Total Surrender

by Cheryl Holt

  "Oh, Sarah ..." He couldn't stand to hear her tragic dis-

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  closure, or to witness her anguish, but he had little remedy to contribute.

  "But you're here, and I'm here, and something remarkable could ensue in die next fortnight. I feel it in my bones."

  She was correct, yet he lied. "Nothing good could ever come from a liaison between the two of us."

  "You're only fooling yourself, Michael," she unwaveringly asserted. 'This affinity"—she gestured, indicating what couldn't be put into words—"you sense it, too."

  "But I'm a grown man," he indicated, "and just because I lust after you doesn't mean I have to act upon it."

  "It is more than mere lust, and you know it." She left the window and cautiously moved in his direction. "My entire blasted life, I've done precisely what was required of me, so this once, I'd like to reach out and seize some joy. I truly, truly would."

  "You won't find any joy with me."

  Scrupulously, she assessed him. "You're afraid to determine what it could be like."

  "No, not at all."

  "What is it, then?" She was growing angry, defensive.

  "We're drawn to one another, so I grasp how it would be. There are physical ways in which I would use your body." Doggedly, he chided, "What I would take are gifts you should save for your husband."

  "But I never intend to marry," she declared with a ringing finality. "So where does that leave me? Should I never learn of these secrets that transpire between a man and a woman? I admit that I'm selfish, and I crave some of your mysterious bodily titillation for myself. Should I deny myself this contentment?"

  Michael was in agony. What man had ever been presented such an enticing feast? She was a mature virgin, primed and ready for sexual initiation. If he acceded, he could excite and stimulate her, teach and disclose to her the sexual methods he enjoyed. A devoted, zealous pupil,

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  she would wield her distinct skills with lethal precision for his exclusive benefit and delectation.

  His weary spirit wept in anticipation of how much succor he would obtain. His cock swelled from conjecturing bow it would be. Still, he valued her too much, treasured her too much.

  "The fact remains that you are a maid." He was reminding her—and himself.

  "Your lovers"—she blushed, her chaste condition profusely apparent as she courageously forged ahead to discuss inappropriate carnal proceedings— “they do things to you with their hands and their mourns. You could instruct me."

  Peeking down at her slender, adept fingers, then back up to those lush, moist lips, he could conceive of her kneeling before him, stroking and cupping him, while her tongue imparted dazzling pleasure.

  "I touched you in a forbidden manner, once before," he pointed out. "You didn't like it."

  "You're mistaken. I loved it; I was simply overwhelmed." ^ They'd gradually migrated across the floor until they were, once again, toe to toe. Her gown twisted around his legs, his boots dipped under the hem. Their frank conversation had elevated her pulse, her breathing was labored, her breasts toiled against her corset, the outline of her nipples conspicuous against the bodice.

  Vividly, he remembered every detail of those two breasts, the shape, the size, the color of the solid tips. How firm they'd been! How sweet they'd tasted! With a flick of his wrist, he could have her bared to suckle and play, taunt and tease. He could introduce her to sensual gratification and, in the process, seek his own, but he simply couldn't behave so badly toward her.

  He couldn't commit a despicable offense against her. As an untried woman, she didn't fathom the full implications of her proposition. If she was to bestow her virtue on some lucky fellow, he should hardly be the one. Practically any

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  other gentleman of her acquaintance would be more deserving.

  "You are curious. You've seen much that has your body eager and your mind intrigued." He slipped his hands into hers, and he felt as if he was holding her protected and safe. "But this is not the place, and I am not the man with whom you should indulge these whims."

  "It is not a whim." She linked their fingers, the maneuver bringing them closer still. "Can't you feel it?" Her eyes were wide with delight, her smile brimming with wonder. "Can't you feel what happens when you're near?"

  The sensation was genuine and profound, and perhaps that was the real reason he refused to dally. If he bought into her mad scheme and seduced her, where would she be at the affair's conclusion?

