The Heiress He's Been Waiting For

by Kaitlin O'Riley

  Alexander had come for her, just as she had known he would! He still loved her and wished to marry her. And he was here, somewhere in London, waiting for her. Filled with happiness, she glanced up and gazed out the wide shop windows. The streets were bustling with dozens of ordinary people, going about their daily business. Alexander Drake, the love of her life, was out there in this city. He had crossed the Atlantic Ocean to be with her. He had thought about her and figured out where she would be and found her at the bookshop!

  He was here! He was here! He was finally here!

  The words echoed over and over in her head as she hastily put the books away on the shelves, not paying attention to whether they were in the right place or not. She desperately wished Mara was working at the shop with her today, for she would love to show her the note and share the good news. But Mara and Aunt Paulette had gone to the other Hamilton bookshop in Mayfair this afternoon.

  Sara hurried to join Aunt Colette at the front window. So filled with nervous excitement and thoughts of her immediate future, she was unable to concentrate on what she was doing. After Sara accidentally knocked over the display table, not once, but twice, sending Colette’s artful arrangement of books spilling to the floor, she gave up.

  “Honestly, you’re like the bull in the china shop this afternoon, Sara! Whatever is the matter with you?” Aunt Colette asked, growing a bit impatient.

  Wringing her hands together, Sara apologized. “Forgive me, Aunt Colette. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m afraid I didn’t sleep well last night and I’m simply overtired.”

  With a little shrug and a half-hearted grin, Aunt Colette threw her hands up in the air. “Would you prefer to go home for the day, Sara? Maybe a nap would help? However I think you’ve done all you can to help at the shop today.”

  “Yes, perhaps that would be best. Thank you.” Relieved to be sent home, Sara hugged her aunt. “I promise I’ll be better rested next time.”

  “It’s quite all right, Sara. Please don’t concern yourself with it. I hope you feel better,” Colette suggested, before her attention was refocused on repairing the damage to her pretty window display.

  Hurriedly running upstairs, Sara took off her apron, remembering first to remove Alexander’s note and place it safely in her reticule. As she gathered her things and put on her bonnet and gloves, she hoped the walk back to Devon House would be just what she needed to clear her head and calm her jumpy nerves. With her head literally spinning with thoughts of Alexander Drake, she felt she couldn’t breathe.

  He was here! He was here!

  She could possibly be married to him by the end of the week.

  That thought caused her heart to skip a beat.

  She needed to get outside and breathe. She needed to move.

  Flying back down the staircase, she called good-bye to her aunt and to the girls who worked in the shop. Just as she was exiting the bookshop, she stopped short. Lord Bridgeton stood on the sidewalk, looking as if he were about to enter the shop. Her heart dropped to her feet.

  She was not in the mood to see Christopher Townsend just now. He’d been rather cool to her at Lady Cabot’s ball last week, which left her feeling oddly disappointed. For the first time since she’d met him, there was an awkward uncomfortableness between them. They had not spoken to each other since their kiss in the Devon House library, which was fine with her, since she’d rather forget it ever happened.

  Especially with Alexander Drake in town.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Fleming,” Christopher said, sounding rather chipper. “You are just the person I wanted to see.”

  “Oh, hello, Lord Bridgeton. I’m terribly sorry,” she said hastily, anxious to be on her way. “I’m actually headed home, but I’m sure my aunt or one of the other girls inside could help you with whatever you’re looking for.”

  His brown eyes searched hers intently. “I didn’t come to the shop to buy a book, Sara.”

  “Oh.” Feeling a bit annoyed, she glanced over at the window area where Aunt Colette was working. Still quite intent on the display, she didn’t notice Sara standing there with Lord Bridgeton. “You came here specifically to see me then?”

  “Yes.” He offered her a charming smile. “I saw Waverly earlier and he mentioned you were at the shop with his mother this afternoon. I would like to speak to you for a moment or two, if I may.”

