by Julia Latham
Then she seemed momentarily nonplussed, looking around as if she didn’t know what to do. The candle’s faint glow highlighted her profile, her frown—her embarrassment. He should turn away, allow her to draw on her dressing gown. But he didn’t. He stood rooted to the spot, waiting for her to tell him what to do.
And in his best dreams, he had never thought she would do as she now did, sliding her legs to the side, pushing the bedclothes away, and rising to her feet. It was torture, wanting to touch, and knowing he couldn’t.
“You’ll want to spread those out on the table,” she said calmly.
So at ease, she took the candle to the larger table, then lit several others there. He followed her, feeling foolish and dazed, watching the way her nightdress clung and moved with her, sinuously gliding along her legs. Surely he had seen far more revealing garments on a woman.
But this was Sarah, who made him feel things he’d never felt before.
“What is it?” she asked, nodding toward the roll in his hand.
Her curls slid forward around her shoulders, and he watched, dry mouthed, as she raised her hands to push her hair back. Her breasts lifted with the movement.
His desire was unimportant, he told himself, forcing his gaze back to the parchment in his hand.
He cleared his throat. “This is Lord Drayton’s will.”
Her eyes widened. “But the chaplain told me we will read it on the morrow now that Sir Anthony is here. Why did you bring it here?”
“Father Osborne agreed to allow me to borrow it,” he said.
“But why, Robert?”
“I am wondering if this will show that you had little to gain financially from Drayton’s death.”
“And you preferred to know before everyone else? You thought I should know before everyone else?”
He said nothing. How could he explain himself?
She sighed. “He was good to me, Robert. What if he continued to be good to me in death?”
“Let us find out.”
They both sat down in chairs side by side, and Robert unrolled the first parchment. He scanned it, looking for Sarah’s name, but of course the first and largest bequests were to Francis. Sir Anthony Ramsey was to receive several personal mementoes and a small manor, but it was hardly worth killing for. But then again, Drayton’s death made him the guardian of Francis and his viscountcy.
At last, they both saw Sarah’s name at the same time, and together they leaned forward, shoulder to shoulder.
“This mentions that you will receive a small brooch of pearls that was beloved by Lady Drayton.”
Sarah’s eyes shone with moistness in the candlelight. “Aye, I know which he means. How good of him to give me something that was hers. Surely this does not seem that bad, Robert?”
“He is not finished, Sarah. This mentions a piece of property in Warwickshire, complete with a manor, Oldbarow Hall, near the village of Oldbarow in the Forest of Arden.”
He thought her face paled.
“Mentions it?” she murmured.
“More than mentions it. Drayton gave it to you upon his death.” He stared at her somberly. “Do you not understand what this means?”
Many people would kill for such security, he thought, especially a woman who had nothing of her own. He knew how this would look.
She met his gaze helplessly. “But this is not some random gift. Do you not understand, Robert? This was my home, the manor I grew up in. Dear Lord Drayton knew what it meant to me.”
“Then explain it to me, Sarah.”
She nodded, running her fingers nervously over the words on the parchment. “I told you that I could inherit nothing from my father, because he’d only leased the land from Lord Morton. After my husband’s death, when I returned to Oldbarow, I helped my teacher, Maud, with the ills of the villagers. I came to Lord Morton’s attention in this way, and he recommended my skills to Lord Drayton, who was visiting him. This was how I came to be with Lady Drayton. Her husband knew all about my father, knew I had nothing to support myself but my healing. He was being kind, do you not see, Robert?”
“But others will remember how you arrived here, undernourished, and will think you are leaving here a woman of property.”
“But—I cannot help what they think. Lord Drayton surely knew that Francis would only need a nurse for a few more years. He wanted to thank me for my assistance with his wife, with his son.”
“Many people assist in such things, and do not benefit from it in so large a way. And he left you jewelry, Sarah.”
“From his wife! Oh, Robert, will everyone truly think I knew about this, and would kill for it?”
And then she turned and flung herself into his arms.
He was surprised by her spontaneity, that she wanted the comfort of the man investigating her. Then, far too quickly, he was overwhelmed by the soft feeling of her unbound breasts against his chest. She was between his thighs, her belly pressed against his erection—surely she could tell how she affected him?
He slid his hands across her back, feeling nothing but warm flesh beneath her thin nightdress. He should push her away, warn her that this behavior could harm them both—but instead he buried his face in the curls that so fascinated him, drank in her sweet lavender scent that shut down his brain.
She wasn’t trembling, he didn’t think she was crying; she only clung to him as if he were all she had.
Or all she wanted.
Chapter 17
He was so warm, Sarah thought, closing her eyes, letting herself feel rather than frantically think of all the things she had no control over.
His body was hard and strong, sheltering, making her feel like he might stand between her and all the bad things in life and would win.
It had taken everything in her not to cover herself when he’d first arrived, but she’d understood what she had to do to keep him with her. Though she was frightened of the future, she was also wary of the desire shimmering between them and where it might lead. Now that she’d set their relationship in motion, she didn’t know how easy it would be to stop such a man, a man who seemed to want to touch her in any way he could.
