Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy (29 page)

*

Several hours later, His Lordship had escorted her into the village. Their earlier exchange had remained with Mercy. She had purposely asked Miss Chadwick to accompany them. The girl appeared happy to visit with her family while Mercy shopped. It was the perfect solution to her avoiding His Lordship’s attentions. “I will call for you in an hour.” Viscount Lexford had said as he assisted her and Serena from the carriage. He held the door to the shop for them before disappearing into a building several doors away. Finally, Mercy could breathe.

From the moment of the viscount’s return, Mercy’s emotions had rolled in the way of a stormy sea. “I mean to go upstairs unless you require my assistance,” Serena stated.

“Certainly not,” Mercy assured. “Enjoy your brothers and sisters.” As Serena moved away, Mercy nodded to Mr. Chadwick before drifting off toward the fabric samples. She had plans for three more rooms before she would leave Lexington Arms. It was all so bittersweet. Mercy had never been so alive in her life, and yet so dead. With the viscount’s encouragement, she had discovered new facets of her personality, which Mercy had once admired in others. It was a heady feeling to recognize her growing maturity. Yet, she despised the untruth lying between her and Lord Lexford.

Mercy removed her notes from her reticule and set to work making choices. A half hour later, she had made selections from Mr. Chadwick’s limited stock and had instructed the shopkeeper on what he should secure from London. With the time remaining, Mercy looked about the store. It would be exquisitely pleasurable to be able to purchase many of the items on display: a finely polished chain that would have looked lovely with her missing locket, a lace-trimmed handkerchief, and a pair of kid gloves.

“Miss?” A small dirty-faced boy tugged on Mercy cloak. “A man told me to give ye this.” He shoved a folded note into Mercy’s hand.

Immediately, she wondered if Lord Lexford would be detained. Looking up to study the street beyond the shop window, she asked, “What man?”

“Fine gentleman, Miss. Gave me two pence to be certain you git his note personally,” the child said in self-importance.

“Thank you,” Mercy said with a smile for the boy. Inside, her stomach rolled with dread. With a quick glance to make certain no one had observed the exchange, Mercy strolled toward a deserted corner of the shop. Unfolding the paper, she turned her back to the store’s interior. Bringing the note to the light, she read, “You thought I would not discover your whereabouts, but you have erred.”

No signature, but Mercy knew it was either from Geoffrey or Sir Lesley. No one else would have a care for her absence from Foresthill Hall. Oh, why had she tarried so long in Cheshire?
Because you are in love with the viscount,
her foolish heart answered.

Mercy caught at the windowsill. Her legs meant to buckle, but she willed herself to remain erect. Instead, her eyes searched the street for any sign of either her brother or the baronet, but only the usual villagers went about their business.

Mercy read the note again. It said nothing of how the person had found her. Likely, the one known as Jamot had betrayed her. She had been a fool to think he would not. The note also did not indicate when “he” would come for her. How long did she have? A day? A week? A few hours?

If the mystery writer was Geoffrey, her brother would likely demand a payment from Viscount Lexford to keep her identity secret, or worst yet, demand His Lordship marry Mercy. Geoffrey would desire the connections, but as much as Mercy wished to be Lord Lexford’s wife, she would not permit his alliance with the likes of Baron Geoffrey Nelson. Her conscience pricked her like the devil.

And if the author of the note were Sir Lesley Trent, the baronet would ruin Lord Lexford’s reputation. She possessed no doubt Sir Lesley would find a means to bring gossip to the viscount’s door. When she considered the scandal of Andrew Kimbolt’s duel and the secrets hidden in Lady Cassandra’s diary, Mercy knew she could not permit the chaos to follow him.

A shiver of dread ran down Mercy’s spine. Her only choice appeared to be a return to Lancashire. She would never see Lord Lexford again. The viscount would be glad to see her go, and all she had done for him would be a reminder of her lies.

