His body clenched, and he repudiated the idea that Sarah hated him. He deserved her wrath, just like the woman before him deserved his after she had jilted him, thrown him over for a much older, richer peer.
An ancient relic who had conveniently died within twelve months of their marriage, leaving her an heiress.
"Giles, darling. How wonderful to see you again. We should talk while we're at the house party. It has been too long."
He picked up her hands as they snaked their way up the folds of his jacket to wrap about his neck. He did not want her touching him any more than she had wanted to marry him.
"I would like that, Lady Rackliffe, but tomorrow perhaps. I seek my rest this evening. A long day of travel has wearied me." Not to mention the fact that Sarah's dislike of his attendance here hurt more than he cared to know. He wanted to be friends with her again. To be as close as they once were. Her hurried and spontaneous kissing of him during her first Season seemed to have put paid to their association. He cringed, hating himself for telling her off like a spoiled child.
She had not deserved his retort. He ought to tell her why he'd reacted so. Why he'd pushed her away and told her in no uncertain terms how inappropriate her kiss had been.
"Shall we meet somewhere, Giles? St. Albans Abbey has a beautiful, secluded conservatory, I understand. We may catch up there if you wish. After luncheon?"
He nodded, distracted, and having forgotten Lady Rackliffe was before him. "Of course. Tomorrow. Good evening, my lady."
Giles went to start up the stairs, but she halted him, clutching the lapels of his jacket with more force than he thought her capable of. "Are you not going to kiss me goodbye? Surely we're past such formal goodbyes, are we not?"
Giles recoiled at the idea of kissing her, but leaned down, kissing each of her cheeks.
A clearing of one's throat sounded behind him. He whirled about to see Sarah passing him by, starting up the stairs. She made a tsk tsk tsk sound. "Behave, dear guests. There is no mistletoe above you to excuse away your display of affection for one another."
Sarah's words were said lightly, playfully even, but Giles could see the anger and disgust that stared at him through her eyes. Lady Rackliffe appeared immune to Sarah's veiled criticism of their goodnight kiss.
She tittered before him, smiling up at Sarah. "Lady Sarah, so good to see you again. Where have you been for the last few years? We had thought that you ran off to the continent to live with your brother, so long have we not seen you."
Sarah halted halfway up the stairs, turning to meet Edith's amused visage. "If only, my lady. If only," she said, before continuing on and disappearing along the corridor upstairs.
Edith's smile slipped, and Giles bowed, seeing his moment to escape. "If you'll excuse me, Lady Rackliffe. I really must obtain some sleep."
Distantly he heard Sarah's slippered footsteps upstairs. His need to talk to her again paramount. He did not want her thinking there was anything between himself and Lady Rackliffe, as there was not.
"Of course, goodnight, my lord."
"Goodnight." Giles took the stairs two at a time and made his way toward the family apartments in the Abbey. The building was old, a medieval-like structure more than a modern Georgian home. Still, the Duchess of St. Albans had done a lot to it in the short time she had been married to Hugh, and the house was warm, homey, and once again had a feeling of peace and tranquility he had only ever known it to have when Hugh and Sarah's father was alive.
He turned the corner and spied Sarah almost at her bedroom door. Increasing his pace, he reached her room, just as she went to open it. He clasped the handle, slamming it shut. She spun about, the action placing him hard against her, his breathing ragged.
He swallowed the pleasant feel of her against his chest, her bright-green eyes staring up at him with shock. She blinked, and the contempt was there again, mocking and hating him as it had for years.
"Are you quite done rubbing up against me, Lord Gordan? I should not have to tell you twice in one night to remember who I am."
He stepped back, missing the feel of her the moment he did so. "I needed to explain that what you saw just before was not what it appeared."
Sarah raised her brow. Again, her derisive laugh grated on his nerves. "Really? You do realize, Lord Gordan that I'm eight and twenty and have long learned that when I see gentleman kissing ex-lovers, that one can only assume the ex should be excluded."
