Chapter 15

15

Millie sat patiently at her vanity as Penny carefully dabbed her back with the thick, cool goop.

‘You’re healing well, miss. You might have scars, but there’s no more infection. A few more days with the salve, and I think you’ll be well on your way. I don’t think we need the bandages any more.’

‘You’re very good at this, Penny.’ Millie smiled at Penny’s reflection in the mirror.

Penny just ducked her head, her eyes staying focused on Millie’s back. The woman had secrets, it was plain to see, but getting her to trust Millie enough to share her story would be quite the task. Hopefully, in time, she would allow Millie into her world.

‘There you are, miss. All done. If you don’t mind, I promised I’d cover for one of the other maids tonight. She’s assigned to Lady Bradford.’

‘Of course, Penny. Is anything amiss?’

Penny shook her head, biting her lip. ‘It’s quite awful, miss. The staff are all buzzing about it. Her sister’s gone missing. Just a young lass, only ten and five. She was hoping to go into service like her sister, but no one knows where she’s gone. Her sister is terrified she ran away with some boy. She’s asked for time to be with her family and aid in the search.’

Suspicion spiked, fuelling Millie’s adrenaline. ‘That’s awful. Of course, you must go. If you need anything from me…’

‘No, miss, though that’s terribly kind. I’ll take my leave and see you in the morning.’ Penny gave an abbreviated curtsey and quickly left.

Millie pulled up her nightgown, threading each arm through the delicate lace sleeves. It was one of her favourites. The silk was a soft sage, and the lace had been dyed to match. The bodice was mostly lace, revealing as much as it hid with the silk creating a diaphanous skirt. She’d bought it years ago and never imagined she might wear it in front of a man.

Her mind worried over Penny’s information. St George had been in Bedford for three days while his wife shopped. Was it possible he could be responsible for the young girl’s absence? It seemed a long shot, but still, it was something worth speaking to Philippa about – if Philippa was still speaking with Millie after tonight.

She was going to confess her dealings to Drake. Her stunt with the darts was already a declaration, but it was time to tell him the whole truth. She would keep Philippa out of it, but it was the only way forward. One thing was as clear as the frigid night air: Millie did not want a distant marriage if there was even a chance of true partnership with her husband. She might be a fool, she might fall and shatter, but she would know for certain if Drake was worthy of her trust.

Her gaze returned to the glass. Even she had to admit, this night gown flattered her. Once Millie was old enough to visit the modiste without her father, she decided wearing sinfully decadent underthings was a pleasure every woman deserved. She spent a fair portion of her pin money on daring chemises, scandalous night-rails, and shocking corsets, knowing the only person who would ever see them was Millie herself and perhaps her maid. But she wore them because she could. They made her feel beautiful. It was her little secret pleasure.

Had she thought about Drake when she chose her eveningwear tonight?

Perhaps.

Was she thinking of him now as her skin heated and her pupils dilated?

Highly probable.

Did she desperately hope her physical appeal would help win over his trust and fill him with such passionate desire, he didn’t mind a whit if she went on secret missions for the Queen?

Undoubtably.

There was no point in dawdling. Her decision was made. Now, she just had to complete the plan she’d already put into action.

Taking a moment, Millie pinched her cheeks, pressed her lips together hard, adjusted her breasts, and nodded.

‘It’s high time I propositioned an earl.’ A million dusty moths took flight in her belly. She pressed her hand just below her clavicle and felt her pounding heart. This was no time for nerves. ‘One, two, three, go,’ she whispered, standing and quickly padding to the connecting door, her bare feet sinking into the thick Aubusson rug. Lifting her hand, she paused, exhaled, and knocked before she lost her nerve.

‘The hens are out of the chicken coop now. No putting them back,’ she whispered as her nipples tightened into hard buds, chafing against the lace.

Before she could think of all the reasons she should turn around and leap under her covers, the door swung open.

Drake stood before her in breeches but no shirt. Despite all they had done together, it was the first time she’d seen him so undone. Millie’s mouth went dry, and her eyes widened. She may have gasped.

His chest was an eloquent story of beauty and pain. Drake was a large man, but not one ounce of fat graced his muscular body. His chiselled pectoral muscles led down to a stomach divided into eight rectangles of hardened flesh. Scars covered his skin, some like slashes from a blade, others resembled melted wax re-shaped into odd formations, and still more were perfect circles, as though a burning cigar or cheroot had been extinguished on his body. The pain he must have endured shocked Millie. She took a half step closer, her hand reaching out to offer what comfort she could.

‘Don’t.’ Drake’s voice was cold as steel. His jaw flexed, and his icy stare froze her in place.

