Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires

by Sophie Barnes

  “Do be careful,” Lady Duncaster said. “I’d hate for you to crush my beautiful plants.”

  The expression on Lord Montmouth’s face mirrored that of the rest of the men. Clearly they couldn’t comprehend why Lady Duncaster would describe the plants as beautiful when there wasn’t even a flower in sight.

  Thankfully, Lord Montsmouth managed to complete the task without damaging the foliage and without getting dirt on himself in the process. The footmen readied the glasses of champagne, while Sarah’s father tugged at his cravat. He was clearly suffering from the heat in the room but was considerate enough toward Sarah and Spencer not to mention his discomfort, for which Sarah was most grateful.

  “A toast!” Spencer said as soon as everyone had a full glass in their hand. “To Sarah, with whom I look forward to spending the rest of my life.”

  “And to you, Lord Spencer,” Lord Andover said somewhat dryly, “for ensuring her happiness.”

  “Hear, hear,” Lord Chadwick and Lady Duncaster chanted in unison while Sarah leaned closer to her father and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Papa,” she whispered in his ear, grateful for whatever support her parents were willing to give.

  “I think it’s time for you to meet my brother,” Spencer said to Sarah when the last of the champagne had been drunk and the party began to disperse. “He’s not very sociable, but I know he’d like to make your acquaintance.”

  “Are you certain of that?” Sarah asked. “It was my understanding that he doesn’t want anyone to see him because of the disfigurement.” She regretted her phrasing when Spencer winced. “Forgive me. I spoke without thinking.”

  “It’s all right,” Spencer said, “but in future, I’d appreciate it if you’d avoid that word, since Richard isn’t any such thing. What he is, is living proof that war encourages evil unlike anything you and I can possibly comprehend. To think that I was out for a pleasant ride or enjoying a cup of tea while he was being tortured is sickening, to say the least.”

  “You cannot blame yourself for what happened,” Sarah said, anxious at the vehemence in his voice.

  “No?” The pain emanating from him reached across the distance between them so powerfully that Sarah felt she might be able to hold out her hand and touch it. “I’m his older brother, Sarah. It isn’t right that he was made to suffer—­that I was safely home in England instead of being there to protect him.”

  “As your father’s heir, it would have been irresponsible of you to go to war, Spencer. You have a duty to your family to protect the legacy your father has been upholding for generations.”

  “Richard has told me the exact same thing, but it just seems so wrong and so cowardly.”

  “There is nothing cowardly about watching your younger brother head off to war, uncertain of what might happen to him and unable to help him in any way. I know you worried about him each waking hour—­that you undoubtedly had countless restless nights wondering if he was all right.”

  Expelling a shuddering breath, Spencer quietly said, “As it turns out, I was right to be concerned. The things they did to him . . .”

  “Try to focus on the positive rather than the negative. Your brother’s alive, and whether he wishes to show his face in public or not, he’s still in possession of all his limbs. Some of the men who returned weren’t quite so lucky.” Reaching out, she took his hand and gave it a little squeeze, aware that the guilt Spencer felt wasn’t going to disappear anytime soon, if indeed it ever did. But he had her by his side now, and she was determined to help him through these difficult moments. “Come, let’s go visit your brother.”

  When Christopher entered Richard’s room, he didn’t feel nearly as bad as he usually did. He had Sarah to thank for that. It was still hard to stand there in the dark, gazing at Richard’s back and knowing why he wasn’t allowed to approach, why lights were never lit in Richard’s room and why the mirrors had been covered up, but at least Richard was still alive and physically able to do as he wished. There was a measure of hope to be found in that. “I came to tell you that Lady Sarah has agreed to marry me. I have brought her with me, since I thought you might appreciate meeting your future sister-­in-­law.”

