by Gill, Tamara
“You’re a teasing little minx.” His lordship paused. “Will you call me Eric when we’re in private?”
Sarah nodded. “I’d like that.”
“So would I,” he said and kissed her. Hard.
Liquid heat poured through her, and Sarah reveled in the demanding, heated embrace. Like their previous encounter, his kiss sent her spiraling into a vortex of delight. He pushed her gown from her shoulders and nipped at her bare skin. Sarah leaned back and welcomed him to slide his tongue over her flesh. His hand cupped her breast, and she whimpered in pain mixed with need.
How was it possible to feel so much desire for a single person? And why with a man born two-hundred years before her? He found her nipple through her gown, pinched the pebbled flesh, and she trembled.
Her fingers clasped his hair and pulled him up for a kiss. Oh, she wanted him. Wanted him to take her here in this cozy sewing room and damn the consequences. He lifted her and strode to a side table beside the couch.
Eric grappled behind her and Sarah heard the contents of the table scatter across the floor. His hand lifted her gown and cool air kissed her legs. He stepped between her thighs and his rigid heat grazed her skin. Sarah moaned as he pushed it against her undergarments, teasing her with his length and hardness.
Eric pulled back and stared down at her, his eyes pools of heat and need.
“Tell me to stop.”
Sarah ran her hand up the lapels of his coat and felt the outline of the mapping device in one of his coat pockets. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. “I can’t.”
His hand slid up her leg and touched her. Sarah bit her lip as he rubbed and teased her heated flesh. Their gazes locked, and she whimpered when he took her lips, his tongue mimicking what she wanted him to do with another part of his body. Especially where he touched her now …
Laughter sounded close by and they froze. Eric growled and stepped back, his gaze on the door. Sarah slid from the table, hastily pulling at her neckline and righting her skirts, straightening them as best she could.
Eric turned and silently watched her. “I think they’ve gone, but I should return you to the ball before you’re missed.”
Sarah walked over to a mirror hanging on the wall and looked at herself. Her skin was flushed, her lips red and swollen. She bit them and wondered how she could return looking like a woman thoroughly manhandled.
She pinned a stray lock of hair back into place and fought her desire to have him anyway. “You go, I’d like to stay here a moment.”
He came and stood behind her and kissed her neck. Goosebumps lifted on her skin. It would be so easy to lean into him, let him feel her response and desire to continue what they’d started.
“Good night, Sarah.”
Eric picked up his coat and left. Sarah slumped into the settees’ soft cushions. She fanned her skin with her hands and hoped she’d soon look respectable. Damn. His coat fell, but the device didn’t. She couldn’t even claim that as a balm for her frustration. That was her ticket out of Kent, so to speak. Talk about stuffing up royally! Yes, she was playing with fire, and Sarah had the definite sense she would be the one who ended up getting burned.
• • •
Eric strode toward the side exit at the end of the hall. The cool night air pricked his skin, and he welcomed the temperature change. Never had he ever been so close to deflowering a virgin.
“Christ,” he swore, running a hand through his hair as he rounded the front of the London home. He’d wanted to possess her, make her his in the most basic form. A shudder rocked his body, and he called for his carriage. Hopefully he could escape before someone found him in this state. Hard. Unfulfilled. Hungry, and not for a repast.
His carriage pulled up before him. Eric called for home and stepped inside. He threw himself onto the squabs and welcomed the dark, calming interior. The carriage weaved its way through the Mayfair streets and Eric gazed absently at the houses, not seeing any of them, only the woman he’d left in a sewing room, tousled and kissed within an inch of her life.
She was marvelous.
He’d not thought to ever feel anything after his brother died. And now that he did, it was a heady emotion and not one he wished to live without.
Eric clasped the leather strap as the carriage rounded a corner. So what was his next move?
