“Yes, your lordship.” Ware bowed and addressed the physician. “This way, sir.”
Everett descended the stairs and in the foyer, veered left. The first door to the right led to his study. He found his father sitting behind his desk, his booted feet atop the blotter. “You wished to speak with me?”
“There you are.” The marquess swallowed the last of his brandy and stood. “I am famished, what say we eat?”
“I am not hungry.” Raking a hand through his hair, Everett shifted his weight. “Perhaps you should dine without me.”
“Where is your mother?” After refilling his balloon, his sire neared.
“She is, at present, guarding my wife.”
“So Lizzie has finally warmed to your chosen bride?” To Everett’s surprise, his father chuckled. “I can’t believe your countess felled a highwayman with her fist. She is a resourceful one, that Sabrina Douglas.”
“You mean Sabrina Markham.”
“Indeed.” With a grin Everett never thought his father capable of, the marquess said, “Do not be so hard on that charming girl. What she did may have been reckless, but her heart was in the right place.”
Such praise from his sire was a rarity, and the significance was not lost on Everett. “You like Sabrina?”
“I adore her.” Venting another chuckle, his father set a hand on Everett’s shoulder. “Marrying that spirited young woman was the smartest move you have ever made. Now, do not tarry too long. You must rest, because I suspect you will need all the energy you can muster to keep pace with that darling wife of yours.”
A gregarious laugh reverberated off the walls, as his perplexing parent headed for the dining room. Everett remained fixed at the center of his study. He had earned a kind word from his father. It was a feat he had not thought possible.
At the side table, he lifted a decanter and poured himself a drink. Consuming the contents of his glass in one gulp, he served himself another shot of the amber liquor and nestled in a high-back chair before the fireplace. The hours ticked past, marked by the mantel clock, as he studied the flames in the hearth.
Despite the approval he had gained from his father, Everett was cold and empty inside. A painful vise locked about his chest, and his heart raced, sounding a steady drumbeat in his ears. It was difficult to breathe, and never in his adult years had he been so crippled by the urge to cry. Without doubt, his torment revolved around one undeniable truth.
Sabrina had almost been killed.
At the mere thought, his gut clenched.
If that were what it meant to love, he would settle for intense like. Yet he knew the minute he pondered it, he lied to himself. He also realized he had no choice in the matter.
Fate and a fist had landed him a wife.
And he would have it no other way.
Everett needed to manage Sabrina and his emotions. Of course, he still mastered supervision of the earldom. But had he not always said he loved a challenge? His willful wife was challenge incarnate. After downing the last of the brandy, he stared into the empty glass.
What had happened to the man who thrived on defying the odds?
It was an irrefutable fact; Lord Everett Markham and the earl of Woverton were now one in the same.
So where had he lost control?
Of his life?
Of his destiny?
Of his heart?
The mantel clock chimed three times. Night was fast slipping away, and dawn encroached.
After setting his glass aside, Everett stood. He lit a candle and steared for his suite. As he strolled the halls of his home, he considered the questions swirling in his ears. He was the same person who had collected myriad accomplishments. The title meant, more or less, nothing. There were no logical reasons he could not have the future he had planned--Sabrina, a family, and the unexpected addition of the peerage.
He could have it all.
In his chamber, he set the candle on the tallboy and pulled a gold pin from the folds of his cravat. Because he had long ago dismissed Pitton, he disrobed himself.
After donning a sapphire silk robe and matching trousers, he crossed to the tallboy and poured himself another brandy, which he carried to his bed. Given the night’s events, he needed liquid fortification by the barrel. As he perched on the edge of the mattress, he stared at the empty space his wife normally occupied.
Everett hated sleeping without her.
His gaze rested on the door that led to her room. No doubt Sabrina lingered deep in slumber, but could he not share her four-poster? He had navigated the little corridor before he knew he had moved and stepped into her chamber.
The last thing he expected to find was his wife, fully compos mentis, standing in front of a window, bathed in silver moonlight.
She stared at the sky, with her arms wrapped about her. Raven locks cascaded down her back, contrasting sharply with the sheer confection she wore. The garment itself was a mesmerizing fantasy, more an afterthought, which had done nothing to disguise her ripe curves, and clung to her lush figure in a tantalizing tease he could not resist.
Oh, yes.
Without a sound, he closed the door behind him and stalked her. As he stood within striking distance, she turned. A feminine gasp summoned as he covered her mouth with his. He fisted a hand in her hair and ruthlessly devoured her supple flesh. First, he claimed her lips, then lay siege to her tongue.
Everett was so angry with his wife, and yet he loved her beyond reason. So he wanted to be rough and gentle, at once.
#
Sabrina knew well the beast. Knew when he was hungry and just how to feed him. And tonight, her predator was ravenous. It was futile to resist the sensuous onslaught, because there was no escape.
So it was fortunate for her, he was the only escape she sought.
She grazed her fingernails across his chest before fisting her hands in his silk robe and ripping it from his body. He responded in kind, pulling without mercy at the opening of her robe and sending buttons flying in all directions. She skimmed his taut stomach with her palms, but Everett caught her arms and pressed them to her sides.
