Sebastian broke into a wicked grin. “Ideal for seduction, is it not? It’s all this hot weather and beautiful scenery. It makes the ladies lower their guard. And wear fewer clothes.”
Christian laughed. “Is that why you picked Jamaica?”
“Well, it’s better than the back of beyond in Canada.”
“I should have known you’d have only one thing on your mind, regardless of the fact that you were fleeing England in disgrace.” Christian stretched out his legs and rested his glass on his stomach. He felt more relaxed and alive than he had in a long time. “You’re right, this island lends itself to seduction, but that is not my only reason for delaying my departure.” He contemplated the beauty of the lit garden and let its healing perfection soak into his soul. Finally he uttered, “From what little Sarah has told me, I believe her husband was a plantation owner, and I’m hoping someone here might be able to tell me more about him. Apparently they stopped in Jamaica on their honeymoon—something to do with slaves—before continuing on to Virginia. He must have met with someone while he was here.”
Sebastian puffed his cheroot. “Do you think knowing who he was might help you in some way?”
“It would help me understand how to help Sarah.” He shrugged. “I really just wish to know more about her. She’s an enigma.”
“Fine. We can go into town tomorrow and see if anyone has heard of Mr. Cooper and his beautiful young bride from England.” Sebastian sat silently, blowing smoke rings into the air. “I think Mrs. Cooper is more important to you than a simple seduction. You wouldn’t care so much about helping her. You like her and, I think, admire her.”
Christian was silent for a moment. He did admire her. Many women in her situation would not be as strong or as courageous as Sarah. She had not let her husband’s treatment of her, the position he’d left her in financially, and the fact she was so far from home defeat her or make her bitter. She still had empathy for others—take him, for instance, and then there was Lily. Sarah treated his ward as if she were her own child.
Christian eyed his friend warily. “A man in my scarred condition gets few opportunities where women are concerned. I admit it—the idea that a woman doesn’t find me repulsive is a powerful aphrodisiac.”
Sebastian gave a knowing smile. “It’s more than that. I recognize the look in your eyes when you gaze upon her. I’ve seen it in other lovestruck fools. Such a look is possessive, tender, admiring. Your potential offspring would be stunning, by the way. Perhaps you should think less of seduction and more of making her your wife. If anyone understands how precarious life can be, it’s you.”
“What, talk of marriage from the lips of a Libertine Scholar?”
Sebastian chuckled and held up his hands. “Not for me. Definitely, it’s not for me—yet! I’ve too many women to get to know intimately before I settle down with a plain mouse of a wife. No grand love match for me, far too volatile. But you? I suspect love is very appealing to a man like you. Perhaps you’re ready.”
Christian sat up straight in his chair and stared at his friend as if he were the smartest man he’d ever met. Was he ready? On the battlefield he’d pledged that when the war was won, he would marry and beget his heir. Then his injuries at Waterloo had almost taken his life. As he lay writhing in pain, he’d reflected on what a waste his death would be. No lover or wife would mourn his passing. He had no children to carry on the Markham name. He’d been saddened and disgusted with himself for neglecting his duty to ensure an heir. He’d fought to ensure a better England, and it was his duty to protect his tenants, who relied on the Earl of Markham for their livelihoods and well-being. How would his death safeguard them?
As he lay recovering, he’d become even more determined to marry. It was not until he’d put a foot back into society that he’d understood the monumental task he faced in finding a woman who would tolerate his injuries. He had faced the humiliation of rejection. No one except the desperate wanted him. His title and money attracted those who, it would be kind to say, were on the shelf, or whose families were in financial strife. No one wanted to marry him just for him.
But Sarah hadn’t once looked at him with revulsion. He felt that, somehow, she saw him, who he really was.
Christian admitted, “Your idea has merit. Prior to the war, it would not have been difficult to find a woman prepared to marry a Markham.” Women had flocked to him like bees to honey. The tales of his father’s brutality and the rumors surrounding his mother’s death were disregarded, and women focused only on his looks, title, and wealth. “But now the pool of potential wives has diminished somewhat because of my hideous burns. Oh, don’t misunderstand me—the title and money they like well enough. Just not the look of the man that comes with them.”
Sebastian blew another smoke ring. “If Sarah is the Duke’s by-blow, get him to recognize her. Society might then overlook her background.”
He sat contemplating Sebastian’s suggestion, letting the whiskey relax him. He’d almost died at Waterloo and he had no heir. It wasn’t as if he had all the time in the world to find a suitable wife. Besides, he wanted a wife who would willingly share his bed, not one who would see it just as a wifely duty.
When Sarah had been in his room, he’d seen unbridled desire in her eyes—without monetary incentive. Plus there was no question that she was beautiful and intelligent, as well. And, if his hunch was correct, she came from good breeding stock.
He pondered the fact she’d been married for almost two years with no children. Then his mouth smiled at the memory. She’d told him she’d ensured there were none. Yes, she was clever and courageous.
She was a survivor, like him.
Whom better to form a partnership with? They were both too battered by life to believe in true love. But mutual respect, desire, and friendship would ensure a less lonely existence for them both.
But would she risk marriage a second time?
