Courting A Sinful Stranger: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Emily Honeyfield

  “Indeed,” said Sarah, her mouth twitching again. “A most unexpected twist.”

  He pulled her into his arms, grinning down at her. “The best man has won, Lady Sarah.”

  “Who dares wins,” she breathed, as he nuzzled her neck. “A fitting end to the game, after all.”

  Chapter 23

  Sarah smiled to herself as she read the note again. It had just been delivered to her by Annie, her maid. The girl had looked harassed, almost dropping it onto her dressing table before rushing off. The whole house was in a dither with the preparations for tomorrow. Her wedding day.

  A thrill shot up her spine as she read the hastily scrawled message, in black ink.

  My dear lady,

  It has come to my attention that you are destined for another. But could I persuade you to meet me at the edge of your fine garden for one last kiss of your sweet lips, before I must surrender you to him for all eternity? Midnight. Until then. I shall be counting the hours.

  Count Alexei Dashkova

  Sarah picked up her powder puff, dabbing her nose carefully. She could see the cream silk wedding dress hanging on the wardrobe behind her in the dressing table mirror. Tomorrow she would slip it on and walk down the aisle and become a proper married lady.

  But she was still an unmarried lady today. Time enough for one last dalliance before the ring was slipped onto her finger and her fate changed forever.

  She shivered with anticipation again. Midnight. How was she ever to get through the day, when she had a Russian count about to sweep her into his arms?

  ***

  The night was as black as ink by the time she managed to sneak out, holding a lantern high above her head to guide her path. The hood of her blue velvet cloak slipped over her face as she hurried towards the edge of the garden.

  He was waiting for her near the statue of Venus, whose white marble shone almost iridescent in the light of her lantern. Her count, who had travelled over seas from imperial Russia to snatch one last kiss from her lips before she became a respectable married lady.

  He was wearing a cloak, too. A black cloak, with a deep hood, which seemed to swallow him into the darkness of the night. Her breath started to quicken.

  “My Lady,” he breathed, when she was close enough. “Pull back your hood and hold the lantern high so my eyes might feast upon your beauty.”

  She did as he commanded, holding the lantern high. He gasped with delight, stretching out one hand and running it slowly down the line of her face.

  “You should be an oil painting,” he whispered. “You should be hanging in the halls of the imperial palace of St. Petersburg.”

  She smiled coquettishly. “But what use is a painting, dear Count? You have the flesh and blood woman right in front of you.” She leaned close, whispering in his ear. “A woman with fire running through her veins, waiting for your touch.”

  His large hands encircled her waist, pulling her roughly towards him. She gasped with pleasure as his lips trailed fire down her neck, almost dropping the lantern in her delirium.

  “I cannot bear the thought that you shall belong to any man but I,” he breathed into her neck. “Run away with me, My Lady. I shall take you back to Russia on a sleigh drawn by reindeer.”

  She laughed softly, closing her eyes as he kept kissing her, his lips drifting down to her bodice. “I cannot do so, sir. Alas, I am promised to another…”

  She gasped as his lips found a nipple, pulling it into his mouth, suckling with abandon. Instantly, it hardened. A slow sweet trickle of dampness seeped out of her. He groaned in his throat, nipping her playfully. It was all that she could do to stop her knees buckling beneath her.

  Dreamily, she opened her eyes, staring up at the night sky. A thousand stars glittered like luminous fairy dust and the moon hung low, casting a pearlescent light over the landscape. The sweet smell of honeysuckle drifted towards her as he kept suckling, burying his face into her breast.

  It would be so easy, she thought drowsily, to fall to the ground and let him have his wicked way with her. So very easy. Her need was so great she could hardly bear it. But they had waited this long, and they could wait just one more day. Just.

  She pushed him back slowly, her chest heaving. “Regretfully, I must leave you, Count. My wedding day is tomorrow, and I must have my beauty sleep.”

  His eyes grew misty. “Will the fire ever be quenched?”

  Sarah’s mouth twitched. “If you play your cards right, Count, they might just be doused very, very soon.”

  ***

  The mysterious Count Dashkova with his black cape was still on her mind as she stepped down from the landau on her father’s arm the next day, clutching a bouquet of white roses to her chest.

  If it is this good prior to the wedding, she thought languorously, how good is it going to be after we are finally married?

  Mary rushed around, fussily adjusting the train of her gown. Sarah turned to her best friend and bridesmaid, her eyes moist.

  “Thank you, dearest,” she whispered. “I truly could not have survived the last few months without you. I do not think I would have ever made it this far.”

