Lords Of Desire Part 26

He'd always thought himself practical and decent. He'd known that when he took a wife he would honor and care for her. Still, he hadn't really expected that he'd spend whole days thinking of her.

There was something about Sarah. Something serene and soft that drew him close, though he never quite reached her. She was inscrutable. A mysterious feminine creature. Surely time would change that. Time to know her and let himself be known. Time to ease into the comfort of marriage.

A spark of recognition had struck him at their first meeting. And what a relief to find that the pretty girl with the peaceful smile was not only fair but also generous and keen-witted. Now that they were married, he loved to watch her read in the evenings in front of the fire. Loved to watch the emotions flit across her face as she sped through the pages.

Her soft brown hair seemed always to choose that moment to start escaping its knot, her brown eyes would sparkle with excitement, and James would watch her. He could not observe her enough during the day, when she would notice and blush and grow fl.u.s.tered. But when she read, she forgot his gaze.

Perhaps someday she would let him stare whenever he liked.

Smiling, James turned and took the stairs two at a time, though he slowed his step at the door to their chambers and slipped quietly into his dressing room. Once undressed, he started to reach for a nightshirt, but even in the nude the June air felt heavy tonight. Warm and humid.

No nightshirt. Sarah was too reserved to say a word even if she did notice, and it would only get hotter in July. He'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd sleep in a nightshirt during the hottest part of summer. She would get past it.

Decision made, he opened the door to the bedchamber and eased into bed as carefully as he could. The mattress absorbed him, the feathers easing his tired muscles even as they surrounded his skin with heat. Tossing off the covers, he spread out and closed his eyes, but a soft sound floated to his ears.

A sigh. Sarah shifted and sighed again as she settled into a new position.

Perhaps she wasn't asleep after all.

Feeling a cad, James reached slowly out until he touched bare flesh. Her arm, probably. He rolled toward her, rising up to his elbow to see her better.

Yes, her arm, pale and bare, curved back toward her body, her fingers twisted into the fabric of her gown. Shifting, she frowned, her fist tightening in the muslin.

"Sarah?" he breathed. She sighed again. A bad dream, perhaps.

Her skin was cream silk beneath his fingers when he stroked her arm to calm her. He stroked again.

"James?" Her eyes opened and found him.

"You were dreaming."

"Mm." Her eyelids drifted shut. "You look like the shadow of a giant."

"Do I?" Her skin enticed him still. He dragged the pad of his thumb farther, dipping into the crook of her elbow, feeling her pulse. When he moved higher, he felt chill b.u.mps rise on her arm, but there wasn't even a hint of cold in the air. "You look like an angel."

Her soft laugh swirled through the room. "Do angels ever have too much wine after dinner?"

"Did you have too much wine, cheeky girl?"

"I did," she groaned. "But the room has finally ceased its spinning. I hope you are not horrified."

He smiled down at his tipsy wife. "Not horrified at all. But perhaps I should drag the chamber pot close?"

"Hush."

So he did, and watched her body relax and settle, her lips maintaining their soft smile. His hand continued its path to her shoulder. He dipped his fingers beneath the strap of her gown, spread them over her skin. So soft. His little finger ventured lower.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment as her body went still, but then her deep breath raised his hand, and he could no longer resist the temptation to lower his mouth to the bare curve of her shoulder.

Sarah did not respond at first. He felt a familiar guilt press his heart. He wanted her. He wanted her even when she held her breath and waited for him to be done with it. So he wasn't surprised when her muscles turned to stone beneath him.

But when he opened his mouth and touched his tongue to her flesh, Sarah sighed, her muscles relaxed, and James's heartbeat thundered.

His mouth was on her, heat and wetness. Nothing more than that quiet, simple kiss on her shoulder. But the warmth spread out from there when he drew slightly at her skin. He'd put his mouth to her flesh in the past, had even licked her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her nipples. Somehow, the thought of that affected her more on this night than the actual sensations had before. She breathed and waited.

His hand slipped over her gown, as if he'd read her mind, and his palm cupped her breast as his tongue licked at her shoulder. The two feelings somehow tangled up and made her gasp.

Horrified, she shut her mouth and held her breath. She needn't have bothered. He seemed not to notice at all, just kept licking her skin in little whips of fire, kept his hot palm curved over her breast. His tongue trailed closer to the wide strap of her nightgown. Then he skipped over it entirely, and that wet heat was on her neck.

"Oh." That felt lovely. Lovely. So very wicked. Or perhaps the wickedness was his thumb moving like b.u.t.terfly wings over her breast. Her nipple pushed up to meet the attention, and suddenly the b.u.t.terfly wings disappeared under sizzling sparks.

Startled, she flung her hand out...and found that sparks were not the only startling thing about the night. Her knuckles met up with something hot and hard and surrounded by crisp hair.

They both gasped, James perhaps a little more loudly.

