CHAPTER 20
A t the stroke of midnight, a cab halted before Esmeralda’s house. She was in the front parlor awaiting the duke, and had been pacing impatiently there for almost an hour. She could not resist the urge to go to the window that looked over the street. She smiled at the hired cab, devoid of any insignia or mark, then felt her smile broaden as a cloaked man descended to the street. He moved with athletic grace, appearing to be a young and powerful man, his face hidden within the shadows of his dark hood. It was raining lightly and she wondered if the duke had managed to command the weather to better shield his secrets.
She would not have put it past him.
Latimer did not seem to be fooled by the cloak, for there was warmth in his tone when he responded to the knock on the door. Esmeralda could not hear his words clearly, but they were followed by the familiar rumble of the duke’s voice, the pair of them chuckling like old friends well met.
Latimer tapped on the door. “A caller, my lady.”
“Thank you, Latimer.”
The duke appeared in the doorway, fairly filling it with his height and breadth, his familiar dark coat and breeches making him look even more imposing. There was a fire in his gaze, a heat of anticipation that perfectly echoed her own. She smiled at him and it seemed that time had stopped, to hold its breath just as she did. His answering smile was slow in claiming his lips, then he stepped across the threshold with resolve and closed the door behind himself.
He waited, eyes glinting, desire radiating from him. Esmeralda’s heart swelled that, once again, he left the choice with her. This man supported her and defended her, cherished her and trusted her, giving her the choice of what to surrender and when. She was certain he was confident that he would one day claim her completely, and she loved that he let her choose the moment of her capitulation.
It would be this night, and he would have no doubt that she was his forevermore.
“Damien!” she said and his smile flashed that she used his name so readily. “You are most welcome, sir.”
“Esmeralda,” he growled, but she framed his face in her hands and claimed his mouth with her own. She wanted all he had to give on this night, all of that and more, and she had no patience for words and explanations.
Not yet.
In this moment, there must be Damien, his skin beneath her hands, his mouth upon hers, his heat inside her.
Their thoughts were clearly as one. He returned her embrace with equal fervor, catching her close, his tongue slipping into her mouth in glorious demand. She loved how he angled his head to deepen their kiss, his hands locking around her waist and lifting her from the floor. Their kiss was fierce and hungry, devouring and delicious. She gripped fistfuls of his hair, holding him captive to her demand and he met her touch for touch, the blaze within her growing to an inferno.
She unfastened his cloak, letting it fall to the floor, then ran her hands over his shoulders with impatience to feel his skin. Damien bent and nudged aside the neck of her chemise, closing his mouth over her nipple. He suckled and teased it, grazing the tender point with his teeth so that she moaned and writhed against him.
She pushed his jacket over his shoulders. “I want you naked,” she whispered, hearing him catch his breath. “I want you hard and hot within me, skin against skin.”
“No secrets,” he teased, carrying her to the sofa.
“None on this night,” she said. “Just you and I together as we always should have been.”
“As we always will be,” he vowed, then kissed her again. He cradled her in his arms and took his time kissing her, savoring her, letting her run her hands over his shoulders and into his hair. She nipped at his mouth, wanting more than even this hungry kiss and he chuckled. “You are impatient.” He laid her down there and stood beside her, his erection evident in his breeches.
“Should I not be?” She placed her hand over his erection and stroked him even through the cloth and he caught his breath, then retreated a step so that she could not reach him.
“I would make this time last forever, Esmeralda.”
“I cannot wait that long,” she argued and he smiled.
Slowly, too slowly, he removed his jacket, his gaze still locked upon her. He set it aside – folding it, even! – then began to unfasten his cravat with the same intolerable leisure.
Esmeralda knew the merit of delay, but had no patience for it this time. She had been without his caress too long.
