The Most Unlikely Lady

by Barbara Devlin

  “I meant the ones I have seen--”

  “The ones you have seen?” Given her declaration, he was horrified in an instant.

  Sabrina retreated to a safe distance, though she proceeded to eye him with unveiled curiosity. “When Cara and I were young, we spied on the boys, with the rest of the girls. Our brothers swam naked in the pond near Pembroke, the Elliott ancestral home. We would sneak into the vicinity and hide in the bushes.” Her inquisitive stare was riveted to his crotch. “But theirs were tiny and bounced when they ran.”

  “Oh, I say.” Unable to help himself, Everett burst into laughter. “I would dearly love to tell Blake Elliott and Damian Seymour their manhood has been described as small, soft, and bouncy.” In mere seconds, he succumbed to another fit of hilarity.

  “Is it always so…angry?” Sabrina shuffled her feet.

  Despite his good humor, her interest in the mysteries of his anatomy had not escaped him, and it was an enthusiasm he fully intended to indulge. “It is when I am around you.” He pocketed the soiled handkerchief, stood, and walked to her.

  Brave and unflinching, not that he expected any less, she faced him. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not in the manner you suggest, because it is an ache of a different sort.” And how he ached, but Everett smiled. “One I shall have to endure until we are properly wed.”

  “I have not agreed to marry you.” She thrust her chin in an act of open defiance of his statement, but he allowed her a moment of rebellion.

  “You will,” he said matter-of-factly and caught her before she could flee.

  “Let me go.” Sabrina braced her hands against his chest and squirmed in his grasp, until she noted the resurging rise of his erection, and then she stilled and peered between their bodies. “Why does it do that?”

  “Because I want you, my saucy Sabrina.” He cupped her cheek and pinned her gaze. “So how long will you make me wait?”

  “Why do you want to marry me?” she inquired in a small voice.

  Though Everett should not have been surprised, her directness floored him. Given her propensity for unvarnished honesty, he had thought himself accustomed to her habit, but his ears rang a carillon of shock. To deflect her query and gain a measure of sanity, he pulled her close and rested his head atop hers. A subtle lavender fragrance teased his nostrils and calmed his frazzled nerves. “Does it matter?”

  “It does to me.” She buried her face in his chest.

  “Why?” For a scarce second, he thought her afraid, yet his Sabrina feared nothing. When she wrestled free to meet his stare, he was prepared and tucked in his chin.

  “I will not marry a man who does not love me.” She grabbed the lapels of his coat. “Mama always says the only reason Papa puts up with her is because he loves her, and if ever a woman needed an indulgent husband, surely it is I.”

  “Point taken.” Once again, as a result of her unique forthrightness, he surrendered to laughter. Never in his life could he recall enjoying such genial levity, and Everett thought such conviviality boded well for their union. Which brought to mind a question he had been longing to pose. “Tell me, my dear, do you love me?”

  Atypical shyness encompassed her features, and she shrugged. “I am not sure.”

  Everett felt as if he had just been poleaxed.

  As earlier, it appeared Sabrina remained oblivious to his tremulous state.

  “My guts grumble fiercely whenever you are present, and I used to think it was poor digestion.” She seemed so calm, as if declaring herself were an every day occurrence. “But I have since determined I would have been long dead for the number of times I have suffered such malady. There is no other explanation, so it must be you.”

  How he wanted to believe her, wanted to trust that she harbored such sentiment for him, but Sabrina was far too young to recognize real love. So Everett discounted her clumsy admission as a fancy, a girlish crush, and nothing more.

  “My dear, yours is a dainty vernacular. We will get on well, you and I.” Propriety be damned, he pulled her impossibly close, and the unholy serpent in his breeches raged. It was unfortunate for him that Sabrina noticed his oh-so-jolly Roger. With nary a bit of reticence, she inched a hand between them. And before he could stop her, she touched him where he wanted it most.

  Everett caught her wrist just as she squeezed. It was a dream come true, having her massaging him, her fingers loving him. Even through his buckskin breeches, her untutored attention was heaven--a heaven he had envisioned countless nights.

