by Erica Taylor
“Well, Mrs. Hartford, your Mr. Gordon will divulge the information when needed. I assure you, the name he gave you is a good one.”
“You know who he really is?” Sarah asked her directly. Lady Ensbrook nodded. “And if I had his name, I would have given you a different one also.”
Having spent the better part of the afternoon into the evening soaking wet amid a thunderous storm, retrieving the bodies from the devastating wreck, William was eager to don something warm and dry and find a way to ease the tragedy of the day.
“Mr. Gordon,” came the dowager countess’s voice from the darkness as he came around a set of staircases. The elderly woman was swathed in a thick robe of soft wool, long grey hair in a braid across her shoulder. “I’ve just come down from the nursery. The children are asleep, finally. Your dog hasn’t left their side.”
“I am glad to hear,” William replied. “I will check in on them in the morning before we depart.”
“I thank you for your assistance today, my lord,” she said.
William grimaced. “Please do not—”
The countess held up her hand to stop him. “I know who you are, son,” she said. “You may look nothing like the father you know, but you have your mother’s eyes.”
“Have you informed Sarah of my true identity? he asked.
The countess shook her head. “That is not my place. But Lady Radcliff realizes you are not being truthful with her about your identity. Do you intend to tell her who you are?”
William knew the correct answer, but wanted to be selfish a bit more. It would break his heart if her response was as negatives as others he’d received in the past. The longer he could delay telling her the better. Besides, he might not even see her again after they separate in London. Why make the journey uncomfortable for even the noblest reasons?
“Possibly,” he replied, slowly. “I fear she will reject me outright. My father isn’t one most people want to be associated with. Nor is the scandal of my birth.”
“No truer words have ever been spoken,” Lady Ensbrook replied ruefully. “But you owe Lady Radcliff the truth and the opportunity to make the decision herself.”
William knew she was right, but he was still hesitant. Returning to London would be the last time he would have to deal with his father. If he could only postpone telling Sarah the truth, just for another day or so . . .
“Good night, Mr. Gordon,” Lady Ensbrook said, softly patting his arm as she passed. He bid her goodnight as she disappeared around another corner of the hallway.
William was silent as he entered the room, the heat from the fire warming the air, but it did little to heat the chill from the dreadful afternoon.
The room was dark, save for the light from the hearth, and the glow of light from an adjoining room. He moved through to the antechamber, hoping it was late enough for Sarah to be fast asleep. After the drama of the day, she would want some rest to recuperate.
He knocked out of politeness, pushing the door open further as she called for him to enter.
“Hello,” she said as he stopped to take in the all too intimate sight. Tucked into a white nightgown, white coverlet around her, she was propped up against the headboard, a book in her hands, reading by candlelight as she if she had waited up for him to return. The sight was comforting and familiar somehow.
“Hello,” he replied.
“There is a tray of food I had sent up for you,” she said, indicating the side table. “Though by now it might be cool. I can ring for a warm pot of tea?”
William shook his head. “There is one being sent up already,” he explained. “And I care not if the food is warm, anything at this point would be appreciated.” He paused and looked around the room. “Are we to share rooms?”
Sarah nodded. “You are welcome to sleep wherever you are most comfortable.”
He noted she did not refuse him entry into the bed she was currently occupying, nor did she invite him. She was gazing at him peculiarly, and he glanced down at his bedraggled appearance, still damp from the rainy day.
He stepped into the other room to change, not wanting to give Sarah a show. As much as he might have enjoyed the outcome, he was simply too tired.
When he returned, Sarah had risen from the bed and was preparing for him a dish of food from the sideboard and a steamy cup of tea from the newly deposited tea tray. The room was brighter with the addition of a dozen or so lit candles.
“You look anything but warm,” she commented, handing him a steaming teacup. The heat of the porcelain burned his fingers, but he welcomed the shivers of warmth it sent through his limbs.
“I am breathing, that is what matters,” he said, taking a seat on the settee. He took a sip of the tea, the familiar taste warming him more than the temperature.
“I’m not standing on ceremony with you,” he announced, glancing at her. “Get into the bed.”
Sarah’s eyes flew open wide in shock. “Excuse me?”
“You’re exhausted, Sarah,” he replied. “I will be comfortable enough on this settee for the remainder of my meal before finding my bed in the other room.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she chided. “You will finish your plate of food, and then you can join me in the bed. It makes sense for us both to share this one so you can keep me warm.”
“Fine, but you are not sitting here with me while I eat,” he replied. “Go warm yourself under those downs. I’ll not have you catch a fever because of some misplaced need to watch me eat.”
Sarah smirked at him. “Only if you answer my questions.”
“I will answer your questions once I am finished with this food,” he replied and took a forkful of cold beef.
Complying, Sarah resumed her position on the bed, tucking her legs under the thick duvet. The rain had picked up again, pummeling down onto the windowpanes, the sound almost calming. He managed to get a couple forkfuls of food into his mouth before her curiosity got the better of her.
“You are a physician,” she stated. “A surgeon?”
“That should be obvious by now,” he replied, swallowing down more food.