But he was not the only one who could beguile. She tugged her chemise over her head and cast it aside, reclining before him nude. He inhaled sharply, his gaze brightening when she cupped her own breasts, pinching the nipples between finger and thumb to coax them to taut peaks. She arched her neck, loving that he could not avert his gaze, that he did not even dare to blink, that he shed his waistcoat with greater speed than the jacket. She leaned back and spread her legs, displaying herself to him, knowing that she was slick and wet.
He swallowed when she slid one hand down her belly, between her legs, then began to caress herself. He stood staring, like a man struck to stone, and her own caress made her hips buck. “Esmeralda,” he growled and fairly tore the cravat from his neck, casting it across the room then dropping to his knees before her.
“No shirt,” she decreed, closing her knees. “I want to feel your skin against my thighs.”
“You will feel more than that,” he vowed, shedding shirt, boots and breeches with lightning speed. Then he was between her thighs, the heat of his mouth closing over her, his tongue making demands of its own. Esmeralda fell back against the cushions, gripping his shoulders as he caressed her with his teeth and his tongue, his kiss summoning the tumult with ease.
Alas, she had taught him too well, for he took her to the brink of release, then retreated so that she moaned aloud in frustration. She might have reached for him but he evaded her. He kissed her thighs, her knees, the arches of her feet, until her pulse slowed again. When she was languishing before him, he then struck a determined path back to her clitoris, his whiskers grazing lightly against her skin, his gaze filled with thrilling resolve. She felt his teeth first, then his breath, then the wicked sorcery of his tongue. She gripped his hair in both hands and wrapped her legs around him, surrendering to the passion only he could conjure within her. This time, the tide rose quickly and relentlessly, making her buck against him as she feared he could cheat her again of her release.
Instead, she felt his thumb slide inside her, a sensation that weakened her knees, then his tongue flicked across her clitoris, driving her over the edge. She gasped aloud as she never did, feeling his chuckle of satisfaction as much as she heard it.
Then he was leaning over her, not granting her a moment’s opportunity to reach for him. He lowered himself over her, sliding inside her as if there was nowhere else he should be. She wrapped herself around him, holding him close and drawing him deeper, tasting her own arousal in his kiss. She rocked against him, wanting him to lose himself in pleasure as well and he drove deep inside her, his eyes blazing with need. When he approached the summit, she nipped at his shoulder with her teeth. “On your back,” she demanded. “I will ride you just as you deserve.”
He smiled, then rolled to the floor, gripping her waist and holding her above him until she was straddling him. Esmeralda smiled into his eyes as she lowered herself onto him, taking all he had to give. When he was fully inside her, she began to move, not just up and down, drawing him out and back into her slick heat, but moving her hips so that his pleasure would be more. She watched the heat rise beneath his skin, saw his nipples tighten, felt him become larger and harder. She moved more quickly then, caught his hands in hers and lowered herself over him, his wrists caught in her hands and pinned to the carpet over his head. He struggled against her, his shoulders flexing, but Esmeralda held fast.
“You liked this before,” she whispered, giving him a deep and hungry kiss, one that had him surging against her.
“Sorcery,” he managed to reply, then she kissed him savagely again. When she moved this time, she felt that he was on the brink. She rocked atop him, rubbing herself against him, and felt her own excitement rising. His hips bucked against her as he reached for his climax, and she urged him onward, his excitement feeding her own.
He swore, then abruptly rolled her to her back so that she felt the carpet against her skin. He held her wrists then in one hand, his elbow braced against the floor to lever his weight over her. She was perfectly trapped between the carpet and the hard planes of his chest, the scent of his skin filling her senses. He eased his hand between them and touched her, watching as he pinched her clitoris, compelling her to orgasm with a roar of surprise. She saw his triumphant smile, then he thrust twice deeply within her and went taut, coming with a bellow. He shuddered, then exhaled, bending to lean his forehead against her shoulder. Esmeralda was struggling to catch her own breath, but she smiled when he cast her a sidelong glance.
“Next time will be slower.”
“Perhaps.”
They smiled at each other, then he released her wrists, asking the question with the barest glance.
