“Why would I pity you? I could ask the same… your brother’s widow, abused by him, driven near mad with grief for her missing child. Do you pity me, Branson?”
“No. But I do want you. And I have for so long… but be warned, Sarah. If I have you once, I’ll not let you go.”
The blanket that had been draped about her shoulders slipped free, falling onto the chair she’d recently occupied. She made no move to catch it, but stood there before him, proud and possibly defiant. “Then have me.”
He stood there for a moment, savoring the rush of anticipation, the fulfillment of thousands of fantasies and the fruition of a hope he’d never even dared to whisper. The light from the fire played over her skin and the folds of her chemise where it brushed the curves and hollows of her figure. Sliding his hand from her jaw beneath the thick braid of her blonde hair, he leaned in and did the thing he had dreamed of for most of his life. He finally tasted the sweetness of her lips and felt the pillowy softness of them, pliant beneath his own.
Chapter Six
It had been so long since she had been kissed. Longer still since she’d been kissed by someone whose touch she desired. But those young men who had kissed her behind potted palms at balls, or during stolen moments while walking in a garden, they had been boys. Branson was anything but. She felt the scrape of his whiskers on her skin, the strength of his hand where he cupped the back of her head. He tasted of brandy and something far headier. It was only the faintest of touches, the slightest pressure of his mouth moving on hers, but that touch held a promise of so much more. Controlled, slow, seductive, measured—she found herself leaning into him, eager for him to take things further, to unleash the passion she sensed in him, the passion that she yearned for herself.
When his lips moved from hers, coasting along her jawline until he reached the tender spot just beneath her ear, Sarah shivered. “You don’t have to seduce me, Branson. I’ve made it perfectly clear I’m quite willing already.”
“This isn’t about seduction… it isn’t your consent I’m after, Sarah. It’s your pleasure. The greater the anticipation, the greater the fulfillment.”
It wasn’t something she had any real experience with. The only man she’d ever been with was her husband and her pleasure had certainly never been a priority for him. There had been moments, of course, when she’d found some pleasure in his arms, some thrill, but those had faded over time after all of his other cruelties. But she didn’t want to think of James. She didn’t want to let his ghost tarnish a moment that she wanted to treasure forever.
As his lips began to coast once more over her skin, the gentleness of his kisses juxtaposed by the rasp of his whiskers over that tender flesh, Sarah closed her eyes and gave herself up to that moment. He wanted to seduce her and she wanted desperately to be seduced, to give herself to him not just physically, but in every way that she could. It meant doing something she was unaccustomed to—surrendering any semblance of control. She was out of her depth, far more inexperienced in the ways of physical love than a widow ought to have been. For the first time, she would willingly place her trust with a man.
Every touch was a wonder. It was all pleasure and heat and the escalation of anticipation until she could scarcely breathe. When he finally settled into the chair with her draped across his lap, she was near senseless with it. His kisses were infinitely more potent than any of the brandy she had consumed. Possibly more so than the totality of brandy she’d ever consumed.
“Hurry,” she urged him. “It’ll be daybreak before you’ve even removed your clothes!”
“Would that be so terrible?” he asked, pressing kisses along her collarbone even as the weight of his hand settled on her thigh, his thumb drawing slow circles along the crest of her hip. “I can think of worse ways to spend a night than kissing every inch of you.”
“Then perhaps we can come back to that later?”
He looked at her then. “Why the impatience, Sarah?”
“It’s been so long, Branson. The more time I have to think, the more self-conscious I become. I’m not a girl anymore, and my body does not look like it once did.”
He smiled. “If you’re thinking at all, then I am clearly failing badly. As for how you might look, it will be perfect… because it is you. At eighteen or eighty, you will always be the most beautiful woman I have ever beheld.”
Sarah couldn’t speak. His words had been so sincere, so heartfelt, and in that moment, despite the fact that she was a woman of forty-eight, she felt like a girl again. He had made her feel that way.
No longer content to simply be a passive recipient, Sarah placed her hands on either side of his face and kissed him fully. She poured herself into that kiss. Two decades of loneliness, of longing, of all the girlish dreams that had lain dormant for years—trampled under the weight of her often cruel husband’s treatment of her—that’s what she gave to him in that moment. And heaven help her, he took it greedily, kissing her back with a hunger and longing as ferocious as her own.
It was as if floodgates had opened and neither could hold back their desire from that moment forward. She tugged at his shirt until he shed it entirely. When she fumbled with the fall front of his breeches, he brushed her hands away and made quick work of it himself. Clad in only her transparent chemise, even that small layer of protection was stripped from her. But by that point, she no longer cared. Instead, she craved the feeling of his skin against hers. The hardness of his chest covered in crisp, dark hair pressed against the sensitive skin of her breasts, teasing nipples that already ached with the intensity of her desire for him.
When he broke their kiss and dropped his head to her breasts, she threaded her fingers through his hair and held him to her as he teased the hardened peaks. Every sweep of his tongue and pull of his lips coaxed soft moans and cries from her. Those sounds, the sharp crackling of the fire and their ragged breathing were the only sounds. Even the wind outside had halted its howling and blanket of snow and ice had created a hush, as if the two of them were the entirety of the world.
