The Most Unlikely Lady

by Barbara Devlin

  In little more than half an hour, Sabrina polished off two bowls of vermicelli soup, a large portion of boiled salmon, a filet of trout, a roasted quarter of lamb, a serving of lobster curry, a modest allowance of prawns, and had set her sights on the Neapolitan cakes.

  “Never have I seen such gluttony,” the marchioness declared with unmasked disgust.

  “Let her alone, Lizzy.” The marquess winked. “It is rather refreshing to see a young lady enjoy a meal, instead of picking at her food like a bird.”

  “May I refill your wine glass, darling?” Everett asked in a low, husky voice, and his entire demeanor bespoke an open challenge she was only too happy to meet. To her delight, his amber depths twinkled with amusement and something mysterious she could not place. “Perhaps you favor a sweetmeat, sweet?”

  Sabrina met his gaze, held it, counted to ten as Celia advised, and lowered her stare. She scooted her plate aside as he played footman. “If it is not too much trouble.”

  “On the contrary, I am most definitely at your service.”

  Though she resisted the urge to look at him, she had a hunch Everett’s service referred to more than dessert, and she could not suppress a delicious shiver of excitement.

  #

  Burdened with the most stubborn, most painful erection in the history of man, Everett wondered how he would survive dinner without tumbling his wife on the dining room table. Still smarting from her rejection, he had not seen or spoken to her since that awful confrontation in her bedchamber. Because Sabrina had never refused him, he had viewed the incident as a death knell for their marriage and was all but ready to surrender his cause.

  Not so anymore.

  Perhaps he had rushed her. Had his forceful passion frightened her in the gazebo? They’d had scarcely a moment’s peace since their wedding, so her reticence was understandable. And, to his abiding regret, she remained a virgin. But if he claimed her virtue, she would have no choice but to remain his bride.

  The death of his brother had turned his world upside down. But it was not only his life, he reminded himself. He was married. Yet he had not considered the effect his newfound status would have on Sabrina.

  She had wed Lord Everett Markham--not an earl.

  But an earl she now had.

  Everett recalled a conversation with Sabrina, from their whirlwind courtship. She had made it very clear that she preferred him without the benefit of rank. It would be just his luck to lose his bride because he had gained a title.

  In that instant, Everett realized he needed to rethink his strategy.

  “Care to join me for a drink, my boy?” his father inquired.

  Everett snapped to attention. “Certainly, sir.”

  “Well, I believe I shall adjourn to the drawing room.” His mother stood and fixed Sabrina with a narrow-eyed stare. “Are you coming, Sabrina?”

  “If it is not too much trouble, I should like to withdraw to the library.” Casting him a shy glance, his wife set her napkin on her plate. “I need to catch up on my reading.”

  It was either wishful thinking or an arousal-induced hallucination, but Everett was certain her expression intimated an invitation--one he was inclined to accept. “Bring on the brandy.”

  The usual English male bonding that occurred after dinner consisted of an intoxicant of some sort, expensive cigars, and ribald discussions involving horseflesh, politics, and mistresses. The ritual typically lasted at least an hour and a half.

  Everett managed to escape his sire’s company in fifteen minutes.

  Fortified with two glasses of his father’s finest stock, which he had all but gulped down, Everett stood before the library door. The knob was cool against his damp palm, as flagging confidence had him uttering a prayer for mercy and success. With a last check of his appearance, he buttoned his coat to conceal his aroused state, because he had not wanted to risk frightening Sabrina.

  In quiet, he opened the door, peeked inside, and discovered the room was dimly lit. A single candle sat on the table beside a winged back chair, the light insufficient to read. Standing before one of the tall windows, his wife gazed at the night sky beyond the glass.

  Careful not to make a sound, he closed the door behind him. For a while, he studied the inexpressible beauty of his most unlikely lady. Her raven hair was piled in a knot atop her head; loose wisps teased the back of her neck. Gowned in black silk, the dark material emphasized the creaminess of her skin, and he imagined the rest of her flesh was just as enticing. And he had to imagine, because although they had been married for three weeks, he had yet to see her naked.