“Never,” she said, reaching to push her fingers through his hair. It was damp, either from the rain or his exertion. She did not care. “I have never before permitted that.”
“But why now?” he asked, obviously having guessed her reply.
She could not blame him for wanting to hear the words. She stretched, knowing he watched her and reveling in that. “It is a curious thing to be in love,” she said softly. “I have thought before that I was in love, but those affections were nothing in comparison to what I feel now. I suppose the measure is complete trust.”
He rose to his feet with a smoothness that pleased her mightily. He must have continued to exercise for his leg was much stronger. He went to the pitcher of warm water and poured some into the bowl, dampening a cloth and returning to her. “Yet you evade the confession,” he said, crouching beside her. She let him wash her, feeling utterly decadent, but knowing from the gleam of his eyes that he enjoyed the task as much as she did.
“I thought like so many other pleasures, it might be greater if there was a delay.”
He chuckled. “I think the suspense of a delay has been achieved.”
“I think it has as well.” She stood up and claimed the cloth from him, reached to brush her lips across his. “I love you, Damien DeVries. I think I always suspected it would be thus.”
His grin made him look boyish, reminding her of another time and another place – and another secret she had to confess to him on this night. “There is a sense of having met one’s destiny, isn’t there? I think I judged you harshly when first we met, for I recognized that you were the woman who might claim me heart and soul.”
Esmeralda rinsed the cloth and returned to him, taking her time in washing him, admiring the hard contours of his body. “Has the suspense of delay been achieved yet?” she asked, when he remained silent.
“I have made a confession to you before.”
“And I think you should make it again, so that all is reciprocal.”
He laughed, his hand closing over hers as he removed the cloth. He tossed it toward the bowl, then pulled her into his arms. She was pressed against him, skin on skin, from breast to knee, and Esmeralda could not imagine a finer place to be. He bent and touched his nose to hers, his gaze filled with wonderful conviction. “I love you, whether you are Esmeralda Ballantyne or Alienor LaFleur, and so I always will.”
That was what she wanted most to hear.
It was on Esmeralda’s lips to surrender her last secret, but then Damien kissed her with such abandon that she could think of nothing more than inviting him upstairs to her chamber for the rest of the night.
Though she did not intend that they should sleep much.
Damien awakened with a sense that all was right in the world. No matter how many times he and Esmeralda made love, each encounter was more potent than the last. He felt that there were no barriers left between them, that they became as one in that moment of union. It was a potent and wonderful sense, and a halo of it lingered a little longer after each melding. Already he could not imagine being parted from her for longer than part of a day.
Even that he would regret.
He had slept in her bed, well content to have her curled beside him, and reached across the mattress with one hand. He thought to begin the day as they had spent much of the night, but found only cool linens beside him.
He then became aware of a slight choking sound.
Damien sat up quickly, unsurprised to find either that morning light slanted through the windows or that he was nude in a very comfortable bed. The feminine touches in the chamber did not surprise him, for it was Esmeralda’s room, though he did blink that his shirt and cravat had evidently been pressed, for both hung on the door of an armoire.
He was more astonished that Esmeralda was on her knees beside a chamber pot. She wore the chemise she had put on before they went to sleep and her dark hair was braided in a long plait on her back.
“Did you eat something disagreeable?” he asked with concern when she straightened.
She moved to sit upon a stool, remaining close to the chamber pot, and he was reassured by her slight smile. “No, I did not.”
“Have you contracted an illness?” He began to rise from the bed. “Should a physician be summoned?”
“Though I contracted this malady from you, sir, it is not contagious.” She smiled a little. “Nor is it likely to be fatal.”
“From me? But I have no illness…” When her smile broadened, Damien understood. “Esmeralda,” he exhaled her name in awe.
She touched her stomach. “Yes. I am with child.”
His child? Damien wanted to know but did not want to ask.
There was a knock at the door in that moment and when Esmeralda called out, Damien retreated into the bed and pulled up the covers.