She had never touched him there, had never..."I'm sorry," she whispered in horror. "I didn't mean to. Did I hurt you?"

"No." But he sounded hurt. Sounded as if he were holding his breath. "Sarah?"

"Y-yes?" His hand tightened on her breast, his thumb and finger pinched her nipple, and brightness trailed through her body. When she recovered from that, she realized she arched up, pressing herself boldly into his grip, mewling a little. Whatever James had been about to say, he forgot it, and his mouth covered hers.

She'd never thought him a poor kisser, but these kinds of kisses had always seemed a bit...sloppy. Too intimate. But tonight when his tongue slipped against hers, it was the exact right thing. Somehow appeasing and inflaming at once. Enough and not nearly enough.

Sarah turned toward him and kissed him back. That was the end of conscious thought for her. All further sensation tangled up in a great mess of mouths and hands and fingers. He caressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and stroked her belly, then pulled her nightgown up and off. Then his mouth was on one nipple and his hand on the other and the whole of his hard body pressed against her side. She could feel his shaft snug against her thigh, and his mouth sucking and his fingers exploring lower, until all she could think was, please, please, please.

He was so slow, so gentle, and by the time his fingers snuck into the dark curls between her thighs, Sarah was beside herself. Whimpering and writhing, wanting so much what she had hoped to avoid on other nights. She wanted to be had. Taken. Entered.

His hand stroked her, and Sarah had to hold her breath lest she scream. His fingers slipped easily against her, lubricated by her body, and he ceased to kiss her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and merely panted against her damp skin.

"Sarah."

She clenched her eyes shut, horrified by the flagrant wetness of her s.e.x, wishing he would simply get on with it and not notice. Her prayers were answered. James eased between her thighs and pressed his maleness to her. When he thrust in, Sarah gulped for air.

My G.o.d. My G.o.d, it felt so right. So necessary. How had she only thought this tolerable? Tonight when he sank deep, she wanted him deeper. When he stretched her flesh with his startling girth, she shuddered for more.

Lungs straining, she clasped her hands around his sweat-damp back and held him close until he rose to his arms and began to move. His hips thrust. In and out. Sarah had found the in rather uncomfortable before, but now it seemed the entire point. The in. Yes. The in.

Her fingernails dug into his back. James groaned and thrust harder. Her breath tripped out of her lungs as if forced by a bellows. She strained up, up, to meet him. To make the in more and better. And when she lifted her knees higher, it was.

"Ah, Christ," James gasped. "Sarah. Yes."

Yes. He felt it, too. Something. Something tight and empty in her belly. The place his seed would go, perhaps. A hollow only he could fill. "James," she begged. He must know what to do. He must.

His body turned to stone. He froze. And Sarah nearly wept.

It was over, but her s.e.x was still stretched and needing. Her belly still empty.

But he didn't collapse on her. His chest still heaved for air, and his shaft did not diminish in the least. After a few more deep breaths, James shifted his weight onto one arm and slid one hand between their bodies.

Wide-eyed, she waited in complete confusion. And then she cried out.

His fingers had found that spot. That place he often stroked before he took her. The place that had, heretofore, made her wriggle a bit at the sensation. But tonight, that place sang like an instrument under James's stroking fingertips. She sang.

She moaned and gasped and strained her head back into the pillow.

Despite what she'd suspected, James had not finished. Still stroking, he thrust again. And again. And what she'd thought was glorious before had been nothing to this. Friction and tightness and the perfect amount of pleasure.

Gritting her teeth, she arched to meet him.

"Yes, Sarah. My sweet. Yes."

Yes, she thought. Yes. And then her body turned in on itself, a snake writhing into a knot. Everything tightened to an impossible tension, and then...then she was set free, sobbing, gasping.

James shouted something, stiffened above her for a long moment before he shuddered hard against her.

Before she slept, she felt him press a dozen kisses to her neck, and then she was falling deep into blackness.

CHAPTER 2.

Every time a step sounded outside the breakfast-room door, James tensed and stared, cold toast and kipper forgotten. After the fifth time the footsteps of the industrious maid pa.s.sed, James rose, opened the door, and propped it open with the nearest vase.

There. Now he would look less like a hound antic.i.p.ating his generous mistress and her pocketful of treats. Sarah would not enter to find him all agape. Instead, she'd enter to find him only stunned and eager.

Last night had been...Well, frankly, it had been the most shocking night of his life. Not the most debauched. Not the least dignified. Just the most surprising.

He'd had lovers. The widow of a prosperous merchant. A brief affair with a rather l.u.s.ty governess. And a long affair with a slightly older woman whose husband had moved to France fifteen years before and refused to send for her. He'd had pleasant affairs, and had pleasured those women.

But he'd mistakenly a.s.sumed that Sarah wasn't quite like them. She was so dignified. Innocent and reserved. Measured. A woman of a higher cla.s.s, perhaps not geared toward the carnal.