This was all a fantasy, she told herself. It wasn’t real, could never last. Was that the way to think about it, the way to live with herself?
She didn’t want to move as his broad chest comforted her, held her. When he slid his arms about her, she felt so safe, even if it was only temporary. She was fragile against him, womanly, a rare feeling for her.
If she didn’t know his heart, she knew his body and what it craved. She was pressed between his open thighs as he sat in his chair, felt the length and thickness of his erection.
And wanted to rub herself against it.
She was shocked by such a wanton urge, but she could no longer change the direction of her thoughts.
She pressed her hands against his chest until she could look up into his face. The playfulness was gone; those eyes that usually twinkled now smoldered.
She reached up and gently, tentatively, cupped his cheeks, felt the day’s growth of beard, and the warmth of him. “Thank you,” she whispered.
His gaze focused on her mouth. “For what?”
“For showing this to me, warning me. I will not forget it.”
He searched her eyes with his, saying nothing more. He seemed to be watching her, waiting—waiting for what she would do next. He was not a man to force himself upon her, to use his obvious strength. That eased her trepidation. How had such a man learned gentleness, when he’d had so little in life?
“You know I was married,” she said, “yet I find myself unprepared. I want to kiss you.”
She let her fingers trace his lips. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, but didn’t push her away. Then she pressed her mouth to his, and the kiss was so right she sank against him, arms about his neck, wanting the feel of him hard against her aching breasts.
Their kiss grew deeper, needier, open-mouthed with hunger. She tugged on his bottom lip w
ith her teeth. Hands deep in his hair, she held him to her through endless kisses.
She let her head drop back, let him explore her neck with his hot mouth, lick paths that teased her, made her squirm. She couldn’t get close enough to him, couldn’t stop moving, pressing herself between his thighs. At last his hands drifted down over her backside, molding the curves, then sliding lower to her thighs. He parted them, lifting her until she straddled him, her knees bent on either side of his hips. Her nightdress rode dangerously high, but she didn’t care. She clutched him hard with her thighs, pressing against him, feeding the fire that burned hotly inside her. Desire and passion and need all became one as she clung to him.
His hands slid back over the curve of her hip and then up. His fingers brushed the sides of her breasts and she shuddered, rocking against him. Then he looked into her eyes, and she knew his need, for she felt it, too.
She took his hands and cupped them to her breasts, moaning. He needed no further urging. He took her mouth in another swift kiss, then palmed her breasts, kneading, caressing, teasing through her nightdress. He slid his face back down her neck, and his teeth tugged at the string about her throat. She felt the loosening of the garment, the erotic feel of it sliding down her shoulders, then the draft of air on her nude skin.
He was breathing hard, staring at her breasts. She leaned back in his embrace, baring herself to him in the candlelight, reveling in the sensation of being so desired, something she’d never felt before. And then he bent down, his mouth just above her trembling breast. His eyes met hers. Then he licked her nipple, a long, hot caress. It was as if her body was no longer her own, shuddering in pleasure, arching against him trying to find more.
He drew her nipple deep into his mouth, and she muffled a groan, shocked by the ripples of bliss that poured through her. His palms found her bare thighs, her nightdress pooling over his hands as he slid them ever higher. His thumbs made gentle circles up her inner thighs, making her quiver with excitement and longing and trepidation. She’d never felt this way before, never imagined it could be like this between a man and a woman.
Then he lifted his head to watch her as his fingers deepened, tracing the wet folds of her body. She gasped, mouthing his name helplessly. He tongued her nipples, stroking below with his fingers until he circled the little button of flesh that sent her ever higher. She tightened with awareness, centered on his mouth and hands and the amazing things he was doing to her. Then her whole being seemed to plummet into waves of shuddering pleasure. She clung to him through endless moments, until the passion waned and a languid feeling of quiet satisfaction took hold of her.
She opened her heavy-lidded eyes to find him watching her solemnly.
“Have you never known a woman’s pleasure?” he asked.
She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
Was she now supposed to offer herself to him, give him the same pleasure, as if that would somehow pay for his protection?
She couldn’t do it.
“This has gone too far,” she said, feeling helpless because she knew she was the one who took it there.
She slid from his lap to her feet, gathering her nightdress back up over her shoulders. She swayed with weakness, and he caught her hips in his big hands. They stared at each other.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Do not be.” His voice was firm and calm. “You’ve told me of your past. I know that your husband did not gift you with the pleasure that was your due. He must have hurt you, and I grieve for the marriage you suffered through.”
She closed her eyes, not wanting to see compassion, not after the way she was treating him. Perhaps more of the truth would ease her conscience. “I didn’t tell you all,” she whispered.
Through his hands on her waist, she felt him stiffen, but he didn’t move to stand, only looked up at her. “You can tell me anything, Sarah.”
She looked away, still humiliated though several years had passed. “I could not give him a child, and his anger was all-consuming.”
