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A shudder of recognition trembled through him, and Everett knew without doubt that Sabrina wanted him. Perhaps, if he played his cards right, she would accept the life mired in social strictures that came with the title he possessed. But now was not the time to broach the subject.
Not when she lay, soft and feminine, in his lap.
His patience had paid off, and victory was near. He had only to wait a little while longer, and he would claim her. When they arrived at Beaumaris, he would give her a few days to adjust--well, perhaps a day--and woo her. Then he would pounce on her.
Sabrina moaned again.
“Shhh, love.” He kissed her bare shoulder. “I know what you need.”
Very slowly, he trailed his hand along the sumptuous curve of her leg. Reaching for the hem of her gown, he slipped his hand beneath the black silk and skimmed his palm over her heated flesh in the opposite direction.
An hour later, with the rest of the house abed, Everett carried Sabrina, asleep in his arms, to her chamber. He entered her room and closed the door with a nudge of his hip. Over and over her sweet cry of surrender played in his head. As he rid her of her gown. As he forced himself not to remove her chemise--he would have made love to her if he had. But they had only one night left in that house.
Then they would journey to Beaumaris.
They would begin the life he had carefully planned, starting with the consummation of their vows. They would start a family, and he would get the earldom in order. It was going to happen. He would live his dream.
And his most unlikely lady would be right there with him.
After looking his fill, at least for that night, he pulled the covers over her, tucking them securely under her chin. Everett bent and kissed her, careful not to wake her.
“Soon, Sabrina.”
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning, Sabrina steered her mount toward the downs, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Tantallon Hall as possible. Disappointment hung like a storm cloud on the horizon, and her mood was just as tempestuous. Woe the poor soul who ventured into her path.
She cursed herself for falling asleep last night but reserved her most inventive expletives for her husband. His insult was a bitter pill to swallow.
How dare he not make love to her again?
It was enough to make a woman scream. Waking to nothing more than a cold pillow was becoming a habit she wished to forswear till the end of her days. But it was apparent Everett shared neither her enthusiasm nor her desire.
And that hurt.
Before their marriage, he had flirted with her at every opportunity. An illicit caress here, a lurid comment there, and the man would boil her blood at every turn. But they were promises it was obvious he had not intended to keep, because once Everett put his ring on her finger, his much-professed ardor waned. Was it not the woman who was supposed to lose interest in that respect?
“Blasted cold fish,” she mumbled in disgust.
According to the Brethren, save Dirk and Trevor, who regularly bemoaned the marital state, the wedding vows often rendered the wife useless from the waist down.
Why had she enjoyed no such luck?
If anything, that magical spot below her belly button had come roaring to life of its own accord. How she rued the enlightening discussion with her mother. The one that detailed the heights of passion a husband and wife could share. Her expectations hadn’t been raised; they had flown through the roof. In her situation, ignorance would no doubt be bliss. Had she the choice, Sabrina would have rather been naïve than rejected.
And she was rejected.
But she was not going to cry about it. She had done that already and decided weeping was not for her. She was angry. She was incensed.
“Blast it all!” She shook her fist in the air. “I am bloody well furious!”
At her terse bellow, the horse started and shifted beneath her. Leaning forward, Sabrina patted the chestnut hunter on its muscled neck. “Sorry, old boy, I am not upset with you. It is that rake of a husband I have married. Rake, humph. He will not even seduce his own wife.”
Of course, if he were seeking a divorce, there was no reason to consummate the vows.
Approaching hoofbeats brought her up short. Twisting in the saddle, she spied the interloper. Sitting high atop a black stallion, Everett fast approached. When he saw her, he smiled and waved a greeting.
“What the deuce does he want?” She snorted. “Well, I know what he does not want.” Sabrina held tight to the reins, heeled hard, and set the chestnut into a full gallop.
At the edge of the field, she caught a trail and urged her mount faster. Thunder rumbled behind her, as Everett gained ground. She rode, reckless and rash, darting from one side of the path to the other, determined to keep him in her wake.
“I hope you choke on my dust,” she muttered under her breath.
The trail disappeared into the woods, winding perilously between the trees. Ducking her head to avoid the occasional drooping branch, Sabrina had reined in her horse not the slightest, even though the danger had increased.
“Sabrina, slow down!” The warning came from behind.
“Go to the devil!” She kicked the hunter’s flanks.
Ahead, the path veered to the right. In front of her, a low-lying hedge threatened to cut her off. A rush of derring-do traversed her spine, and she set her chin firm. Without care, Sabrina steered the chestnut straight for the natural hurdle.
“Sabrina, no!” Everett shouted.
With her leg hugging the saddlebow, she urged her mount faster. Her husband continued to protest, but his remonstrance only spurred her forth.
In one graceful movement, horse and rider rose, soared into the air. For a brief moment, time stood still. Glancing down, the earth passed beneath her, and she felt weightless, as though she had separated from her mortal shell. Her heart pounded in her chest and beat a wild rhythm in her ears. Everett screamed her name; it came to her as a faint whisper, as if from afar.
