Man Of My Dreams: Secrets Of Midnight Part 21

"You look as much a mess as I feel, woman. Sand in your hair, on your clothes. What happened?"

Chapter 30.

Corisande didn't know what to say; there were so many people gathered beneath the rocky overhang. Thankfully Donovan was distracted as the captain of the fis.h.i.+ng vessel was suddenly brought round by a shot of brandy poured down his throat, the man breaking down and weeping openly as he embraced his son.

As more cheers went up, and many villagers crowded forward to commend not only Donovan, but also all the other rescuers for their bravery, Corisande drank her tea, grateful for its warmth. But nothing could thaw the chill that was descending over her, and she stared silently into the sputtering bonfire, her attacker's cryptic words echoing in her mind . . . "Now you know when you hear from me again, madame, you will not doubt that my words are true. You will not doubt me!"

She sat there and stared even as people began to leave for their homes, and one by one the survivors were helped to their feet and taken off to eat a warm, hearty meal and spend the night in beds generously offered by strangers. She was scarcely aware of anything until she felt Donovan touch her arm and she jumped, dropping her mug into the sand.

"Corie, I said it's time we leave. Didn't you hear me?"

Donovan got no reply, only a mute shake of her head; Corisande's face was so pale, her teeth still slightly chattering, that he couldn't wait to get her home.

Good G.o.d, she had probably helped to drag the survivors to sh.o.r.e-no wonder she was soaked to the skin. She must have been knocked from her feet a time or two and won a good dunking for her efforts to have so much sand clinging to her, too, her hair matted to her head. She didn't protest when he helped her to her feet and wrapped the blanket more snugly around her shoulders, but her legs seemed so wobbly that he lifted her into his arms and carried her out from underneath the overhang. The wind was not so strong now, the gale having lost some of its wild fury.

He was amazed he didn't feel worse after battling the waves. When that rope had snapped and he'd gone under, nearly losing his grip on the captain, he'd known apprehension, yes, but he hadn't allowed himself to doubt for an instant that he would make it back to sh.o.r.e. He'd had only to think of Corisande, dammit, how she had defied him again, putting herself at grave risk, and how he planned to let her know just how furious he'd been when he had met the ducal carriage rumbling at a breakneck pace toward home and discovered she was not inside with Charlotte.

But not tonight, Donovan thought to himself, wondering at how strangely still Corisande was as he strode to a narrow outcropping where he'd left Samson. His horse was soaked, too, snorting almost in indignation at him, but at least the animal had had protection against the wind.

He hoisted Corisande into the saddle and then mounted behind her, thinking she must be exhausted, indeed, when she leaned back against him, again making no protest when he wound his arms tightly around her and kicked Samson into a gallop. This wasn't at all the Corisande he'd left earlier in the day, when she had hardly spoken to him and more often than not refused to meet his eyes. That woman was nothing like the one who had hugged him so fiercely back there on the beach as if . . . as if . . .

Sighing heavily, Donovan told himself to be content that she was safe and sound in his arms. Yet he wasn't content, G.o.d help him, he wasn't.

"Here's some nice hot tea, my lady, I'll put it right here next to the bed. I don't like to see you still s.h.i.+vering so. The bath should have helped. If you'd like I could fetch another blanket for you-though we're a bit short right now with Their Graces being here and all their servants-"

"I'm fine, Ellen, really," Corisande murmured, plucking absently at the sleeve of her flannel nightgown. "I think maybe if I just get some sleep . . ."

"Oh, my, yes, of course, sleep is probably the best thing for you, my lady. To think of you outside in all that wind and rain and slos.h.i.+ng about in the sea. I'll be grateful that you don't come down with a bad cold or worse!"

Corisande closed her eyes as the housekeeper tucked in the covers one last time, then turned down the lamp by the bed. "If you could give the duke and d.u.c.h.ess my regrets-"

"Ah, no trouble there, Her Grace has already retired for the night, but I'll say as much to His Grace. He's waiting downstairs in the library for Lord Donovan to finish his bath and join him, though I heard him ask Ogden to let His Lords.h.i.+p know he wouldn't mind at all if Lord Donovan decided to retire, too, after the night he's had. Actually, His Grace was humming. Seemed quite content to be alone. I can't say that I blame him-oh, dear, I'm rattling on, and you need your sleep. Good night, my lady."

Corisande had already rolled onto her side, listening with half an ear as Ellen stoked the fire one last time and then left the room. Fleetingly she wondered if Donovan was making as much of a mess at his bath as he had at the washbasin that one night, water splas.h.i.+ng everywhere, but she immediately pushed away the image, not wanting to think about water at all.

