by Erica Taylor
“Agreed,” she said, taking her place before him, her left hand settling onto his shoulder, right hand clasped tightly in his.
He barely remembered the steps to the waltz and yet he managed not to completely embarrass himself. He had learned them while in France, at the request of a general’s daughter in need of a dancing partner for her lessons. The general had put an end to their dancing lessons on the belief that William was Scottish.
Thankful for the lessons now, he moved with Sarah through the music, relishing the feeling of her hand locked in his, her waist beneath him. He wanted her beneath him, in so many more ways than just an illicit dance. It was surprising to find it at a country assembly—it hadn’t even made its way to Edinburgh yet due to its perceived inappropriate nature. When he had learned the steps with the slim unwomanly form of a fifteen-year-old general’s daughter, he thought the dance couldn’t have been more boring or more proper, and the scandal surrounding it had baffled him entirely. But dancing it with Sarah, her lips inches from his own, her skirts swishing about his legs as they performed the steps, the curve of her hips nearly pressed against his own, it was pure wickedness.
“Marry me, Sarah.” He uttered the words before he could stop himself, but once he spoke them he knew them to be what he truly wanted.
Sarah’s eyes grew wide in surprise, but she didn’t say anything.
“I know it doesn’t make sense,” he started, hoping to not scare her away with what was probably a premature declaration, regardless of its sincere candor. “But this . . . pull between you and I, we cannot ignore it. I can’t . . . I won’t.”
Pausing, he took a breath and attempted to calm himself. Gunfire and bloody wounds didn’t faze him, but attempting to declare himself sent his heart racing.
“I want you, Sarah,” he whispered. “In every sense of the word. In my bed, in my life, with my name. Please say you’ll accept. Nothing of these past few days with you has made sense, and yet it feels completely right. Whatever meets us in London, I want to have you by my side.”
“Will, you haven’t even told me your real name,” she said softly.
Shaking his head, he tightened his grip on her, afraid she would slip away. “The name I gave you is as true as any other I have, and it’s the only one I want you to share with me. If you absolutely need to know my family before making this decision, I can understand, and I will tell you the truth. But if you will take me for me, half-Scottish bastard surgeon, willing to give you everything I am to make you happy, if that is all that matters, then that matters too. Take a chance, Sarah, take this chance with me.”
Searching her eyes, he waited as the decision tumbled about in her head, terrified she would rebuff him now, as others had. What had he been thinking, uttering something as insane as a marriage proposal in the middle of a waltz at a country assembly? To a woman he’d barely known for two whole days, no less.
Tears pooled in her eyes, and he realized that was it, this was when their fairytale was over, and the harsh reality would return.
“Yes,” she whispered with a tearful chuckle. “It is madness, but it seems we are both mad. Better to do it together.”
He wanted to gather her into his arms, bury himself in her warmth, kiss her senseless—something other than stare at her, a wide grin spreading across his face. In the span of one dance, his life had changed, set its course. The path he had been on two days ago had altered and somehow, he had found someone to share it with. Remarkable.
Refraining from pulling her out of the room in the middle of the dance took an incredible amount of control, when all he wanted was to show her just how he felt, but he didn’t want to break the spell the night had cast over them. Sarah would not appreciate the attention they might draw, or potential speculation. The only way they had made it this far into their Mr. and Mrs. Gordon charade was by blending in. Best not to call attentions to themselves now.
The dance did end eventually, and all William had managed to do was nod dumbly at her. He had to get her out of the room, needing to hold her and say something in response to her acceptance, but he didn’t see any of that remaining exactly proper. Better to avoid being seen.
Making their way through the crush, her fingers were tightly laced with his as he maneuvered them through to the doors they had entered through.
The hallway was thankfully empty, and he turned to regard her, still fighting for words that his mind would not sort out.
“You’re going to kiss me again,” she practically demanded. “Here, in the hall, where anyone walking through could see.”
Glancing down the empty corridor, William hesitated. It seemed rather . . . brash.
“Don’t over-think it, Will, or I will too,” she pleaded, shaking her head. “I’m trying my best not to over-think any of this,” she moved her hands back and forth between the space between them, “because if I start to even consider anything in the past ten minutes, what you just asked me to do and that I willingly and wholeheartedly agreed to it, I might just—”
Taking her head between his hands, William lowered his mouth to hers, brushing his lips across hers softly at first. For the briefest of moments it was a gentle kiss, meant to simply stop her rambling, but as she pressed herself into him, it quickly exploded into something more.
Pent up tension from a day of refraining from touching her, wanting to kiss her at every turn, finally found release as everything in his heart he was too terrified to admit out loud all came pulsing out through their kiss. And for each ounce he gave to her, she gave back just the same. Desire shot through him, and for a moment he wondered if there was a more private room they could adjourn to, as his control was frayed, and the plush carpet of the hallway was hardly the appropriate place for this behavior. Sad as it was, one should not make love to your new fiancée in a corridor outside a town assembly.
Breaking apart from her, his eyes snapped open and found hers, dark with desire.
“We should . . .” he began, and she nodded before he could finish his sentence.