‘I just?—’

‘I don’t want your pity, Millicent.’

She shook her head, her loose hair brushing against her shoulder blades and sticking to the salve. ‘I’m not offering pity.’

Drake’s hard stare heated, sparks leaping across the space between them and igniting her desire. His eyes made a leisurely journey over her body, pausing on her breasts and making her nipples tighten to even more painfully sensitive peaks. He growled when his smouldering stare stalled again at the apex of her thighs. The silk was so fine, it was almost translucent. He would see the shadow of her copper hair. Millie shivered as she imagined what he must be thinking.

‘What are you offering?’ His rough voice deepened.

Millie let her eyes take their own journey down his chest to where blond hair, slightly darker than the spikes on his head, started below his belly button and disappeared into his low-slung pants. Two ropes of muscles beginning at each hip bone created a V, drawing her eyes to the obvious bulge pressing against the placket of his breeches. As she watched, the bulge grew harder, more defined.

Millie struggled to swallow. ‘I’m offering myself. In exchange for you.’

Drake’s lip twitched at the corner. ‘A trade? My body for yours? Even with all my scars? Doesn’t seem a fair exchange, Millicent.’

‘I prefer when you call me Millie. And, I don’t mind your scars.’ Millie licked her lips. She wanted to touch his chest, to test the textures of soft skin stretched over hard muscle. To kiss the violent souvenirs he carried and try to absorb the echoes of pain still embedded within him.

‘You haven’t seen all of them.’

‘Then show me.’ She needed to speak with him about their relationship. Share her truth and see if he held it close or crushed it, but right now, this seemed more important. If he didn’t honour her revelation, she still wanted the memory of this moment with him. No matter how much it hurt if everything went to hell.

Millie was stepping into a new self. Instinctively, she understood joining their bodies into one would be a cataclysmic event rebirthing her into an entirely different creature. And she wanted that rebirth, even if her time with Drake was limited to this one night.

He stepped back, sweeping his arm out in a gesture of welcome. ‘Come in, Millie.’

A thrill of victory at both his use of her pet name, and his invitation pushed Millie through the threshold and into Drake’s domain. She forced her gaze away from him to take in his room. His walls were papered a dark colour, blue or maybe brown; it was difficult to see in the firelight. A massive, mahogany bed dominated the centre of the room. Thank God she was tall, or she would need a ladder to reach the mattress. Just the idea of climbing onto his bed shot her heart rate into a new stratosphere. She pushed the thought aside. One incendiary fantasy at a time. She needed to keep her focus on this moment, or the evening would overwhelm her.

There were two wingback chairs sitting in front of his fireplace, and a solid dresser sat against the far wall. Leather, cloves, and smoke permeated the room. She inhaled deeply. Spinning to face him, Millie ignored the bed at her back.

She didn’t reissue her command but instead crossed her arms beneath her breasts, lace straining against her sensitive skin. She raised her brows and tipped her chin at his pants.

‘I promised I wouldn’t compromise you until we wed.’

‘And while I love that you’re a man of your word, I’m asking you to break that promise tonight.’

‘There are things we must discuss first. Not the least being your skill with darts. A suspicious man might wonder how a young lady of your breeding became so adept at a soldier’s pastime. I can’t imagine your stepmother approving of such diversions.’

‘Patricia spends a lot of time looking for the bottom of her wine bottle. It allows me a certain amount of freedom to pursue my own fancies, and darts is a harmless game, is it not? Certainly less dangerous than archery, which is a skill many women are encouraged to pursue.’ Millie couldn’t stop her triumphant smile. It was a masterful evasion, and she didn’t even have to lie. Darts was a harmless game. And archery was encouraged for upstanding young ladies. Never mind that she hadn’t played a game of darts or shot an arrow.

Drake’s lips twitched, but he wasn’t taking the bait. ‘Archery might be all the rage for young ladies, but throwing knives of the quality you keep strapped to your person are reserved for activities far more nefarious than garden games.’

Damn his intelligent hide.

Maybe Millie could distract him with more truth. Just not the truth he was seeking. ‘I don’t have any weapons strapped on tonight. It’s just me under this gown.’

Drake’s gaze took a noticeable detour from her eyes to breasts, then lower. He ran his hand over his head, his bicep flexing in an arousing display of power. ‘How can any man keep his wits about him with you standing there, in that?’

Millie wanted to purr like a cat. Her gamble with the nightgown was paying off. ‘I don’t want your wits tonight, Beau. I want you.’

‘Are you sure? If we start this, I will want all of you. Now. Are you ready?’ His gravelled voice stroked over her senses, and she arched toward him.