  In his mind, he revisited her soft moans and cries as he had pleasured her in the gazebo. The way she had melted in his arms as she experienced completion for the first time. Her expression of innocent fascination had visited his dreams, and he wanted to see it again as she held him within her. As he brought her to sweet release with his body.

  Sabrina turned and gasped when she spied him. “My lord, I did not know you were there.”

  As a hunter, he stalked her. As his prey, she skittered away.

  Everett halted and took a minute to calm himself. He had promised himself he would not rush her. They would consummate their marriage soon enough. “I forgot to tell you. It seems my business will be concluded earlier than I had thought.”

  Strolling along the sidewall, her fingers trailing the bindings of shelved volumes, Sabrina peered over her shoulder. “Oh?”

  “Yes.” He followed in her wake but slowly closed the distance between them. “We will journey to Beaumaris on Friday, instead of Sunday.”

  “I shall give instructions to have our things packed.”

  Everett wished she would face him so he could read her mood. “I trust you are pleased?”

  They coursed the interior wall, and Sabrina kept a relaxed pace. “I wish whatever you wish, my lord.”

  Her apparent indifference portended doom. After enduring his mother, he would have thought she would fly into his arms at the prospect of their departure. Disappointment bloomed as a weight in his chest, and Everett frowned at the back of her head. She reached the corner and continued along the sidewall. In a game of cat and mouse, they had come full circle and were nearing the table bearing the candle.

  Though the light was faint, he had not missed the gooseflesh bared by her short-sleeved gown. As it was almost summer, and the room was warm, she could not be chilled. That meant...

  Everett grasped her wrist and whirled her around. With something between a sob and a sigh Sabrina flew at him. Lips met, fused. Her arms twined about his neck, she held him to her. The minutes ticked past on the mantel clock as he stood there, gently loving her with his mouth. It was so good to taste her again.

  Despite his promises of self-restraint, Everett touched her everywhere, learning her feminine landscape anew. Soon--very soon--he would trace her bare curves with his hands, lips, and tongue. But at that moment, he sipped her slowly, like a fine wine, savoring the warm softness of her body.

  Everything inside him ached to take. To claim. But that house was not his home, and he wanted their first time to be on his territory, in his chamber, in his bed. He wanted to make her scream with pleasure and hear her cries reverberating off his walls. Wanted her to lose herself on his silken sheets.

  But not tonight.

  In one swift move, Everett swept his wife into his arms and settled them into the cozy chair next to the table on which the candle burned. He cradled Sabrina on his lap, one hand resting possessively on her hip. She made no move to resist him, not that he thought she would, so he breathed a sigh of relief and grinned like a randy fop.

  “Are you comfortable?” Everett rubbed his cheek against her hair.

  “Infinitely.”

  “I am sorry I have not had much time for you. I promise that will change once we reach Beaumaris.”

  “Promise?” She shifted her leg and wiggled her bottom in what he felt sure was an unintended caress of his aching erection.

 
Everett closed his eyes and bit back a groan. Could she know how she affected him? “You shall enjoy my undivided attention, Lady Woverton.”

  “I preferred Lady Markham.”

  In an instant, his overheated body chilled. She had just given voice to his worst nightmare. “My dear, I would gladly return to my untitled state, but I have no choice in the matter.”

  Sabrina pulled back and stared into his eyes. With a smile and a shrug, she said, “Then we will do as would a Douglas and persevere.”

  How anyone could make something so complicated sound so simple was beyond him. But at that moment, Everett was not about to correct her. As he let his gaze fall on her rosy lips, she trailed her little pink tongue across her flesh.

  “Yes, we will,” he murmured against her mouth.

  #

  “Bloody hell!”

  The cry echoed on the air, sending birds scattering from the trees. It was Wednesday, and Sabrina and Celia sat, side by side, on the log near the stream, trading valuable lessons in decorum. One was graceful, polite, and charming.

