 
# **Contents**

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

The right decision?

What's next?

Want to stalk me?

The Blackwood Security Series

Meet Me at Midnight

Elise Noble

Published by Undercover Publishing Limited

Copyright © 2017 Elise Noble

ISBN: 978-1-910954-54-6

v2

This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

Edited by Amanda Ann Larson

Cover art by Abigail Sins

www.undercover-publishing.com

www.elise-noble.com

Midnight doesn't last forever.

Dark turns to light.

**FOREWORD**

EVERY SO OFTEN, I write a scene where a character has a choice to make, and I wonder what might have happened if they'd made a different decision. My novel Carbon was one of those books. Augusta had to pick between two men, and the outcome had far-reaching implications, not only for her but for her friends and family.

But what if she'd chosen the other guy? Now you can find out...

_Meet Me at Midnight is a cut-down novella of my romantic thriller novel Carbon, with an alternative ending._ ** _The first eleven chapters are the same_** _. This one's for the romance fans—there's no Emmy and no shooting in this version!_

**CHAPTER 1**

EVER HAD A dream come true?

I have. Four times, and this evening, I was hoping for a fifth.

"More champagne, miss?" a waiter asked.

"Yes, please."

I held out my glass. Tonight, of all nights, I needed the courage it gave me. Or, as my mother would argue if she found out what I'd been doing for these past few months, the stupidity.

All around me, partygoers danced and chatted, their faces covered by masks ranging from plain to ornate while they noshed on canapés and knocked back the free booze. At the back of the ballroom, I spotted my mother stumbling into Sir Arnold Hall, inventor of a revolutionary...uh, I forgot. Something to do with aeroplanes. Of course, the masquerade ball had been her brainchild—she'd use any excuse for a party and tonight, celebrating the launch of her daughter's latest romance novel, she'd certainly pushed the boat out. We even had a flipping orchestra in the corner.

There was a slight flaw in her plan, in that few of the guests would recognise the author herself, but mother didn't concern herself with such trivialities. If I were a gambling woman, I'd bet most of the partygoers hadn't read the book and didn't care that it even existed.

Emphasis on _most_. One of the regular attendees certainly had read Sapphire Duvall's offerings, or at least her previous release, and he was the only man who mattered to me tonight.

Was he here?

I pulled my phone out of my clutch bag and checked the screen for a message—the hundredth time I'd done so in the last hour, even though I'd have felt the vibration if one arrived.

_Please, say he's here._ Mr. Midnight, the object of every one of my dirty dreams for the last month. He hadn't promised to come—he'd never promised anything—but during mother's last four shindigs, he'd texted me by ten.

My twin sister Angelica waltzed up, resplendent in a red ball gown quite at odds with my dark blue one. She revelled in the attention whereas I'd deliberately matched my dress to the curtains in a desperate attempt to fade into the background.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked.

"Not really."

But _she_ clearly was. A glass in her hand, a man on her arm, and those who recognised her under the jewel-trimmed mask congratulating her on yet another bestseller.

"Lighten up, Gus," she said. "Won't be long until you can go back to your own world."

She didn't mean to sound cruel—she never did—but tact wasn't her strongest suit. Her words stung, a harsh reminder that I didn't fit in here. As if I needed one.

I mustered up a smile. "Two hours and counting."

Angelica drained her glass and whispered something to the man at her elbow, lifting his wrist with delicate fingers to check the time. He wore a Patek Phillippe watch. Expensive. His mask covered most of his face, but I didn't miss the curve of his lips or the heat he exuded. Clearly, he liked whatever suggestion my sister had just made.

"See you in the morning," she said, giving me a little wave.

Three guesses as to what she planned to do for the rest of the night. Once, I'd have been depressed and maybe even slightly jealous over yet another of her conquests, but tonight I forgot her almost instantly as I snatched my phone out of my bag again. Nothing.

Had he got bored with our game already?

Three months ago, Midnight's first message had come out of the blue as I pretended to enjoy my mother's St. David's Day party. No, nobody in my family was Welsh, and we lived in rural Oxfordshire not Wales, but little things like that never stopped her. When I said she'd use any excuse for a party, I meant it.

_Unknown: Meet me at midnight. The summerhouse by the pond._

At first, I thought the message was a joke. It had to be. Because _Meet Me at Midnigh_ t was the title of Sapphire Duvall's latest bestseller, a bodice-ripper set in Victorian England where the object of Lady Anne's affections asked her to—you've guessed it—meet him at midnight. First in the summerhouse, then behind the chapel in the grounds of her family's country manor, even in the stables.

And what they got up to made my mother splutter her tea and hastily flip the pages until Anne was safely laced into her corset once again.

_Augusta: Surely you're not serious?_

Ten rather sweaty minutes later, as I stood with my mother and sister pretending to listen to their conversation, the mystery man replied.

_Unknown: Only one way to find out..._

No, I couldn't. I mean, the idea was preposterous. Yes, Lady Anne had gone, but Anne was a fictional character, not to mention a lot braver than me. Back in her day, the world wasn't full of serial killers and murderers like England nowadays. Okay, so Jack the Ripper lived in the nineteenth century. And Burke and Hare. But that was completely different.

I poured myself another glass of garish yellow fruit punch from a daffodil-patterned jug and sighed. Angelica would go, but Angelica had more courage than I did. People always expressed surprise when they found out we were twins, seeing as we weren't identical, and I quite understood why—I was the mouse to her lioness, the water to her fire.

The "other" daughter. The one without fame and all the trappings that went with it.

The one who'd never stepped out of the box I'd carefully constructed around myself as a schoolgirl.

"Angelica," my mother bleated, interrupting my thoughts. "You simply must tell Petronella about your new book. And, Augusta, be a dear and bring us another bottle of rosé."

Fine, so I was the waitress to Angelica's lioness.

Why did mother make me go to her flipping parties? I hated every second of them. And at a quarter to midnight, while Angelica dissected the plot of Sapphire Duvall's debut novel and got several key points wrong, I was sent to the wine cellar for my sixth trip that evening. And that time I kept walking. Right out of the house, across the lawn, past the swimming pool and the tennis court, through the rose garden, and as far as the pond.

I hadn't planned to go there. I hadn't even thought about it. Okay, so I had _thought_ about it, but not seriously. I mean, the whole idea was crazy, right?

But my feet walked me across the estate until the summerhouse I'd played in for hours as a child stood in front of me. Of course, since my mother had a hand in the design, it wasn't simply a wooden hut. No, its hand-finished oak walls had been built by a master carpenter, and a sought-after designer had furnished the roomy interior. Three or four times a year, Mother would sit there and read a book for a morning before she got bored. Not one of Sapphire's—mother preferred memoirs.

The rest of the year it lay empty, except when I borrowed it in the warmer months. Or possibly this evening. Did Mr. Midnight really exist?

Before I could slap myself over how insanely stupid the whole idea was, I tapped in the combination to open the door, and the creaking hinges reminded me how little use the place got.

Now what?

A minute ticked past, and my toes began to get a little chilly. I still had time to leave. But the part of me that actually believed in Sapphire's stories kept my feet planted next to the floral chaise longue, my whole body trembling in the dark.

At least, until the nearby screech of an owl brought me back to reality. Had I lost my mind?

Lady Anne might have found love on her foolhardy jaunts, but that was hardly realistic, was it? In my twenty-seven years, I'd been touched by love twice—the childhood crush I'd never quite grown out of and my husband. And look how both of those episodes ended. The boy I used to sit next to at school moved to a different county, and my husband died.

I desperately wanted to believe it would be third time lucky, but the realist in me came to the fore, and my feet finally came unstuck. What was I thinking? I should have been heading for bed with a mug of hot chocolate, not hanging around wishing for fantasy sex with a stranger.

Oh, but it had been a really, really long dry spell. Seven years. Seven long, long years.

Halfway to the door, the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path outside stopped me dead in my tracks. Was it him?

_Lady Anne grabbed the back of the chaise longue, and her knuckles turned white as her heart beat so hard it threatened to burst from her corset._

_"Identify yourself," she said. "Who goes there?"_

Me? My knuckles turned white, all right, but I choked on my words, and when I did force them out, the high-pitched squeak was plain embarrassing. "Hello? Is someone there?"

A silhouette appeared in the doorway, lit from behind by a sliver of crescent moon. I squinted in a bid to identify the man, but the darkness veiling his face gave me nothing.

"You know who it is," he said, voice low.

"I'm quite sure I don't."

He stepped forward, closer, closer, until I felt the puff of breath on my cheek. "Turn around."

"Why? What are you going to do?"

"You know that too."

_Lady Anne gasped as her mysterious suitor trailed a finger along her cheek, a light touch, but not an innocent one. That single digit promised forbidden delights, sweetness and scandal if she did not stop him that instant. She reached up to bat his hand away but instead pressed his palm against her cheek._

_"Sir, what are your intentions?"_

_The scoundrel clutched her skirts in one hand and lifted them slowly, oh so slowly. Only the thin cotton of her bloomers stood between the lady and her honour. Her breath came in short pants, bosom heaving as his hand rested on her thigh._

_"We should not be doing this," she whispered._

_"Then I bid you to walk away."_

_Walk away? Her knees trembled so much she could barely stand. Instead, she bent from the waist over the chaise longue, lost in ecstasy as the stranger had his wicked way._

Was that what Mr. Midnight wanted to do? Have me bend myself over the furniture while he got his rocks off? Talk about forward. Because the idea was...it was...uh, kind of hot, actually.

_Augusta!_

_No!_

I didn't know who the man was, anything about him, or worse, where he'd been. But hang on, wasn't that the whole point of surprise, illicit sex?

He trailed one finger down my jaw, and according to the script, sorry, the book, I should have clasped his hand to my cheek. But instead, I turned my head so his finger slipped into my mouth, then sucked. Heat shot through me, right from my eyeballs to my hoohah. Or my velvet glove, as Sapphire would have called it.

_Say something, Augusta._ Tell him to stop. Tell him this is totally inappropriate and you need to get the wine from the damn cellar and go back to being bored out of your mind at the party.

His other hand slowly lifted my silk skirt, leaving a burning path along my thigh as it got higher, higher...

"I don't have a clue what I'm doing," I blurted.

Oh, way to go, Gus. You sure do have a knack with words.

He answered with a throaty chuckle as one finger slid under my knickers. Not bloomers but boring white cotton bikini pants, ten pounds for a pack of five from Marks and Spencer. Tomorrow, I'd burn every pair I owned.

"Miss Fordham, your body knows exactly what it's doing."

Really? I'd had sex precisely twice in my life, both times with my husband and neither could be described as awe-inspiring. Romance novels spoke of shattering into a thousand pieces, of fainting with sheer pleasure, but when Rupert rolled off to the side, I wasn't even sure whether he'd come or not. I certainly hadn't.

"My body's lying."

"No, your mouth is lying."

Dammit, he was right. You could have fried an egg on me, such was the heat coursing through my veins. I'd probably scorched him.

"Do you... Do you have protection?"

I felt rather than saw his smile. "I came prepared."

Well, at least one of us did.

Before I could back out, he nudged me forwards over the padded chintz, and I grabbed onto the edge of the chaise longue. The hand under my dress continued its lazy exploration while his other arm wrapped under my breasts, lifting them upwards in a way no bra ever could. Soft lips kissed their way up the side of my neck until I twisted around to meet them with my own.

He tasted faintly of mint with a hint of wine over the top. Had he drunk it for courage like I did? There was certainly no way I'd have been in that position sober.

A thousand sensations washed through me, from fear to euphoria, from heat to goosebumps, but when he pushed my knickers to one side and gave me all of him, I got the strangest feeling of...of rightness. Like my entire life—every thought, every decision, every success, and every tragedy—had conspired to lead me to this moment. With him. A perfect stranger.

"So fucking tight," he whispered.

There was a good reason for that, but I managed to refrain from letting it slip out.

Instead, I bit my tongue as he showed me that each love scene I'd imagined and each lover I'd dreamed of could all roll into one and come true with the right man beside me. Or rather, inside me.

"Why did you send me that message?" I whispered when he slid out of me and smoothed my dress down.

"Because it was written in the book."

"But why me? Why not my sister?" After all, she made no secret of the fact she moonlighted as Sapphire Duvall.

He leaned in closer, nuzzling me with his lips. "Because your sister didn't write that story. You did."

I stiffened in his arms. How the hell did he guess that? Only three people knew my secret—me, my sister, and our accountant. Even my parents didn't have a clue who was really behind Sapphire's novels.

"You're mistaken," I tried, but even to my own ears, my words sounded hollow.

"Again, your body tells me otherwise. Was it everything you hoped?"

And more, so much more, but I didn't want to stroke his ego. "You missed the part where he teased her with freshly picked strawberries."

His muscular arms dropped away, leaving me bereft. "We need to save something for next time."

"Next time?"

He paused halfway to the door. "What? After tasting your sweetness, you didn't think I'd abandon you to some scoundrel, did you?"

"Uh, I... I don't... I didn't think..."

Two seconds, and he'd closed the distance between us again, but this time he picked up my hand and pressed his lips to the back of it in a chaste kiss. "Until we meet again, fair lady."

As his feet crunched away on the path, I gathered up my scattered sanity. Next time?

Would I be crazy enough to do this twice?

Who was I kidding? Of course I would.

**CHAPTER 2**

_CLICK. CLICK. CLICK._ Ten hours after Mr. Midnight left me speechless in the summerhouse, Angie snapped her fingers in front of my face.

"What's up? I know you daydream a lot, but you've been staring at the same spot on the wall for half an hour. That's weird, even for you."

She wasn't wrong, but I'd never been taken from behind by a stranger in the early hours of the morning before. That sweet spot between my legs still ached as a reminder. "Just pondering a new plot line."

Or even an old one—the way my impetuousness had combined with alcohol and a sexy stranger to bring one of my scenes to life. At least, he'd felt sexy. For all I knew, he could have looked like Frankenstein's monster crossed with an Orc. It wasn't as if I saw his face. What on earth had I been thinking? Oh, that's right, I hadn't.

"Well, ponder faster. I need you to take a look at cover designs for _The Dark Night_ , help me with some interview questions, and take a few photos of me for Sapphire's blog. And don't forget mother's expecting you for lunch at one."

"She is?"

"I put it in your diary last week and reminded you yesterday and the day before."

She motioned to my MacBook, sitting on the desk opposite hers. My calendar stared back at me, filled with all the appointments I tried to ignore in favour of my precious writing time.

"What's she got planned? Tell me she hasn't brought that colour lady back again."

Three weeks ago, mother asked me to join her for afternoon tea, only for an overly enthusiastic lady, who looked like a packet of Skittles had thrown up over her, to try and force her dubious fashion choices upon me over scones and crustless sandwiches. Apparently, mother thought the jeans and jumpers I tended to live in weren't appropriate for a lady.

"She was a bit cagey about the reason, but she said you need to dress up."

"Are you coming too?"

"No, I told her I had to go out."

"Couldn't you have said I needed to go with you?"

"I tried, but she gave me that look. You know, the one where she summons Satan and channels him through her eyes."

"Yes, I know it."

Somehow, Angelica got away with more than I did. Her exuberant personality combined with the way mother favoured her firstborn meant she'd always been granted more leeway. As the second twin, the one who'd popped out by surprise after a trainee midwife missed me on the ultrasound, I'd been playing catch-up to my mother's expectations my whole life.

Father, on the other hand, adopted a more hands-off approach to parenting. As long as we didn't bother him, he mostly left us alone. I say mostly, because it was he who'd decreed that any children of his would work for a living no matter how much money we happened to have.

The day after his colleague's daughter maxed out her credit card and threw a tantrum at the office when it got declined in Harvey Nichols, he'd sat Angie and me down for a little chat.

"No child of mine is going to sit on her backside while the rest of the world slaves away. You both need to get jobs."

It was a fair point, seeing as we'd graduated from university six months ago, but Angie acted like Father had ordered her to become a cat food tester or a shark wrangler.

"But, Daddy, I'm so busy. I've got tennis lessons, and lunches to attend, and I promised Mariella Huffington I'd help organise her wedding."

"And all those things cost money. Who pays for them?"

"You do, Daddy." She plastered on the smile that usually got her anything. "And I've always been grateful for that."

"So grateful you almost got thrown out of university for turning up drunk to your lectures. No, you've got to get a job. Full time, part time—I don't care, but you need to learn some responsibility."

"But—"

"No excuses. You've got three months, and then I'm turning the bloody tap off."

When he strode out of the living room, Angie sat down on the couch and groaned. "This is the worst idea he's ever had. Is he trying to ruin my life?"

"He's kind of right. And besides, we might find something we enjoy."

Even as the words left my mouth, I crossed my fingers at the lie. Not only did I hate having to speak to strangers, which meant the mere thought of most careers sent me into a panic, the writing time I'd grown to appreciate after university would vanish. Three months. I had three months to finish my book before it became ten times more difficult.

So, the next morning, I set to work.

"What are you doing?" Angie asked two weeks later. "You've done nothing but type for the last fortnight."

"Uh, filling out job applications?"

"What kind of jobs?"

She sidled around my desk, and I grabbed at the mouse to minimise chapter thirty-seven of _He Called My Name_ , but instead of switching to the copy of my CV I'd knocked together, I accidentally played a rather dirty video of Michael Douglas in _Basic Instinct_.

Angie hooted with laughter. "You filthy woman!"

"It's not what it looks like. This is...er...research."

"Research? Into what? Are you finally going to try dating again?"

"No!"

"Don't sound so shocked. It's a reasonable question." She crouched beside me, and her voice softened. "It's been two years since Rupert died."

"I know, but that's not it."

"What, then?"

How did I explain my worries that any man I found wouldn't live up to the ideals I'd created in my head? "I'm just not ready; that's all."

"So you're using Mr. Douglas as a substitute? You know, to...? Because I'm not usually one to judge, but in the middle of the day with your sister in the room..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I can get you something to take care of that problem."

Could I go any redder? "I told you; it's research."

I had fingers, thank you very much, and I knew how to use them.

"Research for what?"

"I'm writing a book, okay?"

"On what? Porn?"

"If you must know, it's a historical romance. I was just watching for...uh...pointers. Since it's been so long, as you kindly reminded me."

"A book?"

"That's what I said."

"I know; it's just... I guess I'm surprised."

"I did spend the last six years studying English."

"Do mother and father know what you're doing?"