“Why are you hiding in this corner?” A familiar voice asked close to Mercy’s ear, and she looked up to see Lord Lexford’s beloved countenance. “My Goodness! You are not well,” he said in concern as he caught Mercy’s elbow to support her. “You are too pale.” She must really be distraught if Lord Lexford had taken note. “You should have sent word for my speedy return.”

“It is nothing,” Mercy said as he braced her stance. “I simply have one of my headaches.” For once, Mercy’s headache had a true source. Her whisper of a voice spoke of her distress.

Viscount Lexford whispered in reprimand, “I will not have you suffer.” He placed Mercy’s hand on his arm. Mercy allowed Lord Lexford to direct her steps toward the door. She could not think clearly. “Chadwick, I mean to see Miss Purefoy home. The lady is not well. I will send the carriage back for Miss Chadwick.”

“That is not necessary, my Lord,” Chadwick assured. “Serena is healthy enough for a good walk.”

“Nonsense,” Lord Lexford insisted. “Your daughter is part of my household. The carriage will return shortly. Please be so kind as to inform Millie. She awaits her mistress at the inn.”

“Aye, Sir.”

Mercy knew the note’s author likely observed how the viscount cared for her. Lord Lexford was the kindest man of Mercy’s acquaintance, and the manner in which His Lordship saw to the comfort of a simple shopkeeper’s daughter spoke volumes of the man’s character. Despite his training as an agent of the British government, Lord Lexford was a vulnerable target for those with unprincipled manipulations–those such as her brother, who would sell his sister to a distasteful old man, in order to recover part of his debts. Mercy must find a means to protect the viscount from a connection not worthy of him.

In the carriage, Mercy sat with her head pressed against the soft squabs and her eyes closed. She wished to block out the chaos surrounding her. When the viscount lifted her to his lap, she rested her head on his shoulder. It was another exquisite moment to add to her memories of the man. “Thank you, my Lord,” she whispered against the rough skin of his neck. A scruffy stubble showed upon his chin. Mercy found the contrast of dark and light quite mesmerizing. She kept her eyes focused on Lord Lexford’s cheek. As the carriage rocked gently, Mercy filled her lungs with the scent of him. She etched upon her brain, the clean smell of soap, mixed with spicy sandalwood. The combination would forever remind her of Aidan Kimbolt.

*

She had not stirred from her quarters since the viscount had escorted her to her room a day and a half prior. Mercy wished to hide under the blankets forever, as if being safely in Lord Lexford’s home would drive away her “phantoms.” Yesterday, she had gathered her few personal belongings and placed them where she might easily retrieve them. She had also carefully counted the coins Mr. Hill had given her in anticipation of her leaving. Today, Mercy had constructed a letter to His Lordship and another to Mr. Hill. This evening, after everyone had taken to his beds, she would leave in the night’s middle. “Like a thief,” she had told her reflection in the windowpane. The candlelight flickered from a draft behind her; yet, Mercy did not turn her head. She had made her decision.

Earlier, Millie had assisted Mercy with her nightclothes and had unknowingly delivered a message, which had sealed Mercy’s fate.

“Miss,” the girl had said tentatively, “when I be waitin’ fer ye at the inn like His Lordship be sayin’ a young lord approached me.”

Mercy’s stomach had plummeted, but she had schooled her expression to one of surprise. “A young lord?” She worked to keep her voice somber and her gaze steady.

“Yes, Miss. Fine looking with London clothes and all.” The girl spoke with excitement while Mercy’s mind raced with possibilities. “The lord said he be knowin’ ye from yer home, and he acted mighty disappointed when he sees Lord Lexford escorting ye to the viscount’s carriage.” A young lord, Mercy thought. So the author of her note was her brother. It made sense. She had previously seen the dark-skinned Baloch in company with Geoffrey.

Another headache blossomed within Mercy’s head. She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips before quickly dropping her hands to her side. Swallowing heavily, Mercy said evenly, “I cannot imagine who the gentleman might be.”