Court her like the gentleman he was raised to be and run the risk of another man capturing her heart? Or seduce her and make her marry him as a guaranteed consequence? Both were very tempting. The carriage rocked to a halt before his home. Eric stepped down and strode to the door, opening it himself and startling the footman still making his way toward the threshold. Eric passed him his hat and coat and headed for the library to pour himself a brandy.
He would do both. Court Sarah and seduce her at the same time. She had ignited a fire in his soul, and he could no longer live without her.
Eric shook his head. He was a doomed rake. A man in love.
Chapter Eleven
Sarah spied the invitation sitting on her plate, recognizing Anita’s flowing script immediately. She read the short note and looked up to see Richard gazing over at her expectantly.
“Anita has invited us to her betrothal party at Lord Earnston’s estate in Westerham,” she said as she picked up her plate and strolled to the sideboard to choose her breakfast.
“And are we going?”
Sarah shrugged and tried to look as nonchalant as possible. “What choice do we have? I’ve also accepted the invitation to a masquerade ball this week.”
“I noticed you missing for a time at Lady Oliver’s ball,” Richard said, his eyebrow raised. “Remarkably, Lord Earnston was also absent.”
Sarah managed to suppress her grin at this quandary. “I’m only doing my job,” she said.
Richard scoffed. “Keep telling yourself that, Sarah. You never know, you might actually start believing it.”
They ate in silence for a time, both lost in their own thoughts, Sarah’s on a certain rakish earl who stole her breath with a look and her sanity with just a touch.
Heat bloomed on her cheeks.
Richard pushed his plate away. “What are you going to do when he asks you to marry him? Men of his station don’t dally with debutantes without marriage their ultimate goal.”
Sarah took a sip of tea. “Don’t be ridiculous. Marriage is the last thing Eric would be thinking about.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Sarah. You’re thinking with a modern woman’s mind, not as an early nineteenth century miss. Trust me, he’s thinking of rings and vows. Are you prepared for the consequences when he asks for your hand and receives a no as your reply?”
Richard’s exasperated expression sobered Sarah. “I feel a headache coming on.” She rubbed her temples. “But we can’t go back to Plan A of you stealing the device.”
“No.” Richard shook his head. “You’ve started this game and you’ll have to play it to the end. But just make sure you take the device at the first opportunity. Time is running out, Sarah.”
Yes it was, and the thought left her empty. Back in 2012, she didn’t even have a boyfriend. For that matter, she hadn’t slept with a guy in more than twelve months. And here she was in 1818 with a delicious lord chasing her skirts. What a difference two-hundred years could make to one’s dating life.
“I’ll get the device as soon as I can without being obvious. I promise,” Sarah said.
Richard sighed. “For your sake, I hope he intends to just dabble with you after all.”
Sarah faked a grin for Richard’s sake. “I’m all for dabbling.” Richard laughed and left the table. Her smile faded as she watched him depart. “Dabbling” didn’t sound at all appealing anymore.
• • •
Sarah was chaperoned to the masquerad
e ball by the Duke and Duchess of Winters after Richard declined the invitation, citing he needed a night off from highly starched neck cloths and sickening perfume. The duke himself was chatty and jovial in the carriage, speculating over the entertainment to come.
The carriage rolled to a halt before Sarah’s first glimpse of a London ducal address. Rich didn’t describe how wealthy Lord Dean’s family must be.
Anita gazed out the window, not an ounce of awe in her visage over the home, while they waited for Anita’s parents to alight.
“I’ve never seen anything so grand.” Sarah stepped down and looked about. The property even boasted its own front drive with sweeping steps leading to the front double doors.
They greeted their hosts in the foyer and headed at a dignified pace toward the ballroom. There Anita bid her parents farewell and beckoned Sarah into the throng to join her set of friends. She loved the carnival atmosphere, a very close comparison to Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Some dressed like herself in a dark domino, others as characters of plays or Greek gods. Despite her dilemma, tonight promised to be fun.
