighed in the hearth as he whispered, “Every midnight, you’d
come to share my bed?”
She answered
in a rush. “I shall leave after you have finished and you must
content yourself with waiting until the next midnight. I shall
not be importuned any time you feel like using me. My mother
was never left alone.”
Lizzie gave
a great shudder at the thought. “I could not live, worried you
might decide to have an urge. Never knowing when--fearing to be
subject to your lust at any time, Felmont. I could not endure
it.”
“So we are
agreed, every midnight you are mine?” He propped his chin on
his hand, devilment written on every plane of his face, though
he tried to hide it.
“Stop
looking at me like that,” she snapped.
“Like what,
Lizzie?”
“As if you
are having an urge!” Lizzie couldn’t meet his amused gaze. “Be
warned, I shall leave you if you are not faithful. That is part
of the pact. You must agree to let me go.”
“Dearest
Lizzie, I shall agree to your terms, on one condition. During
the day we appear to be a devoted couple. You do not abuse me
verbally. You dine with me--every meal, including breakfast.
If I cannot have a wife who cares for me, then let me have one
who pretends to. If you drink tea at any time, night or day,
you must invite me to join you. And, Lizzie, you must never
strike me.”
“The same
rules apply to you.” She tried to think of something she could
deny him.
She saw him
place a hand on his heart. “I’ve never struck you, Lizzie.”
“You have
never stopped verbally abusing me, not for an instant.” The
look of injured innocence on his long face made her furious.
“If you wish to share my tea, then you must agree to drink only
the brandy I pour for you. And you must promise the instant you
stray--I am free.”
“Agreed!”
He leaned forward to toss the dregs from his brandy glass into
the fire. Flames blasted from the hearth as if she’d made a
deal with the Devil.
The
Wedding Night
Lizzie held
out a dose of laudanum for the Beast. She stood as far away
from his bed as she could and willed her hand not to tremble and
spill any from the glass.
James and
Molly had gone to their beds, leaving her alone with him. Their
whispered assurances of her safety had not worked as much to
ease her mind as the Beast’s acknowledgement, delivered with
lurid groans, that she was innocent of a plot to drive him
insane with pain. All the while he promised dire retribution if
she dared so much as touch him with the tip of her finger.
“Is it
poison, dearest Lizzie?” The bolster under the pillows kept the
Beast sitting almost upright. His nightshirt, a pristine
white--was borrowed from James. The viscount’s manservant had
been left behind in London with most of his clothes.
The Beast
had washed fastidiously, cleansing himself of all traces of
blood. His nose looked no worse than before, but his expression
was one of a man goaded beyond endurance. “Drink some of it, my
own dear wife, to prove it is not poison.”
“Don’t be
ridiculous, Felmont.” Her hand shook, spilling a few drops onto
the carpet.
He stared at
her. Lizzie took an involuntary step backward.
“Remember
Lizzie, my love, you are to show me affection at all times or
our pact is null and void. Perhaps you wish to break it and
free me from your ridiculous rules and regulations?”
“The pact
requires me to show you affection only during the day. Is that
ferocious look meant to show your affection for me, dear
Felmont?” She had answered him back. She was alone with the
Beast in his bedchamber and she was managing to remain
dignified.
“I apologize
for having a Felmont face, Lizzie, unfortunately I can do
nothing to change it.” A wicked smile hovered on his lips.
“You can’t call me Felmont in my bedroom, dear heart. Come
closer.”
He was sin
personified.
Words
tumbled from her mouth. “I don’t know what else to call you.”
“Give me the
laudanum, loveliest bride of mine, before you spill it.” He
took it from her and sniffed it. “Get into bed and I’ll tell
you what you may call me.”
Lizzie shook
her head. Impossible. She simply could not do it.
“Then, drink
some of this--I am taking no chances on surviving the night, my
love.” He held out the glass. “Take it, Lizzie, drink some.”
The huge bed
seemed shrunken by his presence. He looked even taller lying
down. Death would be easier, and a grave more inviting than his
bed.