The young maid said wistfully, “All I knows is he be mighty nice to me. Bought me a glass of beer while I waits for His Lordship’s carriage to return. Asked me questions `bout how long you had been at Lexington Arms, but I not tell him nothing. I swears it, Miss.”

Mercy said graciously, “I have nothing to hide.” With forced politeness, she thanked the girl for her service before she had retrieved a book from the table to execute the ruse of reading in bed. “That shall be all I require this evening, Millie. You may be excused.”

The girl curtsied before shoving her hand in her apron’s pocket. “The gentleman asked me to give ye this note.”

Reluctantly, Mercy accepted the folded paper. She casually placed the note on the table as if it was of no significance; yet, as soon as the maid had made her exit, Mercy snatched the paper from the surface to read: “I will be waiting for you three days hence beside the stream where Lord Lexford took his plunge.”

“Three days hence,” Mercy murmured. “This is the second day.” At that instant, she had made her decision. She meant to be gone before dawn. Now, she waited for the night’s silence. Finally, the clock downstairs struck eleven, and Mercy blew out the candle before sneaking quietly from her room.

On soundless feet, she crept along the corridor until she came to the door she sought. With sweaty palms, Mercy turned the latch and eased the door from the frame to slip into the muted light of the dying embers of the fireplace. Closing the door behind her, she carefully turned the lock until a soft click announced no admittance. Mercy tentatively stepped into the room. Her knees trembled, but despite her sheltered upbringing, her heart knew she had made the correct decision. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, Mercy walked into the semi-circle of light.

Her heart jumped with expectancy as a dark figure rose from a chair turned away from her. “Mary?” Concern rose in the viscount’s voice. “Is something amiss? Should I summon a physician?”

Mercy hated the fact he called her “Mary” instead of her given name. She wished desperately for the viscount to know the real Mercy Nelson. “No, my Lord,” she said softly.

“Then why are you here?” he asked without censure.

The fire’s reflection in the viscount’s eyes made Mercy think of the desire she had observed in Lord Lexford’s eyes whenever he looked upon her, and the thought embolden her. “I thought we might share a glass of sherry. I have not seen you since we returned to Lexington Arms yesterday afternoon.”

The viscount took several steps in her direction, but stopped short. “I fear I have no sherry in my quarters,” he said with an easy smile. “I could offer you brandy.” His gaze met and locked with hers.

Mercy shook off his offer. For a moment, she paused in controlled intensity. “Brandy is not a drink for a lady’s taste.”

“Then I will send for the sherry or retrieve it myself.” Lord Lexford started past her, but Mercy stopped him my placing her hand on his chest. Through the fine lawn of his shirt, she could feel the erratic beat of the viscount’s heart. It matched hers perfectly. His breathing shallowed as he leaned closer. “Mary, you play with fire,” he said on a rasp. “If you remain, I mean to know you as a man.”

Mercy’s chin rose. She stared lovingly into his eyes. Eyes, she would never forget. “I am well aware of your desire, my Lord,” she said baldly. The steadiness of her voice surprised her. Her erratic pulse slowed. Even if she could not escape Geoffrey, Mercy meant to spend one night in the arms of the man she loved. “But are you aware of mine, Lord Lexford?”

Aidan had stood to send Mr. Hill upon his way, but a muslin-clad Mary Purefoy had brought him up short. The soft glow of the fire kissed the lady’s fair skin, and Aidan felt the tug of desire in his groin. As if she fought the urge to cover herself, the lady twisted her hands together before her. Yet, surprisingly, when he had inquired as to her reason for coming to him, she had said boldly, “I thought we might share a glass of sherry.”

Only if I can drink it from the flat of your stomach
, his body screamed. Aidan took a step in her direction. “I fear I have no sherry in my quarters. I could offer you brandy.” His heart pounded out an erratic rhythm. Aidan’s eyes remained locked upon the lady’s countenance, and she slanted an odd look in his direction.

