The Most Unlikely Lady

by Barbara Devlin

  Sabrina was not fast enough that time, as he caught her by the waist and hauled her into his lap. Bracing her arms to his chest, she tried to push him away, but he covered her mouth with his in an attempt to entice. To arouse.

  But she broke their kiss.

  “Let me go. You do not want me.” She gasped as he trailed his lips along her jawline and nibbled at her neck. “Oh, no. Not that. I can’t think straight when you kiss me there.”

  At her breathless admission he could not help but chuckle.

  And Sabrina went rigid in his embrace. “Let go of me this instant.”

  Everett lifted his head and looked her straight in the eyes. “Hush, wife.”

  As the thrill of the hunt pervaded his senses and a hunger that had nothing to do with food gnawed at his belly and charged his nerves, he let her scramble to what she no doubt considered safety in the opposite seat. “Allow me to tell you what will happen upon our arrival at Beaumaris.”

  Inclining her head, Sabrina averted her gaze. “I am sure I am not interested.”

  “The staff will gather in the foyer to meet their new mistress. I will give you five minutes to greet as many as possible. Shortly thereafter, I will take you to my bed where I will relieve you of the affliction that has you in such a state.”

  Sabrina snapped to attention. “The devil you say.”

  Everett lowered his chin. “Five minutes.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Five minutes.”

  The heat of his stare must have convinced her he meant business, because her hand flew to her mouth and a charming shade of pink colored her cheeks. “You do not want me.”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Don’t you dare pity me.”

  At that precise moment, they passed through the gates of Beaumaris. The lamps had been lit, although the sun had not yet set on the horizon. They would arrive at the main house shortly, and he gazed at his wife and charted the divestiture of her gown and anything else she might be wearing. Like a conqueror preparing to invade to a much-desired prize, he surveyed her. And in a voice invested with a wealth of resolution and raw lust, he said, “Five minutes.”

  #

  Though she was not cold, Sabrina hugged herself and shivered. Her husband looked to be on the verge of eating her alive. Worse, she was not so sure she would object. But no matter what he said, no matter his countenance, she had not believed him. He could not want her. In making love to her, he would only placate her. Though she had wanted to be deflowered, prayed for it, expected it to happen, that was not how she envisioned the momentous occasion. Not like that.

  Not in anger.

  Not as a sense of duty.

  She wanted Everett to want her--as she desperately wanted him.

  Beyond the window, the grand residence loomed as a fortress of doom. She had to do something. Drowning in nervous agitation, she bit her lip and searched for an escape. If she was going to make her move, now was as good a time as any.

  Grasping the brass handle before her, she cranked it down, threw open the door, and leapt from the moving coach.

  “Sabrina!”

  As soon as she hit the grass, she hiked her skirts and ran as fast as her feet would carry her. She had not bothered looking over her shoulder as Everett shouted her name, but she hastened her pace when he ordered the coachman to hurry.

  Using the front lawn as a short cut, she ascended the entry stairs before the coach turned into the forecourt. As she gained the foyer, she skidded across the polished marble floor in her kid half boots. Splaying both arms wide for balance, she managed to remain on her feet.

  As Everett had predicted, the staff had assembled in two rows, shock evident on their faces. No doubt, Sabrina was not what they had expected.

  So what else was new?

  A somewhat stodgy character neared and bowed with a precision and grace she could only envy. “Lady Woverton, I presume?”

  “Y-yes.” She stuttered as Everett hollered her name, that time from much closer proximity.

  “I am Mr. Ware--”

  “The butler?”

  “Indeed.” He smiled when she reached for his hand and gave it a vigorous shake.

  Then she recalled that was a decidedly male greeting and cursed herself in silence.

  “I am so pleased to meet you. I am sure we will have time tomorrow to become better a-acquainted.” She stammered as her name was shouted once more, and she spied Everett fast approaching.

  “Sabrina.”

  With fistfuls of her skirts, she scampered up the grand staircase but paused halfway. “Mr. Ware, my chambers?”