And then, in a flash, the world caught up with her.
She landed hard, jostling rough and unsteady in the sidesaddle. Sabrina set the chestnut in a wide arc, riding full circle to face her husband. As she had suspected, he had not jumped the hedge behind her. It lay, like her maidenhead, as a very real barrier between them.
“What the devil are you about!” Everett raked a hand through his hair, and his handsome features were mottled with undisguised anger. “You could have broken your neck. Worse, you could have been killed!”
“What do you care?” Her voice was pure acid, and although they were married and social strictures demanded she acquiesce to his authority, she averted her stare in a brazen display of defiance. If he preferred not his chosen bride, he could bloody well call a solicitor. “I will do as I please.” Heeling the chestnut, she turned her mount and bounded into the meadows amid a hailstorm of creative curses.
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As his wife rode hell bent for leather through the tall grass, a cloud of dust trailing her, Everett scratched the back of his head and exhaled for the first time since Sabrina had reconnected with terra firma. The hedge he had not expected her to jump seemed an insurmountable obstacle in more ways than one. Sabrina was angry--no, she was furious--with him.
But, why?
Searching his mind, he replayed the events of the day. If something were amiss, it would have happened since their tryst in the library the previous night.
He frowned.
Had he done something different? Closing his eyes, he revisited the memory and swore under his breath. As usual, his body reacted in an instant. And because he wore a hacking jacket, which was too short to conceal the evidence of his aroused state, he would have to draw out his ride.
And then it hit him.
Could it be that Sabrina thought what he had thus far done to her body constituted a consummation of their vows, and an annulment was no longer possible? In a flash, he quashed the idea.
For a scarce second, E
verett considering leaping the hedge and chasing after her, but it was obvious she cared not for his company. Dinner would bring them together again, and because his parents were dining with friends, he would have Sabrina to himself. Then he would find out what had put her in a state.
After all, he had done nothing unseemly in the library--or anywhere else. She was still a virgin.
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They postured at either end of the imposing dining room table, squaring off like two enemies drawing battle lines. Everett downed his third glass of wine and signaled the footman for a refill. His usually ebullient wife sat, wrapped in a deafening silence, devouring the meal in her own unique fashion. The only sounds heard were the clangs of a knife blade as she dissected a portion of braised beef with frightful precision, and he had the uneasy suspicion she imagined he was on her plate.
Thus far, Sabrina had thwarted his attempts to take her to task for putting her life, and their future, at risk. Everywhere she went she took a maid. And he thought it a rather curious miracle that she had the good fortune to appear in the drawing room just before the butler had announced dinner.
Unwilling to enact a scene in front of the footmen, he tried to make polite conversation with her while they dined, but she responded quite coldly with one-word answers at his every prompting. As a consequence, by the time the meal concluded and they prepared to adjourn to the library, he was wound so tight he was afraid he would strangle her.
“Shall we, my dear?” He tossed his napkin to his plate, pushed away from the table, and stood.
“My lord, I fear I have a headache.” Sabrina eyed him with unmasked trepidation and cast him a brittle smile. “I believe I shall retire early, if you do not mind.”
“Not at all.” So much for apologies and a compensatory interlude. “Allow me to walk you to your room.”
“No, thank you.” Retreating a step, she sniffed. “I would not intrude on the remainder of your evening.”
“Very well.” Everett lowered his arm and fisted his hands at his sides. A dark sense of foreboding swept over him, and he wondered if she considered an annulment. “As you wish.”
“I bid you goodnight, my lord.” Sabrina had half turned when he reached for her hand.
“And the same to you, my dear.” Resolved not to go down without a fight for the woman he married, he brought her fingers to his lips and was surprised when she gasped. “Remember, we journey to Beaumaris in the morning.”
As Sabrina made for her bedchamber, Everett stood in the foyer and enjoyed the gentle sway of her hips as she ascended the stairs. Cursing himself for saying nothing when his mother had installed them in rooms far enough apart that Napoleon could march an army in between without disturbing either of them, he headed for the study and comfort in a bottle of brandy.
But the intoxicant had done nothing to calm his nerves, and after imbibing half a decanter of the amber liquid, he navigated the halls of his ancestral home, stomped into his quarters, stripped, and slid between cold sheets. Punching a pillow, he rolled on his side and stared at nothing.
“Was I mistaken?” he asked no one. “Had her interest been no more than a girlish crush?”
Of course, Sabrina’s reticence of late could be due to his recent acquisition of a title. For as long as he could recall, Everett had always considered himself unworthy of love and devotion because he had not stood to inherit. While the women of the ton were more than willing to enter into a liaison with him, none had been agreeable to marriage until he had earned his fortune. And even then, only those with families embroiled in scandal, in questionable financial straits, or in both had expressed tepid desire. But bartered brides had never suited his tastes. How ironic it would be to lose the one woman who had ever accepted him for himself because of his rank and not his lack thereof.