"I'm not sleeping with Lady Rackliffe."
She shrugged, her hand reaching behind her to open the door. "I couldn’t care less about what you do."
He slammed the door closed again, pressing against her. Of course, he should not, but damn it, she spiked his anger and patience. "Is that true?" He leaned down, taking in the sweet scent of her hair, floral with a hint of rose. Damn, she smelled as good as she felt in his arms. Her hands fluttered to his chest, the pressure to push him away there, but not forceful.
"Has been for a very long time, my lord. Are you so dense you need me to remind you?"
He flinched, grinding his teeth. A smug look passed over her face, and rage tumbled through his blood. She did not care what he did? Well, he'd test that theory.
Seizing her face in his hands, he leaned down and kissed her.
And he was lost.
Chapter 3
The moment Giles's lips touched hers, Sarah knew the horrendous, catastrophic error it was. Not that she did not like having one of the most eligible, attractive, and rich men in all of England kissing her as if his life depended on it, but because a small, traitorous part of her loved it.
Damn him and his mouth that moved over hers, coaxed and teased her senses until her wits were scattered.
For appearance's sake, Sarah pushed at his chest. It was no use. He was steadfast in his preposterous notion of taking her lips and proving his asinine point. Even so, when his tongue slipped across her lips, she sighed, opening to him without realizing the devastation her acquiescence would mean.
He deepened the kiss, and no more was it delicate and beckoning, but hard, demanding. Made that special place between her thighs ache and clench. She pushed her legs together, trying to sate her need. Her hands ran along the lapels of his coat, his breathing ragged, she could feel each breath, the air going into his strong lungs, his chest firm and corded.
He would look so delicious without his clothing. Women had tittered about seeing him just so—the ones who had been fortunate enough to warm his bed. The idea of anyone seeing Giles unclothed so had sent such a shot of jealousy through her that she'd avoided society and all news of him for years, practically becoming a recluse.
That had to change now. With her brother back, the man kissing her to a jelly pool at his feet would be about her often, whether at St. Albans Abbey or town.
Their kiss was madness. Anyone could happen upon them, her family, a servant, her brother! The idea of being forced to marry Lord Gordan was like a cold bucket of water poured over her muddled head, and with all the strength she possessed, Sarah pushed him away.
"Enough," she said, her heart beating fast in her chest. He stumbled back, his eyes heavy and dilated, and she'd seen that look before. He'd looked at Lady Rackliffe so before their engagement.
She ground her teeth, hating that men could be so changeable. "You should not have done that, my lord."
"I have done many things that I regret, but that kiss, Lady Sarah is not one of them."
His words sent heat spearing across her face, and she took a calming breath, hating the fact that after all these years apart, he could still make her blush.
"If you wish to enjoy your time here in Kent, may I suggest that your attention be better spent elsewhere? I am not looking for a husband, nor do I like men who kiss me only minutes after being caught kissing someone else."
He flinched, a muscle working at his temple. "Do be serious. You cannot mean my kiss with Lady Rackliffe."
Sarah raised her brow, staring at him. He shuffled on his fee
t, glaring at her. "I kissed her cheeks, not her lips, Sarah. If you had seen me," he said, stepping close again, "with my tongue down her throat, there may be a point to your concern." His breath was hot against her ear and she shivered, closing her eyes so as not to see his delectable self.
"It was you that I kissed without heed or caution. I want to kiss you again." His eyes met hers, and she read the longing in them. Her body ached for fulfillment. She was eight and twenty, after all. Like all people, she had needs, and those needs were becoming more and more powerful. Harder to ignore with each year that passed.
Having Lord Gordan tempt her in such a way was unfair, and she knew that she would not get an ounce of sleep tonight.
"Let me kiss you again," he pleaded, his lips brushing hers, but not demanding anything more. "You savored it. Admit it."