“Hellfire,
Lizzie! Don’t look at me like that.”
“D ... d ...
don’t swear at m ... me.” There, he had reduced her to
stuttering again! She hated him.
He sank back
against the pillows. “Lizzie, let us try again. I apologize
for not speaking gently to you, though I beg to point out, if
you could be a trifle more sympathetic for the terrible pain I
am suffering, you’d soon realize you have nothing to fear from
me.”
“Hitting you
with the door was an accident, husband. I am sorry for it.” It
was best to speak with dignity at all times. Arguing with the
Beast would gain her nothing but his anger roused.
“You are
safer with me this night, my love, than you have ever been in
your entire life. Not only am I incapable, I worry that even if
I were well, I might be unable to ... to ... interest myself in
proceeding to know you better. Now, with those comforting
words, share this laudanum with me and let us both get a good
night’s sleep. Please, dearest wife, just in case you have
decided to do away with me, taste it.”
“Give it to
me, I’ll drink a sip. You are making a great fuss over
nothing.” At his warning glance, she hastily added, “Dace, it
is laudanum not poison.”
He let her
take the glass from his hand.
“Don’t call
me Dace, it’s what my friends call me. Until you can honestly
claim to want my friendship you must call me such sweet nothings
as come to mind. Perhaps, dearest Devil, darling Demon, sweet
Satan? How clever of you to have my portrait painted on the
dome welcoming the family into hell. Dear Lizzie, did you think
I wouldn’t notice?”
Lizzie
sipped the laudanum rather than answer. He put a finger at the
bottom of the glass to tip half the mixture into her mouth, so
she coughed and choked and, at last, managed to swallow the
brew.
Beast! She
had meant the dose to relieve his pain and make him sleep. He
was twice her size. Half the doze was enough to knock her out
for the night and most of the morrow.
“Get in,
dearest Lizzie.” He took the glass back and downed the
remaining contents in one gulp. “Remove the bolster for me, you
can put it between us to divide the bed. And don’t dare move
from your side. This is the one night I get to share my bed
with you, dear heart, what a pity I shall spend it in a drugged
sleep.”
The Beast
muttered a curse when she slid the bolster out from under the
pillows. He lay back and clutched his shoulder protectively
when she placed the long cylindrical cushion carefully down the
center of the bed.
Lizzie got
into bed with the Beast.
The laudanum
was not long in taking effect. Her eyelids grew heavy, long
before sleep claimed her. Her limbs grew weak and the sound of
her breathing filled her ears. She could hear but not speak,
feel but not react. She floated over and over until she lay in
the Beast’s embrace.
“Are you
asleep, my love?” he whispered in her ear. “Let me hold you to
keep you warm. Forgive me. Hush. There is nothing to fear.”
The First
Midnight
Then her
body did something awful. It welcomed him, for suddenly he slid
forward towards her heart. She could not take a breath of air.
Her lungs froze as he filled her with that most horrid bit of
him. Like a huge serpent it forced its way deeply inside her.
It almost
hurt.
He groaned
as if in pain. When he spoke it was through clenched teeth.
“H-have the n-new coat of arms p-painted on the n-new
p-plates….”
It all felt
terribly wrong and wicked, so tight and deep that she could not
take a breath. A high, sweet pain seared inside her.
If he moved,
she’d scream.
He moved.
She opened
her mouth and gasped as the sweetness intensified, liquefied her
body, making her ignore the pain. The Beast rocked with slow
deliberate movements. She could feel herself tremble with
spasms that matched his rhythm.
“For…forgive
me, Lizzie. I can’t help it. I can’t think of any more
potters, except Spode. I forgot Spode. How could I forget
Spode?”
He kissed
her mouth, her neck, while he muttered Spode. If only
he’d stop moving his hips. His body was driving hers to
madness. If he didn’t stop she was going to lose control.
Something awful was going to happen.
Lizzie tried
entwining her legs around him in an effort to make him stop
bewitching her, but that only made her hips move in time his.
