Love Lessons at Midnight (9 page)

“Do like m’lady says, Ralphie. I seen me brothers’ bums aplenty. Yers is no different,” Bonnie scolded, trying to pry his hand away from his injury.

Will Scarlett returned to the scene, sword in hand. He gave the moaning man a swift kick in his good buttock with the toe of his boot, saying, “Lady Fantasia, this blubbering dolt has only been nicked.” Bending over, Will slapped the
sheriff’s hand away so Bonnie and her mistress could see the wound. “Such a huge
bebe
,” he scoffed.

Upon closer inspection, Rob could see that the legs in those tights were most certainly feminine. The voice, although a low timbre, belonged to a woman as well, obviously a French woman, but not his Gaby.
Gabrielle…what am I going to do tonight?
Momentarily distracted, he barely listened when the red-clad female called out, “Corporal, where are you?”

Rob blinked as a brawny youth stepped from behind a tree. It was the guard from the front gate whom he had ordered to summon Fantasia the day he thought Gaby was ill. Like the others, he, too, was dressed in medieval costume. He said, “I were afraid to stop the play, Lady Jenette. The patron—he was enjoyin’ it so much.”

“You did well, Corporal,” Fantasia said, rising and dusting off her silk skirt, now satisfied that the wound was minor in spite of the blood. “Please assist Ralph indoors and take him to the housekeeper. She will stitch him up.”

Ralph started to protest, “No, no woman ain’t…” Fantasia’s quelling glare silenced him. The corporal helped him stand and walk while he clutched his rump once more. All the other characters in the farce melted away in various directions.

Fantasia turned to the woman Rob had heard her call Jenette. “I am so relieved that you are not harmed, Jeni. How on earth did our patron get an edged weapon? The ones we rent from Drury Lane are dulled with guards on the tips.”

The Frenchwoman pulled the cap from her head, spilling dark blonde hair about her shoulders. She inspected the remaining half of the feather. “This was no actor’s property, but Boxer would not allow a mere female to be in charge of weapons,” she huffed, then added, “I did not cheat Madame
Guillotine in France to be beheaded in England. Blame your human mastiff.”

“This would appear to be an unfortunate week for him,” Fantasia said with a sigh. She turned to a worried Bonnie and said, “Please find Mr. Boxer and ask him to come to my office immediately.”

As the maid bobbed a curtsy and left, Fantasia said to the Frenchwoman, “Jeni, would you see that our patron is…ah, being well soothed?”

The blonde threw back her head and gave a deep laugh. “
Cherie
, would you have me observe his bruises being kissed ever so slooowly? No,
ma coeur
, that is certainly
not
my fantasy!”

Rob stepped from behind the hedge and leaned against an elm trunk, unable to stifle his laughter at Jeni’s bon mot. “Nor would it be mine,” he said to Fantasia.

Amber saw Rob and froze. “I told you to remain in my office.”

“Ah, I see you will not be left alone, so I take my leave,” Jenette said with a mock bow, skipping quickly away.

“Jeni, come back here at once,” Amber cried.

“Only remember,
cherie
, ‘ever so slooowly.’ Au revoir.” Her laughter faded rapidly.

Amber turned her fierce glare from her retreating friend to the earl, who approached, still laughing at the mad scenario he had just witnessed. “I imagine the poor Mr. Boxer’s rump will be as well chewed as my own,” he said.

Amber was furious. He had disobeyed her order and seen one of the fantasies turn into a humiliating disaster. More distressingly, his tall body looming over her in the torchlight did strange things to her heart. Backing up a step, she asked sweetly, “Did our near tragedy here provide sufficient amusement? We must be more entertaining than a carriage wreck, m’lord.”

Remembering the cleanly sliced feather on the nimble
Frenchwoman’s hat, Rob quickly realized that this could have indeed turned into a tragedy. “I intended no insult. Please, do not be angry. I’m truly sorry, but the scene was just so…well…unexpected. Robin of the Hood was certainly caught up being Maid Marian’s hero.”

Amber’s anger died as she considered how the fat little merchant had looked in bright green hose and jerkin. Her lips twitched. “I suppose it was a bit amusing.”

“Yes, but Lord Robin would be better suited for the role of Friar Tuck.”

Amber chuckled and shook her head. “Our patrons usually wish to win the fair maiden, so being a monk would not serve.”

“I can understand why being Robin would be preferable.” He stepped closer to her. “After all, Mr. McGilvey’s bruises are now being ‘ever so slooowly’ kissed away by the beauteous Maid Marian.”

