Dreaming of You

by Lisa Kleypas

  “Somehow I thought you might follow me,” she said breathlessly. “At least, I hoped you would.”

  The stern cast of Derek’s face concealed a torrent of repressed emotion. How could she smile at him like that? He was shaking with cold and heat and need. God, he couldn’t bear the way she looked at him, as if she could see down to the darkest recesses of his soul. She began to approach him. Without meaning to he reached her in three strides and snatched her in his arms. Her joyous laugh tickled his ear as he lifted her off her feet. Urgently his mouth roved across her face with rough kisses that stung her cheek, her chin, her forehead. She caught his lean jaw in her hands to hold him still. The moonlight was captured in her glistening eyes as she stared up at him. “I want to be with you,” she whispered. “No matter what happens.”

  No one in his life had ever said such a thing to him. Derek tried to think above the pounding of his heart, but she brought her soft mouth to his, and all reason was lost. Hungrily he bent over her, trying not to hurt her with the force of his kisses, trembling with an emotion as ferocious as it was tender.

  Lily Raiford’s teeth chattered from the cold as she crept stealthily through the garden and positioned herself behind a frozen tree. Catching sight of Derek and Sara in the distance, locked in a passionate embrace, Lily broke into a wide grin. She had to restrain herself from doing a little victory dance. Rubbing her hands together to warm them, she considered a variety of matchmaking strategies.

  “Lily.”

  The quiet whisper gave her a start, just before her husband’s arms closed around her. “Why the hell are you out here?” Alex murmured, pulling her back against his tall body.

  “You’ve been following me!” Lily exclaimed indignantly, keeping her voice low.

  “Yes—and you’ve been following Derek and Miss Fielding.”

  “I had to, darling.” she explained innocently. “I’ve been helping them.”

  “Oh,” he said sardonically. “At first it appeared as if you were spying on them.” Ignoring her protests, Alex began to drag his wife away from the scene. “I think you’ve ‘helped’ enough, my sweet.”

  “Spoilsport,” Lily accused, pulling against his firm grip. “I just want to watch a moment longer—”

  “Now. Leave the poor devil alone.”

  Determined to have her way, Lily braced her feet against the stone border of a pathway. “Not yet ... Alex ... oof!” With one easy tug, he had jerked her off balance, causing her to fall against him.

  “Watch your step,” he advised mildly, as if the stumble had been her fault.

  Her dark eyes met his twinkling gray ones. “You heavy-handed, overbearing tyrant,” she accused, and began to giggle as she pounded his chest.

  Grinning, Alex subdued her struggles and kissed her amorously. He stopped only when she was out of breath. “At the moment Derek doesn’t need your help.” His hands wandered boldly over her tulle and satin ball gown. “But I have a problem that needs immediate attention.”

  “Oh? What problem is that, my lord?”

  His lips wandered to her neck. “I’ll have to show you in private.”

  “Now?” she asked, scandalized. “Really, Alex, you can’t mean—”

  “Now,” he assured her, and capturing her hand in his, began to walk her back to the mansion.

  Lily’s fingers laced with his, while her heart beat in anticipation. In spite of his obstinate, overbearing nature, she thought him the most wonderful husband in the world, and was about to tell him so, when suddenly they nearly bumped into the solitary woman who crossed the path before them.

  Joyce Ashby whipped around and eyed them both like a baleful cat. From the seething anger on her face, Lily guessed that she had also followed Derek, and had seen him kissing Sara Fielding. “Lady Ashby,” Lily said sweetly. “Rather a cool night for a stroll, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a relief from all the mismatched clutter inside,” Joyce replied.

  Lily, whose taste in decorating was universally praised as being the epitome of elegance, took offense at hearing her home described as a “mismatched clutter.” “Now see here—” she began, and winced as Alex’s grip became painful.

  “Sheathe your claws, ladies.” Alex pinned Joyce with an autocratic stare. “My wife and I would be delighted to accompany you back to the ball, Lady Ashby.”

  “I don’t wish—” Joyce objected, but was presented with Alex’s rock-solid arm.