If he could reach out to Sarah and prove to her that he’d treat her well, like an equal, he would then show her how they could have a good life together. Maybe he would succeed in wooing her.
His stomach cramped with the realization that he’d have to do more than just seduce her. If he wanted her to take the risk of matrimony again, he’d have to win her trust. She’d already adamantly indicated she’d not marry a second time.
Building trust would take time. Well, he had time—the time it took to voyage home. Trust was hard to earn, but very quickly broken. He would have to make a plan and execute it carefully. His strategy had to be sound and his delivery flawless. If he let her know he was looking at her as a potential wife, she’d no doubt flee. Her views on matrimony were perfectly clear. She would not be owned again.
Christian needed her to think he only wanted her as a lover—a paramour and nothing more. If he could introduce her to the delights and pleasures of the bedroom, if he could teach her that life could be filled with joy again, then surely he’d win her trust. He wasn’t expecting her to love him, but he hoped she’d be willing to make a life with him.
He rose and flashed Sebastian a rakish smile of old. “I have a plan, and there is no point in waiting a moment longer. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a painful shoulder that needs someone to attend to it.”
Sebastian’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Shoulder? Is that what they are calling it now?”
Christian left the room with a chuckle resounding deep in his chest. He felt wonderful.
It was absurd how much she had missed Christian’s company this evening. She’d only known him a few days, but already her lonely soul cried out for the man’s intelligent conversation and soothing presence.
A hot flame kindled her overheated senses. Conversation wasn’t the only thing she had found appealing about Christian.
She fanned her face with the book she was attempting to read. It wasn’t solely the humidity of the breezeless night making her feel so lightheaded. She leaned against the window seat, letting what little air there was wash ove
r her and looking out over the lit garden, trying to spot the sea in the moonlit night. She could hear the lapping of the waves against the shore.
It was ridiculous. How could he have had such an effect on her this quickly?
She’d only known him a few days. But she’d worshiped him for most of her adult life. Not only was he the hero of her dreams, but he’d returned from the war a hero in real life. A hero all maidens dreamed of—gallant, brave, and distinguished.
Her stomach fluttered, as if a flurry of butterflies had taken up residence there, when she remembered the way her heart had leaped at his every smile. Her knees always went weak when she saw his startlingly warm green eyes. Eyes that were filled with such sadness and compassion.
Every time she looked deep into their depths she got the strangest feeling that if she gave in to his seductive charms, he could offer her far more than pleasure. He could perhaps give her back her pride, her dignity, and her hope for the future.
She threw the book on the floor in disgust. What future? All she had to look forward to was a life of living in fear. Fear that someone would recognize her, or find out who she was and, worse, what she’d done. Find out that she was a murderess …
She buried her face in her hands as violent shivers racked her frame. She was sick of having to be careful. The idea that she had to hide for the rest of her life was soul-destroying. Gone were her dreams of family, children—love.
Who could love her now?
Who could love such a coward? She should have stood up to her husband the first time he’d hit her. She should have swallowed her pride and fled his home and refused to go back, no matter the scandal that would have ensued.
She rose and paced the room. She was fooling herself. Her father would have seen to it that she was returned to her husband. The Duke would have told her to honor the agreement he’d made with Peter and to honor her marriage vows. He would have sent his only daughter straight back to a monster, all to save his pride. For if she had refused, Peter would have made sure everyone knew the Duke of Hastings had sold his daughter like a lowly slave.
On that dreadful night her world had changed forever. The night she’d killed Peter, he’d gone too far. He’d always enjoyed perversion, but he’d never let anyone else touch her. That night had been different, and she sensed he was tiring of her. She knew Peter could make her disappear, and no questions would be asked. He’d threatened her once before. Threatened to snap her neck if she didn’t obey him, brutally teasing her with how he’d make it look as if she’d been thrown from her horse.
She pushed the palms of her hands deep into her eyes, trying to blank out the horrors she’d lived through. The things he’d done to her, made her do to him … the thought of forced intimacies with a man—any man … What man would want her now? She was dirty, tainted by Peter’s touch and debauchery.
She was damaged, and she doubted she’d ever feel clean again, not even with Christian.
Would he understand she’d had little choice but to obey, or would he too look at her with revulsion?
Her breathing calmed and she thought about Christian’s touch the other night. He’d been gentle. He’d made her feel special. Most important, he’d not forced her, tricked her, or degraded her. She couldn’t imagine him letting anyone under his care get hurt.
Then, for the millionth time, she berated herself for being a coward and choosing to eat early with Lily, leaving the men to their privacy. She wanted to learn more about her wounded hero.
But, as usual, she was taking the cowardly way out. When would she ever get back her courage? As a debutante, she’d been fearless, flirting with and teasing her band of merry followers. Now she hid from everyone. No more flirting for her. Lord Coldhurst had wanted to flirt with her, she had noted.
Sarah was worried about the way Lord Coldhurst had studied her. She wasn’t worried that he might try to seduce her. He would try, of that she was sure, for his reputation had preceded him. But he’d not succeed.