She was acutely aware of his nearness. The tension between them was palpable on the heavy night air. Sounds of soft laughter echoed in the distant woods, adding to the sensual allure. His eyes met hers and he held her gaze, mesmerizing her, rooting her to the ground. They were completely alone…and he knew the patron! The thought quickly jarred her out of the trance.

“Upon your honor as a gentleman, m’lord, please promise that you will never reveal his presence here or breathe a word about what occurred tonight.” She was quite certain he would never do such a thing, but exacting the pledge allowed her time to collect her scattered wits.

Rob realized that she had deliberately broken the spell cast between them. He was Gabrielle’s patron. She was the Lady Fantasia, mysterious and untouchable. “Of course you have my word,” he replied stiffly, offering her his arm. “After all, who am I to intrude into another’s dream?”

She rested her fingertips lightly on his arm and they
walked. But with her other hand she once more held the wrap across her face. Now she required a diversion. “This is, indeed, the House of Dreams, m’lord. But not all of the dreams are amatory. A few seek to heal the wounds inflicted by reality.”

Rob’s flash of anger was replaced by curiosity. “Without jeopardizing the identity of a patron, could you explain that?”

She lowered the shawl and gave him a genuine smile. “Yes, I believe I can do so. There is a young woman in residence here whose indifferent father died, leaving her to the mercy of a greedy cousin who possesses none. As luck would have it, I was approached by a wealthy man of middle years, a widower still grieving for his long-dead daughter, a girl who would be about Lorna’s age. I am fulfilling a dream for both of them.”

“You are certain this grieving father has no ulterior designs on the young woman?” he asked, his tone dubious.

“M’lord, cynicism ill becomes you. Of course I had him thoroughly investigated before allowing him to meet Lorna. She is a virgin and will remain so until her new father proudly bestows her on a worthy suitor. Strange, perhaps, but true.”

“M’lady, I am beginning to believe that strange is your milieu.”

Amber laughed. “Come now. I have a staff meeting to conduct.”

A
mber dealt with the near disaster quickly, learning that a new guard had seen they were one sword short and took it upon himself to substitute his own for the “play.” After dismissing everyone else, she gave him a good tongue-lashing and exacted a promise never to tamper with Boxer’s equipment again. She was certain the sergeant major would administer an even more vigorous verbal flogging and watch the youth closely in the future.

Alone at last, she paced in her bedroom. Should she ring for Bonnie and prepare for midnight? She knew it was folly for Gabrielle to go to him after what had transpired in the woods. But she could think of no excuse that would not make him suspicious. The nervy ache in her heart unsettled her even more than the base physical craving to feel his hands on her body once again. No, she reminded herself, not
her
body. Gabrielle’s body.

The two must forever be separated if she was to retain her soul and her sanity. Gabrielle had so little time before her Rob left. Somehow that was even more difficult to bear.

As Rob lay alone in the darkness awaiting Gaby, thoughts about the farce played out earlier in the evening spun in his mind. If he had never come to this place of fantasies, he would not be faced with the dilemma confronting him. He desired two women he could never have, yet seemed destined to marry a woman who no longer held the slightest appeal.

The hidden door opened softly and his troubling reverie
faded when he smelled the soft scent of Gaby, his lady of darkness. He felt her slip into the bed with him and stretch silently alongside him. He caressed her flat belly, slowly moving up to her breasts while he nibbled soft kisses over her shoulder to her throat. “I feel your pulse racing, Gaby,” he murmured.

“I…I have missed you, my heart,” she said in French, turning into his embrace like the petals of a flower opening to the sun. If only they could be together in the light! But that would never be. “Please love me, Rob, love me.”

Was there a desperate plea in her voice? He could not be certain, but his confidence had grown greatly during the past weeks of instruction. He raised himself over her and placed his weight on his elbows as he lowered his mouth to hers, feeling her legs open as his knee pressed against the insides of her silky thighs. This was so beautiful, so natural…so glorious. How could he ever feel this way with another woman?

But you must.
He firmly reminded himself of that fact, then pushed the sad thought to the back of his mind while he rained swift, light kisses over Gaby’s delicate face. Butterfly wings! He no longer had to remind himself to go slowly, to restrain his passion and wait for her body to send its sweet signals to his. She did not take long.

She kissed him back with searing intensity, opening her mouth, letting her tongue duel with his. Her hips arched in invitation. Suddenly he wanted to prolong the moment, to lose himself in Gaby’s yielding body until his confusion over Fantasia, his future marriage, all else was forgotten. After teasing her ear with his tongue and nipping the lobe with his teeth, he murmured, “We have all night. Let us take our time…”

He feasted upon her smooth firm flesh, moving his mouth down to her breasts, taking one nubby tip between his lips and suckling, then moving to the other. He loved hearing her little moans, feeling her nails digging into his back. She
allowed him free access to her naked flesh. A wildly erotic idea formed in his mind, something he would never dare do with a wife…but with his passionate Gaby…

Somehow he knew that she would accept it. She would accept anything he did. Her passion was real, not feigned. It had nothing to do with her position in the House of Dreams, any more than it did with the money he paid for his “lessons.” This was honest pleasure mutually shared. Why not explore it to the fullest?

