The Most Unlikely Lady

by Barbara Devlin

  When Everett found the strength to lift his head sometime later, it took a few minutes to gather his wits. As the knowledge dawned that he was still sprawled atop his wife, his limbs still weighted with sated languor, his now re-aroused flesh still buried deep within hers, he smiled.

  All was right with his world.

  How he would love to take Sabrina again, but to do so would be the height of neglectfulness. She was untried and would most definitely be sore in the morning. A good husband would withdraw from her and ring for a soothing bath. But a feathery tracing of circles on his shoulder brought him up on his elbows.

  “Did I wake you?” Sabrina stared, sparkling and captivating, at him.

  “No.” Everett carefully shifted his hips.

  With her eyes closed, she bit her lip. “Oh.”

  He froze. “Did I hurt you?” Bracing himself, he rose in an effort to relieve her of his weight. “Here, let me get off of you--”

  “Stay, my lord.” With her legs coiled tight about him, she pulled him near, kissed his throat, and nibbled the edge of his jaw. “I was wondering if we might do it again.”

  “Sabrina--”

  “Please.”

  “It is too soon,” he cautioned. “You will be dreadfully sore tomorrow.”

  “So I will be sore.” She averted her stare. “You could soothe it with a kiss.”

  At her suggestion, Everett choked. “Enjoyed yourself, did you?”

  “Immensely,” she replied with a definite nod. “You know, Mama likened it to riding a horse. But, I daresay, I have never enjoyed my mare half so much.”

  Once again, unrestrained mirth rumbled in his chest--until Sabrina grasped his bare buttocks and squeezed. He thrust, and she moaned. The room filled with a sensuous symphony of her feminine sighs and his husky praise. That is, until the air was pierced by a primal groan and a lusty, “Holy Mother!”

  #

  “Can’t say as I recall ever having been so hungry.” Sabrina dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin and leaned back in her chair. “Must be the country air.”

  “I would wager our evening exercise has something to do with your appetite.” Wearing matching burgundy silk robes, Everett dined with his bride in his reception room. Gazing at her over the rim of his glass, he smiled when he spied the subtle shading in her cheeks. “Promise me something?”

  She regarded him with guileless affection that made his heart skip a beat. “Anything, my lord.”

  “Never change.” Pondering his empty plate, he lifted the lid on the serving platter and served himself another portion of braised beef. “No matter what the future brings, as the years pass and we have children, however many disagreements we suffer, promise you will always be my saucy Sabrina.”

  “That is an easy request to fulfill, because I know not how to be anyone else.” She tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “Though I imagine you will on many occasions regret having made such a request.”

  “I daresay you are probably right.” As she struggled with her black mane, still wet from a bath, he set down his fork and pushed away from the table. “My dear, fetch your brush, and I will see if I can work those tangles from your hair.”

  “You should.” Sabrina rose from her chair. “You put them there.”

  He cast her an unrepentant grin and swatted her lovely derrière as she passed. While he waited for his wife to return, he tried not to consider what tomorrow would bring.

  Were he nothing more than Lord Everett Markham, second son, the future would be relatively simple. His accounts were settled, and he had money to burn. Solicitors engaged years ago managed his estates. But things were much more complicated thanks to his new title.

  In his study, awaiting his perusal, loomed a trunk filled with account books and land contracts his brother, God rest him, had woefully neglected. It was a safe wager the properties were in similar disrepair. Soon, he would journey to each estate and personally survey the conditions.

  Though his father had tried to educate him in governing such vast holdings, Everett could not escape the feeling that he was singularly inadequate to the task. The life of a second son had afforded him a rather carefree existence, and he had been beholden to none. He could come and go as he pleased.

  Not so anymore.

  Now he was lord to many, and his responsibilities boundless. When he married Sabrina, he prepared himself for commitments expected of a husband and father. That, coupled with the burdens of the title and a campaign to win her declaration, presented a daunting prospect. And if he were honest with himself, his top priority was winning his wife’s heart.