I stifled a laugh. "Of course not."

My father only read non-fiction, while mother stuck with women's magazines and the occasional memoir. The idea of them reading the naughty bits and realising they came from my head? Yes, I'd rather walk across glowing coals.

"Come on then, let me have a look."

The mouthful of tea I'd just taken almost flew across the keyboard, but I managed to choke on it instead. Angie thumped me on the back until the coughing subsided.

"What was that all about? Me reading your book? What's the point in writing it otherwise?"

"I guess I figured the only people who might read it wouldn't know me. That I could stay anonymous."

"Are you planning to publish it?"

"At the moment, I'm just trying to finish it."

"But then what?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead, okay? The bit I enjoy is the writing."

Angie sat down at her own computer in the little lounge we shared upstairs, the one that had been our playroom as kids, and I thought she'd lost interest. But the next day, she dumped a huge pile of print-outs on my old walnut desk.

"What's all this?"

"More research."

I stared at her then glanced at the pile, expecting to see a picture of a stripper after my excuse yesterday, but the top page was filled with tiny print.

"Research on what?"

"Publishing. I did it for you." She shrugged. "Sure beat ringing around friends and begging for a job to keep Daddy happy."

"Uh, I'm not sure..."

Truth be told, the idea of publishing scared the crap out of me. Sure, I had the goal of finishing this book, but I'd poured my heart into those pages, and I didn't want my nearest and dearest to see inside.

"What's not to be sure about? You've written a book; now it's time for other people to read it. Two options—get an agent and a traditional publishing deal, or go the DIY route. Personally, I think that one looks more fun. Nobody telling us what to do, and we can sort out all the publicity ourselves."

"Publicity?" My heart sank at the thought. "And what's this 'we' business?"

Angie shoved the papers aside and perched on the edge of the desk. Her smile worried me, and that gleam in her eyes? She only got that when she came up with one of her brilliant ideas—the ones that always ended in disaster, apologies, and when we were a few years younger, getting grounded. Like the time when we were ten, and she wanted a puppy. Mother said no, dogs were dangerous, so Angie decided we'd prove otherwise by borrowing our old caretaker's Great Dane and taking it for a walk. It knocked Angie over, then I got my hand tangled in its lead while it rampaged through mother's rose garden. After that, we weren't allowed so much as a goldfish.

And now her grin grew wider.

"Daddy wants us to get jobs, right?"

"Right."

"So, you become a writer, and I'll be your assistant. Daddy's always harping on about how important it is to have a good grasp of the English language. It's perfect."

No, no, no, no, no. A thousand times no. "No way. I mean, most writers don't even make money."

"Augusta, Augusta, Augusta." She placed both hands on my shoulders. "This isn't about earning money. It's about keeping access to the money we already have. Just think about it—you get to carry on doing what you love, and I'll... Well, I can post stuff on social media for you. Answer your emails, that sort of thing."

My heart gave a little flutter. In a way, her crazy plan made sense, and the thought of being able to write all day rather than actually speak to people filled me with a sense of relief. Apart from... "I don't want people knowing that story came from me."

"Why? Aren't you proud of it?"

After two rewrites and the mountain of advice I'd got from the editor I secretly hired? "Well, yes, but..." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "It's got sex in it. Mother would look at me all funny."

Angie giggled. "It's not like you're a virgin. You were married, for crying out loud."

For all of three days. "That's different."

Angie rolled her eyes, suggesting the difficulties were all in my head. "Okay, new plan. We'll tell her I wrote the book, and you're my assistant. She already spends her life moaning about my serial dating habit, so she'd totally believe it."

"But what about everyone in the village? Your friends?"

"My friends will love the idea of me being a writer. I can sign books for them and stuff. And the people in the village talk behind their hands every time I walk into the pub, so what's new? You never know—one of the old biddies might read your smut and have a heart attack."

"It's not smut!"

She waved at the screen. "Really? Michael's naked backside?"

"I toned it down a bit."

"Come on, if we're going to do this, you have to let me read it."

Okay, so it wasn't the worst idea she'd ever had. No, that honour went to the time seventeen-year-old Angie snuck out to a party late one Saturday evening with the lead singer of a local band mother had banned her from seeing. I'd got a panicked phone call the next morning, whereupon I had to drive a hundred and fifty miles to pick her and her tattooed beau up from Manchester, still drunk. Mother caught us sneaking in, with Angie dressed up as the Green Absinthe Fairy complete with half a bottle of the vile green concoction, and we both got grounded for a month.

A tiny white lie regarding the true origins of _He Called Her Name_ seemed tame in comparison. Besides, it wasn't like I'd sell many copies, would I? If nothing else, I was a realist about my chances of success.

Only it didn't quite turn out that way.

Fast forward five years, and twenty-seven-year-old me still hadn't found herself a boyfriend, but I, or rather Sapphire Duvall, had become a bestseller nine times over. It turned out sex really did sell.

Too bad I still wasn't having any, apart from that one glorious night with Mr. Midnight. Mother kept attempting to meddle in my love life, just as she always had, and Angie had never stopped chasing anything with two well-muscled legs and a six-pack.

And now mother expected me for lunch. If it was just the two of us, I'd be amazed.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us?" I asked, no, begged Angie.

"Sorry. I'm meeting the events planning guy for the launch of _The Dark Night_. You know, for the masquerade ball?"

A sigh escaped. "I forgot."

"I'll be back by five. We can catch up before my date this evening."

"Another date?"

"So many hot guys, so little time."

**CHAPTER 3**

I MADE THE effort and put on a frock for lunch, not because I wanted to impress whoever mother wanted me to meet, but because it simply wasn't worth the earache she'd give me otherwise. Knee-length and floral, if I was lucky, I'd blend into the Laura Ashley sofa.

Mother looked pointedly at her slim gold watch as I walked into the garden room, and she checked the clock on the wall behind her for good measure. Only a minute late, for goodness' sake, and Dorothy hadn't even served the bread rolls yet.

Rather than eating in the formal dining room, Mother always preferred to have lunch overlooking the back lawn, presumably so she could check the gardener was doing his job properly. Despite having a beautiful garden designed by a gold medal winner from the Chelsea Flower Show, she barely set foot outside. I glanced over at the table—four places. Who were they for?

"Didn't Angelica give you the message about dressing up?" she asked.

I risked a look at myself. Yes, I was still wearing Cath Kidston's finest with a pale pink cardigan and my late grandmother's pearls.

"I did."

Her sigh said it all: where did I go wrong with this one?

I held in my own exhalation as she motioned me to take a pew next to her. Chilly air from the open French windows wafted up my skirt, but it did nothing to cool the fire still burning in my core from last night's encounter with Mr. M. I crossed my legs and forced myself to breathe as I waited for Mother to explain who we were expecting for lunch.

"Mrs. Fitzgerald from the tennis club will be joining us shortly," she informed me.

Mrs. Fitzgerald... Mrs. Fitzgerald... Which one was she? All the ladies from the Sandlebury Lawn Tennis Association looked the same to me—perfectly coiffed hair, a touch of Botox, white skirts more suited to a woman half their age, and enough jewellery to dazzle their opponents to distraction. Angie still kept up a membership, but I'd cancelled mine years ago. On the rare occasions I still picked up a racket, I played against my sister on our own court.

"Lovely." I forced a smile. "Is she bringing a friend?"

"Her son. You remember Gregory? He attended the fencing club with you until he went away to boarding school."

Ah, fencing—something else I wasn't very good at. Ben, the boy I'd sat next to in English and French, convinced me to start classes, but he was far better at it than me. I only went along because Mother said I had to go to ballet otherwise, an activity I took to with the grace of a grasshopper and the enthusiasm of a sloth.

And yes, I did remember Gregory, particularly the time he'd laughed at me when I put my fencing jacket on the wrong way around. Even though Gregory was two years older than us, I'd still had to stop Ben from doing something unsportsmanlike with his épée.

And now Gregory was expected for lunch. Hurrah. "Yes, I remember him. But why is he coming here?"

I had a horrible feeling I knew the answer.

Mother rose from the sofa with an elegance I'd never mastered and glided over to the table. "Where's Dorothy?" she muttered. "I'll need to have a word about her timekeeping."

"Mother, why is Gregory coming?"

A tiny frown creased her forehead then she smiled. Her expression told me I wouldn't like what she had to say.

"Gregory's just moved back from California, and his mother says he's ready to try dating after his divorce. Of course, I thought of you. It's about time you made the effort again."

"Effort to what?"

She gave her head a little shake. "To get married, of course."

"Mother, I don't want to get married again."

Truth be told, I hadn't wanted to walk down the aisle in the first place, but I'd given in to the pressure—from her, from Rupert, from his family. And after last night, emulating Angie and her penchant for no-strings sex held a certain appeal.

"Nonsense, darling. You're almost thirty, and your biological clock is ticking away."

"So is Angie's."

"Yes, but at least she dates. It's not her fault it's so difficult to hold down a high-pressured job as well as finding an eligible bachelor."

I wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. Angie didn't date; she just had a whole series of one-night stands. And that high-flying career? That was my bloody job. Angie spent most of her working life on social media, which although necessary for Sapphire's reputation, wasn't exactly taxing.

"Please, Mother, I'm not—"

"Here they are now." She pricked her ears at the sound of the doorbell. "Smile, Augusta. You look as if you're about to eat lunch at a homeless shelter."

Quite frankly, I'd have preferred that. I'd also have preferred if my mother stopped being so judgemental—I'd volunteered at a shelter last Christmas and met some really lovely people. But that was my mother. She'd go to the grave criticising the vicar's choice of footwear.

Dorothy showed Mrs. Fitzgerald in then scurried off as mother tapped her watch. I wished I could have followed her.

"Sandra, how lovely to see you," Mother cooed.

Air kisses followed while I stared awkwardly at Gregory. "Uh, hi."

This was why I preferred to write all my words rather than speak them. My tongue tied itself in knots, and I never knew what to say. Except with Midnight. Words had been unnecessary, but my tongue sure had loosened in his mouth. Since my encounter with him last night, I'd checked my phone over and over for another message, but he'd been the silent one.

"Good to see you," Gregory said, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. "It's been a long time."

His tan spoke of warmer climes than England, but when he got close, I gave a subtle sniff and stifled my giggle. Yes, that delicate bronze colour came from a spray booth rather than the sun. I'd smelled the same strange aroma on Angelica. At least I could eliminate the possibility of him being Mr. Midnight—his sexy musk had been all man.

"Yes, it has been a long time. Fifteen years?" More than half my life. Honestly, what was Mother thinking?

"So kind of you to invite us around today." He placed a hand on my arm. "Although next time, you don't need to send your mother with your invite. I won't bite."

Ouch. His overly white teeth hurt my eyes when he grinned, and I clenched my own together. Mother told him this was my idea?

"I'll remember that."

"Anyway, how have you been? Have you stayed in Sandlebury all this time?"

Of course. I wasn't brave enough to escape its clutches. "Yes, I still live at home. Angie and I share the annex. How about you? Mother said you lived in California?"

"Since I finished medical school. Met a girl from LA in my final year, and we moved there when we graduated."

He'd become a doctor? That surprised me—he'd never seemed the altruistic type as a child. "I didn't realise you'd gone into medicine. Which field?"

"Cosmetic surgery." He showed me those teeth again. "Always happy to offer a discount to old friends."

Well, that was generous of... Hang on. "You think I need work done?"

A little of his colour faded, from burnt umber to a disturbing shade of orange. "So sorry, I didn't mean it the way it came out." He ran his eyes up and down my body, and I wished I'd never asked the question. "No, you're absolutely fine as you are."

Fine? Fine? Last night, Mr. Midnight had made me feel desirable, sexy even, but Gregory had undone all that with one sentence. Still, Mother was watching me, so I swallowed the remains of my pride.

"That's good to hear."

Mrs. Fitzgerald clasped my hands in hers. "So nice to see you again, Augusta."

"And you."

_Please, palms, stop sweating_.

"I hear you're working as your sister's secretary."

"Something like that."

"Wonderful, wonderful. Not all girls are career-driven, you know, and that's the way it should be. Far better to work for a few years then stay home with the children while your husband climbs the ladder." She pinched Gregory on the cheek, and he rolled his eyes. "Luckily, my Gregory has a good job."

"Mother, stop scaring Augusta. We're only having lunch."

I shot him a grateful glance, but his comment rolled off her.

"Nonsense. The two of you aren't getting any younger. Now, why don't you sit next to each other while we eat?"

My mother flashed a smile and slid into a chair opposite. "What a wonderful idea."

Gregory pulled my chair out before settling next to me, and to give him credit, he looked about as comfortable with the situation as I felt.

"How long ago did my mother extend the invite for this little get-together?" I whispered to him after the main course.

Both of our mothers were ignoring us in favour of a discussion on flower arranging, and we'd more-or-less exhausted the small talk on current affairs and the weather.

"She suggested it a couple of weeks back, but I'm afraid I've been too busy with my job up until now."

He'd told me all about his new position at the private hospital in the next town, specialising in breast augmentation. I'll admit the thought of dating a man who spent every day with his hands on other women's boobs made me cringe.

"Well, today was the first I heard about it."

"Oh dear. I was under the impression you were rather keen, just a bit shy."

"Not exactly."

An awkward silence followed as Dorothy cleared the plates away. After the slightly uncomfortable start, Gregory had proven to be less unpleasant than I feared, and a far cry from the bratty boy I'd detested. With fifteen years having passed, I guess he'd changed, even if I still felt like a ten-year-old child intimidated by his proximity.

"With all the time I spent overseas, I forgot how meddlesome Mother could be. Until I went to university, she was forever trying to run my life."

"I sort of wish I'd gone away to university, but as I attended Oxford, I was close enough to catch the train into town each day."

"I didn't realise you were an Oxford girl. Congratulations. Went to Cambridge myself. We probably shouldn't be speaking after your boys thrashed us in the boat race this year."

A giggle bubbled up before I could stop it. "Mainly because your team's boat nearly sank. The wind was terrible. I'm so glad I only watched on television."

"I stood on the banks of the Thames one year, in the rain, but I don't remember much about it due to the pub crawl afterwards."

"Aren't doctors supposed to act responsibly?"

"Ah, but I wasn't a doctor then, merely a student."

Chatting with Gregory came more easily over dessert, and when I glanced at the clock, I was amazed to find two hours had flown by, even if half of that time was taken up by me reliving last night with Mr. M while Gregory waffled on about a recent medical conference. I'd successfully wasted most of the day, and I needed to get some editing done if I was going to meet my next deadline.

"So sorry, but I'm afraid I need to excuse myself. I promised to update Angie on a few things before she goes out this evening."

Mother dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and gave Mrs. Fitzgerald a knowing look. "So lovely to see you two getting along. It's a good thing Gregory's coming to my Black and Red party a week next Saturday."

Gregory raised an eyebrow. "I am?"

His mother fixed him with a hard stare. "Yes, Carolyn invited us both last month. Don't you remember?"

He turned to me and shrugged. "Looks like I'll see you a week next Saturday, then."

"Looks like you will."

Weirdly, I didn't hate the idea as much as I thought I would.

**CHAPTER 4**

A WEEK AND a half passed, and the frequency of my phone checks had waned to every two hours. Not a peep from Mr. Midnight, but someone had given Gregory Fitzgerald my number, and he'd messaged to say how much he was looking forward to the party this evening. Or at least, somebody using his phone had messaged me—I wouldn't have put it past his mother to step in again.

"The hairdresser will be here in two hours," Angie said. "How's the editing?"

"Done. Finally." I'd typed "The End" on _The Dark Night_ , and usually that would free my mind to turn one of the hundreds of ideas floating around inside my brain into a tangible plot line. But not tonight. No, tonight all I could think of was how Mother's last soirée ended—with me bent forward over a chair while Mr. Midnight ploughed into me from behind.

Angie mistook the flush of my cheeks for something else and smiled. "I heard you and Gregory Fitzgerald got on well at lunch the other day."

"It was okay. He's not as bad as I remembered."

"Oh, don't play coy. You've gone all pink."

Yes, but Gregory couldn't have been further from my mind. "It's nothing."

"Nothing to do with the fact that Gregory's coming tonight?"

"No, honestly."

She just laughed. "You don't fool me."

Well, as long as she thought my blushes were over Gregory, I could deal with that. Far better to believe I'd got the hots for a well-to-do doctor than a faceless hunk who'd shown up once to shag me senseless.

"Have you decided on a dress?" I asked, changing the subject.

Angie's raised eyebrow told me she knew what I'd done, but she humoured me anyway and turned to the four possibles hanging from the wardrobe door, all bright red and all more risqué than I'd ever have dared to wear.

"I'm thinking the one on the left." She looked me up and down. "Unless you want to borrow that one?"

"No!"

While Angelica had been blessed with a naturally slim figure, every cake I ate went straight to my bottom, and I had to wear a bra at all times. I'd fall right out the top of that dress, and then there was the colour. Mother had decreed we wear either red or black to fit with her party theme, and my choice would most definitely be the latter. Long, dark, plain—I envied those ladies in the Middle East who got to wear a burka every day.

"I've already chosen my outfit," I said.

"Where?"

I pointed across the hallway, through the open door to my bedroom. "There."

Angie squinted at my bed. "You do know this is a party, right? Not a funeral?"

"Yes, I'm well aware of that." And I didn't want to give Gregory the wrong idea, or anybody else either. Unless... Mr. Midnight had mentioned a "next time." Was he being serious? I mean, I hadn't heard a peep from him, but what if...?

No.

I mustn't get my hopes up, and besides, now I'd had time to think about that night, I realised I must have been suffering from temporary insanity. Honestly, skipping off to meet a stranger for sex again would be a terrible idea.

Crazy. Awful. An idea so bad it made me ache between my thighs just considering it.

"You've got that look again," Angie said. "Still daydreaming about Gregory?"

Damn my flipping face, betraying me like that. "I'm going to change."

Her laughter followed me out of the door.

"Can I get you another drink?" Gregory asked.

He'd worn a tuxedo with a red bow tie as a nod to Mother's theme.

I glanced at my champagne flute—half empty, but it was my third glass, and I was wearing heels. "Better not, but thank you for offering."

The evening had turned out less painful than most of Mother's parties, mainly because by hovering near Gregory's elbow, I'd avoided duty as a glorified waitress. Plus, she hadn't introduced me to any random strangers as her "other daughter, the one who doesn't write the books."