‘I’m starting this because I want all of you . Tonight. Are you ready, Drake?’ Her voice only shook a little as nerves skittered through her veins like a million fireflies.

‘I thought I asked you to call me Beau. Tit for tat, Millie.’ His mouth twitched again. A small curl tipped up the left side of his sinful lips, creating crinkles at the corner of each eye.

She’d made the man smile. Miraculous.

Drake took a step closer to her. ‘Bold and brave, my lady. Rare characteristics to find.’

‘In a woman?’ She narrowed her gaze. His disparaging view against her sex was legendary.

‘In anyone.’ He shrugged then turned to lower the lamplight, whether for her benefit or his, she couldn’t be sure. Even in the dim lighting Millie could discern the lines and angles of his back. It was just as fascinating as his chest. Millie had no idea a man’s back could display so much carved definition. But scars covered him there as well. He had been whipped. Far more brutally and more often than Millie. Her heart squeezed as she imagined the horrors he must have suffered. Still, she schooled her expression to show no softness. Drake made it clear he wasn’t ready for her empathy. Not yet. So, she would be patient.

He turned back to face her, his hands hovering at the waistline of his breeches. ‘I don’t speak about the war. After tonight, I won’t again. But you should know, my leg is shocking. I’ve no wish to disgust you. I can keep my breeches on for now, remove them later, or not at all.’

A hazy memory of Franklin fumbling with the fall of his pants before thrusting into her resurfaced. She was well aware the act they were about to share could be accomplished with minimal disrobing. But she didn’t want that. Not tonight. Not with Drake. She wanted the intimacy of total nudity. She wanted to feel all his hot, hard skin pressed against her soft curves. And she couldn’t give a damn that his body was just as broken as it was beautiful.

‘I’m hardly a delicate miss, my lord. Nothing about you is disgusting. I want to see you. All of you.’

Drake’s hand trembled as his fingers brushed the button holding his waistband tight.

He was nervous. No doubt because the last woman he cared for betrayed him by marrying his brother. Rage washed through Millie, and she was glad she’d decimated Nora in darts, even if it put her at risk. Nora’s perfidy had done as much damage to the strong, fearless, proud man before her as the Afghanistan soldiers. Despite all his strength, the danger dripping from him, the carefully controlled power he wielded in his body’s vigour and skill, he feared her rejection.

Silly man, I could never reject you.

How could she reject the man she lo?—

No. It isn’t that.

But the vice that tightened around her chest every time she lied squeezed painfully. Ruthlessly, she ignored it.

‘Show me all of you, Beau.’

The flutters in Drake’s chest intensified to shudders at her refusal to be disgusted by him.

Heart, don’t you dare fail me now. Cease your ridiculous fluttering and beat like a normal organ. I will not die before bedding Millicent.

Drake had been arguing with himself for almost an hour about exactly how he would confront Millie. His suspicious mind couldn’t ignore the signs. She was far more than just a beautiful woman longing for freedom. Her skill with the darts, the knives she kept hidden on her body in the most delicious places, the way she confronted Patricia when the pernicious woman was hellbent on attacking poor Billy. Even her interactions with St George hinted at strength, courage, and determination not often found in young ladies of the peerage. She might not be lying to him, but she also wasn’t being completely honest. She was hiding something. But what if her secrets were more than he could accept? More than he could bear?

One thing was certain. He couldn’t let her be harmed. A world without Millie wasn’t one he could endure.

When he had heard the knock, Drake was sure he must be hallucinating. But then he’d opened the door, and there she was. The object of his fantasies, standing in the flickering firelight, her nightgown utterly destroying any hope Drake had of composure or control. Every tactic he had planned to use to discover her secrets fled his mind as blood filled his cock.

Her damn nightgown should be illegal.

It was a far better tool at scattering his wits than any torture device he’d experienced. Fine lace hid nothing from sight. Drake could see Millie’s strawberry nipples peeking out from the material. God, he wanted to taste them again, test their texture with his tongue, nibble and bite them until she writhed, begging for release.

In a crushing moment of clarity, he knew his heart was forever lost. To her. A woman he could neither control nor contain. She would destroy him. One day, she would realise he wasn’t worthy of her, and she would leave. Any hope for a future would cease to exist for Drake. It was a terrifying prospect. To let love back into his life, knowing the damage such vulnerability might invite. But it was also too late. Love was there, whether he wanted it or not.

Fuck. I love her.

He loved the chaotic, charismatic, courageous woman standing before him, demanding he undress so she could fill her gaze with his broken body. It was terrifying.

Thank God Drake was so brave.

He clenched his shaking hand into a fist, willing the tremor to cease.

‘If you change your mind…’ He wanted to give her an out. Drake couldn’t endure watching her melting chocolate eyes harden in disgust as he revealed the worst damage wrought upon his body.