Not that he'd given her no pleasure at all. He'd always been sure to caress her until her body made itself ready. He'd been slow and careful, especially on their wedding night.

Sure to make her wet and ease his way. But stroking the little pearl that made other women scream had only made Sarah a bit more relaxed.

Until last night.

Shifting, James looked again toward the open doorway, but she wasn't there. A quick glance at his watch revealed the sad truth that he could tarry no longer. A meeting with this new incarnation of his wife would have to wait.

"d.a.m.n," he cursed as he folded his paper and snapped it shut. He'd wanted to see her. Kiss her good-bye. See if her eyes shone a little more brightly when she spied him. But he'd not wake her. After last night, she needed her sleep.

James couldn't help his smile as he took his hat from the butler-more slowly than strictly necessary-checked the stairway one last time, and reluctantly took his leave.

Sarah didn't wake fully aware of the night before. No, her head felt a bit achy and her throat raw with thirst when sunlight finally woke her. She was snuggling into her pillow to escape the discomfort when the first inkling of what she'd done hit her. Hand pressed to her chest, she sat bolt upright and inhaled as much air as would fit in her lungs.

She was stark naked.

"Oh, good Lord."

The memories weren't exactly crisp, but they were vivid nonetheless. She'd moaned and writhed. Shuddered and scratched. A stray cat howling for a tom. And then...then she'd had some sort of fit. A screaming, jerking fit.

"Oh no," Sarah sobbed, pressing both hands to her mouth. What must her husband think? Eyes rolling, she scanned the room, but saw no sign of him. When her gaze caught sight of the small clock on the mantel, her shoulders collapsed. It was nearly ten. He'd left for work long before. She would not see him for hours, and she couldn't help but be thankful, disloyal as that seemed.

She fell back to the pillows and pulled the coverlet up to her nose. What in the world had happened to her? The wine perhaps, except her strange mood had started earlier, so much worry and restlessness. And then...when her husband had touched her, something had...come to life inside her body. Something hot and trembling. Something almost hungry.

A groan escaped her throat, scaring her almost as much as her thoughts. If there was a beast inside her, lurking in her deepest soul, she knew what it must be. Her secret. Her family's secret.

Sarah set her teeth and swallowed hard. She wasn't a woman p.r.o.ne to dramatics. James had hardly seemed alarmed, from what she could recall. He had seemed...What? Encouraging? But he did not know the truth. She had not told him the truth. So she could not depend upon him to know whether her paroxysms were a normal phenomenon or a sign of worse to come.

In truth, she had heard her own mother cry out like that on occasion. Usually when the doctor would go in and shut the door for her treatments. Then, afterward, her mother would weep, sometimes for days.

Knowing full well that time spent lying in bed would only mean more worry, she dug her nightgown from beneath the sheets and twisted and wiggled until she had it on. Then she rang for a bath. By the time the clock struck eleven and she found herself staring down at the congealing breakfast on her plate, Sarah knew what she must do.

Though the housekeeper was a slightly terrifying presence, Sarah forced herself to calmly request the woman's attention in the morning room. It took her approximately two minutes to quench her suddenly dry mouth, wipe her fingers, and rise to make her way to the morning room. The housekeeper was already there, awaiting her.

"Oh, Mrs. Baylor. Such a prompt response." Sarah could not understand how Mrs. Baylor could be quite so round and still move more swiftly than a startled mouse.

"Yes, ma'am. Would you care to review the menus this morning, then?"

"No, I think the schedule is going splendidly. You run this house with great efficiency."

Mrs. Baylor waited, eyes darting toward the door as if she'd like to be off to see to other duties.

"Well, then," Sarah chirped. "I am running a few errands today, and I should like to steal one of the maids away. Could you spare Betsy, do you think?"

"Betsy? Which Betsy, ma'am? There are two."

Sarah blinked. Two? Lord, she thought she had planned so well. One of those Betsys couldn't read even the simplest words. Sarah knew this because she'd heard the girl explain to Mrs. Baylor why she couldn't fetch a certain spice from the larder one evening when Sarah had been trying to teach them the recipe for her grandmother's spiced cakes. Sarah needed that girl.

She cleared her throat. "The, um, the Betsy with the curly brown hair that sneaks from her cap?"

"Aye, I've spoken to her about that, ma'am. I'll-"

"The hair is fine. Only can you spare her?"

"Of course."

Sarah nodded and smiled past her pounding heart. "Wonderful. I shall be ready in half an hour. Please notify the footman that I will require a hack."

The moment Mrs. Baylor quit the room, Sarah rushed to the writing table and drew a piece of paper from the drawer. After staring at the blank page for at least ten minutes, she took the pen into one shaking hand and scratched out three lines. She did not sign it, only dried it carefully and folded it into a tight, neat square.

The rest of her preparations took no time at all, and before the half hour was up, she and Betsy were in the coach and on their way.