Looking back, that was the night the Earl of Heartbreak had been born. Because in the span of only a few short minutes, Rayne had been so utterly captivated that he had lost his heart and then just as quickly been informed that he could not have what he so desired. Ever.
Even after all this time, he still desired Sarah. It was likely why he had been so mad as to propose this false betrothal in the first place. Yes, he wished to protect her but there were other ways to accomplish the same task, ways that would not hurt his heart as much as this one did. In fact, merely looking at her, so lovely and yet so unobtainable, hurt him more than he could have ever imagined.
Sarah was exquisite tonight in a midnight blue gown that was entirely inappropriate for an unwed young woman. It was not appropriate for a spinster either, though Rayne had the impression that she would not be an ordinary spinster by any means. The gown, which was trimmed in gold and decorated with spangles, was finely made and clearly meant for a London ballroom. Yet it seemed just as appropriate here in the intimate parlor. Perfect for a man to ease down her shoulders and place a kiss or two on the delicate curve of her spine. In fact, he became hard just thinking about doing just that.
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face for Sarah, who had been nearly as silent as he and indulging in her own glass of French brandy, finally spoke up.
"Is something amusing you, my lord?" she asked with false politeness as she settled back into her chair. Rayne knew she was a bit perturbed with him since she had made numerous attempts at conversation over dinner and each time, he had answered with curt one and two word replies. This was also the first time that she had "my lord"-ed him in longer than he could remember. She only did that when she was particularly vexed with him.
Abandoning his own comfortable chair, Rayne crossed the room to look out the set of French doors that led to a small terrace. From there, worn stone steps led to the back lawn where a smattering of torches had been lit, their flames dancing wildly in the fading light. Whenever the Tillsbury family was in residence, the torches were lit each night at dusk in case anyone felt like wandering outside. Tonight, a light breeze made the flames seem to waltz and flicker in time to the floating of the curtains in the parlor, the doors open to the night.
With a sigh, he took another sip of his brandy and leaned back against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "I was just remembering the past." There was no harm in admitting that much, he supposed.
"Good or bad?" Sarah rose from her chair as well and took a long sip of brandy. When had she learned to drink like that? Then again, she was Frost's sister, so likely at his knee. Or possibly even from him. Lord knows he and his friends had done it often enough in Frost's study, likely with Sarah somewhere about.
Rayne took another drink. "Good." He gave a mirthless laugh. "I was remembering the night I returned to London from Italy the first time." He tossed back the rest of his drink. "It seems like a lifetime ago, does it not?"
"Several lifetimes." Sarah was beside him now, though he didn't remember her moving, another sign of his distraction. "I was newly out of the schoolroom and had just returned from Mrs. Witherson's School for Proper Young Society Ladies, horrid place that it was." She looked out over the rapidly darkening yard. "For what it's worth, I remember that night, as well. Very vividly, in fact."
"You do?" This surprised Rayne. "I could have sworn you were bored to tears by my stores of the Continent."
Playfully, she smacked him on the arm and whatever tension had been between them eased just a bit. "Then you are remembering incorrectly, as usual." She sighed and licked her lips, drawing his attention to her delectable mouth and making him want to kiss her again. "You were full of tales about all of the wonderful things that you had seen, the beauty of Rome and all of her fountains. The ancient ruins lying everywhere." She graced him with a wistful smile. "Yes, you did ramble a bit with some of the more scholarly things, I will grant you, but they were worth it to see Italy through your eyes."
She stepped out onto the terrace, the night breeze whipping her hair into a lush, silken cloud. Unthinking, Rayne followed her. "I had no idea I was such a mesmerizing storyteller. You flatter me, my lady."
Sarah glanced back at him rather coyly, which was unusual for her. "You weren't. In fact, I really didn't much care what sort of fish ancient Romans preferred with their dinner. However I did very much wish to hear your stories about places like Pompeii. Your words made those far-flung locales come alive for me, and as a young lady eager to see such wonders for herself and yet knowing that she never would, your stories were more precious than gold."
Stunned, Rayne did not know what to say. However, such an admission deserved a response. "Thank you," he finally offered, though he knew his simple words paled in comparison to her more effusive ones. "You humble me, for I had no idea my stories made such an impact upon you. I always assumed that I bored everyone nearly to tears."
Sarah turned to face him now and boldly took his hands in hers. Here in the privacy of the terrace just off the family parlor, it seemed right and not nearly so scandalous. "Not me. I could have listened to you for hours." She rolled her eyes. "Well, perhaps not to the more academic parts, but to your descriptions of people and places? Of the things you saw? To me, those were magical, for I shall never see them for myself."
"You could, you know." Rayne gripped her hands tightly, knowing that he was all but suggesting the impossible to her but also unable to stop himself. "Once you are a spinster, you shall have freedoms you currently do not. There is no reason you could not visit Rome or Pompeii yourself."
"Perhaps." Her smile was a little sad now. "Or perhaps your stories are what make them so magical to me, and if I see them for myself, they shall not be nearly as enchanting."
