Every Midnight

EVERY MIDNIGHT

By

Maggie Jagger

© copyright July 2008, Maggie Jagger

Cover art by Alex DeShanks, © copyright 2008

ISBN 978-1-60394-627-8

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

England, 1815

Lizzie Tempest owed the Beast nothing.

She glanced down the long drive to the gates. The Felmont family had given their word he was not due to return today, but that didn’t make her feel any safer. The family always lied.

Lizzie looked up at the mournful faces staring down at her from the windows of Felmont’s Folly and couldn’t resist waving to them, forcing them to abandon dignity and return her salute. Ever since she had imprisoned one of them for debt, the other members of the noble Felmont family had grown more careful of offending her.

Gravel crunched underfoot as she made her way around the carriage. The air smelled of freedom and of her Cleveland Bays snorting and fidgeting in their traces, eager to start their journey. Sunlight glistened on the golden stone of Felmont’s Folly as the great house rose out of the landscaped park, gilded by the dawn.

“Do get back in, Lizzie,” Aunt Tempest called from the safety of her seat inside the berline. “If the Felmonts see you walking about, they might all troop out to say their goodbyes again. If I have to suffer their slings and arrows one more time, I shall be glad my husband has cut them off without a penny.” Her voice faded into tremulous indignation while her knitting needles clacked furiously.

Lizzie gave a shudder of annoyance. She had no intention of sitting in the carriage while two maids slowly searched the luggage for the missing shawl. They were all conspiring to keep her at the Folly until the Beast returned to claim it for his own.

He did not come to claim her.

She had not forgotten the horrid words he had used the last time she’d seen him. “My dearest Lizzie, I don’t covet your money or your graceless manners. Consider yourself free from any engagement to me.” He’d stared with mocking sadness at her body and then leaned closer to whisper, “You could not tempt me to matrimony, not even in my wildest dreams.”

Inside the great house the Felmonts waited for him, locked in verbal duels with each other. If they had been partial to pistols at dawn, the family would have died out long ago. The only thing they all agreed on was their need for her to marry one of them—to keep her fortune in the family.

Lizzie opened the carriage door. “I shall meet you at the gates, Aunt Tempest.”

“Don’t go by yourself!” Aunt Tempest seemed shocked at the idea. “Wait until my shawl is found. Get in, Lizzie. I cannot abide a draft.”

“Let me replace it, dear Aunt Tempest,” begged Lizzie. “If you are not at the gates by the time I get there, I shall walk to Bath.”

“Fortune hunters will capture you long before you get to the village,” warned the irate lady.

Lizzie stepped resolutely onto the lawn. She had a dozen outriders waiting outside the gates to protect her.

The cool caress of wet grass felt like silk at her ankles. The sun played about her coal-scuttle bonnet and dark traveling dress. Anyone searching for the possessor of the Tempest fortune would never suspect her.

Inheriting her father’s fortune had been both a blessing and a curse. Life was full of blessings and curses. Her widowed mother marrying Viscount Felmont had truly been a curse, but the blessing was his gothic stone mansion known as Felmont’s Folly.

The great house called as she skirted the edge of the lake. For one last time she turned to admire its golden beauty, to love its towers and golden walls with all her heart.

Fixing the house had been a labor of love, an all engrossing project to take her mind off nursing her mother and stepfather. She might even visit the Folly again, when the Beast was laid in his grave. At the thought of him, she hurried across the lawn towards the distant gates.

A quarter of a mile away the gates opened. Thunder rolled low in the distance.

Not thunder. Horsemen raced down the drive, their mounts lathered. She watched them tear up the lawn as they spread out and galloped towards the Folly. She could clearly see the Beast riding in front of his wolf pack.

Her heart began a thunder of its own.

If he thought she lingered, waiting for him, she meant to disabuse him of the notion. Lizzie drew a shaky breath, gathering her dignity against the Beast’s arrogance, against his disdain for her.

Now was not the time to let childish fears surface. At almost twenty-two, she was long past girlish palpitations.

And what was the point of her leaving the outriders outside the park if he meant to ruin the drive and lawn with his pack of inebriated friends? Some of them could hardly stay in the saddle. No doubt the new Viscount Felmont couldn’t wait to begin his beastly debaucheries. Carriages full of whores likely followed him at a more sedate pace.

The Beast dismounted, momentarily lost to view in a noisy crowd of horses and men. His voice, a low rumble, drifted over the lawn. Raucous laughter greeted his words.

The Beast emerged near her berline as a dark shadow in the sunlight. He slammed open the door in search of what? Poor Aunt Tempest. A faint cry of female distress brought a cheer from the Beast’s sodden companions.

Drat the man! What had happened to his manners?

Aunt Tempest’s hand pointed in her direction from the carriage window.

Lizzie’s legs froze.

The Beast turned to stride towards her. One man hurried after him. She forced air into her lungs and waited for them to approach. She’d rather die than show fear, or worse, faint at his feet. To her shame, she had done just that the day the Felmonts had celebrated her betrothal to the Beast. Even her mother had found it vastly amusing ... but those days were long gone.

The Beast was hatless, an almost certain sign he was foxed. He moved with his odd loose-limbed grace, his long legs covering more ground, though he took fewer strides than his companion. They left a silver trail in the morning dew coating the lawn.

Even the way the Beast walked towards her seemed insulting. She willed herself to be calm.

He stopped. Close enough to touch.