ONE NIGHT OF SURRENDER: Brothers Mortmain Book 1 Read online

  ONE NIGHT OF SURRENDER

  Brothers Mortmain Book 1

  Evie North

  Copyright © 2019 by Evie North

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Also Available by Evie North

  About the Author

  Introduction

  It’s his last night on earth...and his final wish will be her command.

  Like his two brothers, Gervais Hawley, son of the Earl of Mortmain, is reckless and wild. But now his days are numbered. Given up to the Bow Street Runners for robbing a coach, he has been sent to Newgate to hang.

  Every man on death row is granted a final wish—if he has the money. Gervais has more money than most, and his final wish is for a taste of something sweeter than mere food. He wants Katherine, a woman falsely imprisoned. For one night in her arms, he will pay the debts that will set her free.

  From the moment she saw Gervais in the corridors of Newgate, Katherine felt the spark of attraction. In exchange for her freedom, she agrees to his terms: one night in his bed, obey his every command.

  Their passionate encounter is more than Katherine ever expected. And as the cock crow draws near, her body and heart crave more. But Gervais is headed for the gallows...unless fate intervenes.

  For my husband, who makes writing so much easier.

  1

  Newgate Prison, London, 1805

  Katherine could not stop shivering as she followed Turnkey Martin along cold stone corridors and up narrow, grimy stone stairs. It might have been the chill air in the underground prison cells where she’d come from, or it could have been the hasty, lukewarm bath she’d been forced to undertake before she was dressed in some cast-off, ill-fitting clothing, which was at least clean, and had her wet hair bundled up under a white linen cap.

  She couldn’t believe this was happening.

  That he’d asked for her.

  And she couldn’t believe she’d said yes.

  But then again, wasn’t anything worth it, if it meant she could escape the filth and horror of the most infamous prison in England? Newgate, despite being rebuilt twenty years earlier, was the worst of places. When she’d been brought here six months ago Katherine had felt as if she was entering one of Dante’s circles of Hell.

  She, the teacher’s daughter. Well-read, ladylike, unassuming...how could she have come to this?

  Onward they went. Katherine’s ill-fitting clogs clattered on the bare stone floor. When she wasn’t holding up the hem of her too-long skirt to prevent herself from tripping over, she kept the handkerchief to her nose, with its faint scent of better days. And to remind herself that the man she was going to now had been kind to her, once.

  “How are you feelin’, Kathy?” the turnkey asked in hushed tones, glancing around.

  “Resigned,” Katherine whispered back.

  Turnkey Martin was a decent man, and therefore like gold dust in a place like Newgate, where everyone was after something. Bribes were commonplace. Clothing was stolen from sleeping or dead prisoners and sold on, and if you wanted something better than the stale piece of bread and gruel for your supper, then you had to find some coins to pass on down the line.

  But this turnkey had been kind to her. He once confessed he’d taken the work because he’d been a prisoner himself, and had no option when the outside world would no longer consider him. So he remained here, in Newgate, and Katherine for one was glad of him.

  “This is where they put the toffs,” Turnkey informed her. “See, it’s cleaner. And the torches are lit. And you can smell proper food,” he added, and lifted his large nose to sniff the air.

  He was right. They had reached the area of the prison reserved for the important prisoners; the wealthy gentlemen.

  The crème de la crème of Newgate.

  Soon she would be given over to her fate and that fate was Gervais Hawley, gentleman highwayman currently residing in Newgate.

  She’d seen him strolling about the prison, dressed as if he were attending a society ball in his tight breeches and well-cut superfine jacket, his dark hair brushed neatly, his handsome face cleanly shaven.

  Gervais Hawley. The Honourable Gervais Hawley.

  Wealthy aristocrat. Gentleman. Darling of London society.

  Highwayman. Thief. About to be hanged at the gallows tomorrow morning.

  Men who were about to be hanged had a final wish. Turnkey had explained it to her. If that wish could be granted by the Keeper of the Gaol, and if the prisoner could pay enough bribes and fees and grease enough palms, then it would be.

  Gervais’s wish was a night with Katherine.

  “You don’ have to do it,” Turnkey had assured her, when the offer was first mooted, his monkey face screwed up with concern. “But if you do then Gervais has said he’ll pay off your creditors and Keeper will let you out. Freedom, Kathy, eh? How does that sound? And it’s not as if—”

  “As if I haven’t done it before?” Katherine had finished for him.

  Well it wasn’t, was it? She’d had a man in her bed, and surely all men were much the same?

  Perhaps she made a noise because once again the turnkey glanced at her over his shoulder. They’d reached a thick blackened door and now he had found the right key from his bunch and held it poised over the lock.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Was she? She opened her mouth to say that no, she wasn’t ready and she didn’t want to do this. She wanted to go back to her filthy, crowded cell and spend the next year or so locked in there, awaiting the money to pay Edward’s debts. Money Edward owed, and just because he had run off didn’t mean the debt could be wiped clean. She’d begged his family to help but they’d never liked her, never thought she was good enough for their son—and besides she and Edward weren’t married, though he’d always promised her father that he would. It came down to the fact that someone had to pay off the debt, and the rest of the world had decided that someone was Katherine.