“I do believe I’ve had enough dancing for tonight,” she proclaimed, her lips red from the urgency of their kisses. “I feel a bit . . . feverish. Perhaps I need to find a bed.”
“Of course,” he answered, his mouth quirking up in a smirk. “I will make certain you are properly attended to this evening.”
It took less than five minutes to reach their rooms above the coaching inn, though the speed at which they practically ran through the streets was less shocking to the townspeople they passed along the way than were the heated looks which indicated what they were hurrying to do.
There was a time once when Sarah thought herself innocently in love. She had been naive at twenty-two when she had married, thinking herself the luckiest girl in the world to find such a wonderful husband. The things she had felt for Geoffrey then paled in comparison to the downpour of raging passion she now experienced with William.
With William, she felt herself stirring to life, waking from the doldrums of her pitiful widowed existence. Something about him resonated deep inside her, teasing skillfully at her core, bringing it roaring to life again.
Sarah had been naive to think she could have made it to London without making love to this man.
She had been naive to think she would not fall desperately in love with him in two short days.
It seemed silly to rush their love making, but she couldn’t shake a sense of urgency that whispered that time was against them and if they didn’t hurry it would not happen. And perhaps it wouldn’t have if they took proper time, perhaps reason would return, or reality would rear its ugly head.
“William.” His name was breathless on her lips as it escaped, lingering across a soft moan. Each little sound she made, each panting sigh, each hitch in her breath as he kissed the delicate skin down her neck, made her wet for him. She could feel it pooling between her legs, like liquid fire. Nipping at the soft spot of her pulse, one hand caressed her breast,
though through the layers of fabric.
“Don’t you dare rip this gown,” she warned in a harsh whisper, pushing half a step away.
“Then the gown needs to go,” he replied.
“Then undress me,” she responded coyly. “You’ve played lady’s maid to me before.”
“With pleasure,” he growled, turning her in place with a little spin. “First, your hair.” With deft fingers, he pulled the pins from her hair, her dark tresses falling slowly as each curl was released. Her hair reached past her shoulder, almost down to the middle swell of her back. Sweeping it over her shoulder, he pressed his lips to the sensitive flesh at the nape of her neck.
One by one, he wrestled each button from its loop, pressing a hot kiss to her skin through the muslin of her shift. As he worked, her gown drooped in her arms, sliding further down until it pooled at her feet.
She turned, standing in her shift and stays, stockings and slippers. William’s gaze gleamed. He took her mouth, drugging her with his kiss, teasing and punishment wrapped into an erotic twirl of pleasure. She felt his hands on her laces— her stays laced from the front, the easier to do them herself when she was without a maid, but now she saw the true genius in the design. He could unlace her without breaking his stunning kiss.
Her stays fell to the ground and he stepped back from her. His gaze was hungry, needy as it roamed over her with abandon.
“So supple,” he whispered, taking her breast in his hand. She filled his palm as he rubbed his thumb across her nipple, already hard with arousal. “So beautiful.” He bent and took her into his mouth, sucking against the muslin. The soft fabric was rough against her rigid nipple, the texture chafing against her sensitive flesh.
Her fingers laced through his hair, the soft waves of golden silk in her hands. She savored the attention he paid to one breast, then the other, kneading the one his mouth was not worshiping.
There was a tightness in her core, and she clenched the muscles deep inside, desire pooling and threading its way through her veins. With each suck, nip, and flick, the thread inside her coiled tighter, flaring agonizingly brighter. Every pent-up frustration, suppressed urge, and stifled desire was suddenly free to be felt, explored, and stoked. Freedom from the constraints of society, having sovereignty over her lusts, was almost her undoing.
Beginning at the swell between her breasts, he kissed a burning trail down her abdomen, the soft skin of her belly. He dropped to his knees before her, truly as if he was to worship at her altar. He nestled into the soft, brown curls at the top of her thighs, placing a kiss at the little pearl of pleasure, and Sarah gasped at the jolt of sensation it sent through her.
“I think I’d like to explore that later,” William said with a chuckle, sliding his mouth to the inner skin of her thigh. His fingers unwound the knot from the ribbons in her garter, releasing her stocking. He slipped the silk stocking from her calf, pressing a kiss onto the arch of her foot before repeated the same with the other leg.
From his position on his heels, he glanced up, meeting her gaze. His blue eyes were almost black with desire, pupils dilated, unconcealed hunger radiating through their depths.
In one smooth motion, he was on his feet again, slipping her shift up and over her head. He towered over her at his full height, his mouth hot on hers as he captured her lips again. There was a newfound urgency in his kiss, his tongue dancing with hers in a mating game she wanted to play forever.
Forever. It rocked through her, finding its footing somewhere around her stomach and settling contently in the loch of heat pooling between her legs.
She could handle forever of this, of him. Forever seemed possible.
Sarah tugged at his clothing, his jacket gone, leaving his cravat and shirt in her way of touching his skin.
“You’re going to have to unwind that on your own,” Sarah said, tugging at the strip of linen fabric wound around his neck into an artful knot. Not supreme in fashion like the ones she’d seen in London, but neat, tidy, effortlessly elegant. Him.