Gregory's company had been...nice, I guess. It reminded me of the parties I used to attend with Rupert, in those years when every conversation didn't start with, "Augusta, I was so sorry to hear about your husband." I hadn't needed sympathy; I'd needed to sit on my own and cry.

But now? Enough time had passed for people to forget that I'd been widowed at the age of twenty, and Gregory certainly commanded the respect of Mother's social circle. He fitted in perfectly.

"Yes, I do believe I'm free next Sunday," he said to Mother's accountant. "Eighteen holes?"

"Nineteen, old chap. Can't pass up on a drink afterwards."

I stifled a yawn at the golf discussion, a favourite topic of that crowd, along with planning policy, British-made cars, and the state of the economy.

"Tired, Augusta?" Gregory asked.

"A little," I admitted.

Tired of small talk, tired of strangers, and tired of wearing shoes that made my feet ache.

"It's carriages at midnight, so only two hours left."

I pulled out my phone. No, two hours and nine minutes. Nine minutes that had the potential to stretch into eternity if that bloody accountant didn't stop talking. I looked around, ready to play my usual game of making up stories about the party guests in my head, when my phone buzzed in my hand.

Instantly, I stiffened, then forced myself to relax as Gregory's eyes cut my way.

"Okay?" he mouthed.

"Great. I just need to visit the powder room," I muttered, then speed-walked out the door. Or rather, speed-tripped, but a passing waiter caught me. Damn those heels.

Safely locked in one of the downstairs cloakrooms, I looked down at my phone, praying it wasn't just another one of those bloody sales messages from ambulance-chasing solicitors. "Have you had an accident, trip or fall?" No, not unless you count throwing my phone against the wall in annoyance.

_Mr. M: Meet me at midnight. Behind the guest cottage._

Beads of sweat popped out on the back of my neck. Behind the guest cottage? Not inside it? Okay, so in my book Rufus met Lady Anne behind the chapel, and we didn't have a chapel, but the idea of doing anything outside terrified me. What if a stray guest walked past? The cottage wasn't that far from the main house, after all.

No. I should text him back and say no.

But the very thought of that made my heart plummet, where it landed among the butterflies swarming in my stomach at the prospect of another Midnight-induced orgasm.

Maybe I could meet him then convince him to go somewhere a tiny bit more private? Like the summerhouse again. Yes, that would work.

Fingers trembling, I typed out my reply.

_Augusta: Okay._

One word, and as soon as I sent it, I regretted it. It seemed so...so...inadequate. I was supposed to be a writer, and I'd used one of the blandest words possible. Bleurgh. I needed to work on my communication skills.

Ten minutes passed with no reply, and I needed to leave the toilet because otherwise someone would be sure to inform Mother of my bowel problems. Think that wouldn't happen? Well, it did after Rupert died, and she booked me a colonoscopy.

Back in the ballroom, Gregory's conversation had moved from golf to squash. I'd only ever played once and the bruises took weeks to fade, so I didn't feel qualified to join in. Instead, I tried to block the filthy thoughts going through my mind as the hands on the clock ticked closer to the witching hour.

Only at a quarter to midnight, Gregory was still yacking, and I couldn't figure out how to politely excuse myself.

"I'm feeling a little tired," I said. "I might go and lie down."

The slack-jawed banker Gregory was talking to laughed, one finger tugging at his overly tight shirt collar. "Don't skip out on us, dearie. Only another fifteen minutes to go then you can take your man for a bit of night-time entertainment."

My face turned the colour of Gregory's bow tie as they carried on with their conversation. How could I get away? I was racking my brains for a better excuse when another of the tennis club ladies teetered up.

"Dr. Fitzgerald, may I have a quick word?"

"Of course, Alicia. What can I do for you?"

She stepped closer, and I strained to hear her words. "It's a professional matter." Her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink, and she glanced at the cleavage spilling from the top of her dress. "Perhaps we could go somewhere more private?"

A boob job? She wanted to chat about a boob job? How much bigger did she want them to be?

Gregory turned and shrugged. "Sorry, Augusta, but work calls. I'll be in touch during the week."

And that was it—dismissed. At least I knew where I stood, and at least I was free to make my escape. Dumping the dregs of my wine on the nearest waiter's tray, I dashed off like Cinderella, only I was heading towards my Prince Charming rather than away from him.

Okay, so not Prince Charming, exactly, but then I was hardly the stuff of fairy tales either.

I checked my phone as I slipped out of the side door. No more messages, and five minutes left to get to the guest cottage. I'd hoped to change my shoes because my feet were killing me, but would Midnight wait if I was late?

I couldn't take that chance.

My breath puffed into the cold night air as I rounded the corner of the cottage, balancing on tiptoes. He hadn't thought this through, had he? Lawns and stilettos certainly didn't mix.

"Augusta."

A whisper from beside me made me jump, and I whipped my head around in time to see his silhouette step from the shadows by the back porch. He'd picked a moonless night again, but I could just about make out the white "V" of a shirt under his suit jacket. So, a party guest?

I wobbled on my heels, and he reached out to steady me, one hand on each of my arms. Even that innocent touch through my velvet dress made me tingle all over.

"I'm here," I whispered back.

His lips slammed down onto mine as he kissed me with an intensity bordering on painful, a clash of teeth and tongues that had me melting at his feet. No, not melting. Sinking. Sinking into the damp earth at his feet.

"Shit," I muttered. "My heels are stuck."

This never happened to Lady Anne.

I felt him smile against my mouth, and a quiet chuckle escaped his lips. "Ever consider flats?"

"I'm quite short enough already, thank you."

Angie and my mother were both five feet eight, and my father four inches taller still, but by some fluke of genetics I'd ended up at five feet four with most of the other debutantes towering above me.

Midnight's response? He dropped to a crouch and ran his hands up my legs, lifting my dress with them until it bunched around my waist. Only his hands on my ass cheeks preserved any kind of modesty because the black lace thong I'd worn didn't leave much to the imagination. My plain white undies were now stashed firmly at the back of my wardrobe. He drew my bottom lip into his mouth and sucked as he lifted me clear of my shoes and carried me towards the cottage, pressing me to the wall next to the back door.

"Wrap your legs around my waist," he commanded, and I was only too happy to comply as his hard cock rubbed against me through the thin layers of material. The friction of the lace drew another gasp from me as he gently bit down on my lip. I might even have moaned.

"What's with this dress?" he asked. "It leaves everything to the imagination."

"Uh, I could take it off?"

"Not in this temperature, _mon cœur_ , and not with those bricks against your back."

"We could go inside?"

He grinned against me. "Where would be the fun in that? Besides, I like the dress. It means none of the lecherous bastards at that party got a good look at you."

"It means you can't get a good look at me either."

"I don't need to. Not when I can feel you." He dropped one hand and ran a finger between my legs. "And I can feel you spent the last two hours getting yourself worked up."

"I..." I couldn't lie. "I totally did."

I loved the sound of his laugh. Rich and deep, it sent vibrations through my core. "Want to know a secret?"

"Uh, yes?"

His lips brushed my earlobe. "So did I."

Oh my... I tightened my arms around him as my pussy throbbed. "Then hurry up."

"You'll need to lend a hand, because I don't have enough of them." He used his weight to hold me against the wall while he fished something out of his pocket. "Unzip me and put the condom on."

I froze in his arms, and not because of the late winter chill. "I...uh..."

"What is it?"

Oh, shit. I could either confess or run into the night. Both would result in mortal embarrassment, but one would ensure I didn't get the pleasure of Midnight's cock. "I don't know how to do the condom thing," I whispered. "I've never had to before."

"None of your men have ever asked you to?"

"Man. And even if he had, it was seven years ago."

It was his turn to still. "Seven years? You haven't had a man in seven years?"

"Not until you."

"Fuck me."

"I'd like to." I couldn't keep the hopeful note out of my voice.

He laid his forehead against mine. "And I bent you over that chair and screwed you like an animal. _Mon cœur_ , I'm so sorry." He took my weight and stepped back. "I'll walk you to the house."

"No! Please don't. I... I want this. No, I need it."

"I shouldn't have—"

"Do you know how many people have handled me with kid gloves since...?" How much did he know? "Since my husband died. All of them. Every single one. You're the first man to treat me like a woman, and I don't want you to stop."

"He died? Oh, hell..."

Midnight didn't know? That meant he was a newcomer to the area. It was only in the last few years that people had stopped gossiping about Rupert's death. I'd heard the whispers, even though Mother had banned the household staff from mentioning it right after the funeral. But that was my past, and Midnight was my present.

"Please, stop talking and do whatever you planned to do."

He ran his free hand through his hair, and I wished I could see the expression on his face, but all I got were dark shadows from his nose and eyes. He could have been hideous for all I knew, but I didn't care. Not when he made me feel this way.

"Are you sure?"

Not exactly, but I wasn't about to admit that. "Yes, I'm sure."

He kissed me again, more softly this time, but the sentiment was no less intense. I lost myself in him until he gently pulled back an inch.

"Reach between us and undo my trousers."

It took a few fumbles but I got there, and he sprang free. This was the first time I'd handled a man's cock, and the smoothness surprised me as well as how hard it felt. And how big. He let me explore for a minute while he kissed his way down my jaw, then he pulled back a little.

"Now the condom. Can you get the packet open?"

I gave up with my fingers and tore it with my teeth. "Done it."

"Squeeze the bubble at the end to keep the air out while you roll it onto me."

That was easier than I thought, and I gave him one final stroke when I'd finished. "Okay."

No more words were necessary as he moved my knickers to the side, arched his hips, and slowly pushed inside. Finally.

"You fit me like a fucking glove," he murmured.

"I'm waiting for the fucking part."

"Your books don't reflect your filthy mouth, Miss Duvall."

"You've read more than one?"

"All of them, but I prefer the reality. This is gonna be fast and hard, Gus. I don't think I'll be able to help myself."

I clenched my muscles around him, and it was his turn to groan. "Do your worst, Midnight."

He wasn't kidding about either part, but my orgasm built as quickly as his. Thank goodness for the cool air, because by the time I shattered around him, I was a hot mess. One final thrust and he followed me into oblivion and leaned into me, holding us both up against the wall. I nuzzled into his neck, inhaling the scent of male and something else. Lime? Did he use lime shower gel?

A minute passed, maybe two, before either of us spoke.

"I need to reunite you with your shoes, _mon cœur_."

"I'm not sure I can walk."

Another chuckle. "I wish I could carry you home, but that wouldn't work."

Feeling brave, I cupped his face with my hands. A hint of stubble scratched my palms. "Why?"

"Because I'm not the sort of man you take to meet your mother."

I'd kind of worked that part out—after all, I wouldn't wish my mother on anyone. But my heart still ached at the thought of going home alone.

"Can we do this again?"

Soft lips brushed my temple. "Yes."

He freed my shoes then held my hand until we emerged from behind the cottage. Before our fingertips parted, he lifted my hand to his mouth and pressed one last kiss to the back of it.

"Until midnight."

Then he melted into the darkness.

**CHAPTER 5**

THE NEXT MORNING, I soaked my blisters in a hot bubble bath as I relived Midnight's visit with equal parts pleasure and embarrassment. Confessing I had no idea how to put on a condom? He must have thought I was a complete moron, but even then, he'd been so damn nice about it. And the sex? Honestly, I had no words. My thoughts were best summed up in a series of moans, grunts, and incoherent ramblings.

"Taking the day off?" Angie asked when I perched on a stool at the breakfast bar.

"I need to do one final read-through of the manuscript before it goes for editing." That was always the part I hated most—by that point, I'd read the damn words so many times I hated them, and I was racked with enough self-doubt I wanted to delete the entire book.

"I've got a video conference with the merchandise people at eleven. Did I tell you we got offered a deal for our own line of condoms? They want to print 'Meet me at midnight' on them with space for a phone number."

I spat my orange juice across the table. "No, you most certainly did not."

She threw me a roll of paper towel, and I blotted up the mess.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What do you think? Should we take it?"

"It hardly screams historical romance, does it? Besides, mother would have a fit." I had another thought. "Did they send any samples?"

Angie grinned at me. "Why? Do you want to use them with Gregory?"

I quickly shook my head, perhaps more emphatically than Gregory deserved. "Just curious."

"They're on my desk next to the mock-up of the masks from _The Dark Night_. Oh, and Petra called yesterday afternoon."

"What did she want?"

Although we'd self-published all our books, Petra, our agent, had helped to negotiate foreign translation rights and our two movie deals.

"She reckons you should write a contemporary version of _Meet Me at Midnight_. You know, update it for modern times with extra filth. Now, that would fit with the condom range."

Palms sweating, I gripped my thighs at the thought of publishing anything half as grubby as my adventures with my Midnight. Hang on— _my_ Midnight? We'd done very bad things twice—that hardly gave me a claim on the man, did it? Although if I recalled my high school French lessons correctly, he did keep calling me "my heart," which made mine beat madly every time the words left his lips.

"I think for Mother's sake we'd be best sticking with the historical themes."

Angie pouted at me. "You're no fun. Get Gregory to give you a good roll in the sack, then you might change your mind."

"I'm not sure Gregory's that sort of man. He reminds me of Rupert a bit."

"But you loved Rupert."

"I know... It's just I'm not sure I want that kind of relationship again."

"What do you mean? You and Rupert were perfect for each other."

Yes, so everybody said. Eventually, we'd even believed it ourselves, hence the over-the-top nuptials in a marquee on the banks of the trout stream running through our estate. Rupert was safe. Rupert was dependable. Rupert was...quite boring, if I was honest with myself.

"I'm a different person now."

Inside, I longed for adventure, but every time I contemplated acting on my urges, I chickened out. Probably because my one and only attempt at being that carefree girl had culminated with six weeks in a Thai prison—an experience, yes, but not one I cared to repeat.

"Perhaps I could set you up with one of my friends?" Angie offered. "Crispian's hot and single."

Crispian also dabbled in drugs and treated women like objects, but for some reason, Angie still liked the man. "Honestly, I'm happy with how things are."

With Mr. Midnight bringing a little excitement into my life, as well as spectacular orgasms.

"When's the next party?" I asked Mother three hours later. I'd joined her for lunch, much to her surprise.

"Four weeks, darling. Don't forget your father and I are going for a break at the villa first."

Dammit, I _had_ completely forgotten. They headed for our place in Barbados twice a year, once at the end of winter and once in the autumn, which meant a whole month before Midnight would be back. One hand drifted up to my lips, where his touch still lingered, and I forced it back to my lap.

"Oh."

"You sound disappointed. Why don't you simply call Gregory? I'm sure he'd love to take you out for dinner."

"It's not about Gregory." Whoops, shouldn't have said that.

She looked up sharply. "Then what _is_ it about?"

"Er, I just had a fun time talking to everyone, and I, uh, I really liked the canapés."

A smile flickered across her lips. "Those mini orange soufflés?"

I quickly nodded.

"I'll ask cook to make some for you, but don't eat too many or you'll ruin your figure. And if you're finally enjoying my soirées, perhaps you could assist with some of the organising?"

Hmm, like the guest list? "I'd love to do that."

Flowers. I got flowers. No, not as a gift, but to organise. Mother decided on a theme that left the local florist rubbing her hands together in glee, and I was supposed to select the vases and ensure they found their way to the right locations.

And more disappointingly, my casual enquiry about the attendees was met with a, "Don't worry, Gregory will be there," before Mother swanned out of the door followed by the housekeeper, the caretaker, and the cook, each wheeling two of her matching Louis Vuitton suitcases.

Wonderful.

Then it got worse. Gregory called and invited me to dinner, and without sufficient warning to come up with an excuse, I found myself agreeing.

"I'll pick you up on Saturday at six," he said.

"Where are we going?"

"The Riverside Inn."

He tossed the words out casually, and with a standard eight-week waiting list for a table, I should have been impressed. But all I could think about was the posh dress I'd have to pick out, and the heels I'd have to squeeze my feet into, and the fact that I'd need to beg Angie to do my make-up.

"Wonderful. I look forward to it."

"You look awesome," Angie said as she added one last layer of mascara to my eyelashes.

I peered past her into the mirror. "You don't think this dress is a bit short?"

"It's three inches above your knees."

"Exactly."

She sighed. "No, it's not too short. Now, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That doesn't leave much out."

Angie winked. "Yep, you're good for everything up to a rabid public screwing up against a wall."

I froze halfway to the door, feeling a little faint as the blood drained from my head. Did she know?

Behind me, her chuckles drifted through the air. "Relax, I'm kidding. I know you'd never do anything like that."

"Of course not."

Downstairs, Gregory's chauffeur waited by his town car with the door already open, and as I slid into the backseat Gregory glanced up from his phone, eyes widening.

"You look...radiant."

Was that really such a surprise? Oh, who was I kidding? Most of the time I looked more like the household help than Carolyn Fordham's daughter.

"Thank you. That's very kind of you to say."

I watched the dark countryside fly by outside the car window as Gregory returned to his phone, and my mind drifted back to Midnight. What was he doing this evening? And if he were in the car beside me instead of Gregory, what would we be doing right now? I bet it wouldn't involve emails.

A giggle escaped at the thought of emailing Gregory to start a conversation. Would he get off on that?

He glanced up. "Did you say something?"

"No, just a tickle in my throat."

At the restaurant, Gregory rested one hand on the small of my back as he held the door open for me to go through, forever polite. The maître d' rushed over to take my coat.

"Mr. Fitzgerald, Ms. Fordham, how lovely to see you. Let me show you to your table."

I'd imagined Gregory would have got the primo spot by the window, but a couple was already sitting there. Still, the maître d' headed in that direction.

"The man on the left is Phillip Jefferson, consultant anaesthetist," Gregory whispered. "I'm hoping to work with him in the future, so it's important this dinner goes well."

Wait a second. He'd brought me to a bloody business meeting? I clenched my teeth as Phillip rose to greet me with a kiss on each cheek, cursing myself for being made a fool of once again.

"Augusta, this is Phillip and, er..."

"Phillippa, my fiancée," Phillip helpfully put in.

Phillip and Phillippa? I swallowed down the laughter that threatened as Phillippa pulled me into a hug. Well, at least I wouldn't forget their names.

Nor did I forget the manners Mother had drilled into me as I made small talk over the starter and smiled blandly between mouthfuls of the glazed salmon Gregory ordered for my main course. But when he passed on dessert in favour of a cheeseboard, I struggled to maintain my façade.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to visit the ladies' room."