  “I’m in rather a hurry,” she said, avoiding his eyes. He was the last person she wanted to spend time with right now.

  “Then please allow me to give you a ride home in my carriage? It’s right here.” He gestured to the large black carriage hitched to two fine matching horses waiting on the cobblestoned street. “I promise not to delay you.”

  Giving in, she sighed in exasperation. “Fine.”

  Christopher flashed her a triumphant look. He certainly wasn’t being cold or distant toward her today, she observed wryly. As he helped her into the carriage, Sara glanced back and saw Aunt Colette in the shop window, watching them. She gave them both a little wave and a nod of approval. Sara waved back. After instructing the driver, Christopher climbed into the enclosed carriage after her and shut the door.

  As the carriage rocked into motion, she settled back on the cushioned leather seat and nervously smoothed her peach-colored day gown edged with white lace and adjusted her pretty matching bonnet. Christopher sat opposite her, his muscular presence almost overpowering the small space inside the elegant carriage. Glancing surreptitiously at him, she was reminded again how devilishly handsome the man was.

  He’d taken off his tall black hat so she could see his dark hair was slicked back. He looked quite nice in his tan coat and high-collared white shirt, black trousers, and boots. She admired the look of his clean-shaven face, for it accentuated the classic line of his cheeks and jaw. Slowly he removed his gloves, laying them on the seat beside his hat.

  “Well?” she asked, growing impatient with him. “What is so important you were required to whisk me away like this?”

  He paused a moment and then just said it. “I felt I needed to apologize to you.”

  “Apologize?” Frowning in confusion, she asked, “Whatever on earth for?”

  “For quite a few things, as a matter of fact.” He gazed at her openly, his expression earnest and a bit contrite. “I’ve behaved rather badly toward you and I’ve felt terrible about it.”

  She shook her head. “If you’re referring to the night in the library, I—”

  “That’s a large piece of it,” Christopher interrupted her, seemingly intent on saying what he needed to say. “But there’s more to it than that.”

  Sara remained quiet, twisting her hands in her lap. It suddenly grew unbearably warm inside the carriage. She took off her gloves as well and shoved them in her reticule. Glancing up, she saw that he was waiting patiently for her attention.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured.

  “We haven’t had a private moment together since the evening of the storm, and given the unusual circumstances, with the brandy and all, I admit I took advantage of you and the situation. For that I am deeply sorry. I don’t know how to explain away what happened between us, Sara, and quite frankly, I can’t. But I’d very much like you to know that I care about you and would never intentionally do anything to hurt you.”

  She was touched by his admission, and a riot of emotions flooded her already overwhelmed consciousness. He had blamed himself for what had happened between them and was acting as if he had committed some sort of crime against her. Which he most certainly had not.

  “Christopher,” she began, “I don’t think that—”

  “Also,” he interrupted her once more. His brown eyes were locked on hers. “My caddish behavior continued when I ignored you the night of Lady Cabot’s ball, because I was too ashamed to face you. I apologize for my behavior that night also. That was not well done of me and you deserved better than that. Much better. I fear I’ve not been very fair to you, Sara.”

  “
Christopher, I—”

  “In the short amount of time that I’ve known you, I’ve grown to value your friendship and I hate myself for how I treated you that night in the library. And ignoring you afterward at the ball only made everything worse. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I had to apologize to you and clear the air between us.” He finally paused.

  “May I speak now?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He flashed a smile. “I’m sorry for interrupting you.” He sat back against the seat, a little more relaxed after baring his soul to her.

  “First of all,” Sara said, searching for where to begin, “I accept your apology for snubbing me at Lady Cabot’s ball. I was quite bewildered by that, if you must know. I feared I had done something to offend you. Secondly, I—”

  “I knew that I’d hurt you that night and I’ve felt terrible about it ever since.”

  “Christopher Townsend, if you interrupt me one more time, I shall scream!”

  He laughed aloud, and the sound made her smile. He put his hand over his mouth in an exaggerated show of silence. The absurdity of his pose almost caused her to laugh too.