  The other--well, less so.

  “Once more.” Sabrina leaned forward and placed her hand on Celia’s belly. “From your gut.”

  With steely determination, Celia lifted her chin and inhaled a deep breath. “Bloody hell!”

  “Perfect.” Sabrina was so proud. “Try again, this time stand with fists on hips.”

  The young woman assumed the proper stance. “Like this?”

  Sabrina nodded. “Let it rip.”

  Her expression grew serious, and her brow furrowed. “Blast it all!” Celia roared.

  “Wonderful.” Sabrina could not help but gush over her protégé’s progress.

  “Was I forceful enough?” Celia inquired with the eagerness of a puppy wanting to please its master.

  “Oh, yes,” Sabrina assured her.

  “If you were my husband, would you take me seriously?”

  “Without doubt.” Sabrina nodded. “Were I a man, I would be quaking in my boots.”

  “Really?” Celia clasped her hands to her chest.

  “Truly.” Sabrina wrinkled her nose. “One more thing. Try not to smile when you swear.”

  With a huff, Celia pouted. “Did I smile?”

  “Afraid so, and it is difficult to garner respect when you smile and swear at the same time.” She tapped her slippered foot as her mind searched for a solution. Sabrina snapped her fingers. “I have it. Pretend you have just entered the kitchen and smelled boiling cabbage.”

  With an expression worthy of the marchioness, Celia grimaced. “Eeewww.”

  “That is it!” Sabrina hooted. “If we were not fast chums I would fear for my life.”

  “It was nothing.” Celia plopped next to her on the log and frowned. “You are going away so soon. What will I do without you, dearest Sabrina?”

  “What you will do is come for a visit.” Adopting the most regal pose she had recently learned, Sabrina said, “As the countess of Woverton, I hereby issue a standing invitation to one Lady Celia Devane. You must come, because I want you to meet my friends.”

  “After all you have told me, I can almost picture them in my head.” Celia dusted off her skirts. “Well, enough swearing. We need to prepare you for dinner tonight.”

  Sabrina would rather walk the plank on the most onerous pirate ship than discuss the impending gathering the marchioness hosted that evening.

  “But...I had thought we could begin your fencing lessons.”

  “Oh, dear.” Celia twiddled her thumbs. “I am afraid of sharp objects.”

  “We can use a stick.”

  “You are attempting to delay the inevitable.” Celia elbowed her in the ribs. “And I want you on your best behavior when you meet my parents.”

  “Are you coming?”

  “Yes, my parents and I will dine with you this evening, so you had better be ready. All right, fold your hands in your lap just so.” Celia demonstrated, before reaching out and resituating Sabrina’s hands, herself. “Now, keep your chin down and tilt your head ever so slightly.”

  For the sake of her friend and her husband, Sabrina focused on every morsel of information. She wanted Everett to be proud of his chosen bride, even if he had not wanted to make love to her. As the tears threatened to spill forth, she swallowed hard and committed to memory the finer points of feminine deportment.

  Unfortunately, in her zest for etiquette, she lost track of time, and it was late when Sabrina showed Celia to the door. After running up the grand staircase, she rushed through her bath and had to dress for dinner as her hair was pinned into a topknot. When she took her place at her husband’s side to greet their arriving guests, her heart pounded in her chest, her palms were damp, and Sabrina was as nervous as a bride on her wedding night--or so she supposed.

  Celia was the daughter of the earl and countess of Sherbourne. They were a friendly sort, all warm smiles and twinkling eyes, and Sabrina took to them in an instant. She hoped to make a good impression, because they were the parents of her new friend, and she was thrilled when they asked her to address them informally. Dinner passed without a hitch, and soon the women filed into the drawing room, to be joined shortly thereafter by the men.

  “Would you care for more tea, Celia?” Sabrina inclined her head as her dear friend had instructed.

  “I would love some,” Celia replied.

  Sabrina shot a side-glance at the marchioness. She accepted Celia’s empty teacup and crossed the room in one elegant sweep, grinning from ear to ear.

