by Tracy Fobes
He’d hidden his possessiveness well, of course. He concealed many things when it came to Sarah. When he looked at her now, he didn’t see a country girl. He saw a lovely woman who was drawing ever further out of his grasp, and he ached. He didn’t want to ever let her go, not to some young upstart lord who would make love to her and take her money and drive the wildness from her heart.
He sighed and began scribbling on the parchment: “The love he bore her lifted him; Into bright and golden skies; Her name, her voice rang on the air; But the choice he made unwise; For fate would keep them far apart; With love’s sweetness came regret —”
Furious with himself, he crossed out the words he’d written. He sounded like a lovesick boy. Where was his manly control, his cool composure, his devil-may-care attitude? All he seemed capable of was dreaming about the moment when he would lay her on his bed and make her moan with desire as acute as his own. In fact, with every day that passed, he found himself more willing to take risks —
“Hellfire!” Abruptly he could stand it no longer. He just couldn’t sit in the same room with her and stare at her from afar, knowing that the most he might have from her was a kiss; soon, she’d belong to another man. He jumped up from his chair, sending it backward with a loud scraping noise that surprised even him.
The duke glanced up from his book. “Colin, what the devil is wrong with you?”
Mrs. Fitzbottom and Sarah paused in their review of the menus. Sarah pressed her hands against her breasts in an attitude of alarm. “Have you received troubling news?”
They didn’t know he’d been writing poetry. He preferred them to think he was going over correspondence from friends. Running a hand through his hair, he cooked up an excuse for his behavior. “The rain has kept me inside for too long. I need some activity. A ride, perhaps.”
Sarah glanced at the rain hitting the window. “The weather has been simply awful.”
He’d noticed that she looked out the window a lot these days, frowning, her brow puckered. He assumed she worried about her pet fox, who lounged in his barn in the Maltlands. “Have you ever ridden in the rain? It’s rather refreshing. Come with me.”
“I won’t hear of it,” the duke and Mrs. Fitzbottom said in unison.
Sarah looked at both of them and chuckled. “Although I’d very much like to go, I don’t think they’ll allow me out the door.”
“You’ve already been to see Sionnach twice today,” the duke reminded her. “Each time you’ve come back sneezing. Would you risk catching cold so close to the date of our card party?”
“No, of course not.”
Colin stiffened. Beyond Sarah, the window allowed him a full view of the carriageway leading up to Inveraray Castle. Two carriages bearing crests were heading toward the front door. “I believe our visitors have arrived.”
Mrs. Fitzbottom, the duke, and Sarah swiveled to glance out the window. The duke smiled. “Ah, Lady Helmsgate is here. Shall we go and greet her?”
The housekeeper jumped up from her chair. “I’ll see that a serving maid has prepared her room, and have a light repast made up for her.”
“Excellent. Sarah, come with me. Let’s go meet your new friend,” the duke directed and, smiling, Sarah took his arm.
Colin followed them out into the great hall. There the three of them stood, chatting about nothing, until a few minutes later, a footman opened the double doors and announced Lady Helmsgate’s arrival.
Lady Helmsgate breezed in, looking as innocent as a newborn lamb with her curling blond locks and delft-blue eyes. If she’d dressed in white and carried a hook, she would have made the perfect Bo-Peep, Colin thought. And yet, beneath that innocent exterior lay a dragon of the first order. He shuddered.
“Your Grace,” Lady Helmsgate cried, her smile very wide and appealing. She hurried to his side and curtsyed deeply. “How very kind of you to invite me to Inveraray.”
“Hello, Amelia,” the old man replied. “I’m so glad you could join us.”
She straightened and turned to Sarah. Dimples appeared in her cheeks. “And this must be Lady Sarah. I just know we’ll get along famously.”
Pulling her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, Sarah regarded her with uncertainty. “I very much would like a friend.”
Her voice was so vulnerable that Colin wanted to rush to her side and protect her from Bo-Peep’s sharp teeth and fiery breath.
