Midnight Kisses (Midnight Series) (2 page)

Danielle fought hard against blacking out. What she had just witnessed was not meant to be seen by a seventeen-year-old virgin—of that she was sure. And the worst thing was that this awful man was still here. Why couldn’t he take his leave without making this situation any worse than it had to be? Didn’t he know how uncomfortable he made her feel?

Danielle contemplated escaping through the gardens, but she wouldn’t get very far in her velvet shoes.

The man turned around.

He moved in, and Danielle had to tilt her head back so she could look up at him. This was not something that happened to her often, since she was as tall as many of the men she usually met. But did she really expect a man named Devlin to just walk away and pretend nothing happened?

He reached out for her hair and, without taking his amused eyes off her frightened-looking face, pulled out a hairpin.

“Milord, please!” Danielle begged, tearing her head away and unwittingly pulling out a second hairpin in the process.

He paid no attention, but instead buried his hands in her hair, causing all her carefully-arranged locks to come undone and the hairpins to drop to the floor with a soft clink.

“Ah, that’s what I’ve been wanting to do this whole time,” he muttered matter-of-factly, taking a step back and admiring the downpour of honey-colored waves.

“I beg your pardon?”

Danielle was afraid of losing her mind. Was she even awake? Was this reality, or just one of those bizarre dreams where you’re glad you wake up at the end?

“This whole time, while I—”

“Milord!” Danielle interrupted him. “Please, not another word! I am well aware of what you’re trying to say, but I don’t understand why you would find it necessary to do this! Please, let me go. Lady Lockworth must be so worried.”

“Why I’m doing this? Because it amuses me. Indeed, I must confess that your presence here has entertained me more than lovely Lady Winther, whom you just had the pleasure of meeting.”

“You must be out of your mind! And now I’m going to leave, for it would certainly not be appropriate for me to be spotted here alone in the presence of a . . . a . . . a man!”

Danielle was annoyed that her flushed cheeks were probably putting her in an even more unfavorable light than she was already in. She had to look truly pitiful compared to stunning, raven-haired Lady Winther from before.

“Of course, you should leave right away. To be seen here with me would ruin your reputation and destroy any chance of a suitable marriage arrangement.”

With an elegant bow he took a step back and cleared out of the way.

“How kind of you to worry, but since my future apparently lies in a convent you can save yourself the trouble!”

With a small sense of satisfaction Danielle noticed that Devlin raised his eyebrows with some surprise.

“A convent?” He came closer again. “Why would you want to join a convent?”

“I don’t, but since when are women being asked what they want?”

He remained silent. She was unable to read the expression on his face and therefore curtsied politely before pushing past him.

He reached out his hand, stopping her. For a long while he stared at her face before taking it in his hands and tilting his head. Tenderly, delicately, his lips touched hers. Danielle tried to object, but he traced the outline of her lips so deliciously with his tongue before he firmly, decisively slipped it into her mouth.

Danielle’s quiet whimper ended their kiss, and Devlin brushed the hair out of her face.

“You are a young girl who burns with passion! You don’t belong in a convent. If you have any other choice, you should take it!”

Chapter 1

Windham Manor, ten years later

Devlin Weston extended his legs and, without paying too close attention, kept leafing through the periodical on his lap. That last article he’d read was still echoing through his mind and energized him greatly. Was it possible? The thought of it sent his collector’s heart racing, and with a sense of pride he let his eyes wander over the precious works of art that covered the walls in his study.

The paintings he had acquired over the years not only decorated this very room, but by now hung from almost every available surface of his stately home.

The clock announced midnight, and Devlin stretched his limbs. With a rueful glance at his empty glass, he got up out of his armchair, pushing the periodical aside, then poured himself another brandy and twirled the honey-colored liquid against the light of the candles.

Rain was pelting against the window panes, but Devlin no longer noticed because it had been raining for days.

Glass in hand, he sauntered through his study, stopping in front of his favorite paintings for moments at a time and savoring the fine brushwork.

Tomorrow, he would talk with Dean. That article was too interesting, too intriguing, to be ignored. It couldn’t hurt to make some inquiries. And who knew, perhaps he would soon top his priceless collection with the mythical
Venus de Lavinium
whose very existence had been lacking any proof whatsoever—until now.

But the report in the art magazine had sounded quite substantiated and made claims that the painting’s location had recently been traced to British soil. The article alleged that the canvas, on which the mythical artwork was painted, had been covered with a protective layer of some kind and painted over with another, unassuming portrait.

Nobody—or so the article claimed—knew that the
Venus
was hiding underneath.

Devlin tugged at the bell pull, and immediately a gray-haired, slightly stooped man appeared in the door.

“At your service, Milord?”

“Thank you, Gavin. Please get everything ready for a short trip. I shouldn’t be traveling for more than a few days. And if you could also inform my brother that I wish to talk with him tomorrow morning at nine. It’s about time he assumed some responsibility. I want him to be in charge while I’m away.”

“Of course, Milord. Anything else?”

“That’ll be all, Gavin. Good night, and thank you.”

Once Devlin was by himself again, he pulled out a stack of old newspapers. In the flickering candlelight, he studied the pages until he found what he was looking for.

“If I can find things out about these scrolls, then I should be able to find the
Venus
,” he pondered, stroking his unshaven chin. His black hair stood on end because he had been running his fingers through it endlessly.

