His body turned to stone. He froze. And Sarah nearly wept.
It was over, but her sex was still stretched and needing. Her belly still empty.
But he didn’t collapse on her. His chest still heaved for air, and his shaft did not diminish in the least. After a few more deep breaths, James shifted his weight onto one arm and slid one hand between their bodies.
Wide-eyed, she waited in complete confusion. And then she cried out.
His fingers had found that spot. That place he often stroked before he took her. The place that had, heretofore, made her wriggle a bit at the sensation. But tonight, that place sang like an instrument under James’s stroking fingertips. She sang. She moaned and gasped and strained her head back into the pillow.
Despite what she’d suspected, James had not finished. Still stroking, he thrust again. And again. And what she’d thought was glorious before had been nothing to this. Friction and tightness and the perfect amount of pleasure.
Gritting her teeth, she arched to meet him.
“Yes, Sarah. My sweet. Yes.”
Yes, she thought. Yes. And then her body turned in on itself, a snake writhing into a knot. Everything tightened to an impossible tension, and then . . . then she was set free, sobbing, gasping.
James shouted something, stiffened above her for a long moment before he shuddered hard against her.
Before she slept, she felt him press a dozen kisses to her neck, and then she was falling deep into blackness.
CHAPTER 2
Every time a step sounded outside the breakfast-room door, James tensed and stared, cold toast and kipper forgotten. After the fifth time the footsteps of the industrious maid passed, James rose, opened the door, and propped it open with the nearest vase.
There. Now he would look less like a hound anticipating his generous mistress and her pocketful of treats. Sarah would not enter to find him all agape. Instead, she’d enter to find him only stunned and eager.
Last night had been . . . Well, frankly, it had been the most shocking night of his life. Not the most debauched. Not the least dignified. Just the most surprising.
He’d had lovers. The widow of a prosperous merchant. A brief affair with a rather lusty governess. And a long affair with a slightly older woman whose husband had moved to France fifteen years before and refused to send for her. He’d had pleasant affairs, and had pleasured those women.
But he’d mistakenly assumed that Sarah wasn’t quite like them. She was so dignified. Innocent and reserved. Measured. A woman of a higher class, perhaps not geared toward the carnal.
Not that he’d given her no pleasure at all. He’d always been sure to caress her until her body made itself ready. He’d been slow and careful, especially on their wedding night. Sure to make her wet and ease his way. But stroking the little pearl that made other women scream had only made Sarah a bit more relaxed.
Until last night.
Shifting, James looked again toward the open doorway, but she wasn’t there. A quick glance at his watch revealed the sad truth that he could tarry no longer. A meeting with this new incarnation of his wife would have to wait.
“Damn,” he cursed as he folded his paper and snapped it shut. He’d wanted to see her. Kiss her good-bye. See if her eyes shone a little more brightly when she spied him. But he’d not wake her. After last night, she needed her sleep.
James couldn’t help his smile as he took his hat from the butler—more slowly than strictly necessary—checked the stairway one last time, and reluctantly took his leave.
* * *
Sarah didn’t wake fully aware of the night before. No, her head felt a bit achy and her throat raw with thirst when sunlight finally woke her. She was snuggling into her pillow to escape the discomfort when the first inkling of what she’d done hit her. Hand pressed to her chest, she sat bolt upright and inhaled as much air as would fit in her lungs.
She was stark naked.
“Oh, good Lord.”
The memories weren’t exactly crisp, but they were vivid nonetheless. She’d moaned and writhed. Shuddered and scratched. A stray cat howling for a tom. And then . . . then she’d had some sort of fit. A screaming, jerking fit.
“Oh no,” Sarah sobbed, pressing both hands to her mouth. What must her husband think? Eyes rolling, she scanned the room, but saw no sign of him. When her gaze caught sight of the small clock on the mantel, her shoulders collapsed. It was nearly ten. He’d left for work long before. She would not see him for hours, and she couldn’t help but be thankful, disloyal as that seemed.
