by Erica Taylor
Lost in thought, Sarah almost collided with Mr. Byre as he returned from the stables.
“Mr. Byrne,” she said and bobbed a curtsy. He nodded to her, looking confused.
“Lady Radcliff, what are you doing out here?” he asked curiously.
“Foxton is my friend,” she explained. “I merely wanted to see if he was all right.”
“Would you be all right after such a shock?” Mr. Byrne asked.
Sarah shook her head. “All the more reason to keep an eye on him. He shouldn’t be alone in such a state.”
“He was quite angry,” Mr. Byrne acknowledged. “Such a state is not fit for a lady. Allow me to return you to the house?” He offered his arm to her and she took a step backwards, shaking her head.
“I am perfectly safe here at my family seat, Mr. Byrne,” she said. “I would like to see for myself that Foxton is safe for the night as well. Has he gone off on horseback?”
Mr. Byrne seemed to be sizing her up, his face tight with concentration before he came to some decision and nodded. “He has taken a horse and headed into the darkness. Reckless to be sure, but he was out of his mind with rage. I am sure he will be well, and you can see for yourself in the morning.” Again he offered his arm.
“Thank you, but I am firm in my concern for him,” she replied, narrowing her eyes into an almost glare, a look she had perfected to keep the imps of the ton wondering if they were being set down or dismissed. Mr. Byrne took the same conclusion from her stare as everyone before him. Stepping out of her way, he nodded.
“Be careful, Lady Radcliff,” he warned. “Foxton is in a state, but if you can bring him safely back to us, we would be most grateful. Perhaps a familiar face is what he needs. He didn’t want to speak to me about her grace. One way or another, he will have to face the situation.”
“I am sure he appreciates your concern for him,” Sarah said, laying a hand on his arm. “When wounded, one tends to attack and defend, frantic to prevent any more damage. It is only when one feels safe can they tend to their wounds and move past the trauma.”
“Quite so, your ladyship,” he said with a nod and disappeared into the darkness, heading towards the house.
Sarah hurried to the stables, and the grooms were already moving about, as William had roused them into activity. She received a few curious glances as she requested her horse be brought and saddled. Within minutes she was atop Athena, stepping into the winter darkness. The grooms pointed out William’s direction and as she squinted into the dark air she could see the hoof prints left by his horse as they traversed across the snow.
Of course he had to take a horse and flee, Sarah complained as she set her horse after his with a flick of her crop. Nothing about this man was ever going to be easy it seemed.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that she found him rather easily in the darkness. Dressed in black, beside a black horse, the shadows of the night did well to camouflage him amongst the nightfall, but she found him. From the beginning she had been unerringly drawn to him, the same way the swell of the sea finds the shore.
“Sarah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “What are you doing here?”
“You need to come back to the house, Will,” she said, breathless as she dismounted. Her hair was mussed from her ride without a hood or bonnet, her breath coming in white puffs before her.
“I am not going back,” he replied, shaking his head. “Not yet. Not when I have this much rage pulsing through me.”
“You need to speak with Anna,” Sarah said gently, laying her hand on his arm.
“Do not even speak her name to me,” William warned, shaking her off. “That woman has been nothing but trouble since the moment I laid eyes on her. I want nothing more than to be rid of her.”
“And what of her child?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t give a damn anymore,” William said harshly, his golden hair silver in the moonlight.
“Don’t say that,” Sarah chided.
“It’s probably not even Heath’s child!” William exclaimed with a half mad laugh. “The whole reason I agreed to marry her and forsake you was to give Heath’s child a chance at a decent life, the one I thought he had been robbed of. As it is, the child I was trying to protect might not even be my own blood. That’s irony for you!”
“Will, I know the circumstances are not ideal, but you can find the good through it,” Sarah began, but was startled into silence when William rounded on her, his face hot with anger . . . and something else.
“Nothing good can come from anything my father has touched,” William practically spat at her. “That man was the devil incarnate. I escaped him when my mother died, and I was stupid to return when called for. He had made my life miserable at every turn and now he is doing it from the grave.” His face softened as his gaze roamed over her, her face, the swell of her breasts. “Oh Sarah,” he said softly, tracing a finger down her jaw. “You should have been my wife. If not for that damned woman and my damned father running interference, you would be my wife.”
A shiver poured through her, either from his touch or the cold, but it pooled deep in her core, tingling and teasing at the places she knew could be dangerous. She swallowed against the rush of emotion and the arousal his one touch could create.
“She has never been my wife,” William whispered, leaning forward to kiss the sensitive spot below her earlobe, his breath hot on her skin. “Never in any way that mattered. I’ve never even touched her as her husband, I couldn’t stomach it. Not when she belonged to my brother.” His face hovered above hers, his dark lashes drooping as his gaze dropped to hers. “Not when I belonged to you.”
Then his mouth was on hers, and she wrapped her arms around his head, returning his passionate, burning kiss with her own, her need for him inescapable. She wanted William more than she could comprehend—had burned for him since their time together all those months ago.
