Lords Of Desire Part 27

The shop was less than a mile from the house, but Sarah rarely patronized it. The owner was her least favorite of the nearby book merchants, he being more interested in science and politics than "those dreadful novels," as he called them. An arrogant bore in Sarah's opinion, but he might prove useful today.

As soon as the hack creaked to a halt before the store, Sarah pressed the note into Betsy's hand, along with a generous fistful of coins. A few simple instructions later, and she was alone in the coach, still rocking from Betsy's jarring descent.

She stared at the opposite cushion, hands clenched tight together, and waited. Minutes dragged by. She thought about James. Wondered if he was thinking about her. Perhaps the night had meant nothing to him. Perhaps it had been like any other. Nodding to rea.s.sure herself, Sarah snuck a look at the door of the shop.

Nothing.

Had the bookseller grown suspicious? Was he even now questioning the maid? Surely he couldn't object to the request.

Please remand, to the bearer of this note, three or four of your most popular texts on the subject of female health and marital relations.

Could he know it was from a woman? Would he report her to her husband?

A flutter of panic was just beginning to rise in her throat when the door to the shop flew inward. Pressing her fingers to her mouth, Sarah held her breath until a familiar skirt appeared above the threshold.

Betsy stepped out, mouth set in a serious line as befit a kitchen maid elevated to a temporarily important status. She didn't look scandalized or t.i.tillated, only determined. When she saw Sarah watching, she broke into a smile, then remembered herself and smothered it.

"'E drove a hard bargain, ma'am, but I got him down to four quid!" She was proud of herself, regardless that she had no idea how much her package should have cost, but Sarah thought four quid a good bargain and told her so.

The maid kept the paper-wrapped bundle close as she alighted, and though Sarah wanted to s.n.a.t.c.h it from her, there could be no reasonable excuse to do so. Still, she stared anxiously at the brown paper as Betsy settled it on her lap and wrapped her chapped fingers around the string.

Sarah's answer might be inside that brown paper, just inches from her hands. Had last night been a fit? A sign that her mother's tainted blood had been pa.s.sed to her? If so, she would have to tell James a truth too horrible to consider...that she might pa.s.s on the illness she'd hidden to his children.

The palms of her white gloves were soaked with perspiration by the time the hack delivered them back to the Hood door. When they entered, Betsy moved to carry the books to the library, but Sarah touched her elbow.

"I will take those," she said too loudly, then managed a smile when Betsy jumped in shock. "Thank you, Betsy. You were a great help to me today." Heart beating too hard to hear the maid's reply, Sarah wrapped her arms around the books and spun to run up the stairs.

"Sarah?" a deep voice called, interrupting her retreat. The tone and timbre of that voice spread icy fingers over the skin of her back. Her knees locked and she nearly pitched forward onto her face.

"Sarah?" James's voice repeated from only a few feet behind her. Clutching her guilt tighter to her chest, Sarah tried hard to breathe.

She was caught.

When his wife turned toward him, James felt no small amount of alarm at her pallor. He was actually reaching out to catch her when her lips trembled into a smile.

"James, you surprised me. Whatever are you doing home at this hour?"

He frowned. "Are you quite well, my dear?" He started to ease his hand beneath her elbow, but she shifted away, drawing his eye to the package she held.

"I am fine. I was only out to...I only just..."

He smiled. "More books, darling?"

"I..." Her eyes fell. "Yes," she whispered. "Books."

"Come." He slid his hand over her shoulder and curled his fingers to touch the back of her neck, shocked at the way her skin played havoc with his nerves. But shock didn't stop him from lowering his mouth to her forehead. He let himself breathe her in for a bare second before he pulled away. "You may buy as many novels as you like. We have a library to fill, after all."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"Sarah," he said on a nervous laugh. "Pray do not look at me as if I were a monster." As soon as he said the word "monster" it occurred to him that maybe her upset had nothing to do with books and everything to do with last night. Horror froze his blood to a sluggish crawl. Had he hurt her? Frightened her? His stomach fell to his feet.

His wife shook her head and tried to blink the tears away. "Of course not. You are so good to me. Always."

Helpless and confused, he dropped his hand from her neck, though he clenched his fingers to hold her warmth captive. "I thought perhaps we could take luncheon together. Have I upset you too much to join me?" What he'd actually thought was that they might use luncheon as an excuse to flirt. He'd hoped to tease a blush to her cheeks, hoped that the memory would keep him company for the rest of this interminable day. Now he only hoped not to hurt her tender feelings.

Sarah took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Against him?

"I would love to dine with you, James. I was only overset by a headache this morning. Please forgive me."

"Of course!" he answered. Of course, she'd suffered a headache. His wife did not often indulge in too many gla.s.ses of wine. "If you are ill, I will leave you to your rest."

"No, stay! Please stay. I only need a moment."

Before he could offer even a small bow, she'd whirled away and started up the stairs, arms still clutching her package. James watched her go, tracing her small waist with his eyes.

