Sarah's Duke: and Ellie's Gentleman (The heir and the spare, book 1)

by Fiona Miers

  “Yes, she told me.” Oliver said absentmindedly, not concealing his knowledge of Sarah to his friend.

  So the beautiful little vicar’s daughter had found a decent husband all on her own. She could not have chosen better and pride fluttered in his chest. Jamie had a small but profitable estate and enough money to look after her brother and sister if he so chose. He was also not even thirty and a nice man. Yes, she’d done well indeed. His stomach was knotted, but he tried his best to ignore it.

  “How well do you know her?” Rupert twirled his glass between his fingers and stared into the golden liquid as though it contained the secrets of life.

  “Well enough to know she’ll be a wonderful wife,” Oliver admitted quietly. He couldn’t say that about any lad of his acquaintance.

  “She won’t care about being buried in Scotland for the rest of her life?” Rupert asked.

  Oliver shook his head. No, she would not. She would be happy as long as her family was set up. She would watch over McTavish’s tenants, give him children, share his bed. A sudden vision of the big Scot covering Sarah’s small but lush body with his own flashed before Oliver’s eyes and he saw red. He clenched his teeth and let out a small groan as jealousy ripped through him. Before he could control his wayward emotions the fragile crystal of the whiskey glass shattered in his hand.

  Gasping as pain sliced through his palm he jumped up and away from the fragments of glass. Rupert rushed over to him, wrapping Oliver’s palm quickly in his large white handkerchief.

  “You are having no luck with your whiskey today,” he joked, wrapping the wound tightly and tying it off. “I think that may need a few stitches,” he motioned towards the butler and in a few concise statements Oliver’s drinks were put on his account, and he was in his carriage, on his way home to be met there by the surgeon.

  As Oliver sat in his bedroom in his family’s town house getting his hand stitched up he marvelled over his response to Sarah’s upcoming betrothal. Did he really care that much who she married? He didn’t think he had gone a day without his thinking of her or a night without dreaming about her since the moment they’d met, but did that mean he had the right to interfere in her life?

  When he awoke the next morning in a hot sweat, amidst a nightmare that consisted of Sarah in her new life, happy and contented whilst he grew old and bitter with some faceless Duchess by his side, he knew he had to do something.

  ****

  Sarah stood at the entrance to the ballroom, waiting for her mother who was still handing her coat over to a footman. This was the night she expected a proposal of marriage from Jamie McTavish, and after only two weeks of courting! She should be elated, blissfully happy about the turn of events. She had succeeded in finding a man that would not only look after her family but would more than likely be a good and kind husband to her.

  Then why was she not waltzing around the room with happiness? She turned her face towards the wall and grimaced. She knew why. Because she still missed Oliver. There was something just missing with Jamie. There wasn’t any of the spark or excitement that she felt with Oliver.

  Sarah and her mother were announced as they stepped into the large, opulent room. There was a quadrille playing and the hum of conversation already surrounded the well heated room.

  “Good evening, Miss Collins.”

  Sarah turned to smile at the Scottish devil himself, who bowed low to her. She held her hand out to him.

  “Please call me Sarah, I told you to last night.” She reminded him with a small smile.

  “True,” he conceded with a grin.

  Sarah looked into his blue eyes and knew that this man would be a good husband. He was handsome in an unusual way and looked as strong as an ox.

  “But I was hoping to wait to use it at a special moment...” He let his voice trail off and her stomach lurched. “If that would be all right?”

  Sarah was light headed all of a sudden, black spots swimming before her eyes.

  “Of course,” she forced out, breathless although she wasn’t even moving.

  “You look a little pale my dear, would you like to sit down?”

  Yes, I would love to. But first she needed a moment to compose herself.

  “Thank you Mr McTavish, as usual you are so thoughtful. But perhaps you will excuse me as I need to go to the ladies retiring room.” She smiled politely. He seemed to like her smile and her mother had instructed her to use it as much as possible.

  “Of course,” he bowed again and smiled in return.

  Sarah walked along the plush carpet of the hallway. She was making her way to the retiring room when someone came up behind her. She moved slightly to the left so the person could go around her, but instead she felt a firm hand grab her under the elbow and she was steered into a room off the corridor.

  The candles were lit in the study which Sarah was grateful for. She gulped and took a fast breath as she felt the rising panic in her chest. The door closed behind her and she swung around to see if her abductor was the man of her nightmares, or her dreams.

  ****

  “I have heard that Jamie McTavish has been courting you.” Oliver was unable to hold in his feelings any longer. He knew he should have opened the conversation with small talk or at least a greeting, but as usual he could not remain aloof when he was within touching distance of Sarah.

  Sarah blushed but didn’t look away. The air around them seemed to crackle with tension and Oliver swallowed hard.

  “He has.”

  Oliver waited for her to continue but she didn’t. That was it?

  “I have also heard you have entranced him so thoroughly that he is on the verge of offering you everything you want.”

  Oliver knew he sounded like a jealous idiot but he just couldn’t stop the flow of venomous words falling out of his mouth. He had seen her standing with the Scottish laird and been blinded to anything except the need to pull her into him, behind him, anywhere that she would be safe from all other men.