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Streaks of pale yellow and pink encroached on the indigo of night when they set out for Beaumaris the following morning. The first hour of their trip passed in tense, awkward silence. The second hour saw Everett once again attempting to engage Sabrina in conversation. And she had done as she had last night during dinner, responding in clipped, one-word replies. Everett wondered how they would fare for the remaining two hours.
Gowned in a dyed black traveling dress, his beautiful, albeit stubborn, wife sat in the center of the seat opposite him. She had taken her place in such a manner as to force him to the other side of the carriage. With her head turned and jaw clenched, he was certain she pretended to find the countryside infinitely fascinating.
Everett was also positive she was still angry.
And he had not discerned why.
The sun set in the west when the traveling coach traversed a rough spot on the road. Splaying both arms wide, he barely managed to maintain his seat. Sabrina attempted the same, but because she had been napping, she was startled and thrown to the floor.
He reached out to give assistance, and she slapped his hands.
“Let me be.” She gathered her skirts. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can take care of yourself.” Her obvious ire stung like a bee. “I was trying to be a gentleman.”
“Trust me, my lord, you have never failed on that account,” she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm.
Despite his confusion at her response, Everett lifted her to the seat and resettled himself in the squabs. “Just what do you imply, madam?”
Sabrina folded her arms and pouted. “I state a fact, nothing more.”
A shiver of unease danced a jig down his spine.
Had she somehow perceived his behavior as nefarious? Perhaps he had offended her with his overt advances. Or--dare he think it--could hers be a prelude to an annulment? It chilled him to the bone to think he might have been wrong about her.
“Sabrina, let me assure you, what transpired between us in the gazebo and the library is perfectly acceptable behavior for a husband and wife.” Gripping the edge of the bench, Everett bit back the bile rising in his throat. “There was nothing wrong with what we did.”
“Well, I am delighted to hear it.” Her nose rose to impressive heights. “We would not want to do anything unacceptable.”
“That is why you are angry with me.” Disappointment was an anchor about his neck. “Is it not?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who says I am angry?”
“All right, you are not angry, you are furious.” Everett raked his fingers through his hair. “I must confess, I haven’t the faintest notion why.”
“I am not angry.” Sabrina unfolded her arms and dug her hands into her skirts. “I am happy. Perfectly, splendidly happy.”
He could not believe it. His fears had sprung to life before his eyes. But before he jumped to unsupportable conclusions, anymore than he already had, Everett wanted to hear the words from her own mouth. “My dear, telling falsehoods is not part of your character. I know you are not perfectly splendidly happy. You are upset with me, and I would like to know why.”
She remained stubborn and silent, with no evidence of changing her tack. It was clear he had to do something to break her from the icy shell in which she had encased herself.
In a flash, Everett made for her seat.
He reached for her, but Sabrina was just as fast. She shot to the spot he had occupied. They faced each other, positions reversed, fixed with unveiled determination on a specific objective.
He to claim her.
Her to avoid him.
He lunged, and she evaded once again.
They ended up right where they had begun.
The coach rocked as they completed two more rotations. Fierce opposition visible in her expression, Sabrina’s eyes flared. Everett could only imagine what his driver must think was going on between the newlyweds inside the elegant equipage.
“My lord, this is ridiculous,” she said, as she gasped for air.
“You are deuced right it is.” Everett pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped the perspiration from his face. “We could en
joy this ride much more were we to share a seat. And there would be nothing unseemly about it.”
“By that you mean more of the same endeavors you have undertaken thus far?”
“Sabrina, despite what we have done, you remain a virgin. Your virtue is intact.” Her gaze filled with an emotion he had not recognized, and he decided then and there to contact his solicitor upon arriving at Beaumaris. “I have not disturbed the proof of your maidenhood.”
In a hairsbreadth, she impaled him with an icy stare. “You do not say?”
“That is your concern, is it not?”
Sabrina humphed. “Why would I be concerned with the fact that I have been married almost a month, and I am still a deuced virgin!” Her tone rose as she bit off each word until she had worked herself into a roar.
Everett blinked in confusion. “My dear, might I suggest you keep your voice down? We do not want the coachman and escort to know of our delicate situation.”
“What are you worried about? I should think you would want everyone to know you have not deflowered your bride. I cannot, for the life of me, fathom why you continue the charade. It is obvious you do not want me.” Though she shrugged, he thought he spied tears welling in her blue depths. “Why introduce me as your wife? Why take me to Beaumaris? Why not just hie me back to London and be done with it?”
In shock, he opened his mouth, and then closed it.
Then the meaning of her tirade dawned.
Everett realized his wife was angry with him not for what he had done but because of what he had not done.
To be specific, he had not taken her to his bed.
Relief washed over him, and what began as a chuckle grew into a fit of hilarity.
“I am so happy I could provide for your amusement, my lord.” Sabrina sniffed with apparent indifference.
“My dear, I am not laughing at you but at the absurdity of our situation.”
“Humph.”
Freed from the worry of the past few days, Everett studied his wife with renewed zest. The predator within emerged, and passion followed in its wake.
Everett launched himself at his bride.
The Most Unlikely Lady Page 12