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  Midnight My Love

  by

  Anne Marie Novark

  ***

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  ***

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  The rakish Viscount Rochdale, Damien Avenall, loved Alexandra Turlington like a little sister; or so he thought until Alex grew into a lovely and desirable young lady. In a moment of madness, he kissed her and everything changed between them. Harboring a lifelong distrust of beautiful women, he believed they could no longer be friends.

  Ten years pass and Damien finds himself escorting Alexandra's critically-wounded brother home to Willowmede, where he must face the only woman he's ever truly wanted; the one woman he can never have. He is determined to exorcise Alex from his heart once and for all, even if it means he must kiss her again . . . one last time.

  Alex often wonders why Damien betrayed their special friendship. His kiss awakened her to passion, but she knows better than to give her heart to a libertine. Or does she? When the viscount offers to stay and help nurse her brother back to health, Alexandra discovers her heart has always belonged to Damien. But this time, she wants more than his friendship. This time, she wants it all.

  ***

  Midnight My Love

  Copyright 2010 by Anne Marie Novark

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

  ***

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ***

  Dedication

  To my sister, Linda.

  Thanks for encouraging me to think outside the box.

  This one's for you.

  ***

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  ***

  Midnight My Love

  by Anne Marie Novark

  CHAPTER ONE

  London--1811

  "My game, I believe," announced Damien Avenall, Fifth Viscount Rochdale. He methodically gathered the vouchers before him, glancing indifferently at his latest victim.

  The young Earl of Chadburn sat stunned, his head down, fingers clutching his black hair. He had just lost a fortune. Pale and trembling, he faced the viscount. "You have my IOUs, Demon. I'll need a couple of days to consult my bankers."

  Damien nodded and rose from the table. "Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I believe I shall call it an evening."

  The men around him protested loudly.

  "It's only two of the clock. Still quite early. You must allow Chadburn a chance to recoup his losses," complained the fat dandy seated on the opposite side of the gaming table.

  Demon Avenall smiled his satanic smile. He allowed his gaze to flicker contemptuously over the earl. "I think not. Unless there is something else Chadburn should care to wager?" The taunting question hung in the air.

  The earl shook his head slowly. "You've won it all, Demon."

  "Then I bid you gentlemen goodnight." Without a backward glance, he left the exclusive gaming hell, heading west on Pall Mall.

  Early morning mist hung heavy over the dark cobbled streets as Damien made his way toward his town house in Cavendish Square. The walkways were deserted. He crossed Piccadilly and turned on Bond Street. A large man in a dirty frieze coat emerged from the shadows, like a ghost rising out of the fog.

  "Easy now, guv'nor," the ruffian growled. "Don't want no one to get hurt. Just empty yer pockets, if you please." He wielded a knife in one beefy fist, extending the other to collect the spoils.

  "But it doesn't please me at all," Damien replied. It had been a long night and he was ready for bed. He was in no mood for this. Lifting his ebony cane, he deftly twisted the knob. A short-sword at the end of the stick glittered dangerously in the lamplight.

  "Oh ho!" the thief said, a nasty glimmer in his rheumy eye. "If it's a fight yer want, it's a fight yer'll get." He charged forward, knife held high, a growl low in his throat.

  Damien stood his ground and waited for the assault. He lunged at the thief racing toward him, stabbing flesh with the deadly blade. Blood spewed everywhere, and the thief dropped to the pavement in a crumpled heap, his knife clattering on the cobblestones.

  Damien bent to wipe his bloody weapon on the dead man's coat, then retracted the sleek blade into the cane. After straightening his cravat, he continued on his way home.

  When he turned off Oxford and into Cavendish Square, he paused in mid-stride. A mud-splattered traveling coach with four steaming horses stood before his town house.

  "What the devil?" he muttered and quickened his step. As he neared the coach, he recognized his friend, the Right Honorable Mr. Garrett Fleming. He was busy issuing instructions to three footmen who were carefully removing an unconscious man from the carriage.

  Spying the viscount coming toward him, Garrett rushed to greet him. "B'gad, I'm happy you're home, Demon! Quinters didn't know where you were or when you'd return. We've just this instant arrived from Dover." He shook Damien's hand and they hurried back to the carriage. "I brought old Rob home from Spain as fast as I could. Lost an arm, been in hospital, you know. And if that ain't enough, now the poor fellow's gone off in a dead faint. Can't say that I blame him. Devilish trip. Exhausted, poor chap."

  Stopping near the carriage, Damien stared at the pale face of Captain Lord Robert Turlington, the only man besides Garr Fleming whom he truly counted his friend. They had all attended Eton together, then Cambridge. Damien clenched his jaw when he saw the bandaged stump where Rob's arm should have been.

  "What happened?" Damien asked. "I've had no letter, no message. Nothing."

  "There wasn't time," Garrett said. "Let's get Rob into bed, then I'll explain everything."

