Shamelessly, her gaze slid to the most masculine part of him. He was hard; his shaft stood straight up on his stomach. It was part of Riordan, and because of that she did not fear it. “Shall you climb into the bath so I can…wash you?” Her own voice was hoarse, her own arousal plain to hear.
“All is well, Sabrina?”
Bless him, he looked genuinely concerned. “More than well.”
He sat in the tub, leaning against the back of it. Though the tub was large, he could not stretch out his long legs. Instead, he bent them at the knees. Resting his arms on the sides of the tub, he motioned his head toward the table. “The soap and flannel are there.”
She lifted the soap to her nose and inhaled. Yes. All Riordan. The lime and bergamot scent she adored. Sitting in the chair Riordan had placed next to the tub, she dipped the soap and flannel into the warm water. Already her body thrummed with sensual alertness; if she continued to touch and caress him she would surely combust. Besides a lone oil lamp, the fire cast the only illumination in the parlor, making Riordan’s skin glow with a golden luminescence.
With slow circles, she scrubbed his chest, trailing the lathered cloth across his shoulders and down his arms. Riordan closed his eyes, as if reveling in her touch. Sabrina continued for several moments, enjoying the quiet intimacy they shared. “Lean forward.”
He did, and she continued her journey across his shoulders and down his back. For a schoolmaster who sat at his desk a good portion of his day, he was athletically built. Holding his arm, she trailed along it to the faint ink stains and calluses on the tips of his long and elegant fingers. A hazard of his occupation. He opened his eyes. “Touch me.”
Innately she understood what he meant. Part of his shaft lay exposed above the water line, standing straight up against his flat stomach. Sabrina rolled up her sleeve, reached in the tepid water, and grasped him.
“Jesus. Yes. Tighter,” he pleaded.
She obliged, and gave it a tentative caress, the head disappearing under the hood of skin. A long, ragged groan tore from Riordan’s throat. “Here, allow me to show you.” He laid his hand on top of hers and demonstrated the way he wished for her to stroke him. “It will not take long, I assure you.”
Nodding, she bit her lower lip and gave his shaft short, quick strokes, twisting it as she did. He let go of her hand, his eyes closed, every cord in his neck strained. A deep red flush spread across his chest. He did not remain quiet, he groaned and said, “Yes. Faster. Grip my cock, tighter. More.”
Regardless of the fact that he’d used the same naughty word as her late husband, her insides tumbled with desire. How satisfying to learn she had truly put the past behind her. With his head thrown back, he cried out, the sound ending on a moan that caused her heart to beat at a fast pace. He clasped the top of his shaft, his body shuddering with his release. How magnificent he looked. Fetching the cloth from the water, Riordan took her hand and wiped it clean, then cleaned himself. As he stood, the water sluiced across his muscled body.
He pointed to the towel on the nearby table and she handed it to him. Keeping her gaze on him, Sabrina observed the play of muscles as he dried his body. With the towel wrapped around his waist, he stepped out of the tub. Heavens. Now what?
As if reading her mind, he held out his hand. She took it and stood. Pulling her closer, he smiled at her, his eyes hooded, his expression sultry. “This is just the beginning,” he murmured.
The beginning of what, exactly? How could they share such closeness and part ways in a little more than two months’ time? Perhaps they could make this arrangement permanent. He’d not mentioned it since their wedding day. But it was worth discussing, especially if her feelings continued to deepen and grow. After the cruel, cold men in her life, why not embrace a good, honorable man? One she respected, admired, desired…and loved.
Yes, she loved him. Her heart soared with the knowledge.
* * * *
The next morning, Sabrina woke early, gathered pen, ink, and paper, and made her way to the dining table in the parlor. Riordan was still asleep, sprawled across the chaise longue, his bare chest exposed, blankets pooled around his waist. Was he completely naked beneath? She watched him for several moments, his chest rising and falling as his breath exhaled in short puffs. He looked like a dark angel with his black hair tousled and his fine form on display.
