Damn Nicholas Montrose to hell. There was so much in that “oh, yes” that Anthony did not want to think about. “But now he refuses. Does he say why?”
“He says he doesn’t want children, but I know there are ways…” She looked down at her hands, tightly clenched about her reticule. “When we first married, he…but now he won’t even—” She bit her lip. “Anthony, what would you do if your wife wouldn’t…you know…?”
“I’d seduce her.” And he’d be successful, too, for if there was one thing Anthony understood, it was how to arouse a woman.
“I never thought of that,” Sara said, her voice almost wondering. “I could seduce him.” Her gaze was soft, and there was a faint bloom of color in her cheeks.
Oh, Lord. She stood and gave Anthony a brilliant smile. “If I seduce him, then he will see that we can still be close without risking anything.”
What the hell have I done? “Yes, well, there’s no need to be hasty, Sara. You might want to wait a while before you—”
“Anthony, thank you so much. I knew you were the one I should talk to.” She pulled her gloves from her pocket and briskly tugged them on.
He nodded dumbly and stood. “Yes, but—”
She reached up and patted his cheek. “I wish I had time to stay and talk, but I have so much to do before this evening.” With a blinding smile, she turned and whisked out of the room, leaving Anthony staring after her.
As soon as she’d realized the extent of Nick’s illness, Sara had changed one of the old pantries at Hibberton Hall into a stillroom and began experimenting with herbs. Between Mrs. Kibble’s considerable knowledge and the thick tome she’d discovered in the library, she was confident she’d discover a cure. If only she could convince Nick of that.
Now, armed with Anthony’s advice, she spent part of the afternoon running errands and returned home flushed but triumphant. She took special care in dressing, wearing a deep blue gown from which she removed the lace collar. Once devoid of that, the neckline plunged to a fascinating depth. Sara looked down and then tugged it even lower as she set about readying the stillroom.
Somewhat secluded at the end of the east wing, with a small window that opened onto the courtyard, the room had the added bonus of staying warm even on cold days. Everything readied, she sent a message to her husband and waited.
He’d not risen this morning as usual. Another of his headaches had claimed him, for he’d disappeared yesterday after lunch, and she’d not seen him since.
Her heart ached to think of him suffering alone, but his room would be locked tight, with only Wiggs given entry—and then, only to bring more brandy. Brandy was not the way to cure a headache, and the sooner she convinced her stubborn husband of that, the quicker he would heal.
But first she had to convince him to let her into his life. Sara set a small cup of honey on the low table, then loosened her hair, removing all but a few of the pins. Then she tugged at the low neckline of her gown until it was slightly askew. That done, she checked her reflection in the lid of a pot and was pleased to see that she looked disheveled, like a woman who had just experienced the ultimate passion. Oh yes, Nick had taught her well.
The thought of what she was about to do made her skin tingle in anticipation. With a determined effort, she banished those thoughts, picked up a pestle, and began to make powder of St. John’s wort for the new tisane.
She had worked less than a minute when a deep, husky voice came from the doorway. “‘And all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes.’”
A flood of heat washed across her, so strong that her knees trembled. Gripping the mortar tightly, she put a smile on her face and turned. Unshaven, Nick leaned against the doorjamb, his hands in the pockets of his breeches, his shirt undone. His intense gaze followed her every move. At the sight of him, so close, and so…vulnerable somehow, her yearning flared to life. It was all she could do not to reach for him.
“It’s good to see you up and about,” Sara managed with false cheerfulness.
“Liar. I look like hell, and you know it.”
“I am fixing another tisane for your headache.”
Something flickered in his eyes, then faded. “Is that why you sent for me? I was afraid something had occurred with the workmen.”
“No, I just want you to try this. Mrs. Kibble claims it can cure everything from pains to rashes.”
His gaze raked across her, lingering on her low neckline. “Can it cure the longing to sin?” His mouth hardened when she blushed. “I’m no saint, Sara. Sinning is one of the few things I do well.”