  The marchioness shrieked, which she had done with annoying frequency. “Ouch!”

  “Was that your foot, Lady Talbot?” With an air of cherubic innocence, Sabrina managed to suppress her pleasure at evading another not-so-accidental-fall. “Oh, I am so sorry, how clumsy of me.”

  Her mother-in-law seemed at a loss for words, which was a miracle.

  Celia snickered, and Sabrina bit her tongue to keep from doing the same.

  Standing near the tea trolley, Everett caught her stare and arched a brow. “May I be of assistance, my lady?” He lifted the teapot and filled the cups. Quietly, he whispered, “That was inspiring.”

  She looked at everything but her husband. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Join me in the library tonight?” The subtle deepening of his voice told her he had not intended for them to read. “After our guests take their leave?”

  Was he asking her to...in the library? Although her mother said the act most often occurred in bed, Sabrina supposed it could be done in alternative locations. Her hands shook, and the tea sloshed in the delicate china. Sabrina closed her eyes, then opened them and focused on his amber depths. “You may depend upon it.”

  Strange, she had never known it was possible to be hot and cold at once.

  The festivities continued late into the night, and Sabrina remained in the drawing room after their dinner guests departed. She cleared the tables of empty glasses, returning everything to the trolley. When she heard her in-laws climbing the stairs, she stepped into the foyer and tiptoed down the hall.

  Nervous anticipation licked at her nerves, at her senses, and desire beckoned.

  The library door was ajar, and pale gold light shone through the opening. Sabrina looked left, then right, and slipped inside. An iron-like grip encircled her waist, and her feet lost contact with the floor.

  “What--”

  The words died in her throat as Everett’s mouth covered hers. He kicked the door shut, leaned against the oak panels, and let her body rest against his full length. They had been there before--in a heated clinch, and always she walked away with her virginity intact. A familiar ache gnawed at her belly, and the weight of disappointment settled in her bosom. Sabrina told herself to remain unaffected, to lower her expectations.

  She had speared her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer when she realized she had moved.

  Sensuous heat melted the chill of frustration as his tongue darted and flicked, incit
ing her to respond in kind. Everett groaned his appreciation, and she rode a tide of wicked wantonness, pressing her hips to his, mimicking his every movement. A telltale bulge declared his desire, and passion simmered in her veins.

  “Oh, Everett.”

  When he pushed away from the door and delivered her to the comfortable chair in which they had shared a previous pleasurable evening, Sabrina was certain tonight was the night. Whether it happened on the floor, in the chair, against the wall, or atop a pile of books, she cared not, so long as her husband claimed her body.

  Settled in his lap, she moaned unabashedly when he slipped his hand inside her bodice and cupped her breast. Desire shivered over her flesh, raw lust licked at her senses. She sighed and squirmed as he pinched a pebbled nipple, but no matter how lovely that felt, he made no move toward the place she wanted--craved--his attention most.

  As familiar tension built, panic and frustration beckoned, and she sobbed without restraint.

  Everett lifted his head. “What is it, my saucy Sabrina?”

  How could she tell him?

  She wanted him to touch her in that mysterious place at the apex of her thighs. Wanted him to wreak sweet havoc on her as he had in the gazebo, culminating in that indescribable bliss. She needed him to do that for her, but she was too embarrassed to ask.

  “I want--” She could not say it.

  The pain in the pit of her belly grew in epic proportions. Her breath came hard and fast, and she cried his name as Everett bent his head, fastened his lips over her nipple, and drew her into his mouth. The library walls seemed to fall away, and Sabrina floated near the precipice of her sensuous goal. But release eluded her, remaining one step beyond her reach. Drowning in desire, she wiggled her hips in a restless entreaty, all but begging for the rippling contractions that would ease her hurt. But Everett made no move to touch her where she needed it most.

  Finally, in blinding desperation, she grasped his wrist and pressed his hand to her belly. Burying her face in his neck, she slid his hand down. “Please.”