His breeches were gone in a matter of seconds. He finished unbuttoning them, ripped them off, and tossed them on the floor. Sarah kissed his mouth, his cheek, his jawline. She dipped her small tongue in his ear, and he nearly came off the bed. Then she moved lower and began peppering his bare chest with tiny kisses. He liked it. He liked it a lot.
Her soft hand moved down and closed around him and he clenched his jaw tight. Dear Jesus God. What was she doing to him? Touching, she’d said. Only touching. But he didn’t know if he’d bloody well be able to stand it. He might just come in her hand like an untried lad. He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to think of something else. Perhaps something morbid. Sad. But what? What?
Then her hand began to move up and down and he couldn’t think of anything else.
“Sarah, you shouldn’t—”
“Shouldn’t what? Do this?” She stroked his hot, heavy flesh.
“No,” he groaned.
“What about this?” She stroked him in the opposite direction.
“No—” His voice was tortured. “Don’t do that either.”
“And this?” She squeezed her fist around him and he bit the inside of his cheek again, but this time for an entirely different reason. His hips lifted off the bed. “Please.”
“If you don’t want me to do that, I’m entirely certain you won’t want me to do this,” she said, a catlike smile on her face, just before she bent her head, moved down, and covered the head of his cock with her sweet, lush mouth.
“Damn it.” Christian’s fingers tangled in her dark hair.
She lifted her head then and smiled at him. “Tell me what to do, Christian. Show me.”
“No,” he groaned. By God, he was on the torture rack. He’d obviously done something very bad—or very, very good—in life to deserve this.
“Very well,” she said, still squeezing him in her hand. “Then tell me what not to do.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
He ground his teeth together. “Don’t … don’t put your mouth on me again,” he warned.
“Like this?” She moved her mouth back over him.
He ground his teeth tighter.
“Don’t … do not move your mouth up and down,” he groaned.
She did just that and his eyes rolled back in his head. He squeezed them shut, tight. But soon he opened them again, because oh, God, he wanted to watch.
“Whatever you do,” he ground out, “don’t rub your tongue against me while you move.”
And she did. She did just that. She lowered her mouth again, taking him fully into her throat, and moved down, oh, so slowly. Then she moved up again, the entire time her tongue brushing against his ridges while Christian’s head pressed desperately against the pillow.
Her mouth moved down, then up again, again and again, and his hips were helpless to follow the rhythm of her torturous mouth. All he knew in that moment was that if she stopped, he’d never be the same again. Hell, he wasn’t going to be the same either way, but her mouth on him was the most unholy torture he’d ever experienced.
She popped her wet mouth off his cock and blinked up at him innocently. He looked down at her over the plane of his abdomen, breathing so heavily that he couldn’t talk. And he sure as hell couldn’t think.
“What will happen?” she asked in the most artlessly seductive voice he’d ever heard. “If I keep doing this, Christian?” She was rubbing his cock up and down, kissing the tip of it, sucking it.
“Sarah—” His throat was dry. He was breathless. His hands fisted in the sheets on either side of his hips.
“Would it make you feel as good as you made me feel?” she asked, her tongue licking the head of his cock, driving him wild.
“I—” It was the only word he could manage to drag past his dry, cracked lips before her mouth descended over him again and her rough tongue rubbed him up and down unmercifully. Again and again and again.
Sweet Mother of God. The woman was going to kill him. They’d find his dead body in this bed in the morning. But it would be worth it. So bloody well worth it.
She pulled her mouth away once more. “Let’s find out, shall we?” she teased.
Shall we, what? He couldn’t think straight. What had she said? What did she mean?
“Let’s find out what happens if I keep doing this,” she said as if she’d read his mind, just before her mouth descended again and Christian’s head fell back, twisting against the pillow.
She sucked him hard and his hips arched up. She rubbed her tongue up and down against him. If only it hadn’t been so long since he’d been with a woman. If only it weren’t Sarah sucking his cock as though she’d been born to do it. If only she weren’t so bloody good at it. He grasped the back of her head and groaned just before he spilled his seed inside her hot, wet, delicious mouth.
Sarah didn’t try to pull away. In fact, she kept sucking him until the last of the shudders racked his body. It was good. Oh, so good. Then she leaned up on an elbow and smiled at him, obviously pleased with herself.
What did one say to a woman, an innocent no less, who had just … “You can spit—”
She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “Too late.” Her lips glistened with him.
He watched in awe as she leaned up, her dark curls spilling over her perfect breasts, and kissed him fully on the mouth. “Now we’re even,” she said with a wide smile.
“I’ve never in my life experienced anything…” But his hoarse words trailed off, and instead he just pulled her into his arms. Her head rested on his chest, directly under his chin. He kissed the top of her head.
“What do we do now?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
His heart still pounded. “What do you want, Sarah?”
* * *
Sarah pulled away from him, leaned up on an elbow again, and stared down at his handsome face. Her heart was lodged firmly in her throat. The answer to the question she was about to ask would determine their entire future. “Do you love me, Christian? Can you say you love me?”