The two women embraced. Then Lady Helmsgate stood back and turned to Colin. One of her brows arched, giving her a snide air that the others couldn’t see. “Hello, Cawdor. We’ve missed you terribly in London, you know. The city just hasn’t been the same without you.” She held out her hand, for him to kiss.
Groaning inside, he grasped her hand and kissed the air a full three inches above her hand.
If she caught the insult, she didn’t show it. Instead, she waved airily toward the door and said, “Your Grace, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve brought Lord Nicholson with me. He is young and well-informed. I thought he might be able to offer Lady Sarah some useful advice.” Her voice lowered a notch. “He is also heir to the great earldom of Mayfair.”
A glint in his eye, the duke nodded approvingly. “I trust your judgment, Amelia. If you think he will prove a beneficial addition to the household, then I welcome him with open arms.”
Lord Nicholson? Colin tossed the name around in his mind. He thought he’d heard it somewhere before. “Is Lord Nicholson a member of White’s?”
Before Lady Helmsgate could reply, a sturdy young man with curling blond hair, straight Roman features, and startling blue eyes entered. He walked in with a casual stride, all confidence and sophistication, and bowed to the duke with a flourish. “Your Grace, how kind of you to invite me to Inveraray, along with my dear friend Lady Helmsgate.”
The duke, to his credit, refrained from pointing out that Lady Helmsgate had foisted him on the household, instead responding with the grace that only men of his stature seemed to possess. “You are welcome here, Lord Nicholson. May I present my daughter, Lady Sarah?”
Lord Nicholson swiveled to face Sarah. His blue eyes widened. He drew in a sharp breath. “Charmed,” he breathed, and bowed low before her.
Sarah’s cheeks grew pink. “My lord. How nice to meet you.”
Colin clenched his jaw at the tremor in her voice. Couldn’t she see the overweening self-confidence behind his courtly air? Eyes narrowed, he studied the young man as Lord Nicholson straightened and turned to greet him. A sense of familiarity nagged at him.
“Lord Cawdor, my pleasure.”
Colin inclined his head. “Have you and I met before?”
The young man raised one blond brow. “We met at White’s some months ago. I would not expect you to remember me.”
“Ah, but I do. I just can’t remember the circumstances surrounding our meeting,” Colin insisted.
The duke shrugged. “I’m sure our guests are tired from their journey, and need their rooms. We’ll reminisce more at dinner.”
“A capital suggestion,” Lord Nicholson replied, his gaze returning to Sarah and staying there. “Lady Sarah, will you be joining us at dinner?”
She smiled, clearly flattered by his attention. “I will.”
“May I have the honor of escorting you?” he pressed, his attention veering off toward the duke, who gave a nod.
She shrugged. “I would much enjoy it.”
“Fine. Very fine.” His smile large, Lord Nicholson glanced around at the rest of the company.
He looked thoroughly satisfied, Colin thought. If several footmen had not arrived seconds later and rescued the young buck, he just might have delivered a punishing kick to the man’s buttocks. Luckily for Lord Nicholson, the footmen led him and Lady Helmsgate away.
Colin moved to Sarah’s side and placed her hand on his arm. “Would you care to return to the drawing room? We still have a few hours before dinner, and I thought we might try singing.”
“Are you going to sing for me, Colin
?”
“If you can stand the sound of it.” He glanced at the duke. “Will you join us, Edward?”
The old man shook his head vigorously and hied off to the study. “No, thank you,” he said over his shoulder. “I have business I must see to.”
Colin squelched a satisfied smile of his own.
As they walked back to the drawing room, Sarah eyed him carefully. “Lady Helmsgate knows a lot of intimate gossip about you. How well are you and she acquainted?”
He paused, trying to decide between the truth, which would hurt his case with her, and a lie, which could damage his reputation further were it discovered. One look at her guileless face convinced him only the truth would do. “Her husband and the duke are old friends. She and I met a year ago through that connection, and as her marriage soured, she and I became friends.”
“How friendly were you? And how did Lord Helmsgate view these developments?”