  In a brief interval, their fates would illicitly entwine, and she couldn't possibly realize how thoroughly they would become embroiled. Nor could she comprehend that his level of involvement would be so much different from hers.

  At an early age, from the period when his father had abandoned their family, he'd learned mat it was perilous to love. So he didn't. Never forming sentimental bonds with his paramours, he sought out a woman's company for sexual alleviation and no other purpose.

  Gad, but he wasn't confident he could ardently devote himself to a woman. The very idea seemed so asinine that he couldn't picture himself in such a negligent venture.

  Briefly, he would share her life and her bed and—without a doubt—they would have fabulous sex, but that was all, and when she ascertained what she'd surrendered, she'd rail and hate, and he couldn't abide the notion of creating so much havoc, or of causing such wrenching tribulation.

  He didn't want to discuss their association, or demonstrative shackles, or mutual dependence. Her feminine daydreams, her romantic hopes for ruination, only increased his longing for too many things that could never be.

  Still, he was so terribly lonely. What did it signify if he looted just a bit more of her innocence? The kiss they'd

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  relished earlier in the gardener's shack had been distracting him for hours. The lusciousness of the moment, the strength of the sentiments it generated, had him eager to repeat his folly until he was far beyond rational consideration or action.

  "You are so lovely," he proclaimed. 'Too lovely for the likes of me."

  His statement puzzled her, and he took advantage of her consternation, catching her and seizing her mouth before he could change his mind—or she could change hers.

  He nipped and reveled, toyed and tarried, thinking that her flavor was so infernally superb, like peppermint and spice. Needing more, he insinuated his tongue between her ruby lips. Beseeching. Persuading. As though she'd kissed him a thousand times before, she opened and welcomed him inside.

  There was no hesitation, no inhibition; she joined in the vivacious kiss with a gladness and ebullience he'd never encountered with the scores of jaded lovers who littered his past. He worked against her, teaching her the tempo, and she met him stroke for stroke, sparring with him in a fervid dance.

  His hands gripped her lush bottom, and he lifted her off the floor, until her feet were dangling, her perfect torso stretched out the length of his. Her breasts were crushed to his chest, her nipples jabbing like shards of glass. Stomachs, thighs, calves, they were forged fast.

  Though he'd spilled his seed not an hour prior, his phallus was enlarged and alert, pleading for freedom from captivity. He felt like a robust, strapping lad of fourteen, ready to come at the snap of her fingers.

  Not willing to deny himself a modest sample of the shattering excess, he spun her and propped her against the bedpost. Her thighs were spread wide and, though many layers of fabric separated them, his cock was wedged against her mound, her searing heat coaxing him, urging him on and in. Matching the thrust of his tongue, he flexed against her, slowly and meticulously, letting her savor his aroused con-

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  dition, allowing her to distinguish his decadent invitation.

  With a virulent obsession that confounded and amazed, he yearned to rip at her dress, to feast on her breasts, to wrench at her skirts and impale himself between her virginal thighs. She'd be tight,
scalding, her maiden's blood charging him to erupt at will.

  He never finished his orgasm in a woman's cleft, because the concept of planting a babe was preposterous, but with a glaring urgency, Sarah incited him to spurt his blistering emission across her womb, and he was so deliriously aroused that he deliberated whether to empty himself in his pants like an unseasoned boy.

  Pulling away, he checked himself, quelling his appetite as much as he was able, even though he couldn't bring himself to completely disengage. Not just yet. Her feet touched the rug, and he rubbed her back as he trailed light kisses across her cheek, her brow.

  "Why were you doing that?" She was short of breath, exhilarated. "You were pressing against me. Why?"

  "It's the rhythm of mating. I want you... as a man wants a woman." He dipped below her chin and licked where her pulse throbbed at the base of her neck. Her skin was hot and salty. "My body is aflame, demanding that I make love with you."

  *Then take me," she whispered against his mouth. 'Touch me as you did when you were here that first night. Show me how it can be."

