It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to reach out and run his hand down the cool porcelain skin of her cheek. But he resolved to let her see it through. He’d be ready when she faltered, but until then . . .
Gracefully she rose and moved to stand behind him, making her shadow flicker on the rough-hewed walls of the stall. Nick inhaled a pungent tang, but his befuddled mind failed to register its source until the bite of the horse liniment hit his shoulders.
Chapter Seventeen
“What the hell . . .” Nick tried to turn and rise, but Sarah’s hands were firm on his sore shoulders.
“Be still,” she scolded. “And don’t curse at me. Your shoulders pain you yet you’re too stubborn to see to this yourself.”
Nick’s protest died on his lips as her hands began to rub in earnest. They didn’t glide over his flesh, as one might expect from a genteel lady, but probed deeply, searching out each sore muscle and eliminating the stiffness. His body began to relax, and when she coaxed him to sit on the blanket so she might reach better, he complied without protest. The horse stall was small, and within minutes the tangy odor of the liniment nearly took his breath away. But as her fingers continued their magic, Nick decided breathing was not that important. His eyelids lost their moorings to flutter closed, and soon his muscles began to ease beneath her hands.
Using her sleeve, Sarah wiped the tears that streamed down her face from the strong fumes of the liniment. Never had she encountered such an odious liquid. She had begged the Carlson’s head groom for his best, and when the little man had barred her from the tackroom while he mixed the potion, she had had her doubts. But now, judging from the slump of Nick’s shoulders, the wicked concoction had done its job well.
She had thought him asleep when his contented sigh broke the silence. “Wherever did you learn to do this?” he questioned as his neck rolled limply on his shoulders.
Sarah replaced the cork on the jug and wiped the moisture from her eyes again. “Does it please you?” She knew only too well that it pleased her. His flesh was firm and lean beneath her hands, and the breadth of his shoulders and the depth of his muscles fascinated her. Having grown up among a people who shunned open displays of affection and touched only when necessary, she luxuriated in the opportunity to feel her hands on his bare flesh.
Nick flexed his shoulders and stretched. “I almost feel human again. You are a miracle worker.”
She continued to massage the muscles of his right shoulder blade. “It takes only common sense to know that if liniment will soothe the sore muscles on a horse, it should also work on a jackass.”
Nick straightened and within a heartbeat had a stunned Sarah sitting captive in his lap. “Jackass, is it now?”
“Mr. Beaumont,” she gasped, wiping the odious liquid off her hands. “Let me up this instant.”
From the outrage in her voice he might have let her go, but in the lantern light he had seen the cost of her caring. Her eyes were red and wet with tears from the fumes, yet she had uttered not a word of complaint as she had worked the liniment into his flesh. His heart turned over in his chest, and he knew before the night was out that he had to make her his.
“Put your shirt on,” she gasped as he pulled her close. “Your muscles will tighten up again if left uncovered.” Sarah struggled against his unyielding grip and strove to keep her voice from betraying her inner turmoil. This morning in the sunlight, she had wanted nothing more than to touch his bare chest. Now, if she but turned her head she could kiss it.
Nick glanced around and saw a second blanket folded neatly to the side. Keeping her firmly in place with one arm, he reached for the blanket and dragged it about his shoulders. The heat from the liniment had penetrated deep, and now it was the growing ache in his loins that demanded attention.
“You’ve soothed me,” he said, his voice low and husky. “It’s only fair that I return the favor.” His strong fingers began to rub sensuous patterns around her collarbone, touching the bare flesh exposed by Charlotte’s daring neckline, and Sarah felt her resistance begin to melt. Then, because it seemed as natural as breathing, when he lowered his head, she raised her lips for his kiss.
At first, his touch was feather-light, brushing against her lips like the dance of a butterfly in search of nectar. And when her lips parted to admit his seeking tongue, Nick thought he might die from the pleasure of it. Wondering if his lust for her would ever be sated, he eased her to the blanket and followed her down with his body. His fingers threaded through the silky softness of her midnight hair while his lips brushed against her fine-boned features – nose, cheek, chin – to sprinkle kisses with abandon. His bare chest moved gently across her breast and the sound of rustling taffeta only enflamed him more.
