CHAPTER FIFTY
Scotland, June 1817
After Christian finished rubbing down Oberon in the barn, he hiked up to the front door of the lodge. Scotland was lovely and green this time of year. It was so different from the last time he’d been here. Snow knee-deep and … Sarah.
Damn it. He’d promised himself he’d stop thinking of her. A promise he was slowly coming to realize was going to be impossible to keep. The entire journey to Northumbria had been torturous. The four days he’d spent at the estate seeing to his business affairs had also been unpleasant. The servants, including Mrs. Hamilton, had obviously heard the news about his abrupt wedding, and they were baffled by the fact that he’d come home without his new wife. Mrs. Hamilton alone had peppered him with so many questions he didn’t want to answer that he found himself hiding from the woman in his own damn home. It was ridiculous. He’d planned to stay at Berkeley Hall for a sennight. He’d left after only four days. And ridden hell for leather to Scotland. The place where he always felt safe, at home, happy. But looking at the front door of the lodge now and remembering the last time he’d been here was making him feel anything but happy. Memories of Sarah flooded his mind. Surrounded him. Haunted him.
He’d spent the entire journey here trying to think of some way he could make it right for her. The obvious answer was a quiet annulment. He’d be willing to give it to her, but he suspected she’d refuse it. An annulment would drag her family into even greater scandal, which was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid. Not to mention her father would no doubt call him out immediately if an annulment was offered, let alone took place. No. The only thing to do was write Sarah and ask her what she wanted of him. If she wanted him to stay in Scotland and Northumbria, he would. He would not make her life more difficult. If she needed him back in London to mitigate the scandal or face it with her, he’d return. He’d left merely to give her time and space. He’d do whatever it took to make it right. But his greatest fear was that she’d write back and tell him to stay here indefinitely. Funny. Something he’d always wished for was no longer what he wanted. He wanted Sarah. Wherever she was.
When he opened the front door, he didn’t hear the familiar bark of Fergus II. Instead, the scent of stew cooking reached his nostrils. He glanced around. The rug was near the hearth where Sarah had left it. And sure enough, a pot of stew was bubbling on the stove top. The chessboard was sitting on the table. Biscuit dough sat rising on the countertop.
And then he heard … singing. Coming from one of the bedchambers. A woman, singing. He immediately headed toward the sound of it.
He pushed open the bedroom door and blinked. Was he seeing an illusion conjured by his imagination? Sarah was there, sitting in a chair next to the bed, knitting. Fergus II, wearing a new blue sweater, was sound asleep on the rug next to her feet.
The knitting needles dropped to her lap and Sarah looked up into Christian’s eyes. It wasn’t a figment of his imagination. She was here. She’d come to him.
“You’re early.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
“You’re here.” So was his.
She stood up, set her knitting in the chair, and smoothed her skirts.
“You’re here, aren’t you? This isn’t my imagination?” he asked.
“No, it’s not your imagination. Of course I’m here. It’s my duty as a wife.”
“Your duty as a—”
She stood and turned down the bed. Then she motioned for him to sit on it. He did so, still watching her carefully.
She knelt and motioned for him to pick up his foot so she could assist him in removing his boot. He complied. She pulled off first one, then the other.
Christian watched her with wide eyes. He had absolutely no idea what she was about. Was she still angry with him, or did she want to make love to him? He couldn’t tell. He braced his hands behind him on the bed and leaned back, his eyes never leaving her.
Sarah stood, walked over to the wall, and hefted the sword that still rested there. She came back to the bed and, after lifting the weapon with both hands, held the tip of the blade to Christian’s throat.
“Sarah, I—”
“I’m the one with the sword. That means I get to speak first.”
He swallowed against the blade. “By all means.”
She straightened her shoulders and tossed back her hair. Her arms strained under the weight of the sword. Her eyes flashed like green ice. She looked magnificent.
“If you ever take me for granted … if you ever treat me with disrespect … if you ever again make a life-changing choice without consulting me first…”
“You’ll slice me in half?” He didn’t smile. Didn’t dare smile.
“I’ll make you regret the day you were born.”
“Understood.”
She lowered the sword away from his neck and propped it against the nearest wall. “Now, I’d like you to tell me what I’ve been waiting to hear for days but you only saw fit to write in a letter you left on my bedside table before you fled from me.”
Christian jumped to his feet and pulled her into his arms. “I love you, Sarah.”
“You do, Christian? You truly do?”
“Yes. I think I’ve loved you since the first time you threatened me with a sword.”
She smiled at that and he hugged her tightly.
“I love you, too, Christian.”
“Helplessly?”
“Yes.”
“Hopelessly?”
“Yes, and not only that, I missed you, my darling,” she said.
Christian picked her up and swung her around. “Good, because if this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.” He kissed her long and soundly.
“Neither do I,” she breathed.
He set her back on her feet and held her hand. She lowered herself to the bed, sat on the edge, and patted the space next to her. He sat beside her.
“Christian, I’m sorry. I let my stubborn pride and my idiotic need to please my parents get in the way of our happiness.”