  Instead Sara shook her head, feeling a bit self-conscious now that he was quiet and staring at her expectantly, looking ridiculously handsome as he did so. “As for the night in the library, I take full responsibility for my own actions. I’m a grown woman of twenty, almost twenty-one, years. I, myself, made the decision to drink the brandy with you. You certainly didn’t force me, Christopher. Please don’t feel badly about that. As for our kiss . . .”

  He remained absolutely quiet, with his hand still covering his mouth.

  “As for the kiss . . .” Her voice faded away once more, as she was overcome with a nameless emotion. She had tried to forget that that kiss occurred. Had wanted to pretend that it never happened for it only complicated the already quite complex matters in her life. But she’d been unable to erase it from her memory. It haunted her. That heavenly kiss had been unforgettable and she didn’t want it to be. She didn’t want entanglements with Christopher Townsend.

  Yet her breath still caught when she thought about it and her whole body warmed at the memory. That he would make apologies for kissing her, left her feeling decidedly wretched. There was a lump in her throat too. “That kiss was the most . . . It was . . . I don’t have the words to describe that kiss, but I am quite positive that I shamelessly asked you . . . to kiss me, Christopher . . . and I . . . I—”

  Between her shattered nerves over the news of Alexander Drake’s arrival in London and being alone with Christopher Townsend again, discussing the intimate kiss they shared, wild emotions washed over her, making her feel strangely lost. Amidst a sudden rush of inexplicable sadness, an unexpected sob escaped her and Sara began to cry. Hot tears sprang unbidden, spilling down her cheeks.

  Before she knew what happened, Christopher was seated beside her and pulling her into his strong arms. He wrapped her in his warm embrace and at once she felt calmer, as if she could breathe again. He smelled good, familiar to her now, and she inhaled deeply, and it was heavenly to be held by him.

  “Sara, Sara, my beautiful Sara,” he murmured softly. “Please, don’t cry. I didn’t intend to make you cry.”

  For some reason, his sweet words made her cry harder.

  “What is it?” he whispered. “Why the tears?” He cupped her face in the palms of his hands, forcing her to look at him.

  “I don’t know,” she said with a forlorn sob.

  He handed his handkerchief to her and she began to dry her eyes.

  “Was it something I said?” he asked softly. “Something I did?”

  Gazing at him, she saw something in his expression she’d never seen before and it took her breath away. With a shaky sigh, she repeated, “I don’t know, Christopher . . . I just . . . I feel so . . .”

  His mouth was on hers before she could finish speaking. He was kissing her and she didn’t care. She was glad of it. Glad that she didn’t have to ask him to kiss her this time. Thrilled by it. Had been secretly waiting for this to happen again. He kissed her gently, with utter tenderness, his lips warm and soft, as if comforting her still. Her tears forgotten, Sara melted against his body, leaning into the kiss.

  It was then that he began to kiss her with more intensity, demanding more from her, which she willingly gave. Opening her mouth for him, he slipped his tongue inside and a delicious wave of heat washed over her at the intimacy of it. This kiss was different from their first one because now, oh now, she knew what to do!

  This time she met his tongue with hers, twirling around each other, delighting in the taste of him in her mouth. Their breath intermingled and she sighed with deep pleasure. Slowly his hands left her face and slid around her shoulders, pulling her closer against his chest. Their kiss deepened. In his arms, with his kiss, she forgot everything else except the exquisite feel of him surrounding her.

  As he held her tightly against him, a heavy heat grew between them. Her hands circled around his broad chest and reached along the back of his neck. Her fingers gently splayed into his thick black hair. Meanwhile, he had managed to remove her hatpins and her dainty peach bonnet, tossing the hat with one hand to the other seat, all while still kissing her.

  It was too wonderful. It was too perfect. This wickedly delicious sensuousness that enwrapped her in swirling sensations she never knew existed before him. She only knew now that she couldn’t get enough of him. Needed more of him. Of this. Their mouths. Their hands. Touching. Breathing. She was drowning in him and didn’t care.