  Above them, the butler held open the massive doors as the footmen carried the wounded man into the town house. A servant dressed in funereal black followed them, carrying a valise in one hand, a pillow in another. Robert's valet, no doubt. "I've taken the liberty of preparing the green bedchamber, my lord," the butler informed Damien with a bow.

  "Excellent. Send someone to fetch the doctor at once," Damien said. "And Quinters, send a groom with a carriage to the corner of Piccadilly and Bond. I believe there may be a corpse lying about. Send Webb. Have him deliver the body to the magistrate with my compliments." Damien started up the main staircase after the footmen, with Garrett close on his heels.
r />   "What bloody corpse?" his friend demanded in outrage. "You've killed someone again, haven't you? Can't leave bodies on street corners, you know. Bad ton, old man, bad ton."

  "My dear Garrett, when have I ever been considered good ton?" Damien said over his shoulder.

  "You were born good ton," Garrett said, after mulling over Damien's remark. "Your father was a viscount. Rich as a nabob. You went to the best schools. I'm good ton. Rob's good ton. Why ain't you good ton, Demon?"

  The viscount grinned. "I don't care to be good ton. It would bore me exceedingly, I assure you."

  "But what about the corpse?"

  "Forget the corpse," Damien said as they reached the bedchamber. "I did society a favor by disposing of the wretch. Enough. Now, tell me about Robert."

  The footmen laid the unconscious Lord Turlington on the bed, and the valet began to settle his lordship comfortably in the large four-poster.

  "Poor old Rob," Garrett said, sighing mournfully.

  "When did it happen? Where? How?" Damien stared at his friend lying helpless on the bed, so still and pale.

  "It was the Battle of Barrosa, the fifth of March," replied Garrett. "The French took hold of Barrosa ridge; Graham was determined to win it back. Rob was delivering orders when he fell." Garrett shook his head, as if trying to dispel the thoughts. "I didn't know he was missing until hours after the battle. I found him beneath his horse. Arm was crushed. Doctors tried to save it, but no use. Rob's taking the loss hard. Can't blame him, really. Would myself, if it were me."

  The valet removed his master's boots, his attention focused on the task. Robert remained unconscious all the while. Obviously, his strength had been tested to the limits by the ordeal of losing his arm and the trip from Dover.

  "Your colonel let you bring him home?" Damien asked.

  Garrett nodded. "I've been granted emergency leave. M'father's in a bad way, so I had to come home. I offered to escort Rob to Willowmede. He didn't want to go, wanted to come here instead. Had to see Demon, he said."

  Standing at the foot of the bed, Garrett looked at his friend. "I thought everything was fine, but the crossing to Dover was rough. Rob suffered from mal de mer. We stayed two days in Dover. He wasn't getting better, so brought him on to London. Moon was full. Decided to travel all night."

  "Must've been a hell of a trip," Damien said.

  "Devilish, like I said. But that's not all." Garrett fumbled in his pockets until he found his snuff box. He flipped open the lid and took a delicate pinch. "Rob's worried about his fiancée. Says he won't go through with the wedding, not being whole and all. Worried about his sister, too. He thought you might help." He eyed Damien expectantly.

  "I'll help any way I can. You know that. Although, I don't know what I can do." Damien drew in a long breath. Robert and Garrett had always depended on him in moments of crisis. Well, he certainly didn't plan to let them down now. What had the dons dubbed them at Cambridge? The Unholy Trinity. Idiotic to think of that now. They'd been inseparable in their youth.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

  "If I may, my lord," said the valet, moving toward the door.

  The doctor entered the bedchamber. "Good evening. I understand I have a patient to tend to?" He handed his hat and cane to the valet and made his way to the bed.

  "Do you think he'll be all right?" Damien asked, noting the frown on the doctor's face.

  "I'll be able to tell you his exact condition after I've examined him, my lord."

  Damien nodded. "Fair enough. Come along, Garr."

  Once downstairs, Damien escorted his friend to his study. "I could use a brandy. How about you?"

  "A brandy would be most welcome." Garrett yawned and headed for one of the winged-back chairs near the fireplace.

  Damien handed Garrett a glass, then sat across from him. They both gazed at the flames in the grate and sipped their drinks.

  Life was always throwing surprises. Some bad, some good. Hell, he knew that better than anyone. But to lose an arm in the prime of life . . .

  "Damn it, I told Robert not to join up," Damien said, raking his fingers through his dark brown hair. "There was no reason for him to go fight. He laughed in my face, and now look what's happened."

  "Rob thought it his duty to fight the French," Garrett said, then paused as if a thought struck him. "Never begged me not to join. . . did you, Demon?"

  Damien shrugged impatiently. "Your situation is entirely different. You're a younger son. It was either the military or the Church for you."

  "Right, then. Never could stomach being a vicar. Really no choice in the matter." Garrett studied the amber liquid in his glass, swirling it around. "What do you think about Rob wanting to cry off from his engagement? Not the thing, you know."