Her delicate femininity had inspired his protectiveness from the moment they'd met. Whenever she was near, he felt larger. Stronger, somehow. But today, for the first time, he felt like a clumsy oaf with hands far too big to handle a creature as beautifully fragile as his wife.

CHAPTER 3.

Luncheon had been a miserable affair, though Sarah had tried her best to be bright and lively. Her husband rarely returned home during the day, and on any previous day, she would have been nervously excited at his unexpected appearance. But today, guilt had eaten at her, devouring bits of her slowly. When it had finished its feast, she'd been left hollow, but at least it had been done.

Then she'd remembered that she should be embarra.s.sed as well as guilty. Had he been thinking about the previous night when he'd watched her so closely? She had blushed at the thought, and the burn had stayed through the rest of the meal.

But James had been lovely, as always, trying his best to coax a laugh from her lips. She had laughed for him, and wished she were not such a fraud.

When he'd gone, he hadn't pressed his customary kiss to her cheek. Instead, he'd kissed her lips, and the taste of his mouth made her heart tumble and fall, made her breath hitch. James's eyes had widened at that small sound, and he'd stared at her for a long moment before taking his leave.

Pulse thumping at the memory, Sarah pressed her fingertips to her mouth and curled tighter into the chair. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, warming the corner where she hid and lighting up the pile of books she'd unwrapped.

Another secret kept from him.

Hand trembling, she reached for the smallest book. A Physician's Wisdom Pursuant to the Fruitful Marriage. Well, she had certainly felt ripe as a peach last night in the dark.

After one last, deep breath, Sarah cracked open the book and began to read.

The first two chapters were so decidedly un-scandalous that Sarah actually began to feel sleepy. Complementary temperaments that would make for a good marriage. Physical attributes that might normally be considered attractive to a mate. She would've called for tea if the thought of packing up the books and hiding them didn't seem too tremendous a feat. So she read on, and soon felt her sleepiness dissipate like fog before a hard wind.

Here. Here was information that would prove useful.

Frequency of marital relations will be determined by the husband's spirit and humours. The wife should, of course, accommodate the enthusiasm of his masculine needs but should never be bullied or cowed into acquiescence. Despite that her body does not rise in demand as a man's does, it is not the impa.s.sive vessel it seems. Her own seed must be called if the marriage is to result in healthy progeny. Even from the time of Aristotle it has been known that the wife's womb will not quicken unless she experiences her own feminine climax.

"Climax," Sarah breathed. At the sound of that word, her body bloomed into chill b.u.mps that tightened her nipples. Climax. That seemed exactly what it had been. A culmination of the sensations her husband had encouraged.

Could it be that her fit had been a good thing? She wanted children, badly. Perhaps this was only a harbinger of fertility?

Feeling more hopeful by the moment, Sarah read on, wide-eyed at the information printed on the pages. The author provided fascinating details of pregnancy and childbirth and admonitions against "self-pollution," whatever that might be. Further a.s.sertion that pleasure between a man and his wife was vitally important to the health of both. And, most interesting of all, a drawing of how the male and female bodies in their entirety were designed by G.o.d himself to complement each other.

Sarah studied the picture closely, trying in vain to picture James's body opposite her own. She could not. She'd tried hard not to glimpse any bits of him that might be...frightening. It seemed odd now, that something had been deep inside her own body and she'd never even peeked at it. Surely she should be acquainted with the thing.

The hum that had been slowly building in her body over the past hours began to center itself in a very specific spot. She recognized both the hum and the spot now. After reading such enlightening text, the sensations felt rather friendly instead of frightening.

Perhaps James would touch her again tonight. Perhaps he would stroke her and urge her on.

By the time her maid knocked and asked if she'd like to dress for dinner, Sarah's skin felt too tight, her clothing too stiff. The idea of putting on a heavier gown for the evening made her cringe, but she rose anyway, carefully repacked the books in their paper, then hid the bundle under the bed.

James would be home soon, and she must be dressed to receive him, whether he stayed for dinner or not.

"Ma'am," Mary greeted her, already removing a dress from the wardrobe.

Sarah stared at the moss-green cotton that spilled over her maid's arms. Glancing into the jumble of colors in the wardrobe, she shook her head. "I shall wear the yellow silk tonight."

Mary only nodded and switched the dresses.

"And my hair...perhaps in a fall down my back?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Mary seemed completely unfazed by her mistress's requests, but Sarah felt so different she wondered that it wasn't visible. Surely her lips were pinker, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s fuller? But if her own maid didn't notice, likely no one would, perhaps not even James. He might simply come home, relax with a brandy and the newspaper, then head out for an evening at his club. The thought caused a flutter of relief along with mortification.

She could not wait for him to be home. And she was scared half to death.

