The Most Unlikely Lady

by Barbara Devlin

  “How is he adjusting to the responsibilities of the earldom?” Caroline claimed a square of shortbread from a nearby tray.

  “Stupendously.” Sabrina wished the same could be said of her turn as chatelaine. “He was born to lead and has already commissioned several improvements to other holdings.”

  “So why the long face?” Caroline replied, quick as a wink.

  Resorting to a familiar nervous habit, Sabrina worried her lower lip and wondered how long it would take to chew through her chin. “Bloody hell. Is it that obvious?”

  “You never could fool me, Brie.” Caroline dusted crumbs from her skirts. “We are one in the same.”

  “All right.” Licking the strawberry goo from her finger, she set her plate aside. “The problem is Everett has done so well as an earl, he deserves a countess his equal in every way.”

  “And you do not believe you are that person?” Caroline inquired with unnerving accuracy.

  A cold weight settled in her chest. “I know I am not.”

  “Why?” Caroline propped her elbow on the armrest and rested her chin in her hand. “What makes you say that?”

  Celia leaned forward in her chair. “Is it because of the marchioness?”

  Had her friends noted her failure? Had they shared her mother-in-law’s opinion? “Nothing I do pleases her.”

  “You make too much of her grousing,” Celia stated with an air of authority. “You are a wonderful countess, and Lord Woverton adores you.”

  “He does not.” She cursed herself for countering so fast.

  “He does so,” Celia insisted with a nod. “I see it whenever he looks at you. He goes all soft and fuzzy and, take it from me, Everett has never been soft and fuzzy.”

  How she prayed Celia was right, but her instincts told her differently. While her husband enjoyed making love to her, their relationship had progressed no further, much to her displeasure. She could go along with the assumption and allow her friends to believe everything was peaches and cream in the Woverton household, but that would be a lie.

  And Sabrina Francis Douglas Markham, black-eyed Countess of Woverton, could not lie.

  “You are wrong.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “Everett may be fond of me, but I can’t see it going any further than that.”

  “How can you be sure?” Caroline arched a brow, and Sabrina steeled herself for the question she knew was forthcoming. “Has something happened between you two?”

  Studying the lace of her morose black mourning dress, Sabrina tried but failed to form a response. A lump in her throat heralded the impending arrival of tears. When Caroline placed a hand on Sabrina’s arm, she flinched. “He would not consummate our marriage.” The words were spoken before she realized what she had said.

  Caroline and Celia gasped in unison, and Sabrina searched for a rock to crawl beneath. They glanced at each other, then pinned her with inquisitive stares.

  “Blast!” Sabrina thumped herself on the forehead with her fist. “I said that aloud, did I not? I just told you Everett and I did not have relations until we arrived at Beaumaris.”

  And she had said it again. She was going to march straight to the kitchen and cut out her tongue.

  Someone snorted, and someone else gurgled.

  For Sabrina, it was too much. “You think this is funny?”

  With red faces and tears welling in their eyes, Caroline and Celia gave vent to gales of hilarity.

  All she could do was sit there and suffer the indignation. After a few short minutes, Sabrina reached her breaking point and stood.

  Caroline caught her by the wrist. “Brie, do not go away angry.”

  “Who says I am angry?” She pouted.

  With the noble hauteur of a daughter of a duke, Caroline said, “Sit down.”

  Sabrina humphed and ungracefully plopped in her seat.

  “Now then,” Caroline continued. “I can’t believe you are the same fearless female with whom I grew up. You are not afraid of anything. And since when do you give a whit what anyone thinks? The Brie I know would tell the marchioness to go to the devil.”

  Sabrina stared at her hands clasped in her lap to conceal their trembling. “But I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Caroline asked.

  Considering the fact that she had just admitted her marriage vows were not consummated until long after the wedding, Sabrina thought it a little late to worry about propriety. “Because--because she is Everett’s mother.”

  “And as a marchioness, she has rank,” Celia pointed out.