One of his hands coasted along her thigh, the muscles there trembling in his wake. When he touched her intimately, his fingers stroking so skillfully over the tender folds of her sex, Sarah’s head fell back. Her back arched on a shattered moan and she pressed herself against him more fully, eager for his touch and so much more.
“Christ, you are so much more than I dreamed,” he whispered.
Before Sarah could even think to ask what he meant, he drew her up slightly, shifted her weight until she straddled his thighs. She could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against her intimately. Then he was pressing inside her, parting her flesh and joining them in the most primal of ways. It was more than bliss. It was something she hadn’t the wits or the will to name. But it felt right to her, as if she were finally complete and whole again.
*
Branson clenched his jaw and prayed for control, for some ability to hold his own passions at bay long enough to bring her pleasure. She was exquisite—her responsiveness, the openness with which she accepted his passion and revealed her own. And God help him, every valley and hollow, every curve of her figure was perfection. It shouldn’t have been possible for her to surpass the fantasies that had tormented him for decades and yet she had.
As she sank onto him slowly, her flesh yielding to his, he grasped her hips. His fingers dug into the softness there, and then he flexed his hips, driving deeper inside her until he saw stars and she cried out, a beautiful, broken sound that burned itself into his mind. Every thrust and retreat, every gentle rocking of their bodies together, brought them higher and closer to that precipice. As she shuddered against him, her thighs and belly quivering, he dipped his head to her breasts once more, teasing each pebbled nipple in turn until she simply shattered around him. The fluttering of her body as her release rushed through her was impossible for him to deny, and it was only seconds until his own followed.
Locking his arms about her, he held her clo
se, pressed a kiss to the silken skin above her beating heart and wondered how he’d thought to leave her side, even for a moment.
As his breathing gradually returned to normal, and hers as well, neither of them spoke. Words were superfluous things in that moment. It seemed as if they’d finally cleared the air between them, easing the tension that had existed for so long.
Her hands came up, stroking over his shoulders in an easy, affectionate gesture. It was, strangely, just as intimate as what they’d shared only moments before. He’d dreamed of her like that, but he’d never dared to hope.
Chapter Seven
Sarah awoke alone in their makeshift bed on the library floor. Sitting up, she looked around for him, her gaze finally settling upon Branson as he stood staring out the window. Wearing only his breeches, his hair disheveled and his skin painted gold by the firelight, he was simply breathtaking.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“It’s midnight… Christmas Eve is upon us.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Did I wake you?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I simply awoke and realized that you weren’t beside me. What are you looking at?”
“Come,” he urged, and turned to hold his hand out to her.
Sarah rose, keeping one of the coverlets draped about her in an attempt to shield her modesty. Thought she freely acknowledged it was a bit late to feign maidenly sensibilities. She limped only slightly as she made her way toward him. Her ankle had apparently not been turned as badly as they had first thought.
When she neared the window, she could see the moon high in the sky, bright and clear. The whole world beyond that window was white, but the bits of ice trapped within the snow glinted like crystals in firelight. It was breathtakingly beautiful and hushed in the way that only a fresh snowfall can be.
“The storm has passed,” he said. “When Mr. Pace arrives in the morning with the sleigh, we can make for Midford and likely be there by luncheon. You’ll get your Christmas with Benedict.”
“And you?” she asked. “Will you stay for Christmas?”
He pulled her close so that she stood before him at the window, her back pressed to his chest as they stared out into the night. His arms were draped lightly about her and it felt beyond perfect.
“Where would I go, Sarah, when everything I have ever desired is right here?”
“Why did you never say anything? Really… be honest,” she said.
“Because you were not ready to hear it,” he answered evenly. “And I never wanted to question why you were with me. I was entrusted with your care, Sarah, and we so often butted heads in regards to what was best for you. And I don’t say this to belittle you. Not in the least. But in the beginning, you were very nearly mad with your grief and it required a far firmer hand than it did later on to be certain that you were not being taken advantage of. I didn’t think you would ever forgive me for that.”
A year earlier, she’d have agreed with him. It would have been unforgivable to her then. But having Benedict returned had allowed her to heal, allowed her rational and logical mind to finally take control of the emotional side of her that had been firmly in charge since his abduction. “I won’t deny it,” she replied. “And for what it’s worth, I’m rather glad we waited until I became more myself. I couldn’t have been with you then the way that I am now. I felt guilt for every bit of joy I had in my life, as if I should deprive myself of even the most simple pleasures because I didn’t know whether or not my child was enjoying them as well.”
He chucked softly. “And was tonight a simple pleasure?”
“There was nothing simple about it,” she conceded. “I didn’t know such pleasure existed… that isn’t true. I knew it existed, but I’d never experienced it for myself. And don’t be all conceited about that!”
“Heaven forbid.”
She could hear the grin in his voice. It caused her own lips to quiver as she tried to contain her smile. “It is beautiful out there, isn’t it? It all looks fresh and new, any ugliness hidden under a layer of ice and snow so that everything looks utterly pristine.”