The sun was still high in the sky when James found himself mounting his front steps that evening. Not that he could see the sun past the thick clouds that had gathered above London, but the day still felt too bright for the kinds of thoughts crowding his head.

After that disastrous luncheon this afternoon, James had been perfectly sure that he would flee to his club for the evening and avoid the discomfort he'd forced between him and his wife. Sarah simply wasn't that kind of woman. He'd proved he could coax pleasure from her beautiful body, but in the process, he'd frightened and disturbed her, forced her to a place she did not wish to go. She was a wife, not a doxy.

That had been his thinking all through the meal, while Sarah avoided his eyes and asked pleasant questions.

But then he'd kissed her.

Knowing he should leave it be, he'd still kissed her. And thank G.o.d he had.

She'd drawn in a sharp breath just before her lips offered their own fleeting pressure. When he'd looked into her eyes, they'd gone black, dilated with pleasure. Her lips remained slightly parted as if she might welcome another kiss.

After that, James hadn't known what to think, but he'd come home early with great hopes of puzzling it out.

"Mr. Hood," Crawford murmured, offering a bow even as he took James's hat and gloves. "The evening paper awaits you in the library. May I bring a refreshment as well?"

"Ah...I'm not sure. Is Mrs. Hood in?"

"I believe she is in her chambers, sir. Shall I send word that you are home?"

James glanced toward the stairs, weighing his options. He thought of that kiss. "Yes, please do. And can Cook have dinner prepared in half an hour?" He hadn't managed to choke down much of the cold beef on his plate this afternoon.

Waiting in the library, he paced from the window to the fireplace and back again. And again. His heart had broken today when her eyes had filled with tears. The thought that he might have hurt her was almost as bad as on their wedding night, when he'd known he must. He'd had to choke down three fingers of whisky that night before going to her. He was beginning to think he might need the same tonight.

Except that he hadn't imagined the way she'd responded to him in the dark. Surely he hadn't. Her whimpers of desire. Her body arching into his, needing.

The click of the door latch stopped his pacing. Sarah's voice stopped his heart.

"James?" she whispered, so tentative.

But when he turned and saw her there, his fears tumbled away like brittle leaves.

Self-conscious at the intensity of his stare, Sarah smoothed a hand down the side of her gown. His eyes followed, making her anxiety worse.

She looked foolish, wearing a dress more appropriate for a dinner party than an evening at home. Far too much of her bosom was revealed, as if she wanted him to stare there. And her hair...tumbling down her back like an opera singer's. She'd thought that putting effort into her appearance would be a subtle way of inviting her husband to seduce her. But now she was too exposed. Stripped of any pretense of innocence in this game.

"You are so beautiful," James said simply. His eyes did not leer; they glowed, and her heart swelled in response.

"Thank you." Her voice seemed to disappear in the large room, but it did not matter. Her husband was drawing closer.

He whispered her name, touched his hand to her cheek, and when she raised her head to look at him, he kissed her. Her eyelids fluttered closed at the first soft brush of his mouth. Then his tongue grazed her bottom lip and she opened for him, welcomed him into her body. The kiss was soft and slow. Not a promise of more to come, but an act in and of itself. As if they had a lifetime to explore each other's bodies. And they did.

James broke the kiss first, and she was forced to lean against him for support. "I have been dreaming of kissing you all day," he murmured.

Sarah tried to hide her pride. "But we only just kissed a few hours ago."

"Yes. And however short a time before we kiss again tonight, I'm certain it will feel an eternity. Men are quite cursed. When a man desires a certain woman, he can think of little else."

She blushed and put a little distance between them, unable to flirt and look him in the face at the same time. "Mm? And what of women?" From the corner of her eye, she watched him follow her progress as she strolled from the doorway toward the window.

"I'm not sure," he finally answered. "Have you ever found yourself consumed with thoughts of kisses?"

Sarah curled her fingers into the drapery and squeezed hard to push some courage into her veins. The curtain rod gave a small creak, so she forced herself to loosen her hold. Then she took a deep breath and turned toward her husband, though she couldn't manage to raise her gaze from the carpet. "Yes," she admitted to the reds and golds of the Oriental tapestry, "even more than kisses...sometimes."

They both held their breath after that. Only the ticking of the clock, suddenly loud, pierced the silence for a few torturous moments. Her heart struggled in desperate panic.

James finally inhaled, then breathed out one soft word. "More?"

She'd forced out all the bold talk she could, so Sarah only nodded.

"I was afraid..." he started, then shook his head. "I was afraid I had frightened you."

That made her smile, and she managed to glance up for a brief moment. "I was afraid I had frightened you."

The unbearable tension broke on the wave of his laughter. "Never think that. You please me to no end, my love."

"Will you...?" She cleared her throat. "Will you stay for dinner, then?"

His smile changed subtly, shifting from amus.e.m.e.nt to satisfaction. "Yes." His eyes drifted down her yellow gown. "I had no plans to go anywhere at all." Then he met her gaze.