  “I insist,” he said, ignoring his wife’s glare. It was clear that given the choice, the two women would much rather sneak back to the garden and spy on the embracing couple. In that moment Alex almost pitied Derek Craven, who was apparently neck-deep in trouble. On the other hand, Craven had brought it all on himself. Alex smothered a wry laugh as he was reminded of a quote he had once read ... “These impossible women! How they do get around us!”

  Too absorbed in each other to notice anything around them, Derek and Sara wound together, exchanging kisses of greedy violence, until the heat of desire was stoked to a sweltering blaze. Derek’s feet spread to contain her body more closely within his embrace. His lips forged a path down her exposed throat. “Oh ...” The catch of sound came from her throat as she felt the hot swipe of his tongue on her skin. Derek bent his knees and pulled her high against him, and breathed deeply in the perfumed vale where her breasts were pushed together.

  Suddenly he lifted his head and buried his lips in the mass of her curls. “No,” he said, his voice muffled. His large body was still except for the rhythmic force of his breathing. Somehow it seemed as if he were waiting for her to convince him of something he wanted very badly to believe.

  Honesty was too much a part of Sara’s nature for her to keep her feelings hidden. Although it might result in disaster, she had no choice but to lay her heart before him. “I need you,” she said, combing her fingers through his black hair.

  “You don’t even know me.”

  She turned her face and pressed her lips to the thin, healed-over scar, lingering in the space between his thick brows. “I know that you care for me.”

  Derek did not pull away from her tender ministrations, but his tone was savage. “Not enough, or I wouldn’t be here with you. I wish to hell I had the decency to leave you alone.”

  “I’ve been alone for far too long,” she said passionately. “There’s no one for me; not Perry, not any of the men in the village, or anyone inside that ballroom. No one but you.”

  “If you’d seen anything of the world, you’d know there’s a hell of a lot more to choose from than Perry Kingswood and me. Thousands of ordinary, honorable men who would fall to their knees in gratitude for a woman like you.”

  “I don’t want anyone honorable. I want you.”

  She felt him smile unwillingly against her ear. “Sweet angel,” he whispered. “You can do far better than me.”

  “I don’t agree.” Ignoring his attempt to ease her away, she snuggled under his chin.

  Reluctantly Derek folded her against his warm body. “You’re getting cold. I’ll take you inside.”

  “I’m not cold.” Sara had no intention of going anywhere. She had dreamed of this moment for too many nights.

  Derek glanced over her head at the light coming from the ballroom. “You should be in there dancing with Harry Marshall ... or Lord Banks.”

  She frowned at the mention of the two callow youths. “Is that what you think I deserve? You would pair me with some shallow, conceited dandy and claim that I’ve made a splendid match? Well, I’m beginning to think it’s a convenient excuse, this notion of yours that I’m too good for you! Perhaps the truth is that I’m lacking something. You must think I wouldn’t satisfy your needs, or—”

  “No,” Derek said swiftly.

  “I suppose you would rather be consorting with all those married women who keep whispering in your ear and making eyes at you, and touching you with their fans—”

  “Sara—”

  “Writers are very observant, perceptive
people, and I can tell exactly which women you’ve consorted with, just by watching—”

  Derek smothered her tirade with his mouth. When she was quiet, he lifted his head. “None of them mattered to me.” he said roughly. “There were no promises, no obligations on either side. I felt nothing for them.” He looked away from her and swore, aware of the futility of faying to explain it to her. But she had to understand, so that she would have no illusions about him. He forced himself to go on. “Some of them claimed to love me. As soon as they said it, I left without looking back.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s no place in my life for that. I don’t want it. I have no use for it.”

  Sara stared at his averted face. In spite of his unemotional tone, she sensed the tumult inside him. He was lying to himself. He needed to be loved more than any person she had ever met. “Then what do you want?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head without answering. But Sara knew. He wanted to be safe. If he were rich and powerful enough, he would never be hurt, lonely, or abandoned. He would never have to trust anyone. She continued to stroke his hair, playing lightly with the thick raven locks. “Take a chance on me,” she urged. “Do you really have so much to lose?”