It had been terribly difficult even getting into that tub, and when Ellen had poured a pitcher of water over her head to rinse the sand from her hair, her heart had begun to race so fast that she at once had wanted out. She imagined her pillow would be covered with the gritty stuff come morning, but she didn't care. She just wanted to sleep, please, please, to sleep so she wouldn't think anymore- "Non, non, madame, I did not bring you here to kill you."

Corisande gasped and pitched onto her back, the harsh voice so loud in her head it was as if she had heard it all over again.

". . . kill you . . . kill you . . ."

Dear G.o.d, the man almost had killed her, nearly drowning her! What was happening? Why was she living this nightmare? What had he meant about not doubting him?

Corisande threw back the covers and half stumbled from bed, trembling to her toes. She tried to take a sip of tea, but the cup was shaking so fiercely in her hand that she at once set it down again, fearing she might drop and break it. Instead she walked unsteadily to the curtains and peered through the rain-spattered windows, wondering if her attackers were out there, watching the house, watching her.

Three men, but only one had spoken to her, a Frenchman, she was certain of it, and they were at war with France! Rebecca had denounced the men staying at the inn as foreigners. Hadn't she guessed their origin? What of Oliver? A Frenchman who had said Corisande would be hearing from him again. Dear G.o.d, did he plan, then, to kill her?

"Corie?"

She shrieked and spun, embarra.s.sment flooding her as Donovan came toward her, the soft lamplight streaming through the sitting room from his bedchamber limning his powerful silhouette. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't hear you knock-"

"I didn't knock, woman. Are you all right?"

She gave a small laugh, a shaky, empty laugh, and spun back to the curtains. "I'm fine, of course, I'm fine-"

"Screeching when someone says your name is fine?"

"I didn't screech."

"Yes, you screeched. Which was actually a good thing to hear, considering you haven't said two words to me since I found you on the beach. I came to see how you're doing and I'm not leaving until you tell me. How does that suit you?"

Corisande rested her forehead upon the velvet curtain, her shoulders slumping.

"Corie, you're not yourself. I know tonight was a trial for both of us, but you're made of sterner stuff-"

"No, I'm not." Exhaling brokenly, Corisande didn't recognize the tremulous voice that had escaped her and neither apparently did Donovan. She felt tears sting her eyes as his hand touched her shoulder.

"Woman, that didn't even sound like you. What do you mean, you're not-"

"Not for something like this . . . it was so horrible-"

She gasped, folded so suddenly into Donovan's arms that she scarcely realized he'd reached out for her. Nor had she realized he was wearing no more than breeches as her cheek pressed against the crisp thick hair that matted his chest. Unbidden, tears began to spill down her face, not because he held her so closely, but because it felt so comforting to be held.

"I know the s.h.i.+pwreck was horrible," he murmured, slowly stroking her hair. "But it turned out well-no one drowned. It was d.a.m.ned astonis.h.i.+ng, really, given the seas . . . Corie?"

She had begun to sob, great wrenching sobs that came from the very depths of her as she turned her face to his chest and wept unabashedly.

And Donovan began to hope, to hope desperately, that she might be weeping for him.

"I've always been a good swimmer, woman. Maybe I should have told you that before I ran off-"

"He tried to drown me, Donovan. I thought I was going to die."

He froze, intuition kicking at his gut as he held her away from him only to have her nearly collapse, she was sobbing so wretchedly. With a low curse he swept her into his arms and carried her into his room, into the light where he could see her face. A face that was flushed red from crying, her eyes filled with such despair that his heart seemed to twist inside him as he went and sat down with her on the bed.

"Who tried to drown you, Corie? For G.o.d's sake, what happened tonight?"

"Th-the same man from the heath . . . when you went into the water. I . . . I know you told me to stay put, but I came down the beach so I could be closer and-and they grabbed me."

"In front of everyone? How could that-"

"No one was watching me, Donovan. They were watching you and-and the other men and the s.h.i.+p! I tried to fight but-oh, G.o.d, they took me to the other side of the beach, and a man came out of the dark and threw me into the water again and again and again . . ."

Donovan pulled her fiercely against him as a terrified cry burst from her, and her arms flew around his neck as if by holding on to him she could will the horrible memories away. But he didn't want her to stop-he wanted to know everything that had happened. He clenched his teeth as she began to cry again, wis.h.i.+ng desperately that he had been there, wis.h.i.+ng that he could have helped her . . .

"You said he tried to drown you, Corie?"