She made no move to escape from his arms, but instead threaded her own fingers through his hair to pull his lips back to hers, enticing him to take the kiss deeper. Her body arched against his when his knee slipped between her legs, and her sigh of pleasure was swallowed by his kiss.
When his hand reached for the hem of her gown, Nick waited for her protest. None came. Closing his eyes and pressing his lips to the side of her neck, he savored the feel of her silken flesh as his palm traveled up the gentle curve of her leg. Layers of petticoats brushed against his wrist as his hand moved to her inner thigh. He heard her breath stop, even while her heart pounded furiously beneath him. His wide palm rested intimately on the warm, soft core of her femininity. And still, her silence bid him continue.
Nick shuddered with arousal, and scattered kisses about her face and throat. His fingers brushed against her delicate flesh and she turned her face into his neck even as her legs hesitantly moved further apart to grant him access.
Sarah gasped with pleasure as his hand stroked her softly. Ecstasy beckoned, and a consuming pressure began to build within her. She felt his hand move to cover that secret part of her. When she realized exactly how he meant to touch her, her heartbeat doubled from the intimacy of the thought.
Nick felt her tremble beneath him and wondered how such a slight and untutored girl should be able to grant him such pleasure. Raising his head, he gazed down at her in the lantern light, wanting to capture forever in his mind the pleasure on her face. But in that pause, with satisfaction but a heartbeat away, Sarah opened her eyes and smiled at him.
Nick felt is blood begin to cool. The violet eyes that gazed up at him pleading for release held complete trust. She believed in him to do the right thing. “I have not the strength to tell you no,” she had whispered. And as he gazed down at her, he was suddenly consumed by the fear that one night with her might not be enough. Would the act he had contemplated since the first time he laid eyes on her, ever truly be completed or would his mind continue to ache for her even after his body was sated? His heart pounded with want, his body throbbed with need, and Sarah lay beneath him waiting . . . waiting for him to bring a release to the tension he had created within her . . . waiting for his decision. Nick closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against hers, their breaths mingled and in his heart he knew he would never be able to take her if he meant to send her home. His hand slid unsteadily to her knee.
“Did I do something wrong?” the slight tremor in her voice temped him to throw caution to the wind. But the trust in her eyes brought his sanity racing back. Slowly, he pressed a warm kiss upon her lips, even as his hand was smoothing her skirt back into place.
“Never take a man to a barn at night unless he is your husband,” Nick said slowly. “Barns can become very dangerous places.” Sitting up, he reached for his shirt and pulled it on over his head. “We should be getting back to the house. You need your sleep, for we’ve a long day tomorrow.”
Sarah sat up and wrapped her arms about her knees, wondering how she had come so close to touching heaven only to be pulled back to earth with such a bone-jarring fall. “Nick . . .” she hesitated, tasting the sound of his name on her tongue. “What happened?”
What can I tell you? His m
ind challenged. Would you still look at me in want if I made you realize how close I came to using you to satisfy my own pleasure without once giving thought to your future? Nick stood and reached for his jacket.
“You just gave me the best back rub I’ve ever had.” He helped her to stand but avoided her eyes, afraid to see the pain his actions had already caused her. Pain for which he had no remedy. With quick, efficient movements, he folded the horse blankets and tossed them over the wall. The silence between them grew, forcing Nick to turn and watch her slowly brush the wrinkles from her skirt. Frantically, he searched for a way to restore her smile. Then with an exaggerated bow, he leaned forward and sniffed. “Positively the most unusual scent of the season. Tell me, Miss Townsend, is it a secret family potion or did you have it imported from France?”
Reeling with confusion and the desperate need to cry, Sarah fought back her tears and gratefully accepted his attempt at humor. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Beaumont.” She struggled to keep her voice light and carefree. “Isn’t this scent, this eau de horse, what all the young ladies are wearing this season?”