She fell back to the pillows and pulled the coverlet up to her nose. What in the world had happened to her? The wine perhaps, except her strange mood had started earlier, so much worry and restlessness. And then . . . when her husband had touched her, something had . . . come to life inside her body. Something hot and trembling. Something almost hungry.
A groan escaped her throat, scaring her almost as much as her thoughts. If there was a beast inside her, lurking in her deepest soul, she knew what it must be. Her secret. Her family’s secret.
Sarah set her teeth and swallowed hard. She wasn’t a woman prone to dramatics. James had hardly seemed alarmed, from what she could recall. He had seemed . . . What? Encouraging? But he did not know the truth. She had not told him the truth. So she could not depend upon him to know whether her paroxysms were a normal phenomenon or a sign of worse to come.
In truth, she had heard her own mother cry out like that on occasion. Usually when the doctor would go in and shut the door for her treatments. Then, afterward, her mother would weep, sometimes for days.
Knowing full well that time spent lying in bed would only mean more worry, she dug her nightgown from beneath the sheets and twisted and wiggled until she had it on. Then she rang for a bath. By the time the clock struck eleven and she found herself staring down at the congealing breakfast on her plate, Sarah knew what she must do.
Though the housekeeper was a slightly terrifying presence, Sarah forced herself to calmly request the woman’s attention in the morning room. It took her approximately two minutes to quench her suddenly dry mouth, wipe her fingers, and rise to make her way to the morning room. The housekeeper was already there, awaiting her.
“Oh, Mrs. Baylor. Such a prompt response.” Sarah could not understand how Mrs. Baylor could be quite so round and still move more swiftly than a startled mouse.
“Yes, ma’am. Would you care to review the menus this morning, then?”
“No, I think the schedule is going splendidly. You run this house with great efficiency.”
Mrs. Baylor waited, eyes darting toward the door as if she’d like to be off to see to other duties.
“Well, then,” Sarah chirped. “I am running a few errands today, and I should like to steal one of the maids away. Could you spare Betsy, do you think?”
“Betsy? Which Betsy, ma’am? There are two.”
Sarah blinked. Two? Lord, she thought she had planned so well. One of those Betsys couldn’t read even the simplest words. Sarah knew this because she’d heard the girl explain to Mrs. Baylor why she couldn’t fetch a certain spice from the larder one evening when Sarah had been trying to teach them the recipe for her grandmother’s spiced cakes. Sarah needed that girl.
She cleared her throat. “The, um, the Betsy with the curly brown hair that sneaks from her cap?”
“Aye, I’ve spoken to her about that, ma’am. I’ll—”
“The hair is fine. Only can you spare her?”
“Of course.”
Sarah nodded and smiled past her pounding heart. “Wonderful. I shall be ready in half an hour. Please notify the footman that I will require a hack.”
The moment Mrs. Baylor quit the room, Sarah rushed to the writing table and drew a piece of paper from the drawer. After staring at the blank page for at least ten minutes, she took the pen into one shaking hand and scratched out three lines. She did not sign it, only dried it carefully and folded it into a tight, neat square.
The rest of her preparations took no time at all, and before the half hour was up, she and Betsy were in the coach and on their way.
The shop was less than a mile from the house, but Sarah rarely patronized it. The owner was her least favorite of the nearby book merchants, he being more interested in science and politics than “those dreadful novels,” as he called them. An arrogant bore in Sarah’s opinion, but he might prove useful today.
As soon as the hack creaked to a halt before the store, Sarah pressed the note into Betsy’s hand, along with a generous fistful of coins. A few simple instructions later, and she was alone in the coach, still rocking from Betsy’s jarring descent.
She stared at the opposite cushion, hands clenched tight together, and waited. Minutes dragged by. She thought about James. Wondered if he was thinking about her. Perhaps the night had meant nothing to him. Perhaps it had been like any other. Nodding to reassure herself, Sarah took a look at the door of the shop.