  There was a short pause before Richard spoke. “I’ve heard good things about you, Lady Sarah, though I must confess I was a little concerned after that other . . . forgive me, I—­”

  “It’s quite all right,” Sarah said. “I know all about the horrid Miss Hepplestone, so I cannot say I blame you at all for taking an interest in your brother’s choice of bride—­especially since his decision to marry has, from my understanding of the matter, been even hastier this time.”

  Richard chuckled. “Yes, he does have an ingrained need to strike while the iron’s hot, but I think he made the right decision in this instance. Welcome to the family, Lady Sarah.”

  “I think you should just call me Sarah, since we’re soon to be brother and sister.”

  “Then you must call me Richard.” He turned the unblemished side of his face toward her and offered a smile that warmed Christopher’s heart.

  “Will you allow me to come closer, so I may see you properly?” Sarah asked quietly.

  The question practically knocked the air from Christopher’s lungs, it was so startling. In truth, he could scarcely comprehend what Sarah had just asked. Hell, he wasn’t even certain of how to react to such a situation. Instinct told him to apologize to his brother for her forwardness, while another part of him warned he might inadvertently offend both Richard and Sarah by doing so. Thankfully, Richard saved him from contemplating the situation any further by saying, “Why? Because you feel the need to satisfy your own curiosity?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” Sarah told him boldly.

  Christopher closed his eyes on a groan.

  “Well,” Richard said somewhat nonchalantly, “you’re refreshingly straightforward and honest.” A moment went by. “And since you’re apparently feeling brave, then by all means, come closer and take a look. Just promise me you’ll still agree to marry my brother.”

  Christopher opened his eyes in dumbfounded amazement. Nobody had seen Richard’s face since his return to England, except for Christopher and Lord Oakland. Not even Lady Oakland had been permitted to do so, yet he was allowing Sarah? It was incomprehensible.

  Watching as she made her way toward his brother with tentative footsteps, Christopher waited for her reaction—­some startled response when her eyes finally settled upon the burned flesh that rippled across the right side of Richard’s face. But when Sarah halted no more than two feet from where Richard was standing, her expression registered neither pity nor horror. On the contrary, she appeared to study him for a while, her brow creased to signify deep contemplation until she finally said, “It’s not nearly as bad as I expected.”

  Christopher’s jaw dropped. She was a lady accustomed to living a protected existence. How could she not be affected by Richard’s appearance? Even Christopher, who loved him dearly, had to admit the scarring was ugly. Then again, Sarah’s kindness probably prompted her to look beyond the wound to the man as a whole.

  “And what did you expect?” Richard asked.

  Sarah shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure. A frightening monster, perhaps?”

  “But you don’t find my appearance the least bit frightening, do you?” Richard asked with interest.

  “No, though I do understand your reluctance to venture out into public, since I’m sure there are many who would disagree with me—­especially those who knew you before this happened. They will likely be shocked a great deal more than I.” She hesitated a moment before saying, “Have you considered a half mask? I’m sure one could be molded to fit your face with precision—­by a milliner perhaps.”

  “A milliner?” Richard echoed.

  “They’re accustomed to making fabrics adhere to any number of shapes, and with a wire running
along the top, you could wear it in much the same way you’d wear a hat. It would be as though you were at a masquerade, which I do believe would work to your advantage.”

  “How so?” Richard asked.

  “Well, it would add that air of mystery to you. I’m sure the ladies would be terribly intrigued.”

  “Thank you for your suggestion,” Richard said as he turned away from her, “but I have no desire to attract any woman’s attention. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I’d like to be alone with my thoughts.”

  “But—­” Sarah began.

  “Congratulations once again, Kip. I’ve enjoyed meeting Sarah, but it’s time for both of you to leave now.”

  The hard tone that Richard applied warned Christopher that his brother was at the end of his patience. “Come along, Sarah. We must respect his wish for privacy.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said weakly as she walked back to where Christopher was waiting. Her features were drawn in tight lines that marked her concern. “I just—­”

  “Not now,” Christopher told her firmly as he took her by the arm and guided her back out into the hallway. “Thank you for your time,” he told his brother, receiving no response in return before he closed the door behind him.

