by Cora Lee
She pressed a kiss to his cheek, sheathing the blade of her knife as she made her way out of the workshop.
Hart turned to the target he’d made and grinned. “We’d better get to work, then.”
~~~
Sarah ended up dining solo—again—but by this point in her marriage she’d become accustomed to eating her meals alone. She’d also come to realize that Hart’s neglect of mealtime was simply that and not a reflection of his feelings for her. He hadn’t said he loved her, but it was as clear to her as a bookshop ledger that he cared for her.
And she cared just as much for him.
He finally joined her in the drawing room after dinner, dressed in a charcoal gray coat, blue silk waistcoat, and white breeches. His top boots were polished to a high shine, his cravat and shirt snowy white. For Hart at home, this was fashion of the highest order.
“Who is this handsome gentleman in my drawing room?” she asked with a laugh.
He went down on one knee before her as she sat on the sofa. “’Tis I, your long lost husband, my lady, back from waging war on ledgers and decisions and a never-ending pile of correspondence.”
She rose, reaching down to caress his cheek. “My Hartland? How do I know it’s really you? Tell me something only he would know.”
“You once tried to convince me to buy a copy of Mad Man of the Mountain because my library didn’t have enough novels in it.”
“It is you!” She raised him up like a queen with her subject then threw her arms around him in mock celebration, suppressing the very real laughter that bubbled up from her heart. She remembered well the day she offered him the novel, and the face he’d made upon reading its title. “I feared you’d been swallowed up by the heaps of paper in your study.”
His arms came around her and his warm lips pressed against her temple. “I nearly was, but thoughts of you kept me strong.”
Did she imagine the earnestness in his voice? “I’m so very glad you’ve returned to me,” she replied softly.
“Did you miss me?”
“I always miss you when we’re apart.”
He pulled back to look her in the eyes. “You do?”
No more play-acting now. His tone was serious and she wanted to answer him. “Yes. I’ve always enjoyed your company—especially when I’m in your arms.”
He flashed her a grin and kissed her, breaking away after a moment to mumble, “Is that so?” before capturing her lips again as if he’d truly been away for years rather than mere hours.
She pulled back to catch her breath and Hartland raised his eyebrows. “Is everything all right?”
In the whirlwind of danger and disgrace and few options, Sarah had let life happen to her since the day Hart compromised her. But here, now, she had the power to finally make a decision for herself. She summoned all the courage and brazenness she could find within her and told her husband what she wanted. “It will be when you take me to bed.”
Hartland was silent for a long moment. Then he blinked. “Well, we did discuss my need for an heir.”
He said it with a straight face, but Sarah laughed. “We discussed you not needing an heir. Have you changed your mind? Do you now wish to have one?”
“No. I wish to have you.”
He leaned down and kissed her again, his passion and energy fueling the pounding of her heart. She tightened her arm about his neck, sliding her free hand through his dark hair as he broke away and feathered kisses across her cheek and down her neck.
“Say you want me, Sarah,” he murmured against her ear.
She was no sheltered virgin and knew what he was asking, but her boldness faltered and she couldn’t say the words aloud. Instead, she managed to breathe a “yes” when his hand cupped her breast through her gown.
“Yes what?”
She felt his mouth curve into a smile against her cheek and found herself grinning along with him. “Yes, I want you.”
“Right here in the drawing room? Lady Hartland, you minx!”
She kissed his temple with a laugh, then pulled back just far enough to look him in the eyes. “Of course not. We should be upstairs, Hart.”
He closed the short distance between them and kissed her again, grinning impishly when he drew away. “How perceptive of you, my darling—my bed is so much larger than the sofa, and we might very well need the space.”
Scooping her up in his powerful arms, he stalked over to the door—pausing just long enough for Sarah to open it—and headed for the main staircase. Halfway up it he stopped and set her on her feet, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her against his solid chest.
“I need another kiss.”
“You can’t wait the two minutes it will take us to reach your chamber?”
“No.”
He went more slowly this time, as if he was savoring the sensation of her lips on his. One hand slid up her back to support her as he leaned into her, and she surprised herself by letting him take some of her weight. She felt secure in his arms, and gave herself up to the pleasure he was rousing in her.
They eventually made it to the master’s suite and took turns removing articles of clothing from each other between kisses. When she was down to just her shift, Hartland, already naked, stood behind her and plucked the pins from her hair, combing his fingers through it when it tumbled down her back.
“If you want me to stop, you need to say it. I can’t read your mind.”
She smiled a little at that. “I suspect in this situation you could read my body with little trouble.”
“Probably,” he conceded, pushing her shift off her shoulders and down the length of her body, “but I want you to say it anyway.”
“I will. But we can’t stop what we haven’t started.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. Hartland picked her up and climbed onto the bed, laying her down in the center. He stretched out beside her, pushing the hair back from her face and kissing her again. Sarah reached out and wrapped him in her arms, moaning at the delicious friction when her breasts brushed against his chest as he pulled himself atop her. His body was warm and firm, the scent of mint and cloves lingering on his skin.