  But if he failed as an earl, would she think him worthy of her love?

  “Here it is.” Sabrina stood before him, offering a silver-backed brush.

  “Ah, yes.” Masking his concern, he spread his legs wide, smoothed his robe over the chair cushion, and patted the surface. “Have a seat.”

  Arching a brow, she planted hands on hips. “You said you were going to brush my hair.”

  “Do you not trust me?” He grinned.

  “Oh, indeed.” With a finger to her chin, she wrinkled her nose. “I am just not sure I trust myself.”

  “My dear, you say the damnedest things.” Laughing, something he had done with greater frequency since his marriage, he again patted the space between his legs. “Come now, of what are you afraid?”

  It was a challenge.

  And he knew his wife would rise to the occasion as swift and sure as the erection currently roaring to life in his loins.

  “All right.” Sabrina whirled about and, oblivious of his state, plopped herself down in perilous proximity to his arousal. “But I warn you, birds will nest on my head if you do not get the tangles out of my hair.”

  Everett accepted the brush and stroked her raven locks in long, drawn-out movements. When she wiggled her bottom and resituated herself, she seduced him without knowing it, and he clenched his jaw against a groan.

  But the randy beast within emerged.

  Amid sweeps, he planted his lips behind each ear, and she rewarded him with a sigh of contentment. At that precise moment, an idea sparked in the functioning part of his brain not focused on lovemaking. If he could tether his lady with restraints of a sensuous nature, she might be inspired to love him. Lifting her luscious locks, he trailed butterfly kisses along her nape.

  “Oh, my.” Through his robe, she grasped his thighs and squeezed. “You make me want to be so bad.”

  “But you like it.” Everett chuckled, set the brush aside, untied her belt, parted the silk, and bared her shoulders. Shifting her in his lap, he slipped the garment from her succulent body. “Do you not?”

  “Yes,” she whispered in reply.

  Indeed, a sumptuous web might be the answer to his prayers. With time and tenderness, he could weave a voluptuous net and make her his sweet captive. Of course, he would not force Sabrina to do anything beyond her wishes, but there was nothing wrong with providing a bit of salacious persuasion.

  Cupping her breasts, Everett pressed on her caresses meant to entice and arouse. And his charming wife moaned and squirmed as a sensuous seraph in his lap. After a few maddening minutes, he discovered his intended target was not the only one vulnerable to his tack. Yet nothing about the revelation made sense.

  He was a rake.

  He should be impervious to such simple pleasures.

  To test the limits of his fraying self-control, he pinched her nipples, to wit she cried out, and his thighs went up in flames.

  “Spread your legs,” he said against her neck.

  Sabrina mumbled an incoherent response and let her knees drop at either side of his. When he teased the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs, she rested her head on his shoulder and exhaled a shivery breath. As his fingers walked a naughty path, he nuzzled her temple. Slipping his fingers inside her passage, he thrilled to the evidence of her desire. Drawing on his well-honed finesse, Everett brought her warm wetness to the little p
ink gem he loved to suckle and in a licentious massage stoked her fire to impressive heights.

  She wanted him, but could she love him?

  She was his wife, but would she honor their vows?

  For her sake and his sanity, he hoped so.

  Sabrina shifted with restless abandon, yet with catlike grace in his embrace. Was there anything more erotic than his wife in the throes of passion? Each sultry song she sang was a priceless treasure he hoarded as a miser of love. And Everett had to have her.

  “My lord, please.” She grasped his wrist, pulled his hand away, and he could have cried--until she added, “I want you there.”

  In regard to her request, he required no explanation. “Stand up.”

  #

  Stand up?

  Sabrina obeyed but prepared to make her preferences known, when Everett opened the folds of his robe and flicked an entreaty. “Come back.”

  Well, perhaps he understood, after all.