  "He'll be well out of it, is what I think." Damien tossed back his brandy and set the glass down on a side table with a thunk. "I saw Robert's fiancée last month at Sally Jersey's ball. The lovely Lady Felicia Marlow," he spat in contempt. "Lady Felicia had conveniently forgotten she was engaged to be married. She danced three times with Bosworth and flirted with Hargrove. She's a heartless bitch."

  Garrett shook his head. "Poor old Rob."

  There was a short rap on the door. The butler showed the doctor into the study and Damien offered him a drink.

  "What's the prognosis, Dr. Montague?" he asked.

  The physician carefully considered his brandy, sniffing its rich bouquet, obviously savoring the first swallow.

  "The prognosis, doctor?" repeated Damien.

  "Oh, he'll do, he'll do," said the physician. "He's weak though. Careful nursing is required. I'll send Mrs. Giles over in the morning. She's an excellent nurse and will know exactly what to do."

  "I prefer you send over a male attendant," Damien said, taking the doctor's empty glass.

  Dr. Montague stared at him in amazement. "I beg your pardon, my lord?"

  Garrett kindly explained. "Demon don't allow women in his house. Can't abide 'em. Says there's only two reasons to have women around. To warm his bed and give birth to his heirs, after he marries, of course. Ain't a female servant in all of Demon's households."

  "I see," Dr. Montague said. "In that case, I'll send my assistant--he's a good man, very efficient. In the meantime, Lord Turlington needs someone nearby at all times. He must be given these powders at seven."

  Handing the medicine to Damien, the doctor closed his black leather bag, then carefully polished his wire-rimmed spectacles. "I advise you to keep a careful watch on the baron, my lord. Sometimes severe melancholy and depression sets in, especially after an amputation." Replacing the spectacles on the bridge of his large nose, he gazed at Damien from beneath bushy brows. "To put it bluntly, his lordship may try to do himself an injury or worse. I'll return this afternoon at three, to check on the patient."

  Opening the door for the physician, Damien nodded in understanding. He watched as the doctor bowed himself out.

  "Good God, Demon! You don't think Rob will try to kill himself, do you?" Garrett exclaimed, aghast at the possibility.

  "I won't let him," Damien replied. "As soon as the doctor says he can travel, I'll escort him to Willowmede and stay until I'm satisfied with his recovery. I have no engagements in town to speak of, except an invitation to dine with my Great-aunt Vallonia next week. I'll make my excuses to her, then be free to escort Rob home."

  "Knew we could count on you," Garrett said, yawning wide and stretching.

  Damien nodded. "Quinters has prepared a chamber for you. You're welcome to stay as long as you like. And Garrett, I'm sorry about your father."

  Garr smiled sleepily at his friend. "Thanks, Demon. Probably just a wild-goose chase. M'father always gets in a bad way when he wants to see his sons. But never can tell. Old fellow is getting on in years. I'll snatch a few hours sleep, then be on my way."

  ****

  Fifteen minutes later, Damien stood by Robert's bedside. After dismissing the exhausted valet, he shrugged out of his ja
cket and loosened his cravat. Pulling up a chair so he could be near, he saw Rob was awake.

  "Demon," Robert said softly, relief evident in his hushed voice. He smiled bleakly, then turned his head to the wall. "You can see I've lost my arm."

  Damien gripped his friend's good shoulder. "I know, Rob. I'm sorry."

  Robert heaved a ragged sigh. With lips set tightly together, he looked again at the viscount. "I need a favor."

  "Anything. Just name it," Damien said.

  "I want you to break the news to Alexandra. I don't know how she'll take this," he said tiredly.

  "I'm certain your sister will be thankful you're alive," Damien assured him.

  Robert smiled grimly. "Thankful I'm alive when I wish to God I were dead." Closing his eyes, he soon fell asleep.

  After adjusting the coverlet over Robert, Damien snuffed the candle and went to the adjoining dressing room. He stretched out on the cot. He would administer the fever powders himself and watch over his friend until the attendant arrived.

  As he lay there, he stared at the ceiling and allowed his thoughts free rein. It had been many years since he'd visited Willowmede. In the past, Rob had often invited him to his country estate to recuperate from his wild jaunts in town. Situated just outside of Bath, overlooking the Valley of the Avon, Willowmede was the perfect place for rest and relaxation.

  But Damien had not accepted one of Rob's invitations for a long time. He had good reason. Closing his eyes, he thought of the one woman he wanted but could never have. The one woman who did not want him. Alexandra Turlington. Robert's lovely sister.

  Damien smiled bitterly. He had lost count of the number of women he'd wooed, bedded, and promptly forgotten. None of them could fill the burning need he felt for Alexandra.

  He had known Alex since she was in leading strings. She had been a charming and engaging child. Damien had become closely acquainted with her when she started assisting her father in his observatory. Lord James Turlington had been an avid astronomer. He introduced Damien to the wonders of the night sky, and the two men had spent countless hours at the telescope.