“I wouldn’t have expected it, is all,” she admitted. “You’re rather . . .”
“Un-surgeon like?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Most surgeons or physicians I know are rather boorish, and have spectacles.”
“It’s a common opinion,” he acknowledged. “Though, I have a need for spectacles when examining things closely or reading.”
“How did you become a physician and surgeon?”
“The normal way,” he replied. “Apprenticed as a physician. Studied medicine at Edinburgh. Went to the army as a surgeon. Came home. Tended to patients.”
“I feel like there is a great deal more to that entire story,” Sarah said. “Do you feel like sharing?”
Not really, he thought and took another mouthful of food. The longer he delayed her interrogation, the better. He didn’t answer, he just forked more food into his mouth before taking the last draught of tea and setting the plate aside. It hadn’t taken him nearly long enough to have properly eaten his food, but there was a warm woman waiting for him in a warm bed. He wasn’t one to argue with something as silly as what was considered proper.
Warning bells went off in his head as he nestled himself into the bed, the thick duvet covering him and providing a warmth he hadn’t felt in days. He was careful not to touch Sarah, fearful that his need for her had only blossomed throughout the trying day, and he knew how wonderful it would feel to seek comfort in the arms of a willing woman.
“Tell me how you became a doctor,” she said softly, brushing the hair back from his face. “I want to understand you, Will. There is so much about you that just doesn’t make sense to me. You cut through my defenses in a way that terrifies me. Help me to know I’m not opening myself up to a criminal on the run or some other unsavory character. I want to know you. I care not about your family or your name, it is you that matters.�
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He sighed and rested his forehead on hers, closing his eyes. “Everyone of my name before my father was quite respectable, titled even. My father’s treatment of my mother and myself drove me from his house upon her death. As I said before, I went to live with my mother’s family in Scotland. I was educated in Scotland, then I apprenticed with a local physician for a number of years before attending Oxford, and later university in Edinburgh for medical training. I decided upon finishing my education that I would join up with the army, and off I went to France and later the Peninsula. I spent seven years as an army surgeon before I decided I’d had enough of combat medicine and returned to Scotland. The physician with whom I apprenticed offered me a position, and I began to see patients of the non-combat variety. I’m a sort of hybrid surgeon, if you will. Part physician, part surgeon. I’ve been trained as both.”
“So when I mentioned Charles Bell earlier . . .”
He chuckled. “He was one of my instructors at Edinburgh. Took his degree two terms before I began. Smart chap.”
“I’d say you are a smart chap, also, if you went to one of the best medical schools in the world.”
“Share something with me,” he begged. “Why did the carriage wreck scare you so? The countess said it would dredge up memories.”
Sarah leaned back into the dense pillows, her face tensing. “That’s a very sad story,” she admitted softly. “Just before my eighteenth birthday, my mother, father, and siblings, all but my brother Andrew, were traveling by carriage from London to our home in Kent, and highwaymen set upon us. Father and my brother Sam were both killed.”
“You were there?”
Nodding, she continued. “I was in the carriage with Nick, Charlie, Ben, and Luke. Mother was in the other carriage with Susanna, Norah, Mara, and Sam. Father was riding along outside the carriages. Andrew remained at Eton,” she replied. “It affected him most, and he wasn’t even there.”
“How did it affect him most?”
She tilted her head and gazed thoughtfully at him. “Heir and a spare—Sam was the heir, Andrew was the spare.”
“He inherited the title,” William concluded. “You won’t tell me which one?”
“Will you tell me who your father is?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not to me,” Sarah admitted.
“My distaste for my father and his name drove me to separate his identity from mine, and I haven’t spoken to him in over twenty years.”
“And now he has summoned you to London?”
William nodded. “He is dying. I merely wish to conclude the relationship with no regrets.”
“Does it bother you I haven’t told you who my brother is?” she asked.
“Is he the prince?” William asked.
With a laugh, Sarah shook her head. “No, thank goodness.”
“Then I could not care less about the titles of your relations,” he replied. “I know you are a marchioness, and I have no qualms about sharing a bed with you. I don’t care about your rank or who your brother is. I am in awe of the woman before me, the one who didn’t flinch when handed a crisis, or recoil at a rain soaked surgeon on the side of the road. The woman who insists she’s nothing more than her grey widow weeds when she has such life and brightness in her—it emanates from you in ways you refuse to see. I happen to like you, Sarah, for being you, and it has nothing to do with your money or your fancy carriage or your family connections.”
She stared into his eyes for a long moment, mulling over his words before leaning into him, pressing her lips on his. His arms snaked around her, pulling her beneath him under the cover of the warm duvet, her heat melting into his. He responded to her kiss with a hunger he had felt since the first time he set eyes on her, a desire that had only intensified as their association furthered. He hardened at her touch, his blood raging for this incredible woman.
Despite having hesitations the night before, William couldn’t remember what they were, or if he even cared about them anymore.
Sarah’s eagerness was crumbling his resolve, William realized, sliding his hands down her torso, skimming the soft cotton of her nightdress. Her enthusiasm was intoxicating, but he knew she would regret it come morning if their kissing went anywhere further. Regret was a feeling he did not want from Sarah.