  “Ah, yes.” Caroline snapped her fingers. “I had forgotten that.”

  “This is dreadful. I feel like such a failure when she is about, as nothing I do pleases her.” Sabrina whined and hated herself for it. “The linens are too rough. Her eggs are not cooked to her taste. The light is insufficient in the drawing room. Her room smelled stale. I could go on and on.”

  A shrill scream rent the air, and the women bounded to their feet.

  “What now?” Sabrina threw up her hands in frustration.

  They ran in the general direction of the ruckus and found the marchioness standing, with an imperious expression and her arms folded, amid the lush green hedges of the topiary garden.

  Dreading the answer, but knowing full well it would be offered whether or not she inquired, Sabrina asked, “What happened?”

  Before Her Supreme Pain in the Posterior could reply, the men came rushing from behind.

  “What on earth is all the shouting about?” Everett demanded.

  The marchioness stepped back and motioned to the ground. As Lady Elizabeth’s nose rose in epic proportions, Sabrina’s heart sank in her chest. “There is a root that almost sent me for a tumble. It is a hazard requiring immediate attention.” The Devil in a Black Dress narrowed her stare as she gazed at Sabrina. “It is the duty of the mistress of the manor to ensure the grounds are safe and free of impediments while entertaining guests. I could have been seriously injured.”

  I should be so lucky, Sabrina thought.

  “Nonsense.” Everett squatted and assessed the offending protrusion. “It is barely visible, and there is ample soil on either side to prevent one from stumbling over it.”

  “But you can see the knot.” The marchioness stomped in emphasis. “Someone could catch a toe and fall.”

  “Not if you pick your feet up when you walk,” Everett replied.

  The marchioness humphed. “I suppose there is no danger if one tromps about like an elephant.”

  Sabrina winced at the unmistakable inference but held her tongue. A slew of rapier retorts died in her throat.

  “Oh, come now.” Everett rolled his eyes. “You make too much of the situation.”

  “Well.” The Queen of Complaining sniffed. “I see you persist in making excuses for her negligence.”

  Everett stood and placed both hands on his hips. “Negligence--”

  With an elbow to his ribs, Sabrina silenced him. That her husband felt the need to defend her only intensified her humiliation. “My lady, I will speak to the gardener, at once, and ensure the root is dug up. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Now, if you will excuse me, I must supervise the dinner menu.”

  With a leash on her temper, she balled her hands into fists, gritted her teeth, and tried not to stomp away. But, deep down inside, Sabrina wondered how much more she could take.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  By the time she gained her room that night, Sabrina was near to exploding. Nothing at dinner pleased Everett’s mother. The beef was overcooked, the vegetables too raw, and the lemon tarts too tart.

  Before she frightened her maid and embarrassed herself further, Sabrina dismissed Millie and undressed herself. Stripped of her black gown, which matched her temperament, she sat at her vanity, rolled her stockings to her ankles and slipped them from her feet. She tugged the pins from her hair and let her ebony locks fall in a cascade down her back.

  For a moment, she studied her reflection in the mirror. Mar
riage was not what she had expected. Her mother-in-law hated her. Her husband loved her not. And she was not sure how to correct either situation. With her brush, she stroked twice, before lashing out in a wide arc.

  “How am I ever to please her?” Sabrina cried aloud. “No matter what I do, or how hard I try, it is never enough. I do so want to be a good countess.” Angry, hurt, she raked the brush through her hair. “And why will Everett not love me?”

  She stopped mid-stroke.

  There was one area of her marriage where she always succeeded. One aspect in which triumph was certain.

  And she needed it--or rather him, right then.

  Without care, she tossed the brush atop the vanity.

  She crossed the room to her armoire and flung the doors wide. A gauzy nightgown and matching robe caught her eye, and Sabrina retrieved the set and spread them at the foot of her bed. After doffing her garters and chemise, she picked up the nightgown and paused. Everett had not favored them. So Sabrina set it aside, grabbed the robe, and thrust an arm into each delicate sleeve. Fastening the three mother-of-pearl buttons at the throat, she checked herself in the long mirror.

