Which Sabrina resolved not to repeat.
Reigning alongside the stream, she brought the horse to a halt and dismounted. Leaving the hunter to graze, she plunked down on a rock and stared into the water.
Spying a few pebbles, she grabbed a fistful and flicked them into the stream with tiny splashes. Eventually, she pulled her knees close to her chest, wrapped her arms about her shins, and rested her chin on her knees.
It was time to swallow some difficult truths with that lump of pride still stuck in her throat. It was time to face facts. Last night had been a difficult lesson in more ways than one.
While Sabrina wanted to blame her disastrous turn as chatelaine on the marchioness, she knew the fault was her own. She had erred and could either learn from her mistake or doom herself to repeat it. And though she was no authority on etiquette, she considered herself a sensible sort.
As a child, Sabrina had been indulged and encouraged in her shameless ways by her well-intentioned father--she could see that now. But she was no longer a child. What her sire found charming, and Everett professed drove him to distraction, namely her wild streak, would be her downfall if she could not control herself.
But where should she start?
Hours passed, and the sun rose high in the sky. Glimmering blades of dewy grass turned a vibrant green as the moisture dried. The air grew warm, and Sabrina regretted choosing the heavy twill habit.
Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “That is it.”
Having discovered an answer to her problem, she should have been relieved, should have been happy. But there was no triumph in which to revel. With renewed sense of purpose mixed with sadness, Sabrina mounted the great hunter and set a course for home.
#
“Is the tea to your liking, my lady?”
“Uh, yes.” Confusion evident in her expression, the marchioness blinked. “It is quite acceptable, Sabrina.”
Standing in the back corner of the drawing room, Everett studied his wife. It had been three nights since she made her apology and three nights since he had seen Sabrina.
His Sabrina.
Once before, she had transformed herself, the night he kissed her in the maze and decided to make her his bride. Then, the metamorphosis had been one of delightful surprise. The gawky girl who never failed to make him laugh had blossomed into an enchanting young lady.
The recent change, however, was most unwelcome.
Everett had first noticed the new Sabrina when he offered to take her fishing. He had almost fallen over backward when she informed him, in a polite and restrained manner, that she preferred to work on her embroidery.
Sabrina? Embroider?
When pigs fly.
And though she wore gloves that evening, he could not miss her wince when he took her hand to escort her to dinner. Pain from a thousand pinpricks, no doubt.
At first, he had thought her odd behavior an aberration, until he asked her to accompany him on a survey of the fields. Normally, such request would garner him a squeal of delight, a lusty smack on the lips, and the joyous sight of Sabrina, not to mention her shapely calves, running at breakneck speed up the stairs to change into her habit.
Not so that time.
While the barest hint of enthusiasm peeked through the polished façade, she quickly masked her innate response behind a proper nod and a polite, “No, thank you, my lord. Lady Celia recites poetry, and I have promised an audience.”
Everett wrinkled his nose.
Poetry?
It was too much to bear.
Worse, it was apparent the new version of his wife deemed it unacceptable to come to his bed. He waited with profuse tolerance every evening, his eyes trained on the little door to the corridor adjoining their rooms. And every night he slept alone.
Well, he was all out of patience.
Tonight he would not sleep alone.
Tonight he would go to her. He would tear from her body whatever polite and proper nightgown she wore and make very impolite, very improper love to his bride.
Lifting a brandy balloon to his lips, Everett sipped the amber liquid and stared at his delectable countess over the rim of the glass. Sabrina had donned a low-cut gown with a tight, form-fitting bodice. He imagined himself peeling it from her athletic frame and smiled.
Perhaps he would not wait until she undressed.
#
The drawing room was empty, at last.
Sabrina cleared the cups, depositing them on the tea trolley before retiring. The marchioness and Celia had already withdrawn to their chambers. Everett and the marquess had adjourned to the study to discuss farming techniques. So she climbed the stairs in silence, as the long-case clock in the hall ticked the passage of time. She entered her sitting room and shut the door behind her. Holding her hands to her temples, she rubbed in circles. Her head ached wretchedly.
It was hell being a lady.
After much consideration of her situation, she had put her plan into action, and she had begun to wonder if it might have been simpler, and she was certain less painful, to kill herself.
Thus far, she had endured poetry readings, lecture upon lecture from the marchioness on household management, and three embroidery lessons.
Was it was possible to bleed to death from pinpricks?
However, her efforts were not in vain. She had to admit she enjoyed a measurable amount of success with her mother-in-law. While the marchioness still complained, she had done so with less frequency. And only tonight, she had commented on the tenderness of the roast.
But at what cost?
In her efforts to win Lady Elizabeth’s approval, Sabrina had suppressed all her natural reactions, all her instincts, in favor of what she believed were appropriate ones. She had turned away from the activities that brought her joy, such as fishing, fencing, and riding astride. She had even foresworn swearing--well, at least she tried.
But Sabrina was no longer certain where she began and the social façade ended. It was as though she had lost her sense of self. Before long, the person she had always been might very well cease to exist. Yet the knowledge that she sacrificed herself for the sake of her marriage--for Everett, offered a modicum of comfort.