Lord Kentum was easy to find, since he had dressed as the God Eos to match his newly betrothed’s Tithonus. Sarah smiled at the striking pair they made, robed in matching saffron.
Lord Dean’s ballroom shone with hundreds of lighted candles, some covered in colored shades, creating a modern party-light effect. The terrace tonight would serve as an extension to the ballroom to accommodate the crowd. White paper lanterns hung along the terrace pergola and hundreds more strategically placed in the trees beyond. The supper room, positioned off the main ballroom floor, was loaded with an array of foods to tempt any palate.
Sarah looked at the pyramids of crayfish, sandwiches, and asparagus and didn’t think they looked too bad. But seeing animal tongues and soup with weird floating things on top made her wish she could walk into a Macca’s and order a McChicken.
The ladies eventually stopped near the terrace door, the cooler, tempting air kissing Sarah’s skin. Lord Dean spied them and strolled over, smiling. “How extravagant and beautiful you look tonight, Lady Anita. Miss Baxter. Had Lady Anita been wearing a mask I would never have located you.” His lordship met her gaze and Sarah noted the heat behind his words.
“Sarah is more exotic than I,” Anita declared, clasping Lord Kentum’s arm.
Sarah laughed. She did feel very different, dressed in her black and white Venetian inspired domino. Her ebony, feathered mask concealed her face well, only allowing her lips to show. Her maid had piled her hair into a curled motif atop her head, then powdered the entire creation before adorning it with colorful ostrich feathers strategically placed throughout. The design hid her coloring to perfection, leaving her feeling seductive and foreign.
But it was just her luck she couldn’t think of an out when Lord Dean offered to give her a personal, guided tour of the public areas set aside for the ball. Sarah grew uneasy under his marked attentions. His constant flattery and excessive courtesy were becoming obvious, and drawing not a small amount of scrutiny from the gathered ton.
If that weren’t uncomfortable enough, she soon spotted Lord Earnston also strolling the lawns, Lady Patricia hanging from his arm, her smile bright and her laughter braying as his lordship led her about the guests.
Sarah’s gaze slid over him like a caress, taking in every little detail. Tonight Eric wore no mask; instead he had opted not to shave and a dark shadow marred his jaw. His hair, too, was messier than normal — rather how it looked after their first kiss. He looked mysterious, dangerous, and so damned untouchable in his domino that physical pain tore through Sarah’s chest. Her cheeks grew warm as she wondered how much clothing Eric wore under his concealing cloak.
She watched as Lady Patricia stretched up to whisper something in Lord Earnston’s ear, the two looking for all the world like an easy, married couple.
Sarah dismissed her jealousy as redundant — she was here to do a job and one job only. It was best if Eric did form an understanding with Lady Patricia. He had to marry someone after she left. For all Anita’s voiced concern the two were not suitable for one another, Sarah disagreed to an extent. They were social equals and had known each other all their lives. And Lady Patricia was from this time. Sarah was not.
She tore her gaze away from the pair and turned her attention to Lord Dean. His lordship passed her a glass of champagne and she smiled her thanks before taking a large sip.
“Do you like my home, Miss Baxter?” he said as they joined the group huddled about Anita.
Sarah nodded absently in Lord Dean’s direction. “Very much, my lord.”
“I’m so glad you approve.” He lifted up her hand and kissed her glove. Sarah took another sip of her drink, not really sure what she should do in response. Wiping the back of her hand on her dress probably wouldn’t earn favor with the ton.
Lord Kentum picked that moment to ask Lord Dean a question, and the rake turned his marked attention elsewhere. Sarah silently thanked Anita’s betrothed for the reprieve.
Like a moth to a flame, Sarah sought out Eric once more. Well, who could resist a six-foot tall gentleman made of solid muscle hidden beneath a cloak like a delicious piece of sweet meat?
“What do you say, Sarah? Would you like to join us?”
That depended entirely on what Anita’s original question had been. Focus, Baxter. “Where are you going?”