“Why do you care? We are simply teacher and pupil, you and I.”
She looked away.
Abruptly the day seemed brighter to him, despite the rain. “All right, I’ll tell you the complete and unadorned truth. Lady Helmsgate and I entered into a serious flirtation. We even went so far as to kiss. But then the duke’s letter arrived, drawing me back to Inveraray. We ended our flirtation there. As for Lord Helmsgate, he isn’t adverse to his wife enjoying herself, as long as she’s discreet. It’s just the way of society, kitten.”
Her hand tightened on his arm. “I appreciate your honesty, though it leaves me with a question. Why did you not tell me about your connection to her before now? I would have regarded her letters with more suspicion.”
“I didn’t know who was sending them,” he reminded her. “And by the time I had discovered the identity of the sender, we’d all agreed that my reputation is utterly appalling. In any case, I’ve no desire to read her letters and go over the incidents she described point by point, assigning truth or falsity to them. I think it better that we just put those letters out of our minds.”
“I agree.” She frowned. “Everything about her is sweet and pale yellow. She’s very striking. Did you love her?”
“Never.”
“Why not?”
“She may be sweet and pale, but so is the honey within a beehive. If you put your hand into a beehive, you’ll get stung.”
Sarah digested this comment in silence, then asked, “How about her companion, Lord Nicholson? Do you know anything about him?”
“I remember him from White’s, though the circumstances elude me.”
“He too is pale yellow. But I suppose since neither of us knows him, we cannot vouch for his character, one way or the other.”
Colin thought he could safely say that Lord Nicholson had come to Inveraray with specific designs, but he kept his counsel, recognizing that he’d sound ungenerous if he voiced his suspicions so quickly. They arrived moments later at the drawing room and, after they’d entered, he shut the door behind them. He walked over to the harp.
Sarah had paused near the entrance and was fiddling around at the desk where he’d been seated earlier. Something had evidently caught her attention. Curious, he walked up behind her. Still, before he could see what she was up to, she spun around, her cheeks slightly pink.
“Are you coming?” he asked, one brow arching upward.
Smiling, she smoothed her skirts and nodded. They strolled over to the harp that stood in the corner. When they reached it, Sarah positioned herself across from him, so the harp stood between them like a golden chaperone. Their gazes met across its delicate frame. Her eyes were very wide, and dark, and a little line furrowed her forehead.
He strummed his fingers lightly across the strings, evoking a waterfall of tones. “Have you ever played any instruments outside of your panflute?”
“No. I had no time to play music for pure enjoyment.”
“Then I suppose we must sing a capella. Can you read music, by any chance?”
She shook her head. “Why must I learn to sing?”
He pulled a chair up next to her and sat down so close to her that their thighs touched. She trembled against him, but didn’t move away.
At her unspoken invitation, his loins tightened and desire flared like a heady wine through him. He breathed in her perfume, something with rose, but spicier. It seemed like it was everywhere. He thought it the most sensual fragrance he’d ever smelled.
Through heavy-lidded eyes, he judged the length of her disarmament, and fought back a smile. “The young ladies who possess a knowledge of music are elevated in reputation, status, and desirability among the ton. And they often regarded their music lessons with great anticipation. For you see, the music teacher was almost always male. He would often pretend to show his female students the proper fingering of an instrument, but instead would touch them in a forbidden way, creating an atmosphere of desire and excitement usually denied young women.”
She leaned forward, and her scent overwhelmed him. It was coming from her skin, not her clothes. He thought of undressing her and exploring every square inch of her. How would the rose scent smell near her more intimate parts? Soon he would know. “While it is considered rude to stare overmuch at any lady, the music teacher has an excuse for doing so, and will often study her intently for minutes on end.”
“What sort of instruments do most women play?”
“The harpsichord, the flute, and the harp. Women who sing are using their voices, and their bodies, as their instruments.”
She looked down, her lashes dark smudges against skin that had become wondrously milk-white over the months. The heat from her thigh had penetrated thoroughly to his. He felt a little dizzy, like he was losing control.