Miss Purefoy shook off his offer. “Brandy is not a drink for a lady’s taste.”

He wanted her to stay. Aidan had no idea what Miss Purefoy planned, but he meant to discover her purpose. “Then I will send for the sherry or retrieve it myself.” He started for the door, but her hand on his chest halted Aidan’s progress. A thrill of elation spread through his veins. He lifted her chin with his fingertips, tilting her head where he might look upon her lovely countenance. “Mary, you play with fire,” he warned. “If you remain, I mean to know you as a man.”

Her chin took on that defiant slant Aidan had come to love. A smile tugged at the corners of the lady’s mouth. Their gazes fastened as he explored the depths of the lady’s resolve. “I am well aware of your desire, my Lord,” she declared in a clear voice. “But are you aware of mine, Lord Lexford?” A wash of moonlight caused her hair to gleam like liquid gold. Her figure was perfection: rounded hips, full breasts, and a small waist. Desire rushed in, but he firmly put it in its place. He would require all his faculties; yet, somehow, Aidan thought the battle already lost.

He inhaled her scent. He would never smell lilacs again without thinking of her. At the moment, he wished desperately to know her real name. To whisper it in her ear. He looked deeply in the dark brown eyes that were now so familiar. Aidan could wait no longer to know her heat along his body. He pulled her into his embrace, and the lady came willingly. “Oh, God, Mary, I have dreamed of this moment,” Aidan murmured. He placed a line of kisses from her temple to her chin. Finally, his mouth covered hers in a blazing kiss, which declared his need for her.

She had come into his life at a most inopportune time, but the woman had opened his closeted existence to a new world. Mary Purefoy, or whatever her name might be, had given Aidan back a part of him long left behind.

Her arms moved about his neck, and Aidan pulled her closer, lifting her hips where he might grind his erection against her vee. Hungry to taste her again, when her lips parted, he slid his tongue along the seam and plunged in. Desire raced straight to his brain. Never had Aidan felt such unrestrained passion. He loved the feel of the soft tissues of her mouth on the tip of his tongue. When she ventured to touch her tongue to his lips, Aidan’s ardor soared. He had made a practice of never kissing the women he paid for sexual pleasure, and Susan had never shared such intimacies. In fact, Aidan doubted he had ever kissed a woman for whom he felt such a strong attraction. He could barely catch his breath.

Finally, he released her mouth. “I must have you,” he growled. Aidan prayed she would not refuse. Her body trembled beneath his touch. “Come with me,” he coaxed. She looked at him in bewilderment, but the lady did not attempt to move away. Instead, she curled herself about him, her arms tightening about Aidan’s neck.

He caught her left hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed each of her fingertips, sucking lightly on her index finger before whispering, “Will you lie with me, Mary?”

A faint smile spread across her lips. “I will, my Lord.” Never had Aidan known such joy. He caught her hand to tug Mary along behind him toward his bed. She shivered, but her expression never changed. Miss Purefoy had accepted the fact this night would be the one in which they would join in the most basic of dances. Her boldness should have spoken of the lady’s loose morals, but Aidan knew in his heart she was an innocent, and this night would change their lives forever.

“Are you frightened?” he asked as he recaptured her in his arms.

Mary bit her bottom lip. Despite what he had said earlier, Aidan meant to provide her the opportunity to change her mind. “Of you, my Lord? Never. Of not pleasing you? Infinitely so.” Her voice held the promise of sensuality, and Aidan felt himself grow harder. Her words were a salve to his racing pulse.

“You please me more than you know,” Aidan rasped. He ran his hand through her hair. It was the golden silk he knew it to be. He wound the strands about his palm, drawing her closer. He nibbled upon her ear, running his tongue along the lobe. Her body grew warmer, and Aidan lifted her hips so she could feel his heat. After tonight, he would commit himself to this woman. That knowledge brought a twinge of doubt, but Aidan realized if Mary desired him as much as he did her, then he would be helpless to stop what he had begun. Somehow, they would make a life together. Their connection would prove strong in molding their futures.