Three years ago she had been at a ball that Lord Coldhurst had also attended, and she had been introduced to him. Luckily, he was in hot pursuit of a widow, the stunningly beautiful Lady Sheridan. He’d had no interest in a young debutante looking for a husband. However, she did not wish to tempt fate. The less time spent in the handsome marquis’s company, the better.
He might recognize her. Her nervousness had flared again and the sickness in her stomach had returned as soon as she set foot on the island. She was happy enough to be tucked away at Roaring Pavilions, but what excuse would she give if Christian insisted on them going into town?
She stopped pacing and stretched her arms over her head. It had been a tiring day. She still felt a bit lightheaded from all the sun. She moved around her spacious bedchamber and blew out the candles, leaving the curtains undrawn, so that the moonlight flooded in. She stripped off her clothes and slipped into a thin cotton shift that only came to her knees. It was too hot for anything else. She left the windows open and, still feeling uncomfortably warm, lay on top of the covers.
She’d only just closed her eyes when she heard a soft rap on her door. It was probably Margarita. The housekeeper had promised to bring her a cool drink to help her sleep.
When she opened the door she felt the heat rise to furnace level when she saw who stood there. She took a few steps back in shock.
“I’ve come for my treatment. You promised you’d see to my shoulder every night. I’ve been downstairs waiting for you,” Christian said lightly as he sauntered into the room, closing the door firmly behind him without seeming to care that she was semi-naked.
Sarah pulled her scattered thoughts together and rushed toward the foot of the bed to don her robe, but found Christian had beaten her to it. He stood holding it open for her.
“I prefer you as you are now attired—no, actually, it would be even more pleasant if you were naked—but I bow to your sensibilities.” He hesitated. “At least, until we get to know each other more intimately.”
Sarah hurriedly shoved her arms in the sleeves of her robe and wrapped and belted it around her. Tonight Christian was more potent and virile than ever. He had already divested himself of his cravat and waistcoat. He stood before her with his shirt open at the neck. She could see a glimpse of his tantalizingly muscled chest. Her body tensed under his probing gaze.
She looked at the twinkle in his eye and his relaxed posture. There was something different about Christian tonight. His smile was reminiscent of the rake she’d spied in the ballroom all those years ago. That was before her disastrous marriage, and before his horrific injuries.
He sat down on the edge of her bed and began removing his shirt. She watched, her vocal cords muted by the glorious display of sun-kissed muscle being slowly revealed before her. She couldn’t wait to touch, explore, and stroke him.
She went to her dresser and gathered the liniment and a cloth. As she moved toward him he took in the length of her … her breasts, her hips, and her legs as they flashed at him from within her robe. All the nerves in her body ignited under his sensuous gaze.
“Why did you not come and join us this evening?” he asked.
“I thought you and Lord Coldhurst might like some time on your own.”
As she reached his side, he ran a finger down her bare arm. “I would rather have spent the evening with you.”
Sarah swallowed at the pleasure his husky words provoked deep inside her. He was in a very playful mood, and although she should be concerned, she couldn’t bring herself to chastise him.
Instead she dug some liniment out from the tin and, trying to keep her hands from shaking, began applying it to his shoulder. “Has it been hurting more than usual today?” she asked, pleased her voice sounded so normal.
“No.” His breath was like butterfly wings hovering over her skin. It was awkward with him sitting there on her bed. She had to lean over him to get to his shoulder.
He parted his legs and pulled her gently between them. “It’s easier t
o reach me from here,” he said, his hushed voice somehow more intimate than the position she found herself in.
She tried to back away, aware that her breasts were practically brushing his face with each stroke she gave his shoulder. But then his arms came around her to intimately cup her bottom, gently holding her in place.
“I don’t need to be this close,” she said primly. His nearness made Sarah’s knees shake, but not from fear.
He smiled at that. “Need, no. Want, yes.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She put her hands on his bare shoulders to push herself out of his hold, but one look into his face and she stilled. He reached to touch her lower lip with the pad of his thumb.
Sarah drew in a sharp breath, but she could not get her arms to work. She couldn’t push herself away. It was the gentleness that undid her. If he’d tried to hold her by force, she would have fought him like a madwoman.
His hand left her bottom and moved up to her waist. He waited, his eyes—warm, inviting, and mesmerizing—holding her gaze. When she did not object, the hand slid to the tie of her robe and gently pulled it. The robe fell open, and he caught his breath as he saw her breasts straining against the thin cotton of her shift.
Sarah felt her nipples pucker under his heated gaze.
“So beautiful …” He bent his head and nuzzled one breast through the material. She could feel his moist mouth gently exploring. He pulled back and blew on the wet material, making her nipples harden further.
She couldn’t stop looking into his eyes. He seemed to be willing her toward more, stroking her side and piquing her curiosity as he did so.
Dear God, he was delicious, with his dark-lashed emerald eyes hot with desire, his sensual mouth wet and lush; she no longer noticed the burns.
A shudder running through her made her grip his shoulders for support. His nearness and the heat radiating off his bared torso made her dizzy. She could feel the warmth of his body, his leashed power. He could so easily overpower her, but he didn’t. He was waiting, waiting for her to make the decision as to how far this would go.
A Kiss of Lies Page 12
