His eyes closed, shutting out any emotion. “It’s simple. I wanted to survive. I wanted a lot more for my life, for the Markham name. I still do. I wasn’t about to let the French destroy me.” He reached up and covered the hand she had left on his shoulder. “Look at you. You seem to be a survivor too. I can tell your past haunts you. It’s in your beautiful eyes—in the shadows that lie within them.”
She wanted to cry at his pity-filled observation. “My marriage was not at all what I would have wished for.” The understatement of the century.
Christian ran his finger over his right cheek. “Some memories are impossible to forget.” His mouth curved in a rueful smile. “Unless we create pleasanter ones to replace them.”
She had no answer for that. He was right.
They sat for several minutes in companionable silence, both drinking coffee.
Sarah spied a fine chess set on the sideboard. “Do you play?” She pointed a finger at the finely carved pieces. He nodded. “Your chess set is exquisite. Where did you get it?”
Christian smiled. “My friend and fellow soldier, Grayson Devlin, Viscount Blackwood, gave it to me. It’s from one of his trips through the north of Africa. The pieces are made of ivory from elephant tusks. I played constantly in the army. Not much else to do at night when camped at the edge of a battlefield.” He stood and moved to the sideboard, where he picked up the king.
“It’s a finely wrought set,” Sarah observed, “but I hate to think of how such magnificent creatures had to die to make it. They have to kill the elephants first in order to extract their tusks, don’t they?”
Christian nodded. Then, seeing that the mention of the elephants saddened her, he changed the subject. “Grayson and I played all the time. It helped clear our minds and focused us on strategy. Do you play?”
“I’m not bad,” she admitted. Not bad? You little fibber! She’d yet to meet anyone—man or woman—who could beat her.
“Care for a game?”
She inwardly laughed at the challenge in his voice. Men. They were so predictable. “Why not? It’s too hot to go to my cabin. At least in the main cabin we have the breeze.”
“Is your stateroom too hot? We could swap if you wish. I leave the door to my stateroom open and the breeze from the main cabin flows through.”
Sarah’s face heated. He’d give her his cabin? That would be like announcing to the world she was his mistress—and she wasn’t. Worse luck, she thought automatically, and flushed even more when she realized where her thoughts had been. Stop it! “My cabin is quite adequate for a governess, thank you. I need to be near Lily.”
His tight jawline indicated his irritation at her comment. Without another word he picked up the board and, without disturbing the pieces, carried the chess set to the small table positioned between their chairs.
Once he’d placed it on the table he said, “Thank goodness it’s not against the governesses’ code to play chess, or I’d become bored with my own company.”
“Perhaps I won’t be much of a challenge. That can be just as tedious.”
He raised one dark eyebrow and his eyes took on a rakish glint. “Then I’ll simply have to find another way to relieve our boredom.” He leaned in to refill her coffee.
She didn’t waver from his piercing gaze. “I’m sure I’ll not be bored.” She gave a sinful grin of her own. “I’m sorry to state that you will more than likely have to relieve your own boredom.”
He grimaced. “Since the responsibility of becoming Lily’s guardian has taken up much of my time, I’ve had to do far too much relieving.”
Sarah knew perfectly well what “relieving” meant in this context. This conversation was now beyond scandalous, the insinuations too direct. Sarah ignored his words and asked primly, “Shall we play? My move, I assume. Ladies first.”
“I don’t necessarily leave it up to the lady to make the first move. Often they are reluctant to go after what they long for. I, on the other hand, am never shy about going after what I want.” His voice was a low, husky caress. His long, slender fingers picked up a white pawn and moved it before she could reply. “To the winner go the spoils of war. What shall be my prize when I checkmate your king?”
Her traitorous body wanted to lean forward, stroke the hand that held the pawn, and purr, Me—I’m your prize. Reining in such disturbing thoughts, she bent over the board to concentrate on the game. His lordship believed he would be the victor, and she had no intention of surrendering this particular campaign without at least a strenuous battle.