"Yes, he-he held me down with his foot. The water was so cold, so deep, and my chest hurt so terribly . .. and then I couldn't struggle anymore-"

"G.o.d help me, woman, no more, no more." Donovan hugged her more fiercely, incredulous that he could have been out saving strangers' lives while the woman he loved . . . the woman he loved . . . !

"He said . . . he said he hadn't brought me there to kill me, Donovan, and then-"

"Tomorrow, Corie, we'll speak of this tomorrow," he whispered, cradling her against him like a child. This time she fell quiet, her sobs becoming a great shuddering sigh that tore at him as deeply as anything she'd said. So deep that he felt a sudden wetness in his own eyes as he held her head against his heart, his cheek resting against her hair.

No wonder she had been soaked to the skin and covered with sand. He should have known she might be in danger, even with so many people around . . . d.a.m.n him for not recognizing the peril. He couldn't think of it anymore! He didn't want to think about it, not now, not now. He only wanted to hold her, to feel the warmth of her, to have her close. Gently he lifted her chin; her beautiful brown eyes, still br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears, met his as he traced the fullness of her lips with his thumb.

"Corie, I want you to stay with me tonight. I want you near me, to know you're safe. Please, woman, tell me you'll stay."

Chapter 31.

Corisande went utterly still, no more able to breathe at that moment than when she'd fought so futilely beneath the waves.

She stared up at Donovan, at his lips, so very near now to her own, certain that her heart was pounding as fiercely as his, his rampant heartbeat pulsing in her ear. And when his mouth touched hers, so tenderly, so gently, more a whisper than a kiss, she knew she wanted to stay. To be near him, to know that he, too, was safe, to feel the wonder of his arms around her long, long into the night- "No!"

She twisted free of Donovan's embrace so violently that she fell to the floor, the cry that had ripped from her throat as ragged and desperate as her sudden overwhelming thought that she must get away. Dear G.o.d, no, she didn't want these feelings! She didn't want them!

Fresh tears blinding her, she scrambled to her feet even as she heard Donovan coming after her, felt him catch her arm, but she wrenched herself away, rus.h.i.+ng headlong for the drawing room door. But he was there blocking her way, and she dashed the other way, not heading for the door leading out into the corridor for fear he would block her there, too, but grasping her way frantically along the windows, among the curtains, until she found two smooth handles and yanked open the balcony doors.

In seconds, she was gripping the iron railing, thick rain pelting her face as she looked down wildly at the drive below.

It wasn't too far. She could jump and then run and run and run and never stop- "Corie! Good G.o.d, woman, what are you doing?"

One leg already over the railing, Corisande fought with all her might as Donovan caught her round the waist and hauled her back onto the balcony, spinning her to face him. He shook her hard, not once but twice, such pain in his voice that she went still while he shook her a third time.

"Why are you so afraid of me? Why? I would never hurt you!"

"I-I'm not afraid of you!"

"Then why are you running from me?"

She didn't answer, couldn't answer, glancing behind her and thinking crazily that the railing was still close enough for her to reach if only . . .

Corisande cried out as Donovan pulled her against him, his fingers tunneling through her rain-soaked hair, his husky voice almost pleading.

"Corie, don't fight me. Don't run from me. Let me show you that I would never hurt you. That you can trust me! Let me show you . . ."

His mouth found hers before she could speak, his kiss filled with such unbridled pa.s.sion that she knew at once she was lost, those same feelings coming back with a vehemence that she now felt wholly powerless to fight. Suddenly she couldn't be closer to him, nearer to him, her hands moving up his wet, matted chest to the ma.s.sive breadth of his shoulders as his arms tightened around her.

The rain was cold, but everything else was so warm, his lips moving so hungrily over hers, his tongue as it thrust deep into her mouth, his skin that seemed to be on fire. She felt on fire, too, despite her soaked nightgown, the st.u.r.dy flannel clinging heavily to her body. So heavily that Donovan soon groaned in frustration against her mouth, his hands moving over her wildly as if searching for some way to reach her skin.

"Come. This d.a.m.ned stuff must go."

His lips never leaving hers, she was swept so unexpectedly off her feet that she felt her heart leap to her throat and she threw her arms around his neck, the balcony doors kicked shut behind them as he carried her back inside. But she scarcely noticed the sound for her blood pounding fiercely in her ears, or that suddenly she wasn't being carried anymore but lying upon the bed.

Only when she felt a small nip at her breast did she flare open her eyes to find Donovan kneeling astride her, looking more swarthily handsome than she could ever remember him, his eyes become as jet-black as his hair.

"Useless things, nightgowns. Shall we be rid of this one?"