"Goodnight, my lord," she said, opening her door and all but throwing herself into her room lest she do exactly as he begged. Her eyes met his as she shut the door, and what she saw there sent heat and expectation down her spine.
Determination on Lord Gordan's visage would be hard to deny. It was any wonder he was a renowned rakehell for who could refuse sin when offered to you in a rich, titled, handsome marquess package that was his lordship?
One could not.
The following morning Sarah broke her fast in her room, preferring not to dine with all the other guests. No doubt, Hugh and Molly would ask her about her absence later, but she could not sit across the table and see him.
Giles...
She may never be able to meet his gaze again after allowing him liberties last evening that she should not. Sarah sat before her dressing table, her maid pinning up the last of her curls, and she stared at her features, her lips that had been kissed most ardently, even now they tingled in remembrance. The shadows beneath her eyes told her the effect Lord Gordan had on her. Her sleep had been restless, her body not able to settle and rest.
She pursed her lips. Lord Gordan had done that to her, and he probably damn well knew he would. All she could hope was that he, too, had a sleepless night and resembled hell also.
He did not.
Sarah ran into his lordship, striding in from the back of the house a little after leaving her room. His boots were wet with melting snow, some of which was still sticking to his shoes. His tan breeches hugged his athletic thighs, and her mouth dried at the sight. Her eyes devoured his every article of clothing, the perfectly tied Napoleon cravat, and his top hat held loosely in one hand. His tan coat and white waistcoat giving him the air of a country gentleman, innocent and able. He may be able, but innocent was the opposite of what Giles was.
He glanced up, skidding to a stop. He met her inspection, and something inside her crumbled just as it had when she was fifteen.
Sarah had a name for the emotion that coursed through her blood back then. It had been love, innocent and adoring, but now it was laced with so many more conflicting sentiments—desire one of them. Anger, most definitely, but passion above all.
This month-long house party just became a whole lot longer.
Chapter 4
Giles skidded to a stop, seeing Sarah watching him. He'd missed her at breakfast, having observed that she was not at the table, he'd eaten quickly and gone for a ride before the mid-morning breeze picked up and made it too bitter to go outside.
He'd needed a good, brisk ride this morning, if only to wake himself up. After his kiss with Sarah, his sleep had been deprived most severely.
He'd tossed and turned and thought about taking himself in hand to alleviate the need that coursed through his blood.
The idea of Sarah in his bed would not abate, and it was a problem he needed to face.
He was a friend to her brother, but also one of town's most notorious rakes. All thanks to Lady Rackliffe, but the idea of taking Edith or anyone else to his bed left a sour taste in his mouth.
The only woman he wanted beneath him, on top of him, before him and every way else he could think of was Sarah.
It was a damnable, vexing notion since he'd only kissed her last night to prove that she did, in fact, care what he did, a mistake he realized the moment their lips touched. He'd most certainly proved a point, however, one that he was a fool. He would long for her until he kissed her again if she would allow him to.
"Lord Gordan, good morning. I hope you had a pleasant ride."
Her benign chatter did not mislead him, and he crossed his arms, taking in her pretty, plum gown with a gold thread about the seams. His eyes dipped to her abundant cleavage, and he wrenched his gaze upward before she caught him ogling. "I did, thank you for asking, Lady Sarah. Pray, tell me, how did you sleep last night? I hope it was to your satisfaction?"
Two could play this game of mundane conversation, and he would win. He rarely lost with anything—innocuous chatter with women he wanted in his bed no different.
She pursed her lips, and he knew she saw through his question. "I slept very well, thank you."
He raised his brow. "Actually, I lie. I managed very little rest at all. Do you have any idea as to why that could be so?"
Her inspection of him was thorough, her gaze skimming from his neck to his shoulders, taking in his crossed arms, to his abdomen and beyond.
What on earth was she looking at?
He glanced at himself, and seeing nothing untoward, frowned. "Is there something the matter with my clothing, my lady?"
She seemed to shake herself from her musings. "Not at all, my lord."