  Either amused or dumbfounded, the butler gazed at her. “At the top of the stairs, turn left. At the end of the hallway, turn right. Yours are the apartments at the end of the hall, your ladyship.”

  Her thanks were shouted over her shoulder as Everett charged the foyer. In his Hessians, he slid across the floor in much the same fashion, as had she. Sabrina halted on the landing.

  Their eyes met, held.

  Pinning her with a lethal glare, Everett said, “Ware, dismiss the servants. Have dinner served in my reception room in two hours.”

  They stood there, she on the landing, he in the foyer, breathing heavily, eyeing each other with unfettered interest.

  He the wolf, and she his prey.

  She gulped.

  He smiled, his hunter’s smile.

  With a half-smothered shriek, Sabrina fled down the hall. Behind her, the thunder of his boots bespoke a furious chase.

  Slamming each and every door in her path after she had passed through, she finally found sanctuary in her apartments. With a definite twist, she engaged the key in the lock and set the bolt. In a rush, she whirled about and assessed her compound. Two additional doors presented a threat.

  She crossed the floor; discovered one led to her sitting room, and wasted no time in securing it. The other had no lock and opened to reveal a small corridor. The portal at the end led to another chamber. Before stepping into the passageway, she peered over her shoulder and was both surprised and disappointed that her husband had not pummeled the oak panels. Aside from her pounding heart, the house seemed eerily quiet.

  Sabrina sprinted through the tiny hall and found herself in a magnificent bedchamber. That one was much bigger than hers and boasted the largest bed she had ever seen. The counterpane and drapes were of burgundy, and the air smelled of sandalwood. They were masculine quarters. And then it dawned on her.

  It was the master suite.

  At the center of the opposite wall situated a double-door entry. She ran for the breach in her security, reached for the key in the lock, and grasped--nothing.

  There was no key.

  She turned the knob and tugged hard, but neither door budged. Because they were already secure.

  The hair rose on the back of her neck.

  Swallowing a sob, Sabrina rotated slowly. Hugging the wall, she scanned the room, searching for what she could not explain. Nothing was amiss, and no one was there. The room was silent save the ticking of the mantel clock. Gooseflesh prickled her arms, and she regretted ever leaving her quarters. Hiking her skirts and digging in her heels, she made for the corridor leading to her chamber. As she neared, the door began to swing shut.

  Unable to halt her flight, she ran straight into Everett’s arms.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “So good of you to come to me, my saucy Sabrina,” Everett murmured against her mouth. “Your five minutes are at an end.”

  She struggled in vain as his hand twined in her hair, and he changed the angle of their kiss. But she kept her lips compressed and denied him entry. If she could keep his naughty tongue out of her mouth, she could keep her wits.

  Until he relented and licked the crest of her ear.

  “Oh, no. Not the ear.” She inclined her head to give him better access. “Anything but the ear.”

  Sabrina wrapped her arms about his shoulders as her knees buckled.
Resistance waved a fond farewell, and she welcomed the now familiar stirrings in her belly. “My, but that feels heavenly.”

  Laughter rumbled in his chest. “I am glad you like it.”

  How amazing it was that surrendering to an amorous assault was nowhere near as bitter a pill as pride. So she was not going to be strong. So she was not going to be firm. So she was not going to reject him.

  But Sabrina Francis Douglas Markham was bloody well going to have a good time.

  At her urging, Everett lifted his head, and she came at him with all she had and for all she was worth. As if she had just hooked a large catch, she focused her attention on her husband, pressed her body to his, and nipped his chin. Scoring her nails at his nape, her reward was the utterance of her name on a husky growl.

  To her dismay, he set her on her feet. “What is wrong?”

  “I want to see you naked.” With a tug at his cravat, he drew the linen from his neck and tossed it to the floor. His coat and waistcoat soon followed.

  For Sabrina, it was some performance. And if a proper lady was supposed to avert her gaze, she was about to make another break from polite decorum. When he stripped the shirt from his back, she thought she might swoon. “My heavens, but you are lovely.”