She wanted him to be proud of her. Wanted him to rejoice in his chosen bride. Wanted to be worthy of her position as his countess. A single kind word, an approving nod, an encouraging smile would make her trials worthwhile.
Yet her husband remained steadfastly silent.
Worse, they no longer shared a bed.
She pushed from the door and walked into her bedchamber. After tugging on the bellpull, she kicked off her slippers and sat at her vanity. Sabrina reached for one of the many pins in her coiffure and froze.
The woman in the mirror stared back at her.
Bringing her hands to her face, she traced the outline of her cheeks and the arch of her brows. She skimmed the wide expanse of her forehead and the gentle slope of her nose. Finally, she drew an imaginary line around the edge of her lips.
The reflection in the mirror may have been hers, yet she not the identity.
What had she become?
With her elbows on the vanity top, Sabrina slumped forward and covered her face with her hands. No longer certain of her persona, she drowned in a miasma of misery and shame. And there appeared to be no relief in sight, because when they traveled to London, accepted invitations, and attended the various social functions required of their set, she would have to be doubly careful. What scared her most was the thought of tripping and reverting to her old self. The one that fished, slid down banisters, and swore like a sailor.
Those days were gone.
Tears welled, and Sabrina cursed herself. Never had she cried so much in her life. Why was she suddenly so weak?
The door to her chamber opened and then closed.
Propriety demanded she hide her tears from Millie, so she wiped her eyes. It was bad enough to cry, but she would not be caught blubbering like a baby.
Fingers
speared through her hair, rough and wild, and pins flew in all directions. Sabrina lifted her head and prepared to reprimand Millie.
“Everett.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Everett smiled, his conqueror’s smile. “Hello, my darling wife.”
Dressed in nothing more than loose silk trousers and a haphazardly belted robe, gaping wide to reveal an impressive bare chest, her husband looked ready for...bed.
She gulped. “W-what are you doing in here?”
He squeezed her shoulders with his hands, before roaming over her chest to cup her breasts. With his thumbs he circled her nipples through the constrictive fabric of her dress. A brow arched in unveiled arrogance. “Is it not obvious?”
Sabrina glanced at the door.
“Millie is not coming. I gave orders for her to disregard your summons.” He abandoned her breasts, leaving her aching for his touch, and moved to the back of her gown. “Tonight, I shall undress you, my saucy Sabrina.”
A shiver traipsed her spine as Everett unhooked her dress. The bodice loosened, and he slipped his fingers beneath the edge of the eau de nil silk and eased the gown from her shoulders.
She closed her eyes and licked her dry lips. “But, it is not proper.”
“Perhaps not, but we are not going to let that stop us, are we?” With a tug at the ribbon of her chemise, he released the filmy gauze and inched it to her waist. As she made to reply, he bent his head and kissed her temple. “Stand up, love.”
Conscious of her nudity, she bit her tongue and obeyed. The gown and chemise sagged to her hips, until Everett pushed the fabric, and the garments fell to the floor.
Clad only in her garters and stockings, with her back to him, Sabrina stared at their images in the long mirror and wondered how to make love like a lady. Since they had consummated their vows, she always acted on instinct. Wanton, unbridled instinct. But of late, she had suppressed those desires in order to be a proper wife.
The raw lust in Everett’s eyes told her she would be bad tonight.
With his hands he roamed her body, visiting every peak and curve. His questing fingertips claimed her, branding her flesh. Molten heat simmered in her veins, warming her from head to feet, and curling her toes. The familiar hunger bloomed--the improper one. Desire licked at her senses, and passion rode hard in its wake.
Sabrina scored her nails across the skin at the nape of his neck and delighted in his appreciative groan. Pushing the silk robe from his shoulders, she reached for the belt, untied it, and sighed as the sumptuous garment fell to the floor with a whispery whoosh.
To hell with propriety.
A single step brought her in striking distance, and she framed his face and covered his lips with hers. With a flick of her tongue, she lured her earl and suckled his flesh.
God, she felt alive.
With a subtle shift, he whisked her into his arms and carried her to the bed. None too gently, he flung her atop the mattress--and paused.
What could Everett want?
In that instant, realization dawned. Flirty mischief charged her nerves, her heart sang with joy, and Sabrina smiled. She shimmied to the middle of the mattress, lifted her arms, and flicked her hands in entreaty. “Come to me.”
And Everett obeyed.
He covered her in a clumsy swoop, but it mattered not. Seconds later, they were a tangled mass of limbs, groping, hugging, and rolling amid the pillows.
As if compelled by an urgent need too powerful to deny, Everett merely lowered his trousers before driving into her, and their joining was hard and fast. He rode her as a savage, completely out of control.
Sabrina sank her teeth into his shoulder. “Oh, yes, my lord.”
And she spurred him, digging her heels into his flanks, inciting him with a sultry plea for more at every thrust. She clung to him as a drowning woman and he her only lifeline.
In truth, for her, Everett was a lifeline, of sorts. He was the last connection to the shadow of her former self. With him, in that arena, she could be Sabrina.