This is your only opportunity!

He trailed soft, wet kisses down her belly, pausing to tease her navel with the tip of his tongue. Then he slid down on the big bed, cradling her hips with his hands. The kisses moved lower yet until he was nuzzling her mound and kissing the sensitive skin on the insides of her thighs. Ever so slowly he centered his quest, searching for that vital place where a woman’s magic was seated. His hand had found it. Now his tongue did the same, ever so delicately.

Gabrielle had heard the courtesans speak of this, but she never imagined her Rob would dare to experiment this way. She should stop him—this was nothing he would ever do with his baroness! She felt duty-bound to stop him…
But I am not Verity Chivins!
Still, she shoved him away, whispering raggedly, “No, you must not—this is very wicked…ah…ooh!” Gabrielle knew the battle of conscience was lost…she was lost, drowning in a sea of unimagined bliss.

Rob felt her hands push him away at first, then quickly stop. He paused only an instant as her halfhearted refusal turned to whimpering pleasure. Then she dug her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer, urging him to continue. He found the pulsing little bud and laved it as she arched and moaned with exquisite excitement.

Her hands tugged almost painfully at his scalp, but he was unaware of it, completely caught up in the wonder of making love so unselfishly. He felt an overwhelming combination of
joy and power…power in giving freely and in knowing that his gift would not be refused but accepted with equal fervor.

Gabrielle lost all sense of time and place, aware only of Rob and the ecstasy he gave her. All too soon the now familiar contractions began and she sobbed, desperate for the culmination, yet at the same time wanting this bliss never to end. When it finally crested, she cried out his name and clamped her thighs against his head.

After her body collapsed back on the bed, replete, Rob planted a light kiss on the soft curls of her mound, then slid up to lie beside her. “Sometimes wickedness can be very good, do you not agree, my sweet Gaby?”

“I have never…”

“Neither have I,” he murmured. “But it seemed like a good idea when I thought of it.”

“You know it was…how much I enjoyed it…but my Rob, I have left you unsatisfied. I will—”

“No, you will lie back,” he ordered when she reached for his pulsing staff that pressed against her hip.

When he removed her hand and rolled on top of her, she said, “You have become quite the bossy one, eh? Now that the naughty student teaches his teacher, he gets—how do you English say it—too big for his breeches.”

Rob could not contain his laughter. “Gaby, when I am with you I am always too big for my breeches.” She pounded on his back with her fists, sputtering in indignation until he said, “Now, dear heart, unclench those little weapons. After all, my naughtiness is all your fault. You have given me the gift of confidence.”

“Perhaps, but God or Satan has given you the gift of arrogance, my wicked angel,” she retorted.

Rob heard the hint of laughter in her voice as he began kissing her. She responded, opening her thighs to him. It felt so right to laugh and talk amid caresses, but soon their passions
flared beyond words. At her urging, he slid into the wet heat of her body and slowly stroked until she again writhed and arched, saying, “Now, my heart, my Rob, come away with me now!”

He let go, plunging deeply, harder and faster as her sheath contracted around him. The sun, the moon, and all the planets collided in one blinding explosion of pure light. The entire universe shattered. He rolled onto his back, holding her so that she lay on top of him while they fought to regain their breath.

Gabrielle pressed her face against his throat, half afraid that he would feel the wetness of her tears. She could never make him stay, but how could she bear to let him go? Pushing the bittersweet pain away, she pressed soft kisses on his neck and combed her fingers through the crisp hair on his chest. Swallowing for courage, she said, “You have become the very best of lovers and now you reverse our roles. You teach me…although it began the other way.”

“What I did, making love to you that way…I was not certain at first…”

She kissed the corner of his mouth and whispered, “Why did you do something that you cannot do with…a wife? Was it because of who I am, where we are?”

“No, you are my sweet and innocent Gaby. Life has not been kind to you, and the fault is not your own. Never think of where we are when we make love, or feel any guilt because you are not ‘a wife.’”

The way he said the word
wife
so disdainfully filled her with curiosity. Not for the first time, she wondered why he had come to the House of Dreams to be instructed in making love. He was beautiful of face and body, also of soul. His instincts were to be gentle, to please a woman, not simply to satisfy his own desires. He was a rarity among men—that much she had learned from Grace and many of the women in this place.

