Sapphire

by Rosemary Rogers

  “All right,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around her waist, hating him for doing this to her, hating herself for getting into a position that could allow him to do this to her again. Worst of all, she hated herself for wanting him the way she did right now.

  “You’ll go with me?”

  He held out his arms and she couldn’t stop herself; she stepped into them and closed her eyes, burying her face in his shirt, in the scent of him.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said, and then whispered, “at least for tonight.”

  As Blake promised, he discreetly escorted Sapphire down the corridor, through the kitchens, and up a rear staircase. No one saw them and they were soon in his hotel room. “Let me get you something to drink,” he said as he locked the door behind them.

  She just stood there in the middle of his lavish hotel suite, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

  “Champagne?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “That would be fine.”

  “I’ll order something for us to eat later.”

  “Later,” she repeated.

  He popped the cork on the champagne bottle and poured her a glass. As he pushed a fluted crystal glass into her hand, she lifted her gaze. “Did you intend to have a private celebration with someone?”

  He scowled. “It was a gift from a colleague. I was here on business and Manford—he’s downstairs—he was the one who convinced me to come down. If I hadn’t given in, I might not have—” He fell silent.

  Sapphire wished she knew what he was thinking. He had seemed happy to see her downstairs, but now…now she couldn’t be sure.

  “Drink up,” he said. “And come sit down. I want you to tell me where you’ve been all these months.” He led her to two chairs beside each other in front of a fireplace glowing with burning coals. Though it was June, it was still cool at night, and Sapphire sat on the edge of the upholstered wingback chair, appreciating the heat coming from the marble hearth.

  “There’s not that much to tell.” She sipped the champagne, looking at him over the rim of the glass. He was thinner than he had been when she last saw him. He didn’t look as if he had been taking very good care of himself. Had it been because of her? Had he been worrying over her? “I left Boston that night, and a day later I met a nice man and I ended up at the Carrington stables, riding as a jockey.”

  He shook his head. “I want the whole story, Sapphire. Every step you took on that road. Every person you spoke to. I can’t tell you how distraught I’ve been.”

  She studied the lines across his forehead, still wishing she knew what he was really thinking. No, what he was feeling. Then she began to tell him what had happened in the months since they had last sat beside each other—the people who had helped her, the boys in the stable, the horses she had groomed. She told him about Petrosky and Red and the kittens in the barn. She told him all about Stowe back at Carrington Farm who seemed to be more Red’s dog as of late than hers. She talked about her riding lessons and cutting her hair and how she’d nearly been caught once bathing in the tack room.

  Before she knew it, the case clock on the mantel was chiming midnight and she had been in the chair beside Blake so long that her legs were stiff when she stood to stretch them.

  “I should go,” she said.

  He stood in front of her and drew his finger along the collar of her starched white shirt, nearly identical to his. “I still can’t believe you’ve been masquerading as a stable boy, a groom, a jockey, whatever the hell they think you are, all these months.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you got away with it.”

  She smiled. She didn’t know what had happened to her anger in the past four hours, but it was gone. Now, all she felt was a strange sense of peace.

  “I don’t understand why you would be surprised that I could get away with pretending I am a young man.” She reached up and stroked his neck just above his collar, mimicking his gesture. “I got away with pretending I was a maid, remember? Molly the maid.”

  He smiled, tipped his head back and chuckled. “That was wrong of me.” He pulled her into his arms and she gazed into his eyes, lifting her brows.

  “Was that an apology?”

  He kissed her lightly on the lips and for a moment she held herself stiff in his arms. A thousand thoughts flew through her head. What she wished he would say. What she wished could be…

  Then she felt herself relax and sensed that peace again. She parted her lips, allowing her eyes to drift shut.

  “Sapphire, Sapphire,” Blake whispered, holding her so tightly that she could barely breathe. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  She clung to him, kissing him until she had to tear her mouth from his to get a breath of air. He slid her coat off and let it fall to the floor, and his followed. Desperate to touch him, to feel him, she pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers and slid her hands under the hem, running her fingers over his flat stomach, over his chest. Their mouths twisting, she kicked off her polished boots and he slid her black trousers over her hips. She trembled at his touch. It had been so long, too long.

  With Blake’s aid, she stepped out of her trousers revealing a hint of the red triangle of hair between her thighs as the shirt rode up and then fell. He reached beneath the shirt.

  “Take this off,” he murmured in her ear, tugging on the cotton fabric she used to bind her breasts. Gazing into his eyes, she found the end of the fabric, untucked it and began to unwrap it, letting the material trail to the floor. At last her breasts were free of the confining material and she threw her head back, sucking in her breath as his hands found her breasts, his thumb brushing her swollen nipples.

  When Blake lifted her into his arms and carried her to the huge bed in the center of the room, she put up no resistance. She wanted to make love with him one last time, to feel his mouth on hers, to feel him deep inside her.

  When he lowered her to the bed, her legs dangled over the side, and when he leaned forward, he pushed her shirt up, and she caught the hem of his, pulled it over his head and flung it.

  With a growl of lust deep in his throat, Blake lowered his head over her breast and flicked his tongue around her areole, drawing groans of pleasure from her. When he caught her nipple between his lips and sucked gently, she arched her back, grasping a handful of silk sheets in one hand.