His fingers tightened on her. “Go on.”
“He would hit me, not often, but enough.”
He inhaled sharply. “Sarah—”
“There was nothing I could do. I learned quickly that defending myself made it worse. Pleasure was not something I ever learned to expect from him. To find it now…I never imagined it.”
He stood up at last and took her into his arms, holding her fiercely yet tenderly. “Rest now, Sarah, rest easy.”
He guided her to the bed, waiting until she was within before tucking the warm blankets about her. He rolled up the will and returned it to his satchel. After blowing out the candles by the table, he hesitated at the last one at her bedside.
She wanted to see gentleness and understanding, but she couldn’t read his expression. Then he blew the candle out and left her bedchamber. She rolled over, put her face into her pillow, and cried. Rest easy, he’d said. Did that mean she should have no worries, that he believed in her? Fear and loneliness kept her restless mind from sleeping.
Robert’s chamber felt cold and barren after the warmth of being with Sarah. In his bed, he lay awake, frustrated and unfulfilled, knowing he could satisfy himself, but it would be so lonely.
This…relationship…between them had sprung up so quickly, flared so hotly that it overwhelmed him, brought out thoughts and feelings he wasn’t used to.
Especially jealousy. Was Simon sharing such moments with her?
Robert fisted the bedsheets, then forced each finger to relax.
Nay, she was a woman who’d been hurt by men. She’d confided the worst to him, and he knew she would not share such a thing easily. She did not trust herself to such intimacy. And he saw how she was with Simon, and it was not the same.
Yet he still couldn’t sleep. She was affecting him too much, and he wished he had someone to talk to about it. In the past, he’d always had his brother, Adam. He’d teased Adam when Florrie had come into his life, saw the way his brother changed because of her.
Was that same thing happening to Robert? Could he be falling in love with Sarah? After all, no woman had ever taken him so close to lovemaking and then made him stop. And he’d totally understood, had sympathized, even as his body ached with need of her.
He was at war with himself and his duty. He wanted her, he wanted all of her, given to him willingly. Tonight he would have taken her, regardless of what he thought the League meant to him. He was helpless in the face of his desire for her.
But she hadn’t told him about the missive, and he’d kept himself from asking, hoping she would willingly share it with him.
Did he want her trust more than he wanted his own future success?
Sarah felt eyes on her throughout mass the next morning. It had to be Robert. Her memories alone were enough to make her feel overheated and wicked.
But it was Simon, she realized, when she glanced over her shoulder. Guilt swept through her, even as she gave him a pleasant nod.
Things had gone too far with Robert. She could no longer allow Simon to think, to hope, that she might want more with him.
She’d spent her life wishing that a man would want to cherish her—and now she had two men offering themselves! She bowed her head as she prayed for strength.
Much as she enjoyed Simon’s company, she did not feel the same way about him as she did for Robert, who made her giddy and hopeful, aroused and unsure. His smile made her heart melt, his laughter made her wish she could be the one to make him happy, forever.
Forever? she thought to herself in surprise, even as she rushed out of the chapel ahead of everyone else. How could something be forever, when she was trying to force him to take her side against his partner?
As she broke her fast, she was afraid to speak to Robert, for fear her blushes would give their intimate relationship away to everyone present. And it wasn’t fair to Simon to see her that way. She concentrated on Francis, let him ramble on and on about the kind of pony he
wanted, promising that after his studies, he could choose one at last.
When she saw Simon leaving the great hall, she asked Margery to take Francis to his tutor, then impulsively rushed after Simon, avoiding Robert’s impassive gaze. She would explain everything to Robert when she next had the chance.
She caught up with Simon in the courtyard, and ached at the sight of his pleased smile.
“A good morn to you, Simon,” she said. “May I speak with you before you go to train?”
He seemed surprised, but he nodded his head. She led him toward the lady’s garden, then found a secluded bench and gestured for him to sit beside her. He said nothing, simply waited, and she could no longer delay.
“Simon, I want to thank you so much for the interest you’ve shown in me.”
“But I’m not to show my interest any longer.” His voice was flat, with a faint tinge of anger.
Her gaze shot to his in surprise. “Oh, Simon, ’tis just that—”
“You do not have to explain.” His entire body was stiff. “From the moment Robert Burcot arrived, I have seen the way of things, even though I did my best to make you want—” He broke off, then finished with, “He is a seducer of women, and he’s worked his wiles on you.”
She began to feel offended. “You make it sound as if I am not behaving rationally. I assure you ’tis not true. I have thought this through very carefully.”
“Not carefully enough. When it’s time for him to go, he’ll leave you behind. He is the sort of man who does that to women. He is about the conquest.”
She swallowed, feeling tense and queasy as Simon’s words played to her insecurities. Then she remembered that Simon didn’t know the truth, that Sarah was the one planning to conquer, regardless of what happened beyond that.
“Simon, I am so sorry,” she murmured.
“When he leaves, do not return to me.”
