The Marriage Truce

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  Her fingers tightened on the nightdress she held around her like a shawl. ‘I really cannot sleep.’

  He slowly stood and came towards her, his movements slow and menacing. ‘Shall I put you to bed, then? Tuck you in?’ he asked softly.

  He meant to scare her away, she knew that. She kept her gaze on him. ‘Yes, if you please.’

  He stopped. ‘You have no idea what you’re saying.’

  ‘I think I do.’

  He laughed again. ‘I doubt it. For if you did, you would know I would be in the bed with you.’

  ‘It would be more comfortable than this chair.’

  The heat in his eyes nearly made her run. But it was too late to back away even if she had wanted to. He took one more step towards her, his gaze hot and hard. ‘Shall we find out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He advanced on her then. She had no time to think before he swooped down on her and lifted her in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather. The nightdress fell from her hand. He carried her to the bed and laid her on the tumbled blankets. He knelt beside her on the bed.

  Whatever had she done? She could smell the brandy on his breath and realised he was probably more than half-drunk. His dark face hovered over her, his desire hot and primitive in his eyes. He appeared almost a stranger. She suddenly felt vulnerable and afraid. ‘Dev…’ she whispered. And then she saw the flicker of tenderness.

  ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said roughly. He stretched out beside her and pulled her to him. His mouth took hers. He tasted of brandy and maleness and passion. He left her lips, and trailed kisses down her neck. His hand cupped her breast through the thin cotton of her shift, then he circled her nipple with his thumb. She stiffened at the intimate contact, her hand tangling in his thick hair. A warm, throbbing need began to build in her lower belly.

  He returned to her mouth, his tongue seeking entry. She opened to him, and shyly touched his tongue with her own. He groaned and crushed her to him. Hot pain seared through her wrist which was caught between them.

  She yelped. He instantly released her and lifted his head, his eyes dark and heavy with passion. And then his vision seemed to clear. ‘I did not mean to hurt you.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ she whispered. His face so close to hers was making her dizzy, making her forget her wrist. She had the most insane desire to pull his head to hers.

  He sat up. ‘I beg your pardon. I never meant to let things progress this far.’ His face was expressionless, his voice stiff.

  He didn’t want her. The knowledge hurt. She managed to sit. ‘I quite understand. I fear brandy and late hours might compel one to do things one ordinarily would find quite repugnant.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ He rose and stood by the bed.

  ‘Damn it, Sarah, it should be quite obvious by now that I want you.’ He laughed shortly. ‘Quite desperately, in fact. But I’ve no intention of making love to you when I’m this damnably drunk. Nor do I want you to come to my bed because you pity me and you think to save my soul. You had better want me as much as I want you.’

  ‘I don’t pity you,’ she said, stung. But he had already turned away. She did not look up as he crossed the room and silently left the bedchamber. And then she crawled back under her covers, too numb and bewildered to even cry. And this time she fell into a restless sleep without knowing whether he ever returned.

  Dev awoke the next morning with a pounding head, a dry mouth, and a body aching from a night spent on a sofa in the drawing room of Lacey Manor. He sat up with a groan and rubbed his stiff neck. Through the window facing the garden he saw the sun was shining with the particular brilliance that followed a night of heavy rain.

  He closed his eyes against the pain in his head and the events of last night flooded his mind: the slender, graceful curves of her body and the feel of her silky skin under his hands as he helped her undress; Sarah standing in the door of the dressing room, her eyes soft and vulnerable as she offered to keep him company.

  And, most vivid of all, the feel of her in his arms, her hair spread around her face on the pillow, her lips and arms opening to him.

  He nearly groaned. What the hell had possessed him? By the time she had come to him, the drink he had consumed, combined with the torture of helping her undress, had smashed what little was left of his careful control. When she had called his bluff, he had been too far gone to resist.

  He’d never intended to let it go so far. He had not been so drunk that he had not noticed the flash of compassion in her eyes as she stood there. He knew she saw his loneliness and it had scared him. And so he had advanced on her with some idea of pushing her away from him.