"So you're just admiring the view then?" he teased, catching her eye that dipped once again to his cravat. Her cheeks bloomed a pretty pink, and she moved past him, heading toward the back of the house.
He followed, the reasons as to why foreign to him. All he did know was that he didn't want their conversation to end and nor did he like that she could dismiss him so easily after their kiss the night before.
To Giles, that kiss had meant everything, changed everything in his life, and what he wanted.
Sarah, to be exact.
She used to care for him a lot. There had been a time when they would partake in many outings and adventures at this very estate.
Sarah entered a music room, a grand piano and harp occupying a corner each. Chairs sat about the instruments. Giles paused at the room's threshold, having not been in here for many years, not since Sarah's father had played for them all one Christmas a lifetime ago.
Sarah moved between the two instruments and sat on a padded window seat that overlooked the now-frozen-over lake, the snow falling heavily outdoors.
"You'll catch your chill sitting there."
She glanced at him as if she'd forgotten his presence. He ground his teeth. How could she be immune to him? Women never were, and once she had not been either. She had thrown herself at him, had, from what he could presume, wished for marriage.
Of course, he did not expect her to be pining for him all these years later, but they could surely be friends. From that footing, love could grow, he was sure of it.
Giles strode over, coming to a stop before her. He waited for her to look up, needed to see her clear, green eyes and make her understand that he was in earnest. That she was different from his past lovers. That with Sarah, he wanted a future as well as a past.
"I apologize for kissing you last evening without your consent. I'm sorry that I did not kiss you back when we kissed all those years ago, but surely, with all that our lives have been intertwined, we can be friends. I want to be in your life, Sarah. Not as a lover, or childhood friend, but as a man you can come to, one who'll support your opinions and ideas just as I used to. When you told me of them, that is." He took her hand, squeezing it a little. "Please tell me we can be so again. I have missed you."
Sarah regarded Giles. She pushed down the hope that bloomed in her soul at his words. He wished to be friends. Then where had he been all these years? She'd certainly been right here at St. Albans Abbey. He was the one who had not visited, not reached out to see if she
was well.
Which she had not been.
Not with a brother like Henry whom she had been left with after Hugh fled England. Her brother had been dismissive, short-tempered, and scandalous.
Whenever he'd held house parties, she had to retreat to the dowager house if only to protect herself from his wayward, bastard friends. Not that she'd always been safe even there.
She shuddered at the memory of Lord Fairchild and his pursuit of her, his inappropriate words, and eventually his insistence that she allow him to kiss her. Sarah had fled to Bath without a backward glance and had not seen Henry until the day she laid him to rest. A carriage accident brought on by more reckless behavior.
"A little late now, do you not think, to take an interest in my life. Where have you been the last ten years, my lord?" Sarah reached over to a nearby chair and picked up a shawl left there for her use. "When Henry had thrown house parties, I always hoped that you would attend so that we may move on from my inappropriate kiss, but you never did. You never called in on your way home to Willowood Hall. Nor did you write. I think you're a hypocrite, so why would I want to be your friend?"
Giles flinched at her words, but what did he expect? Turning up at a Christmas house party held by her brother did not mean all was forgiven. Not by her at least. She could not excuse his actions at leaving her alone.
"You gave me the cut direct the remainder of the 1819 Season," he accused.
"You scolded me at the beginning of that Season after I kissed you. Why would I follow you about like a little lost puppy looking for attention? I may have been young and naive, Lord Gordan, but I'm not a fool. I know when I'm not wanted."
"I did want you. You were all that I did want," he admitted.
Sarah shook her head, not believing his words, not wanting to see the yearning on Giles's face. Denying him what her own torturous body craved was almost impossible with him looking at her so. To believe the truth to his words would only cause heartache for her in the future. There was nothing between them, had not been for an eon. It was time they stopped this silly game they were playing. The Christmas festivities had addled both their minds and was teasing them with impossible dreams.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 27