Staring at him, drinking in his beauty, caused her to recall every heated moment of the previous night. For years she’d thought herself dead inside because her late husband did not stir passion in her. Why would he? He was a rapist. A violator of innocence. Sabrina understood that for means of self-preservation she’d buried her emotions deep; Riordan had set them free. For once in her life an actual choice lay before her: leave with Mary once the annulment comes through, or build a life with the schoolmaster.
Sighing, she dipped the pen in the ink. Sabrina had decided to write an anonymous note to the second daughter of the Duke of Carlton, her father’s innocent target. Mary had informed her the young girl’s name was Irene.
With long, cursive strokes she wrote: To Lady Irene, I begin this letter to inform you of the character of Baron Thomas Durning, who I am told is presently courting you. I wish to warn you, my lady, of his true character.
Mittens meowed loudly at her feet. “Oh, precious.” She picked up the kitten and nuzzled it. “You’re hungry.”
“As am I,” a deep voice rumbled from across the room. She turned. Riordan sat on the edge of the chaise wearing nothing but his silk drawers and rubbing his eyes.
“For food, I take it?” she teased.
“I will settle for food.” He winked as he stretched his arms above his head. Such was the closeness between them that he did not cover himself and she was not the least bit offended—quite the opposite. A frisson of awareness shot through her as she stared at his stunning form. “God, is that the time? I’ve slept later than I intended.” He stood and strode to the small cupboard. Opening the door wide, he pulled pieces of clothing from it. As he dressed, he asked, “Whom are you writing?”
Writing? Oh, yes. He had distracted her from her letter. Placing Mittens on the floor, she replied, “I’m writing an anonymous letter to the young lady my father is courting, to advise her of his true character. Of course, I will not sign my name.”
Riordan buttoned his shirt. “Do you think it wise?”
She frowned. “I cannot sit here and do nothing. Subject another innocent young girl to my earlier fate. I could not live with myself if I did not at least warn her.”
Riordan rushed about the room, gathering his frock coat, hat, and muffler. “I agree. I suggest you keep it brief, reveal nothing that will hint at your identity.”
“Good advice. Wait, you must have food.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “There are biscuits and an apple in my desk drawer. Enough to get me through to the noon break. I’ll be home for lunch…and a proper kiss.”
“I can give you a proper kiss now,” she teased. How easily she could tease, when mere weeks ago she did not have the wherewithal to go about it.
“Minx. You do and I will not be in a fit state to teach children.” A loud knock caught his attention. “Must be Mary, I am late. Goodbye.” He trailed a finger down her cheek and gave her such a tender look that her heart skipped a beat. Riordan flung open the front door, said good morning to Mary, and dashed outside.
“Goodness, it’s as if flames licked at his heels,” Mary marveled. “Mr. Black is usually gone before I arrive.”
“Yes, he is running late.”
Mary closed the door and removed her cloak. “You look happy this morning, Sabrina.”
How wonderful that Mary used her name. “I am. It is utterly marvelous to have choices in one’s life. Women have no power at all in this suffocating society; it is gratifying to know I alone will choose the path I wish take.”
Mary folded the blankets from the chaise and placed them in the cupboard. “Things are progressing with Mr. Black?”
Sabrina turned to face her. “Yes. I believe I am in love with him.”
Mary’s eyes widened. “You’re seriously considering keeping this arrangement permanent?”
“Yes…I’m considering it. No matter what I decide, I want you with me. Of course, you may make your own decision. Your life is your own as well, Mary.” She sighed wistfully. “But first, I must discover more about Riordan’s circumstances. He reveals little, and it concerns me.” She crossed her arms. “The quality of his clothes, for example. The fine greatcoat—tailored, to be sure, the way it fits his broad shoulders and tapers in to his slim waist. The top hat is of the finest beaver, not usually worn by those of the lower and working classes. Then there are the shirts and waistcoats with brass buttons, his silk drawers—”
“Silk drawers?” Mary’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
Sabrina slapped a hand over her mouth as a giggle escaped it. “Good heavens. You see, I assisted him with his bath last night.”