Somehow, Rayne doubted that was true, but he did not say a much. In fact, he was still very much at a loss for words. He was a scholar by nature, even with his rather libertine reputation. Most of his friends and family were not. They merely tolerated his studies and his adventures with the hope that one day, he would outgrow them and settle down. For after all, no proper young lady would wish to wed a man who would sooner dash off to Egypt than attend a ball. At least that was the world according to his mother. So Rayne had always assumed that no one, not even his closest friends were interested in his studies, that he was alone in his enthusiasm for the endeavor. To find out otherwise was intoxicating indeed.
Once more, he decided to test the limits of Sarah's attraction to him. For it was there, lying just between them, crackling and simmering with an untapped passion that he wished to uncover. His time with her was short. He needed to have all of her that he could before Frost returned.
"Did you know," Rayne began softly as he took her brandy glass and set it on a nearby table, "that in ancient Rome, dancing was restricted to the lower classes? It was considered unseemly for the wealthy and cultured to dance. Very vulgar and not at all the done thing." He slid his hand slowly up Sarah's arm to rest in the crook of her elbow, his eyes locked on hers the entire time.
"I did...not." Her eyes were wide, as if she was remembering their closeness in the hallway just as much as he was in that moment and Rayne smiled just a bit. Oh, yes. She was not immune to him. That was good because he was certainly not immune to her.
Rayne nodded as he drew Sarah closer, so close that her scent of lavender and lemons tickled his nose. "It was considered crass, among other things. Not to mention that in public, men and women were always separated."
"Not like us," she breathed, her breath hitching in her chest.
"No, not like us," he agreed with a smile. "But in the privacy of their homes?"
"They danced." That was his Sarah. Always so clever and intelligent. She knew the answer even before he gave it.
Gently, he put his arms around her and they began to dance, slowly at first and then in time to silent music that neither one of them could hear, but they both seemed to feel inside just the same. He guided her down the time-
worn steps and then twirled her out onto the lawn. Light from the torches flickered and danced across the lush lawn, casting shadows over both of them and making Sarah seem more of a devil meant to drive him into temptation than the innocent angel he knew her to be.
"During private dinners in homes, they held dances where they defied the rules. Where men and women mingled and anyone could dance as they pleased. Sometimes, they even performed the bacchanal dances that were of a most lascivious nature." Rayne had viewed the frescos and other paintings in ancient homes and temples, particularly those in Pompeii. He knew exactly what those dances in private homes had led to - and it was nothing that anyone in present-day Society would approve of either.
"Even the waltz is scandalous under the right circumstances," Sarah replied, her eyes slumberous as they had been the other day when he had first begun to seduce her. For in his heart, Rayne knew that was precisely what he was doing. He was seducing Sarah, hoping to coax her into...what he didn't know. Well, yes, he did, but he still wasn't ready to admit that to himself just yet. If he did, that would mean he was not a very good man. And he did want to be a good man - for Sarah's sake if no one else's.
However, good men did not seduce their best friend's sister into bed. Except that was precisely what Rayne wished to do at this very moment. And now that he was on this path with this false betrothal, he could see no other way that this would end. Other than with perhaps pistols at dawn. And not necessarily with Frost on the other end of one of the weapons either. If he hurt her, Rayne knew that Sarah was just as likely to challenge him as her brother was.
"Anything can be scandalous under the right circumstances," Rayne replied as he twirled her in his arms and pulled her closer still. "It does not matter what."
"Says the man with the experience to know." Sarah was teasing now, the last of the tension between them gone. This was how he wanted it to be until Frost arrived and Rayne was forced to depart. Now they were simply Rayne and Sarah once more, two old friend enjoying each other's company. And perhaps more...in time.
This was not normally the way of things, he knew. In fact, there was a part of him - the same part that was a stickler for the rules of Society - that did not believe a man and a woman could be friends without being lovers first. In his experience, he eventually became friendly with the women he bedded. Not all, but most, certainly.
Sarah, however, was different, and not just because they had known each other for so long and not just because she was Frost's sister. She was far more intelligent than most people gave her credit for being. She also had a depth that most young ladies lacked. Hell, that most women he knew lacked. Even his mistresses and courtesans cared only for pleasure and fortune. They certainly didn't care about history - Roman or otherwise. But Sarah did.
How did the young bucks of England not know this about her? That she was more than simply beautiful, though she was that as well. Then he realized that if the men did know, she would not be here with him now, so he blessed his good fortune and kept silent on the matter.
"I hardly claim to be a saint," he whispered. "Neither were the Romans. Many of them were far more scandalous than we realize. Even us scholars."
On the surface, the words were harmless enough, but for Rayne, they held a deeper meaning. He could not ignore what was growing between them any longer and he didn't want Sarah to either. He wanted her to embrace this thing between them and give in. He wouldn't take her to the point where there would be permanent damage to her reputation. She would still be able to wed if she changed her mind. However, he needed a taste. If this was all he was ever to have of her, he wanted it so badly that he ached with the need. He wanted her to feel the same - if she didn't already.
