The Danger of Desire

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “I never doubted it.” He drew himself up. “But it doesn’t change what he did. Or excuse it.”

  That took her entirely by surprise. “Doesn’t it?”

  He stepped closer. “No. As I’m sure you realize.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what I think about it anymore.”

  “Well, I do. What he did was wrong. He should never have taken the wager in the first place. He damned well never should have cheated your brother.” His voice hardened. “And he knows it, too. In fact, he asked that I give you this.”

  Drawing a sheet of paper out of his coat pocket, he held it out to her.

  Curious, she took it from him. It was an IOU for the three thousand pounds plus interest. Made payable to Brilliana Trevor.

  “He fully intends to repay every penny,” Warren said.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Because you told him he must.”

  “No. He came up with that all by himself.” He smiled faintly. “Apparently my brother has a will of his own. I had no idea.”

  Scarcely able to believe what Warren was saying, she glanced around nervously. “Where is your brother, anyway?”

  “I didn’t bring him. I knew you didn’t want him here.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I know you didn’t want me here, either, but I couldn’t . . . I didn’t want to . . .” He fixed his gaze on her. “I thought you might need me for this. The way I need you for . . . everything.”

  That caught her so by surprise that she was hardly able to fathom it. “You need me?”

  “More than you know.” He released a ragged breath. “Last night when you said you loved me . . .”

  She winced. “It’s all right. I know you don’t feel the same.”

  “No! I mean . . .” He cursed under his breath. “Damn it, I’m very bad at this.”

  “At what?” Hope sprouted in her heart.

  With blatant yearning in his face, he neared her. “Saying I love you.” He gazed at her tenderly. “Because I do, you know.”

  “Warren, you don’t have to—”

  “I mean it, Delia.” A ragged breath escaped him. “I’m terrified that I’ll disappoint you or hurt you or ruin things, but it doesn’t change the fact that I love you. Helplessly. Hopelessly.”

  Her pulse danced as every fear she’d had was laid to rest. He was hers. Truly hers.

  “Not hopelessly.” She reached up to cup his cheek. “I meant it when I said I loved you. That’s not going to change.”

  His eyes darkened. “Even when I thrash about in the bed at night or . . . do things in my sleep that I . . . don’t know if you want—”

  “I can’t imagine your ever truly hurting me.” Realizing that he was worried about how he’d started making love to her in his sleep, she brushed a kiss to lips. “No matter how bad the nightmares get, I know you’d never harm me. I’m utterly convinced of that.”

  He kissed her then, with a desperation that mirrored her own. Somehow they had found each other in the midst of her troubles, and no matter what happened from now on she refused to let him go. As long as he loved her, that was enough.

  After he’d plundered her mouth long enough to weaken her knees and fire her blood, he drew back. “I brought you a present.”

  “Did you?” she said, surprised.

  “Consider it my wedding gift to you, my love.”

  A thickness filled her throat. My love. She’d never tire of hearing that.

  Releasing her, he reached inside his coat pocket again. This time, he withdrew a whole sheaf of papers covered in pencil sketches.

  When he handed them to her, she couldn’t at first figure out what they were. Clearly they were blueprints of some kind, but hastily drawn by someone who obviously had no architectural experience.

  She looked at him quizzically.

  “I did them in the carriage, so they’re rather crude. But they’re preliminary sketches for a renovation of your bedchamber.”

  Eyeing them more closely, she read the scribbled notations. “This one says ‘Delia’s boudoir.’ Since when do I have a boudoir?”

  “Since I decided to change your bedchamber into one. Assuming that you approve.”

  “There’s no bed.” Her heart began to hammer in her chest. “Where am I to sleep?”

  “With me,” he said earnestly. “But only if you want.”

  Breaking into a smile, she threw her arms about his neck. “I want, I want!” She kissed his lips, then added in a whisper, “I want very much to sleep with you, my lord.”

  He let out a relieved breath. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” He gazed down at her, eyes gleaming. “Although I think I should warn you: We won’t only be sleeping.”

  “I should hope not,” she said saucily. “Or I shall be very disappointed.”

  And as he took her into his arms and kissed her with all the love in his heart, she was not disappointed one bit.

  Epilogue

  Four months after their wedding, Warren woke to the sound of his wife snoring. He’d never heard her do that before; perhaps it was a result of their having been so vigorous in their lovemaking last night, after the private dinner she’d arranged in their bedchamber.

  But the snoring didn’t bother him. It seemed so natural, so normal. He rather liked it. He still preferred some noise to utter quiet at night. It was much more restful.

  Still, who would ever have guessed he would become so conventional, sleeping at night like a normal person, with a wife who snored? Spending his days living his life instead of sleeping? It was the most spectacular gift she’d given him.

  He couldn’t resist kissing her awake.

  She opened her eyes—those lovely starry eyes—with a soft smile. “Good morning, husband.”

  “Good morning, wife.”

  Eyeing him uncertainly, she propped herself up in bed. “You didn’t have a bad dream, did you?”

  “It’s the middle of the morning, dearling. I don’t have dreams then. Besides, it’s been almost two weeks since I had a nightmare at all.”