“There are so many things I want to do with you.”
His voice was low and gruff. Sarah spread her legs a little wider and raised her knees, arching her back in an effort to get closer—if it was even possible—to Hart. She’d been this intimate with one other man in her life, but he’d never made her feel this...need.
“Pick one,” she said with a grin, “and that’s where we’ll start.”
“Start? I like the way you think.”
“I’m your wife and you are my husband. We have the rest of our lives to work on your list.”
He looked down at her, his dark eyes intent on her face. Had she said something wrong? Was he rethinking what they were about to do?
“Yes we do.”
She felt his hardness at her entrance and he slowly eased himself in. He was a little thicker than she’d anticipated, but thankfully not so big as to be painful. When he was fully inside her he paused and she closed her eyes, soaking up the sensation of him.
“How do you feel?” he asked softly.
“So good,” she smiled back. “Like I want to—like I need to move.”
He nipped at her bottom lip. “Who am I to say no to my lady?”
She felt him slide out then slowly back in and she sucked in a breath. “Do that again.” He obliged and she raised her knees a bit more, cradling his hips.
“More?”
“More.”
He repeated the motion, then again and again. It felt... She couldn’t come up with a suitable word for how it felt. She only knew she wanted to keep feeling it.
Hartland picked up speed, raising himself up a little more, increasing the space between their bodies. Sarah missed the feel of his hot skin against hers, but the sensation rising inside her distracted her from the loss. It was new and amazing, and felt as if it was building toward
something even bigger.
She moaned and he grinned. “More?”
“Yes!”
And then something changed. The sensation in Sarah’s body waned. Hart began to thrust a little faster, a little harder, and the pleasure she’d felt was chased away by pain.
“Hart, stop. You’re hurting me.”
He stilled immediately. “Oh, my love, I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
She nodded, her loose hair sliding against the pillow. “I will be in a minute, I think. You were just too...vigorous.”
“More like too carried away with my own pleasure—how callous of me. But there’s an easy way to fix that.” He rolled them over so that Sarah was stretched out on top of him. “There. Now you’re in charge.”
“What?”
“Straddle me.”
She smothered a giggle—no one had ever asked her to do that before—but complied, placing her knees on either side of Hart’s hips and pushing herself off his chest. “Now what?”
“You decide. If you want to simply be still, then be still. When you’re ready to move, use your legs to raise and lower yourself.”
She tested his instruction, flexing her thighs to lift herself up and relaxing back against Hart’s body. Better, but still a little painful. “I set the tempo.”
“Yes.”
“And the, erm, depth.”
“Yes.”
She did it again, but this time raising up only partway along his length before sliding back down. “That felt good.”
“Yes.”
He was grinning and she found herself smiling back. “Did you like that?”
“Oh yes.”
He ran his hands down her bare back, the roughened pads of his fingers skimming her skin and sending shivers through her body. One hand came to rest on her hip and the other reached for her center. His thumb made contact with her most sensitive place and she gasped.
Hartland grinned again. “How did that feel?”
He touched her once more before she could answer. She reflexively threw back her head and arched her back. “Ohhh, Hart...”
He picked up a bit of moisture from their joining, continuing his ministrations until her breath came in shallow pants and a compulsion to move rose so powerfully in her she could not have defied it if she’d tried.
She went slowly at first, rising up only a couple of inches each time but increasing her speed as the pleasure built inside her. Bending forward to adjust the angle of her hips, she placed her hands on his chest and looked down into his dark eyes. He was strong and well-muscled beneath her, coiled and ready for more than what she was giving him. But there was no trace of domination on his face, no need to impose his will upon her.
Only desire.
Sarah dipped her head and captured his lips with hers, the rhythm of her hips faltering as she tried to coordinate the two movements. When her concentration shifted to her lower body, her mouth went slightly off course.
“Ow!” Hart pulled sharply back and pressed his fingertips to his bottom lip.
She froze. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“You bit me.” He pulled his hand away and examined it. “No harm done, though. See?”
He showed her the absence of blood and she dropped a kiss on his fingers before carefully kissing the corner of his mouth. “I’m so sorry. We aren’t doing this very well, are we?”
He laughed. “Just takes a little practice, my love. Shall we try it again?” He kissed her with a hunger that surprised her, running his hands through her long hair and over her backside.
She felt his heart pounding beneath her palms as his chest rose and fell in a pattern as ragged as her own breathing. Her lips curved into a self-satisfied smile. She had done that to him. “I think we’d better.”
His hands continued to caress her as she resumed riding him, lifting herself higher and allowing him to stroke more deeply inside her. His hips matched her pace and they moved together, rebuilding that indescribable sensation within Sarah’s body.
“That’s it,” Hart murmured, brushing her long hair from her face. “Let yourself go.”
The sensation grew and she moved faster, urged on by her body as much as by Hartland. Her hands slid to his shoulders and held tight, as if she were afraid of being swept away.