“How do I use my body as an instrument?” she asked, her eyes wide and innocent. At the same time, her foot pressed against his. A quick glance downward confirmed that the hem of her skirt had partially covered his leg, hiding her actions. Shocked, he felt her run her foot up his leg. It felt so smooth and silken that he knew she’d discarded her slipper and was rubbing her stockinged toes against him.
“Well, you little hoyden,” he said softly, “you have to learn to control your breathing, to achieve control of your tone and pitch. Sound comes from your diaphragm. Focus on it, and breathe in and out, deeply.”
She began to take slow, deep breaths, her foot rubbing against his leg in a leisurely manner.
“You’re not focusing properly.” He placed his palms just beneath her breasts and held them there, nearly wincing at the sight of her nipples, which hardened instantly beneath her gown. “Your diaphragm is here.”
Her breathing quickened. She twisted beneath his grasp, rubbing the sides of her breasts against his hands. “Are you certain you’re pressing the right place?”
“Perhaps not.” He dipped his head downward, kissing the tops of her breasts that the gown had left bare, her rose scent intensifying. She shuddered against him and moaned; he held her close, supporting her even as he plundered her softness.
Loins aching, he greedily ran his tongue beneath the edge of her bodice, exploring skin normally hidden from his view. She was so sweet and luscious that she stimulated him beyond any woman he’d ever known. Even so, he was determined not to act like a rutting boar. She was a virgin. She needed him to move slowly.
Her head thrown back, she clutched his hair with her hands, pulling hard. Maintaining a tight rein on his own desire, he loosened her breasts from her bodice and cupped their fullness. They gleamed whitely in his hands, filling his palms easily, their nipples pink, rosebud tips that begged for his attention. But her pouting lips interested him more. Groaning, he pressed little kisses along her neck, making his way to her mouth. When he kissed her, her lips felt very soft, and they opened for him easily, her surrender complete and unequivocal.
“This is the lesson you need most,” he murmured against her mouth, as her hands clasped behind his neck.
Moaning softly in her throat, she pressed wild kisse
s all over his face and chin. “Teach me, Colin, please.”
He laughed quietly and, one hand running possessively down to her hip, he savored the feel of her petite body. His fingers tested the ribbon tied beneath her breasts; silently he judged the number of buttons running down her back and knew the gown could be easily discarded.
She slipped her hands beneath his jacket, pressing them against his linen shirt, then sliding downward until her palms rested against the heated fabric at his loins. At her touch, an intense desire to bury himself in her body gripped him.
“Touch it,” he urged. “Feel how hard I am for you. This is what you do to me, kitten. You make me forget everything.”
At that precise moment, the knob to the study door turned. Colin caught its movement from the corner of his eye and pulled backward instantly. He swooped her shawl up from the back of her chair and wrapped it around her shoulders.
She stiffened, then pulled the shawl over her breasts, which were exposed far more than the gown would normally allow.
Lady Helmsgate entered the drawing room, Lord Nicholson in tow. She’d exchanged her traveling gown for a sheer pink muslin confection, while Lord Nicholson looked every inch the young buck in a brown jacket and fawn-colored breeches, his neck cloth tied in the Oriental style.
Colin forced a taut smile. Sweat had broken out all over his body. He stood and moved away from Sarah. “Amelia. Lord Nicholson. I didn’t expect to see you this afternoon. I thought you’d both be tired from your journey.”
Eyes narrowed, the blond woman examined Colin first, then studied Sarah. “Have we interrupted something?”
“No, just a music lesson,” Sarah murmured.
“Ah, music lessons. Cawdor is a very good teacher, is he not, Lady Sarah?”
“He’s very thorough.”
Amelia gave a tinkling laugh. She walked to Colin’s side and linked arms with him. “Someone should open a window. You look overheated, Cawdor, and Lady Sarah’s cheeks are quite pink.”
“It is rather warm.” Lord Nicholson made his way to Sarah’s side. His attention focused on Colin, he occupied the seat that Colin had just left. “What were you teaching her?”