Mrs. Nelson came bustling into the room with a tray. “I heard you, my lady,” she said. “We could set the clock by you each morning.”
“I hope it will run its course soon,” Esmeralda said. “Fortunately, there is no shortage of warmed milk and fresh ginger scones.” She sniffed appreciatively, as did Damien for the baking was fresh.
“And there will not be, so long as I am here to see to matters.” Mrs. Nelson nodded approval as Esmeralda took a sip of the milk. “And a good morning to you, Your Grace. You need not go hungry, for I brought scones enough for two.”
“I thank you, Mrs. Nelson.”
“Is it tea or coffee for you in the mornings, Your Grace?”
“Coffee, if you please.”
She smiled. “I do indeed. Bert said it would be tea, but I knew it would be coffee, sir. I made extra this morning and will bring you some in a moment.” She added a curtsey before she stepped briskly from the room.
“She knew I was here,” Damien said, noting Esmeralda’s smile.
“There are few secrets within these walls, sir.” Her color was already improving, though she remained on the small stool. Her eyes twinkled. “And we were not quiet last evening, were we?”
“We were not,” he agreed. “I am grateful, though, to not have any sounds attributed to cats.”
They smiled at each other until Mrs. Nelson returned with the coffee, which smelled wonderful. When she was gone, Damien rose and donned a man’s nightshirt that Esmeralda pointed out to him. It was good quality linen but quite large. He did not mind, though, for the sight of him in it made her smile.
“You need not fear that it is from another patron,” she said. “Doris thought we might cut it down for it is well made, but we have never gotten around to it.”
He took the chair before the fire and poured himself a cup of strong coffee. The cream was thick and fresh, the combination doing much to revive him despite his lack of sleep.
Esmeralda finished her milk, then went to wash before coming to sit in the other chair. The scones were still warm and quite marvelous with fresh butter. “I will tell you before you decide whether to ask,” she said, her pragmatism more than welcome. “I have been with only one man the entirety of this year.” She raised her gaze to his and smiled.
Damien could not fully catch his breath. “My child.”
“Our child,” she said as she watched him. “You are composing lists. I can see your thoughts spinning.”
“Well, there is much to be done. A child! Esmeralda, if it is a boy, he would be my heir. Either way, it will be my first child…”
Esmeralda touched his knee. “No.” She spoke so quietly that he fell silent. “This will be your second child, at least by my counting.”
Damien frowned. “No, Esmeralda. I do not have a child…”
“Yes, you do,” she said with conviction. “Just as this will be my second child.”
“You have had a child? You never told me…”
She smiled at him. “And this child will be the sibling of my first child.”
“Half-sibling, to be specific, for they will both share a mother…”
She was shaking her head. “They share a father, as well.”
He frowned and leaned forward, unable to understand why this simple truth eluded her. “Esmeralda, you said this was my child and I have no other children.”
“Just because you did not know about Sylvie, does not mean that she is not yours.”
Damien blinked. “But she is your sister.”
Esmeralda shook her head. “She is my daughter, gotten upon me in my first night at the trade I did not wish to undertake. I was fortunate, for the young English nobleman who bought the right to take my maidenhead was kind and a gentleman. I had feared the encounter, but with him, it was rather lovely.”
Damien stared at her in shock.
“Esmeralda,” he whispered finally.
She took a scone, crumbling it in one hand, her words husky. “It was magical between us. I wanted to follow my lover, to learn where he stayed. I could not believe that there would not be more between us. I argued with Jacques that night and he called me a fool.” Her lips tightened. “He struck me that night, across the face – which was not favored choice, for bruises are not enticing to most men. He blamed me for making him so angry that he erred, but when he left, I knew I had to escape. I dropped the candle onto the straw pallet where I slept, then I fled in the confusion that followed.”
“That was why you were gone when I returned,” Damien murmured.