  “Sara,” he murmured her name into her hair as he pulled her so she was seated across his lap. “My beautiful Sara,” he said once more before covering her mouth with his and the intimate dance began again.

  It was wrong that it delighted her so to be called his. She was not his. But for now, just for now, it didn’t matter. Now she was his, and only his. He was her whole world at that moment. The rapid pounding of his heartbeat echoed her own, as they kissed and kissed and kissed. He held tight, one arm holding her securely while his other hand caressed her cheek. That very same hand languidly moved down across her neck, above the swell of her chest.

  She held her breath for a moment, waiting in anticipation, every nerve in her body taut with suspense and longing. With deliberate slowness, his hand glided over the front of her peach gown, and firmly cupped one breast. She sighed into his mouth and he groaned back, squeezing her a little harder. His warm fingers found their way over the lacy edge of her gown, reached between her corset and sought out her naked breast.

  She gasped his name from the sheer pleasure of his touch, instinctively arching her body toward him. He kissed her harder.

  The caress of his bare fingers on her naked flesh was the most wanton and wonderfully erotic sensation. If she could remove all her clothes right then and there she would. Every article of clothing she wore screamed, begged, and ached to be taken off by him. The weight of her gown alone was crushing and confining, suffocating. She longed to feel his naked body next to hers.

  His mouth still hot on hers, her hands made their way around to the front of his jacket and her fingers began to undo his tie, loosening his collar. Eager to feel the nakedness of his chest, she opened his shirt, her fingers splaying through the hair on his chest. As she marveled at the warmth and strength that emanated from his muscled body, her hands fluttered over the broad expanse of him.

  So lost in her own decadent exploration of him, she barely noticed his hand moving up her stocking-clad leg, underneath her gown, gently caressing her. By the time she was aware of it, his fingers were circling the thin strap of the garter on the top of her bare thigh. Sara could hardly catch her breath. He stopped kissing her, and stared at her, his face impossibly close to hers, his breathing heavy. He searched her eyes, seeking an answer to an unasked question. For the briefest instant she considered telling him to stop, but the thought merely evaporated into thin air before she could grasp a proper hold of it. Softly
she kissed his cheek, moving her lips across his smoothly shaven jaw, and down his neck until she pressed a kiss to his bare chest.

  “Sara.” Her name was a plea for she knew not what, but in that moment she wished only to give him everything he desired.

  And it was desire, white hot and rampant, that raced through her entire body when he ravaged her mouth with a kiss so fervent she felt it all the way down to the tips of her toes. Every fiber of her being was on fire for him. She ached for him to touch her, and she longed to touch him. And then his hand began to move beneath her gown, his fingers caressing her, stroking her most intimately and she almost cried out at the intense pleasure of his touch. As she lay across his lap, an insistent throbbing heat grew within her and demanded all her attention.

  She clutched the front of his jacket, holding on for support as her body weakened. Her eyelids drifted closed and she laid her head against his chest. Breathy gasps escaped her mouth, almost in sobs, as his fingers worked their rhythmical magic on her, weaving a spell of pleasure so exquisite she feared she would die. Feeling as taut as the string of a bow, she moved her hips against his hand, the motion building to a peak that almost shattered her with its bliss when it finally arrived.

  When she could breathe normally again, she slowly opened her eyes to find Christopher staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

  “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known.” His voice was low and hoarse.

  “Again . . . I don’t have the words to describe how you just made me feel. And I don’t even wish to know how you knew what to do to make me feel that way.”

  She leaned up and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her once more and held her for some minutes. It could have been an eternity for all she knew, for time had ceased to exist once she got in his carriage. His fingers stroked her hair, which had come loose or he had loosened it, she didn’t know. The feel of his hands touching her still delighted her. She could stay in his embrace, with her head on his strong shoulder like this, forever and not mind at all.