The men stood up as I put my napkin on the table and pushed my chair back, and when I glanced behind, I found Phillippa following. What was this? A group outing?

She started gushing as soon as the door clicked shut behind us. "Wow, this is so exciting! I mean, you and Gregory? And isn't your sister that famous author?"

"Yes, Angelica writes books."

"I've read, like, every single one. Do you think you could get her to sign my copies?"

I managed a tired smile. "Yes, no problem."

"Ooh, you're amazing." She clapped her hands together. "And lucky—I mean, the way Gregory looks at you."

Huh? "How does he look at me?"

"Like he wants to take you shopping and invite you to the opening night at the opera."

Really? All I'd picked up was mild interest. "I'm more of a rock music girl myself." When mother and Angie weren't around, I cranked up Bon Jovi and danced around the lounge.

Phillippa nudged me with her shoulder. "You're so funny. But seriously, any girl would kill to marry Gregory. I mean, look at his ex-wife—he gave her bigger breasts, a new nose, and a facelift, all for free."

The idea of going under the knife made me shudder. "I'm not sure that's for me."

"Oh, don't be silly. He could smooth out all those little wrinkles." She pointed at my forehead. "Botox doesn't work forever, you know."

"I actually just came in here to use the toilet." Not be insulted by a wannabe Barbie doll.

"Sure, sure. I can talk through the door."

Wonderful. I tried to pee quietly while Phillippa dished the dirt on Gregory's ex, their divorce, and his return to England.

"Apparently it was irreconcilable differences, which we all know means she had an affair. Her personal trainer, I heard. My friend Belinda said Gregory's wife complained he wasn't meeting her needs, which is ridiculous because he bought her a new Mercedes coupé only a month before they split."

"Maybe there's more to life than money?" I said, muffled by the door.

Phillippa let out another peal of laughter. "Augusta, you're so hilarious."

And of course, when Mother arrived home the week before the floral party, she'd heard all about my "date."

"How lovely that Gregory took you to The Riverside. He must think very highly of you."

"I'm not sure about that."

I seemed to be more of a convenience. A girl with enough manners drummed into her that she wouldn't embarrass him by using the wrong fork for the starter.

"Nonsense. He asked whether you'd be at the party on Saturday, you know."

"He did?"

"Yes, and Mrs. Fitzgerald thinks the pair of you would make a wonderful match."

Much like Mrs. Mulcaire had with Rupert. Swap him out for Gregory and my life had barely changed. Maybe the universe had conspired to give me another chance at a relationship, with the hope I didn't mess it up this time?

Except fate had thrown in the added complication of Mr. Midnight, and that confused the hell out of me.

Midnight, Midnight—with three days to go until the party, I thought of little else. Would he be there again? I was going crazy not knowing.

Why couldn't he have told me in advance? Honestly, would it have been so damn difficult? I mean, wasn't communication key in any relationship? Not that we had a relationship, but still... He'd been balls deep in me twice and that should count for something, right?

Angie had gone out, and I paced our apartment obsessively on Friday evening, glass of wine in hand. Who the hell was Midnight?

By ten o'clock, I could take it no more—not the wondering or the walking, because I'd got more than a little tipsy. How dare he leave me so frustrated like this? It wasn't...it wasn't gentlemanly.

Snatching my phone up off the desk, I did something I should have done ages ago and called his bloody number. This little game couldn't be all one-way.

"You have reached the Vodafone voicemail service for oh-seven-nine—"

I hung up in disgust and dialled back with the same result. Asshole. Didn't he know mobile phones were there to be answered? Obviously not. I slumped down into my chair, beyond frustrated.

Now what?

With anger and passion chasing the alcohol through my veins, I did the only thing I knew how to do—picked up the cheap plastic fountain pen I'd treasured since I was an eleven-year-old girl and began to write.

**CHAPTER 6**

IF MR. MIDNIGHT followed the book, if indeed he turned up at all, tonight's escapade would be in the stables. With the floor made from old stone slabs, I figured I'd be safe enough in heels, so I'd avoided Mother's wrath and gone with stilettos for the floral party.

With the flowers in place, the buffet set up, and the waiters hovering with trays, the ballroom looked magnificent if I said so myself. Now all we needed were the guests.

They began trickling in at seven, starting with the nouveau riche and those determined to curry favour with my parents. Anyone who was anyone would arrive later to make an entrance, Gregory included, it seemed.

Angelica strutted up beside me, making a rare appearance at a family do.

"Didn't you have a better offer?" I asked.

"Rumour has it the Viscount Northbury's attending tonight, and he's..." She made a fanning action with her hand. "Incendiary."

"I thought he'd got engaged?" Or was that another rumour from the tennis club?

"Until the wedding ring's on her finger, he's fair game."

"I'm not sure..."

"Look, I'll just test the waters. Besides, you've got Gregory to attend to your needs."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes briefly at the thought of Gregory in bed. He'd probably keep his socks on and bring his laptop. When I opened my eyes again, Angie had disappeared, replaced by Mother, who wore a black look on her face.

"Augusta, you ordered lilies!"

"Uh, yes?" They were pretty.

"Serena Cunningham is allergic to lilies. She sneezed all over the hallway, and I've had to take her through to the drawing room. Go and help her, for goodness' sake."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise—"

"Just go."

How was I supposed to know about Serena's allergies? I only saw her a few times a year, and she'd never said anything but hello. Still, I took a deep breath and trudged off.

By the time I'd packed Serena into a taxi with a box of tissues and a thousand apologies, Gregory had arrived, looking admittedly handsome in a dark grey suit. He smiled when he saw me, and I took a glass of wine from a passing waiter as I headed towards him.

"Augusta, have you met Dr. Sorensen? He specialises in orthopaedics."

"Lovely." Whatever that was.

"Knees," Dr. Sorensen clarified, shaking my hand. "I fix knees."

While he spoke to Gregory about some new kind of artificial cartilage, my heart skipped a beat as I caught sight of a dark-haired newcomer. Tall and well-built, even from behind, and the way he moved exuded sex appeal. Surely that couldn't be...? He was about the same height as Midnight, and they both had muscles. Then a petite blonde slid under his arm, smiling, and Angie caught my eye from across the room.

"Viscount Northbury," she mouthed, just as he turned around.

Of course. I remembered now.

Okay, so he wasn't Midnight. I confess to being a little disappointed. I watched as Angie's eyes drifted to his right, where another rather tasty man had arrived. With a lighter build than the viscount, his twinkling eyes and sexy smile meant Angie made a beeline right for him.

A spasm of jealousy rocked through me at the sight—what if he was Midnight? I forced myself to take a deep breath and think through what I knew. Midnight was strong—he'd proved that in the effortless way he'd held me against the wall, and he sure had muscles. I'd felt most of them, from his taut butt to his six-pack to his hard biceps. And even in my heels, he'd dipped his head to kiss me, which put him... I glanced at Gregory... No, Midnight was taller, which put him at six-foot plus. Definitely more like the viscount than his friend. Okay, Angie could have the other dude.

But it did leave me with the burning question: Who the hell was he? I tried to keep it subtle as I gazed around the room, searching for men who fit the criteria. By the time I'd got through my second glass of white, I'd narrowed it down to one man other than the viscount, and I was plucking up the courage to wander over and introduce myself when my clutch bag vibrated.

Was that Midnight?

Because if so, it ruled hot guy number two out—with a wine glass in one hand and the other gesturing as he spoke to an older gentleman, he couldn't have sent a message right then.

"Will you excuse me for a moment?" I whispered to Gregory, and before he got the chance to reply, I hurried from the room.

Three women were queuing for the downstairs toilets, so I slipped into the TV room just along the corridor. Then left rather hurriedly at the sight of my sister getting it on with the brown-haired guy from earlier.

"As you were," I muttered, cheeks burning, but I wasn't sure she even noticed my presence.

Desperate for privacy, I shut myself into the coat closet, sank to the floor, and pulled my phone from my bag, keeping my fingers crossed as well as my toes.

_Mr. M: Meet me at midnight. The stables. Last loose box on the left._

I couldn't resist sending a message back.

_Augusta: Are you going to bring your riding crop?_

A minute passed, then two. Shit. Would he see the funny side? What if I'd overstepped the mark and he was freaking out about the prospect of a bondage session? Should I—?

"Miss Fordham? What on earth are you doing in there?"

I blinked in the glare of the chandelier as Dorothy stared down at me.

"Uh..."

"Are you all right? Should I call somebody?"

"No! I'm just a little...tipsy. Please, please don't tell Mother." Indecision marred her face as I scrambled out into the hallway. "Look, I'm fine, honestly. It's all good."

"You should lie down, miss."

"Great idea."

I shot up the stairs as the phone vibrated in my hand, and I didn't stop until I reached my childhood bedroom, still decorated with the pink ruffles I'd hated so much. Slamming the door behind me, I looked at the screen.

_Mr. M: You'll have to wait and feel._

I flopped back onto the pink counterpane, feet hanging off the end of the bed. How could one line of text turn me into a mushy mess?

The sound of Mars from Holst's _The Planets_ suite made me jump, and for a brief moment, I was tempted to send my mother to voicemail. But if I did that, she'd send out a search party.

"Hi."

"Augusta, where are you? Dorothy said you weren't feeling well."

Thanks, Dorothy. "I just came over a bit faint, but I'm fine now. Could you tell Gregory I've gone to bed?"

"Shall I get Angelica to come and sit with you?"

Probably Angie wouldn't appreciate that, especially if she was going for a second round with the brown-haired guy. "No, I'll be fine. I think I just need some sleep."

No, I needed a certain dark, mysterious stranger before I lost my damned mind. Shoes in hand, I snuck down the back stairway and scuttled around the house to the annex door—at least Angie and I had a separate entrance or we'd never get any privacy.

Should I change my dress? I'd gone with another long gown for the party, but the idea of Midnight peeling me out of my clothes tempted me to borrow something more risqué from Angie's closet. Would she have anything that fitted?

When I said Angie's closet, I of course meant the third bedroom in our little pad. She'd adopted it for her clothes soon after we moved in, right after she'd outgrown the two wardrobes in her own room. Surely I must be able to find something?

Too short, too long, too tight, too loose. I tried on a Lycra dress and stood in front of the mirror. Nope. I may have been a lady of the night, but that didn't mean I wanted to look like one. Hang on, what was this? A knee-length black number, plain with a bit of stretch, but that wasn't what made it stand out. No, I was attracted to the zipper that started at the neck and went all the way to the bottom hem. Easy access.

Please, let it fit.

It was a tad tight across the chest, but I could live with that. Besides, if Midnight delivered, I wouldn't be wearing it for long, anyway. Perfect. With ten minutes to spare, I pulled the pins out of my hair so it tumbled around my shoulders in loose waves. I'd always considered the light brown colour dull, but in the dark, it didn't matter. All I wanted was Midnight's fingers tangled in it. Five minutes left, and I dabbed perfume behind my ears and quickly brushed my teeth.

Okay, I was ready.

**CHAPTER 7**

THE PATH TO the stables was shrouded in darkness, and for a moment, I wished I'd brought a torch, but I suspected Midnight wouldn't appreciate that. He chose darkness for a reason; I just didn't know what it was. Silence reigned. We hadn't kept horses since Angie and I turned nineteen, when the last of our childhood ponies died and neither of us had the inclination to look after another. Horse riding had been Mother's idea, anyway. Just one more skill every eligible young lady should have under her belt whether she liked it or not.

The door to the barn creaked as I pushed it open, and I forced thoughts of rats and spiders from my mind. Midnight was all that mattered. I'd expected inside to be pitch black, but a single candle flickered in the draft from the doorway. A tea light, small and flat, giving just enough light for me to avoid tripping over the wheelbarrow parked in the aisle.

The last stall, he said, and if he'd lit the candle, he must be there already. Heart hammering, I tiptoed forwards, right into his arms.

"You came," he whispered.

"You thought I wouldn't?"

"I worry every time."

His confession gave me confidence. "Trust me; there's nowhere I'd rather be."

I melted against his chest as he kissed me, and with no danger of sinking this time, I stood on tiptoes and gave as good as I got. The man made me wild, so wild I felt like a character from one of my books, not plain old Augusta.

It was Midnight who broke the clinch, but only to run his hands down my body.

"Tell me you didn't wear this to the party?"

"You weren't there?"

"Not this time. I only came here to see you."

A shiver ran through my body. Me. He'd come to see me. I tried to kiss him again, but he pulled back.

"You didn't answer my question."

"No, I didn't wear it to the party. I borrowed it from Angie's wardrobe afterwards."

His fingers found the zipper and lowered it an inch. "Good girl."

"You like it?"

"I like what's inside it."

The faint sound of him opening the dress all the way to the bottom was the loudest noise in the stables as I held my breath. He did too, I think. Then his hands were on me, running up the bare skin of my stomach until they closed over the lace cups of my bra, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

"Perfect," he breathed, running one thumb over a nipple.

It hardened under his touch, and as I pressed forward with my hips, I found it wasn't the only hard thing between us.

Midnight tugged me forwards, and a soft thunk echoed in my ears as he sat down.

"On my lap," he ordered, half lifting me as he pulled me further towards him.

My knees hit one of the old wooden storage trunks, covered with a soft blanket. He'd come prepared again. I straddled his legs, taking the opportunity to grind myself against him, but he held my hips still.

"Not yet, _mon cœur_."

"But you're having all the fun."

He let go with one hand, paper rustled, then I felt something at my lips.

"Bite," he said.

Strawberries. He'd remembered the damn strawberries. And not just any old fruit—these were fat and juicy and covered in dark chocolate, bitter against the sweetness. A dribble of juice ran down my chin as I chewed, and he swiped it away with his tongue, finishing with a long kiss that made my toes curl.

"Another?" he asked.

I nodded, then realised he couldn't see. "Yes, please."

Boy, I was glad I'd skipped dinner because I wanted to eat what he offered me all night. I'd certainly never look at Dorothy's fruit cocktail in the same way again. Leaning forward, I reached behind Midnight until I found the box filled with individual paper cases, plucked a strawberry free, and held it to his lips.

"Your turn."

He bit into it then sucked each of my fingers in turn, sending a bolt of electricity straight between my legs. The fruit lost a little of its appeal.

"Are we nearly finished with these?" I asked.

"I thought you liked strawberries?"

"I do, but there's something else I want more." Feeling wanton, I rubbed against his cock to emphasise my point.

"Good things come to those who wait."

"I already waited. Over two bloody hours this evening, and don't even get me started on the last month. Can't we meet at eleven next time? Or ten?"

He chuckled. "Mr. Ten Thirty hardly has the same ring to it. What would Lady Anne think?"

"I'm pretty sure Rufus didn't have a chest like yours, and speaking of which, why are you still wearing a shirt? It's hardly fair."

"You got me there."

He used one hand to drag his T-shirt over his head, leaving me free to explore his rippling muscles. The rough denim of his jeans served as a contrast, rubbing me to distraction while moisture soaked through my knickers. Too much. This was too much.

Before I could stop myself, I reached for his belt buckle, and this time he didn't try to stop me. Instead, he dipped his head and sucked one nipple into his mouth through the lace of my bra, groaning softly as I reached inside his trousers and freed his length.

"Condom," I said, not wanting to look like a complete pillock this time.

"Yes, ma'am."

The idea of being on top, in control, made me more nervous than I wanted to admit, but as Midnight gripped my hips and lowered me over him, all my worries flew into the darkness. With him, my body instinctively knew what to do, and the animal that had slumbered inside me for twenty-seven years took over, writhing and mewling until we both collapsed back onto the trunk.

"Think I squashed the strawberries," Midnight said.

"Oops."

After our last two trysts, I thought he would help me back into my dress and disappear, but instead he held me close against him, his breath whispering across my cheek. The faint aroma of lime shower gel tickled my nostrils again, and I vowed to go out and buy myself some to serve as a daily reminder. Yes, I'd gone quite dippy over him, hadn't I?

He twitched inside me as he kissed me softly, first my cheeks, then my eyelids, and finally my mouth. "How tired are you?" he asked.

"What did you have in mind?"

He dropped one arm to the side of the trunk, and a few seconds later cool leather trailed over my exposed bottom.

I gulped. "Is that a riding crop?"

"It was your idea."

"Uh, I'm not sure whether I was serious."

"So I'm Mr. Midnight and you're Miss Indecisive?"

"Will it hurt?"

"I'd never hurt you, _mon cœur_."

"Why do you call me that? It's French, isn't it? For _my heart_?"

He shrugged underneath me. "I spent a bit of time in France, and it seemed appropriate."

"Does that make you mon cock?" Holy cow, I couldn't believe those words just left my mouth! "Sorry. Inappropriate."

"Try ' _ma bite_ ' instead."

"Can I?" I whispered. "Try it, I mean."

"If you say things like that, I'm gonna be Mr. One O'clock, Two O'clock, and Three O'clock."

"Put your money where your mouth is."

"Right now, I'm tempted to put my mouth somewhere else entirely."

"Then do it."

He groaned and sat up, and for one awful second, I thought he was leaving.

"You play havoc with my self-control, beautiful."

Beautiful? "You have an unfair advantage. You know what I look like."

"And that's the way it's got to stay."

"Why?"

"Like I said before, I'm not the type of guy you take to meet your mother."

Well, I knew he didn't have piercings all over his face or a punk hairstyle, so why would he think that? "Do you have tattoos or something?"

"A couple. Just trust me when I say the good lady of the house would _not_ be happy if you invited me over for dinner."

"Where?"

"Where what?"

"Where are the tattoos?"

He took my left hand and moved it to his upper arm. "A grenade with seven flames here." Our hands reached to the left side of his chest. "An infinity symbol here." And to the top of his back. "The last one I got was a Chinese symbol after I'd had too much to drink _avec mes amies_ one night. I don't know what it means, and I don't think I want to. How about you? Do you have a secret tattoo somewhere?"

I spluttered out a laugh. "No way. Mother would go mental if I did that."

Even Angie didn't dare.

"Do you ever do anything because _you_ want to do it?"

His words gouged deep. Until his first message had lit up my phone on St. David's Day, I'd never contemplated stepping out of the comfort zone I'd hidden inside for my entire life. But now? He made me see things differently, even if I couldn't see him.

"I'm doing you."

Fire surged through me once again as his lips met mine, but the kiss didn't last long. He was already getting hard again when he slid out of me and lifted me to my knees on top of the box.