A tense hour later, Christian uttered, “I see you have played this game many times, and that you’ve had a remarkable teacher. Who taught you?”
Damn. She’d forgotten that a woman of her standing would be unlikely to know how to play chess. “Serena’s governess. A lady whose family had fallen on hard times. She was an amazingly open-minded, well-educated, liberal woman.”
“Intelligent too, I wager. If you teach Lily even half of what she must have taught you and Lady Serena, then my ward will be quite capable of making her way in English society.”
“Thank you,” was all Sarah could manage. Inside she wanted to scream that intelligence, titles, and money did not always save you. She looked at the chess board and inwardly smiled before moving her next piece.
With a look of horror, he uttered, “You’ve sacrificed your bishop to take my rook, but I see what you’re planning.” His voice, dripping with patrician arrogance and the calmness of male supremacy, indicated that he thought he could still win. He’d yet to realize he was already defeated.
Christian pounced, as she knew he would. The game would soon be over.
It was an altogether different curse he issued a few minutes later. “I’m defeated.” He sat back in disbelief, shaking his head. Then he looked at her and offered a seated half bow. “I always surrender gracefully to a beautiful woman. I lost, but I’m hoping that my punishment is even more enjoyable than the game.” He lifted her hand, brought her fingers to his lips, and brushed her bare knuckles with a provocative kiss.
Abruptly Sarah snatched her hand away, but the laugh Christian gave was not one of defeat. It held warmth and something more. Had he too felt the scorching heat between them? Sarah couldn’t seem to help herself. She immediately began thinking of ways to have him kiss her hand again. Kissing a woman’s hand was the norm, acceptable and safe. What she dreamed of doing with Christian, however, was dangerous.
Christian rose. “I need a proper drink. Would you care for a brandy?” He moved to pick up the decanter and, leaning closer than required, offered her a glass. Even after she had accepted it, Christian remained close and whispered, his breath a soft caress on her neck, “As the winner, you may choose the spoils of war. As the loser, I shall do my utmost to ensure you receive your heart’s desire.”
She couldn’t suppress the small tremors that both his proximity and his words induced in her. Her heart desired many things. However, she’d lost all hope that any of these desires would ever be fulfilled.
She could no longer count the number of times she had wished her mother had not died when she was young. She wished her father had had a head for finance. Most of all, she wished she’d not been born so beautiful. If she had been plain, perhaps her life would have turned out differently. Peter would not have looked twice at her if she’d been a homely woman, and her grasping father wouldn’t have been able to sell her to the highest bidder. As an ordinary-looking woman, she would not have been forced into a degrading marriage that had almost killed her.
With nervous fingers, she plucked at the sleeve of her dress. This flirtation had to stop. She was not a coward and she wasn’t afraid to admit to herself that Christian attracted her greatly—indeed, too much. Each time she saw him, conversed with him, he became more enticing in her eyes. It would be easy to forget who she was, and that a relationship of any kind with him could not only put her life in jeopardy but destroy his.
Sarah decided it was time to stop this
nonsense of a dream and get back to reality. To change the subject she asked, “I saw you up on deck this afternoon. Is the sword practice to keep you from boredom or does it have a more sinister purpose?”
Christian lowered himself into his chair with a gruff sigh. He narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at her. “Coward!”
“Spoken truly like an arrogant man who risks nothing by indulging in—in whatever he desires.”
“What is it you think you will risk? I’ve already promised you security for life regardless of what occurs between us. Yet you readily dismiss this scorching attraction between us.” He smiled inwardly as he saw her eyes widen at his direct approach.
“I see we are no longer hiding behind insinuations,” she replied. “Very well. I too shall be direct.” She raised her eyes to his. “I will never be your mistress. I’ve been owned by a man before, and I shall never put myself in that situation again.”
His mind balked at the mental image she had just conjured up. “Owned? I don’t understand.”