  Poised on the brink of a drastic cliff, he was geared to jump off into a void from which he could never return. He desired her beyond wisdom or sense, but as with so much in his life, he simply couldn'thave her.

  Confused, reluctant, reeling, he removed himself from temptation by stepping back and permitting the chilly air of the room to swirl betwixt their heated torsos. Instantly, he felt deprived and forlorn, and he grieved the loss of her mollifying presence.

  "Don't stop," she appealed, her gaze expectant and trusting. "I want you to be the one."

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  "I can't, Sarah."

  "I feel as though I've been waiting for you all my life."

  "You ask for too much," he insisted. "More than I am. More than I could ever be."

  "No, I hardly ask for anything." Her hand rose and massaged his chest in a lazy circle, consoling him, recognizing how he craved her brand of comfort "I request only these few days. This scant increment of time."

  "The stakes are too high. If we were detected ..."

  "No one will ever know; I swear it." Her eyes probed his. "I'll never seek another boon from you; I'll never contact you again after I leave here. Please..."

  Oh, that he could relent and appease them both in a fleeting erotic liaison. Her solicitation was outrageous, thrilling. Such ecstasy was meant to be acknowledged, but he simply, unconditionally, could not partake of what she was proposing.

  "No," he said resolutely, while disgracefully pilfering a last kiss but, as he'd already stolen so much, what was one thing more? "Good night"

  "Michael..."

  He departed, not looking over his shoulder lest he see her lovely face and be dissuaded.

  Into his own bedchamber he strode, shutting and securing the door. A servant had left water, though it had cooled. Stripping swiftly, he washed, lagging, the cold cloth soothing his torrid skin. Then, he crawled into his bed, naked and alone, determined not to think, not to recollect, not to care.

  Chapter Ten

  Sarah sat at a table on the verandah, admiring the grounds. The distinctive porch wrapped around the side and back of the house, and various guests surrounded her, sipping beverages and prattling amicably. The day had bloomed sunny and warm. The sky was blue, the lawns spectacularly green, and a few horses grazed in a far-off pasture.

  A carriage wound through the idyllic scene, traveling up the lane leading to the manor. A quartet of gaily clad women chattered as they approached, their journey from London almost at an end. Numerous guests promenaded arm-in-arm along the meticulously groomed pathways of the gardens, serene and content to savor the lazy afternoon.

  She watched all with a jaded detachment. The gathering appeared to be just another country party, attended by the bored members of the ton, but time, distance, and events had made her more wise.

  A half-dozen couples competed at a licentious game of ball down on the grass, and she wasn't foolish enough to let loneliness or dissatisfaction lead her to join in. She pretended to be enthralled, but she really wasn't, not caring in the least who frolicked naughtily in plain sight.

  Beside her, Rebecca gabbed convivially about the varied amusements in which she'd partaken. Two women wandered by, and they talked to her about London and a theatrical performance they'd all seen. Rebecca was in her element, fraternizing in a manner at which Sarah had never excelled.

  For the past three years, Rebecca had accompanied Hugh to town for the Season, acting as his hostess, so she was familiar with many of Lady Carrington's visitors as

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  Sarah was not. Though Sarah had planned to be more friendly, to establish new relationships, she couldn't concentrate on the social intricacies of the situation.

  The only topic she could mull was which of the women might have been with Michael in the hidden room. The pair before her laughed and joked, as Sarah methodically stripped them, searching for clues that would reveal if she'd viewed them unclothed.

  Quietly, she inspected, politely expounding when necessary, but mostly appraising how they tipped their heads or squared their shoulders. Ultimately, she decided that neither had partnered with Michael, so she lost interest in the remainder of the discussion.

  As she scanned the yard, her mind was in a whirl, her thoughts jumbled with images of Michael. He was so dashing, so handsome, so unlike anyone she'd ever known, and against her will and better judgment, she was drawn to him, to his life of debauchery and excess, to his powerful presence and dynamic allure.

  Captivated, concerned, and worried about him, she was also physically infatuated as she'd never imagined herself being. They'd shared much that was inappropriate—kisses, caresses, words—yet she suffered no guilt over her lapses.