The lines of the lady’s countenance spoke of her classic beauty. She was all female, and all his. The invisible threads between them tightened. Her arms snaked about his waist, and Aidan lowered his mouth slowly to hers. A fire ignited between them.

His hands trembled as he reached for the ribbon tie of her robe. “You possess one last opportunity to withdraw,” he growled.

“Kiss me, “ she whispered.

Aidan’s lips touched her tenderly before sliding down her neck to suck on the point where the vein throbbed in anticipation. His tongue circled the pink scar where the bullet had grazed her skin. The thought of how he could have lost her before he had had the opportunity to know her intimately sent a shiver down his spine. He tightened his embrace. With one hand, he tugged the ribbon lose and guided the cloth from her shoulders. With a swish, the robe slid to the floor. Aidan’s hands explored her arms, her back, the rise and fall of her hips. Through the thin muslin, her breasts stood erect. Aidan’s mouth had gone dry, but he remained hungry. Hungry to taste her, at last.

Desire crowded Aidan’s chest as his fingers fumbled with the few buttons keeping him from the ecstasy her body promised. Finally, the gauzy material slid over her creamy shoulders to reveal Heaven on Earth. He caught her wrists to prevent Mary from covering her breasts. “You are exquisite,” he rasped as his eyes scanned her curves. She was everything Aidan never knew he had wanted in his life and in his bed.

Her hands smoothed the lines of his shoulders, and she whispered his name: “My Aidan.”

He lifted her to his bed. Watching her as lust rose in his veins, Aidan dragged his shirt over his head. Unbuttoning his breeches, he slid the cloth from his hips taking his small clothes with them. Mary’s eyes widened as the stiffness of his erection was exposed. “I promise I will not hurt you,” he said warmly as he crawled across the bed to recapture her mouth.

Skin against skin. Heat wrapped with heat. He recalled the two times they had kissed. Each kiss had excited Aidan beyond reason. Excited and confused him. But kissing Mary when no barriers remained between them drove all the confusion away. Nothing had ever felt so right. The sensation of his skin against hers sent ripples of need to his erection.

His kiss had started tenderly, but it quickly grew to raw need. The intense desire in the lady’s expression captivated him. His mouth slanted over hers. Mary’s hands skimmed his chest, his waist, and his back. As the passion unfurled deep within him, Aidan lowered his head to place gentle kisses upon her breasts. His erection jerked in expectancy. Aidan laved her nipples before sucking firmly. Mary rewarded him with a groan and a digging of her nails into his back. She arched, driving her breast further into his mouth. “Aidan,” she moaned.

He raised his head to look upon her. “Yes, my Love?” he asked adoringly. He enjoyed his name upon her lips. Slowly, methodically, Aidan blew upon the dampness to tease the nipple, making it bead harder.

On a self-possessed breath, she confessed, “It is too much.”

“When I am with you, it is never enough,” he declared huskily. “I mean to possess you.” His mouth returned to her breast. This time her fingers moved through Aidan’s hair. With each lick of his tongue, Aidan’s desire intensified.

He balanced his weight on his forearms as his mouth returned to hers. Aidan meant to brand Mary Purefoy as his–to demand her surrender. Her body trembled, and Aidan realized she was close to knowing pleasure for the first time.

Her tongue challenged his, and he took full advantage of the moment to slide his hand along the flat of her stomach to her most private place. His fingers traced the dampness up and down her folds. She writhed beneath his touch, as if she searched for something only he could provide. When he bluntly entered her dampness with first one and then a second finger, Mary’s hips rotated against his hand. Aidan’s thumb massaged the nub while his fingers entered and withdrew. Finally, a cry of pleasure escaped her lips as Mary’s legs slammed shut about his fist. Aidan took great pleasure in milking the last shudder from the lady’s body.