His face froze, as if time had stopped. The only sound for several seconds was her breathing. His had seemed to stop. He rolled away from her and stood up. He grabbed his breeches from the floor and pulled them on. He tugged at the waist of them and cursed savagely under his breath.
Sarah pulled the sheet up to cover her nakedness. Tears filled her eyes as she watched him pace away from her, fiercely scrubbing a hand through his hair. She didn’t know exactly what reaction she’d expected, but it wasn’t this. For some inexplicable reason, she’d told herself that perhaps when she’d asked him earlier at the cottage, he simply hadn’t been ready. Hadn’t been prepared. But he’d had all day to think about it. And he still couldn’t say it? When he spoke, his words were measured, calm. “You said yourself that marriages don’t have to be based on love. We have passion, we have friendship.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “You don’t love me,” she whispered brokenly, pulling the sheet up to partially cover her face.
He cursed again. “I didn’t say that. I don’t know what I—”
“Yes, you do. Be honest. You owe me that much. You owe yourself that much.” With the back of her hand, she swiped at the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “All this time, all this time I’ve wondered why you’ve remained a bachelor. Why you couldn’t find a wife. Why you became friends with all of the ladies you should be courting. I couldn’t understand it. It seemed like a mystery. But I finally understand. You want to remain unmarried. You want to remain aloof, friendly. You don’t let anyone in … on purpose. And then you act as if you’re surprised that you haven’t found a wife. It’s never been about your clothes or your boots or even your reputation. Do you want to know the real reason you aren’t married yet, Christian? Look in the mirror.”
She leaped from the bed and grabbed her night rail. She hastily pulled it over her head. The dressing gown soon followed. She pulled it over her shoulders and tied it around her
waist. Then she rushed toward the door. Her eyes were blurry with her tears. She placed her fingers on the handle, then turned back to look at Christian one last time.
His hands were on his hips. He was staring at the floor. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Sarah, don’t—”
But she didn’t listen. All she knew was that she had to get back to her room. Hopefully without being seen. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Tried to banish her foolish tears. She pulled opened the door and glanced out. The corridor was empty and cool. It smelled like lemons and wood polish.
“Sarah—” Christian’s voice followed her into the corridor, but she didn’t stop. She ran as fast as she could down the hallway, past a blurry set of bedchamber doors. Just as she was about to turn the first corner, a man came around it. She collided with his chest, and he grappled to save her from toppling over.
“My dear Miss…” The man righted her, then stepped back.
She looked up, terrified, her heart pounding so hard in her chest that it hurt. It was Rafe Cavendish. Wait. No. It wasn’t Rafe. This man’s hair was too long to be Rafe. It was … Cade, Rafe’s twin. Cade glanced at her, her flimsy attire, her bare feet, her disheveled hair, then he looked down the corridor. Sarah looked, too, to see Christian half-dressed standing at the door, staring out with an equally horrified look on his face.
“Well, well, well,” Mr. Cavendish said, a positively roguish grin on his face.
Terror kept words from forming in Sarah’s dry throat. She simply stared at him, aghast. This was it. The moment her entire life could be ruined … or saved. “Mr. Cavendish, I … We…”
“I beg your pardon, Lady Sarah,” Mr. Cavendish said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seems I’ve stumbled upon a most inopportune moment.”
“Cavendish,” Christian called from the doorway, his voice a harsh, pleading whisper.
“No need to explain,” Mr. Cavendish replied. “You may depend upon my discretion. For I myself have done far worse. And I have the kinds of secrets that, were I to share, might well get me hanged.”
“What are you saying?” Sarah breathed.
“I’m saying you could not have a more ready ally,” Mr. Cavendish replied.
Sarah and Christian both stared at the man in disbelief.
“Besides,” Mr. Cavendish continued, “what do you think I’m up to, roaming the halls at this time of night? No good, I assure you.” He winked at them and, whistling, continued down the corridor to his bedchamber.
CHAPTER FORTY
The next morning, Lucy Hunt came to collect Sarah from her room an hour before the wedding was to begin. With the help of her maid, Sarah had washed and dressed and was outfitted in a pretty morning dress of bright yellow, with her hair twisted high atop her head and a bonnet tied securely with a golden ribbon on the side. The only evidence of her hideous night was the slight puffiness to her eyes and the dark circles underneath them. Bother.
“I was hoping you’d accompany me,” Lucy explained after Sarah had ushered her into the room. “I cannot wait to attend this wedding. It’s been a long time coming.”
“I’m certain it shall be quite beautiful.” Sarah sighed, trying not to think of her own looming wedding.
“Yes.” Lucy nodded. “Beautiful and a bit unusual considering they’re already married.”
Sarah’s mouth fell open. She turned to Lucy with wide eyes. “Pardon?”
Lucy flourished a hand in the air. “Oh, a story for another time, dear. Now, will you come with me? I saw your parents downstairs earlier with Lord Branford.”
Sarah decided to hold her tongue regarding the questions she had about Daphne and Rafe already being married. She’d learned that Lucy’s set of friends made up an odd bunch. “Lord Branford is here?” she asked instead. “I had hoped he’d cancel.”
The side of Lucy’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “You wouldn’t be so lucky.”