  She simply craved some privacy!

  What she wouldn't give to have the blasted man all to herself. To be away from prying scrutiny and nosy gawking! Oh, that they could be swept away to a deserted island, like lovers in the fanciful romantic novels she infrequently read!

  Were they alone, and no one about to witness their misconduct, would he think differently? Would he act differently?

  Just being in his company incited all sorts of magic, and she could only concentrate on the kiss he'd dispensed the previous night in her room. By picking her up and pressing himself against her, he'd ignited a searing fire of desire mat hadn't waned in the least. If anything, it seemed to be spi-raling hotter and brighter.

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  There was definitely an earthy, lusty facet to her personality that she'd never acknowledged before, because she wanted things from him that she couldn't even begin to describe, although why she'd allowed herself to become smitten by a scoundrel who had a veritable harem of women falling at his feet was a mystery.

  After what she'd witnessed of his antics, she ought to have more sense than to be pining away after the cad, yet she couldn't desist. Like a moth to the flame, she was attracted to him with a tumultuous, unrelenting ardor that she couldn't explain or defend. When she closed her eyes, she didn't see any of his other paramours, but herself, cherished in the cradle of his arms. She developed into me lover he teased, seduced, aroused. She was the one fortuitous enough to enjoy his phenomenal attention.

  With an almost oppressive longing, she recalled the turbaned woman who'd managed to break through his walls in order to gamer his gentler style of affection. Sarah's goal was to reap some of the same tender courtesy, but she had absolutely no idea how to get him to agree to furnish it.

  They could be so good together! She was convinced of it, and she couldn't fathom going home without sampling some of his enigmatic delights. With a yearning that was indescribable, she needed him to fill a void she hadn't recognized to exist before they'd crossed paths.

  She was amenable and enthused to give herself to him in any fashion he might require, yet the prior night, without a backward glance, he'd left her lonesome and forlorn, in the middle o
f her room. The sound of him turning his lock had merely underscored the strength of his resolve that they not associate. His refusal to acquiesce in her mad scheme had irritated her so much that she'd very nearly stormed across the floor and pounded on his door to demand admittance.

  Only the realization of how irrational she'd sound, of how completely she would debase herself, had kept her rooted to her spot. Numb with consternation, she'd prepared for her slumber by stripping to her chemise and

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  stockings, then crawling under the cold, impersonal blankets. She'd attempted sleep, but instead, she'd tossed and turned as she'd pictured him lying in his own bed just a few feet away.

  Foreign notions had kept her busy as she'd wondered what was beneath his sheets: how he looked, what he wore, how his body was formed. The unusual, outlandish ruminations made her own body tingle and burn.

  Rebecca's voice intruded into her daydreams, engendering her to discover that the two women had departed. She and Rebecca were cloistered, once again, but Sarah had been so distracted by her carnal musings over Michael Stevens that she hadn't noticed.

  "Honestly, Sarah," Rebecca reproached, "you can be so rude."

  "I'm sorry. I was woolgathering." Sarah transferred her gaze from the horizon to her cousin. "You were saying... ?”

  "You are impossible!" Clearly miffed, Rebecca leaned nearer as she tugged at the brim of her bonnet to protect her face from the sunshine. 'There are many in the assembled company who would like to meet you—several of the gentlemen, especially—yet you set yourself apart. Just like always. I thought you were here for a holiday."

  "I'm having a holiday. A very pleasant one."

  "You could have fooled me." Rebecca harumphed, then stuck her dainty nose in the air.

  Her pretty cousin effortlessly negotiated the daylight mingling and evening amusements. With her fair countenance, voluptuous figure, and polished comportment, she was a typical English lady. If their birth circumstances had been reversed, she could have readily been the daughter of an earl. Inordinately suited to the position, she adored the preening, the soirees and fetes, and she thrived on her months in the city with Hugh, always returning with exciting stories about the galas she'd attended, and the people she'd befriended.