It came as a shock to him, the man who had everything, to desire something that much, and he did not like it one bit. That feeling had only gotten him into trouble in the past. Every time he truly desired something, everything had always gone horribly wrong.

It must be that age-old legend
, he thought. For countless generations, his family had been shrouded in mystery because none of his ancestors ever found true happiness. Over time, people started talking about a curse. And after all these generations of tragic relationships, even Devlin himself thought that there had to be a kernel of truth to the resulting legend.

The women of the Weston family—or so people secretly gossiped behind closed doors—tended to love so deeply that it destroyed them, while the men were utterly incapable of such feelings.

Perhaps they were right, for Devlin had not loved once in his thirty-six years on this earth. And he wasn’t planning on changing that, either. Because if there was one thing he had learned from his ancestors’ mistakes, it was that overly-strong feelings only made you vulnerable. It was for this simple reason that he did not like how giddy he was feeling about this undertaking.

In fairness, though, this wasn’t just any old painting.

Legend had it that the
Venus de Lavinium
had been brought to Lavinium personally by Aeneas, son of Venus, and that it carried within it the powers of the goddess of love herself. Several traditions held that parts of the painting were painted in Venus’s own blood.

A painting that contained within it the power of love. What would happen to a man like him, who wasn’t destined to love, if he held such an artifact in his hands? Would the tide finally turn, and bring him love?

“Dean! Are you even listening to me?” Devlin asked the next morning, visibly displeased.

His younger brother, who was sitting casually with his feet up and his legs crossed, and was busy lighting a cigar, growled a barely-audible reply.

“Sorry, Dev, but I’m less than thrilled to be house sitting,” he declared, blowing a ring of smoke in the direction of his brother. “I wasn’t planning on spending much time here at
Windham
. Lady Rochester and I . . . ”

Devlin’s eyes darkened.

“Since you brought it up. Father thinks that Lady Rochester is not quite the virtuous woman who will make a good future wife. You really shouldn’t pursue that liaison any further.”

Dean laughed, tilting his chair back on its back two legs, and crossed his arms behind his head.

“No, virtuous she is not, but to be frank, that is exactly what I appreciate about her. And for as long as Father is vacationing in France with Rose and wife number three, I see no reason to worry about it.”

“You can’t go on like that forever,” Devlin reprimanded him.

“Oh, can I not? And what about you, brother dearest? Am I wrong, or are
you
not the person inheriting his title? Why don’t
you
get married,” Dean suggested, unfazed.

Devlin’s eyes darkened even further.

His brother knew full well that he had no intention of getting married. An arranged marriage, just for the sake of keeping the title, was out of the question. He would prefer to do as Dean did, and take a lover. But lately, he had grown tired of even those kinds of relationships. Which was why he was focusing on art instead. And, in order to pursue this passion, it was necessary for Dean to take on more responsibility.

“So? Can I count on you? Couldn’t you reschedule your plans with Lady Rochester by a few days?” he asked, completely ignoring Dean’s question.

“Hmm, how long are you planning on chasing this mysterious painting? You don’t really believe all that nonsense about its magical powers, do you?”

“Who knows? But regardless, it would be a sensation if that painting were to exist. It would be worth a fortune.”

Dean thoughtfully twirled the cigar between his fingers while running his other hand through his thick, black hair. His dark eyes flashed with a look of regret as he thought about the lovemaking with Lady Rochester he would now need to postpone. Theatrically, he finally rose from his chair and beat his chest.

“Well then, Dev, go hurry out into the world to find your treasure that will bring love—or at least a great
fortune
—into this house!”

Chapter 2

Essex

Danielle Langston embraced her son. Her eyes were full of tears, and her voice was breaking from the pain and tightness in her chest. She was worried and afraid. Not much time had passed since the sudden death of her husband, and she didn’t want to see her son go. But the ten-year-old’s trip to relatives in France had been arranged long before, and despite her grief she was adamant that Christopher needed to stick to his plans. He had to take this trip—his father would have wanted him to.

“You’re not going to forget about me, are you?” she asked, breathing a kiss onto his cheek.

“Why would you even think that, Mother? I could never forget you! I will write you a letter every day, and when I return I will bring you a lovely gift. I promise!”

“You’re a good boy; your father would be proud of you,” Danielle whispered with a tearful voice and nodded toward the carriage where Christopher’s last few pieces of luggage were being loaded. “Get in, it is time.”

“Farewell, Mother. I love you!”

With that, he closed the carriage door behind him and motioned for the driver that he was ready.

Long after the dust had settled on the road, Danielle still stood there and stared into the distance. Her life no longer had an anchor. No center point. No meaning. There was only she.

Tired, she turned around and walked uphill on the main road, leaving the village behind her. Matthew Langston’s house stood about a mile outside of town. He had needed a lot of room for his experiments, for his science, and sometimes even just for himself. Danielle had never minded this much, but today she was afraid of returning to that big old house and having to live in it by herself, day in and day out.

For the first time in many years, she remembered something a man had once said to her. A man who, in a manner of speaking, had decided her future.

“You don’t belong in a convent. If you have any other choice, you should take it!” he had said.

And she had listened. She did it because in the many nights that followed her encounter with the stranger, not a single night had gone by when she didn’t dream of their kiss. Presented with the choice of either marrying Matthew Langston or joining a convent, she had tasted the stranger’s kiss on her lips and opted for marriage.

If I had chosen the convent
, Danielle thought while climbing the final ascent to her house,
then at least I wouldn’t have to endure this awful loneliness
.