Swallowing for the courage, she asked, “Why did you feel you could not please a wife?” Rob remained silent. “Oh, I have no right to ask such a thing! Please say that you will forgive me, my heart.”

He stroked her hair as he replied to the question. “Because I did not please my wife.”

“You have been married, then?” She was taken aback. How had Dyer missed this vital fact! “Oh, if you do not wish to speak of it, I will understand.”

“Perhaps it’s best if I do,” he replied thoughtfully, still stroking her hair. “You see, I was the son of a second son. My father’s elder brother held the title and had two heirs. My father was a priest. I grew up expecting to follow in his footsteps. During my first year in seminary, my family was approached by hers to arrange our marriage. She was the daughter of a baronet. I was but eighteen and as virginal as Credelia, who was a year my junior.

“Still, the marriage should have worked. My parents had a similar arrangement made for them and they were devoted to each other. I have three sisters, married and quite content. I expected to assume my father’s position in our parish upon ordination, and to raise a family of my own…”

This explained much about his life that she had not known. “What happened with this Credelia?” The question seemed to ask itself. Gabrielle knew the fault could not have been his and she was angry.

“She could not abide my touch,” he replied bitterly.

“How could such a thing be? Did she love another?”

“No. We courted briefly. She seemed very much in agreement with the match, a pleasant and pretty girl. There was no other man. What I learned in the months following our marriage was that she enjoyed attention, but holding hands and receiving bouquets of spring flowers were the extent of it.”

“Girlish things,” Gabrielle said softly.

“She was seventeen.”

“Many girls are wed younger than that,” she said, repressing a shudder of remembrance.

“The fault may have been mine. No, not ‘may have.’ It was my fault! I—I was nervous on our wedding night. Clumsy. When kisses and cajoling failed, I tried to remove the barriers of night garments, starting with my own. She became hysterical. She pulled her night rail tightly around her body like a shield and rolled away, huddled in a ball of misery in the darkness. I put my nightshirt back on and tried to fall asleep while she sobbed on the opposite side of the bed.

“In the morning she asked that we no longer sleep together. I thought that if I gave her time to grow used to living under the same roof with me…” He sighed. “After several weeks, I explained that her duty as a wife was to allow me to be a husband. I returned to her bed.”

“So she did her duty,” Gabrielle said, feeling unutterably sad for Rob.

“She lay stiffly beneath me. I…I could feel her revulsion every time I touched her. After a few months, she locked her bedroom door and told me she would kill herself if I ever…” His voice faded away.

Somehow she felt certain the spoiled child he had married had not killed herself. Gabrielle caressed his cheek. “Did you divorce her then?” she asked softly.

“No, that would have broken my parents’ hearts and created a scandal. Since I felt increasingly ill suited for a life in the church, I bought a commission and went to the Peninsula, which you already know.”

“Your wife, what became of her?” she asked guardedly.

“Two months after I left she died falling down a flight of stairs. The accident was caused by an overdose of laudanum. Apparently, she was reeling drunk on the vile stuff. I did not learn until I returned that she was with child.”

His flat tone of voice masked what she knew must be unbearable anguish. No wonder he felt inadequate as a lover. A
boy raised in a religious household wed to a girl who detested his touch and sought refuge in drugs. “Credelia was too selfish to intentionally kill herself.”

“Perhaps if I had not run away to war. If I had stayed and tried—”

“No!” she interrupted angrily. “You are not to blame. She killed your child. You are the one who was wronged, my heart,” she said, holding him, offering the comfort of a loving embrace. “I have heard of women such as this…unnatural ones who shrink from any man. Sometimes it is because they have been treated cruelly as children.”

“No, Credelia was beloved by her parents. Her father was a wealthy landowner who lavished everything on his wife and children. She was given whatever she wanted.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “My father was taken aback when hers approached him. Why would the daughter of a baronet wish to marry the son of a poor priest?”

Gabrielle thought she knew the answer. “Because she had seen you and thought you were splendid to look upon. She asked her father for you just as she would ask for a new dress or a fancy carriage.” His hum of agreement told her that she had guessed correctly. “She wanted a handsome husband, but she did not want to be a wife.”

“That was long ago, best forgotten. I have never dared to tell anyone what I have shared with you. I am sorry for unburdening myself this way.”

“You have not placed a burden on me. I am humbled by your trust and will never betray it.”

He kissed her brow, then her cheeks and the tip of her nose. “I know that, Gaby.”

His soft words cut like a knife. Gaby. She had betrayed him already with her deception.
Who am I? Gaby…or Fantasia? Or Amber, whose husband is very much alive?