No, he wasn’t a saint. He was delectable. Irresistible. Everything Sara had ever wanted. A pang settled in the pit of her stomach, heating her from the inside out and making her hot and restless.
Nick moved from the doorway and stalked closer. She shivered in anticipation. He was so beautiful, and he was all hers.
He stopped before her, his warm, masculine presence completely surrounding her. “Just being with you makes me a better person.”
His voice dropped, and she could feel the brush of his breath against her ear. “I would like to sink into your goodness, surround myself with your sweetness. But I can’t. Do you understand that, Sara?”
His gaze rested appreciatively on the low-cut gown, on the way her hair was tumbling about her shoulders. She could almost feel the heat rising from him in thick, languorous waves. “Losing yourself inside me will make all of your aches go away,” she said.
He froze, then turned on his heel as if to leave, but Sara was quicker. She dropped the mortar and pestle and reached for him, locking her arms about his chest.
“Sara, don’t—”
“Your head is not the only place that aches.” She rested her hand on the bulge that evinced his desire. “Why don’t we work on this one, first?”
He tried to pull away, but she held him tighter. “Remember lesson one, Nick? You cannot run with the wolves without knowing how to fight like one.”
His eyes closed as if he were in pain.
Sara rose on her tiptoes and ran the tip of her tongue along his lower lip.
His brow creased, but still he didn’t move. He stood, hands fisted at his sides, an expression of longing on his face.
He wasn’t going to push her away! Sara took one of his hands and unfisted it, then placed it on her breast. “Touch me, Nick,” she whispered against his cheek, trembling with desire.
He opened his eyes and groaned. Then, as if unable to stop, his hands gently stroked her, pulling her nipples to taut readiness. She swelled at his touch, her flesh fuller, riper.
The air about them thickened, growing heavy with their need. Sara reached behind her and found the small cup of honey. “Lesson two,” she whispered, dipping her finger into the honey. “Never underestimate the power of a kiss.”
She placed her finger on his bottom lip. Nick’s body tightened and he wondered if he was dreaming. Perhaps he was still lying in bed, his brandy-soaked mind creating the ultimate fantasy. The honey beaded on his lower lip and Sara slowly pulled his mouth to hers. As she kissed him, her hands tugged at his shirt and she pulled it free, then dropped it to the floor. Her hands roamed everywhere, caressing, touching, stroking.
Just as he thought he could take no more, she pulled back and met his gaze, her eyes dark with desire. “Three: If you want a man to know you are interested in him,” she whispered, “then touch him.”
Her hand closed over his erection. It was exquisite. Pleasure and pain mingled and became one. Nick knew he could not let Sara’s seduction continue, but he was powerless to resist her. Powerless to do anything but stand still and let her do what she would.
She dipped her finger into the honey once more and touched his chest. The drop quivered a moment, then trickled down his chest and to his stomach.
Her finger traced the line left by the honey, her eyes slumberous and mysterious. “I wonder if you are as sweet as the nectar.” She pressed her mouth to his
bare skin, her tongue flickering across the base of his throat, branding him.
He ground his teeth to maintain control. She had learned seduction all too well, and with each delectable lesson, he was condemned to a hell of his own making.
Sara followed the errant trickle of honey, stopping to press her hot mouth to each of his nipples. Nick’s hand sank into her hair, the silken tangles catching his fingers. “God,” he whispered hoarsely, watching as she knelt to kiss the final trail to his stomach, “you are so beautiful.”
She smiled up at him, then reached into her pocket and pulled something out.
As lost as he was, Nick managed to gasp out, “What’s that?”
“Lesson four,” she said, peeping up at him through her lashes. “Never challenge a man unless you are prepared.” She opened her hand.
Nick immediately recognized what it was. It was a French sheath, used to prevent pregnancy. “Where did you get that?”
“Anna’s grandfather. He believes that these should be given freely by the crown in order to control the population.” She grinned. “He even sent one to the King by post.”