  “I’m so sorry,” Sarah whispered as soon as they were alone. “I should never have implied that wearing a mask might lead to a romantic attachment.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” Christopher agreed, “but you did so because you want him to have a normal life and to be afforded the same chance at happiness that you’ve been given. Realistically, however, it’s unlikely that will ever happen. His confidence has been crushed, Sarah. I doubt he’ll ever be the same again.”

  “One can always hope,” she said, “because without hope, what point is there?”

  “It certainly shouldn’t be discredited, but it’s of little use to a man if he doesn’t have luck on his side,” Christopher said. Looking down at her, he could see the goodness of her soul reflected in her eyes, and as he bowed his head to kiss her, he considered for the millionth time how fortunate he was that she’d come into his life.

  Epilogue

  The moment Sarah said, “I do” in response to the vicar’s question of whether or not she, Sarah Elizabeth Argisle, would take Christopher Maxwell Heartly as her lawfully wedded husband, it was announced that the groom was permitted to kiss the bride. Christopher swept Sarah into his arms with not only overwhelming joy but also a good measure of relief. She was finally his, to have and to hold until death did them part.

  Kissing her, he poured all his love for her into that one spectacular moment, while a few friends who saw no need for restraint within the small Thorncliff chapel actually clapped and cheered. “Happy?” Christopher asked in a deep whisper as he eased away and gazed into her watery eyes.

  “Overjoyed, my lord.”

  The smile gracing her lips was one of beatific beauty, and it warmed Christopher’s heart to know that it was intended only for him. “Shall we head on back to the house?” he asked. “The sooner we get the wedding breakfast over with, the sooner we’ll be afforded the privacy we crave.”

  “An excellent idea,” Sarah said, visibly struggling to keep a straight face. “After all, we have much to discuss with each other under the circumstances—­plans that need to be made . . .”

  It was difficult for Christopher to contain his laughter, but somehow he managed as he drew Sarah away with him, determined to get through the tedious formalities awaiting them at Thorncliff as hastily as possible.

  Seven hours later, they were finally able to retire to Christopher’s bedchamber. “It will be more comfortable in London when we return there,” he said, undoing his cravat. Stopping next to his bedside table, he opened a small box and pulled out the earring that Sarah had found in the tunnel. “I do hope we find the one to match.”

  “For your family’s sake, I hope so as well.”

  He met Sarah’s gaze, drawn by her sincerity. By God, how he loved her! Carefully, without looking away from her, he returned the earring to its box. “I’ve decided that if you think my models are good enough, I’ll try to contact an art gallery or museum—­see if they’ll be willing to put them all on display.”

  Sarah’s eyes seemed to come alight. “Really?” she asked with excitement.

  “You’ve managed to convince me it might be a good idea.”

  She smiled at him then—­a smile filled with love and adoration. “I’ve no doubt you’ll be a smashing success!”

  His heart expanded. Nobody had ever believed in him so blindly before or with such enthusiasm. It was dizzying in a way. He shook his head, amazed by how fortunate he was to have married her. He’d give her the world if he could. “Once we get to London, you’ll have your own bedchamber as well, with a maid readily available to help with your attire.”

  “What need do I have for a bedchamber when I can think of nothing better than to spend each night with you?” Sarah asked.

  Christopher’s pulse thrummed in response to her saucy tone. “I certainly have nothing against such an arrangement. And I must confess I’m quite pleased with the prospect of acting as your maid for as long as we’re here.”

  “In that case, perhaps you’d care to unbutton my gown?” she asked as she turned her back toward him. “I’m finding it uncomfortably restrictive.”