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “And pray tell, how did you come by that information when you haven’t been into society since I saw you two weeks ago?”

  “I go to my gentlemen’s club every day. Just because I don’t go to balls designed to trap men into marriage, doesn’t mean I have disappeared.”

  Had she really forgotten about him already?

  Sarah’s shoulders slumped a little and she sighed. “Oliver, why did you pull me in here? What is it you want?”

  Oliver pulled her into his arms without a thought and claimed her mouth with his. She was soft and warm beneath him, his hands trembled as he slid them around her back and pressed her closer. He had barely got a taste of her before she was pulling away from him.

  “What are you about, Your Grace?” Sarah stiffly pulled out of his arms.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” Oliver apologized, already breathing hard. Blood was pumping through his body, making his heart race and his loins ache.

  “No, you should not.” She agreed, eyeing him warily. “Oliver, I must go, if we’re caught here...”

  She trailed off just as he had at the opera, repeating the same warning. At the time it had seemed sensible but coming out of her mouth it sounded like an accusation.

  “Yes I know. You wouldn’t want to lose your husband before he’s properly caught.”

  Sarah gasped and there was a sudden silence in the small room that was deafening.

  Did I just say that?

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Oliver took a deep breath in through his nose and stared at the blonde angel before him. She made him want to do unspeakable things to her. Starting with ripping that perfect pale green gown from her delectable body. She couldn’t become another’s wife. She just couldn’t.

  “I mean exactly what I said. Getting caught in here with me would destroy your chances of marrying McTavish and him saving your family. That is all you want isn’t it?” Oliver knew he was just being plain vicious now but couldn’
t call the words back.

  Sarah’s breath caught and tears swam in her eyes as she spoke.

  “I think we should leave because you don’t want to marry me. Isn’t that what you have said to me over and over again? Or are you suggesting that I should have waited for you to propose marriage?”

  Panic flooded Oliver and heat flushed his cheeks. “No, I didn’t mean…”

  “Well, what did you mean?” Sarah demanded, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently against the carpeted floor.

  “I just want to make sure you’re marrying the right person.” Oliver amended.

  “What’s wrong with Mr. McTavish?” Sarah demanded, her voice raising in volume a couple of notches.

  “Nothing, he’s a good man,” Oliver admitted, though he was reluctant to. He wanted to point out some major fault in her choice, but there wasn’t any.

  “Then what’s the problem Oliver?”

  He tugged at his cravat with his hands, loosening the knot. It was too tight. How was he going to get out of this now?

  “I just don’t want you settling for less than you deserve,” Oliver admitted quietly.

  “And what’s that?” Sarah asked just as quietly.

  “Love, or at least passion.”

  Sarah bit her lip and appeared thoughtful for a moment.

  “I don’t believe you can fall in love in just two weeks. But passion, yes, I have found that.”

  Pure rage filled Oliver. Red clouded his vision as his temperature rose and sweat drops popped out on his upper lip.

  “Passion? You have found passion with him?” He advanced on Sarah like a lion circling his prey. His shoulders ached as he flexed and stretched his muscles.

  Sarah nodded and Oliver growled, pulling her into his arms. The need to stake his claim on her undeniable as his fingers wrapped around her tiny waist.

  “Like the passion you have found with me?” He ducked his head and ran his lips down her smooth throat.

  Sarah gasped but leaned into him. “That is not fair to say to me. You do not want to marry me.”

  Oliver chuckled against her skin. “I would if I could,” he pressed his lips to the spot beneath her ear and inhaled the sweet scent of rose petals.

  “Pardon?” Sarah shrieked, pushing hard against his chest.

  “Sarah, you have no idea how much I want you,” Oliver admitted, rolling his hips against her which caused his prick to harden and throb.

  “You want to seduce me, you do not wish to marry me.” Sarah went to pull away again, struggling harder but Oliver held her tighter. He had to make her understand.

  “I would never seduce you. I would marry you in a heartbeat if I wasn’t a Duke.” Oliver murmured beneath her ear.

  Sarah laughed again, with so much bitterness and anger that when she tried to pull away he had to let her go.

  “What do you call this then?” She motioned angrily to their surroundings with flicking hands. “Is this the part where you offer to make me your mistress instead? Or do you already have one like most men of rank do?”

  The jealousy in her tone and disgust at the subject was obvious in her face.

  “I would never insult you with such an offer.”

  Sarah’s eyebrows rose high in silent question.

  “And no I don’t have one.” He couldn’t believe she had asked him such a question.

  “Well my lord... I’m sorry... Your Grace, from what I have learnt in the past few weeks it would be very unusual for you not to have one, and insulting in the extreme for you to say that you would marry me if you could.”

  “I’m not lying, I have never had a mistress, but I am aware that most men do. And I was speaking the truth, I would marry you in an instant if I had met you two years ago.”

  She had to believe him. He was telling the truth.

  “What’s different now?”

  “Everything.” Oliver said, turning away from her. Memories bombarded him, cold sliding over his spine and skin.