  For a moment, she studied his most male member. Protruding proud, flagrant, and angry, it was intimidating. Staring at her with its one good eye, it reminded her of a pirate. And though an hour ago it had been inside her, she still was not convinced it would fit. “How--”

  “Just sit,” he said as he guided her down.

  Excited by the prospect of learning something new, she followed his direction and straddled his lap. “Like this?”

  “Perfect.”

  Peering between them, Sabrina gasped. Positioned, as they were, the Jolly Roger, as the Brethren often referred to that particular aspect of their anatomy, looked as though it could be attached to her instead of Everett, which was a disconcerting development, to say the least.

  “Scoot closer,” her husband said as he shimmied beneath her.

  “Are you sure this will work?” Instinctively, she tensed when the plum-shaped tip of his miracle of flesh slipped inside her. And nagging doubt lingered yet subsided, when he cupped her cheek and smiled.

  “Trust me.” Grasping her hips, he pressed further still.

  It was a humbling experience, and more beautiful than anything she had ever known, to have part of him encased in her body. And as she was his, he was hers. Despite his mother’s wishes, there would be no annulment, so Sabrina opened her heart and let it sing. With something between a sob and a sigh, she bent her head and set her lips to his.

  How she loved the way Everett kissed her. How he nipped at her nose and tickled her tongue. How he held her so tight she almost could not breathe. Never had she felt so special. Never had she felt...passion, desire.

  For good or ill, she was now a woman in every sense of the word. And no one--not even the marchioness--could take that from Sabrina. On the thought, hunger and need welled anew. And she wanted more.

  Sabrina broke their kiss and asked, “What now?”

  “Pretend I am your favorite mare.” He cast her a lazy grin.

  Confused, she stiffened her back. “I beg your pardon?

  Everett buried his face in her breasts. “Ride, lady mine.”

  Shocked and curious at once, she rocked her hips. And she was rocked. “Holy Mother!”

  Her scandalous husband chuckled, reclined in the chair and peered at her with the devil in his eyes. For the briefest moment, she wondered what he found so amusing about their lovemaking. But as she continued to move over him, and on him, she no longer cared.

  With each thrust of her hips, a wicked wantonness simmered beneath her skin. She was emboldened, undaunted. No longer a spectator, she found power and strength in the intimate dance.

  “You are so beautiful.” Everett sighed. Murmuring suggestions and praise, he caressed her everywhere, setting her alight in places she never knew existed.

  But when he massaged the place just above their joining, her world turned on end. The now familiar tensing of her thighs commanded her attention and her senses. As heaven on earth claimed her, she stared into his amber depths, her soul as naked as she, hiding nothing, and daring him to accept her. All of her.

  And Everett was with her.

  When he fisted his hands in her hair, she framed his cheeks. They were together. Face to face. Scaling the heights of passion, then soaring even higher.

  There was tenderness.

  There was devotion.

  And finally, there was unimaginable release.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A fortnight later, Everett rode through the meadow at the north end of his estate, and he paused for a moment to look over the land. Nothing more than a thin band of shimmering gold, the summer sun had just peeked over the horizon. Straightening in his saddle, he gave vent to a rather profuse yawn.

  Though he had gone to bed at his usual hour the previous night, he had not slept much. It seemed his charming wife had taken quite a fancy to a particular aspect of marital duty.

  To put it simply, the countess of Woverton enjoyed making love.

  And in true Sabrina fashion, she had taken to her responsibilities with her characteristic vigor, dedication, and unbridled enthusiasm. And she drew him like a lodestone. The end result? He ravished her at every opportunity. But, since she had not complained, neither would he.

  Everett succumbed to another yawn.

  Their marriage had progressed beyond his wildest expectations--as had his wife. His staff adored her, and to his amazement, even his normally stuffy butler had the audacity to blush whenever she fussed over something he had done for her. As a man, he was embarrassed for the poor chap. And once her fondness for Cook’s lemon tarts had been discovered, the flaky dessert pastry made its way to their dinner table five times in a sennight. Yes, everyone loved Sabrina.