  Intending to halt her exploration, he covered her hand with his but schooled her, instead. Showing her where to linger, where to stroke, and where to caress. Then he dropped his arm to his side and thrilled to her touch, alone. A groan came to him through the sultry haze of pleasure, and Everett realized it was his own.

  “It is like stone,” Sabrina whispered, with a countenance of inexpressible fascination.

  Near to exploding, he halted her play. “You unman me, my dear.”

  “I apologize, my lord.” With another charming pout, she gazed at him. “That was not my intent.”

  “Oh?” He marveled at her pluck. “What was your intent?”

  “I want to know you,” quick as a wink she replied. “I wish to make you happy.”

  “Marry me, and I will teach you more.” In that promise Everett would not fail. “I will show you pleasures as you have never known.”

  “Do you love me?” Unfazed by his bold proclamation, she brought them full circle.

  How could he tell her what he could not understand? Call him a coward, but he sought refuge in an unsportsmanlike counterattack. “Will you marry me?”

  “I will if you tell me you love me.” She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.

  Everett sighed, because he could not lie to Sabrina, even if he thought her affection true. But since he doubted her ability to develop such depth of emotion at her tender age, he held fast to the defenses protecting his heart. Perhaps one day they would share a deep and abiding commitment, but now was not the time. “I will tell you when you accept my most gracious proposal.”

  It was a standoff, a test of wills between two people quite evenly matched.

  Sabrina humphed and chewed her bottom lip.

  He waited with patience that should qualify him for sainthood.

  She opened her mouth and then closed it. His fiancée averted her stare and appeared to consider her response. After a moment, she beamed and stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Take me fishing.”

  “What?” His bride-to-be could not have known it, but she had just struck terror in his heart. Everett abhorred the sport, always had. “You must be joking.”

  “On the contrary.” She rocked on her heels. “I am quite sincere.”

  #

  “So, are you taking her fishing?” Trevor asked, with a touch of amusement in his voice.

  “As must needs.” Everett glared at his friend, as they shared a private room at White’s. “Lord, help me.”

  “I take it from your reaction that you have never acquired a taste for the sport?” Trevor grinned.

  “You know very well I have not.” Everett swallowed a healthy gulp of brandy. “I am a hunter, a horseman. I prefer worthwhile endeavors. I have never understood the lure of standing by a cold stream for hours, waiting for some fish to swallow your worm.” He grimaced. “Tell me, where is the pleasure in that?”

  Of course, what Everett neglected to mention what that fishing had been his father’s favorite hobby. And while his sire had been more than happy to take his heir on his afternoon jaunts, Everett had never been included in their trips. Therefore, he had never learned the skill. “Bloody hell, according to many of our set, most fish only nibble on the worm and elude capture entirely.”

  Trevor burst out laughing, and Everett sank in his chair.

  “Double-entendres, old man.” What began as a chuckle soon erupted into full-scale jollity, and Trevor slapped his thigh. And just when Lockwood quieted, he pressed a
palm to his belly and succumbed to another gale of hilarity. “Oh, I say. There is something to be said for the sensation you get when your favorite fish nibbles your worm.”

  “Are we not the quick-witted one?” Everett frowned, as he knew only too well to what illicit act his chum referred. “And I am overjoyed to provide for your amusement.”

  Dirk Randolph entered the room. “Is this a private conversation, or may I join you?”

  “Good evening, Wainsbrough.” Trevor glanced at Everett, and he nodded his assent. “Will you have a drink?”

  “Of course.” Dirk unbuttoned his coat and weighed his anchor. “So, what is the topic of choice?”

  “Fishing,” Trevor interjected before Everett could intervene. “Tell us, do you enjoy the pastime?”

  “Aye, indeed I do.” Dirk signaled a waiter and then crossed his legs. “It is one of my favorite diversions, second only to my wife.”

  Trevor smiled, his body shook, and he fell victim to another howling fit.

  “What is so funny?” Dirk inquired.

  “W-worms,” Trevor managed to say between guffaws.