Despite her efforts, he heard the unmistakable pain in her voice, and guilt gnawed like a giant rat in his belly. “If I’ve done the right thing, then damn it why don’t I feel good about it?” he muttered.
Sarah turned for the lantern. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Nick took the lantern, but when he would have reached for her arm, she carefully sidestepped him and kept her face averted. “We’d better get back to the house,” he sighed. “We leave early tomorrow, so you’ll want to get a good night’s rest.”
What I want is a night in your arms, she thought, and to understand what really happened here. But the words never left her lips and, side by side yet never touching, the two left the barn to spend the night in turmoil.
The sun had yet to make its presence known when Sarah left the snoring women in her room and tiptoed down the rear stairs to seek solitude in the back gardens. The early-morning air was brisk and she pulled her shawl more firmly about her shoulders as she restlessly paced the garden’s meandering paths. Why didn’t he want her? She puzzled. First the picnic and now this. True, she had asked him to the barn, but it had been Nick who had pulled her to his lap and started the fires burning.
“Lord,” she whispered to the morning stars, “why does this have to be so difficult? Why do I care so much for a man I must leave? And why is it that with but one kiss, he can make me forget all that I am about? I wasn’t raised to be wanton, but he looks at me and I burn.” Her fingers rubbed at her temples as she tired to clear the confusion from her mind and recapture the serenity she always strove to maintain. In her heart, she knew Nick had made the right decision for them, just as she had asked him to. Why then was she finding it so hard to accept? She watched the first hint of daylight touch the darkness of the night and lifted her face into the breeze that stirred the magnolia blossoms around her. Her silent tears were over, but they’d left a dry, achy lump deep in her heart, and a knot now seemed permanently lodged in her throat.
“You’re certainly up early.”
Sarah spun about to find Chris leaning beside a gnarled oak tree. Her hand flew to her lips as she gasped in fright.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said gently, reaching to take her arm and urging her to sit on the nearby bench.
Sarah shook her head and tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart. “I’m sorry,” she gasped hoarsely. “I didn’t hear you approach.”
Chris tipped her chin up with his forefinger and scowled. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”
Sarah jerked away before she could stop herself. “I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
He sat beside her on the bench and braced his arm on the edge behind her. “I know what you mean. Tell me, does Bertha still snore?”
Sarah’s eyes grew wide in amazement. “How do you know that?’
Chris chuckled and leaned closer. “Julie had to share a room with her once when we went to a wedding at the Attwater’s . The next morning she told anyone who would listen and most who would not that Bertha Adkins was an elephant who hogged the bed and snored like a damaged brass horn.”
Sarah felt the beginnings of a smile and took a grateful breath of the dew-laden air. “Well, since it’s not a secret,” she confided, “Mrs. Adkins does indeed snore, but I’ll not comment as to her resemblance to an animal.”
For a moment they sat in comfortable silence, then as the sky began to blossom with streaks of color and the songbirds started their chatter, Chris reached over and took her hand. “Are you anxious to be home?” he questioned.
Sarah felt her nerves begin to tighten again. “I find I miss my family more than I would ever have thought possible.”
Chris smiled down at her but refused to release her hand. “I know about the kidnapping, Sarah,” he said gently. “Nick told me the afternoon you arrived.”
She stared down at her feet and prayed that her tears were indeed over.
He watched her shudder and placed his arm about her slender shoulders. “It’s all right. I‘ll not betray your confidence. But I must admit, after seeing you and Nick together, it truly makes one want to believe in fate.”
She turned her questioning eyes to him. “What do you mean?”
Chris shrugged. “I’ve known Nick for more than twenty years and never have I seen him as happy as he is when he’s with you. Then he tells me the circumstances of your meeting and – voilà! Fate.”
Sarah shook her head and turned back to watch the symphony of colors that now streaked the sky. “I think you are mistaken,” she said sadly, thinking of the final moments in the barn and how quickly Nick had rushed her back to her room after. “Mr. Beaumont has been more than gracious to me, but I return home knowing only too well that he harbors no regret to see the last of me.”