“That’s a discussion best had over a cup of tea. I’ll make us a pot, along with toast and cheese.” Mary stared over her shoulder. “Writing someone?” Sabrina explained about the recipient and why she was writing it. “Well done. Only, allow me to write it. What if the girl shows your father? He will recognize your handwriting. And we will pay to have it personally delivered, not sent through the post. It will save time and ensure it arrives in her hand.”
“You are clever.” Sabrina smiled.
“Devious, more like. We’d better put off making the apple pie until tomorrow or the next day. Now, for tea.” Mittens rubbed against Mary’s skirts, purring loudly. “And feeding the little beast.”
“What I said, about Riordan being middle class? In the end it does not matter. I would love him even if he was penniless.” If only he was more forthcoming. Yet she hadn’t told him about meeting her father in town. There were secrets between them on both sides. Until they were revealed, how could they have a future?
Chapter 21
His grandfather’s words filled his thoughts of late. The curse. If nothing else, it had made his family infamous. It had also brought unwanted attention. Their blood ties to the late Mary Wollstonecraft and her daughter, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, were removed by several generations. How did the connection go? His grandfather was fourth cousin to the author of Frankenstein? Or was it third?
Riordan had never met them, as the two branches were not close. Though they shared a number of progressive causes, his grandfather couldn’t abide William Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft’s husband. He leaned toward anarchism—far too radical for the earl. Besides, the man contacted the earl more than once before his death in 1836 looking to borrow money, as did his wife before him. To Riordan’s grandfather, that was well past enough, and he decided to have no further dealings with them.
Did a version of the curse touch the other branch of the family? There was solid evidence. Mary Wollstonecraft died in childbirth at the age of thirty-eight. One of her daughters reportedly committed suicide at age twenty-two. Mary Shelley’s first child, a daughter, did not survive birth. Then Mary found herself a widow at twenty-five when her husband, the poet Percy Shelley, drowned in Italy. But death touched all families. Riordan remained dubious, yet cautious about the curse.
As an educator, he was open to interpreting and learning all he could. The curse could not be completely dismissed. Once, when he and Aidan played in the dusty attics of the ancient Wollstonecraft Hall, they came across a neglected trunk. Locked, of course, but that would not deter fourteen-year-old boys filled with curiosity. Once they broke the lock, the insides turned out to be a disappointment. No gold coins or other treasure, just moldering ledgers. Aidan had stomped off in disgust, but Riordan stayed behind to investigate.
As Garrett had stated, generations of Wollstonecrafts suffered devastating losses of loved ones, mostly female. All were meticulously catalogued in the ledger, but one entry stayed with Riordan. It was written in 1704, by the ancient Earl of Carnstone. In visiting an infamous Scottish sorceress, he begged her to remove the curse, as he had lost his second wife to illness. The woman claimed only a love bond by all the living men of the family during a lunar year would break the curse.
What could it mean? That every living Wollstonecraft man must fall in love within any twelve month period? Unbelievable. And unrealistic. Regardless, the sobering proof of the endless rows of gravestones dating hundreds of years back would give any man cause to believe. Should he live his life as Garrett does, far removed from romantic entanglements, or instead embrace the overwhelming feelings of love coursing through him?
Three nights ago, he shared something rare with Sabrina. A desire he’d never known. Since losing his virginity at seventeen, he’d gained knowledge in the art of love. With each affair he learned a new technique; when to love with slow purpose and when to engage in wild sex. He enjoyed both equally and believed that in any intimate relationship there was room to explore both aspects.
But he was also a considerate lover, mindful of a woman’s pleasure. And her trepidations. Sabrina had plenty. Over the next several weeks he would show her that sex did not have to include the violations she’d been subjected to. His anger flared at the thought of her miserable husband.