“What are you thinking really?”
“That I don’t quite know where things go from here.” It was an honest answer, one that she felt compelled to utter. The future was undecided for them. She’d given herself to him but no promises had been exchanged. Did she even want a promise from him? Yes. Of course, she did. But only if it was offered freely because he wanted to be with her and not because he felt obligated.
“You’ll marry me,” he answered, the words uttered matter of factly.
“That did not sound like a request, Branson.”
“It wasn’t an order,” he said. “But no, it isn’t a request. Merely a statement of what my intentions are. If you require convincing then I will set myself to the task, and I will keep myself at it until I achieve the outcome I desire.”
“For us to be married…”
“For you to be mine so unequivocally that no one can ever dare question it. I’ve waited long enough to be happy, Sarah. Haven’t you?”
“Will we be happy, Branson?”
He shrugged. “I’m certain we’ll argue. You’re incredibly obstinate.”
She sputtered with indignation and laughter. “I’m obstinate? What about you?”
“I’m determined,” he answered, and it was clear then that he was teasing her. “Only women are obstinate. Men are driven and purposeful.”
“And full of themselves,” she snapped back at him, though it was more for effect and lacked any real heat.
“So let me try another tactic then… I love you. I’ve loved you since the 14th day of January in 1791.”
She frowned, the familiar date tugging her at memories. “That was the first day we met, Branson… the ball my parents hosted to announce my engagement to James!”
“Yes. So it was. We danced… a quadrille and a minuet. And I was so bloody envious of my brother I couldn’t stand to look at him. But I had nothing to offer you. I was little more than a regimental officer then. Why on earth would any woman throw off a viscount for a lowly soldier?”
“Because that lowly soldier was a far better man,” she said.
He rested his chin on her shoulder, pressed a kiss to her ear and said softly, “Some things are worth waiting for. And as much as the longing of all those years has been a torment, it has given me a great deal of appreciation for you. I will never take your affections for granted, I will never stray, and I will always know how distinctly different my life would be without you in it. So say you’ll marry me and stop tormenting us both.”
“You haven’t asked if I love you.”
“If you do not now, then you will,” he said with certainty.
That prompted another laugh from her. “You really are full of yourself! But if you must know, I do love you. I can’t tell you the date or time when it occurred. The last two decades have been a waking nightmare and I moved through them like some half-living creature. I’ve only just begun to truly wake from that. And when I did, I became aware of how very attracted to you I was and how much I depend upon you. I trust you, and I respect you and admire you. And I tried to convince myself that all of the things I felt for you were not love… but I failed terribly at it.”
“Then can I persuade you to elope with me on New Year’s Day?”
“Elope?”
He nodded. “I am your brother-in-law. And while the law does not forbid our marrying, the church does frown upon it. Scottish blacksmiths, however, do not. They will marry anyone for the right coin.”
“We’re a bit long in the tooth to run off to Gretna Green, aren’t we?”
“There isn’t an age limit on love, Sarah, or acting a fool for it.”
It was dashing and romantic. Something that in her youth would have thrilled her endlessly. And that girl was still inside her, buried under the weight of decades of sadness, perhaps, but still there. Perhaps, an elopement would help to free her fully. “Very w
ell. I hear Scotland is… well, Scotland, at this time of year. Cold, wet, dreary.”
“I will keep you warm… all the days of my life,” he vowed.
Sarah leaned back against his chest, felt his arms tighten more fully about her and knew that he spoke the truth. Branson had always been a man of his word.
Chapter Eight
It was just after noon when they reached Midford Abbey. Branson had climbed out and extended his hand to help Sarah down when the doors burst open and one of the older servants rushed out. The woman was clearly distraught, wringing her hands and on the verge of tears. “Mr. Middlethorp, sir, her ladyship’s time has come and we cannot reach the midwife or the doctor.”
Sarah gasped. “Who is with her now?”
“Lady Wolverton is with her, ma’am, but she’s got no experience with the like herself.”
Branson watched Sarah’s reaction. Her face went pale and while her hands trembled, her shoulders were straight and her chin notched upward. She would do what needed to be done.
“When did her pains begin?” Sarah asked.
“Just this morning, my lady. We sent a team to fetch the midwife, but there are so many downed trees they won’t be able to get to her in time.”
Branson lifted her down. She was limping, but only slightly, as she climbed the steps.
“Take me to her at once,” Sarah insisted.
Branson stood there watching her leave and felt what all men felt in such times. Superfluous. There was naught for him to do other than pour enough brandy into his nephew to keep him calm without sending him into his cups. To that end, he asked the butler, “Where are Lord Vale and Lord Wolverton now?”
“They’re in the library, Mr. Middlethorp, sir. It’s been all we can do to keep him from her ladyship’s chamber. It’s no place for a man at a time like this,” the butler said, utterly scandalized.
“I’ve never quite understood that. A man has to be there for the conception, so why is he banished for the birth?”
A Midnight Clear (The Lost Lords Book 7) Page 4