  #

  “Lord Markham, your property is stunning.” Lady Amanda’s eyes sparkled, as she admired the landscape. “And so close to London--how fortunate for your future wife.”

  “Indeed, your daughter will be nearby.” Everett smiled smugly, casting Sabrina a triumphant glare. “You may visit whenever you like.”

  It was a shame Admiral Douglas could not join them for the day. He had hoped to engage the man in a rousing discourse on sailing. Without his future father-in-law, he had no valid excuse to forego the much-dreaded fishing excursion.

  Sitting opposite him, his sumptuous target swayed gently with the movement of the carriage, and Lady Amanda occupied the seat beside his intended. He thought Sabrina irresistible in her feminine sprig muslin dress, and a matching bonnet graced her head. Lace framed her ample bosom, a sight from which he struggled to keep his gaze. It was a lilac version of the pink one worn by her sister, who shared his bench. The elder Douglas had, no doubt, attempted to influence her younger sister, and it was an aim he could not dispute, given the outcome.

  Daring his bride-to-be to gainsay him, and engage in another spirited verbal duel, which he had so enjoyed, he added, “Of course, we will spend our summers at Beaumaris, my principal estate.”

  “I have not agreed to marry you.” Sabrina pursed her lips and rolled her eyes in evident frustration.

  How he loved ruffling her feathers, and she was an easy mark for his taunts. Summoning years of well-honed self-control, he resisted the urge to stick out his tongue because, knowing Sabrina, she would bite it off. Then again, considering his expertise in the physical realm, he would have her licking at him in no time.

  “You will,” he replied with an air of indifference. In his mind, he counted to three and braced for impact.

  “You dare me to refuse you, my lord.” She shifted her weight and stared daggers at him. “I ought to--”

  “Sabrina, behave yourself.” Lady Amanda sniffed and smoothed her skirts. “I apologize, Lord Markham. My daughter forgets her manners.”

  “No apologies necessary, Lady Amanda. After all, we are practically family.” At that moment, Everett grinned at his now incensed bride-to-be. Oh, she was a veritable spitfire, which required careful handling, as he might get burned. “Come now, my dear Sabrina. Do not frown, as it spoils your lovely face.”

  After the short carriage ride from London, they took their afternoon repast on the terrace of his estate. It was not a sizable property, as his holdings in Northampton were considerably larger, but it was impressive for a man with no title, and he so wished to impress his prospective in-laws. At long last, he surrendered to Sabrina’s wheedling and sent for his man to collect their rods and tackle.

  “Are you sure you will not join us?” he asked Lady Amanda and Cara, praying for any excuse to avoid what promised to be a misadventure of the worst sort.

  “Oh, no.” Lady Amanda pressed a hand to her throat. “Cara and I do not care for the sport. Sabrina is her father’s daughter.”

  “Well, Sabrina and I do not have to indulge ourselves. If you would prefer, we can fish another time.” Though he would deny it if anyone asked, he would prefer to stay there and talk about whatever women talked about than go fishing.

  “Bother that.” Lady Amanda dismissed him with a casual wave. “No need to stand on formalities. You two enjoy your recreation, and Cara and I shall wait here. Have a wonderful afternoon.”

  Everett valiantly suppressed a frown. Casting his bride-to-be a brittle smile, as she tapped her foot in an affectation of impatience, he steered her into the copse.

  Pebbles crunched beneath their feet, as they strolled down a winding path, which led to the stream at the north end of his property. It was a lengthy walk, and he had expected Sabrina to complain and turn back about halfway through the jaunt. He had been wrong. She trudged forth, with no fuss or grouse, commenting on various trees and wildflowers, as she catalogued the area with lethal accuracy.

  Surprising him with her knowledge of herbs and their myriad medicinal qualities, she bubbled with enthusiasm about a seemingly nondescript topic. While he tried to focus his attention on their conversation, he inevitably fell victim to her lush mouth and pink cheeks.

  Dew kissed and flushed by the time they neared the stream, Sabrina reached to remove her bonnet, and the bodice of her gown pulled tight across her breasts. In a flash, the old Jolly Roger hoisted his mast with a vengeance. Why could he not resist her?