  The ivory robe made her raven hair appear all the more dark. The sumptuous garment was a transparent creation that left nothing to the imagination. With enclosures only at the top of the opening, the robe parted to reveal her belly button and the triangle of black curls at the juncture of her thighs.

  She touched the tips of her breasts and gasped when her nipples hardened. As she skimmed her hands over her belly, gooseflesh prickled her skin. Closing her eyes, she dropped her hands and touched her most intimate flesh. A wicked shiver coursed her spine and marked a fiery path to the secret place between her thighs in which Everett loved to play. Sabrina was shocked by her ability to arouse herself.

  How powerful she felt.

  With one last check of her appearance, she clutched the folds of filmy silk. Perhaps she should don a nightgown? Bloody hell, what good would it do? Everett would whisk the unwanted item from her body in seconds. A rumble of voices made her pause. Her husband had dismissed his valet.

  It was time to strike.

  With shoulders squared, she marched to the entrance, grasped the knob, and hauled open the door.

  #

  It had been a miserable night.

  Everett had done nothing right--according to his father.

  The estate expenses soared, he had paid too high a price for the cattle, and he should have personally inspected the new roofs installed on the tenant homes. Everett rubbed his weary eyes. In the mirror, he settled his gaze on the reflection of the tiny door to the corridor connecting his suite to his wife’s.

  There was one venue in which he never failed. One arena in which he was never defeated. Success was guaranteed in Sabrina’s arms. With her, he felt invincible.

  And right then, Everett needed a win.

  “I shall finish the rest, Pitton.” He speared his fingers through his hair. “You are dismissed.”

  “As you wish, your lordship.” The valet made a hasty exit.

  In one minute, he shrugged out of his shirt, tugged off his boots, slipped out of his breeches, and walked to his dressing room.

  When Everett emerged, he wore a sapphire silk robe, a smile, and nothing else. Seconds later, he yanked open the door leading to his personal slice of heaven. Gold light from her quarters signaled Sabrina’s presence at the other end. With steely determination, he strode forward, arms outstretched, reaching for her.

  And she reached for him.

  They met in the middle, hands fisting in each other’s robes, groping and embracing.

  They were two like souls desperately seeking validation.

  Acceptance.

  “I want you,” he murmured into her hair.

  “And I you,” she said as she nipped his chin.

  So they sought the same prize. Thankfully, it was one they could share. And in sharing, achieve greater reward.

  Everett lifted her in his arms and carried her into his chamber. Setting Sabrina on her feet, he divested her of the robe. She tugged on his belt and pushed the silk from his shoulders.

  Naked, aroused, he moved toward her.

  She moved toward him.

  They erupted as soon as they touched.

  Her hands skimmed his ribcage and moved up, fisting in his hair. With caresses meant to incite, he fanned the flames of lust. But Everett wanted more. Wanted her to want him. To desire him as he desired her.

  It was a grudging admission, albeit, a silent one. A declaration he had not shared. To need her. To have her and wonder, in the next second, when he would have her again. To revel in her company. To listen for the pitter-patter of her feet on the marble floors. To look for her when she was not present and wonder where she was and what she was doing.

  Had she felt the same tug? That powerful pull?

  Would she ever love him?

  As if she had heard his thoughts, Sabrina framed his face with her hands and stared into his eyes. “Everett, I need you, so much.”

  Well, it was not the declaration he yearned to hear. But, at that moment, he would settle for less.

  On a groan, he took her mouth.

  It should have been a fierce possession.

  But it wasn’t.

  It should have been urgent, savage.

  But it wasn’t.

  It should have been hungry, desperate.

  But it wasn’t.

  Instead, it was a tender union. Gentle. A stealthy capture. And capture her, he had.

