Her first night with Arran had been a revelation. Her second night…complete wish fulfillment. Even now, her bottom remained tender from her spanking, and a lingering soreness between her legs reminded her that he had taken her repeatedly after she had learned to suck his cock. How educational it had been, as at his direction she had ridden him like a stallion while he kissed her nipples and stroked her clitoris. Thank heavens he had gagged her again, for the entire inn would have heard her cries of ecstasy. Later he had put her on her hands and knees, parting her thighs wide so he could caress where he’d spanked, dart his tongue into her back entrance, and hold her open while his fingers took her twice to the brink of orgasm but denied her. Then he had plundered with his cock, gripping her hips and penetrating her with such force, it had offered a similarly intense and blissful pleasure-pain to her spanking.
Arran hadn’t withdrawn, that last time. Knowing he wanted a future together, and needing that total connection with him, she had reached around and held him to her. As if he needed it too, Arran had thrust deep, one hand roughly cupping her breast and his teeth nipping her shoulder while his seed gushed inside her, each spurt and pulse like an internal caress. That had been her most explosive climax yet.
Only once before had she dared to think herself worthy of love and marriage, and that had ended in disappointment with the clerk. But the feeling was infinitely stronger with Arran. She could talk to him, really talk, of small matters and serious ones. They could laugh together. And he’d been so understanding about her childhood, she actually wanted to share the whole truth about her illegitimacy. That the loathsome peer had been her father, not just a relative. Even now she could scarcely believe that she had found her dream gentleman at an inn of all places. Well, not just found him, but found herself, too. What she truly needed in the bedchamber and out of it. And with a bright future ahead, including the chance of a baby…
Rachel quivered with sheer happiness. Better still, the bright future would begin very soon. The bolt needed to fix his carriage axle had been located, Arran had gone to oversee the repair with his coachman, and in the morning they would be traveling to London. Together.
A knock sounded on the door, startling her from her thoughts.
Puzzled, Rachel ambled across the room to answer it. Perhaps it might be Mrs. Vine or a maid with fresh towels, or more wood for the fire. But when she opened the door, a young man in a greatcoat partially covering smart but travel-worn blue and gold livery stood there.
“Afternoon, ma’am,” he said, with a respectful incline of his head. “I’ve just arrived with a note from London, and have brought it up here so I don’t lose or tear it.”
“For me?”
“No, ma’am. For Lord Kyle.”
She frowned as the back of her neck prickled. “Beg pardon? Lord who?”
“Oh!” he said with a friendly grin. “I mean Mr. Elliott, of course. The lads told me the tale, and how your clever plan meant they all had a decent place to sleep. They’re so pleased the marquess has found a nice woman to be his mistress, some can be right witches. If you ask me, there is no need for nastiness between the ladybird and wife, either. All of us have our role to play, including you and Lady Sarah.”
A chill consumed her body, so icy and relentless that she thought she might snap in half. The marquess? Wife? Lady Sarah? And yet just as quickly it thawed, and each arrow found its mark, stabbing her to the core and leaving her to bleed.
Somehow, she held out a hand. “The note?”
The footman handed it over, his brow furrowing. “Are you well, ma’am? Do you need a tonic? We can fetch you something from the village before traveling in the morning.”
“Quite well,” Rachel replied through bloodless lips, all the while knowing she would never be well again.
“If you’re sure. See you in the morning then,” he replied cheerfully, inclining his head again before trotting off back down the hallway.
Dangling the wax-sealed note from two fingers like it was a dead rodent, Rachel staggered over to the chair at the table and collapsed into it, wincing at the impact on her sore flesh.
Fool. Fool. Fool.
The word pounded in her head, and she clutched her temples and let out an agonized groan. It seemed far too cruel that history had repeated itself, that just like her mother, she had been led down the garden path by a faithless married lord who wanted nothing more than a convenient tumble, and would discard her when he grew bored. Worse, he’d come inside her, and she had wanted him to. As a wife, a baby would have been her dearest wish. But as a mistress…never. Because she well knew how lords treated pregnant lovers. After luring them in with extravagant promises, they left them to die, penniless and alone.
Lovestruck twit!
“No. Oh no,” Rachel whispered, wrapping her arms around herself and rocking on the chair, making it creak in protest. And yet her gaze caught on the note again, taunting her from where it had dropped onto the table, for in cursive writing it plainly stated Lord Kyle.
Trapped in a nightmare, she reached for it and slid her finger under the red sealing wax. Her heart screamed at her to stop. However, her mind wanted confirmation she was the worst of fools: a trusting one. The paper was a little tattered after its journey, but the crackle as she unfolded the note sounded unbearably loud in the silence of the room.
Pulse thudding, she peered at the neat, elegant penmanship.
My lord,
I