  Mary smiled prettily. “It has been a whirlwind, indeed, but we have got you to the church on time, Sarah.” She paused, gazing at her friend. “I am so very happy for you and the viscount, my dear. A true love match if ever I saw one.”

  Sarah reached out, squeezing her friend’s arm. “I am sorry we could not be sisters in the end, dearest. It would have been my second choice of a life, you know.”

  Mary laughed, rolling her eyes. “I would not wish my brother upon anyone, let alone my dearest friend! That man is impossible. He would have led you on a merry dance, I am sure.”

  Sarah laughed too. She and James were on civil terms again now. In fact, he was almost back to being the slightly bossy surrogate older brother she had always known. He had even teased her unmercifully when she had paraded before him in her wedding gown, declaring he could not even discern her figure beneath the deluge of ivory lace. She had managed to only punch him once on the arm in retaliation.

  Dear James, she thought fondly. He had forgiven her. She only wished he could find the happiness that was hers with a love of his own.

  “Ready, Sarah?” Her father sounded a bit gruff, which always meant he was hiding some strong emotion. “The guests are all assembled inside and waiting. As will be your bridegroom, one might assume.”

  Sarah gazed at the church. It was small, hardly befitting the union of a viscount and an earl’s daughter, but she and Arthur had both fallen in love with it, declaring it perfect. Perched on a hill in a small village overlooking Bath, it was bluestone with narrow arched windows. Quaint and quirky, rather than ornate and majestic.

  A bit like both of them, really.

  She looked back at her father, taking his arm. “Ready.”

  At the church door, the guests turned, gasping. Sarah saw her mother in the front pew, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. James was seated next to her, grinning from ear to ear. Sitting on the other side of him was a handsome young man with yellow hair, in a rather shocking bright green jacket with matching top hat. Sarah had never seen him before.

  “Who is James’s friend?” she whispered to Mary.

  Mary shrugged. “I hardly know. A Mr. Rupert Gardiner, apparently. He arrived from London yesterday morning and I have barely seen the two of them since. They are as thick as thieves.”

  Sarah smiled slowly. No wonder James had a devilish glint in his eye.

  But the thought of James and his new friend soon dissolved from her mind. For she had turned at last to the front of the aisle and the man waiting for her there, his brown eyes snapping impatiently.

  Her heart lurched. Her almost husband. At long last.

  The organ started, blaring out the wedding march. They started to walk slowly down the aisle. Sarah’s heart was beating so frantically she feared the guests would be able to hear it over the music.

  Fi
nally, they reached the end. Arthur turned to her, leaning down and whispering in her ear.

  “You look utterly divine,” he whispered, his eyes warm with love. “And the Count sends his regards, as well.”

  Sarah couldn’t help it. She giggled helplessly. Her father frowned, staring at her as if she had gone mad. Desperately she buried her face into her bouquet until she had control of herself again, before passing the flowers to Mary.

  She took a deep breath. The vicar stepped forward and at long last they were vowing to love and cherish each other, forever.

  ***

  Sarah giggled helplessly as Arthur swept her up into his arms as they crossed the threshold into the grand house. He mock staggered beneath her weight, acting as if he was just about to drop her, recovering his strength at the last second.

  “Tally ho,” he bellowed.

  Sarah threw back her head, dissolving into laughter. They had been laughing together throughout the whole of the wedding breakfast. When they weren’t exchanging smouldering glances, that was. Or toasting each other with the fine champagne especially imported from a vineyard in the Loire Valley in France.

  She sobered abruptly as he climbed the staircase with her still in his arms. This was it. He was carrying her to their new shared chambers. She was about to lie with her husband for the very first time.

  She shivered in sudden trepidation. She had been yearning for this day, when they could finally consummate their passion. They had both agreed that they would wait until they were officially man and wife, but it had been hard. On more than one occasion she knew she would have given herself to him if he had pushed the issue. But Arthur had remained resolute that he wanted their first time together to be perfect. And that when he finally took her he wanted her to be his wife.

  She clutched her arms tighter around his neck. Yes, she had been filled with a hungry yearning for him to finally make her his own, but in this moment all she felt was fear. What would it be like? Would it hurt her? Mama had been close-lipped about what would happen on her wedding night, but Sarah knew enough by now to know that sometimes the first time was less than pleasant for a lady.

  She bit her lip, trying to fight down her misgivings. She would know soon enough. They were almost to the top of the staircase and to the chamber door. There was no turning back now.

  ***

  Arthur set her down gently onto the ground the minute after they entered the chamber, closing the door firmly behind them. All laughter and mirth had disappeared now. There was a strange tension in the air as he slowly turned to her, gazing down at her intently.