She shook her head in exasperation. “My husband. To him I was nothing but a piece of property.” Her voice appeared calm and rational, yet she still made no sense to him.
Incomprehension colored his words. “You were his wife. How is that anything like a kept mistress?”
She gazed out of the cabin windows, sadness dimming the sparkle in her eyes. “You’re a man of title and wealth and privilege. Yet you were also an officer in the army. I suspect all your life you have issued commands and they have been followed.”
He nodded. “But in the army I had to follow orders too. I did not always agree with every command given to me, but I had no choice but to follow them.”
“What if your whole life was like that? A life of nothing but orders and commands? A life where you had no choice but to acquiesce?”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I wouldn’t like it at all.” He paused, knowing now where this was heading. Obviously her husband had been a dictator. “I hope that I’m sensitive enough not to impose my will on others unless I have a very good reason.”
Sarah took a sip of brandy, her pursed lips forming a perfect pout. As he noticed this, heat crept around his groin area, making him very aware of a specific request that one never expected a wife to agree to—but a mistress, yes.
She raised a delicately shaped eyebrow and said, “Reason? My husband and I did not agree on the definition of a ‘very good reason.’ He did not take anyone but himself into account because he didn’t have to. Everyone and everything around him he considered his property—including me.” Her eyes welled up. “My husband’s word was law. I can’t live like that again.” She gulped back her tears. “I won’t.”
Was she talking about marriage? Panic hit him, stirring his stomach’s contents like a whirlwind. He knew that, as the Earl of Markham, he would be expected to marry. Did she think that because he was now ugly and unappealing, he’d marry a governess?
Pride rose like a rabid dog to grab at his throat. He coughed, trying to clear away his anger. “I think I may have misled you. I wasn’t offering marriage.”
She looked at him in shock and then gave a delightful laugh. “Don’t look so panicked. I would never dream of such a thing. Men of title do not marry governesses. I was talking about a mistress. A mistress has even fewer rights than a wife. A mistress is an employee of sorts. Someone you control, a woman who is solely at your beck and call. She is bought and paid for, owned in fact, is she not?”
Put in that context, it did sound like ownership. But no, in his case that was not true at all. His previous mistresses had always been free to end the affair as easily as he, yet none had ever done so—except for Eloisa. He frowned. Once Eloisa had seen his burns, she’d quickly moved on to Lord Heyworth.
“But everyone does the bidding of their employer. You, in your role as a governess, for instance. How is your current role any different?”
“Don’t be naive! I know precisely the duties expected of a governess. I know what I’m required to do in order to fulfill the role. I am happy to accept those tasks.”
He smiled arrogantly. “Nevertheless, I dare say that, given your marriage, you would understand how becoming my mistress could be very pleasurable.”
He saw her whole body spasm. She uttered softly, “I’m pretty sure there are no duties as a governess that can physically hurt me or degrade me.” Sarah downed the rest of her drink in one gulp and stood. “I’m not prepared to submit my body to a man for his use without the ability to decline some or all of his commands. A mistress—a mistress who wishes to maintain her employment, a mistress who has nothing but her body with which to earn a living—does not always have that choice. Nor, indeed, does a wife.”
Now he was angry. His mistresses had always had choices. “Don’t be ridiculous! I would never suggest a woman do anything she finds unpleasant. She could stop me at any time.”
She walked purposefully to his chair, laying a hand on his scarred cheek. He felt the softness of her touch penetrate to his very soul.
“How could anyone accuse you of being a rapist?” She shook her head. “Some men don’t let you decline their advances. Some men take with force. I’ll never put myself in that position again. Who’d protect a mistress when it was impossible to protect me as a wife?”
He cringed at the word “force.” Her husband must have been a monster. Christian wanted to hit something, but instead he uttered, “Why did you not turn to someone for help? What about your father?”
“Why do you think my husband, as soon as we’d married, took me away from England, away from anyone I knew? It was too late.”
