Lily pushed herself out of Sarah’s arms, went to the window, and looked up at the sun. Sarah could feel herself close to tears. Evidently Lily had thought she’d lose touch with her parents if she left Canada.
Just then the door opened and Lord Markham entered. Lily turned and beamed him a smile, then raced across the room and flung her arms around his waist.
“Mrs. Cooper says my parents will still be with me, even when I go to England.”
The side of his mouth that was still mobile curled down as a frown crossed his features. Sarah hurriedly explained.
“Lily was worried that her parents wouldn’t hear her prayers if she left Canada. I explained that in heaven they can hear you wherever you are.”
For such a large man, Lord Markham moved with an agile grace and dignity. He crouched so that he was at eye level with Lily. “Is this what you have been worried about?”
The little girl nodded.
He stroked a finger down her cheek. “Sweetie, why didn’t you talk to me about it?”
“I thought you might be angry if I didn’t want to leave York.”
“I’d never be angry with you. You can ask me for anything and, if it is within my power, I will give it. I’d never lie to you, and I will always do everything I can to make you happy.”
Lily’s bottom lip trembled. “You promise? You promise you won’t take me to England and then—” A small sob escaped her. “And then, if I’m naughty, leave me all alone?”
He closed his eyes and hugged her tightly. “Never, never, never!” he declared with gusto. “I would never leave you, no matter what you did.” He drew back and held her at arm’s length, looking directly into her eyes. “Your father looked after me when I had no one. I intend to raise you and love you as if you were my own daughter. With every bone in my body, I promise to look after you always.” His perfect profile faced Sarah, and he smiled a bone-melting smile. “I’m Christian Trent, the fifth Earl of Markham, and I am giving you my word as a gentleman. Will you come with me to England and do me the very great honor of becoming my ward?”
Lily flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. “Yes. I want to come to England with you.” Lily lifted her head and sent a shy smile across to Sarah. “As long as Mrs. Cooper can come with us too.”
Lord Markham, still crouched with Lily in his arms, smiled over Lily’s head. “That would be perfect,” he uttered.
He kept holding Lily and smiling at Sarah. Lightness entered his eyes, and their habitual sadness was banished for a moment. The sun caught him, and his hair shone as black as coal, his eyes as green and as bright as the first time she’d seen him in her father’s ballroom. He looked serene—and utterly gorgeous.
She saw his shoulders tremble under Lily’s hold, and the emotion of the moment overcame her. Sarah’s heart gave a wild flutter, then a couple of extra beats, and then it began to pound hard in her chest.
Oh, no. Please. No! It cannot be! She hoped it was merely that Lord Markham’s touch of kindness and warmth had engaged her senses sufficiently to make her forget who and what she was. She prayed that her childhood infatuation was not rearing its silly head again. It would ruin everything.
But deep down, Sarah knew it was more than infatuation.
For who had the strength to turn down a chance at realizing a girlhood fantasy?
His scars meant nothing. Lord Markham was all man, strong, vibrant, and honorable, and he was here, right in front of her—the very man she’d dreamed about for years. As she grew into womanhood, she’d assiduously followed his military career. She’d found the scandal surrounding his exploits as one of the infamous Libertine Scholars positively titillating. She’d envied his conquests. Dreamed of being his …
That was until her father had forced her into marriage—forced her into hell.
And so when she’d read the advertisement for a governess for the Earl of Markham’s ward, she’d known it was fate. Fate had brought her to him, at last.
He had always been her hero.
She had always kept an image of him in her head, to blank out the horrors of her life.
Even when her life was at its absolute worst, even when she had thought she could endure no more, even when, finally, she had become a criminal on the run …
It was after midnight, and still Sarah couldn’t sleep. She’d moved into the Pearsons’ house that very afternoon. Lord Markham had suggested it would be of benefit if she took up residency immediately, since the house had to be packed before they departed for England in two days’ time.