  “Is that so?” His voice had dropped to a low timbre with a trace of gruffness to it. Stepping up behind her, he went to work on the buttons as she’d requested until it gaped open, affording him a view of her tightly bound stays and her thin chemise. With the tip of his finger, he traced a line along the length of her spine, producing a shiver. “I don’t believe the trouble is with your gown, Lady Spencer, but with these horrid stays you’re wearing. I suggest we remove them immediately.” Pushing her gown from her shoulders, he waited for it to pool on the floor before untying the laces that confined her.

  A tantalizing sigh escaped her when he finally pulled the stays away. Christopher wasted no time in divesting her of the chemise as well, leaving Sarah gloriously naked in his arms and with her firm bottom pressed provocatively against his groin. “How adventurous are you feeling, my dear?” he asked as he stroked his hands along her thighs.

  “If you’re suggesting something new, my lord, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

  Her words made his every muscle strain against his tightly wound control. He was finding it difficult to breathe, much less concentrate. “Go to the bed, but don’t climb onto it and don’t turn around.” He watched her go until she was close to the edge. Then he said, “Stop! Spread your legs apart . . . a little further . . . yes, like that. Now bend over so your hands are resting on the mattress.”

  She did as he asked, offering a delightful view of her most intimate part. “Is this how you want me?” she inquired softly.

  God yes! It was his favorite fantasy come to life. “It’s exactly how I want you. Are you comfortable?”

  “Aside from feeling rather exposed, I must admit I am—­surprisingly so.”

  With his gaze fixed upon her welcoming beauty, Christopher shrugged out of his jacket and soon rid himself of his waistcoat, cravat and shirt as well. His shoes were swiftly kicked from his feet until all that remained to be done was to pull off his trousers. This too was accomplished with haste, until he finally stood as naked as she. “Are you ready?” he asked, determined not to pounce on her like an animal but to wait for her to offer an invitation.

  “Desperately so,” she murmured.

  Her words tugged at his manhood—­hardening him to the point of despair. He stepped up behind her, leaned forward and trailed the tip of his tongue along her spine while his hands sought her breasts—­full and heavy with desire.

  Arching her back in response to his caress, Sarah emitted a low groan when Spencer’s fingers found her nipples, tugging and sque
ezing until she could scarcely stand the torture of waiting for what she really wanted—­to have him inside her. Pushing back her bottom, she was momentarily rewarded with the touch of his hardness against her. It sent a pulsing heat to her core while fluttering embers streaked through her, arousing a fever that threatened to drive her mad.

  Spencer groaned—­the sound deep and throaty. “Not yet,” he said as his hands moved to her hips, holding her steady.

  Sucking in a breath, Sarah waited with tightly wound expectation while his fingers crept lower, brushing against her sensitive flesh and encouraging sparks to whirl up inside her. “Please,” she gasped when he failed to probe deeper.

  A seductive chuckle stirred the air. “Like this?” he asked as he parted her folds.

  “Yes . . . God yes!”

  With agonizing slowness, he drew one finger along her sleek center while she shuddered in response. “You’re so wet,” he rasped, “so ready.”

  Pushing against her, his body sought for entry, but instead, he inserted a finger while Sarah did her best to remain upright as the need for release crested. Words failed her, replaced instead by a choked whimper as he added another finger, increasing the fullness while his thumb stroked across her pleasure point. It was as if he was fine-­tuning her body to ensure an immediate response when he took her completely. Which was probably why the blasted man drew his fingers away when the first tremor began to seize her, denying her the climax she so desperately longed for.

  “Soon, my love,” he told her tenderly when a sob of despair was wrenched from her throat.

  One hand pressed gently but firmly against her back until she arched further, lowering her arms until her bottom was completely upturned and her torso rested against the silk coverlet of the bed. Closing her eyes as she clutched the bedspread with her hands, Sarah waited for Spencer to fill her and was quickly appeased by the feel of him pressing against her, warm and thick as he drove slowly inside her until she encased him completely. “You feel incredible,” he breathed as he pulled back out, leaving her bereft for only a moment before thrusting back inside her, his hands gripping her hips to better control the movement.