Secrets of Midnight (36 page)

But she almost screamed when she felt something very
hard nudge her at the center of her thighs, nudge her at the swollen, tingling
place where his fingers had been only an instant before; she was stunned to
find Donovan supporting his massive body on one arm as he half lay on top of
her, her legs spread wide. And he was holding himself, his eyes burning into
hers as he slowly, gently, rubbed that soft aching point with his flesh.

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 sex 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, God, Corie! Corie . . . !"

Corisande heard Donovan's hoarse 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 space 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. Damn him! Damn 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 bloody
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 God, 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 bloody
inheritance
be
damned!"

Corisande turned and grabbed for the doorknob 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
excisemen. 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.

Hell and damnation, 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 God, 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 God-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 duchess—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 bastards! Why should she be wondering when they might strike
again when she knew exactly where they were staying?