  “My father once told me that I was born because he needed a second son, but he had no real reason to need one. He had actually wished for a daughter the night I was born. In ten generations the Dukedom has always passed from first son to first son. I am the only second son to inherit in my family, and my mother has told me all my life that I wasn’t needed...n or really wanted.”

  “Oh, Oliver,” Sarah reached out her hand to touch his shoulder, the effect like throwing a small stone into a still pond. The ripples cascading out in increasingly large waves.

  With a frustrated roar Oliver grabbed her and spun, pinning her up against the wall. His hands landed on either side of her and he stared down into the liquid violet eyes that haunted his dreams.

  “You will never know how much I burn for you, only you.”

  “Show me,” she whispered, placing her small hands against his chest.

  Oliver moaned and swooped down for a kiss, plundering her warm mouth with his tongue, all restraint gone. His hands curved around her slight body and he moved to her breast, kneading and stroking the soft, abundant flesh through the silk of her dress.

  She was like liquid heat in his arms, pressing against him and making soft, mewling noises that made his blood boil. He slid his other hand down to her rounded bottom and pulled her snugly into him. She fitted so perfectly that he couldn’t help imagining how easily she’d take him into her body.

  Sarah threw her arms around his neck and Oliver groaned against her lips. He pulled back and stared down at her. He had to get closer. His lifted his arms and reached for the ribbons on her dress. He unfastened her bodice and soon he had a plump breast free. It was creamy in the candle light, the erect little nipple a beautiful dusky pink.

  “Oliver, you shouldn’t... are you sure...”

  Oliver chuckled happily in his throat, she was enjoying this, he could tell. He dipped his head and licked her tight pink nipple which caused her to gasp and arch her back for him.

  Oh yes. You beautiful girl.

  He bent her over his arm and sucked it deeply into his mouth tasting the sweetness of her skin. Sarah shrieked and Oliver looked up to see her flushed face contorted in pleasure and shock. He told her gently, “Shhh,” before resuming his pleasuring of her breast.

  She tasted like heaven itself. Sweet, pure and perfect. How would her very centre taste?

  He was planning his next move, namely pulling up her skirt so he could touch her thighs when a loud Scottish voice said, “I think I saw them come through here.”

  That was all the warning Oliver got before the door swung open and a light filled the small dark room. He blinked a few times and stared at the entrance to the room. There he saw John Dunford, the Scottish gentleman who wanted to marry the woman in his arms and his sister-in-law. Lady Honoria Lyre, the Countess of Sombury, the widow of his brother and the woman who believed herself the rightful Duchess of Lincoln.

  Oliver turned towards the doorway and squared his shoulders, blocking Sarah’s body completely from view.

  “If you would allow us a minute, we will be out momentarily.”

  He strode forward and soundly slammed the door, cursing in three different languages. If it had only been John and his sister-in-law they could have brazened it out, but now there was no other way. Marriage or ruin for Sarah. Oliver only hoped McTavish wouldn’t call him out for this.

  He pivoted on the ball of his foot to find Sarah flushed red and frantically doing up her bodice with trembling hands.

  “They saw... He saw... Oh my...” She was babbling and he could see shock setting in. She sunk into a chair, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “What am I going to do?”

  “You will marry me.” Oliver declared, unable and unwilling to see any other solution.

  “Oliver, I can’t marry you, we just got through discussing it before... before...” she was clearly struggling to hold herself together. She couldn’t even finish her sentence.

  “Sarah, I respect you, I desire you, I am a Duke, yes, but you
are from a good family.” He heard himself trying to convince her and wondered when he had changed his mind?

  “But I have had no training in this, how would I even know how to be a Duchess?” She was trembling now, he could visibly see it as it ran over her beautiful body.

  Good question, I have no idea. Perhaps…

  “You ask my mother, or even Lady Charlotte,” he answered with a smile as the solution occurred to him. Charlotte—she had been born to it, she would help.

  This seemed to give Sarah pause, she got on well with his friend and if anyone could and would help her it would be Lady Charlotte Dunford.

  “But Oliver, I’m not sure if I could be a wife who would look the other way when you go to other women, or not care that you never came home. And I want children, lots of children....”

  Oliver took a steadying breath. It was understandable that she had fears about his ability to stay faithful, but it still rankled his pride.

  “I will be faithful, Sarah. I have never wanted a woman as I want you. I don’t think that will ever change.”

  Sarah digested this and then looked up at him again. “Children?”

  Children? He had to produce an heir, but that wasn’t what she was asking. She wanted to know if he wanted children. Oliver could imagine that any child of Sarah’s would be loved and cherished in a way that he never had been. That knowledge made the idea of children much more palatable. The picture of Sarah large with his child made him smile.

  “I want children Sarah, as many as you want. As many as you can give me.” He smiled at the thought. He would enjoy giving them to her, that was certain.

  “But I don’t have any connections and I have no dowry...”

  Oliver laughed, bubbles of happiness filling his belly. He had never thought of how his proposal of marriage would go, but he’d never have dreamed that he’d have to talk the lady into it. Sarah was trying to discourage him and he just couldn’t believe it.

  “Sarah, I don’t need a dowry and I don’t need you to have any connections. I just want you.” Oliver said the words and realized how true they were.