“I want you naked.” He caught the straps of her nightgown and slid them down.
“Only if you intend to join me.” She skimmed her palms over his heated flesh, spurring him, arousing him further. Reaching with her fingers, she located the tie at the waist of his trousers and tugged at the ends. The slippery silk dropped to his hips before getting hung up--on his rampant erection.
If his expression had shown any hint of humor, she could have laughed at the situation, but there was none. Burgeoning desire and something else, something dark and mysterious she could not recognize, stared back at her.
With the supple fabric, she stroked him in a blatant, inciting massage. His grunted approval told her she played with fire. Sabrina courted danger, knew it, and reveled in it.
Desire roared to life in her veins, hunger welled in her belly, and she conveyed her need with bold caresses meant to entice her barbarian to pounce. Then she would ride her husband hell bent for leather into a lusty battle.
“Enough.” Everett grasped her wrist, ending her salacious massage, and sent his trousers falling to the floor. In a whisper of a second, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
There were no tender kisses or words of encouragement, but Sabrina had not expected any. Their mating would be fast, furious, and primitive. She parted her legs, resting her thighs wide in unspoken welcome. Her surrender seemed to halt her conqueror in his tracks. With elbows locked, holding himself above her, Everett closed his eyes.
He set his hips to hers and took her in one powerful thrust. As he moved within her, over her, on her, he kissed her not, but his heated gaze locked on hers. And though he could not have known it, her husband touched a part of her he could not touch in the literal sense.
She would not reach for him. Somehow, she knew he would not want it, so she lay there as he plumbed her, with her legs wrapped around him
and urging him faster. She was flagrantly provoking, almost defiant in need.
She settled her palms on his shoulders and dug her nails into his flesh, but she would express no remorse. Just as she knew he would not apologize for the bruises he, no doubt, pounded on the insides of her thighs. And she cared not, because it felt good. After the harrowing events of the day, she sought to purge the fear and anxiety she had harbored since returning home.
In an instant, the simple act of joining no longer sufficed.
With a sob, she wrenched Everett to her, but he resisted, so she fought him. For a moment, the relentless thrusts halted, and he searched her eyes.
“Please.” She wound her arms about his neck. “I need you.”
“Darling Sabrina.” With a sigh, he gave her his weight, framed her face with his hands, and kissed her.
When next he moved within her, achingly gentle and lovingly sweet, she gave vent to a plaintive cry. And with her body, Sabrina told Everett what she lacked the courage to express in words, infusing each tender caress with the same simple sentiment.
I love you.
#
Sabrina was surprised to find herself alone when she woke the following morning. Yawning, she stretched her arms above her head before sitting upright. The room spun in wild rotations, and she slumped on her side.
After a while, the walls stopped dancing before her eyes, and she wrinkled her nose. Perhaps she had risen too fast. She tossed her legs over the side of the bed, slid her bare feet to the carpeted floor, and tested the solid surface. The world teetered, and she swayed and attempted to steady herself.
“What in bloody hell is the matter with me?” she asked aloud.
The altogether unfamiliar morning malaise had started almost a fortnight ago, but it seemed of no consequence.
It was nothing more than dizziness in the early hours, along with a tempestuous stomach that left her blanching at the mere thought of food. Was she ill? She shook her head and clucked her tongue. That was all she needed.
Hoping a bath would revitalize her flagging energy; Sabrina was surprised to discover she felt worse as she dried herself. After donning a black morning dress, she sat at her vanity while Millie arranged her hair. Her eyes widened as a possible explanation dawned.
She had experienced so many emotional upheavals of late, and it was no small wonder she had not exhibited more effects. And her sporadic sleeping habits could not have helped either. She suffered from jittery nerves. Perhaps Dr. Howell could prescribe a tonic.
#
Everett stood in front of the window in his study and gazed at the woods beyond the far edge of the topiary garden. His father launched into another endless discourse on estate management.
They had never been close. Since his brother died, they had forged a new, albeit tenuous, bond. The kind words his sire had imparted concerning Sabrina left him wanting more. In some way, he felt as if he had reverted to a little boy, begging for affection.
He gave the matter half his attention, because the other half of him focused on his wife and, more perplexingly, on his intense regard for her. A raw sense of vulnerability pricked his nerves.
Was it possible to care too much for a spouse?
For a man accustomed to complete command of his personal life, as well as his business affairs, his apparent loss of control in both arenas had left him reeling. He felt a failure on so many fronts. He needed to get away. Needed to think things through and restore some measure of order to his life, before he introduced more disorder by declaring himself.
“I see there is a downed windmill at the Osterly property.”
Everett came alert. Had fate smiled upon him? The perfect opportunity to flee, clear his head, and get himself in hand had just landed at his feet.
“Really?” He started. “Perhaps I should ride there and supervise the repairs?”
“An excellent notion.” The marquess scanned a directive, which had arrived by messenger that morning. “By the by, we are departing for Tantallon Hall at the end of the week. Lady Celia is a bit overset after yesterday’s unfortunate circumstances.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
A brow arched, the marquess grinned. “Sorry we are leaving, or that Lady Celia is overset?”