Riordan glanced down at his beefsteak sandwich. He’d decided at the last minute to not go home for luncheon break today. Instead, he stayed at the school in order to make up lesson plans for the coming week, leaving Saturday and Sunday free. Spend it with Sabrina. He yearned to move beyond sizzling kisses and her touching him. God, how he wished to see her lying flat, her legs spread, him feasting as she writhed and moaned, culminating in her release.
They would get there. The vision formed in his mind, and he was lost in the erotic fantasy and did not hear a young lad enter the schoolroom.
“Are you Mr. Riordan Black?”
His attention returned to the present. “Yes, I am.”
The lad touched his forelock. “Delivery for you, sir.” Riordan fumbled in his pocket, found a shilling, and passed it to the boy. “Thank you, sir.”
He handed an envelope to Riordan, turned on his heel, and departed. There, on the reverse of the sturdy envelope was the wax seal of the Wollstonecrafts; a large wolf standing on a stone, howling at full bore. Breaking the seal, he pulled out the papers.
From his father. Riordan frowned as he read: Do not become angry, Riordan, but I have set a tentative date for the annulment hearing, with the understanding that if Miller Kenworth does not hear from you by the end of November the appointment will be henceforth cancelled.
The option is there if you wish. I did say I would not interfere, but I wanted to use our family’s influence to our advantage in order to procure a date as soon as possible. As you stated, you are of age, and the decision is ultimately yours. Regardless of my initial reaction, I will abide by and respect your judgment.
As I respect and love you. Forgive my harsh words. Riordan paused, his annoyance dissipating. A lump of emotion lodged in his throat. You are not your brother. Chalk up my irrational and emotional behavior to worry and concern, not only for you, but for Aidan’s mysterious disappearance.
Love, Papa
Julian Wollstonecraft had not used “Papa” since Riordan and Aidan were small boys. The affection and love in this note touched him. Leave it to the inventive Viscount Tensbridge. Did his father believe him not capable of handling this situation? The note stated the decision was his. However, he now understood why Aidan bristled under their father’s firm hand and high expectations.
A postscript he’d missed: Garrett has hired an investigator in London, a former Bow Street Runner by the name of Edwin Seward, to begin the search for Aidan. I will keep you apprised of any updates.
Folding the paper, he slid it
into the envelope. He had at least two weeks to decide when to inform Sabrina of this. It would be an early exit. He would not keep this information from her. Enough secrets lay between them already. As soon as she learned his true identity, and the fact that her father had not put up a settlement, she would know the money had come from him.
How would she react? Anger for his high-handed interference? Another man controlling her life? Or would she look beyond and see that all he wished was to give her what she most desired: her freedom. A chance to live an independent life. He’d wanted to protect her from the hurtful knowledge of her father selling her. For when it came down to it, he wanted Sabrina to choose between a life with him or the life she originally planned.
Not that a life with him would be stifling. He would give her freedom, property, money, anything she wished. For he truly believed all women should have rights, own property, and not be chattel to heartless, soulless fathers and husbands.
In the interim, they would continue on. Investigate this attraction. These passionate emotions. The unspoken love pulsed between them with a force of a gale storm. He must know what her feelings toward him were before suggesting they make the marriage permanent, or before revealing about the money. When he mentioned the idea at the registrar’s office she’d been horrified. He wanted her to be thrilled at the prospect. Happy.
Exhaling, he turned his attention to his schoolwork.
* * * *
Riordan no sooner arrived home when he swept Sabrina into a crushing embrace and a hot and fierce kiss. A smile curved about his mouth when she threw her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with equal passion. How gratifying that she’d lowered her defenses and accepted the desire within.
Clasping her face, he laid kisses on her temple and cheeks, while her alluring citrus scent surrounded him. Hell, he was hard. To the point of pain. She gazed up at him, a look of complete trust and warmth. “What did you do today?” he murmured.
Marriage with a Proper Stranger Page 20