“Wouldn’t want you to choke me to death,” he said between kisses as he worked the fabric free. “It’s another little death I have planned for you.”
Sarah laughed, a light girlish giggle and he swallowed the sound with his kiss.
Cravat discarded on the floor, she tugged the ends of his shirt out from his trousers and he pulled it over his head.
Sarah felt her jaw slack open as her eyes roamed over him, openly enjoying her survey.
“You can touch me, Sarah,” he said, his voice hoarse, carrying more brogue than normal.
His broad shoulders swathed in jackets and coats had concealed a strong body. The curve of the muscles swelled as she ran her fingers lightly over the firm skin, across his collarbone. Leaning towards him, she pressed a kiss along the bend of muscles across his breastbone, flicking his nipple as he had done to her.
He hissed, and she looked up, worried he was in pain.
“Keep going, Sarah,” he said though his clenched jaw, eyes shut closed.
“It doesn’t hurt does it?” she cooed, leaning up on her toes to nip at the skin under his tight jaw bone. He shook his head. “You’re so firm, and strong, all muscled and sinewy,” she whispered, trailing her hand down his chest. She dragged her nails across the taut muscles of his stomach to the trail of golden curls disappearing beneath his trousers. With nimble fingers, she undid the laces from the front folds, slipping her hand beneath once they were slack, grasping the length of him firmly in her hand.
“God, Sarah,” he moaned as she pulled him free, pressing her hand down him and up again, swirling the little bead of moisture over the tip.
“You’ve tormented me for days, you know,” she said. “It’s time I repay the favor.”
Dropping to her knees, she took him in her mouth before he could stop her, and he hissed again as she slipped her lips around him. Sucking as she bobbed her head, her hand stroked him up and down, his length growing harder, stiffer under her attentions.
“Enough,” he said roughly, hauling her to her feet, his mouth on hers as he backed her against the bed. Her knees hit the foot of the bed and she bent, sitting onto the mattress, scooting across to the middle. He tugged off his boots and trousers, joining her, covering her with his body. His skin was hot against hers as he pressed her knees apart with his thigh, his mouth entwined with hers.
His control was faltering; Sarah had rescinded hers long ago.
The smooth head of him nudged against her velvet entrance, hot and wet. She pushed against him, urging him on and he took her, inch by glorious inch, filling her completely.
“Oh god, Will,” she moaned, arching her back, angling her hips so he took her deeper. It had been so long since she had done this. She was tight, but her body remembered what to do, stretching to accommodate him.
The fulfillment brought tears to her eyes, and she was thankful his face was buried in her neck so he wouldn’t see her cry. Any form of intimacy had turned sour and tormenting under the attentions of her dead husband, but here, now, with William, there was a renewed feeling of elation. With each stroke, each thrust, William reminded her what it was to be loved, cherished.
He made love to her, firmly and unhurried, and she savored each push towards the edge of oblivion, loving him in every irrational way possible.
No one fell in love in two days; it was madness. And yet here she was, moaning his name, filled with love to the core, and she was done denying it. He was hers—forever, if she had any say in it. London would not prove to be a disastrous ending, but a joyous beginning.
A wave crested over her, heat and magic rushing through her as she came, wet around him, her voice cascading off the walls of the inn. William came quickly after, burying his seed deep within her.
Sarah wrapped her arms around his back, slick with sweat, and held him to her. He was spent in her arms, barely holding his weight from crushing her as he trailed feather light kisses along her pulse, from
her ear to her throat.
“Who knew respectable Lady Sarah was such a siren in bed?” he whispered, hot against her skin.
“Respectable ladies do not speak of such things,” she replied, smirking.
He nudged his nose against her throat, a non-committal sound coming out in a grunt. He withdrew from her, the coolness of the room crashing against the warmth that had been there moments before and she shivered.
He glanced to the fireplace. “We let the fire go out.”
“I don’t think there ever was a fire,” she countered.
Reaching down, he retrieved his trousers from the floor, tugging them on before bending before the hearth to light a fire.
For a moment, a very brief moment, Sarah contemplated putting on a nightgown, but watching him work shirtless before the hearth, his arms strong and taut, and the lines in his back as he bent and moved, she decided against clothing. If she had her way, he wouldn’t be in his for much longer.
“I say, Lady Sarah, are you ogling me?” he asked without looking at her.
“Yes,” she answered her lips quirking into a smile. He turned to regard her, returning her grin.
“Good,” he replied. Standing, he brushed the bark and soot from his hands before turning back towards the bed.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She quirked an eyebrow. “Not for food,” she replied, slipping her fingertip into the top of his trousers and tugging him towards her.
He laughed, bending to capture her mouth with his, his hands threading through her hair, his trousers slipping again to the floor.
Trailing his hands down the length of her, she jumped when the tips of his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin along her sides.
Pulling back, he grinned at her, his brows raised in question. “Are you . . . ticklish?” he asked.
“No,” she denied, but it was too late.
Squirming under his fingers, she scooted away, hurrying to hide beneath the cover of the duvet, laughing as he threw the cover off, his fingers finding her sides again. Ticking led to kissing and kissing led to stroking, and stroking lead to more hours spent not sleeping.