  “I am pleased you think so,” he said with a chuckle. After doffing his Hessians, Everett faced her, shoulders squared. “Now, Lady Woverton. It is your turn.”

  “But--what about your breeches?” She gulped.

  “Darling, without some sort of restraint, I fear this will be over before we get started.” He shuffled his feet.

  “I do not understand.” Kicking off her slippers, she reached behind and pulled at her laces.

  “You will soon enough.” Setting his hands to her waist, Everett turned her back to him. “Allow me.”

  In mere seconds, he rid her of the heavy carriage dress and dropped it in a pool at her ankles. A moment later, he whisked the chemise over her head, and it seemed to float as a gentle whisper on the air as he cast it aside. But the removal of her garters and stockings was a heretofore-unmatched marvel of salacious excitement.

  Kneeling, Everett unhooked her garters and rolled down her stockings, laving and suckling every inch of newly bared skin. Pleasure rippled through her body whenever he touched her, and through half open eyes, she stared in fascination just waiting to see what he would do next.

  When she stood as God fashioned her, her husband sat on his heels and studied her from top to toe. “My dear, you are more beautiful than I had imagined. Are you afraid?”

  That was a curious question. For a moment, she pondered her reply and decided the truth was the best response.

  “No.” But doubt crept into her mind, burned in her cheeks, and she crossed her arms in front of her. “Should I be?”

  “Never.” With a boyish smile, he rose from the floor and placed a chaste kiss to her forehead. Quick as a wink, he swept her into his arms and conveyed her to the bed.

  Sabrina held on for the ride of her life.

  Prowling on all fours above her, Everett launched a full-scale assault on her faculties, and his naughty mouth seemed to be everywhere at once. She moaned as he suckled her tongue, giggled as he nibbled her ear--which earned her a curious glance, and wiggled as he nipped her belly. The sensations shimmering in her veins left her giddy. Until he moved between her legs, gripped her hips, and shouldered her thighs wide.

  “Everett?” She focused on the ceiling, as an anchor to her mortal shell, as, in that moment, she lacked the courage to meet his gaze.

  “Shh.” He expelled his warm breath over her triangle of black curls. “I promise I will not hurt you, but I ache to taste you.”

  “Yes, but--oh.” Her protest died as he licked her most intimate flesh.

  It had not seemed possible--to kiss her there. But as she endured, or rather enjoyed, the results, Sabrina would not complain. Again and again Everett pressed on her illicit caresses, and again and again, she let him. Fire burned in her veins, and she felt as though she had melted in the inferno. Had she likened marital relations to fishing? How wrong she had been, because nothing compared to the experience. Tossing her head from side to side, she teetered on the brink of reality and fantasy. The world seemed to collapse around her, and she feared she would suffocate.

  But when he fastened his mouth over her nether lips and hummed, sending a wicked vibration spiraling into her loins, Sabrina realized she needed neither air to breathe, nor sustenance to survive. She needed nothing but her man.

  And the sweet pinnacle fast approached. It was the magical place where she existed outside herself, where her body soared to unimaginable heights on waves of blissful oblivion. It was the pleasure dome, where sight and sound bowed to touch, to feel. A paradise to which only Everett had taken her.

  The wondrous tide of ecstasy beckoned, bathing her in unadulterated rapture. Finally, she exhaled.

  “Holy Mother!”

  #

  Her voice came to him through a lusty haze. When he comprehended what his wife had shouted, Everett chuckled. Resting his forehead against the inner side of her quivering thigh, he succumbed to gales of laughter.

  “Everett?” Sabrina patted his head. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, darling. You have done everything right.” He scooted to the foot of the bed, stood, and unfastened his breeches. As he was about to remove his last vestige of clothing, he noticed his bride propped on her elbows and gazing on him with unfettered interest. “What is it?”

  “Pray, continue.” Her attention focused on the area south of his navel.

  He held tight to his waistband lest she swoon. “Are you frightened?”

  “Good heavens, no.” She bit her lip. “But that is the part I have been waiting to see.”