Nothing.
Had the bookseller grown suspicious? Was he even now questioning the maid? Surely he couldn’t object to the request.
Please remand, to the bearer of this note, three or four of your most popular texts on the subject of female health and marital relations.
Could he know it was from a woman? Would he report her to her husband?
A flutter of panic was just beginning to rise in her throat when the door to the shop flew inward. Pressing her fingers to her mouth, Sarah held her breath until a familiar skirt appeared above the threshold.
Betsy stepped out, mouth set in a serious line as befit a kitchen maid elevated to a temporarily important status. She didn’t look scandalized or titillated, only determined. When she saw Sarah watching, she broke into a smile, then remembered herself and smothered it.
“’E drove a hard bargain, ma’am, but I got him down to four quid!” She was proud of herself, regardless that she had no idea how much her package should have cost, but Sarah thought four quid a good bargain and told her so.
The maid kept the paper-wrapped bundle close as she alighted, and though Sarah wanted to snatch it from her, there could be no reasonable excuse to do so. Still, she stared anxiously at the brown paper as Betsy settled it on her lap and wrapped her chapped fingers around the string.
Sarah’s answer might be inside that brown paper, just inches from her hands. Had last night been a fit? A sign that her mother’s tainted blood had been passed to her? If so, she would have to tell James a truth too horrible to consider . . . that she might pass on the illness she’d hidden to his children.
The palms of her white gloves were soaked with perspiration by the time the hack delivered them back to the Hood door. When they entered, Betsy moved to carry the books to the library, but Sarah touched her elbow.
“I will take those,” she said too loudly, then managed a smile when Betsy jumped in shock. “Thank you, Betsy. You were a great help to me today.” Heart beating too hard to hear the maid’s reply, Sarah wrapped her arms around the books and spun to run up the stairs.
“Sarah?” a deep voice called, interrupting her retreat. The tone and timbre of that voice spread icy fingers over the skin of her back. Her knees locked and she nearly pitched forward onto her face.
“Sarah?” James’s voice repeated from only a few feet behind her. Clutching her guilt tighter to her chest, Sarah tried hard to breathe.
She was caught.
* * *
When his wife turned toward him, James felt no small amount of alarm at her pallor. He was actually reaching out to catch her when her lips trembled into a smile.
“James, you surprised me. Whatever are you doing home at this hour?”
He frowned. “Are you quite well, my dear?” He started to ease his hand beneath her elbow, but she shifted away, drawing his eye to the package she held.
“I am fine. I was only out to . . . I only just . . .”
He smiled. “More books, darling?”
“I . . .” Her eyes fell. “Yes,” she whispered. “Books.”
“Come.” He slid his hand over her shoulder and curled his fingers to touch the back of her neck, shocked at the way her skin played havoc with his nerves. But shock didn’t stop him from lowering his mouth to her forehead. He let himself breathe her in for a bare second before he pulled away. “You may buy as many novels as you like. We have a library to fill, after all.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Sarah,” he said on a nervous laugh. “Pray do not look at me as if I were a monster.” As soon as he said the word “monster” it occurred to him that maybe her upset had nothing to do with books and everything to do with last night. Horror froze his blood to a sluggish crawl. Had he hurt her? Frightened her? His stomach fell to his feet.
His wife shook her head and tried to blink the tears away. “Of course not. You are so good to me. Always.”
Helpless and confused, he dropped his hand from her neck, though he clenched his fingers to hold her warmth captive. “I thought perhaps we could take luncheon together. Have I upset you too much to join me?” What he’d actually thought was that they might use luncheon as an excuse to flirt. He’d hoped to tease a blush to her cheeks, hoped that the memory would keep him company for the rest of this interminable day. Now he only hoped not to hurt her tender feelings.
Sarah took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Against him?
“I would love to dine with you, James. I was only overset by a headache this morning. Please forgive me.”