“Will, we can’t,” Sarah said hoarsely, knowing this was wrong, knowing they should stop, but struggling to care anymore. Right and wrong did not seem to matter in the turmoil of unshed emotion she harbored for this man. She knew lust and want, but right had no place in any of it.
“Sarah,” he pleaded, his voice above a whisper and she could see his tightly wound control shearing in his anguish, mirroring her own. “You have been in my heart since the day I met you. Anna was never my wife, not in any way that matters, it was always you, and it should always have been you.” His eyes raged with anger and passion and wounds she couldn’t hope to heal with just words. He needed something more from her, something primal, a level of compassion and comfort that mere words couldn’t achieve.
Why not? she thought, throwing caution to the wind, wanting him for her own, even if it was one last time. It had to be one last time.
“No one needs to know,” he whispered in her ear. “This is between you, me, the stars, and the moon. This is no one’s business but our own.”
His mouth was hot on hers, kissing her with an unrestrained passion that inflamed her senses. Sarah was lost; there was no turning back. Knowing it would be their last time pulsed courage into her bones and she leaned into him, desperate to feel him and know him again.
It was a cold wintry night, but Sarah could not feel the frigid temperatures on her skin as he slipped her breast from her stays and gown, her nipple peaking as he sucked and nipped.
Sarah’s head fell against the tree and a soft moan escaped her lips, echoing in the gentle night air. His free hand found the curve of her thigh, pulling her gown up before slipping his hand beneath her skirts, trailing fire as he moved his hand up her leg to the wet center at her core.
“Will.” His name was a moan on her lips as he slipped a finger, then two, into her, stroking her where she was wet with want. She lifted her foot to rest against the stump at the base of the tree, her knee dropping to the side, allowing him better access.
“I’m glad you still know my name,” he teased, nippi
ng the soft flesh along her neck. He kissed her again, roughly, as his fingers slid in and out and moved along to the wet pearl, her body tingling for release. In and out and forward, swirling around the little nub, in and out and swirl. In, out, swirl.
“I miss hearing it on your tongue,” he said. “Your wicked, naughty tongue. I’m the only one who knows how erotic you are, right below the surface of your proper existence. The only who has ever seen the real you.”
Fumbling with the buttons on his breeches, she quickly freed him, his shaft hard and thick with want for her. She loved that she could illicit this response from him.
“Wrap your legs around me, love,” he said, hitching her dress higher.
“We are going to do this against the tree?” she asked dazed.
“Would you rather in the snow?” he inquired, his voice teasing.
Sarah shook her head. As he lifted her into his arms, she wrapped her legs around him, her dress gathering at her hips, her legs barred to the wintry world before her.
Without further preamble, he thrust inside her, filling her to the hilt. Sarah gasped at the sheer pleasure of fulfillment in the act. He moved inside her, grinding his hips against hers, stretching and filling her to the core.
“Arms up, Sarah,” he commanded, pushing into her, her body welcoming his intrusion, hugging him in place—the place where only he belonged. “Hold the branches for stability, because I don’t think I can be gentle.”
Sarah panted at the feeling of him filling her to the brink, her hands grasping the rough bark of the tree around her. “I don’t think I want you to be gentle.”
With a dark chuckle, he withdrew slightly before pushing hard into her, her back slamming against the tree as he rode her in the darkness.
It was hard and hot and rough, and perfect. With each thrust Sarah thumped into the tree, her head rolling to the side, lost in the pleasure of the shockingly erotic act.
A moan escaped from her lips, her voice low and hoarse, wrapping around them in the darkness, drifting onto the cold breeze. Moving with him was near impossible, but she managed to angle her hips, granting him wider access, and he growled in acceptance. The fury, rage, betrayal all poured from him with each thrust deep inside her. Loving him was the only thing she could think of to help ease his pain, to show him he was not alone.
His forehead was slick with sweat, his breathing hard and hot against her throat as he moved within her. She found his gaze in the darkness, his eyes silver and black in the moonlight, but something in his gaze held her there, afraid to look away, afraid this might all be a dream. A heavy, sweaty, erotic dream.
It was more than she could handle, and she let out a cry as she shattered around him. She could feel her muscles clenching tightly, a chorus of pleasure rushing through her, his name ripped from her lips as she tumbled over the cliff into a swell of climax. With a final succession of thrusts, he pulled from her, spilling his seed onto the snow.
Bracing himself against the tree, Sarah was entrapped between his arms on either side of her, his forehead dipped to rest against her neck. His breathing was quick, and tremors heaved off him; Sarah couldn’t tell if he was crying or panting.
It was a long moment before either one could move, much less form a coherent thought.
“That,” Sarah tried, but sentences seemed to be beyond her.
Chuckling, he replied, “Yes.”
And yet he didn’t move, didn’t dislodge his arms or move his face from its place against her throat. The cold breeze of the winter night brushed across them sending soft flakes of snow into the air, glittering in the moonlight.
Slowly, he pulled his head up, searching her eyes for something. “Did I hurt you?”
A smile crept across her face and she shook her head in small little movements. “No.”
“Good,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I’m sorry. I think I got a bit carried away.”