“You can’t really believe that nonsense. He’s in love with you. And if I’m not mistaken, you more than return his feelings.”
Sarah felt her tears threaten anew. “You are mistaken,” she said slowly. “I care for Mr. Beaumont very deeply, but the feelings are not returned. Besides,” she straightened on the bench, “it’s probably just as well, for I shall be leaving for Salem in but a few more weeks.”
“But if you love him, how can you just walk away?” Chris challenged angrily.
Sarah shrugged from his grasp and stood. “I did not say that I loved him. I said I am going home.”
“You can’t. You and Nick are perfect for each other.”
“I must,” she said slowly, needing to believe the words. “Our lives are too different. In Salem, women have much to see to. I‘m used to hard work and simple pleasures.”
Chris wondered as to her point, for his mother was the hardest working person he knew. Did Sarah actually think that people in the South didn’t labor long and hard for their bounty?
“I have four baskets of wool waiting for me to return home,” she continued. “They need to be carded and spun so I can be ready to weave. Do you know,” she paused, “that before coming here, I’d never worn a piece of clothing that was not made be either my mother or myself?”
“Sarah . . .” Chris said with exasperation, “as much I would wish it, clothing doesn’t grow on trees here. My mother made the very shirt I am wearing. Wherever did you get such foolish notions?”
“At home I have a garden,” she rushed on. “I like the responsibility. I enjoy being able to taste the fruits of my labor. Here in the South, things move at a different speed. I have no chores to claim my time or my talents. I have nothing but leisure time. And even then I don’t know what dress I should wear.” She gestured sadly. “ 'Tis best that I return to the world from which I come.”
“This is the silliest thing I have ever heard of,” Chris snorted. “You’re a guest here. You can’t expect the very people who offer you their hospitality to hand you a list of chores to see to. We ju
st don’t do things that way.”
“Exactly,” she said sadly. “Your way is too different from my way.”
Chris stood and grasped her shoulders. “And how will Nick survive when you leave and take his heart back to Salem? Do you think he cares a hoot what gown you choose when the mere sight of you makes him light up like a bonfire?”
Sarah felt a spark of hope, then fought it back. “He’s said nothing to make me think what you say is true,” she stated calmly.
Chris urged her to sit again. “Let me tell you a story,” he said gently, “of a little boy who was raised by his grandmother . . .”
When he finished, Sarah’s face was again wet with tears. “I just don’t understand how parents could be that cruel,” she sniffed. “But Mrs. Beaumont loves him, I know that she does.”
Chris nodded. “Aye, she does at that. But in the beginning, it was a love with conditions. It depended on how well he bent to her wishes and to what extent he succeeded. Agatha meant well, but she made the same mistake with Nick that she did with his father. She tried to mold him into the husband she lost.”
“But Nick isn’t anything like his father,” Sarah gasped, remembering Agatha’s horrible stories of the drunken lout. “Besides, how could you know this if you didn’t meet Nick until you went to England?”
“We didn’t always live on the plantation,” Chris said calmly. “There was a period when my father worked out here with the slaves and my mother and I lived above the King’s Tavern. The first time I ever saw Nick we were both in knee pants. His father had passed out on the front steps and Nick was trying to help him home. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on Nick’s face when he saw me at the window.”
“But you didn’t meet again until school?”
Chris nodded. “I recognized him immediately, and he I, but in all these years we’ve never spoken of it.”
“Then why bring it up now?”
Chris reached over and again took her hand. “Because even as close as we are, Nick still keeps a distance between us. He keeps a distance between himself and everyone, including his grandmother. He’s too strong-willed to allow himself to become vulnerable again. Yet despite it all, his eyes dance when he turns and looks at you. So something whispers to me from deep inside that you are the person Nick might let in. And . . .” Chris paused to capture her eyes, “I think you love him.”
Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series) Page 20