  “My wife,” he whispered, his voice thick. His brown eyes glittered fiercely. “At last.”

  Sarah shivered. She felt almost shy, as if she wanted to run into a corner and hide. She gulped air, trying to calm herself.

  “Do not be afeared, my love,” he whispered, walking slowly towards her. “I shall love you as you deserve to be loved.” He paused, his eyes raking over her hungrily. “I shall worship you as the goddess that you are.”

  She nodded, unable to speak. It was as if he was weaving a spell around her; as if she was becoming bewitched. Goose flesh broke out over her body and she shivered again.

  Slowly, spellbindingly, he undressed her carefully, as if she were a doll in his hands. Her wedding gown fell to the floor in a rustling heap. With sure, steady fingers he unlaced her corset, throwing it into a corner. Leisurely, he pulled her petticoat and underskirt down. She felt as if she were in the midst of a languorous dream.

  Finally she was standing naked before him. She resisted the impulse to cover herself with her hands. Instead, she took a deep breath and raised her chin, looking him squarely in the eye.

  His breath caught in his throat as he beheld her. She had never seen him gazing at her in quite the same way before.

  “Oh, my love,” he whispered, in a voice throbbing with need. “I have pictured this moment many times, but the reality surpasses even my imagination.” He looked struck, as if a lightning bolt had fallen from heaven. “You are the most exquisite woman I have ever beheld.”

  She blushed fiercely.

  “I cannot wait a moment longer,” he whispered fiercely, sweeping her up in his arms again and carrying her to the bed. “I must make you my own.”

  Sarah felt as if her limbs were as heavy as boulders, weighted down with a sweet, desperate yearning. She gazed up at him helplessly as he quickly disrobed, flinging his clothes off. Almost before she knew it, he was as naked as she was.

  She gasped, unable to tear her eyes away. He was truly beautiful. A broad chest, with a smattering of dark hair, sweeping down to his navel…and beyond. Her eyes grew wider as she took in his manhood, proud and erect. She had felt its presence before, when they had kissed passionately, but she had never beheld it. The mystery was finally revealed.

  Before she could contemplate it further, he was atop her, kissing her feverishly. He groaned with need as his lips swept down her body, from her neck to her breasts. His eyes were closed in bliss, but he opened them briefly, gazing up at her ravenously.

  “I cannot explain the exquisite joy at feeling your skin next to mine,” he whispered. “At long last…”

  He dipped his head again, taking one of her nipples into his mouth. He suckled it slowly and leisurely. She whimpered as sweet sensation started to course through her body. It was as if he was tugging at some inner cord, unleashing a torrent of need.

  Within seconds, his mouth was travelling down her body again, his lips grazing her now scorching flesh. His tongue found her navel, flickering into it, like a snake’s. She moaned again. Her hips were moving, almost bucking involuntarily. She didn’t think she could control them if she tried. They seemed to have a life entirely of their own.

  He laughed softly, almost wickedly, as his mouth moved lower still. He gazed up at her briefly as he reached the triangle of dark hair at her core. His eyes were blazing now.

  She gasped, as he gently prised open her legs. And then his tongue was upon her hot, tender flesh. He seemed to know exactly what he was seeking. She cried out in shock and glorious delight as he slowly suckled, his mouth moving over her flesh, his tongue flickering again, leisurely at first, then with increasing urgency.

  She was so moist down there she was almost afeared he would drown in the deluge. What he was doing to her was so very wanton and outrageous, but the increasing pleasure was so intense she could not have stopped him even if she wanted to. Her hips started to buck again, almost gyrating. She was suddenly filled with a fierce, primal need.

  The sensations were intensifying. She was climbing towards a bewildering height, just as she had in her dream of him. But before she reached that dizzying pinnacle he abruptly raised his head, climbing upon her. Her legs parted wider as he nestled between them and then she felt a short, sharp pain before he glided into her. He was inside her, at long last. He was making her his own.

  She gasped in wonder at the feeling of it. The pain was lessening now. He was filling her, overtaking her; she no longer knew where he ended, and she began. They had truly become one flesh. It was the most glorious thing she had ever felt.

  His eyes stared into hers for a moment, pinning her soul to the spot as surely as his manhood was pinning her flesh to the mattress.

  “Oh, Sarah,” he breathed slowly. “Oh, yes. You are truly breathtaking. It feels amazing being inside of you. As if I have finally come home.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I am home with you. I am yours.”

  She felt like she was drowning in his gaze. As if she were merging with him and she would never recover her own self again.