“Of course Mother and Father are already dancing attendance upon him.” Sarah sighed.
“Of course,” Lucy replied. “They look quite enamored of him. Especially your father. I think he should marry the man.”
Sarah groaned and pressed a finger to her pounding temple. “Don’t make me laugh. My head hurts ever so much this morning.”
Lucy smoothed one elegant eyebrow. “I wasn’t going to mention it, dear, but you do look a little pale, and have you been crying?”
Sarah dropped to the cushioned seat in front of the dressing table. She stared back at her own hollow reflection. “Oh, Lucy. If I told you what happened yesterday … and last night, you’d never speak to me again.”
In a rustle of skirts, Lucy moved over to her and placed her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Dear, you know that’s not true. And now you must tell me, because you have sorely piqued my curiosity.”
Sarah drew a deep, shaky breath. She glanced up at Lucy and saw only sympathy and understanding in the duchess’s unusually colored eyes. She opened her mouth to say only one thing, but ten minutes later, she had poured out the entire sordid story, leaving out none of the details, including the fact that Cade Cavendish had witnessed her ignominious exit from Christian’s room last night.
“Ooh, what do you suppose Cade’s done?” Lucy asked, her eyes wide and interested.
Sarah furrowed her brow. “You do realize that’s not the point of the story, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, of course, dear. This is about you now.” Lucy tossed her head, her black curls bouncing. “Very well, nothing you’ve told me sounds bad at all. In fact, I’d say it’s all quite good.”
Sarah’s mouth fell open. The furrow in her brow deepened. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about? Didn’t you hear what I said? I cannot believe I did that. Any of that. I’m a harlot. A shameless wanton. Lord Branford must never find out.”
“You’re hardly a shameless wanton, dear. Why, Cass, Jane, and I did much worse than that before we married our respective husbands.”
“What!”
“It’s true. Don’t look so shocked.”
Sarah snapped her mouth shut and contemplated that surprising news for a moment.
“It’s not unusual at all, and you should in no way feel guilty for it,” Lucy continued.
“But I feel guilty. Extremely guilty. Surely lightning will strike me when I stand before God in the church this morning.” Sarah buried her face in her hands.
“Ridiculous,” Lucy replied. Sarah looked up to find the duchess tugging on the end of her glove. “I find it hard to believe that God would have made us all such passionate creatures if he didn’t want us to be passionate from time to time,” Lucy said.
Sarah blinked at her. “Do you truly think that?”
“Of course.” Lucy flourished her hand in the air again. “And you can hardly be blamed for a bit of passion with the man with whom you’re clearly falling in love.”
Sarah groaned miserably. “But didn’t you hear me tell you that Christian doesn’t love me?”
This time, Lucy’s brow furrowed. “No. I heard no such thing. I heard the part where Christian didn’t say that he loves you, which is quite different and of course quite stupid of him, but he’s never experienced anything like this before. Besides, we’ve all had to overcome a bit of stupidity when falling in love. I’m afraid it comes with the territory.” Lucy sighed.
“But I asked him outright. And he couldn’t say it,” Sarah argued.
“Did you tell him you love him?”
Sarah blinked. “No.”
“Then why in the world would you expect him to come out with it? I admit one of you needs to be less stubborn and say it first, but these things are complicated, dear, and there are other factors to be considered in this particular situation.”
Sarah’s hand fell to her side. “Such as…?”
“Such as your engagement to the Marquess of Branford.”
Sarah’s head dropped into her hands again, hat and all. “What am I to do, Lucy?”
Lucy
leaned down and tugged her up to stand next to her. Then she hugged her against her side. “First, you’re to attend Daphne and Rafe’s wedding. We must set out immediately or we shall be late.” She pulled Sarah by the hand toward the door.
“And then?” Sarah asked in a melancholy voice, dragging her feet along the floor in Lucy’s wake.
“Then you must decide whether you are going to marry for love or for duty, because the only one who can decide that is you. You must not allow life to happen to you.”
“But I can’t—”
Lucy turned and shook her finger at Sarah. “See here. When I first saw you in Northumbria, I immediately liked you. I told Cass that any young woman who was willing to take off to Scotland in the winter with nothing more than some borrowed maid’s clothing and a stash of pin money was the type of interesting young lady with whom we should very much strive to be friends. Don’t forget that you are that selfsame young woman. She may be confused at the moment, but she’s still there. I have full confidence. And she’s not about to make the wrong decision. I’m certain of it.” The duchess finished her speech with a resolute nod.
“I’m not at all as confident of it as you are,” Sarah said as Lucy opened the door and pulled Sarah into the corridor.
“You will be, dear. You will be.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Three weeks went by, three torturous weeks in which Christian returned to London and did everything in his power to stay away from Lady Sarah Highgate. The still-very-much-engaged-to-Lord-Branford Lady Sarah Highgate. Christian did whatever he could to keep her from his thoughts. He went riding in the park. He went to the fencing club with Upton. He even went shopping, of all bloody ridiculous things, with Monroe. According to Monroe, a well-dressed gentleman could never have too many fine shirts.
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