He jumped to his feet, feeling caged and impotent. She’d been hurt, ill-treated, and God knew what else by her husband, a man who was supposed to love, cherish, and honor her. No wonder she was skittish about trusting a man.
In a blinding revelation, he knew he wanted to be the man she came to trust. She was too young to spend the rest of her life alone—scared of intimacy, scared to commit to another. He knew, for he’d faced the same thing himself. He doubted he could marry any of the ladies of the ton. Who would choose him over a man who was whole? Over a man who could be looked at in the bright sunlight and admired and desired?
He wanted to heal her and prove that not all men were like her husband. It would be both the easiest and hardest of tasks. Easy for him, because she was desirable beyond words; hard, because he was no longer the attractive rake he once had been. His face and upper body were twisted and disfigured. He could no longer simply smile and have a woman thinking of how good he’d look naked.
But Sarah was an intelligent woman. Surely she knew there was more to “relations” than the treatment she had received at her callous husband’s hands. Winning Sarah’s trust would be a prize in itself. To teach her about pleasure would heal them both. He knew it. He felt sexual tension fill him at the mere possibility.
He moved closer. “I’ll protect you.” He slid a finger down her soft cheek. “I’d never hurt you, nor allow anyone to hurt you ever again.”
His words meant more to her than he knew, but Christian had no idea what he was offering to protect her from, or the danger he could face in doing so. She saw the pity and understanding in his eyes, and it was almost her undoing. It would be so easy to step into his arms and feel safe.
Instead, she turned her back on him.
When he moved to stand directly behind her, Sarah tensed, feeling his presence like a tangible caress. This scene in the main cabin was too intimate, yet she couldn’t resist the traitorous warmth rising within her at his nearness. “I have no need of protection, except perhaps from you.”
He made no move to step away. “Are you really so afraid I would treat you as your husband did?”
She gazed over her shoulder into his sad eyes and shivered. “No. I know you’d never hurt me. I’m too important to Lily.” His mouth firmed into a grim and angry line. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. I know you’d never h
urt anyone.”
The gentle sway of the ship, the soft sea breeze, and the light of the full moon made the room appear magical. Her instincts were on a reckless path, her skin felt oversensitive, and her body was a mass of tingles and feverish longing. Why did he affect her so?
Then Christian touched her. His fingers threaded themselves in her hair, pulling down the neat chignon she wore. Feeling her breath falter, Sarah wondered if this was in fact a dream. Had she gone to bed earlier and was merely dreaming this? But no, his hand moved on, his fingertips tracing the shell-like shape of her ear, leaving a trail of exciting sensations in their wake.
As his thumb traced around her jawline and found her parted lips, her breath fled altogether. Words that would halt his arousing touch died in her throat and she stood mute, simply unable to utter a sound.
For the first time in her life she felt on fire from a man’s touch. Her blood pumped hot and fast through her veins in her rising excitement.
Both his hands found their way into her hair, pulling at her tresses until they flowed freely, and then moving to the bare skin of her shoulders. The neckline of her linen dress was low enough to expose the swellings of her aroused breasts. She’d put on such daring attire because of the heat, she had told herself, but now she knew she’d only been fooling herself. Wasn’t this what she’d been angling for all along? She knew he would desire her thus attired.
Perhaps his touch could heal her as much as her touch soothed him. Would he be able to help her overcome her fears and forget her sordid past experiences?
When his arms slid around her, his roughened palms stroking the bare flesh of her arms, she gave no resistance. Still she gave none as his fingers swept over the swell of her breasts and found their peaks beneath the thin linen of her bodice and chemise.
She should stop him.
“I can make you forget …”
Swept up in the moment, she truly believed him.
He caught her nipples between his fingers, and with the gentle pressure he applied to them, he sent a torrent of fire raging through her body. At the same time, he pushed the trailing strands of hair off her shoulder and pressed his lips to the curve of her neck, the touch both hot and tender. Her knees weakened, and the ache in the pit of her stomach intensified sharply.
A Kiss of Lies Page 8