"Hands and knees, _mon cœur_."

"Why? What are you going to do?" I asked, but even as the words left my mouth, I was already leaning forwards.

"You wanted a taste, and I'm not letting you kneel on that dirty floor."

Oh! Freaking heck, I needed to make another mortifying confession. "Uh, I've never..."

He brushed my hair away from my face and fisted it into a ponytail behind my head. "It doesn't matter."

Okay, I knew the theory. I'd read enough books, and if I cared to admit it, which I didn't, possibly watched the odd naughty video as well. I could do this.

Well, firstly he was bigger than I thought. Barely a third of his cock fitted into my mouth, if my hands were to be believed, and when he hit the back of my throat, I gagged.

He stroked my cheek. "Easy, Gus."

Right, don't panic. I tried licking the end, and his groan suggested I was doing something right. The salty, musky taste of him overwhelmed my senses as I found a rhythm, licking and sucking until...

"Why did you stop me?"

"Because I'm not going to come in your mouth for your first blow job. Besides, it's your turn."

Midnight didn't seem to have a problem kneeling on the cold flagstones himself as he laid me down in front of him on the blanket. I gripped the fleecy fabric tight as he ran his tongue along my centre then sucked at my...

"What's clitoris in French?"

He choked out a laugh against me as I clapped a hand over my mouth.

"I really need to think before I speak, don't I?"

"No, you don't. Your complete lack of filter is just one of the many things that make you so damn sweet."

"I'm not always like this. It's you. My brain gets all jumbled when you're around."

"Clitoris is _clitoris_. Or _clito_."

"Oh. I thought the French would have some sexy word for it."

"Let's go with _chatte_ , shall we?"

"Cat?"

"Pussy."

He sucked again and all thoughts of language disappeared, replaced by an incoherent series of moans as he took me to heaven then held me while I floated back down to earth.

"You okay, _mon cœur_?"

My legs trembled as he helped me to sit up again. "I'm more than okay, but what about you? You didn't finish."

"How about you get on your knees again?"

With pleasure. He arranged me with my knees on the very edge of the box, and I heard the rip of foil before he plunged inside me. The sweet, reverent man from earlier disappeared, replaced by passion and fire as Midnight thrust his hips. Waves of bliss crashed through me until the sting of the riding crop on my ass made me yelp.

"Too hard?"

No, bloody hot, actually. "Keep going. You just caught me by surprise."

Another orgasm built as he trailed the leather end down my spine then swatted my butt cheeks again. I'd always classed three in one night as a work of fantasy, but now it looked like I was about to experience a Midnight-induced climax once more.

"Fuck," he bit out, slamming into me one last time as I willed my elbows not to buckle. As if he understood my struggle, a strong arm snaked around my waist and held me against him.

Words seemed unnecessary as he arranged me on his lap and wrapped us both up in the blanket. Five minutes passed, ten, fifteen. Silence and darkness reigned equally. Then Jack Frost joined the party. I tried to draw my feet in closer, but Midnight straightened up.

"You're cold, and I've been selfish. I need to let you get to bed."

"Why don't you come with me?" Bold words, and desperate too. I didn't want to let him go. "We can sneak in. Angie'll be asleep by now, and even if she wasn't, she wouldn't care."

"I can't."

"Why?" My breath hitched. "Don't you care about me in that way?"

He laid his forehead against mine, our breath mingling. "I care too much. I haven't got a good grip on my self-control at the moment, and if I spent any more time with you, I'd lose it altogether."

"Is that why you didn't answer my call yesterday?"

He nodded against me, and hair tickled my eyebrows.

"So that's it? You're leaving?"

"It has to be this way." He lifted me effortlessly to my feet and knelt to zip up my dress, bringing a depressing end to the most amazing evening of my life. "Do you want me to walk you to the house?"

I wanted every second I could get with him. "Yes, please. What time is it?"

He pressed a button, and his watch face illuminated. "Looks like I'm Mr. Three O'clock after all."

His hand engulfed mine as he led me into the pitch black. The candle had long since gone out. A sliver of moonlight outside let us see the path, but I couldn't make out more than the silhouette of his face as we crossed the lawn.

"Stop here," he said, thirty yards from the house. Right before the sensors would have flicked on the security lights. Dammit. He'd certainly done his homework, hadn't he?

"Are you coming back?" I asked.

"I can't stay away."

Thank goodness. I rummaged in my clutch until I found the sheaf of papers I'd stapled together at some stupid hour this morning. "I wrote something. My agent wants me to try writing contemporary romance, but I didn't know if I could do it so I had a go, only I was drunk and..." I was babbling. "Here." I thrust the papers into his hand. "In case you want to read it."

"Gus, I always want to read your writing."

"There's probably typos."

"I don't care." He leaned down and touched his lips to mine. "Until midnight."

Then he was gone.

**CHAPTER 8**

OH, HOW I wished I'd never volunteered to help Mother with the floral party, because not only was Midnight conspicuous by his absence, she naturally assumed I'd love to help with her Music in May event too. A string quartet, a classical singer, and a pianist would be joining us for an evening of cultural celebration. At least that was how Mother described it. I knew they'd be joining us for an evening of alcohol and small talk, just like every other event she ever held.

No longer trusted to organise the flowers after the lily debacle, I'd been demoted to furniture—chairs specifically, plus those little tables people abandoned their drinks on. Oh, and could I find a piano tuner for the Steinway grand? Sure, I knew hundreds of them. What next? Cloakroom duty?

Over the past two and a bit weeks, all I'd managed to do for work was write out two loose plots for historical romance novels and a whole bunch more dirty scenes like the one I'd pressed into Midnight's hands before he ran out on me again. Two weeks, and I'd heard nothing. Despite what he said about his self-control, I thought the contents might have at least warranted a text message.

The pent up sexual energy combined with my inability to find a bloody piano tuner available at any point before Saturday left me brimming with frustration.

I was sitting at the piano in the ballroom, googling piano tuners from as far away as France when my phone trilled, not with a message, but with Beethoven's fifth, the generic tune I'd set for unknown numbers. Please, let this be good news.

"Hello?"

"This is Althea Warlingame. Is that Augusta?"

"Yes." Althea was the pianist Mother had booked. Maybe she'd know a piano tuner, although I wasn't sure I liked her tone. She sounded a little...worried.

There it was, a nervous giggle. "About the party—I'm afraid I won't be able to make it. I tripped over walking the dog yesterday, and I've fractured one of my fingers."

I gritted my teeth then forced myself to relax before I cracked my jaw. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Your finger, I mean. I hope it heals up quickly."

"Eight weeks before it's fully functional, the specialist says, but I'd be happy to play at any events after that."

"Wonderful. I'll let my mother know."

Bloody hell. It was all I could do to keep from throwing the phone across the room, preferably towards the caretaker who was polishing the floor on the far side because the quiet hum of the machine he was pushing back and forth was grating on my last nerve.

"Hey, you!" I didn't even know his name.

Nothing.

"You, with that polishing thing."

A second or two passed before he turned and peered at me from under his battered baseball cap. "Me?"

"Yes. Could you stop that for a few minutes? The noise is driving me crazy."

He shrugged and turned the machine off before pulling out a tin of wax and a rag and setting to work on the edges. Great—he probably thought I'd inherited Mother's bitchy tendencies, and I tried so hard to avoid behaving like her.

I chewed on my bottom lip as I considered my options, idly playing the first few bars of Für Elise. On the plus side, if I didn't have a pianist, I wouldn't need a piano tuner, but realistically if I told mother we were a musician short, she'd allocate me the washing up next time. Gah! I slammed my hands down on the keys then regretted it as the hideous noise made the caretaker jump in alarm.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, a voice came from the doorway.

"Is everything okay?"

Oh, marvellous. Gregory was here.

I tried to muster up a smile as he strode across the room, looking dapper in a pinstripe suit.

"Fine, thank you."

"Are you sure? You're giving yourself frown lines."

I bit back my snarky comment about him being able to fix those. "It's this bl...this party."

"Music in May? I'm looking forward to it."

"At this rate, you'll be listening to the Women's Institute choir."

"I'll be sure to bring my earplugs—Ethel Bainbridge is tone deaf." He perched on the edge of the piano stool, and I shuffled over to accommodate him. "What's happened to your mother's usual brand of entertainment?"

"The pianist's broken her finger, and I can't find a piano tuner between Newcastle and Paris who isn't booked solid for the next three days."

"Nothing like leaving it to the last minute."

"Mother only told me it needed tuning yesterday morning."

"That reminds me of the time my mother informed me the day of her winter ball that it was a themed affair. Finding a dry cleaner to get the Chateau Petrus stain out of my white tuxedo with four hours' notice gave me palpitations."

I smothered a giggle. At least I wasn't the only one to suffer in the name of entertainment. Gregory squeezed my hand, and his sweetness in my hour of defeat made me lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder.

"Anything I can do to help?" he asked.

"Not unless you happen to know a concert pianist."

"As it happens, I do. Stéphane and I went to school together."

I watched from the piano stool as Gregory stood by the window on the phone, speaking first in English then in French. For a moment, I thought of Midnight, but Gregory wasn't him—of that I was certain. While Gregory showed a kind side, he didn't make my insides go all funny like Mr. M, and I couldn't imagine him getting experimental with chocolate strawberries or a riding crop.

But today, Gregory became my hero.

"Stéphane will play for an hour at eight, and his piano tuner owes him a favour."

"He'll come here?"

"At some point tomorrow. I'll confirm the time when Stéphane calls back. While we're waiting, would you care to accompany me to lunch?"

After the good turn he'd just done me, I'd have accompanied him to a burlesque club if it took his fancy. "I'd love to. That's very kind."

Gregory held out his hand, and I slid my sweaty palm into it, wishing I'd had the chance to wipe it on my jeans first.

"Where to?" he asked. "La Rive?"

If he wanted to go French, I'd have preferred french fries and a juicy hamburger to nouvelle cuisine, but I could hardly say that, could I?

"Sounds wonderful."

The caretaker glanced sideways at us as Gregory led me across the ballroom, no doubt glad he'd be able to get back to his cleaning. Should I apologise for my earlier outburst? I'd just opened my mouth to say sorry when the faint smell of lime hit me.

Gregory held me up as I tripped over my feet and fell against him, and with my nose buried in his chest, I sure as hell knew the aroma wasn't emanating from him. Nor was it me. Yes, I'd had Dorothy buy me my very own bottle of lime shower gel, but I hadn't opened it yet. Which left...

I snuck a sideways glance at the caretaker, but he was fiddling with the floor-polishing machine. Could it be...? No, no, it was probably just a coincidence. After all, lime shower gel was most likely available at the supermarket along with strawberries, chocolate, and condoms.

The caretaker stretched forward, his overalls tightening against his buttocks, and I gasped. If the way the fabric lay taut against them was any indication, he could have had a second career as one of Sapphire's cover models.

"Are you okay?" Gregory asked, concern radiating from his eyes.

My head bobbed up and down of its own accord. "I thought I was going to sneeze."

As he wrapped one arm around my waist, I took one last glance back at the caretaker as we exited the room. The man kept his head down, eyes fixed on the floor. Shyness? Disinterest? Or a fear I might recognise him?

Dammit! The caretaker. Could I have slept with the bloody caretaker?

If so, he was right about one thing. He definitely wasn't the kind of man my mother would welcome at the dinner table.

"Dorothy, have you got a moment?"

The housekeeper smoothed out the sheet on Angie's bed and straightened. "Of course, ma'am."

"Please, call me Augusta. Or Gus." I'd asked her a thousand times over the years, but she still shook her head.

"Mrs. Fordham won't allow it, ma'am."

Damn my mother and her snooty tendencies. "Never mind. My reading lamp has stopped working, and I'm not sure if it's the bulb or the fuse. Do you think the caretaker might be able to help?"

Despite being in her late fifties, Dorothy blushed and averted her eyes. "I'm sure he would, ma'am. Beau's very capable."

Beau. So that was his name. I'd asked Angie earlier, but she hadn't had a clue, and mother most probably called him "Hey, you." Much like I had in the ballroom, in fact. I cringed at the memory.

"Do you know where I might find Beau?"

Dorothy glanced at her watch. "He usually rakes the gravel on the drive before lunch. Speaking of lunch, would you like something to eat?"

Lunch? Even the thought of food made me feel ill. Yesterday, Gregory had been surprisingly attentive on our date to La Rive, probably because he didn't have anyone more interesting to talk to, but I'd been so distracted by thoughts of Beau's bottom I'd barely been able to eat. I'd stomached the starter then given up halfway through the main course, citing a headache.

And what did Gregory do? Carried on his charm campaign by passing me a packet of paracetamol.

I'd felt terribly guilty as he handed over his credit card to the waiter then drove me home—guilty enough to agree to dinner with him next Tuesday, a move I regretted because if Beau was Mr. Midnight, and if he found out I was seeing another man, he'd most likely think I was a bit of a slut. And I couldn't blame him.

"I'm not hungry at the moment, thank you," I told Dorothy.

"Well, just you let me know if you change your mind. Cook's prepared a lovely quiche."

Rather than go outside, I climbed the stairs to the third-floor landing where a window overlooked the fountain in the centre of the drive. Sure enough, Dorothy was right. Beau leaned over to pluck a weed from the gravel then resumed raking, something mother insisted on to keep up appearances with the neighbours.

Even from that distance, there was no mistaking his muscular physique. The moment my suspicions were aroused, my first thought had been _how dare he?_ How dare he, the caretaker, encourage me into doing those filthy things with him? But later yesterday evening, when I'd purged Mother's prejudices from my mind, "how dare he" turned into "thank goodness he did."

That's assuming he truly was Mr. Midnight. Beau didn't have the monopoly on a tight butt and solid thighs, although admittedly they were in short supply around Sandlebury. Believe me, I knew. Angie had spent the last decade searching and enjoyed updating me on every sordid detail.

Gah! I had to find out. I needed to speak to the man, but I could hardly just walk up to him and ask whether, by any chance, he'd happened to bend me over a chaise longue and take me from behind, could I? Would I recognise his voice? Probably not. Midnight's words had been half whispered, and my mind hadn't exactly been concerned with memorising his speech patterns.

No, Operation Midnight required a subtler approach, and maybe, just maybe, another night-time romp—purely for research purposes, you understand.

**CHAPTER 9**

"BEAU?"

HE TURNED in the hallway, the peak from his baseball cap shading his eyes. His gaze remained firmly aimed at his feet.

"Yes, ma'am?"

Wonderful, Mother had got to him too. "Augusta, please."

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Lips that had kissed mine? I sensed a certain familiarity, unless my overactive imagination was playing tricks.

"Not allowed to call you that, ma'am."

"Okay, sir." I stressed the second word. Two could play at that game. "I'd like to get some more bookshelves installed in the study I share with Angie. Is that something you can do?"

"I'm sure I can."

Beau's accent sounded pure English, without a hint of the sexy French lilt Midnight slipped in on occasion. And he had a beard. It may have been a short beard, and neatly trimmed, but Midnight definitely didn't have a beard at all. Not even stubble. Could I have been mistaken?

"Really? I wasn't sure how good you were with your hands."

That got me a proper smile, even if he did try to hide it behind his fist. "Rest assured, I'm very good with my hands, ma'am. I'll measure up early next week."

The way he said that, confidently with a touch of humour, belied the shyness exuding from his exterior. Oh yes, Beau was definitely hiding something.

"Thank you so much. A girl can never have too many books."

As I walked off, a plan formed in my mind. If Beau was indeed Midnight, and he met me after the party on Saturday, surely he'd come clean-shaven like the other times? So, all I had to do was find him on Sunday and see whether he was still sporting a beard.

And if his face was smooth? Well, I'd have a lot of thinking to do. If I convinced him to bring this...this thing between us out into the light, I'd have my parents' disapproval to deal with, not to mention being the talk of the village. Girls like me just weren't supposed to date the household help, no matter what Lady Anne might have done with Rufus.

Saturday night, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The piano tuner had done his thing, although my ears couldn't tell the difference, and Stéphane the pianist was talking to Gregory while the string quartet played a Vivaldi medley. Even mother was smiling, and the grudging "well done, darling" she'd given me earlier was high praise indeed.

I'd gone with a navy blue silk dress tonight, knee length with a flared skirt, chosen not for its glamour but for easy access. Yes, it was official—I'd turned into a brazen hussy. The mere thought of wrapping my lips around Midnight's unmentionables left me salivating.

"See something you like?" Angie's voice in my ear startled me.

"Huh?"

She nodded in Gregory's direction, and I belatedly realised I'd been staring towards him while my thoughts were elsewhere.

"Oh, er, yes. I guess so."

"He likes you too."

"Does he?" Apart from a brief hello and a peck on the cheek, he'd barely been near me all evening.

"Definitely. I heard it from Susan, who heard it from Chloe, and Chloe's always right about things like this. Rumour has it Gregory's going to invite you on a mini-break to the family cottage in the Lake District."

I should have been excited, but instead, my heart sank. With Midnight dominating my every waking thought, heading off for a cosy weekend with another man was the last thing I wanted to do. I took a long gulp of champagne then coughed as it went down the wrong way.

Angie thumped me on the back. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," cough, "fine."

"Ooh, look. Here's Gregory to take care of you. I'll leave the pair of you alone."

Hooray, he'd come over just in time for my eyes to start watering. I imagined mascara running down my face as I attempted a smile.

"Can I get you a glass of water?" he asked.

"I'm good with the wine, thank you." Spoken like a true alcoholic.

"Perhaps if you tried drinking it a little more slowly?" He took my arm and guided me over to a seat. "Stéphane's about to play. I thought we could listen together."

As I hadn't seen any sign of Beau, I didn't have a good reason to decline. Although memories of Midnight wearing a suit the first time I met him and a tuxedo the second still niggled at me—what reason could a caretaker have for owning such garments?

"Canapé?" a waiter asked.

I squinted at the pastry cases filled with white dollops on his tray. "What are they?"

He looked panicked. "I'm not sure, ma'am."

Gregory picked up one of the offending morsels and bit into it. "Some sort of cheese."

Nope, I definitely didn't want stinky breath when I met Midnight. "I'll pass."

I fidgeted through half an hour of small talk and sonatas before my phone vibrated against my thigh, sending my pulse into a frenzy.

"Would you excuse me a moment?"

Gregory reached over and squeezed my hand—a small gesture but a proprietary one coming from a man who didn't seem to be the touchy-feely type. "Of course."