And then she was.
The sensation peaked then broke over her in waves, stealing her thoughts, her control, her very breath, leaving her engulfed in the most magnificent pleasure. Hart thrust beneath her a few more times before she heard him gasp.
His arms came around her and drew her down to him. “My God, Sarah.”
She relaxed against him, still intimately joined with him yet suddenly a little shy. “Is that good or bad?”
“It’s good,” he replied, kissing her hair. “Very, very good.”
~~~
Hart woke during the night, unsure for a moment where he was or who he was with. His face was pressed into a pillow at the very edge of what he recognized as the big bed in his own chamber and a soft arm was curled around his waist. Rolling onto his back brought Sarah’s sleeping face into view, and memories of their evening together warmed his groggy brain.
He picked up her hand from his abdomen and kissed it, rolling toward her and pulling her close. When she cuddled up against his chest and held him tightly, he remembered that they’d actually fallen asleep together several feet away in the middle of the bed. He’d always been a restless sleeper, particularly when a problem he wrestled with during his waking hours seemed impossible to solve. His previous bedfellows had rarely stayed long enough to be bothered by his thrashing, but the occasional lady that did stay had coped by moving to the far side of the bed, away from all the commotion.
Yet here was Sarah, as physically close to him as it was possible to be. He’d tossed and turned as usual, and she had simply hung on.
“You are a wonder, Sarah Elliott,” he whispered. “And I am lucky to have you in my life.”
Chapter Eleven
The woman slapped the newspaper down on the table in disgust. She’d bombed two other buildings in Town after the bookshop, careful not to let anyone see her planting the devices. People had died, the phosgene had been proven effective, yet no one affiliated with the Royal Army would see her or answer her letters regarding use of the gas. And now The Times was detailing Napoleon’s invasion of Russia. Vilnius and Moscow had fallen without even a token resistance, and the French Emperor had begun his occupation of yet another country.
So much suffering. And none of it would have happened if David were alive.
Clearly grenades inside public buildings weren’t enough. What to do instead? Give up on impressing the merits of phosgene upon the Army? Let Sarah Shipton—the woman would never think of her as the Countess of Hartland—enjoy her life as if nothing had ever happened?
Certainly not. Perhaps a different display of phosgene’s power would be more persuasive. Perhaps she hadn’t been killing the right people to get noticed.
The woman picked up an earlier issue of The Times from the table and stared at the announcement of the marriage of the Earl of Hartland to Miss Sarah Shipton. Sarah had caused David’s death and in return had wed a handsome aristocrat and become wealthier than she’d probably ever dreamed.
Well, there were ways to change that.
Sarah and her husband had fled London for Devon, so the woman’s sources said. But the attempt there on Sarah’s life had failed miserably, and she’d disappeared again. No one in the woman’s network of criminals and spies had so far been able to locate Sarah or Hartland again.
“If I can’t go to them, I’ll just have to make them come to me.” The woman smiled at the newspaper announcement. “Then Sarah Shipton will see what it’s like to have her loved ones die in front of her.”
~~~
Hart wandered into the chamber Sarah had taken as her private sitting room. Glanmire house was much larger than Hartland Abbey, and he’d been roaming the corridors for a h
andful of minutes trying to locate his wife. Or was he trying to locate his courage? And here she sat, curled up with a book as was her custom, a light breeze bringing in the sent of flowers from the gardens below.
“How is my beautiful bride this morning?”
“It’s afternoon,” she responded, arching a dark brow as she raised her eyes from her book.
No matter how intimate their relationship became, some things apparently never changed. “May I interrupt you for a moment?”
“You already have. But thank you for asking this time.”
She was frowning instead of flashing him her usual smile, and Hart nearly abandoned his endeavor. He needed to tell her before she found out on her own, but if she was already unhappy about something her reaction to this would be even worse.
She placed a marker between the pages of her book and set it down on the chaise longue beside her. “What do you need?”
You. The answer came unbidden to his mind and he nearly said it aloud. But he needed to speak with her about something else, something less enjoyable than his feelings for her and the joy they brought each other in bed.
“I need to tell you something.” He crossed the room and sat beside her on the chaise, taking one of her hands in his. He dearly wanted to kiss it, to wrap his arms around her and kiss her until they were both breathless, but he needed to make his confession and beg her forgiveness. “Your maid has been spying on you...at my behest.”
“Yes, I know.”
“What?”
Sarah reached for her book and removed a folded scrap of paper from between the pages, handing it to Hart. The handwriting was now all too familiar when he unfolded it. It was a note the maid had written describing her mistress’s activities for the past few days.
“Lucy dropped this morning when she came to style my hair. When I questioned her about it, she told me you’d asked her to watch me and everyone around me. She said you asked her to report any suspicious activity or person directly to you, and to tell no one else what she was doing. I spent the whole afternoon trying to decide whether or not to confront you.”
Sarah’s face was set in a calm, cold expression that squeezed Hart’s heart. “I can explain...”