  He gave a harsh laugh and loosened his arms to release her. “More than you know.”

  Clinging to him desperately, Sara kept her mouth at his ear. “Listen to me.” All she could do was play her last card. Her voice trembled with emotion. “You can’t change the truth. You can act as though you’re deaf and blind, you can walk away from me forever, but the truth will still be there, and you can’t make it go away. I love you.” She felt an involuntary tremor run through him. “I love you,” she repeated. “Don’t lie to either of us by pretending you’re leaving for my good. All you’ll do is deny us both a chance at happiness. I’ll long for you every day and night, but at least my conscience will be clear. I haven’t held anything back from you, out of fear or pride or stubbornness.” She felt the incredible tautness of his muscles, as if he were carved from marble. “For once have the strength not to walk away,” she whispered. “Stay with me. Let me love you, Derek.”

  He stood there frozen in defeat, with all the warmth and promise of her in his arms ... and he couldn’t allow himself to take what she offered. He’d never felt so worthless, so much a fraud. Perhaps for a day, a week, he could be what she wanted. But no longer than that. He had sold his honor, his conscience, his body, anything he could use to escape the lot he’d been given in life. And now, with all his great fortune, he couldn’t buy back what he’d sacrificed. Were he capable of tears, he would have shed them. Instead he felt numbing coldness spread through his body, filling up the region where his heart should have been.

  It wasn’t difficult to walk away from her. It was appallingly easy.

  Sara made an inarticulate sound as he extricated himself from her embrace. He left her as he had left the others, without looking back.

  Somehow Sara made her way to the ballroom, too dazed to think about what would happen next. Derek was not there. The elegant clamor of the ball made it easy for her to maintain an appearance. She danced several times with different partners, pasting a shallow smile on her face. She made conversation in a light voice that sounded odd to her own ears. Evidently her pain wasn’t visible, for no one appeared to notice that something was wrong.

  But then Lily Raiford appeared. The expression on Lily’s face changed from a smile to an uncertain frown as she approached. “Sara?” she asked quietly. “What happened?”

  Sara was quiet, while panic assailed her. Any hint of sympathy would push her over the edge. She would have to leave the ball immediately, or she would burst into tears. “Oh, I’ve had a lovely time,” she said rapidly. “I just have a touch of the headache. It’s rather late—I’m not used to such hours. Perhaps I should retire.”

  Lily made a motion to touch her, then withdrew her hand. The velvety eyes filled with sympathy. “Would you like to talk?”

  Sara shook her head. “Thank you, but I’m very tired.”

  While the two women conversed, Joyce Ashby watched them from across the room. She had secluded herself in a corner with Lord William Granville, one of many admirers who had unsuccessfully sought her favors for years. The hope of gaining access to her bed kept him coming back time after time, but she had always disdained him. In spite of his reputed virility and his fleshy handsomeness, he’d never had anything she wanted. Until now.

  She smiled into his narrow blue eyes. “William, do you see that woman standing next to Lily Raiford?”

  Indifferently Granville glanced away from her, his gaze alighting on the pair. “Ah, the delightful Miss Fielding,” he commented. “Yes, indeed.” Contemplating Sara’s bountiful charms, he moistened his lips with a thick tongue. “A pretty little bonbon.” He looked back at Joyce, savoring her golden beauty, displayed in a diaphanous lavender gown. “However, I prefer a woman of worldliness and experience—who could satisfy a man of my varied tastes.”

  “Indeed.” Joyce’s lovely face took on a hard cast. “We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we, William? Perhaps it’s time we made our friendship more intimate.”

  A flush of sexual greed worked up from his throat. “Perhaps it is,” he breathed, stepping closer to her.

  Delicately she propped her fan against his chest, keeping him at bay. “But first I would ask a favor of you.”

  “A favor,” he repeated warily.