“No, I’m sorry, Sarah. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you I love you weeks ago. I let my fear keep me from finding the happiness I’ve always wanted. But I know now I cannot be happy without you. And I hope you feel the same way.”
She cupped his cheeks. “I do, my darling. I do.”
Christian reached out and touched her face gently. He ran his fingers along her cheek, along her jawline, along her smooth neck. She arched her chin so he could touch her more.
“I want to make love to you,” he whispered.
“Yes,” was her only reply.
With a slightly shaking hand, he reached out and began to unbutton her gown. He pushed it off her shoulders. She turned for him and plucked the pins out of her hair while he set about the painstaking task of unlacing the back of her gown. He had to pull each lace through the series of brackets, and he stopped every few moments to kiss the back of her neck, sending shudders throughout her body.
When he was finally done, she was able to lower the gown over her hips and she stood there in only her shift, her stays, and her stockings. He pulled her close and kissed her deeply while his strong fingers worked on the laces to her stays. Finally, that garment, too, gave way and she tossed it aside.
“Now you.” She nodded to him.
Christian had forgotten that he was still fully dressed. His boots were already gone, so he had only to remove his stockings, his breeches, and his shirt. He nearly ripped his cravat from around his throat and tossed it aside.
“Careful. That looked expensive.” She smiled.
“I don’t care. I’ll buy ten new ones if I must.” He pulled his shirt over his head with both hands.
When his chest was bare, Sarah sucked in her breath.
“Oh, Christian, you’re so, so…”
“I spend a lot of time fencing,” he said with a wicked grin as she traced her hands down his flat abdomen to the muscles that stood out in stark relief along his middle. “Your hand on me is
like torture,” he whispered.
“Now your breeches,” she whispered back, excitement filling her.
His hands were at the buttons of his breeches, and he watched her while he undid each button of the placket. Sarah held her breath.
He shucked his breeches and stockings in one quick move and stood naked before her, tall, lean, muscled. His manhood jutted out toward her, hardened by his desire.
She had the sudden urge to touch it but was immediately reminded of the fact that he was naked and now she should be, too.
She turned toward the bed and crawled onto it. Without saying a word, she pulled off her shift and tossed it on the floor. She had only her stockings left. She reached down to push them off, but Christian’s hand stopped her. “No. Leave them on. I find them completely alluring.”
She nodded and reclined against the pillows. Christian watched her, her long hair spread out black against the stark whiteness of the sheets. Her full, perfect breasts, her tiny waist, her long, sleek legs. She was breathtaking.
She was watching him, too. Her eyes devoured his frame from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet. He lay down on the bed next to her and she flinched.
“I won’t hurt you, darling. Trust me,” he said.
She bit her lip. “Mother told me it will hurt terribly, but—”
“Your mother doesn’t know everything,” he said.
“Kiss me,” she breathed, and he complied. He took her face between his fingers and moved his mouth over hers.
“Sarah, I’m going to do something. Something that won’t hurt you at all. Something I hope you’ll like. Something that should make you wet, ready for me.”
She felt herself blush. “Is it … what you did in Surrey?”
He grinned wickedly again. “Yes.”
“Then by all means, I trust you,” she murmured.
He kissed his way down her torso, stopping to ravish each breast with his mouth and hands. By the time his head descended toward the apex of her thighs, she was panting and mindlessly wanting him. “Christian, please,” she breathed.
“Patience, my love,” he replied.
Her hands dug into the bedsheets as his mouth covered her most intimate spot and his tongue licked deep between her cleft, finding that perfect point and torturing it with the tip of his tongue. Sarah’s eyes rolled back in her head. “Oh, God. Christian!” she called, wanting it never to end.
The feeling that surged through her began between her legs and pulsed throughout her body, spreading like fire to every nerve ending in her body. She cried out and splintered apart, cradling his head between her legs.
He lifted up on one elbow and grinned at her. “Did you like that?”
She couldn’t answer. Panting and a nod were all she could manage.
“Good.” His hand slipped between her legs and he slowly pushed one finger inside of her. She groaned. “You’re so wet. So wet for me, my love.”
“Yes,” she murmured.
He took her hand and moved it down between his legs. “Don’t be afraid. That’s how much I want you. It won’t hurt you.”
She nodded.
He lifted himself above her and braced both hands on either side of her head. Then he dipped his head and kissed her long and lovingly. “I love you, Sarah.”
“I love you, too, Christian.” She traced her fingertips along his cheek.
His manhood prodded at the opening of her body, but when he slid in, there was only the gentle glide of him and a soft pressure. No pain.
“Is that it?” she asked, biting her lip.
He barked a laugh. “Not exactly what one hopes to hear the first time one takes his wife to bed.”
“No, I only mean … It doesn’t hurt, Christian. It’s rather—”
He moved his hips then and she moaned. “Nice,” she finished, already panting.
“‘Nice’ is one word for it,” he said, already pulling out and levering his hips again. “But I can do better than ‘nice.’” He pulled out and pushed in again and again, closing his eyes and kissing her as though his life depended on it.