  Not surprisingly, Katherine shut her mouth again and nodded.

  Martin turned his key in the lock and the door creaked open. Light spilled out like a ray of sunlight, reaching toward her. Suddenly she could feel warmth and smell food. Katherine felt light-headed with hunger—she hadn’t been able to eat her gristle-filled gruel today. The sight of the sour bits floating on top of the watery soup, along with her worries about this meeting, had turned her stomach.

  “Lady to see you, sir!” Turnkey called into the room, with some humour, and a wink at Katherine. He waited until she took an awkward step over the threshold, and then another, before swinging the heavy door shut again behind her. She heard it lock.

  Her blue eyes grew wide and she looked wildly about her.

  This wasn’t a cell, surely?

  With soft thick rugs on the floor and rich tapestries to hide the damp stone walls it had all the appearance of a wealthy gentleman’s residence. And there were fu
rnishings! A comfortable divan set with cushions, a table groaning with platters of food, and candles in silver sconces blazing from every surface. And amid all this luxury...Her gaze came to rest upon the man at its centre.

  The Honourable Gervais Hawley, standing with a glass of red wine in his hand, watching her with a half smile curving his sensual mouth.

  She stared back. With his dark hair and eyes, his narrow face and aristocratic nose, he was so handsome she felt as though she was frozen to the spot, afraid to move in case he vanished in a puff of smoke. Newgate was not a place for beauty, but Gervais was tall and well made, his white shirt open at his throat to show a swathe of brown masculine skin. The snug fit of his trousers delineated his strong muscled thighs and long legs, ending in highly polished boots.

  Gervais was every inch a toff. How on earth had he come to be in this awful place?

  “Sit down, Katherine.” His voice was deep and warm, and it seemed to delve inside her so that its echoes tingled, fizzing through her blood.

  The first time she’d seen him was in the courtroom of the Old Bailey next door, where she had been sentenced to prison for Edward’s unpaid debts. Gervais Hawley had been passing, surrounded by guards and admirers, but when he’d seen her tear-streaked face he’d stopped and produced a snowy white handkerchief.

  “Dry your tears, sweetheart,” he’d murmured. “Things are never as bad as you think them.”

  They had been every bit as bad, but still Katherine had treasured the moment. And the handkerchief.

  The second time she saw him was when she was being taken back to her cell from the doctor’s rooms— she had been ill with gaol fever—and he had passed her in the corridor, perhaps also having visited the physician. He had caught her eye and smiled, just a twitch of his lips, and then he’d bowed.

  Katherine still remembered the heat of her cheeks afterwards, the bewildering sense that he admired her. She, the teacher’s daughter, the innkeeper’s mistress, the girl who never quite fit in anywhere.

  The third time...well, this was the third time. They had met briefly only twice and yet incredibly he’d thought of her tonight, his last night. He’d chosen Katherine to be his final wish.

  “You know you must do as I tell you, Katherine.” That deep voice again, making her tingle, bringing her back to the here and now. “This is to be my last night. My last wish. Do you promise to obey my commands?”

  She’d already made her decision. Her voice was firm and sure.

  “I promise, sir.”

  “Good. Then I command you to sit down.” She took a step forward and then another, aware of her ill-fitting clothing, her clogs almost falling from her otherwise bare feet, and her wet hair dripping down her back. It was so luxuriously warm in here. There was a fire in the grate and she wanted to run to it and hold out her hands. Instead she sat on the divan he’d pointed to and watched him the way a mouse watches a large cat.

  He was watching her too, candlelight reflected in his dark eyes, a faint curve at each corner of his sensual mouth. He was the sort of man who could have anyone he wanted, she knew that. Women must be begging for him to spend the night with them.

  And yet he’d chosen her.

  Well that was a good thing, surely? She rallied herself. For after tonight she would be free of the filth and misery of Newgate, free to take up her life again, free from her lover’s debts. She would make a new life for herself...somewhere.

  But that was tomorrow and there was still tonight stretching ahead of her. To her own surprise she felt a tingle of excitement and it was stronger than any doubts or fears she might have. Like a yearning. Or a promise of things to come.

  2

  “Have they told you what tonight entails?”

  Gervais was approaching her with his catlike prowl. A lock of his dark hair fell forward over his brow and he brushed it back with the hand not holding the wineglass.

  “I...” Her voice came out creaky, like the mouse she imagined herself to be. She cleared her throat. “I am here to spend the night with you, sir. I am here to do whatever you wish me to do. Until cock crow.”