  “You’ll find it quite pleasant, I assure you.” Joyce’s lips curved in a malicious smile. “When that ‘pretty little bonbon,’ as you call her, retires for the evening, I want you to go up to her room and ...” Standing on her toes, Joyce whispered her plan to him, while his flush grew deeper. “Consider her a morsel to whet your appetite,” Joyce finished, “before you enjoy the main course later tonight. First Miss Fielding ... then me.”

  Granville shook his head with momentary dismay. “But there’s a rumor,” he protested. “They say that Derek Craven is enamored of her.”

  “She won’t tell him. She won’t tell anyone. She’ll be too ashamed.”

  Contemplating the proposition, Granville finally nodded with a chortle of lecherous delight. “All right. As long as you tell me why you want this favor. Has it something to do with your former liaison with Craven?”

  Joyce’s chin dipped in a small nod. “I’m going to ruin everything he values,” she murmured. “If he is attracted by innocence, I’ll see that it’s debauched. If any woman is fool enough to care for him, I’ll ruin her. I won’t let him have anything ... unless he crawls on his knees to be me for it.”

  Granville stared at her in fascination. “What an extraordinary creature you are. A tigress. You swear by all that’s sacred to you that you’ll yield yourself to me tonight?”

  “I hold nothing sacred,” Joyce smiled thinly. “But I’ll yield to you tonight, William ... after you’ve finished with Miss Fielding.”

  Gently repelling Lily’s attempts to talk to her, Sara bade her good night and slipped from the ballroom. She went upstairs alone. The music and laughter from the ballroom faded with each step, until she reached the silence of her room. Declining to ring for a chambermaid, Sara managed to struggle from her gown unaided. She left the rich heap of beaded velvet on the floor, along with her white lawn underclothes. It seemed too much of an effort to pick the garments up. After donning her nightgown, she sat down on the edge of the bed and allowed herself to think for the first time since Derek had left her alone in the garden.

  “He was never mine to lose,” she said aloud. She wondered if there was anything she could have done differently, any more she could have said. No ... she didn’t have reason for regret. It had not been wrong to love him, nor had it been wrong to tell him so. A sophisticated woman might have played her hand more cleverly, but Sara knew little about games. It was best to be open and giving ... and if her love wasn’t returned, at least she couldn’t be faulted for cowardice.
r />   Kneeling by the bed, she folded her hands and closed her eyes tightly. “Dear Lord,” she said in a strangled whisper. “I can bear it for a while ... but please don’t let it hurt forever.” She was motionless for a long time, while her mind swam with painful thoughts. In the welter of her emotions, there was a trace of pity for Derek Craven. For an instant tonight, quick as a lightning flash, he had been tempted to take the risk of loving someone. Somehow she doubted that he would ever come that close again.

  And me? she wondered wearily, extinguishing the lamp and crawling into bed. I’ll just muddle through all of this, and carry on. And someday, with the grace of God ... I might be strong enough to love someone else.

  For a while Derek lingered in the billiards room with a glass of brandy, only half-listening to the languid conversations of the men who had retreated there for a gentlemanly smoke. The cloying atmosphere made him feel like a caged tiger. He left silently, taking the brandy with him. As he wandered around the first floor of the mansion, Derek saw a flash of white on the grand staircase. Welcoming any distraction over the prospect of returning to the ballroom, he went to investigate. Halfway up the stairs he saw Nicole in her white ruffled nightgown, her long hair a mass of tangles. She huddled by the banister in an effort to conceal herself. Upon seeing him, she held a finger to her lips in a gesture to keep quiet. Casually Derek made his way up the stairs and sat next to her. He rested his arms on his bent knees. “What are you doing out of bed at this hour?”

  “I’m sneaking downstairs to look at all the pretty gowns,” Nicole informed him in a whisper. “Don’t tell Mama.”

  “I won’t, as long as you go back upstairs to your room.”

  “After I see what the ball looks like.” He shook his head firmly. “Little girls shouldn’t roam through the house in their nightgowns.”

  “Why?” Nicole looked down at herself, tucking her bare feet beneath the hem of the garment. “It covers everything. See?”