“Lord Kentum wishes to see the pond, and Lord Dean has agreed to accompany us. Would you like to join us?” Anita asked.
“I’d rather stay here if that’s alright.” At least standing in place would cut down on her conversation mistakes tonight.
Anita kissed her cheek and took Lord Kentum’s arm. Sarah watched them disappear into the wooded gardens, then helped herself to another champagne flute.
She ambled through the gardens, gazing at the fragrant flowerbeds. Sarah crossed beneath a large oak tree and looked toward the home. Hidden from view, she watched the famous ton in all its glory, stamping the details into her brain to remember for the rest of her life.
Sarah tried to make out Eric among the crowd but couldn’t find him. Where was he? Or more importantly, what was he up to? She spied Lady Patricia talking to Lady Earnston, the displeasure on their faces obvious. Sarah frowned and wondered what they spoke about. “Nothing good I imagine.”
“Did you say something?”
Sarah gasped at the deep, husky voice behind her. Eric stepped into a spot of dappled moonlight, and Sarah stood speechless before the virile, delectable man. His scent of sandalwood intoxicated her senses more than the champagne. Her gaze traveled down his body and heat pooled in her belly.
He smiled and leaned nonchalantly against the tree. Sarah steeled herself to remain strong and not start drooling.
“Good evening, my lord.”
“We’re alone, Sarah. I thought we agreed to use our first names.”
She nodded. “So we did.” Sarah peeked over her shoulder to ensure their privacy. Masquerade or not, she could not be caught alone with him in such a secluded location. “How long have you been standing here?”
His teeth flashed in the dark and a deep chuckle preceded the smile. “Long enough.” He paused and clasped her hand, pulling her toward him in the dark. “You look beautiful tonight.”
Sarah’s heart sped up at the sweet gesture. “Eric … ”
He cradled her face with his hands and Sarah fought to breathe. His touch sent her body catapulting toward social ruin. “What, my dear?” He leaned down and kissed her.
Sarah shut her eyes and reveled in the chaste embrace. What was he doing to her? His thumb sensuously caressed her palm, delivering a delicious shiver in its wake.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Of course she should be doing this — it was better this way for everyone. Richard was less likely to be kille
d if she seduced the earl and took the device after a night of wild, passionate sex. But who was she kidding? Whatever she felt for Eric had long ago changed from a means to an end.
Sarah inwardly swore.
“Tell me why we should not.” Eric untied her mask ribbon and let the facade drop to the ground.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” And that was one remark she did mean. She never again wanted to see the pain in his eyes the night his brother died.
“You could not.” Eric brushed his lips against her neck, eliciting a sigh from Sarah. “Kiss me, Sarah,” he whispered against her ear.
Sarah turned and their lips touched. Meshed. Held. The kiss ignited into a whirlwind of flame. She matched his brazenness with every touch, every glide of tongue against her own. Want and need overtook all good sense, and Sarah fought not to lose all control and let him take her up against the tree.
It was madness, this overwhelming feeling of rightness between them. His hands slid from her waist and cupped her arse. Sarah gasped as he pulled her into him, his desire for her hard against her belly. She clutched at him, trying to hold onto a semblance of decorum.
But with every moment the kiss continued, her self control surrendered to her need. He picked her up and walked deeper into the trees until she was, indeed, pressed up against an old oak. Dear God, she couldn’t make love to him here! In a garden and at a ball.
Then Eric pushed his heat between the apex of her thighs, and Sarah couldn’t think of anything she wanted more. Social etiquette and her conscience be damned. To have Eric want her with such ardor was the most intoxicating elixir she’d ever known. And he was just as addictive.
Air cooled her leg and Sarah realized Eric’s hand was high on her thigh, stoking her heated skin and coming painfully close to her core. She mumbled her acquiescence and kissed him hard. Eric moaned and ground against her. “You’re mine.”