Locked in his embrace, she raced with him in an unending dance.
Down there,
she burned with terrible sweet spasms that grew with the
strength of his thrusts. Lizzie grabbed onto his arm She
curled her body around his until he shook as if he had an ague.
“Hellfire!
Lizzie, don’t!” The Beast suddenly collapsed on her. His
injured shoulder hit her chin. But she could not stop moving,
moaning, twitching.
The Beast’s
entire body vibrated. He cried out with an unearthly moan and
turned both their bodies to lie on his side. They were still
joined by that dreadful act. Someone’s body shook and
thrust--she very much feared it was hers. A large hand gripped
her bottom to press her closer, to stop the convulsions from
shaking him loose from her.
She was
having a fit in his arms. She’d never live down the
humiliation.
Tears swept
down her cheeks to be kissed away. Salt on his lips. She
tasted her tears with his kiss. Still deep inside her, he
pressed her onto her back to thrust with long strokes. It
intensified her fit. She went on and on, unable to stop
herself.
At last he
groaned. “Lizzie….” He shuddered. “Lizzie.…” He called her
name in one long litany of a whispered Lizzies while he
held her caught in his embrace. For long minutes they lay
entwined.
The
throbbing inside her finally stopped. Her very heart ached, as
did some part of her down there. Her lungs seemed scorched.
Vileness seeped between them. They lay still while she
recovered from her fit.
“Lizzie?
Are you … Lizzie?” The Beast rested his forehead on hers.
“There is no help for you now--you must surely learn to love
me.”
Hysterical
giggles rose in her throat. She didn’t try to stop them. She
was glad they broke the spell he’d cast over her. Her body
shook with suppressed laughter.
“That’s
right,” he said in a soft drawl. “Laugh at me. Men are strange
creatures, aren’t they? Not frightening, just silly. I hope I
didn’t hurt you when I fell on you. A man needs two good arms
for what we just did. Forgive me.”
Lizzie tried
to sit up, to push his body from hers, to untangle her limbs
from his. She didn’t want tenderness or sympathy from him.
“You have finished. Say it, Felmont. Say you have finished and
I may go.”
“Of course,
let me help you up.” He moved as one tired to death.
Lizzie let
the viscount drag her to the edge of the bed. He took each of
her feet and unhooked them in turn from the back of his knees.
She’d no idea how her legs had got there or why they refused to
release their grip on him.
“Can you
stand up, dear wife?”
“Let go of
me, Felmont.” He was entirely too close. Lizzie had to get
away from him before another urge took hold of him. Men could
do that awful act again and again. Her stepfather’s evil boasts
rang in her ears. Five times! Or was it six? She had to leave
before he recovered enough to do it to her again. She had
scarcely been able to keep silent through the terrible ordeal.
“I am not
holding onto you,” whispered the Beast. “You are holding onto
me.”
It was
true. His nightshirt was caught in her fists at his waist. And
worse, she could not unclench her fingers.
Drat the
man! Tears ran down her cheeks and dripped from her chin.
“Don’t cry,
my love. I can free you.” He rubbed each gloved finger and
pried them open one at time while she sniffled in a most
embarrassing way.
“Thank you,”
she said, when he had freed them all.
“My
pleasure, my lady.” The Beast bent to kiss each finger on the
tip. “May I escort you to the door?”
Lizzie
nodded. She was not at all sure she could get there by
herself. He seemed to understand, for he walked very slowly
with his arm around her waist. After what he had just done, it
seemed petty to complain about the liberty.
He unlocked
the door and gave her the key.
“Goodnight,
Lizzie.”
“Goodnight,
Felmont.”
“You may
call me Dace, if you wish Lizzie, to celebrate our union.”
She lifted
her chin to keep her voice steady. “I am not your friend,
Felmont. I, for one, do not mistake your lust for friendship.”
“A pity.
But you will kiss me goodnight, wife.”
She rose on
her toes to kiss his cheek.
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