Nick tried to concentrate on her words, but his mind was too preoccupied with her fingers as they undid his breeches. This was madness. Utter madness. His hand clamped about her wrist and she looked up at him, a plea in her gaze.
He looked at the sheath she held. Normally he didn’t trust them, but his body was pushed beyond endurance. He wanted Sara so badly he shook. He released her hand. “We can try it.”
As if afraid he’d change his mind she swiftly tugged down his breeches. Nick helped her, yanking them off and kicking them toward the door. She then placed the sheath over his turgid manhood.
Nick pushed down the sleeve of her gown, exposing the delicate lace of her chemise. She reached up to unlace it, but he stopped her. “Keep it on.”
“But I thought—”
“Don’t think. Feel.” He cupped her breast through the fine material, his thumb finding the crest and teasing it to a peak. Then he dropped his mouth to her nipple, the wet cotton clinging, rubbing, erotic.
Sara arched in surprise as sheer pleasure raced through her.
He lifted his head. “You are too succulent a dish to leave untasted.” He placed his hands on her waist and lifted her to the edge of the table. Then he took her hands and placed them on her breasts, his gaze dark with passion. “Touch them, Sara. Touch them for me.”
She hesitantly held her hands to her breasts and he sucked in his breath, watching her every move. Somehow the seduction had changed, and now he was in charge. He dipped his fingers into the honey, then pushed her skirts aside and knelt before her.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. He threaded his honey-coated fingers through her nether curls, his thumb sinking deeply into her.
A moan escaped her and he could feel the waves of sensation ripple through her. She wriggled on the table, trying to get closer. His head dipped, and he sucked every drop of honey from her.
Sara moaned his name, her hands clenched in his hair. Nick replaced his mouth with his fingers, so he could watch her face. His thumb circled her, tormenting her. She moaned again and all thoughts of pain, of anything, were washed away. The scent of her beckoned to him stronger and stronger, and he finally pressed his sheath-enclosed manhood against her.
Sara locked her legs about him and pulled him deep inside, drawing him home until they were merged, melded completely. He sank his hands into her hair as he began to move, slowly at first, and then with increasing speed. She could feel his tension building, could feel his need rise. At the last moment he pulled back, but Sara clenched her legs all the tighter, jealous of that part of himself that he wanted to withhold. She wanted him there, deep inside as he crested the peak of his own desire. She wanted to feel him swell and explode in wonder.
“Sara, no!” he gasped. “The sheath—”
She moved against him, pulling him deeper.
Waves of desire caught them both and Sara crested on their passion, tightening her hold when Nick cried out her name and then collapsed against her.
Sara wrapped herself around him, holding him to her, wishing this moment could last forever. After a long moment, he pushed away and untied the sheath. She watched him through her lashes, aching for him to wrap his arms about her and to hold her.
“Sara,” Nick said, his voice strained.
“Yes?”
“You said you got this from Anna’s grandfather. How long has he had it?”
“I don’t know. It’s the one he shows when he gives lectures. He gave it to me because it was time he bought a new one—”
Nick’s face darkened. “Damn it, Sara, do you want to have children?”
“Actually, yes. I think it would be lovely to have a child.” Heavens. Where had that come from? But even as she wondered, she knew. It was having a home of her own, and feeling that she belonged here, with Nick.
Nick cursed and whirled away, snatching up his breeches and yanking them on. “Damn you, Sara. Don’t ever do that again.”
His anger was as shocking as a plunge into icy cold water. Sara slid from the edge of the table and pushed her skirts down. “Nick, I didn’t mean to—”
He caught her face between his hands, his touch less than gentle. “I am my mother’s son, Sara. I would never curse a child of mine with this illness.”
Her gaze met his steadily. “That is not for us to decide.” Unafraid, she wrapped her hands about his wrists and held him there. “There has to be a way to stop the pain, Nick. I believe I can find a way to help you, but you have to give me some time.”
“I don’t have time.”