  It had been rocky at first—Delia had resorted to pinching him awake once or twice when it was really bad. But these days she always seemed to appear in his dreams, soothing him, comforting him. The cellar rarely tormented him anymore.

  She rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

  “I believe it’s around ten.”

  “So why are you awake? You tend to sleep later than that.”

  He chuckled. “You were snoring.”

  “Was I? How odd. I wonder if . . .”

  As she trailed off, he could see her mind working. “What?”

  A knock came at the door, startling them both. “Milady? You told me to wake you at ten. For the architect?”

  Delia jumped up. “Oh, Lord, I hadn’t meant to sleep this late.” She called out to her maid, “Thank you, Rose! I’ll call when I’m ready for you to help me dress.”

  “Very good, milady.”

  Warren watched as his wife hurried to do her ablutions. “Why is the architect coming? Is there something wrong with your new boudoir?”

  She halted, a blush spreading over her cheeks. He hadn’t seen one of those in a while. “No . . . actually . . . I wanted him to renovate— You see, I was supposed to tell you something last night at our private dinner . . . but then we . . . you know . . . and I fell asleep and . . .” She steadied her shoulders. “It turns out there’s a reason I’m snoring. And getting fatter.”

  “You are not getting—”

  He halted. He’d noticed her middle being a trifle thicker, but he’d assumed that was because she was eating more, on account of having a lusty husband who wore her out most nights.

  But that wasn’t why.

  His blood began to roar in his ears.

  “I spoke to the physician yesterday,” she went on, “and he’s certain that I’m with child.”

  Bloody hell. “I’m . . . having a child?”

  She eyed him askance. “Unless you’ve defied nature, no. I’m
having a child. You’re going to watch.”

  He left the bed in a daze. “But you’re having our child.”

  “Of course our child,” she said, looking insulted.

  “No, no, I didn’t mean . . . I’m just . . . We’re having a baby?”

  As if realizing he was flummoxed, she smiled. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, did you know that?”

  He drew himself up. “I’m a man, for God’s sake. We’re never adorable.”

  “To me you are.” She came up to take his hands in hers, amusement shining in her face. “All that enthusiastic activity we’ve been engaging in does generally result in children, you know.”

  “Now you’re mocking me,” he grumbled. “I’ve only just become used to the idea of having a wife. And now I’m going—you’re going—to have our child?”

  With joy and terror rocketing through him equally, he started pacing the room. “God, I need to speak to my solicitor. And find the finest physician in London to attend you. And look into having the nursery—” When she burst into laughter, he said, “Oh. That’s why you wanted the architect to come today.”

  “Exactly. The old nursery really needs work. And forgive me: I’d intended to tell you about the babe last night, but we were rather preoccupied—”

  “Bloody hell! I took you like an animal last night!” With his heart pounding, he pressed his hand against her belly. “I could have hurt you or the baby!”

  She rolled her eyes. “I can see you’re going to be just as overprotective a father as you are a husband.” She covered his hand with hers. “And do you really think I would jeopardize our child for even the most amazing intimate encounter with you?”

  Now he could hear the faint tremor in her voice that said she was as nervous about this whole thing as he. “No, of course not.” He forced himself to breathe, to calm the racing of his pulse.

  It had taken him a while to learn this hard lesson—that his wife was a sensible woman who always had a reason for her behavior. That he didn’t always have to protect her.

  That sometimes she could be the one to protect him—from the dark and the quiet and the cellar. From thinking that his way was the only way.

  From behaving like an arse when his wife told him he was soon to be a father. She deserved a husband who could reassure her.

  He cupped her head in his hands. “If I could choose any woman in the entire world to bear my child, it would always be you. I can’t imagine anyone who would be a finer mother.”

  To his horror, she burst into tears. When he looked alarmed, she said, “That has got . . . to be the sweetest thing . . . anyone has ever said to me.”

  Letting out a relieved breath, he drew her into his arms and held her tenderly while he rubbed her back and scattered kisses over her wild, unruly hair. “We’re going to be parents,” he whispered. “The very idea terrifies me. What if I’m awful at it?”

  “Nonsense. You’re a wonderful husband. Of course you’ll be a wonderful father.”

  Letting the matter-of-fact words calm his fears, he kissed her long and deep, until his blood was stirring again in other places than just his heart.

  He pressed his lips to her ear. “Was last night really the ‘most amazing intimate encounter’ you ever had with me?”

  She drew back to eye him askance. “As if you even need to ask.”

  Lifting her in his arms, he carried her back toward the bed.

  “We can’t do this now,” she protested. “The architect will be here soon!”

  “He can wait.” He laid her gently upon the bed. “Because I’m fairly certain I can improve upon my performance.”

  And as his wife burst into laughter, he did his best to do just that.

  Can't get enough of Sabrina Jeffries' sizzling Sinful Suitors series? Don't miss these delightful stories, on sale now!

  At St. George’s Club, guardians conspire to keep their unattached sisters and wards out of the clutches of sinful suitors. Which works fine . . . except when the sinful suitors are members!