  Once again, uncontrollable mirth plagued Everett. In a single swift movement, he dragged his breeches to his ankles and then stepped out of them. He knew the exact moment Sabrina lit upon his most protuberant part.

  Her jaw dropped, her eyes grew wide as saucers, and the age-old question blossomed in her expression. “Oh, I say, you are going to kill me with that.”

  That time, he bit his lip and tried in vain not to laugh. He laughed anyway. “Sabrina, you say the damnedest things.”

  “Is that bad?” She pouted.

  Crawling atop the mattress, he settled himself over her and gave her his weight. “No.” Everett nipped her nose. “I think--for us--a little levity is a good thing.”

  She said nothing, merely nodded, which seemed odd in light of her usual forthrightness.

  And then it struck him.

  He rested chest to breast, hip-to-hip, and skin-to-skin with his wife.

  Despite years of experience and countless encounters with some of London’s most notorious courtesans, Everett was suddenly nervous as a green lad with his first whore. Yet his bride was no lightskirt teasing his senses; she was a lady, albeit, a most unlikely lady. And if ever a soul could love him, he believed Sabrina up to the task.

  “Are you comfortable?” He framed her face with his hands and caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. “Am I too heavy?”

  She shook her head.

  Was it possible? Had he managed to render his chatty wife speechless? A telltale shiver coursed her body, and he recognized the blush of desire coloring her flesh. Erratic gasps and nails digging into his shoulders provided clues of the passion investing her, and Everett knew the time had come for him to claim his prize. With his knee he nudged her legs apart, and she set her thighs wide in a bold, wanton move that left him reeling.

  “Sabrina, I will try to be gentle.” Over and over he kept repeating the statement in his mind, and he was not sure whom he tried to comfort, the guileless virgin or himself.

  “Just do it.” She favored him with a shaky smile that was trusting and naïve. “Please, before I die of wanting you.”

  He shifted and brought himself to her moist passage. Pressing forward, he moved slowly, entering her inch by
glorious inch. He groaned as her warm wetness surrounded him. Trapping her gaze, he delighted as her blue eyes filled with wonder, amazement, and only a hint of fear. As he butted against the filmy barrier of her maidenhood, her forehead creased, and she inhaled sharply.

  And Everett thought he might faint.

  Sucking in a breath, he pushed, swift and hard. Though she tensed and tears welled, Sabrina had not blinked. In his arms, innocence died and a sultry seraph was born.

  It was as though he had fired the shot at Ascot, because the horses bolted and the race commenced.

  With his flesh encased deep in hers, she heeled his flanks, and Everett thrust. Yes, a gentleman would have allowed her a reprieve to adjust to his invasion. And yes, a gentleman would have tempered his penetration. But for him, with her, gentlemanly behavior was not going to happen.

  Setting a blistering rhythm, he drove himself to the brink of insanity and just managed to remain coherent. His lusty bride wound her arms about his neck, pulled him close, bit his lower lip, and then trailed her tongue along his chin. The finesse of a lifetime abandoned him.

  Everett was undone.

  A soul-scorching passion burned in his chest, and he plundered her mouth as a ravenous beast. No woman had ever touched him, as had she. When he slowed to savor the sensuous slip and slide of their tempestuous coupling, Sabrina grabbed his backside and fire poured into his loins, renewing his frantic tempo. And he made love to his wife with a force he never knew he possessed.

  Everett whispered encouragement, and she moaned in response. Like an accomplished seductress, she wrapped her legs higher around his waist and tilted her hips, and he sailed even further into the depths of her honey sheath.

  As a man on a mission, he moved faster still. Riding her hard as he would an unbroken horse, their union grew desperate, almost panicked. Delicious tension coiled tight as a clock spring. Beneath him, Sabrina went rigid, and he knew that release had come for her. On the next thrust of his hips, she surrendered. “Everett!”

  The feminine cry, achingly sweet, coupled with the provocative enticement of her contractions, drew forth his seed in a rushing climax. And his growl of appreciation sounded nowhere near human.