Luckily, I didn't have to resort to the cupboard this time, and I dashed into the nearest cloakroom and locked the door. What did he want?

_Angie: So bored by this music. Yawn. Gone out for a drive with Andreas. Don't wait up._

A long sigh escaped my lips. All that build-up and it was only my sister heading for another one-night stand. Normally, she didn't bother to tell me, but she'd been chasing Andreas for almost six months, so I guess she wanted me to congratulate her.

_Me: Well done. Think of me while you're off having fun._

_Angie: My head will be full of other things. And my mouth._

Too much information. I'd written out half a snarky reply when my phone vibrated again, and this time my heart deserved its palpitations.

_Mr. M: Meet me at midnight. I'm sure you can guess where._

My story—he'd read it! Which meant in two and a half hours I'd be off for a romp in the back of my grandfather's vintage Cadillac, a beauty he'd spent ages lovingly restoring, but which had barely been driven since his death eight years ago. I missed him so much. Of all the people in my family, he and Angie were the only ones who hadn't been blessed with a sense-of-humour bypass. Perhaps that was another reason I enjoyed Midnight's company so much. He had wit as well as a delicious cock.

But before I could sample his wares again, I had to spend another two hours in purgatory.

Under normal circumstances, and by normal, I meant where I wasn't screwing a stranger on a regular basis, I might have been happy with the attention Gregory paid me for the rest of the evening. At one point, he even gave Lord Wordsworth the brush-off in favour of accompanying me to the cocktail bar mother had set up in one corner. I needed the alcohol to calm my nerves.

"Augusta?"

A voice came from behind me, and I turned to find a friend of my sister's making the most of the free drinks. He had one in each hand. Where did he think he was—a university piss-up?

"Good evening... I'm sorry; I don't remember your name?"

"Giles." His gaze dropped to my chest and lingered there. "Have you seen Angie?"

"No, I haven't."

"Never mind. Fancy coming back to my place? We're having an after-party with better music."

Gregory's arm wrapped around my waist, his hand settling on my right hip. "No, she doesn't."

Giles swayed like an oversized Weeble, and wine sloshed over the side of his glasses. "Wasn't asking you."

"He's right. I don't want to go to your house."

Giles gave me one last lecherous sweep with his eyes then stumbled off, much to my relief. I thought Gregory would remove his hand, but his arm only tightened.

"Would you care to dance?"

At least if I was dancing, I'd have something to concentrate on other than the ticking hand of my wristwatch. I nodded, and as the string quartet struck up a waltz, Gregory led me to a corner of the ballroom commandeered as a makeshift dance floor.

He was an excellent dancer, hardly surprising when, like me, he'd have been fitted for a pair of dance shoes the moment he learned to walk. As he whisked me around in perfect time to the music, I wondered about Midnight's dancing ability. Did he know ballroom? Or merely two-left-feet-while-drunk-in-a-club? If his horizontal tango gave any indication, he was probably a Latin champion.

"Did I tell you how stunning you look in that dress, Augusta?" Gregory asked.

Not once until now. "No, but thank you."

"How very remiss of me. You always look wonderful, but that outfit complements your eyes. It really brings out that gorgeous blue."

Dammit, why did Gregory have to turn on the charm tonight of all nights? If not for Midnight, I'd most likely have been flattered, but now all I felt was...confusion. On paper, Gregory ticked every box for a girl like me—handsome, wealthy, well-respected—and most importantly, he came with my family's seal of approval. Then there was the loose cannon, Midnight, complete with magic balls.

At the moment, neither of their intentions were clear. And my feelings? Well, they weren't clear either.

Gregory seemed slightly put out when I declined his offer to walk me back to the annex just before midnight, but I was running late.

"I'll see you for lunch next week," I said. "I'm looking forward to it."

He gave me a half smile. "Do you have a preference on the restaurant?"

"Maybe somewhere a little less posh than last time?"

A puzzled look crossed his face then he laughed. "You do amuse me, Augusta."

"How about pizza?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

Hey, it wasn't as if I'd suggested a roadside kebab van.

"Pizza." He rolled the word on his tongue like it was a foreign language. "All right, I'll arrange a table at a pizzeria."

I shoved Gregory to the furthest recesses of my mind as I hurried towards the six-car garage at the back of the estate. Father kept his collection there—the investments he rarely drove. The everyday vehicles—his chauffeur-driven Bentley, the Jaguar, and the Land Rover—all lived in a smaller garage at the side of the house, while my Volkswagen Polo and Angie's Beetle were relegated to the carport.

As I got closer, my steps slowed. Although Beau would most likely know the key code, he couldn't use it without giving me a big clue as to his identity. No, he'd wait outside.

"Augusta?" The words from my side were followed almost immediately by an arm wrapping around my waist.

"It's a bit late if I'm not."

His throaty chuckle rumbled through me. "I felt you coming."

"Doesn't that happen later?" I blurted.

I couldn't help joining in as he burst out laughing. "Most certainly does, _mon cœur_." His voice dropped to a whisper. "On my tongue and around my cock."

Every muscle in my belly clenched, and I trembled against him. Thoughts of the mystery surrounding his identity fled, leaving just me and Midnight, two souls with an insatiable hunger for each other and a penchant for dirty sex.

"I need to get the door open."

He swept my hair to the side and brushed his lips across the sensitive skin on the back of my neck as I fumbled with the door code. In the dark with finger shaking, I struggled to get the damn numbers right.

"I keep getting it wrong," I muttered.

The light from a torch made me jump as Midnight helped me out by illuminating the keypad. I snuck a glance sideways at his face, but it remained in shadow.

The code was 1-8-0-4-2-3-0-9, my parents' combined birthdays. The lock clicked and we fell inside, slamming the door behind us. Midnight shone the torch around, pausing for a second on my father's Ferrari F40.

"Nice. Which one?"

"At the far end. Father doesn't bother to lock it."

He took my hand and led me towards the 1962 Cadillac, and I realised he'd picked up a bag somewhere along the way.

"What's in there?"

"A blanket. I don't want you getting cold."

"There's no danger of that."

Midnight opened the back door for me, his hand resting on my bottom. "Your chariot awaits, Miss Fordham."

I ducked under the canvas roof and half sprawled across the bench seat. So much for being ladylike. Still, it didn't matter because as soon as I'd wriggled onto my back, Midnight was on me, supporting himself on one elbow as his lips met mine.

While I'd attended the local private school followed by an elite university for the best education money could buy, I very much suspected Midnight had studied for a degree in kissing followed by a PhD in sex—the man was a master when it came to making my body sing. He left me well and truly breathless as he moved his hands downwards, pausing where my cleavage peeped from the top of my dress.

"You like the outfit?" I asked.

"No, I hate it. Take it off."

Fabric ripped as I struggled to obey him, and he took pity and gave me a hand with the zipper. Luckily, he'd gone with a T-shirt again, so it only took me a second to drag it off over his head, then we were skin on skin. I reached for his belt, but he stopped me.

"Not yet. I'm having fun with you first."

"But—"

"Shhh. Patience is a virtue."

"I'm about to shag a stranger in the back of a car. Do I seem very virtuous to you?"

"Fair point, Miss Fordham, but you wrote the story, and I'm following your plot."

He dipped his head and sucked on one nipple, causing it to pebble in the cool night air.

"Can't I change it?"

"No. Besides, your body isn't complaining."

Okay, it wasn't. Meanwhile, my brain was trying to analyse his voice. Did it sound like Beau's? Difficult to tell, seeing as we'd barely spoken. I thought Midnight sounded huskier, with a hint of a French accent creeping in occasionally, but then his mouth moved lower and I gave up trying to think at all. By the time he plunged inside me, I'd gone mushy from two orgasms and was well on my way to a third. No matter how creative I got, or how many times I turned to the thesaurus, I'd never be able to put into words how good he made me feel. My books were a poor imitation of the real thing.

And now I clenched around Midnight and fell over the cliff once more as he gave a long groan and filled me with his heat.

"No other girl will ever make me feel the way you do, _trésor_."

Now I was his treasure as well? "But you barely know me."

"I know enough." He reached outside the car, coming back minus the condom but with the blanket in his arms. "Here, I don't want you catching a chill."

He manhandled me so I was lying half on top of him, half on the seat, then covered us both with the blanket and tucked an arm around my waist. After his abrupt departure following our first encounter, I was grateful to have this time with him, this closeness. I reached up and traced the contours of his face with one finger—his straight nose, a pair of high cheekbones, that strong jaw. Was he Beau? He felt similar to how I'd imagine Beau feeling, minus the beard of course, but I couldn't be sure.

And if he was Beau, what did our future hold? A series of anonymous yet spectacular trysts or something more? My mind drifted back to earlier in the evening, to my time with Gregory and the way we'd fitted together on the dance floor. He'd been different tonight—kinder, more attentive. And he certainly had the means to give me every material thing I could wish for.

Not only did he have a good job, but he came from money and understood the way my world worked. Did Beau? Did he know his Chateau Petrus from his Chardonnay? His Brahms from his Beyoncé? And did I want to find out?

**CHAPTER 10**

"FUCK! WHAT TIME is it?"

Midnight's curse bit through the air, and I stirred from my slumber, face plastered against...hell! I'd fallen asleep on his chest. Please, say I hadn't drooled.

"I don't know," I mumbled.

It was still dark, but rather than being pitch black, the sky was a dark grey through the corner of the garage window.

The screen of his watch glowed an eerie green. Almost four a.m.—we'd been dead to the world for at least two hours.

"My leg's gone to sleep," he said, stretching it into the footwell.

"Other parts of you haven't." And right now, his cock was twitching against my hip.

A zing of electricity shot straight to my _chatte_ as he nibbled my earlobe. "That's because I was dreaming about you, _trésor_."

"That makes two of us. Not about me, about you," I hastened to clarify. "Can we...?"

He glanced towards the window, and I knew what he was thinking. Would he get away before dawn broke? Part of me longed to tell him I already had a good idea of his identity, but my head overruled. Making a decision in the heat of the moment had the potential to end in disaster—I needed to confirm for certain then have a long, hard think about my future.

"It'll be fast."

"What are you waiting for?"

One rough digit stroked between my legs before sliding inside me. "I see you're ready. Guess you weren't kidding about that dream."

"No, I wasn't."

"And what was I doing to you?"

Oh, _merde_ , why did I start this? Writing my filthy thoughts down was one thing, but voicing them to the man who caused me to have them in the first place? "Uh, it doesn't matter." His finger stilled deep inside me, and a whimper escaped my lips. "Please."

"Tell me."

Even in the dark, I still closed my eyes. "Fine. I was bent over my desk in the pool house."

"Is that what we're doing next time, then?"

He was already planning a next time? My head warned me I shouldn't be getting in so deep, but my body, on the other hand, thought it was an excellent idea. "If you're up for that?"

"I'm always up when you're around."

With a bit of shuffling, he manoeuvred us so he was on top, and the rip of foil told me he'd sheathed himself. Seconds later his cock nudged at my entrance. Despite his insistence to the contrary, he took his time as he slid inside me to the root then paused while I stretched to accommodate him.

"Perfect fit," he whispered.

And at that moment, lying on the backseat of an old Cadillac, I could almost believe we were.

It may have been a quickie, but the orgasm still made me tingle from my fingertips to my toes, and from the way Midnight stiffened as he came, the feeling was mutual. But all too quickly, he pulled away.

"We'd better get home," he whispered, and my heart sank. Would it always be like this?

I reached out to caress his gorgeous muscles one last time before they disappeared under his shirt, then I wriggled back into my dress. "Where are my knickers? Have you seen them?" I realised what I'd said. "Or felt them?"

"No." A strong hand reached under my dress and cupped my ass. "But I prefer you without."

"Be serious—I can't leave them lying around in my grandfather's car."

The torch flicked on, pausing on my chest for a second before Midnight swept the beam around the Cadillac. Ah, my errant thong had draped itself over the back of the passenger seat. I hastily finished dressing while Mr. M rolled up the blanket.

A minute later, the magical night came to an abrupt end as he kissed me by the edge of the lawn.

"Until next time," he whispered, his fingers sliding out of my grip.

"Good night," I whispered, but even as I said it, my insides churned. How much longer would my heart allow me to keep doing this?

I took my shoes off just inside the front door so I didn't wake Angie as I crept across the parquet floor downstairs, but it was pointless.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" Her voice coming from the dimly lit lounge made me jump.

Busted. "I forgot about the time."

"You're not kidding, but that wasn't my question."

"Er..."

She walked over, now wearing a dressing gown rather than her party frock. "What happened to your dress?"

I glanced down at the torn seam on the shoulder, unsure how to answer as she took a delicate sniff.

"Flipping heck—you reek of sex." Her jaw dropped. "You've been with Gregory!"

"No, I haven't."

"Well, you've been with somebody. I haven't seen you this doolally since Ben Durham kissed you on the cheek in primary school when you were ten years old."

Dammit, Angie knew me too well to fall for a lie. "It wasn't Gregory."

"You picked up another man at the party? Wow, that's...brazen."

"It didn't happen like that. My liaison was kind of...prearranged."

Angie's whoop of delight made my head pound at that time in the morning. "Hang on, you lined up a man for a shag? Gus, I'm shocked. And pleased—it's about time you lost the chastity belt. So, who's the lucky guy?"

"Nobody you know."

"Try me. I know every eligible man in the county."

"It's not quite as simple as that. I don't exactly know who he is either."

"Huh?"

I sagged back onto the sofa, and Angie took a seat next to me as the story of Midnight came tumbling out, minus the graphic details. I also left out my suspicions as to his true identity. At the end, Angie shook her head.

"I can't believe you did that. Have you secretly turned into me?"

"You've met a stranger for sex in the dark?"

"No, but if a hot guy offered, I'd seriously consider it. And you're sure you've got no idea who he is?"

"I'm ninety percent sure I'd never spoken to him until that first night. Just from our encounters, I get the impression he doesn't fit in our social group."

The smile fell from Angie's face, and she gripped my hand. "Then you're playing with fire."

"You think I haven't already worked that out?"

"No, I mean it. Mother will be furious if she finds out."

"She's always disappointed in me. What's new?"

"She'll be worse than disappointed." A sadness that I'd never seen before came into Angie's eyes, and she wiped away a tear. "Do you remember Mark Anderson?"

"Didn't you date him in our first year of uni?" That was her longest relationship ever—six months, while the rest could usually be measured in hours. It was after Mark that Angie had taken up her wild lifestyle. "And dump him because you didn't want to be tied down?"

"That's what I told everyone, but it wasn't true. Mother found out about us—I never did find out how—and told me that if I kept seeing the son of a welder, I could kiss my inheritance goodbye."

A chill ran down my spine. "She really said that?"

Angie nodded and wiped at her face with a sleeve. "We're not having a commoner marrying into this family, Angelica," she mimicked, and another tear rolled down her cheek. "Your books aren't like real life, _Sapphire_. We can't all be Lady Anne and marry the chimney sweep's son then live happily ever after."

I didn't want to believe my mother could say such a thing, but at the same time, I knew Angie spoke the truth. "I'm so sorry."

"Why do you think I party so much now? As long as I only fuck men with money, she can hardly tell me to stop, can she? I think she's secretly hoping one of them will stick."

I pulled my sister into a hug, shedding my own tears, both for her ending with Mark and my relationship with Midnight. Because if Mother had hated Angie's economics student, she'd surely hate me cavorting with the caretaker. Damn her and her outdated ideas about breeding and class.

"What am I supposed to do?" I whispered.

"I don't know, but you also need to think about Gregory. The man really likes you."

"At first he treated me like an inconvenience, but the last few times I've seen him..." I suspected Angie may be right.

"Look, from what you've said, your stranger won't ask to meet up again until mother's next party. Why don't you get to know Gregory a bit better in that time? You might find he can offer you more, plus he gets mother's seal of approval."

"Are you happy with your life now? Did you make the right decision about Mark, or do you look back and wonder 'what if?'"

Angie gave a not-so-ladylike sniffle. "Of course I do. But it might not have turned out a fairy tale. I could have ended up sitting in a council flat living on baked beans and jacket potatoes, praying for my lottery numbers to come up."

"Or you could have ended up falling asleep next to the man you loved every night, working as an economist like you once wanted to."

"Well, it's too late now." She grasped both my hands in hers. "Promise me you won't make any hasty decisions, Gus. Don't sacrifice your birthright for a stupid fling."

"I won't; I promise." My decision would be one I gave a great deal of consideration, but I didn't rule out the idea altogether.

"And if you stay out late again, make sure you call me. I've been worried sick."

That I could agree to. "Deal."

The next morning found me yawning as I climbed the stairs to the third floor of the main house, clutching a pair of opera glasses. Would Beau be raking the drive this morning? Or had he decided to do something a little less strenuous? I was so tired after last night that even putting one foot in front of the other felt like a chore.

The padded window seat with its decorative cushions looked so inviting I just wanted to curl up on it and sleep, but I forced myself to squint through the glass. A lone figure stood halfway to the front gate, hunched over as he smoothed the gravel, a pointless task if ever there was one. Someone would drive over it within the hour.

Come on, look up.

A minute later, my wish was granted. Beau glanced to the sky, and even though I'd expected it, I still gasped at the sight of his hairless chin.

Beau was Mr. Midnight, no doubt about it. And now I had the hardest decision of my life to make.

As I watched him at work, a white van drove past and stopped outside the front door. There—not even an hour. Now he'd have to do that bit again.

My thoughts were interrupted by Dorothy calling me from downstairs, a hint of excitement in her voice.

"Miss Augusta? Ma'am?"

Mother always taught me not to yell, so I hurried down the stairs and found Dorothy in the hallway, holding a huge bunch of lilies. Yellow mixed with pink. Pollen dropped onto the carpet with every step Dorothy took.

"They came for you, ma'am."

I plucked the card from between the blooms, fingers shaking as I opened the tiny envelope.

_My dearest Augusta, _

_I hope you enjoyed last night as much as I did._

_Gregory._

I confess my heart sank, and I realised with a start that I'd hoped the bouquet had been sent by Midnight. But why would he? We only had sex—that was our unwritten agreement. It seemed Gregory was the hearts and flowers guy.

"Aren't they lovely?" Dorothy said. "I'll find a vase and bring them to the annex."

"Thank you."