  Sabrina stretched long, pressing herself against him. Was it acceptable for a wife to desire her husband? He hoped so, or he was about to err again. When she wriggled her hips in unmistakable invitation, he could only encourage her.

  Everett cupped her bottom and lifted her. And though he had not asked, she wrapped her legs about him. With a fluid flex of his spine, he thrust, and the two became one. Blissful relief washed over him, erasing the tension of the day. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. He feasted on her throat, stopping to lave his tongue over the pulse at the base. He set an achingly slow rhythm, his hips rocking back and forth, his flesh held deep within hers.

  When Sabrina moved in unison, drawing out the delicious slip and slide, he walked them to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. For a change, he reclined and gave her the reins.

  With a shy grin, she grasped his hands and brought them to her breasts. “I love it when you touch me.”

  “I love touching you.” She squeezed his wrists and moaned her appreciation as he massaged her.

  His brazen bride rode him hard and fast--just the way he liked it. Through a sensuous haze, her tempestuous beauty seduced him. And just when Everett thought he would explode inside her, she stopped. Slowly, Sabrina rose, then slid down, enfolding him once again in wet heat. Someone groaned, he thought it might have been him. She repeated the intimate caress until her body went rigid with completion, and her soft sobs of pleasure inflamed the warrior within.

  And as the conqueror preparing to lay siege to his spoils, he was patient. With infinite gentleness, he kissed her forehead, her closed eyelids, and both her cheeks. She whimpered, and he nibbled on the tip of her nose. The telltale flutter of her lids signaled she had returned to the mortal plane.

  And she was ready for round two.

  “Mmm, that was wonderful.” Sabrina smiled, a feminine smile.

  “I am glad you enjoyed it.” He gripped her hips and shifted.

  Her eyes grew wide. “Did you not--”

  Quick as a wink, Everett flipped her onto her back.

  With elbows locked, feeling every inch the predator, he looked down on her and licked his lips. And thrust. Again and again, in a repetitive rhythm, he claimed her. The hitch in her breath as their hips met spurred him into frenzy, drove him with an urgency he could not comprehend. But he counted each gasp, each moan a sweet victory.

  And he wanted more.

  Setting a relaxe
d pace, Everett thrilled to the subtle bounce of her breasts as he pumped within her. Sabrina attempted to pull him down, but he resisted. The sight of her taking him, his body, was enthralling, and he was not ready to surrender--at least, not yet.

  He had married a strong woman. And her strength, her indomitable spirit empowered him, anew. Made him feel as though no matter what else he had or had not achieved in life, he had succeeded because he married her. She was his foundation. If he were a ship, she would be his anchor.

  Tomorrow, he would journey to the Eppingham property. Though it was only a business trip, somehow it meant more because he knew Sabrina would be home, awaiting his return.

  On the thought, he let her draw him close. He settled over her, giving her his weight. Resting on his elbows, with both hands cradling her head, Everett kissed his wife with a passion he had never known he possessed.

  The mere taste of Sabrina was erotic.

  The sensuous tension built like the winding of a clock spring. Until the spring snapped and release surged through him, robbing him of his breath, shaking him to his core. Their moans of fulfillment were given simultaneously.

  His to her. Hers to him.

  When sleep came for him, Everett drifted into dreamland, with limbs entwined with his wife’s, content that in his marital bed he was always right.

  #

  Everett and Trevor departed after breakfast the following morning. As the two men rode down the graveled drive, Sabrina felt like the only survivor aboard a sinking ship, as the lifeboats sailed without her. She wondered how long it would take her mother-in-law to find another deficiency in her household management.

  “Sabrina!”

  At least the woman was consistent.

  Staring at the cloudless sky, she prayed, “God, give me strength.”

  With one last wave to her husband, she turned and entered the house. It was only her mother-in-law, but she trembled as though she faced an executioner.

  The first day Everett was gone passed much as she expected. Though Sabrina had girded herself for the worst, she could not have foreseen the catastrophes that would plague her at every turn.