  But she had not fled. And he realised that she would have given herself to him, if only out of her misguided sense of pity.

  And he would go to hell before he would accept that from her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sarah shoved the jewellery box under a tangled pile of gloves in the drawer of her dressing table. She would have preferred to send the necklace back to her husband with a carefully worded note telling him why she could not accept such a thing from him. Except he would probably fix her with his cool stare and tell her she was being ridiculous.

  She scowled and went to the window. Ever since the ball two nights ago she had been completely out of sorts. At first she had been mortified by her brazen behaviour in inviting him to her bed and then humiliated by his rejection.

  Those emotions had been replaced by a growing anger. How dare he tell her he wanted her, and at the same time accuse her of feeling nothing for him but pity! As if she would throw herself at him for such a weak reason. Worse, he had not even bothered to listen to anything she had to say!

  He had retreated to his usual cool shell as if nothing had happened at all. Perhaps he had been too foxed to remember, hardly a comforting thought. She would have felt completely despairing except last night at dinner she had caught him watching her with an odd longing, and she realised he wanted her more than he wanted to admit.

  She sat down on her bed with a sigh. Tonight they were to dine at Harrowood, something she did not look forward to in the least. Perhaps she should plead a headache and thus avoid another evening of Dev’s scowling stares and her own discomfort.

  Would anything ever change between them? She had just about made up her mind to invite herself to stay with Amelia and John for a month. But then their happiness with each other would only emphasise her own empty marriage.

  And the fact that Amelia enjoyed seducing her husband.

  She sat up a little straighter, thinking. Amelia had offered to help her with Dev. Whether it would work or not was questionable, but nothing else had dented his barriers either. And nothing could be much worse than the night of the ball.

  Her cousin sat in the library leafing through a lady’s magazine. She looked up as Sarah approached. ‘I have just found the most delightful gown. Although I do not know if I would like it in canary yellow. Perhaps pale blue.’ She laid the periodical aside. ‘But I see you have not come to discuss gowns. What is amiss, Sarah?’

  Sarah clasped her hands together. Her face was already heated. She forced herself to speak. ‘I thought perhaps you could…could…’

  Amelia arched a brow. ‘Dear Sarah, I am certain your request cannot be all that unreasonable. What is it?’

  ‘You once offered to help me.’ Sarah took a deep breath. ‘I…I want to seduce my husband.’ She waited for Amelia’s reaction.

  Amelia smiled. ‘I think it is about time.’

  Sarah glanced at herself one last time in the looking glass. Amelia had loaned her a gown in a salmon silk, the colour making her ivory complexion glow. The bodice was low, exposing the soft creamy mounds of her breasts. And it moulded itself to her curves rather more tightly than she liked. Although Amelia was an inch taller and had a more generous bust, Amelia and Liza had very skilfully managed to fit the gown to Sarah’s more slender body. Amelia had also insisted in adding a bit of padding to f
ill out the bodice.

  ‘Very nice,’ Amelia said, coming to stand behind Sarah and peering at her reflection over her shoulder. ‘You look quite enticing. I will just help you with this necklace and then you will be ready.’

  She slipped a gold chain with a diamond pendant around Sarah’s neck. The small jewel nestled between her breasts in a most suggestive way.

  ‘Perfect.’ Amelia stepped around in front of Sarah, a mischievous smile on her face. ‘It will draw the eye downward to a most interesting place.’

  ‘I am not certain I really want that.’ Sarah had no desire to have anyone leering at her bosom. Not that hers was particularly impressive by any stretch of the imagination, even with the additional padding.

  ‘But you do. You want him to notice everything about you. Not that he doesn’t now, but he needs a little encouragement to think about doing more than look.’

  ‘Amelia!’ Sarah exclaimed, shocked.

  Amelia arched a delicate brow. ‘Well? I thought that was what you wanted.’

  ‘Yes, but…’ Sarah coloured hotly. Not only at Amelia’s words, but at the memory of his hand cupping her breast. The very thought made her body tingle with heat.