  Salacious images materialized, and he rued the fact that he wanted her, right then and there. He could ease her onto the soft grass and take her alongside the stream. The gentle trickle of water would be the foundation for the sounds of love in a sensuous melody--

  “Can I have the bucket of worms?” Sabrina inquired, breaking his reverie.

  “Certainly.” Everett blinked and swallowed hard. Worms. Would his torment never end? “Be my guest.”

  In unmitigated horror, he stood paralyzed, as she tugged off her gloves, tossed them to the ground, and plunged her dainty hand into the pail. When she captured a plump crawler and proceeded to bait the hook, he almost fainted.

  Rod in tow, Sabrina perched at the edge of the stream and cast. In an elegant ballet, of sorts, she moved, graceful and poetic--so unlike her dancing.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “Are you not going to fish?”

  “Oh--er, yes. Yes, I am.” For a long while, he scrutinized the bucket of worms, and his mouth went dry. Bile rose in his throat, and Everett was certain he was going to hurl his noon meal to the ground. He dug into the damp earth and winced when a slithery form slid over his skin. He jerked and closed his eyes. Bloody Hell.

  “My lord, are you unwell?”

  He opened his eyes and found Sabrina staring at him. “I am fine, my dear.”

  “Are you sure?” She inclined her head. “You are as white as a sheet.”

  “I am quite positive.”

  Sabrina set her rod on a nearby rock and walked to him. “Here, let me do it for you.” She took the end of his line and, after pulling another wiggling worm from the pail, baited his hook. “There, you are all set.”

  Together they approached the stream. Everett cast his hook as she retrieved her rod.

  “It must be heaven to have this at your disposal.” Sabrina surveyed the immediate surroundings. “I would be here every day if this were my property.”

  “Accept my proposal, and I will give it to you for a wedding present,” Everett stated, hoping to tempt her.

  “You can’t mean that.” Her gaze widened, and her mouth fell open. She gulped and faced the stream. “Would you really?”

  “For something far more precious, yes.” Everett realized, in that moment, he was serious. He would give up everything he owned to possess Sabrina Douglas. To have her in his bed at the end of a long day. To wake with her every morning. To hold her in h
is arms in the hours between.

  “I would never require it of you.” Her chin hit dangerous heights, and her lovely features were rife with tension. “If I marry you, it will be because I want to be your wife, not for your holdings, however grand.”

  “I have offended you.” Everett marked another blunder. “Why is it I can converse smoothly with every marriageable woman in the ton, yet you turn me into a blithering idiot?”

  The ends of her mouth lifted. “Perhaps you are a blithering idiot.”

  From the corner of his eye, he studied her profile, and she smiled. She teased him, and he liked it.

  “Oh.” All of a sudden, she jumped. “I have a bite.”

  “Hold on. Do not let go of your rod,” he shouted, as if he were some sort of master fisherman. He came up behind her, placed his arms about her waist, and covered her hands with his.

  “Step back,” Sabrina hissed and wrenched free. “I know what I am doing.”

  He had done as she bade and gasped in amazement as she hauled a rather large trout from the stream. The slimy looking creature fought and flopped as Sabrina caught hold of it, keeping it near, flicking water all over her dress without care. Gently, she removed the hook from the fish and, at the edge of the water, returned the trout from whence it came.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We were not going to eat it.” She turned and shrugged. “So there was no point in keeping it.”

  “I do not understand.” Everett plopped on the grass and stared, mouth agape, at her. “We are going to release everything we catch? What is the bloody use of fishing in the first place?”

  Preparing to re-bait her hook, Sabrina paused, set down the pail, propped her rod on the rocks, and sat beside Everett.

  “The thrill is in the catch,” she explained. “It is the excitement of the sport, not the end result, that matters.” She seemed to think for a moment, and then she added, “Well, unless you are hungry and relying on skill to provide dinner.” She bent her knees and crossed her arms over her legs.

  Everett could not suppress a smile. The thrill is definitely in the catch. But in his arena the end result, to make her his wife, was everything.