“Of course!” he answered. Of course, she’d suffered a headache. His wife did not often indulge in too many glasses of wine. “If you are ill, I will leave you to your rest.”
“No, stay! Please stay. I only need a moment.”
Before he could offer even a small bow, she’d whirled away and started up the stairs, arms still clutching her package. James watched her go, tracing her small waist with his eyes.
Her delicate femininity had inspired his protectiveness from the moment they’d met. Whenever she was near, he felt larger. Stronger, somehow. But today, for the first time, he felt like a clumsy oaf with hands far too big to handle a creature as beautifully fragile as his wife.
CHAPTER 3
Luncheon had been a miserable affair, though Sarah had tried her best to be bright and lively. Her husband rarely returned home during the day, and on any previous day, she would have been nervously excited at his unexpected appearance. But today, guilt had eaten at her, devouring bits of her slowly. When it had finished its feast, she’d been left hollow, but at least it had been done.
Then she’d remembered that she should be embarrassed as well as guilty. Had he been thinking about the previous night when he’d watched her so closely? She had blushed at the thought, and the burn had stayed through the rest of the meal.
But James had been lovely, as always, trying his best to coax a laugh from her lips. She had laughed for him, and wished she were not such a fraud.
When he’d gone, he hadn’t pressed his customary kiss to her cheek. Instead, he’d kissed her lips, and the taste of his mouth made her heart tumble and fall, made her breath hitch. James’s eyes had widened at that small sound, and he’d stared at her for a long moment before taking his leave.
Pulse thumping at the memory, Sarah pressed her fingertips to her mouth and curled tighter into the chair. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, warming the corner where she hid and lighting up the pile of books she’d unwrapped.
Another secret kept from him.
Hand trembling, she reached for the smallest book. A Physician’s Wisdom Pursuant to the Fruitful Marriage. Well, she had certainly felt ripe as a peach last night in the dark.
After one last, deep breath, Sarah cracked open the book and began to read.
The first two chapters were so decidedly un-scandalous that Sarah actually began to feel sleepy. Complementary temperaments that would make for a good marriage. Physical attributes that might normally be considered attract
ive to a mate. She would’ve called for tea if the thought of packing up the books and hiding them didn’t seem too tremendous a feat. So she read on, and soon felt her sleepiness dissipate like fog before a hard wind.
Here. Here was information that would prove useful.
Frequency of marital relations will be determined by the husband’s spirit and humours. The wife should, of course, accommodate the enthusiasm of his masculine needs but should never be bullied or cowed into acquiescence. Despite that her body does not rise in demand as a man’s does, it is not the impassive vessel it seems. Her own seed must be called if the marriage is to result in healthy progeny. Even from the time of Aristotle it has been known that the wife’s womb will not quicken unless she experiences her own feminine climax.
“Climax,” Sarah breathed. At the sound of that word, her body bloomed into chill bumps that tightened her nipples. Climax. That seemed exactly what it had been. A culmination of the sensations her husband had encouraged.
Could it be that her fit had been a good thing? She wanted children, badly. Perhaps this was only a harbinger of fertility?
Feeling more hopeful by the moment, Sarah read on, wide-eyed at the information printed on the pages. The author provided fascinating details of pregnancy and childbirth and admonitions against “self-pollution,” whatever that might be. Further assertion that pleasure between a man and his wife was vitally important to the health of both. And, most interesting of all, a drawing of how the male and female bodies in their entirety were designed by God himself to complement each other.
Sarah studied the picture closely, trying in vain to picture James’s body opposite her own. She could not. She’d tried hard not to glimpse any bits of him that might be . . . frightening. It seemed odd now, that something had been deep inside her own body and she’d never even peeked at it. Surely she should be acquainted with the thing.
The hum that had been slowly building in her body over the past hours began to center itself in a very specific spot. She recognized both the hum and the spot now. After reading such enlightening text, the sensations felt rather friendly instead of frightening.
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