  The Art of Sinning

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  A marriage of convenience ignites into a passionate love affair in this addictive historical romance story!

  The Study of Seduction

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  Will Niall Lindsey, the Earl of Margrave, and the widowed Brilliana Payne Trevor, the girl whose heart he broke seven years ago, be able to put their pasts behind them and work together to clear her father’s name?

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next sizzling installment in New York Times bestselling author Sabrina Jeffries’s Sinful Suitors series!

  The Pleasures of Passion

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  Prologue

  London

  1823

  Seventeen-year-old Brilliana Payne shoved the note from Lord Margrave’s heir—Niall Lindsey—into her pocket. Then she slipped into her mother’s bedchamber. “Mama,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

  Her mother jerked her head up from amid the feather pillows and satin covers like a startled deer. Brilliana winced to see her mother’s lips drawn with pain and her eyes dulled by laudanum, even in mid-afternoon.

  “What do you need, love?” Mama asked in her usual gentle voice.

  Oh, how she loathed deceiving Mama. But until her suitor spoke to his parents about their marrying, she had to keep the association secret.

  “I’m going for my walk in Green Park.” Where Niall, my love, will join me. “Do you need anything?”

  Despite her pain, Mama smiled. “Not now, my dear. You go enjoy yourself. And tell Gilly to make sure you don’t stray near the woods.”

  “Of course.”

  What a lie. The woods were where she would meet Niall, where Gilly would keep watch to make sure no one saw him and Brilliana together. Thank heaven her maid was utterly loyal to her.

  Brilliana started to leave, then paused. “Um. Papa said he won’t be home until evening.” Which meant he wouldn’t be home until he’d lost all his money at whatever game he was playing tonight. “Are you sure you don’t need me?”

  She dearly hoped not. Niall’s note had struck her with dread, partly because he rarely wrote to her. Usually he just met her at Green Park for her daily stroll when he could get away from friends or family. Something must be wrong.

  Still, it shouldn’t take more than an hour to find out what. And perhaps let him steal a kiss or two.

  She blushed. Niall was very good at that.

  Then again, he ought to be. He was rumored to be a rogue with the ladies, although Brilliana was convinced it was merely because of his wild cousin, Lord Knightford, with whom he spent far too much time. Or so she’d heard.

  “I’ll be fine,” Mama said tightly. “I have my medicine right here.”

  Medicine, ha! It made Mama almost as ill as whatever mysterious disease had gripped her. The doctors still couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Mama, but they continued to try everything—bleeding her, cupping her, giving her assorted potions. And every time a new treatment was attempted, Brilliana hoped it would work, would be worth Mama’s pain.

  Guilt swamped Brilliana. “If you’re sure . . .”

  “Go, dear girl! I’m just planning to sleep, anyway.”

  That was all the encouragement Brilliana needed to hurry out.

  A short while later, she and Gilly were in Green Park, waiting at the big oak for Niall.

  “Did he say why he wanted to meet, miss?” Gilly asked.

  “No. Just that it was urgent. And it had to be today.”

  Gilly flashed her a knowing smile. “Perhaps he means to propose at last.”

  Her breath caught. “I doubt it. He would have approached Papa if that were the case.”

  “Not if he wanted your consent first.” Gilly smoothed her skirts. “That’s how all the gentlemen is doing things these days, I’m told. And just think what your mama will say when she hears you’ve snag
ged an heir to an earl!”

  “I haven’t snagged anyone yet.” Besides, the word snag was too coarse for what she wanted from Niall—his mind, his heart, his soul. Since hers already belonged to him.

  “There you are,” said a masculine voice behind them. “Thank God you came.”

  Brilliana’s heart leapt as she turned to see Niall striding up to them. At twenty-three, he was quite the handsomest man she’d ever known—lean-hipped and tall and possessed of the most gorgeous hazel eyes, which changed color from brown to green depending on the light. And his unruly mop of gold-streaked brown hair made her itch to set it to rights.

  Though she didn’t dare be so forward in front of Gilly. Not until she and Niall were formally betrothed. Assuming that ever happened.

  Offering Brilliana his arm, he cast Gilly a pointed glance. “I’ll need a few minutes alone with your mistress. Will you keep watch?”

  Gilly curtsied deeply. “Of course, my lord.”

  Then, without any of his usual pleasantries, he led Brilliana into the woods to the little clearing where they usually talked.

  Her feeling of dread increased. “You do realize how fortunate we are that Gilly is a romantic. Otherwise, she would never let us do these things.”

  “I know, Bree.” Though he was the only one to call her that, she rather liked the nickname. It made her sound carefree, when she felt anything but.

  He halted well out of earshot of Gilly. “And then I wouldn’t get the chance to do this.”

  He drew her into his arms for a long, ardent kiss, and she melted. If he was kissing her, he obviously didn’t mean to break with her. And as long as they had this between them . . .

  But it was over far too soon. And when he drew back to stare at her with a haunted look, her dread returned.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  Glancing away, he mumbled a decidedly ungentlemanly oath. “You are going to be furious with me.”

  She fought to ignore the alarm knotting her belly. “I could never be furious with you. What has happened? Just tell me.”