"There is a fine line between saint and sinner, I have found." She said the words with such conviction that Rayne knew she was speaking from experience and he wondered what sort of experience it was.
"How do you know?" he asked, unable to stop himself. "You are a lady of breeding, after all."
Sarah was silent for a moment, her body swaying in time with his as they danced in the torchlight, her dark hair brushed bronze by the fire. "I know a good many things that I ought not to know," she said softly. "I am not some fragile flower, Rayne. I have endured more than you know. More than most anyone knows." She flicked her eyes to his and he could see they were filled with passion and fire. "I also know what I want. I know what I desire. And sometimes I desire to be more sinner than saint."
"You do?" Rayne all but croaked the words hoarsely. "Sarah, I would not have thought..."
"That I had it in me?" There was a challenge in her words. "That I am not that sort of woman? That I am not as passionate as the other women you know? Partly, at least, because I am Frost's sister?"
"There is that." He swallowed hard. "You are also a lady," he reminded her. He didn't know when they had stopped dancing but they had. Now they stood pressed close together in the small circle of light cast by the torches. He was certain he could hear her heart beating if he listened closely enough.
"I am also a woman." She was seductive now, and Rayne felt as if the tables had somehow been turned on him without him even being aware she was outmaneuvering him. "Like you, there are things I desire and cannot have."
He knew he should not ask, but he did so anyway. "Such as?"
"You."
One simple word from her but that was all it took for Rayne to loose all sanity.
"No. You cannot mean that." His words were strangled but his heart leapt with hope - along with another, much lower, part of his anatomy.
Sarah licked her lips. "I do. It might not be proper or ladylike and you might think me entirely too brash and forward, but it is true. It has been true for a very long time now. I want you, Brook Bexley. More than that, I want you to seduce me. Now. Before circumstances pull us apart."
Rayne could not have been more shocked if she had stripped naked in front of him that very moment. "Sarah, I..."
Pressing against him, she put a finger to his lips. "Do not say you cannot or that you will not. You can. I know you can. More than that, I know that you want to."
He groaned. "God help me, but I do. So very much. More than you know."
"Then what is stopping you?" Once more, Sarah pressed against him, slowly twisting her hips in a shocking sort of tease he wasn't aware she knew anything about. "Please, Brook." There she was, using his Christian name again and making that hated name sound so delightful on her lips. "Please. I am not asking you to marry me, despite this game we play. I only wish for a taste of passion. And I want it from you. Only you. No other."
So many emotions assailed Rayne at one time. He was pleased and flattered and extremely aroused. More than that, however, he felt as if he had finally been given permission to taste paradise - no matter how wrong it might be and no matter how much he might suffer for that taste in the end.
Reaching out, he gripped Sarah's backside and lifted her right leg up to wrap around his waist so that he could press his hardness into her matching softness, letting her know exactly what she was asking for. To his surprise, she did not flinch. In fact, she went so far as to swivel her hips into his and he nearly came where he stood like some green youth.
"This is not a game to me, Sarah," he ground out. "If I am to have you, I will have all of you." Despite his silent and repeated vow otherwise. "I am a man and this is what that means." Once more, he ground against her hard, and once more, she did not flinch or shy away, instead giving back as good as she got from him.
"Nor is this a game to me." Her eyes were bright and alight with passion. "I know what I am asking, Rayne. I accept the risks. I only ask that you do not hold back. I ask that you give me everything."
Even in his wildest, most heated fantasies, Rayne had never imagined this. Not Sarah's words or actions or the way she looked at him as if she wanted him to devour her whole. And at his heart, he was a man who had lusted after this woman for a very long time. He would have to be forged from the s
trongest of metals to resist her. Especially looking wild and ready to be tumbled as she was right now.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Rayne nodded. "Yes. Yes, Sarah, I will give you what you desire." When she went to speak, he put his finger to her lips. "But it shall be on my terms. You might know what you desire, but you are still an innocent." He kissed the hollow of her throat, which was quickly becoming one of his favorite places on her body. "We do this my way. You allow me to teach you. To show you what passion and pleasure truly are. I will give you everything, but not all at once. Instead, consider me the teacher and you the student."
"As you like, Rayne," she whispered as she reached up to nip at his ear. "As you like." Then, she took the bold step of bringing her lips to his as she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.
As she did so, Rayne wondered what, exactly, he had gotten himself into.
Chapter Eight
The morning sun was blinding as Sarah slowly made her way out to the stables to have her mare, Glory, saddled for her so that she might take a ride to clear her head. Ever since last night, she had been little better than a muddled mess.
Oh, what had she done? Had she really asked Rayne to seduce her?
Yes, she had, and while she didn't truly regret her actions, she did wonder if she was succumbing to what she had often heard referred to as "spinster madness." When she was younger, Sarah had thought that tales of women who went a bit wild as the approached spinsterhood simply nothing more than overreactions to women finally seeking a small bit of freedom. She assumed that the tales of aging ladies who sought out men for a single night of pleasure before they declared themselves on the shelf just that - tall tales. Never had she imagined they might be true. But they were, at least in her case. Very, very true.
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