“Nick,” she whispered, her voice a plea. “I won’t stop until I find it. Even if it takes forever.”
He realized that she was telling the truth—she was committed to helping him. Just as he had been committed to helping his mother. He closed his eyes. He loved Sara too much to let her throw the rest of her life away on him.
In that moment, he knew he was truly cursed—that his life until now, with all its tragedy and emptiness, had been but a rehearsal for this terrible moment. He could not keep away from her, nor did he have the heart to leave.
This couldn’t go on. He had to find a way to get Sara out of his life before it was too late.
Trembling from head to foot, Nick pulled his wrists free of her grasp and left, closing the door softly behind him.
Chapter 20
Wiggs took a deep breath, then knocked on the door. At the muffled greeting, he entered. “Pardon me for disturbing you, my lord.”
Henri blinked. In the three months he had resided at Hibberton Hall, this was the first time Wiggs had ever come to his chamber. Henri pulled the tie on his red-velvet robe tighter. “You are not disturbing me at all. Is something wrong?”
A look of relief crossed the butler’s face. “Yes, my lord. It’s His Lordship. He has locked himself in his library and has not come out since yesterday. It is most unlike him.”
“Voyons!” Henri exclaimed. “I will go immediately.”
“I shall send Roberts to assist you in dressing, my lord.”
“There is no need. I have on a robe—and a damned expensive one, too.” Henri slipped a cravat pin in his pocket and walked past the outraged Wiggs. He went directly to the library and knocked on the door. As he’d expected, there was no answer.
He slipped the pin from his pocket and bent to the lock. Less than a minute later, the door opened with a click.
“Ah, there you are, mon ami,” he said as he walked into the darkened room. He pulled the door closed and locked it behind him. “Is there any brandy left?”
Nick sat at the desk, his feet upon it, his face drawn and haggard. Surprisingly, he didn’t look drunk at all.
A stirring of concern made Henri frown. “Mon ami? Are you ill?”
“What do you want?”
“I awoke this morning and became very thirsty. So, I came here. I see you have brandy.”
“The door was locked.”
Henri held up the cravat pin.
A reluctant smile touched Nick’s mouth. “The world is not safe with you wandering through it.”
“True.” Henri dropped the pin back into his pocket and came to sit on the edge of the desk, facing Nick. “So what are you doing here, sitting behind a locked door?”
Nick shrugged, but offered no answer.
Henri wondered at the stark despair he saw in his friend’s eyes. “Nicholas, you must talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
Nick rubbed a hand over his face. “There is nothing you can do. The headaches are worsening, Henri. I don’t want Sara to see me when I—” He clamped his mouth shut.
Pride, Henri knew, was not the noblest of emotions. But it was one he was very familiar with. “You must leave her.”
“I can’t.” It was a cry of pain.
Henri was not surprised. “Then what will you do?”
Nick’s jaw hardened. “If I cannot leave her, then I must make her leave me. I must make her so despise me that she will stay away from me.”
“How will you do that? She is crazy in love with you.”
Nick sent a dark glance at the comte. “You are a fool, Henri.”
“Not where women are concerned,” Henri said. Except, of course, for Delphi. He had wooed her, oh so carefully, and at first, she had warmed to him. But then he had become too eager. Too precipitate. He’d asked her to join him for a romantic tryst, and that had ended their budding romance.
He’d thought she was ready; all of the signs had pointed to it. And he was, after all, something of an expert in reading those signs. But she’d recoiled from his invitation with horror, cutting the connection and refusing to even speak with him.
Henri had been hurt. It wasn’t as if he’d had the audacity to ask her to marry him; that would have been an insult of the highest order. Still, he could not mistake the look of utter hurt that had filled her eyes at that instant, and the thought had made him most uncomfortable.
The more he thought about it, however, the more disgruntled he became. Finally, armed in building indignation, Henri had set out to punish Delphi. He flirted shamelessly in front of her and dallied with whoever was available.
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