The pressure built within her again, and the intense pleasure rolled through her one more time. She cried out against his rough cheek.
“Oh, God, Sarah,” he cried when at last he pumped into her for the final time and spilled himself inside her.
Moments later, he rolled over and pulled her atop him, cradling her against his chest.
“What do you think?”
“You’re right. It was better than nice,” she said, tucking her head under his chin and kissing his chest.
“I’m infinitely glad to hear it.”
She slapped at his shoulder and laughed. “You didn’t have to make all this so very complicated, you know.”
“You didn’t have to almost give me a heart attack by nearly marrying another man, you know.”
Sarah laid her head back against Christian’s chest. “I’m only glad it worked out the way it has. It frightens me to think how close we came to ruining our happiness.”
He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. “I’ll never take you for granted, Sarah.”
She returned his embrace.
“What were you knitting, by the by?” he asked her.
“A new sweater for Fergus.”
“The man or the dog?”
“The dog, though I wouldn’t mind making one for the man, too. I believe I shall begin after Fergus Two’s new summer coat is finished. Though Mrs. Goatsocks may well take exception to my making a sweater for Mr. Fergus.”
“Mrs. Goatsocks? Is she still here?”
“Yes. She’s found work in town as a lady’s maid. Mr. Fergus visits her each Sunday, or so he told me. That’s where he is right now, in fact.”
“Is that so? I wondered where he’d got to.”
“I expect we’ll hear an announcement between them, shortly. He was infinitely pleased to hear that we had married, incidentally.”
“Just think, you created two couples when you ran away to Scotland.”
“Do you know Mrs. Goatsocks had the nerve to tell me that she decided to give you her blessing to take me to Northumbria the moment she discovered you were the viscount?”
“What?”
“That’s right. Apparently, she already had in mind that we’d make an excellent match for each other. ‘No better way to form a match than to let down one’s strictures for a bit.’ She said it with a wink. Can you imagine?”
Christian nearly fell off the bed laughing. “No, actually. No, I cannot imagine.”
Then he kissed Sarah again, long and deeply, and when he raised his head, she had a contented smile on her face. “You know, I think I shall quite like living in the north most of the time.”
“You won’t miss—what did Branford call them?—the amusements of London?”
“I only want to be where you are.” She rested her chin against his shoulder.
“I think I can manage to bring my wife to town from time to time. Whatever you like. My home is wherever you want to be.” He hugged her close.
“We may want to stay up here for a while. At least until Mother and Father come to terms with our marriage and Lucy works her magic.”
“Lucy?” Christian asked. “What magic is she working now?”
“Oh, she fully intends to scrub my reputation clean. She’s already begun.”
Christian’s crack of laughter bounced against the walls. “All of my money is on her. Make no mistake.”
“I agree. I fully expect us to be back in the ton’s good graces again in a matter of days.”
“But in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, I think we should remain here and do wicked things. I might as well earn the reputation I’ve got.”
Another crack of laughter. “You mean like how I found you quietly knitting a sweater?”
“I think we can think of things much more wicked than that.”
“Like chess?”
Her fingers tr
aveled slowly down to where the quilt covered him below the waist. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
An hour later, after he’d thoroughly made love to his wife again, Christian met her in the kitchen to partake of the stew she’d made. “I’m famished,” he said as she set about preparing the biscuits, just as she’d done all those months ago.
“I am, too.” She blushed at his leering look.
She set out the wine and served the stew.
Just before Christian took his first bite, Sarah said, “What do you think poor Branford will do?”
“Find someone as interested in himself as he is, no doubt. The ton is full of ladies who will put up with a great deal to become a marchioness.”
“It’s sad but true.” Sarah sighed. “Perhaps Lady Claire would be a good candidate. Branford does have a penchant for the belles of the Season.”
“I think they might make quite a fine couple, actually.”
Sarah laughed. “Yes, well, they’re welcome to each other. I must turn my attention to helping Meg find a proper husband. Lucy and Cass have agreed to help.”
“What about the man Meg is helplessly in love with?”
“Unfortunately, he is not an option.” Sarah sighed again.
“Never think it. True love and all that.”
“Well, there was something quite odd about the way…”
“About the way what?”
“Never mind. I’ll have to dig to the bottom of it when we return to London. I may have to enlist Lucy to help me with that, too, though she’s already set her sights on someone else to be her next project.”
“Already? Who is the poor girl?”
“It’s not a girl. It’s Cade Cavendish. I told Lucy what he’d said about having done things that might get him hanged. She’s intrigued.”
Christian shook his head. “Lucy’s always wanted to be a spy.”
“What do you think Cade Cavendish has done?”
“I can’t even begin to guess,” Christian replied.
“Lucy says she intends to find out.”
“That cannot possibly end well,” Christian said.
“Why not? All her other schemes have ended well, haven’t they? Her last one got us together.”
“You may have a point, but you were also instrumental in getting us together. You ran away from London and broke into my house.”
The Legendary Lord Page 25