He had whispered so huskily that she s.h.i.+vered, staring up at him as if cast in some seductive spell. Staring up at him as he bent his head to kiss her, his tongue first sweeping languorously across her lips before he pressed his mouth possessively to hers. But he didn't kiss her long, kneeling over her again as he gathered two fistfuls of flannel and slowly, his eyes full upon her, rent the soaked fabric from collar to hem, while Corisande gasped as her body was bared to his gaze.

Donovan drew in his breath, too, unable to tear his eyes from her . . . from the translucent whiteness of her skin and her dusky brown nipples to the auburn curls between her thighs, sweet dark curls he longed to touch, longed to feel wet and closing around his s.e.x but not yet, not yet. She lay like a gift before him, a rare, exquisite gift, and he would not rush, no matter that he was already so hard and aroused he thought he might explode. No, no, he would not rush.

He could see that she trembled; he was shaking, too, her sudden, wondrous acquiescence giving him more than hope -that she would entrust him with her body, this woman whom he thought of no longer as a temporary bride. G.o.d help him, if he made her his wife tonight in every sense of the word, maybe she would one day entrust him with her heart . . .

"Are you chilled, Corie?" he asked softly, his gaze moving once more to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, small beautiful saucy b.r.e.a.s.t.s with droplets of moisture upon them that must have trickled from his shoulders.

As she shook her head, he bent over her and flicked away a tiny crystalline drop with his tongue, feeling her start beneath him, her eyes half closing at the sensation. He found another droplet and flicked it away, continuing slowly, teasingly, above her taut lovely nipples, below them and all around them but not touching her there yet, not yet. Only when he came to the last tiny bead of moisture did he gently swirl his tongue around a nipple. Corisande arched her back and moaned deep in her throat while he marveled at the rose-scented sweetness of her skin.

"No lavender?" he couldn't resist teasing her in a whisper, not surprised when her eyes flared wide.

"N-no, I don't like it either."

He chuckled deeply but grew sober when he leaned down to kiss her parted lips, then the rapid pulsebeat at her throat, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Ah, but you will like this, Corie, I promise."

He gently began to run his fingers over her body, barely touching her, his hands gliding over her ribs and her belly, then up her breastbone to her throat and shoulders, lightly, softly, taking a moment to free her arms from her sodden sleeves and cast the torn nightgown from the bed before he ran his fingertips all the way down her beautiful torso to the silken insides of her thighs. He was rewarded when Corisande began to tremble all the more, her breathing coming faster, much as his own.

"Ah, Corie, do you like this too?"

He ran his hands back up to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, touching her, oh, so gently, the pads of his fingers drawing close to her nipples and then circling away in a seductive game of cat and mouse until she tried to push away his hands and writhed beneath him. But she jumped, crying out when he finally grazed her nipples with his fingernails, and he gave in, too, to the urge nearly driving him mad and bent his head to suckle hungrily as Corisande wound her fingers in his hair and brokenly voiced his name.

He groaned in answer long delicious moments later when, her nipples wet and flushed a deeper brown from his touch, he finally left the bed to pull off his breeches, his swollen s.e.x springing free. He saw her eyes widen, but to his relief she didn't faint dead away. He knew he was a big man, even when not fully aroused, yet he had no intention of rus.h.i.+ng her, of taking the slightest chance of hurting her except to make her sweetly, sweetly suffer. Quickly he returned to the bed and enfolded her in his arms.

"Shh, Corie, we have all night. Let me show you that you can trust me. Let me . . ."

Corisande caught her breath as, once more, Donovan found her lips and kissed her deeply; she was already so lost to the wonder of everything he had been doing to her that she gave no thought of protest. She felt so strange, like nothing she'd ever known before, languid, and yet her skin tingling with his every teasing touch. Just as he was teasing her now, lifting his mouth from hers to roll her gently onto her side, and then s.h.i.+fting his body until he was almost flush against her.

Again his hands began to move over her, caressing the small of her back and her bottom with so feather-light a touch that she felt goose b.u.mps sweep across her skin. But she inhaled sharply when one of his hands slipped between her legs from behind, his fingers gently brus.h.i.+ng against her sensitive flesh, his breath upon her neck incredibly warm as he whispered in her ear.

"Shh, woman, I think you'll like this too."

She did, she couldn't deny it as Donovan touched her softly, making her squirm against him, a strange heat inside her growing ever hotter. He slid his fingers back, splaying his hand on her bottom and then slipping them to the front once more until she wasn't only squirming but trembling uncontrollably at the sensations plummeting through her. Over and over he teased her, until she could barely open her eyes when Donovan finally eased her onto her back; she felt drugged from the pleasure.

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 ma.s.sive 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.