‘I won’t.’ Her husky voice was like whiskey to his soul. Intoxicating.

Drake unbuttoned his breeches, pushing them down and stepping free while he watched her face for any signs of revulsion. His hard and pulsing cock twitched with demand. Though his lame leg was partly hidden in shadows, even the firelight couldn’t disguise the warped muscle and ruined skin. There was no hair on a large portion of his upper thigh where scar tissue took over. The Afghan soldiers had started with hot pokers, moved onto blades, and finished by pouring boiling tar over his leg. He was lucky he didn’t lose his limb completely, though he’d certainly lost huge chunks from damage and infection. When he returned to England, Killian insisted he see the best physicians, paying for some of the treatments himself, but after so much time, little could be done. Drake’s only option was to accept his new limitations and move forward. Even if it was with a painful limp.

He watched Millie for any clues about her thoughts. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened on a silent inhalation. But she wasn’t focused on his leg. She was staring at his erection. His cock grew impossibly harder as Millie took a step closer.

‘You’re so large.’ She reached out her hand but paused.

He might die if she didn’t touch him. Now.

‘Please, touch me.’ Major General Drake Beaufort never begged. But he would get on his knees and plead if it meant her fingers wrapped around his aching cock. ‘I mean, if you’d like.’

Just the thought of her soft hand curling around his length caused a bead of liquid to form.

Millie bit her lip, her gaze never leaving his cock. She took another tentative step forward. Her hand was pale in the dim light. She shone like a fairy as she reached for him.

Drake bit his cheek until he tasted the metallic tang of blood. He would not lose control. Not in front of Millie. He would stand still and let her learn him, even if he died from frustrated desire.

She glanced up, her pupils huge. ‘Are you sure?’

He’d never been more sure. Not trusting himself to speak, he gave a shaky nod.

She wrapped her hand around him and squeezed.

‘Jesus!’ he hissed.

When she would have pulled back, he caught her wrist.

‘Don’t. It feels so good.’ He gentled his grip without letting her go.

‘Did I hurt you?’ Millie was so close, he could bend down and press his mouth against hers. But then he wouldn’t be able to take things slow. It was important he gave her time. As paramount as control was to Drake, he was loathe to take hers away.

‘No.’

She smiled and crinkled her nose. ‘A man of few words this evening. I never saw Franklin’s, er… Well, it all happened in such a rush. I can’t imagine his was nearly so… prodigious. But even then, there was pain. I’m not sure how…’

Drake already hated Franklin St George. Now, he promised to end the arrogant prick. ‘The first time for a woman is often painful. Especially if your partner is an arse who doesn’t take his time. I’m not an arse. And tonight, we have nothing but time. Trust me.’

She blinked, opening her mouth as though she might say something, but instead, she licked her lips and puffed out a sigh. ‘Trust isn’t an easy thing.’

‘It’s not,’ he agreed.

‘But I trusted you before, and it was…’ Her heavy lids closed for a moment as a flush crept up her chest and covered her cheeks.

Goddammit, she is a wonder.

Millie opened her dark eyes, a world of secrets unravelling. ‘It was magical.’

‘This will be even better. I swear it.’ He tensed his stomach, loving how her gaze caught the movement of his ridged muscles hardening.

Nodding a silent assent, Millie tightened her grip again. She dragged her fisted hand toward the root until her knuckles brushed his hair.

‘Fuuuuck.’ He might die tonight, but what a glorious way to perish.

He couldn’t help himself from leaning down and pressing his lips against her soft cheek. She leaned into him, her hand growing bolder as she stroked back to his tip. Her thumb circled his flared head, rubbing the moisture gathered there.

‘Dammit, woman. You’ll end this before we’ve even begun,’ he growled in her ear before taking the lobe between his teeth and nibbling.

‘We wouldn’t want that,’ she murmured, letting go of his very disappointed cock and gently pushing him back. She tilted her head, her gaze shifting from his proudly straining erection to the ruined thigh he wished were invisible. She ran soft fingers over the desecrated skin. ‘Does this hurt?’

Drake couldn’t look at her face, so instead he watched her hand run down his thigh and then back up again. The skin was numb in areas, but he could feel the gentle pressure of her fingers. His throat tightened. ‘Yes. But not because you’re touching me. It always hurts. Sometimes more, sometimes less.’

She ran her hand up his thigh, along his hip bone, her thumb tracing the line of muscle leading from his hip to his stomach muscles. She bumped along each ridge and hollow, over his ribs to his shoulder, where she gripped him tight, pulling him closer. Before Drake could react, she enfolded him in her embrace.