  “Cock crow. Yes. But that is a long way from now, isn’t it, Katherine? We have hours yet, and I intend to spend them in pleasure.”

  On the last word his voice dropped in tone and Katherine gave a little shiver as the sound of it rasped across her senses.

  He had come to a stop before her and now his gaze travelled over her. She knew what he was seeing: a young woman who was too thin, whose borrowed clothing hung loose on her, whose long fair hair was escaping the white cap she wore, whose blue eyes were wide with anxiety, and whose lips were held firm with the determination to go through with this.

  Turnkey Martin had warned her that Gervais might spring upon her like a drowning man seeking dry land, that he might take her brutally, and then fall into sleep.

  In fact, he’d said, that might be best for her in the long run.

  “Because I’ve heard Gervais Hawley is a rake, Kathy. He knows how to pleasure a woman, how to use her senses to bind her to him. And you don’t want that, do you? You don’t want him to steal your heart, eh?”

  The rake in question now took a sip of his wine. She watched his throat move as he swallowed, saw the gleam of a silver signet ring upon the hand that held the glass.

  “You are a beautiful woman.”

  Surprise widened her eyes still further. Beauty was not something she normally associated with herself, and when she did it was more of a cross to bear than a blessing. Edward had been a jealous man and any glances sent her way at the inn by travellers or guests were viewed with suspicion. And woe betide her if she were ever to smile back. Katherine had received many a slap or bruise from an ill-considered smile.

  “I prefer to be thought of as a modest woman,” she replied quietly.

  Gervais’ smile was back, but he bowed his head in acknowledgement of her dignified answer. With a gesture toward the table, and the food piled upon it, he said with a hint of self-mockery, “Will you eat with the condemned man? I assure you it is all fine fare.”

  She hesitated and then followed him to the table, where he set down his wine to pour her a glass of her own. “No gruel?” she was brave enough to jest.

  Gervais turned with surprise, his dark eyes pondering her, and then he chuckled. “A joke, Katherine? So there is more to you than your modesty and your beauty.”

  He was standing so close to her. It was as if he were taking the air from the room, because she was having difficulty breathing. Desperate, she smoothed her hands over her skirts, looking down to avoid his eyes. She was out of her depth. Why was he being so polite, so nice? She had steeled herself for this moment and now he was chipping away at her armour, bit by bit, exposing the soft vulnerable Katherine inside.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  Katherine kept her head down, pretending not to hear.

  “Look at me!” he commanded.

  This time she jumped. She was here at his behest, she reminded herself. She had no choice but to obey. She must obey. Carefully, feeling a little wobbly from lack of food and the whole bizarre situation, Katherine looked up.

  “That’s better,” he said.

  Her dizziness increased. He was such a handsome man with his dark hair shining in the candlelight and his dark eyes with their long lashes, and now she could see he had a dimple in his chin. Suddenly, shockingly, she wanted to kiss it. The idea made her catch her breath on a gasp.

  He reached out and tipped up her chin with his forefinger. Warm tremors ran through her, and with them the dizzying sensation of losing control. The next moment he had placed a small piece of meat against her lips, and automatically she opened her mouth to receive it.

  Succulent. Perfectly cooked. It was so delicious she swayed, closing her eyes, and the next moment his arms were about her, enclosing her, steadying her. Just for a moment she felt so perfectly safe she didn’t want to move. Indeed she wanted to lean in closer to him, nestle against his
chest and the soft white shirt that gaped so invitingly open. She wanted to press her lips to the hollow of his throat.

  But her unfamiliar feelings lasted only a moment before fright took over and she began to struggle.

  “Hush!”

  She immediately stilled again, her breath coming quickly, her heart beating in her throat like a frightened bird.

  His fingers stroked the back of her neck and then withdrew in surprise.

  “You are all wet!” he said, and whipped off her cap. Her fair hair, darkened by water, tumbled down about her. He was frowning now, lifting the clumped tresses, sifting them through his fingers.

  “They bathed me,” she explained, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment. “They wanted me to be clean for—for...”

  “Come closer to the fire, Katherine.”

  His hand closed over hers, drawing her toward the warm flames, and she went willingly. The warmth was blissful and she sank down on the thick rug spread before the hearth and gave in to the desire to hold out her hands.

  He left her for a moment, then reappeared with a plate loaded with more of the succulent array of foods from the table, and set it beside her. Then he sprawled on the rug next to her, arranging his long legs, and scrutinized her as one would something from a curiosity shop.

  He seemed to be in no hurry to fulfil his last wish. Gradually she began to feel more at ease, the warmth seeping into her, her body relaxing. She kicked off her ugly clogs with a sigh of relief, and set her feet before the hearth. He nodded toward the platter. There were meats, roasted or baked in tasty pastry squares, and cheeses and pieces of crusty bread. And there was an orange, round and succulent. It had been years since she had eaten an orange.