Meanwhile, I needed to compose a suitable response to Gregory. I considered phoning, but if he was at work, I didn't want to disturb him. A text message would have to do for now.

_Me: Thank you so much for the flowers. They're beautiful._

With no desire to see Mother this morning for another lecture about wearing jeans, I headed back to the annex, thinking only of bed. But before I could crawl back under the duvet, my phone buzzed.

_Gregory: Not as beautiful as you. Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to lunch tomorrow?_

Angie's words echoed in my mind as I tapped out a reply.

_Me: I'd love to. What time? And where shall we meet?_

_Gregory: I'll pick you up at twelve thirty._

**CHAPTER 11**

GREGORY BROUGHT HIS town car again, only this time he opened the door for me himself rather than letting the chauffeur do it. Once inside, he smiled at me across the middle seat.

"Thank you for coming today."

"It's my pleasure."

"Still..." He took a deep breath, and I sensed he wanted to get something off his chest. "After the way I acted on our first two encounters, I'm surprised you agreed. I behaved like a dolt. I confess, I only agreed to see you because Mother insisted, and I had no idea quite how lovely you'd turn out to be."

My heart fluttered at his words. "It's okay."

"No, it's not, and I intend to do everything in my power to make it up to you. I've grown really rather fond of you, Augusta."

Oh, hell. I should have been over the moon at Gregory's declaration, but the thrill was tempered by thoughts of Midnight. The driver glanced at us in the rear-view mirror, the nosy git, as Gregory reached across and twined his fingers in mine. A warmth flowed through me, a happiness at being wanted by a man I'd considered out of my league, but far from the inferno that consumed me during Midnight's illicit liaisons. Gregory and I rode on in companionable silence until the car pulled up outside Trattoria Luigi, a small Italian place that got rave reviews from every critic.

Gregory turned to me with a smile. "Pizza, right?"

I'd been thinking more of Pizza Express, but I couldn't deny he'd put the effort in. "It's perfect, thank you."

Gregory's hand rested on the small of my back as he steered me towards the best table in the house then waved the waiter away so he could pull out my chair himself.

"I've never been here before," he said. "Have you?"

"A couple of times with my sister."

"Ah yes, how is Angelica?"

"She's fine."

"Busy with her next book?"

"As always."

The waiter stopped by with menus, but I'd already decided what I wanted: Pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. Gregory ordered lasagne. Conversation flowed over two courses, easy talk about people we both knew from the old days and the new.

"Do you still fence?" I asked.

"Goodness, no. Its origins were in violence, and I'm a pacifist now. One thing my wife—ex-wife—taught me was that war is never the answer."

Ah yes, his ex-wife. What was the story there? Curiosity burned inside, but I didn't dare to ask. Was Phillipa's tale true? I decided to save that question for Angie later. After all, she knew every bit of gossip in a three-county radius.

"But what if the enemy doesn't hold the same beliefs about fighting? If they're bombing us, we're supposed to sit back and take it?"

He smiled, fork halfway to his mouth. "That's where dialogue comes in."

I wasn't sure I entirely agreed with him over that, but did it matter? Could two people have a relationship without agreeing on every little thing? Rupert had tended to share my views, to the extent that he often changed his to match, and sometimes his lack of backbone had annoyed me. I covered my eyes with one hand as I thought back to my brief marriage. That had been a match chosen by Mother, and where had it got me?

"Are you okay, darling?" Gregory asked.

"Great. Couldn't be better. This pizza tastes wonderful."

I'd been looking forward to homemade gelato for dessert, but Gregory assumed I didn't want any and called for the bill. Perhaps it was for the best—after all, three courses was hardly conducive to fitting into my dress for Mother's masquerade ball in two weeks' time. My deadline. I needed to make a decision by then—either to see where things went with the man sitting before me or throw myself at Beau's feet and my mother's mercy.

In the car on the way, Gregory held my hand across the middle seat once more, and every so often he glanced over and smiled. Oh, how I wished I could read minds. I wanted to know how he truly felt about me beneath his charming facade.

As it happened, he helped me out with that as the car pulled to a halt in front of my home.

"I had a marvellous time today," he said. "Thank you for accompanying me. Who knew Italian food could taste so good?"

"The company was lovely too."

He beamed, showing off the benefits of his LA dental work. "I second that. Augusta, I'd very much like to see you again, to see where this takes us. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind for the last week."

What was the old saying about buses? First there aren't any, then two come along at once? Well, men were like buses, it seemed, not that I'd had any firsthand experience of public transport.

And the clock was ticking.

"I'd like that too. How about dinner later this week?"

"Splendid. Do you want to choose the cuisine again?"

"No, you pick. Surprise me."

Although even as the words left my mouth, I doubted anything would ever top Midnight and his chocolate-covered strawberries.

Angie was sitting in the study when I got back, posting messages to Sapphire's legion of Facebook fans.

"Good date?"

"Better than I thought it would be. Everything going okay with work?"

Speaking of work, I really needed to do some.

"I got a bit behind. The caretaker came in to measure for some shelves you asked about, and it was difficult to concentrate with him here."

"Why? Was he noisy?"

"No, hot."

My eyes widened, and Angie laughed.

"Don't worry, I'm not planning to slum it with the staff. But a girl can look, right? He's certainly an improvement on old Gerald, although that's not difficult seeing as Gerald had two chins and more wrinkles than a Shar-Pei. But enough with trivialities—I want to hear about Gregory. Has he kissed you yet?"

"Nope."

"Wonder what he's waiting for?"

"Perhaps because he's a gentleman? But you need to help me—what happened with his ex-wife? He mentioned her once, and I'm curious about why they got divorced."

"I'm not sure, but let me call Mathilda. If anybody knows, it'll be her."

I sat down and opened my laptop, but the words wouldn't come, and I ended up staring at a blank screen. Even peaceful music and a cup of coffee didn't help with my writer's block. I'd barely got two sentences typed by the time Angie sat on the desk in front of me half an hour later, blocking my view of the depressingly short paragraph.

"Apparently Gregory's ex cited irreconcilable differences in the divorce papers, but word is she complained to friends that he didn't look after her properly. Said he didn't pay her enough attention. Although Mathilda reckons he bought her a new Mercedes convertible a month before they split, so I don't know what she was moaning about."

So, Philippa's story was indeed true, it seemed. "Money doesn't buy happiness."

"But it does buy Louboutins and Chanel handbags, and that's the same thing."

"I'm not sure about that."

"Look at our parents—Father's away for work half the time, and you don't see Mother getting upset over it."

"But what about love?"

My parents' relationship was more akin to a business transaction, and after my talk with Angie in the early hours of Sunday morning, I thought I'd detected a softening of her heart.

"Love doesn't always win."

"Sometimes you need to fight for it."

"And sometimes you need to accept defeat graciously and make the best of what you have."

"You think I should choose Gregory, don't you?"

"I wish you didn't have to, but I think it would be best for everyone. Nobody wants to face Mother's wrath, least of all you and your stranger. Think about how difficult she'd make his life."

Another problem I hadn't thought of. Mother's ire wouldn't only affect me. Could I bear to line Midnight up in her sights and wait for her to blast both barrels?

Maybe Angie was right, and a relationship with Gregory would be the kindest thing for everyone.

Another day, and another posh restaurant, this time quintessentially British. Dishes included a traditional roast dinner and macaroni and cheese—my go-to comfort food.

"Two portions of the game pie," Gregory told the waiter. I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. "Trust me—it's delicious."

I'd never been the biggest fan of game, but Mother was always telling me to expand my horizons. "I'm sure it will be."

"So, have you had a busy week? What is it you do for your sister exactly? I understand you're her personal assistant?"

"I help with book marketing, advertising on social media, organising events, sending out promotional copies, that sort of thing." Everything Angie did for me. "It's been quite a busy time, what with the book launch coming up next week."

"What's involved in that?"

"Angie will be doing signings at three local stores and four in London, a few interviews, plus we've got the masquerade ball at the end of it."

"Ah, yes. I'm very much looking forward to attending."

"Do you have your costume organised?"

"Our butler assures me it's all in hand. How about you?"

Back when the idea of the masquerade ball first came up almost four months ago, and before Midnight made an appearance, I'd sketched out my dress based on the picture of Lady Anne in my head. Dorothy had spent weeks sewing the outfit for me, although the idea of wearing it anywhere near Mr. M now gave me the jitters.

"My dress is almost finished."

"I'm sure you'll look wonderful."

Dinner arrived, and despite my reservations, I had to concede Gregory was right—the game pie did taste good. Rich and flavoursome with crisp pastry, I'd certainly order it again.

"I hate to say I told you so..." he said.

"But you did. Thank you."

"A friend of mine co-owns this place. The pheasants come from his estate."

"Please pass on my appreciation."

"I'll be sure to do that. Can I tempt you with apple crumble for dessert?"

"Does he grow the apples as well?"

Gregory roared with laughter, even though my question had been serious. "Not much fun in hunting apples, but I believe they buy in fresh produce every day."

Dessert tasted every bit as good as the main course, the tartness of the apples offset by creamy vanilla ice cream. The intimate setting, discreet staff, and good company all made for the perfect second proper date. I didn't count the business dinner Gregory had taken me to when he was behaving like a prick.

On the way home in his town car, Gregory shuffled as close as the seatbelt would allow, holding my hand again. He had a surgeon's hands, with long, slender fingers, soft skin, and buffed nails. I tried to imagine them roaming over my body, but no matter how much I willed it, I didn't feel the same shiver of excitement I got every time I thought about Midnight. Would Gregory ever be capable of that sort of passion?

When he climbed out of the car behind me back at home, I wondered if I'd find out.

"I'll walk you to the door," he said, settling one hand lightly around my waist.

"Thank you." My voice came out croaky.

We walked in silence, and my nerves built. Would he invite himself in for coffee, or more?

He stopped outside the annex, but when I reached for the keypad, he gently grasped my hand. "I had a wonderful time tonight, darling."

"Me too."

His head dipped towards mine, and in the glow from the hall window, his lips parted slightly. Holy hell, he was going to kiss me! I felt a momentary panic—only two other men's lips had ever touched mine. What if I messed it up?

I closed my eyes as he pressed against me, his kiss soft at first then deepening as I yielded. One touch of his tongue and he pulled back, smiling wide.

"You're a very special girl, Augusta."

"Er, thanks?"

"I'll see you at the ball."

He disappeared into the darkness, Midnight-fashion, leaving me to process what just happened. He'd kissed me. And it was nice. Not earth-shattering, toe-curling, spine-tingling, or any of those things. Just...nice.

Could I settle for nice? Could I go through the rest of my life without experiencing the fire Midnight lit inside me? At that moment, I wasn't sure.

I shuffled inside and found Angie waiting in the lounge.

"So?"

"So what?"

"I'd half expected you to bring Gregory back with you."

"He kissed me and left."

Angie clapped her hands and grinned. "He kissed you? That's something, at least."

"Yeah, it was something."

I wandered through to the study. I did my best thinking in there, surrounded by my books, my old desk, all my familiar treasures. And...what was that?

"Where did these come from?"

I ran a hand along the polished wooden shelves, fitted perfectly into the alcove next to the printer. A stupid question, because I already knew the answer.

"The caretaker came by and put them up. I thought you'd arranged it with him?"

"Sort of."

My heart clenched as I realised what that meant—Beau knew I'd gone out with Gregory, because twice he'd come around while I was on dates. How did that make Beau feel? Upset? Angry? The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him.

"Did a nice job and fast too. He's good with his hands."

_If only you knew, Angie. If only you knew. _

"And not just his hands," she continued. "Did you hear about the drama the night before last?"

"What drama?"

"The caretaker caught two burglars trying to break into the shed behind the garage. You know, the one with the lawn mowers? He knocked one out then chased the other through the woods and held him down until the police arrived. Men in uniform, Gus, and we slept right through it." She rolled her eyes. "Nobody ever tells us anything."

Wow. Beau was kind of a hero, but two against one? What if he'd got hurt? "That's crazy. Why did he go after them himself?"

"Dorothy said he heard voices and went to investigate. They reckon the crooks had cased the place in advance too. Beau heard noises in the woods last week, but he didn't see anyone then."

My heart seized at the thought of Beau tackling thieves alone. Maybe I should have a word with him, tell him not to be so stupid in future. But perhaps he'd find my concern strange?

Angie certainly would, so I changed the subject.

"I must remember to thank him for the shelves. They're perfect."

"Enough about the shelves—I want to hear all the juicy bits on Gregory. I take it you're going out with him again?"

"I'll see him at the masquerade ball."

"Do you want me to make myself scarce in the evening?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Her eyes narrowed. "Tell me you're not still thinking about that other man?"

I was, and far more than I should have been. "Just keeping my options open."

**CHAPTER 12**

"MAY I HAVE this dance?" Gregory asked. He looked especially dashing in white breeches and a silver-edged mask.

"Of course." I could barely breathe, and it wasn't all down to my overly tight corset. It was well after eleven o'clock—why hadn't Midnight messaged me yet?

I tucked my phone into my faux-fur muff as Gregory offered me his hand, my insides churning. I'd spent all day psyching myself up for the big talk with Midnight, and if he didn't show, my nerves would snap like a frayed elastic band.

Twenty minutes ago, I'd already had one crisis of confidence and dragged Angie away from her date, the dark-haired man with the fancy watch. Sure, my sister might have been brash at times, but tonight, she'd fixed up my hair in the downstairs cloakroom and given me a hug as I agonised over my decision. Midnight or Gregory?

"Just do what's right for you," she'd said. "I'll have your back no matter what."

"I love you. Did I ever tell you that?"

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Too much. Not enough."

Then I'd cried and she'd redone my make-up too.

Now, Gregory held me close for a foxtrot, and I prayed he wouldn't feel my heart pounding in my chest, and also that I wouldn't suffer a cardiac arrest in front of two hundred slightly inebriated partygoers. The foxtrot turned into a waltz, and I was saved from the tango when he spotted a familiar face across the ballroom.

"Would you excuse me a moment, Augusta? That's Dr. Langston, and I need to speak with him about a referral. We've been playing voicemail tennis for days."

"Of course."

Out in the hallway, I checked my phone again. Whatever happened, this was the last night I'd be waiting on tenterhooks for a message from Midnight, so I had to take a small comfort from that at least.

Breath whooshed from me as I read the words lit up on the screen.

_Mr. M: Meet me at midnight. Your desk, the pool house. Bring your filthy mind._

Oh, hell. When he wrote words like that, it only made what I needed to say to him all the more difficult. I stared down at my hands, shaking as they clutched my phone. Why couldn't one of the men in my life have been an arsehole and made my decision easier?

Gregory met me with a glass of wine when I walked back into the ballroom, and boy did I need it. I necked half of it back before I realised what I was doing, much to his consternation.

"Is everything okay?"

"I've got a few stomach cramps."

"Oh. Is it that time of—"

"Shhh!"

He looked a little sheepish. "Sorry, darling. Speaking as a doctor, wine isn't the best thing for that. Can I get you a painkiller? Or a hot water bottle?"

Yes, after a rocky start, Gregory really did get sweeter with every passing day. "I think I just need a good night's sleep."

"Of course. Let me walk you back home."

"Mother won't be happy if I leave early."

"I'll speak to her. Don't you worry about it. I do wish on occasion that our mothers would learn to mind their own business, but then I wouldn't be here with you."

I managed a smile, despite my insides doing backflips. "We have to forgive them for that one."

Gregory handed our glasses to a passing waiter and slid an arm around my waist. The way his hand rested on my hip when he did that was beginning to feel natural. Comfortable. Like I could get used to snuggling into him for the rest of my life as he lent me his strength to get through the tough times.

Or in the case of tonight, the toughest time. Because I'd lied to Gregory, something I swore I'd never do again. I didn't have period pains, rather the weight of my decision over Midnight was rolling in my gut like a cannonball.

And it hurt.

Because circumstances had played as big a part in my choice as my heart. If all else was equal, I'd be on my way to tell Midnight that he was the man for me, but the world was far from fair. What fluke of nature decided that Beau would be born to clean our floors while Gregory glided over them wearing a Saville Row suit bought with his father's cash? They'd both turned out to be good, no, great men, but so damn different. It was like comparing a vintage red wine and a decadent chocolate cupcake—both delicious but impossible to choose between. In the end, it came down to my family. They may have been difficult to live with at times, but I loved my sister dearly, my father had provided for me my whole life, and even my mother had her good points. Like...uh...she'd always made sure I ate healthily, and...and... Yes, I'm sure there were other things, but I couldn't think straight at that moment.

Gregory steered me gently along the path to the annex, wrapping his other arm around me as we stopped outside the door.

"Do you mind if I kiss you," he asked.

Rather than answer, I stood on tiptoe and pressed my lips to his. He held me against his chest as his tongue slid into my mouth, exploring. I still didn't feel the same spark with Gregory as I felt with Midnight, but nor did my insides go into free fall every time I came within three feet of him. Gregory gave me comfort and safety, and in time, I hoped that would grow into love.

"Good night, darling," he whispered as he pulled back.

"Good night."

He went to leave, then paused and turned back to me. "Can I take you out for lunch tomorrow?"

"I'd love that."

He smiled, and now I'd got used to the whiteness of his teeth, I had to admit he was rather handsome.

"I'll call you in the morning and you can choose where we go. Sweet dreams, Augusta."

"You too."

My fifth dream might have come true, but tonight, my sleep wouldn't be peaceful. Because I had to speak to Midnight. Ten to twelve, and I couldn't put it off for much longer.

Gregory disappeared into the darkness, and I waited five minutes in case he'd forgotten anything then slipped on a pair of shoes I could walk in more easily. Between the tightness of Lady Anne's corseted dress and the pounding in my chest, I could barely breathe as I hurried along the gravel path to the pool house. When I'd first imagined the scene, it ended with an orgasm and a declaration of love, not tears and a broken heart. But I'd be crying tonight.

Midnight stepped from the shadows and caught my hand before I could open the door, and even though I'd promised myself I wouldn't get distracted by his charms, I couldn't resist one last kiss.

He knew. The agonising slowness of his kiss was matched by a sorrow that seeped out of his pores and suffocated me until I had to pull away.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Midnight rested his forehead against mine. "I'm not. I'll always be sorry for the way this ended, but not for the way it began."

"I wish things were—"

He cut me off with a finger to my lips. "Don't. Don't dwell on what we both know we can't have. Gregory's a good man, and he'll look after you."