Naked, in bed, there were no titles.
They were nothing more than man and woman.
So she let go the reins and ran wild with her man.
#
Golden rays peeked through the drawn drapes when Sabrina woke the next morning. As memories of the night flooded her mind and her senses, telltale warmth pervaded her cheeks.
Everett curled protectively around her, his chest to her back, an arm over her waist, and his hand cupped her breast.
After their initial tumultuous coupling, they had made love twice more during the night. Once, when she roused him. Again, when they simultaneously turned to each other in the dark. It was as though they needed to join their bodies. As if they reaffirmed their marital vows, ensuring each other that they were still committed, still solid, despite his mother’s disapproval.
And Sabrina wanted more affirming, in that instant.
Though her husband slept, his body was definitely alert, and the hot hard proof nestled in the cleft of her bottom. She rocked her hips, and the friction resulted in a naughty caress. His hand twitched at her breast twitched, so she repeated the movement and pressed her derrière against him.
“Mmm.” His breath was warm against her temple.
“Are you up?”
“You have to ask?”
She laughed. “Not really--” She gasped as his fingers walked a wicked path to the magic place between her legs and slipped inside her.
“What have we here?” He licked the crest of her ear. “You are awake, too.”
“Oh, do not tease me, please.” She shuffled her hips back and forth.
“All right.” Everett chuckled softly. “Lean forward.”
That was something new. Uncontrollable excitement and curiosity drew her as a bee to honey, and Sabrina was not about to waste the moment.
“Like this?” she asked with unfeigned eagerness as his questing strokes wreaked havoc on her most intimate flesh.
“Yesss.” He probed her gently, sliding the swollen tip of his erection into her softness before withdrawing again.
As she moved to take him fully into her body, he pulled back. “Everett.”
“What is your rush?” He repeated the sensuous torture. “We will get where we are going soon enough.”
“Where we are going?” She sighed as he slipped inside once more. “What are you talking about?
He nipped her neck. “Pure unadulterated pleasure, my darling wife.”
Without warning, he lifted her leg, draped it over his hip, and thrust.
Sabrina cried out and fisted her hands in the sheets. As heat blossomed from the point of their joining, coursed her veins, permeated every muscle, and ignited countless pulse points, she surrendered. Ruthless passion summoned, and she answered the call.
#
Everett set a relaxed pace, as he had not wanted to pummel his wife, yet she tempted him beyond reason. Would he ever get enough of her? Would the mere sight of her never cease to stir a primitive lust that had him wanting to throw her to the ground and bury himself deep inside her?
Not anytime soon.
As his rhythm grew fervent, he snaked an arm about her waist and held her in place as he moved behind her. She sank her nails into his thigh and met his thrusts. In time with the delicate dance, she emitted a single, perfectly pitched sigh, a sensuous song that summoned the predator.
Finesse, skill, experience fled.
As had patience.
He found the little nub of her desire and massaged with bold intent, flagrantly inciting, deliberately arousing, setting her ablaze. Operating on instinct, Everett hugged her tight and pumped without restraint.
Sabrina shattered in his arms, and her cry of release reverberated throughout the room. Limp in his embrace, she inclined her head and licked his chin. The virile explosion that tore through him stole his breath and left him shuddering as spasm after spasm rocked him to his core. Vaguely, he thought he heard himself groan.
At long last, he rolled onto his back, and Sabrina snuggled to his side.
“You missed your morning ride.”
“On the contrary, I just had a devil of a ride on a spirited Thoroughbred.” Everett kissed her shoulder.
With a furious blush staining her cheeks, she tugged the covers to her chin and wiped a stray lock of hair from her face. “I have ached for our mornings together.”
“And I have yearned for our mornings and our nights, my saucy Sabrina.” He nuzzled her and sighed. “And before I forget, thank you for defending me, against my mother’s charge, but never do so again. Society judges women far more harshly than men, and I would not have you jeopardize your standing, when I am immune to her accusations. I am sorry if I was terse with you, but do you understand why I was so strict?”
“As much as I hate to admit it, I do, and you were right. It just took me a little longer to discover my error. Of course, had I granted you entry to my chambers when you knocked at my door, the mystery would have been solved sooner. But in my anger, I was rather put out, and I am sorry.” Sabrina frowned. “And although my marks for deportment were terrible in finishing school, I know better than to behave as I did and should never have let myself be baited into an argument with Lady Elizabeth.”
“It was my hope that you would discover your infraction on your own. The earldom demands much of my time, and I will not always be here to referee between you and my mother. Though I must admit your outburst was quite a surprise.” He resituated his pillow. “She had come at you with much worse, and yet you resisted admirably.”
“After she attacked you, I could not help myself.” Sabrina kissed his nipple and cast him a mischievous grin. “But as she has made it no secret she thinks me beneath you, she should not expect proper decorum.”
“Really?” He retreated. “Did she tell you something to that effect?”
“Yes.” His bride nodded. “According to your mother, you and I are not in the same class, and you never should have married me.”
“How odd.” He searched his memory. “I do not remember that conversation. When was this?”
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