  If only he had succeeded half so well.

  The estates he had inherited from his late brother were in shambles. There was much to be done, and as the damage had occurred slowly, during years of neglect, nothing would be achieved or repaired overnight.

  And during the wee hours when he was not making love to his wife, he would frequently lie awake, wondering if he was adequate to the task at hand. A good portion of his days were spent locked in his study, pouring over agricultural reports, purchase orders, and much needed improvements to a wide array of properties, all of which he had yet to examine in person.

  To make matters worse, his myriad responsibilities consumed his attention to the detriment of his new wife. While he knew it was not fashionable for a couple to live in each other’s pockets, he truly regretted he had not more time to dedicate to Sabrina. He wanted to nurture their union, to strengthen their bond, to entice her to declare her love, so she would not leave him.

  Soon, the peerage required he survey his holdings, one at a time. But Sabrina had arranged a fête-champêtre to introduce herself to the local community, and he decided to delay his business a few more days. Given they were in mourning, there would be no dance, but polite decorum dictated she host the affair, and he would not venture and leave her to face the masses alone.

  Especially since the invited guests included his parents.

  His mother made no secret of her disdain for his chosen bride, and, as dastardly as it sounded, he found some sort of twisted pleasure in his mother’s objection. While he hadn’t given a damn about his mother’s discomfit, Sabrina had, and he would not abandon her. He yawned again and smiled.

  Last night had been a memorable experience. They had sneaked into the rose garden and made love in the moonlight. There had been a minor mishap involving a few thorns--his posterior still smarted, but it had been a singular triumph, and his resourceful countess had soothed his aches with a few well-placed kisses. Actually, since that first fiery evening when they consummated their marriage, each joining had been a celebrated attainment of pleasure, unlike any he had ever known.

  Her inquisitive nature and inherent derring-do was a perfect match for his voluptuous appetite. Whatever he asked of her, she charged forth, headlong into the breach, without question. His wife was so in tune with his body, she seemed to know the precise moment to g
rasp his buttocks and squeeze--something no woman had ever done for him. Never had completion been so forceful, almost violent.

  A sick feeling swept over him.

  How could Sabrina, a novice in their marital bed, know when he neared climax with such unfailing accuracy?

  She had been an innocent when first he took her--of that he had no doubt. Whereas women tensed just before they reached fulfillment, men signaled no such response. While Everett had enjoyed the skills of mistresses conversant in the sexual arts, and incomparable in their cultivation, none could read him half so well.

  How had she become so learned, gaining impossibly intimate knowledge of his body, in so short a time?

  Dare he think it?

  Could someone else have tutored his bride?

  Cursing himself a fool, but unable to quash the question foremost on his mind, Everett made his way back to the stables. It was early yet, and although a few of the hands were up and about, he stabled his horse himself. Just as he exited the stall, he spied his lovely wife, with a riding crop tucked under one arm, skipping in his direction and tugging on her gloves.

  Quick as a flash, he ducked into the nearest stall. As she passed, he caught her by the waist and hugged her against him.

  She started. “What--”

  He smothered her shriek with his lips and before things got out of hand, and with his wife that was a near certainty, he lifted his head. “Where were you going?”

  Though it was evident she mustered a pout, and it was an adorable attempt, she only managed a lopsided grin. “You did not wake me for our ride.”

  “Yes I did.” He nipped the tip of her cute little nose.

  “My lord.” Sabrina averted her gaze, and a blush stained her cheeks. “You know what I mean.”

  “You were sleeping so peacefully I did not want to disturb you.” He gave her a squeeze.

  Her gaze fell to his lips, and she splayed her fingers over his chest. “But I do so look forward to our morning exercise.”

  Good God, she tempted him even then. “Darling, I believe I exercised you quite thoroughly this morning.”

  “Everett.” Although she swatted him, it was a playful gesture. “You are shameless.”