“I would have been glad if it had burned to the ground,” she said fiercely. “I simply wanted to escape but Jacques found me within a fortnight.” She shook her head as he listened, appalled. “I managed to prolong that bruise’s mark until it was evident that I was with child. When he sought to see the pregnancy ended, I fled to a convent.” She smiled sadly. “They would not offer me shelter unless the expenses were paid. Jacques found me there and paid them, with the assurance that I would be returned to him after the child was born.”
“But Sylvie was raised in Brittany.”
Esmeralda nodded. “There was a nun who became fond of me, as I was of her. I begged her to help me and she agreed. The baby came a little early, which made it plausible to tell Jacques that the child had died. I was returned to him and began my training in earnest, while Sylvie was secretly taken to Brittany. That nun remained her guardian. I wrote to her when I escaped and reached England, and she facilitated the exchange of our letters each Christmas.” She lifted a burning gaze to his. “I would have done anything to defend her, and I have done a great deal in my time.”
Damien reached for her and she moved into his embrace, where he knew she had always belonged. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I had to be sure…”
He touched a fingertip to her lips and drew her closer. “You give me the greatest gift possible. Not one child but two.” He nodded. “And now I understand why you changed your opinion that I should wed Sylvie after I told you of my first time in Paris.”
“I had no notion that you might be that young nobleman. It is so long ago, and I never looked fully upon him. It seemed too great a coincidence to be possible.”
“Or we recognized each other much sooner than either of us knew.”
She looked up at him, her eyes glowing. “That first night.”
He smiled down at her. “It was magical, though last night was also rather remarkable.”
She smiled. “I suspect we both have a better idea of what to do than was once the case.”
Damien laughed aloud. “I should hope so.” He finished his coffee and set down the cup in its saucer. “And now there is much to do.”
Esmeralda was clearly surprised by his move. “What is there to do?”
“I will take advantage of that pressed shirt and cravat, and my polished boots, which are undoubtedly outside the door, and make several appointments this morning.” Damien rose with purpose, knowing there was one matter that could not be ignored. The publication of Esmeralda’s book had to be arranged before he could ask for her hand again. It was her one desire, and he would somehow ensure she had it.
She clearly did not realize his scheme, for she watched him with surprise, but he did not dare be seduced into further delay. He would wed her and soon, which meant this matter had to be resolved immediately. He kissed her once he was dressed, then left her bedchamber. She was still sitting before the fire, her surprise clear, though Damien knew he would have few opportunities in future to surprise his clever beloved.
“You mean to leave?”
“I mean to finish what I have begun.” He kissed her and was almost tempted to linger. Instead, he looked into her eyes. “Trust me, Esmeralda,” he murmured.
Then he retrieved his cloak, nodded to Latimer who brushed off his shoulders and lifted his hood to disguise his features. He thanked the man then left the house, unable to keep himself from whistling.
He had to find a means of seeing her book printed. He had heard nothing of any publishing firm being for sale, but was prepared to become more assertive in his hunt.
Had there not been an obituary of late in the newspaper for a publisher? Forest or Greene or Verge – no, it had been Parke, Henry Parke.
He would prevail upon his solicitor first thing and see what that man knew of the matter – or what other tidings he might possess.
Damien whistled.
He left her, after a single night of lovemaking and the surrender of all her secrets, with no assurance of his return or mention of his plans. She was to trust him. Esmeralda could make no sense of it. She had been certain that he would repeat his proposal, and though she knew she could not be his duchess, she had been prepared to make an offer of her own. She could be his mistress and their children could be acknowledged as his bastards. She would even cede exclusivity to him.
But he had not even raised the subject.
What on earth did he intend to do this morning?
Esmeralda did not know, and she found this both annoying and intriguing. She realized she would tolerate such whims in no other man, which made her recall the pleasures of their night together and made her ceded that of all men, Damien DeVries had proven the most trustworthy.
She should strive to do as he requested.
The scone was delicious. Her day was devoid of obligations. She would enjoy that and be patient in anticipation of Damien’s return. He would return. She knew it.
For once in her life, Esmeralda would wait.
She did not expect it to be easy.