When she trembled weakly, Aidan leaned forward to kiss her tenderly. He slowly withdrew his fingers, wiping her dampness along the blankets. “I want you more than I could ever tell you,” he whispered as he kissed her temple. He caught her chin in his large palm. “Mary,” he said hopelessly.

She caressed his cheek with tremulous fingers. Her gentleness moved Aidan in ways he could not anticipate. His former concerns melted immediately. She had lied to him about her name, but everything about the woman said her emotions were real. He tugged her into his arms, and Mary’s body molded tightly to his. Aidan rained kisses over her face, her hair, her shoulders, and her neck.

His body yearned for this woman. She was a vibrant, sensual woman. A sensual woman who belonged to him. Only he would ever know her. Raising his head, Aidan devoured her with a searing gaze. “You are so beautiful,” he said huskily. He kissed her again–a sizzling kiss, which left them both breathless. “So unbearably beautiful.”

He braced his rigid body above hers: His manhood thick and swollen. He straddled her legs, and with a nudge of his knee, Aidan opened her further. “I will treat you gently,” he said through taut lips.

Unable to remove his eyes from her, Aidan’s hands searched her body. He would worship the pure ivory of her skin. Pay homage to the thrill of knowing this woman forever. She strained high as he tormented her nipples. She blinked blindly, pleasure flooding her and causing his manhood to jerk in response.

Mary’s body arched against him. He caught one pink nipple in his mouth. He laved it with the wet wash of his tongue. He licked and nibbled freely; and she bit her bottom lip to stifle her cry of pleasure. Her ragged breaths plunged him toward an early release, but Aidan swallowed his building desires. He reveled in every soft whimper from her lips.

His swollen head probed her opening. Sweat exploded on his brow as Aidan attempted to control his hunger. His near uncontrollable desire for her made humbled him. He meant to drive into her until they were one person. He gritted his teeth as he entered her; Mary’s heat swallowed him inch by inch, and Aidan’s muscles bunched tight across his back. The perfection of the sensations came close to pulling him apart, but Aidan held on. His entry finally met the membrane protecting her virginity, and Aidan flinched with regret for their actions; yet, he was beyond being able to stop. He kissed her again, a long sizzling kiss, which left them both gasping for air.

Awashed in pleasure, Aidan’s eyes closed so he might enjoy the mounting frenzy. The sensations thundered through him as he pushed past the wall with one hard thrust. “Mary,” he chanted in slow releases of ecstasy. The frenzy grew. Her body rubbed against his turgid flesh. His mouth sought hers, only releasing her when rewarded with a heated moan. Aidan gritted his teeth and increased his pace. When Mary joined him in the blending of their bodies, a shudder wracked him as his seed exploded deep inside her. The air filled with the sound of raspy mews. She spasmed against his heat, and Aidan was at peace with a beautiful woman. He collapsed upon her, his breathing erratic, but Aidan had the oddest feeling he had finally come home.

*

Mercy clung to him with every ounce of strength remaining within her bones. She had understood the mechanics of what would occur between them, but she had held no concept of the intense emotional connection, which would tie her to him forever. His possessiveness had thrilled her. Being claimed by Aidan Kimbolt was an honor indeed. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might explode.

Yet, a small part of her instantly regretted their joining. Mercy had gone to his room because she loved Lord Lexford more than words could describe, and it was her intention to know him once before she departed Lexington Arms. However, His Lordship would never reciprocate. He did not think upon her as she did him. The viscount had freely shared his body–had whispered words of desire in her ear, but words of affection remained unsaid.

“God!” he groaned while air slowly seeped into her lungs. Awareness returned as he buried his head into the curve of Mercy’s neck. Finally, the viscount rolled to his side taking her with him. He wrapped her into his embrace and pulled the bed linens over them. She rested her head upon his shoulder. He smoothed one hand across her hair as he slipped into the stupor of sleep. Mercy remained beside him, listening to the return of the steady beat of his heart. If she could remain so always, she would never complain.