That she was a marchioness truly didn’t bother him, though he feared if she knew who he was, what he was, she might turn him out without mercy. She wouldn’t be the first woman to take such path.
No, Sarah wasn’t that person. He had no ties with his father, refused to bear his name and his crimes, the past long buried. Traveling to see to his dying father was only to appease his own tattered conscience, having seen too many men wishing for a chance to make things right with their loved ones only to die on a battlefield, filled with regret. After his meeting with his father concluded, he would be free.
Mustering enough strength for the both of them, William pulled away from the all too willing woman in his arms. “I am going to demonstrate a great deal of restraint right now and insist that we not continue this line of kissing,” he said.
As he watched her regain her senses, something else crept into those eyes, shadowing the desire she had felt moments before. She extracted herself from his arms and scrambled off the bed, clutching her nightgown to her as she scurried across the room.
“Christ,” William muttered to himself, tossing the duvet off him and following her to the other side of the room where she had taken refuge.
“Sarah, look at me.”
She shook her head. Tossing her dressing gown around her shoulders, she refused to meet his face.
“I see the rejection vibrating in your eyes because you think I am rebuffing you from lack of desire,” he uttered softly. “You couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“Will, just . . . just don’t.” Her voice shuddered, and her painful tone cut into him.
Tugging her hand free, he eased her to her feet, turning her to look at him.
“Sarah,” he said softly, cupping her face in his large hands, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over her cheekbones. He pressed a kiss to the lines worrying between her brows. “Come here, I want you to see what I see.”
Pulling her to stand before the full-length mirror beside the wash basin, he stood behind her, hands resting on her shoulders.
“Look in the mirror, Sarah,” he said. “Open your eyes.”
She complied, almost surprisingly, but he was grateful for her trust, or at least for her curiosity.
Dipping his head to the soft flesh of her neck, he trailed kisses down from below her ear to the edge of her shoulder. She let out a long breath, almost a sigh, her hands clenching into fists.
“You are absolutely beautiful,” he uttered, sliding his hands over the fabric of her nightgown, parting her dressing gown as he moved across her chest, cupping her ample breasts in his hands, free from her stays and heavy in his palms. Through the thin fabric of her nightgown he could see her nipples tighten into peaks, feel them bead up as he rolled them between his thumbs. Her lashes drooped over her eyes, which were dark with desire, watching as he moved his hands down to her hips, pulling her against him, so she could feel his erection pressed against the small well of her back, evidence of his desire.
“But it’s not just your body that has caused this,” he whispered, grinding her hips into him, wanting more than anything to end the torment and take her now. “This is also due to your dry wit, and how you cling to what is proper when all it does it hide your scandalous desires. How you act as though you think me ridiculous when in truth you don’t want to admit how your attachment to me is just as alarmingly strong as mine is to you.”
Slowly, tormenting, he slid one hand to the apex of her thighs, cupping her and stoking her through her nightgown. Watching him in the reflection, her eyes held onto his, burning.
“I touched you here earlier, Sarah,” he whispered to her and she nodded, her head
heavy. “I put my fingers inside you. Stroked you. Do you think I don’t want that now? I want you beneath me, writhing in pleasure as you did earlier, moaning my name.”
“Then why . . .” Sarah started breathlessly, a soft moan escaping as he paid more dedicated attentions to the warmth and wetness between her legs.
“I am not halting our liaisons due to lack of attraction or desire, Sarah,” he explained, his voice husky. “I want you more than I can say, but after you practically ran from me last night, and after spending the day with you, I fear intimacy now is something you would regret in the morning. I don’t want you to regret anything between us, Sarah. When I take you, I want you to be absolutely sure of your mind and your heart. For once I take you, I’m not giving you back.”
Staring into her eyes in the looking glass, her gaze hot, she nodded, and he knew she understood his meaning.
While they had only begun their acquaintance barely over twenty-four hours earlier, thinking of his future without her in it was rather terrifying for him. If she was open to it, he wanted whatever this was to continue for a quite a long time.
Easing his hands from her, he stepped away, the coldness of the room jarring in contrast to the heat of their bodies.
“Now get some sleep,” he ordered, leading her back to the bed. His blood still pulsed with desire; he questioned the wisdom of sleeping in the bed with her. He barely had a grasp on his self-control, any slip from her, and he didn’t trust he could be the gentleman.
Turning away, her hand on his forearm stopped him.
“Stay,” she whispered.
“Sarah,” he warned, not wanting her to make a decision she would regret and yet not wanting to make it for her.
Shaking her head, she let out a shaky sigh. “I know you are correct,” she admitted. “Furthering . . . whatever this attraction is could be damaging, but I find your presence comforting. After today, I need some of that comfort.”
Too weary from the day to argue, and with his self-control hanging on by a thread, he decided to take a chance. He snuffed out the candles and climbed into the bed beside her, pulling the heavy feather duvet up to their chins. It was Sarah who leaned back into him, her back pressed to his front, and pulled his arm to wrap around her.