  She picked up her fan. Merlin watched from his customary perch on the dressing table. She scratched his favourite spot under his chin and he rubbed against her hand. ‘I certainly hope I know what I am doing,’ she told him. He merely closed his eyes.

  Dev’s gaze flickered across the table to where his wife sat between young Lord Mobley, and Lord Bentwood, an ageing dandy. They had both spent the dinner vying for Sarah’s attention, and from the worshipful expression on Mobley’s freckled face, he was in the throes of calf-love.

  Dev wanted to gnash his teeth together. Or throw his glass across the room. What the hell was she doing? She seemed determined to make a conquest of every man in the room, excepting Blanton, smiling and flirting with a practised ease he’d never dreamed she was capable of. She had even favoured him with several of her demure smiles and more than once on the trip to Harrowood had placed her hand on his arm or accidentally touched his leg. He’d nearly jumped at the light contact.

  Worse, she wore a dress that made him want to pull her from the room and demand she change into something with a neckline up to her chin. The necklace she wore dipped between her breasts in a way that made him think of cupping them in his hands and displacing the jewel with his mouth. From the way Lord Bentwood’s eyes focused on her chest, Dev strongly suspected his thoughts ran in a similar train, which filled Dev with the desire to knock the man’s teeth down his throat.

  She looked up and her eyes met his, her lips curving in a slow, seductive smile. Heat coursed through his loins. He yanked his gaze away and saw with great relief that Lady Filby had stood, indicating the women were to retire to the drawing room. At least for a short time, Sarah would be out of his sight, and that of the rest of the males at this damnable dinner.

  Sarah sat in Lady Filby’s drawing room, trying not to notice that the men had entered. She kept her eyes steadily focused on Lady Filby and Mrs Kenton who were discussing tomorrow’s picnic. She was undoubtedly violating Amelia’s instructions but, after tonight’s dinner, Sarah was certain there was no hope of ever catching Dev’s notice.

  She had never been so grateful when a dinner had ended. Trying to follow Amelia’s instructions to engage in light flirtation with her dinner partners all the while casting glances at Dev had proved taxing. Particularly as she had no desire to encourage Lord Bentwood at all. His ridiculous compliments had quite ruined her appetite. And Lord Mobley, a gangly youth of no more than eighteen, turned bright red whenever she made a remark and stared at her with the adoring eyes of a puppy. The last thing she had wanted was for a naïve young man to develop a tendre for her.

  Besides, Dev had hardly seemed to notice her. He had been occupied with Lady Townsley on one side and Caroline Kenton on the other. Lady Townsley had laughed and conversed with him with an ease Sarah could never hope to emulate.

  Now, Lady Filby leaned forward. She was a slightly plump woman with large teeth and a knowing smile. She glanced over at one corner of the room. ‘Lady Townsley certainly seems determined to renew her acquaintance with your husband.’ She tapped Sarah’s arm with her fan. ‘My dear, I don’t believe I should allow it if I were you.’

  ‘Really, Selina! What a thing to say to Lady Huntington! I am certain you have nothing to worry about, Lady Huntington. Particularly since Lord Townsley does not seem to mind.’ Mrs Kenton gave Sarah a reassuring smile.

  ‘I am not,’ Sarah said with a confidence she was far from feeling. ‘What a lovely necklace, Lady Filby.’

  ‘A present from my dear husband on my last birthday.’ She looked inordinately pleased and, as Sarah had hoped, was distracted into a discussion of jewels.

  Sarah excused herself and rose, tired of the gossip. It was impossible to miss Dev standing near the open doors, Lady Townsley smiling up at him with a familiarity Sarah envied. He seemed not to notice Sarah. Disheartened, she turned away and saw Charles watching her from across the room. She smiled at him, and then her gaze fell to Lady Coleridge who sat next to Charles. She watched Dev, a shadow crossing her face.

  Sarah looked back at Dev and Lady Townsley and made up her mind. He could at least pretend some affection for her, if only to spare Lady Coleridge’s feelings. And Jessica’s as well. She knew that the strain between them was a source of distress to both of them.