There was no doubt in her mind that those chasing her would not imagine she’d flee to England. If they did, they’d think she’d flee to her father. She’d definitely not run to her father. She hoped they had no idea she’d fled to Canada.
When her father had so cavalierly handed her over to the monster that was Peter Dennett, he’d ceased to exist for her. But returning to the home of her birth, England, was a calculated risk.
If she stayed in Dorset, remaining quietly in the background in her disguise as a governess, no one would find her. She bet her husband’s henchmen hadn’t even learned she’d made it to Canada.
Still, the constant worry was there. If they found her, it would be her word against theirs.
There was no such thing as self-defense against a husband. She’d learned by degradation that a husband could do almost anything to his wife. He owned her. If she were caught, they would likely hang her for murder.
The need to be vigilant and alert never left her. However, a few weeks on Lord Markham’s ship, with no other passengers, would allow her the first opportunity in a long while for a good night’s sleep. She couldn’t wait. Her body hummed with repressed longing.
Her eyes drifted shut and a smile played on her lips. To sleep without nightmares …
A bloodcurdling scream filled the night air. Sarah jerked upright. For a terrifying, horrifying moment her heart stood still in shock. She thought her husband had come back to haunt her.
But the pain-filled screams came instead from the back of the house, from the direction of Lord Markham’s room.
Sarah rose and donned a robe. She hoped Lily would not wake and become frightened. She lit a candle and moved quietly into the corridor. Lily appeared at her side.
“Don’t be scared. It’s only Lord Markham,” Lily whispered. “He has terrible dreams. Papa told me Lord Markham is remembering the fire, and that I should block my ears and never mention his screams. It would embarrass him.” She held out her hand. “I came to warn you, as I thought you might be afraid. I forgot to tell you about his nightmares before I said goodnight.”
Sarah squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Lily, but it’s all right. You go back to bed. I’m not scared.”
Mrs. Hobson emerged too. “He’s like this most nights. The first night it happened he scared the daylights out of me.”
Another scream filled the corridor and echoed around it. “Take Lily back to bed, Mrs. Hobson. I’m going to see if I can make Lord Markham more comfortable.” Sarah knew she’d not be able to sleep tonight unless she did something to ease his suffering.
She saw Mrs. Hobson frown as she took in Sarah’s attire. Sarah guessed Mrs. Hobson thought it most improper, but Lily’s presence halted any detailed conversation.
“If he’s in the grip of a nightmare, he won’t remember I’ve even been in his room. I’m a widow, Mrs. Hobson. I’m sure he’s no different from my husband, or any other man, for that matter. Besides, we all need some sleep. We’ve a big day ahead of us.”
Mrs. Hobson sighed. “You’re right, of course. Come on, lass, back to bed.”
Sarah hurried to Lord Markham’s room with no idea of what she was going to do. But she couldn’t bear listening to his tortured cries for one moment longer. She hated to see any human or animal in pain, and over the last twelve months she’d seen more abuse and suffering than she could reasonably endure. Sarah was sure her husband’s slave plantation had clos
ely resembled hell on earth.
She entered Lord Markham’s bedchamber and lifted her candle high so she could see. The room was sparsely furnished; the huge four-poster bed dominated the room.
The screams had died down to deep, resonating, soulful cries, and as she hurried toward the bed, she watched Lord Markham thrash about trying to escape the demons chasing him.
As she drew near, Sarah took a deep breath. All his thrashing had pushed the bedclothes away from his body, and he was naked. Her eyes welled as she took in the twisted and tortured mass of reddened flesh down one side of his body.
She marveled at his strength to endure.
Then she let her gaze wander over the rest of him. Lord Markham was magnificent. His body, while scarred, was so powerful, well-muscled, and, despite his burns, beautiful …
He was all man. His stomach muscles rippled like waves as he struggled in his nightmare. Sweat made his skin shine, and the crisp black hairs on half his chest sparkled in the candlelight. God, she wanted to touch such perfection. What would he feel like? She reached out and ran a finger over his torso. Velvet … steely velvet.