“Both, of course.” With a shrug, Everett sat on the edge of his desk.
“Balderdash.” His sire chuckled. “You will be glad to be rid of us. It will provide you ample opportunity to pursue that spitfire you have married, and get yourself an heir.”
“I do not have to pursue Sabrina.” Everett snorted. “As you pointed out, we are married.”
“Then why is her belly not rounding?”
Not for lack of trying, Everett wanted to say. “These things take time.”
“Be that as it may,” the marquess said as he stood, “It is your duty to continue the line. Should you fail to fulfill your obligation, and some misfortune befall you, the title would pass to your cousin, Fredrick.” He rolled his eyes. “God help us if that lack-wit inherits the marquessate.”
He bit his tongue until his father quit the room, and then vented a violent series of expletives.
His seed could now be counted among his many shortcomings. How Everett wanted to ask his all-knowing sire just how he should go about impregnating Sabrina. Was there a particular time of day coital activity proved more successful? Was one position favored over another? Perhaps he should stand his countess on her head immediately after spilling himself inside her?
He laughed as he pictured the last.
Knowing his wife, and her adventurous spirit, she would probably oblige him.
With the departure of his parents and Lady Celia, he and Sabrina would finally be alone. He would have the opportunity to devote himself to his wife and marriage.
And Everett would declare himself.
He considered his situation and decided on a definite course of action. It seemed simple. Once his parents journeyed to Tantallon Hall, he would travel to Osterly. It was the perfect occasion to set himself right. When he returned to Beaumaris, he would tell Sabrina of his love and help her explore her feelings for him.
It would be a new beginning for them.
A warm sense of accomplishment swelled in his chest. Below his waist, something else swelled. Everett smiled and clucked his tongue. He had not made love to Sabrina in the afternoon in quite some time. How neglectful of him. So he went in search of his wife to rectify his deficiency.
#
Three days later, Sabrina sat in the drawing room with the marchioness and Celia. As they worked on their embroidery, she pretended to read a book. While her relationship with her mother-in-law had much improved, her relationship with her husband seemed to deteriorate just as fast.
And she had no idea why.
Since the attempted robbery, Everett hardly spoke to her. He avoided her during the day and spent most of his hours in the study with his father. At least, that was the excuse he provided for his continued absence.
They no longer indulged in their morning rides, rarely breakfasted together, and he was never at lunch. She saw him at dinner, from the far end of the dining room table, but they had not conversed. She supposed she should not complain. He was an earl, and his holdings commanded his attention. If he could, she was certain he would spend more time with her.
Because he had certainly devoted himself to another aspect of their marriage.
Everett came to her at all hours of the day and night. Yes, she was disappointed they no longer slept together in the literal sense, but it was difficult to find fault with him when he made love to her constantly.
It had started the night after the robbery.
Thereafter, her husband sought her company at the most unpredictable of times, always with an expression of utter helplessness, vulnerability in his eyes, and an outstretched hand. And she would set her palm to his and go without comment.
But Sabrina worried.
Ideas danced in her head, providing ample e
xcuses for his behavior. She had seized on one explanation, in particular. Though she hesitated to think it, could not dare speak it, inside, she was giddy.
Was it possible? Had Everett fallen in love with her?
She had spent an hour before the vanity mirror staring at her reflection, memorizing the dreamy yet urgent look. Was it the same for him? Hope overwhelmed her, especially in light of recent revelations.
To the best of her knowledge, she suspected she carried Everett’s child. Her unstable stomach had become downright fragile, and though she slept well most nights, she often woke feeling fatigued. It had not occurred to her that she might be increasing until she received a letter from Caroline, bemoaning the same maladies.
Sabrina smiled as she recalled how she had counted the weeks on her fingers and realized it was a definite possibility. She was going to tell Everett, at once, but remembered their guests were leaving in three days. She wanted to wait until they were alone to deliver the joyous news. Absently, she placed a hand on her belly.
“My dear, fetch the ledger detailing the stillroom supplies, and we will compose a list of necessary purchases.” The marchioness smiled and secured the needle in her embroidery. “Since winter is coming, you will need to procure additional quantities of certain items should severe weather linger.”
Sabrina blinked. Would she ever become accustomed to her mother-in-law? The one who liked her, the one who had suddenly taken her under her tutelage and imparted sage advice on running a large household?
“Oh? Are you sure it is not too much trouble?” She closed the book she had not been reading and set it on a side table. “I do not wish to be a burden when you have so little left of your stay.”
“Nonsense.” Lady Elizabeth inclined her head. “As I have no daughter of my own, I consider it an honor to share what knowledge I possess with you.”
“All right.” Sabrina nodded and stood. “I believe Everett has the ledger. If you will excuse me, I shall be right back.”
She met her husband in the foyer.
“My lord, I require the journal detailing the stillroom account.” She noted he wore his hacking jacket and tugged on gloves. “Are you going for a ride?”
The Most Unlikely Lady Page 24