  And it seemed his attentions to Lady Townsley were now a source of gossip.

  She marched across the room, a determined smile on her face. She reached Dev’s side and placed her hand on the sleeve of his coat. He looked at her hand, his expression startled. Lady Townsley stopped in mid-sentence, her eyes widening slightly. Then she smiled. ‘Lady Huntington, I fear you must think me very ill mannered to occupy your husband so thoroughly. I think I shall turn him over to you and find my own husband, who undoubtedly feels rather neglected.’

  It was Sarah’s turn to be surprised. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Not at all.’ She looked at Dev with a little smile. ‘The evening is quite nice. Perhaps a stroll in the garden. Harrowood has a most enchanting garden.’ She walked off.

  Dev looked down at Sarah. His expression was cool, although from the tightness about his mouth she realised he reined in his temper with a great deal of effort. ‘Is something amiss?’ he asked.

  She dropped her hand and smiled up at him. ‘Not at all. I think I would like to walk in the garden, however. It is rather warm in here.’

  ‘Perhaps Kenton would oblige you.’

  Did he really wish to pawn her off on Charles? She kept her smile steady, refusing to let him see her hurt. ‘I think I would rather walk with you. I have not had a chance to talk with you at all this evening.’

  ‘You have been rather occupied with the rest of the company.’

  ‘As have you.’ Her own temper was beginning to rise at his surly tone. How dare he sound so cross when it was apparent he wanted little to do with her? Well, she was not about to back down. ‘I would like to go to the garden, if you please.’

  He inclined his head. ‘I am, of course, your servant.’

  ‘Are you? I do sometimes wonder.’

  His brows snapped together, but when he spoke his voice was polite. ‘Very well.’ He held out his arm.

  She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. He led her out of the doors to the small balcony which was directly outside the drawing room. They descended the steps that led to the lawn and shrubbery in silence. At the bottom, he paused and looked down at her. ‘Which direction?’

  ‘Whichever direction is the most private.’

  He raised his brow in his mocking way. ‘Why? Do you wish to be private with me?’

  She gave him her sweetest smile. ‘Yes.’

  To her satisfaction he looked taken aback. He recovered rapidly. ‘I will own I am quite curious as to why. Perhaps a hint?’

  She resist
ed the urge to give him a severe set-down. ‘Not until we are further away from the house.’ She gave his arm a little tug. ‘Come.’

  He went with her, but the half-smile on his face was dangerous. ‘A game, Sarah? I would not have thought it of you.’

  She managed to keep her voice calm. ‘Sometimes I like games.’

  An arrested expression appeared in his eye. ‘Do you? Then I hope you know the rules.’

  ‘Well, if I don’t, I will make up my own,’ she said with more bravado than she felt. Not that she was certain what he was talking about. Or what she was, for that matter.

  ‘Not very wise, my dear.’ They entered a walk between a row of tall yews. At the end of the narrow avenue she could see a fountain.

  ‘Really.’

  He frowned but said nothing more until they reached the fountain. He pulled her around to a bench that faced the fountain. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Only if you will also. I dislike having you hover over me.’ The dark look on his face was making her apprehensive.

  He complied, his gaze on her face. She forced herself to sit and, remembering Amelia’s advice, positioned herself so her leg pressed lightly against his. He flinched, hardly an encouraging sign.

  ‘So, my dear Sarah, what is this?’ His voice was dangerously soft.

  ‘What is what?’

  ‘You announce you wish to be private with me. So, what exactly is your game?’

  ‘I really don’t have one. It was you who suggested I did.’

  He leaned back and crossed his arms. ‘I stand corrected. What is it you want?’

  It was all she could do to keep from announcing she wanted to return to the house. She managed a smile. ‘To see you. I have scarcely seen you at all the past few days, except at dinner.’ She forced herself to hold his gaze.

  His eyes flickered. ‘And what do you wish to see me about?’

  ‘Nothing in particular. I merely wanted to…to see you.’