Just as her finger found the sheet lying low on his stomach, he jerked violently and the sheet slid down, way down, down past mid-thigh.
Sarah’s face flushed, and she knew she should look away. Unable to help herself, however, she looked her fill. She’d never found anything remotely beautiful about a man’s privates. Her husband had never given her any pleasure when he came to her bed. However, in his sleep, Christian looked like a larger, living, breathing version of the naked Roman statue in the pond on her father’s estate, though the flesh-and-blood one was far more beautiful. She had to admit that, even flaccid, Christian was remarkably impressive. It would appear there was nothing small about Lord Markham.
She was reaching out to touch him when he gave a near audible murmur. She abruptly jerked her hand away.
Sarah pulled back, shame heating her face. What had she been thinking of, to take such advantage of him when he was clearly so vulnerable? She’d obviously been around her degenerate husband far too long.
Placing the candle on the small table beside the bed, Sarah walked quickly to the dresser and soaked a handkerchief in his water jug. She noticed a small vial next to the jug. She undid the lid and sniffed. Laudanum! He obviously took it for the pain. No wonder he slept like the dead.
Pulling the sheet up, she sat on the edge of the bed and laid the damp cloth on his forehead. She stroked his face and hair and softly sang a gentle lullaby. She felt stupid singing to a grown man, but it appeared to calm him. Gradually his thrashing eased.
She kept singing as she stroked his neck and let her fingers trail toward his chest, feeling the leashed power beneath his skin. Normally she was wary of strong men, but something in his abject helplessness gave her the courage to stay within his reach.
She felt his muscles relax, and she lowered her head to whisper in his ear, “Shush, everything is going to be all right. You’re safe. I’m here.” And she kissed his cheek as she would have kissed a child in distress.
She felt him stiffen at the touch of her lips. His head turned until his lips touched hers. His eyes were still closed, and his breathing was regular.
She became a statue, too afraid to move lest he wake and find her mouth upon his.
Then his lips fluttered over hers, so lightly it could have been her imagination. Unlike the rest of him, they were soft, and then she could feel herself sinking into their warmth.
With no warning he deepened the kiss, and an altogether different type of groan escaped from deep within his chest. His arms reached for her and he pulled her on top of him, her thin nightdress just a flimsy barricade against the heat and power of his body. She could feel him hardening against her stomach as his tongue swept into her mouth, seeking, conquering, and finally chasing away his demons.
She fought the panic and the need to struggle. Would he hurt her? She would bear it as she always did with Peter, because she was too scared to wake him. She could lose her hard-won job. She should not have entered his room. What if he dismissed her after only one night?
She gritted her teeth, prepared to endure his touch.
But his startling kiss was like none she’d ever experienced before. It was full of tenderness, gentleness, and longing—things Sarah had never experienced in her husband’s bed.
She closed her eyes and gave herself over to his kiss. For the first time she welcomed the arousing sensations besieging her as his lips moved enticingly over hers. Her body grew suddenly warm, her skin flushed as with a fever, and yet, oddly, she shivered under his expert onslaught. Surprisingly, she was aroused. After everything she’d endured in her husband’s bed, her body recognized the difference in Christian’s touch. Her breasts swelled, becoming heavy, full, and tingling; waves of heat fluttered and curled in her belly, and lower as well, right between her thighs. Her breath seemed to be suspended, even as it mingled with his.
Her husband had never made her feel this way. The only thing she’d ever felt for her husband was revulsion.
His mouth continued to languidly explore her, his tongue sliding into her mouth and tickling her moist interior, penetrating and withdrawing and encouraging her to return the favor. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and he groaned. Of their own accord, her fingers entangled themselves in the silky hair that curled at the nape of his neck.
“No, not Harriet …”
The murmured cry uttered against her lips was laced with pain.