Dammit, why couldn't Midnight be angry? Behave like a prick to make things easier? Why did he have to be so damn selfless? "It's not just because of Gregory. Mother would make your life hell if we carried on, and I can't put you through that. There's a girl waiting out there for you, and she'll be damn lucky when you find her."

Midnight took a step back, then another. "You'll always have my heart, Augusta. Always."

"And you'll always have a piece of mine."

My words flittered away on the night breeze as he disappeared out of sight, another shadow among many that haunted my soul. For the first time ever, I sank to my knees and cried.

"You made the smart decision," Angie said to me over breakfast the next morning. She'd realised there was something wrong when I poured a shot of vodka into my orange juice. Like mother, like daughter.

"Then why does it hurt so bloody much?"

"The right path isn't always the simplest one to walk, but it'll get easier in time, I promise. Did I tell you Andreas asked me out again?"

"What happened to the guy you were with last night?"

"After I came back from helping you with your hair, he'd disappeared. Besides, he was a bit odd."

"Odd? In what way?"

"Kind of distracted. Like he was looking for someone else, and he kept checking out other men."

"Gay?"

"Who knows? Anyhow, Andreas has just bought a new Bentley."

Oh, Angie. So easily won over.

"Andreas is the banker, right?"

"Yes, the banker with a taut ass and a flat in Kensington, where he's holding a party tomorrow night. Do you want to come? With Gregory?"

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

"You'd rather wallow in self-pity for a few more weeks?"

"Angie, don't be so mean." I threw a tea-towel at her, but she ducked.

"Sorry. But only you could be upset because you've caught yourself a handsome doctor who's dropping everything to take you to lunch in an hour and a half."

"When you put it like that, it does seem ridiculous."

A waft of cool air was followed by Mother's voice, calling from the hallway. "Girls? Where are you?"

"In the kitchen," Angie answered.

Mother swept in, already dressed for the day in a twinset and pearls, and looked down her nose at Angie's dressing gown and my pyjamas. "Honestly, it's almost eleven o'clock. You should both be dressed by now."

Angie rolled her eyes. "Your party didn't finish until after midnight."

"That's no excuse. Spa appointments wait for no woman." She placed a single red rose and a small box on the breakfast bar. "These were by the door—Gregory, I imagine. I'm so happy you've finally met another man, Augusta. We'd all begun to lose hope."

The pride that tinged her voice wasn't something I heard often, and it made the ache in my chest just a little more bearable.

"He's nicer than I thought he would be."

A rare smile cracked her usually stern expression. "Mothers always know best, dear." She turned to Angie. "Anyway, I can't hang around. I just stopped by to let you know I can't make our tennis game this afternoon. The caretaker's just handed in his resignation, and Sandra Fitzgerald knows of a possible replacement, but I need to interview him right now because apparently Edna Hawthorn-Bull's trying to poach him."

Beau had quit? It shouldn't have surprised me, but it still felt like a knife to my heart.

"When's he leaving?" I got out, trying desperately to keep my voice level.

"He already has." Mother tutted. "Staff are so unreliable these days. He said he had a family problem and couldn't work out his week's notice, but I wouldn't be surprised if he just got bored. Oh, goodness, look at the time. I'll see you both for dinner. Augusta, we need to start planning our next get-together."

I managed to grunt a reply, but she'd already gone. Along with Beau, it seemed.

Angie picked up her coffee and headed for her bedroom. "I'm meeting friends for lunch, and my hair's a mess. At least Beau fixed that problem with the shower pipes before he left."

"Yeah, great."

As she left, my eyes focused on the rose and box Mother had left behind. Gregory? I didn't think so. He'd have knocked, not left a gift and run. No, that package was from Beau, and now I felt even worse.

I picked up the parcel and examined it. A small, flat box, not so neatly wrapped and covered in sellotape. It reminded me of a present I'd received many years ago, from my old schoolgirl crush. Ben Durham had given me a fountain pen for my eleventh birthday, and to this day it was one of my most treasured possessions. I'd used it to write the first draft of He Called My Name, blue ink on lined paper, odd paragraphs penned in my lectures at university before I pulled it together into a manuscript.

One of my nails bent backwards as I picked at the tape, and I cursed as I rummaged in the kitchen drawer for the scissors. What was it about men and wrapping? Eventually, I wrangled the paper off to reveal a time-worn leather box, six inches long. And in a bizarre instance of déjà vu, I found a pen nestled in a velvet cushion. Not just any pen, but a beautiful red-enamelled fountain pen, obviously an antique, the ornate pattern made all the more striking by the polished gold nib.

So elegant. My parting gift from a man I'd never forget, and I'd treasure it like the nickname he gave me.

Always.

But I had no time to dwell, because the old brass knocker that graced our front door made me jump out of my skin. I tucked the pen into my pocket and hurried through to answer it.

"Gregory? What are you doing here?" I hastily checked my watch. "You're not due for an hour yet."

And I was still wearing jeans and not a scrap of make-up. At least I'd brushed my teeth.

He looked a little sheepish as he produced a bouquet of white roses from behind his back. Beautiful. The fragrance drifted into the apartment, and I took a deep inhale.

"Yes, I know, but I couldn't stop thinking of you, so I came early on the off chance you fancied going for a walk beforehand. I went to the main house first, but your housekeeper told me to come straight round here."

"Oh, er..." My heart fluttered. Yes, Gregory certainly had turned out to be more dreamy than I'd ever imagined. "It's not supposed to rain, is it?"

"Sunny all morning, according to the weather forecast."

"In that case, give me five minutes to get ready."

Angie flashed me a grin as she took the roses.

"See, I told you," she whispered. "I'll put these in water."

"Okay, you were right. Just this once."

By the time I reached the front door again, this time wearing comfortable shoes and a warm jacket, thoughts of the red fountain pen and the man who gave it to me had faded a smidgen. Just as well—if Beau had run from his job the moment things didn't go as he hoped, he'd never have had the balls to stand up to Mother if I'd taken a chance on him. And if I knew one thing, it was that Mother would have made our lives hell. Beau's lack of backbone would only have led to heartache in the future, and neither of us deserved that. Although my chest ached at the moment, the sensible part of me knew good memories were better than a bad breakup.

_And those memories were the best._

In Gregory, I'd found a more suitable match—kind, dependable, and loved by my family—and as he dipped his head to press his lips against mine, I couldn't help smiling.

We had our whole future to look forward to. Gregory, me...and Sapphire.

Time to write a new book. I'd call it _After Midnight_.

**EPILOGUE**

"I CAN'T BELIEVE how much things have changed in the last six months," Angie said as she signed another copy of _After Midnight_ with Sapphire's signature flourish.

"Me neither. Are you packed?"

"Sure. I only really need bikinis. How about you?"

I thought back to the three suitcases Dorothy had filled with everything from hiking boots to kaftans to evening wear. "Ready to go."

"Just don't forget to act surprised when Gregory gives you the ring."

"That won't be a problem."

In fact, I still couldn't believe he was going to propose, but Angie had overheard him asking our father for his blessing, and of course, she'd texted me right away. She might even have been more excited than I was. Luckily, I'd talked her out of hiring a photographer to accompany us on our trip, but she'd still gone straight out and bought Andreas a brand new, top-of-the-range camera to capture the moment for posterity.

In twelve hours, the four of us would be flying to the Bahamas for two weeks in the sun. Gregory and Andreas had secretly colluded, with Gregory renting a luxury villa and Andreas hiring a private jet. They'd become good friends since my sister finally found a man she wanted to go on more than one date with.

"I love your books," a reader gushed to Angie, breaking me out of my reverie. "I've read every single one, but I wasn't sure about the ending in _After Midnight_. I really wanted Lady Anne to end up with Rufus."

Yes, I'd written my sequel, the one where Anne learned the difference between lust and love. When pressure from society and especially Anne's mother came to bear on the two young lovebirds, Rufus had taken the coward's way out and joined a travelling fair rather than sticking around to fight for his lady. All Anne had left of the man who'd once made her stomach do somersaults was his pocket watch, much like I had Midnight's fountain pen, and although she still carried it everywhere, she'd grown rather fond of the dashing doctor who'd stepped in to heal her battered heart.

Angie met my eyes before giving the reader a knowing smile. My sister and I had become closer in the aftermath of my drama, our relationship more balanced as we learned to understand each other better.

Something else to thank Midnight for.

"Love isn't always straightforward," she said. "Sometimes, difficult decisions need to be made, and Anne realised that there was more to life than great sex."

I choked on the mouthful of water I'd just taken, but Angie was absolutely right. Being totally truthful, Gregory didn't quite measure up to Midnight in the bedroom department, but at least he was still there come sunrise. And I could live with that. I still thought of Beau often, every day in fact, and I hoped he'd found happiness as I had.

Many nights, I'd lain awake second-guessing my decision, but I did know that if things had gone any further between us, life would have been hard. Perhaps too hard. And although I may never again experience the rollercoaster of emotions I'd ridden with Mr. M, I was content. Comfortable. Safe. Gregory looked after me. Plus Angie had gifted me the Fifty Shades of Grey unrated edition and a whole selection of toys, sent to Andreas's apartment in plain packaging, of course, because if Mother had opened the parcel by accident, she would have _died_. Anyhow, my Lelo Gigi was small enough to fit in my handbag and left me with a smile on my face every single time. Happy days.

"You really think so?" Sapphire's reader asked.

Angie didn't miss a beat. "A girl needs to hold out for the whole package, and when she finds the right man, the love between them will carry on growing for the rest of their lives."

"I guess that makes sense. But I still feel bad for Rufus."

"There's a perfect match out there for Rufus too. Who knows, maybe someday I'll write that story?"

The fan broke into a grin. "I can't wait to read it."

Thank goodness. Another happy customer. From comments on Sapphire's Facebook page, a lot of readers felt like she did, but love was nothing if not unexpected.

Surreptitiously, I eyed up the stack of books. Twelve left. Twelve signatures, and I could escape back to Shotley Manor and repack my cases with a little less stuff. Not that I was brave enough to wear bikinis. I was strictly a one-piece girl.

"Can you write any faster?" I whispered to Angie.

"What's made you so impatient all of a sudden?"

I pasted on a smile and passed her another book, open at the right page. "Don't make me spell it out."

"G. R. E. G..."

"Stop it! Just hurry up and sign."

"Should I wear the black dress or the red one?" I asked Angie.

Four days on the beach had fried my brain and left me unable to make a simple decision. Gregory had already showered, got changed, and retired to the terrace for an aperitif with Andreas.

"The red one, definitely."

"It's not too bright?"

"Not at all. And tonight's going to be the night."

"What makes you think that?"

"Andreas overheard Gregory on the phone to the restaurant. They're going to put the ring in your dessert, so whatever you do, don't choke on it."

Oh, crap. Why did Angie have to tell me? I'd rather have dined in ignorant bliss. My heart hammered against my ribcage as her words sank in. Before midnight struck, I'd be engaged again, and this time because _I_ wanted to get married, not because my mother was determined to buy a new hat. Augusta Fordham-Fitzgerald. Too much? Perhaps I could drop the Fordham.

Mrs. Augusta Fitzgerald.

Gregory had booked a table at the best restaurant in the area, according to the guidebook I'd studied on the plane while Angie and Andreas did unmentionable things in the tiny bedroom at the back. La Caprice served fresh fish, a variety of local dishes, and the French chef's special homemade desserts.

"Beautiful," Gregory said as we paused outside on the wooden verandah.

I stopped behind him to stare at the sunset. "Isn't it?"

"I was talking about you, not the sky. Every day I spend with you, I thank my lucky stars that we found each other."

"Technically, we've got our mothers to thank for that."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't remind me. Mine never misses an opportunity to say 'I told you so.'"

"Neither does mine."

Our overbearing families were just one thing we had in common, but at least now that I spent several nights each week staying with Gregory, I'd partially escaped my mother's clutches. Although she didn't grumble quite so much anymore. Mostly, she gushed about the many talents of Dr. Fitzgerald instead.

"Did I mention our presence has been requested at my family's Christmas soirée?" he asked. "I'm considering booking a ski trip instead. Care to join me?"

"You, me, apple strudel, and après-ski hanky panky? Don't mind if I do."

"Apple strudel? So you want to go to Austria?"

I snuggled into his side, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders as he pressed his lips to my temple. Sweet, just like the man he'd turned out to be.

"I'd camp in an igloo if you were with me."

"Oh, I think we can run to something a little more comfortable than that."

Gregory held my hand under the table in the restaurant, as had become his habit, but tonight, there was tension in his fingers. I might have worried if I didn't know the reason why. As it was, I could barely eat from the anticipation.

By the time my Valrhona chocolate mousse arrived complete with a vanilla tuile, I was practically shaking. I dipped my spoon in and took one dainty mouthful at a time, keeping a careful eye out for a ring. White gold or yellow gold? Platinum, maybe? Would it have a diamond?

"Does it taste okay?" Gregory asked.

"Delicious."

When I got halfway through the portion, served up in its fancy glass, I noticed him watching me intently. So closely that he barely touched his own tarte au citron. And when my spoon clinked against the bottom of the glass, he turned positively white.

Where was the damn ring? There _was_ supposed to be a ring, wasn't there?

Angie gave Andreas a puzzled look, and he shrugged. No, he didn't have a clue either.

Gregory leaned forward, peering into my glass.

"You didn't notice any crunchy bits, did you?"

"Uh, no?"

I couldn't have eaten it, could I? Not a freaking diamond! Visions of a trip to the hospital for an emergency x-ray flitted through my mind. If I had swallowed the ring by accident, how would they get it out? I dreaded to think.

"Yeouch!"

All heads turned at the wail from the other side of the restaurant, and I watched in horror as a middle-aged man dressed in a charcoal grey suit fished a shiny object out of his mouth. Beside me, our waiter's ashen face told me exactly what had happened.

"Sir, I'm so sorry," he babbled at Gregory. "I don't know how this happened. The kitchen... The mousse..."

Gregory ignored him and hurried over to the gentleman. "My apologies. You seem to have..." He glanced back at me and dropped his voice to a whisper, but I shuffled a little closer so I could still hear every word. "I was planning to propose to my girlfriend, and you seem to have ended up with the ring. Uh, is there any chance I could have it back?"

The man's wife clasped both hands over her chest. "How positively delightful. Edgar, give him back the ring."

"I think I broke a tooth."

"Hurry up, dear." She snatched the ring off the poor guy, rinsed it in his glass of champagne, and patted it dry with a napkin. "Here you go, darling. Oh, I do love a good proposal. Edgar, have you got the camera ready?"

Gregory turned back to me, and he'd gone from white to puce. "Augusta, this wasn't quite how I'd planned it."

"You need to get down on one knee," the woman told him.

"Yes. Yes, of course."

Gregory did as he was told, kneeling in front of me and holding out one hand. Angie got the giggles as I dropped to the floor as well. This may not have been how Gregory envisaged this evening going, but it certainly was memorable.

"Augusta." Gregory cleared his throat, and I gripped his outstretched hand in both of mine. A flashbulb went off, blinding me, and I squinted to see his face. "Augusta, I can't truthfully say I loved you from the moment I met you because, if memory serves correctly, I may have poked you with a sword and laughed at your inability to dress yourself. But fate gave us a second chance, and I treasure every moment we spend together. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"Nothing would make me happier. Just promise me one thing?"

"Anything."

The idea of a Fordham-Fitzgerald wedding with all the trimmings and both of our mothers involved made me feel quite sick.

"Can we elope?"

**THE RIGHT DECISION?**

Do you think Augusta will live happily ever after with Gregory? Or should she have played it dangerous and gone with Beau?

Well, I couldn't decide either, so I wrote her story with two endings. This little novella where Augusta picked Gregory, and a full-length romantic thriller novel where she followed her heart rather than her head and chose Beau the caretaker. Or so she thought...

You can join Augusta as she finds out the implications of that decision in Carbon, the third book in my Blackwood Elements series. Secrets, lies, death, and danger. Who said love was easy?

For more details: www.elise-noble.com/carbon

_The first eleven chapters of Carbon and Meet Me at Midnight are the same. Carbon is a much longer book, with thirty-eight chapters of sexy-times, shooting, sassy girls, and smooth-talking Frenchmen._

**WHAT'S NEXT?**

**If you'd like to see where the Blackwood story started, you can find that in the Blackwood Security series, starting with Pitch Black.**

****

**Pitch Black**

Even a Diamond can be shattered...

After the owner of a security company is murdered, his sharp-edged wife goes on the run. Forced to abandon everything she holds dear—her home, her friends, her job in special ops—she builds a new life for herself in England. As Ashlyn Hale, she meets Luke, a handsome local who makes her realise just how lonely she is.

Yet, even in the sleepy village of Lower Foxford, the dark side of life dogs Diamond's trail when the unthinkable strikes. Forced out of hiding, she races against time to save those she cares about. But is it too little, too late?

**_**Warning**_**

_If you want sweetness and light and all things bright,_

_Diamond's not the girl for you._

_She's got sass, she's got snark, and she's moody and dark,_

_As she does what a girl's got to do._

__

**You can get Pitch Black for FREE here:**

****

www.elise-noble.com/pbfree

**WANT TO STALK ME?**

For updates on my new releases, giveaways, and other random stuff, you can sign up for my newsletter on my website:

www.elise-noble.com

**Facebook:** www.facebook.com/EliseNobleAuthor

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I also have a group on Facebook for my fans to hang out. They love the characters from my Blackwood and Trouble books almost as much as I do, and they're the first to find out about my new stories as well as throwing in their own ideas that sometimes make it into print!

And if you'd like to read my books for FREE, you can also find details of how to join my review team.

Would you like to join Team Blackwood?

www.elise-noble.com/team-blackwood

**THE BLACKWOOD SECURITY SERIES**

**The Blackwood Security Series**

Pitch Black

Into the Black

Forever Black

Gold Rush

Gray is my Heart

Neon (novella)

Out of the Blue

Ultraviolet

Red Alert

White Hot (2017)

The Scarlet Affair (2018)

**The Blackwood Elements Series**

Oxygen

Lithium

Carbon

Rhodium (2018)

**The Blackwood UK Series**

Joker in the Pack

Cherry on Top (novella)

Roses are Dead (2017)

Shallow Graves (2017)

**The Trouble Series**

Trouble in Paradise

Nothing but Trouble

24 Hours of Trouble

**Standalone**

Life

Twisted

A Very Happy Christmas