Wrapping her arms around him, slipping between his shirt and jacket, she nuzzled into him. “I quite enjoyed it,” she admitted.
With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her back, holding her to him.
For a few more minutes she could pretend he was hers and hers alone. They could be someone else, somewhere else, with flights of promise and forever dancing with the snow. “I am going to make this right, Sarah,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
Sarah sighed and leaned away, the spell broken, but she didn’t comment or argue. There wasn’t anything he could do, and she knew it. She would let him come to the same realization on his own, knowing he was filled with too much intense energy to listen to reason right now. But soon, he would come to understand that his only course of action was to be married to Anna and raise her child.
Sarah held no place in their lives. She would not stay on as doting friend, or worse, his mistress, tampering with his happiness, and her own. She might love William more than she wanted to admit, but she was not that callous. She would let William go, send him off to find contentment in the family that had been thrust upon him, even if it wasn’t what either of them wanted.
William helped her mount her horse before mounting his own and they set off at a trot towards the house.
It was dark, the moon having moved behind the line of trees, and Sarah could barely make out William’s dark shadow before her, trusting her horse to find her own way home, since Sarah had little sense of the direction they were traveling.
Before she could register what was happening, she and Athena were tumbling through the cold winter air. Landing roughly on her side, the snow-covered thicket beneath Sarah wouldn’t have caused her much injury, had she not been a tangled mess of limbs with her horse. A pop of something inside her, near her ear, and rush of excruciating pain reaffirmed she was alive, but white spots danced in her eyes, and Sarah didn’t think she would remain that way for long.
William did his best not to further injure Sarah, but his own terror made rational action nigh impossible. He feared this would be the one emergency he would not be able to calm his way through.
With Sarah in his arms, both of them covered in snow and blood, he returned to the manor house, crashing through the front door as Howards was slow to open it.
William didn’t need anyone to remind him where Sarah’s rooms where, the last time he was in there had not been a memory he would soon forget, no matter how painful it was.
“Will.” Sarah’s voice was hoarse as he gently coaxed her into the bed and out of his arms.
“Sarah!” came Lady Westcott’s voice, full of horror, and William looked up to see Bradstone and Sarah’s sister both standing in the doorway.
“She fell,” William managed to say, wiping his hand across the back of his head. Lady Westcott gasped, her eyes wide in fear and William realized his hand was covered in blood, Sarah’s blood, but from where he had not yet assessed. It had been too dark to determine her injuries outside.
“I am calling for a physician,” Bradstone said, but Sarah was quick to argue with her brother, even in her injured state.
“I only want Will,” Sarah said, gasping in pain.
“I am a physician,” William said, though right now he felt more like a first-year medical student, struggling to keep his wits. He pushed back his panic, focusing on the task at hand. He was a doctor, even if it was the woman he loved, he would save her.
“Right,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else in the room. “I need my medical kit, it’s a black leather tote from my rooms.” Lady Westcott nodded and left. William shrugged out of his jacket of rolled up his sleeves. A water basin was near her bed, and he poured the water from the jug into the basin, rinsing his hands of Sarah’s blood.
“Sarah, love, I need to see where you are bleeding,” he said to her, undoing the greatcoat clasp and gently rolling her on her side. She screamed out in pain, her wounded shoulder protesting at the pressure. Blood was seeping through the layers of her evening gown, the crim
son spreading like fire into the white of the sheets beneath her. Whether or not her shoulder was dislocated didn’t matter if he could not stop the bleeding. Blood came first, then bones.
“I need strips of fabric, boiling water, a bottle of brandy,” William commanded to whoever was listening. There was a flood of movement as the servants in the room left to do his bidding.
“Sarah, darling, I need you to hold still,” he said softly to her, smoothing back the hair from her face.
She nodded, swallowing hard, her face pinching in pain. “I want to sleep.”
“Don’t sleep just yet, Sarah,” William said.
Lady Westcott returned quickly with his bag, and he set it open beside him, pulling supplies from its depths.
“Bradstone, your sister is about to be considered indecent,” William warned.
“I’ll stay,” Lady Westcott said, attempting to reassure her brother. The two shared a look and Bradstone shook his head.
“Susanna, this isn’t something for a lady to—” Bradstone began but she cut him off.
“I’m staying,” Lady Westcott repeated, her eyes hard. “I’m not averse to blood, Andrew. Besides, it is Sarah. She would not leave if it were one of us.”
Bradstone sighed wearily and nodded. “How is this proper for you to see her like this?” he asked William.
“I am a doctor,” William repeated, looking up at Sarah’s brother, his blue eyes painfully similar to Sarah’s, but not quite the same. “I studied medicine at Edinburgh Medical School before I was a surgeon with Wellington. There is only so much I can do, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve. And honestly, there is nothing of her I haven’t seen before.”
Bradstone’s reaction wasn’t what he expected. The duke held his gaze for a long moment before nodding and shrugging out of his evening coat. “We are both staying. Tell us what you need.”
There was a strength in Sarah’s siblings that William could barely process.