Sarah raised her head, mortified. Lord Markham was dreaming of another woman. Of course he was. She briefly wondered who the lady was, wishing for a split second that the man whose beautiful, scarred face was so close to hers, whose lips were still moist and glistening from her kisses, was dreaming of her.
A thick curl of raven black tumbled over his scarred cheek, and she found herself smoothing it back into place. She leaned down and kissed the savagely puckered flesh of his right cheekbone, willing away his pain. Sarah continued to sing softly, and stayed with Christian until the nightmare subsided and his breathing was deep and regular.
One of Christian’s arms stroked her back, and she shivered in awareness at his maleness and at the impropriety of being in a virtual stranger’s arms. But he didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt safe. It was as if she sensed Lord Markham could fulfill her in some unimaginable way. As if together they could heal each other’s pain and bring laughter and brightness into each other’s barren lives.
Her sense that they belonged together shook her to her core. It was as inexplicable as it was profound. Sarah silently and thoughtfully contemplated the man beneath her. If only she were free to do as she wished. A woman running from the law had no right to form any attachments.
She ran her fingertips over his lips, the burn making his mouth appear cruel when she knew it was not. Drawn by an urge more powerful than reasonable, she bent her head and chastely kissed him again. She couldn’t seem to stop kissing him, caught once more by the spell of his gentle lips and the sensual pleasure of his hard muscles making her breasts swell so painfully. Her body ached with a need she had never before imagined or experienced.
When finally she drew back and moved to leave his bed, her sense of loss caused her heart to lodge in her throat. She made her way to the door.
“Goodnight, my lord. Pleasant dreams. I forbid further nightmares this night.”
As she left his bedchamber, Sarah quietly closed the door behind her, not seeing that Christian’s eyes had opened and followed her departure with a longing that matched her own.
“I’ll hardly sleep now, filled with arousing dreams of you,” he whispered to the closed door.
Christian rolled onto his back and crossed his arms under his head. She’d touched him. Kissed him. Kissed his scars. Without being paid. She’d taken pleasure in his kiss, for no gain.
He’d awoken to her soft singing. His mother used to sing to him as a child. He hadn’t been dream
ing. She’d kissed him. Kissed him of her own volition. And she’d let him kiss her, and she’d returned his kisses in earnest.
Why?
He could feel warmth infuse his soul, and his lips formed a half smile, as much as the burn damage would allow.
She’d sung to him. Like a child.
His grin grew wider, and the skin on the right side of his face pulled painfully taut.
He didn’t notice.
She’d sung to him. The sound healed and soothed his troubled soul.
Christian rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, his body humming as if he were now just one big grin. He gave thanks to God for sending him a woman like Sarah Cooper. He looked forward to her kissing him again. When he was fully compos mentis and could return her kisses in kind, he would give her more, much more, than a few chaste kisses.
Chapter Four
For the first time in almost twelve months, Christian awoke refreshed, largely due to a night of pleasanter dreams than his normal hellish nightmares. Images of Sarah’s soft curves stretched out beside him, above him, and under him had filled his dreams.
He’d awoken to thoughts of her, and he’d pleasured himself with dreams of Sarah riding erotically above him, her soft voice emitting passion-filled cries of pleasure, as her tight sheath milked him …
He flexed his shoulder, hardly noticing its stiffness, as he pulled on his jacket. He felt invigorated this morning. Over the coming weeks he looked forward to making his dreams become a reality. Never since his body had been burned had he seen a woman look at him with admiration. He couldn’t get the image of her blatant regard for him out of his head.
As he descended to the breakfast room, he felt an emotion close to happiness, which made his feet tread lightly on the stairs.
However, his seduction of Lily’s new governess had to wait a while. Christian had many errands to accomplish before they set sail the next day. He wanted to make certain that the manager he’d employed to run the Canadian arm of the Pearson-Markham Trading Company was introduced appropriately throughout York and the rest of Canada as Markham’s new man, ensuring that the supply contracts would be honored. Christian had no intention of returning to Canada, ever.
A Kiss of Lies Page 4