  “Blake,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, trying to bring him closer. “Please,” she said, wrapping her legs around his hips, lifting her groin to his. She could already feel the evidence of his arousal and she was desperate for him. All these months she had remembered, dreamed, and now he was here with her once more.

  “You’re always in too big a hurry,” he teased huskily, kissing a hot, wet path from the tip of her breast over her belly.

  “Blake, please,” she cried desperately, half sitting up to tug at the waistband of his trousers. “Quick first, then slow?” When she looked into his eyes, she again thought she recognized something new in them.

  “All right, all right,” Blake said, laughing as he unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of them. “But only for you would I comply.”

  Still standing on the floor, he offered both hands and she threaded her fingers through his. Eyes locked with hers, Blake thrust his hips forward and she moved toward him, taking him deeply. One stroke and she was halfway gone to him. She let her eyes drift shut as she lifted her hips off the bed again and again, meeting his lust.

  It was over all too quickly. Sapphire cried out, arching her back, tightening her grip on his hands. A heartbeat later, Blake groaned and fell forward, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

  Both lay there panting for a moment, and then he withdrew from her and she slid up into the bed to make room for him.

  “I’m hungry,” he said as he climbed into the bed and dropped down beside her, flat on his back.

  She laughed and turned her head to face him. “Me, too.”

  “Fortunately, that is one problem, Master
Water—or is it Molly?—that I can solve.” He sat up and kissed her and then strode naked across the room to pull a long rope with a tassel that hung from the ceiling.

  Somewhere in the walls, Sapphire heard tiny bells ring.

  Momentarily, a butler arrived, and Blake poked his head out the door long enough to order a meal. Half an hour later they were seated in the middle of the bed, eating cold roasted partridge with mint jelly, soft, warm bread fresh from the oven and the first strawberries of spring with mounds of fresh whipped cream.

  They finished the bottle of champagne and Blake placed the empty bottle into the wine cooler. “Shall I order more?” he asked her.

  She laughed, dropping a strawberry into her glass and then fishing it out with her finger. “I think I’ve already had quite enough, sir.”

  “Not even in celebration?”

  She popped the strawberry into her mouth and looked at him across the bed. “In celebration of what, Lord Wessex? Or is it Blake Thixton?”

  He scowled and scooped a bit of cream from a bowl onto his plate of strawberries. “Your return to me, of course.”

  She only smiled and reached for another berry. And when they were fully satiated, Blake cleared the bowls and plates from the bed and set them on a silver tray near the door—except for what was left of the sweetened cream. That he placed on the table beside the bed.

  “What’s that for?” she asked, tipping her champagne glass to get the last drop.

  “I suppose I’ll have to show you.” He took the empty glass from her hand and set it on the table behind him. “But the shirt will have to go.”

  “Oh, it will, will it?” She laughed, but lifted her arms to allow him to pull the shirt off. She watched through her lashes, her eyes already heavy with passion as he removed his own shirt. Then, seated on the bed, utterly naked, Blake began to run his hands over her body, over her shoulders, down her arms, over her back, her thighs, his hands ever moving. He touched every inch of her skin with slow, caressing movements, and when he was done, he began at the top again, massaging her neck, her shoulders, her breasts…Sapphire lay out on the bed, her head cradled in his lap, him looking down on her, her looking up. She felt as if she were drifting on a cloud, her body filled to overflowing with a calm she had never possessed before.

  Something cold touched her nipple and her eyelids flew open. She looked down to see a perfect white dot of cream on her breast. “What—”

  Blake leaned over and covered her nipple with his warm mouth, licking until every bit of cream was gone. Sapphire moaned, writhing under him as he did the same to the other nipple. There was something incredibly erotic about the coolness of the cream and the heat of his mouth that sent her body and her mind spiraling.

  But this time, he showed no mercy. No matter how much she begged, Blake took his time, touching, caressing, licking. Sapphire lost all control as again and again he brought her to the edge of the threshold of pleasure and then eased her back again. When at last they coupled, Sapphire found herself laughing and crying at the same time as she found fulfillment. Then, when both were satisfied, she curled up in the crook of Blake’s arm and allowed him to cover them with a blanket—and she slept.

  It was nearly five in the morning when Sapphire woke and slipped out of Blake’s bed. She did not wake him because there was no need for confrontation. All the same, she couldn’t stay. Nothing had been resolved between them. She would not stay with a man who did not love her.

  Refusing to allow herself even a single tear, she pulled on her trousers and shirt, slipped into her boots and grabbed her coat on the way out the door. As she eased into the dark hallway, she allowed herself only one glance back.

  Blake lay asleep on his back, his arms flung to his sides, his hair dark against the white pillowcase, his sensual lips slightly parted as he inhaled and exhaled.

  Smiling, fighting tears, she drew her fingers to her lips. “I love you,” she whispered, and then she was gone.

  Sapphire walked the New York City streets until the hour was decent and then she entered a pawnshop where a narrow-faced man with bad teeth asked no questions when she offered her fine coat and trousers in return for a simple pair of boys’ tweeded knee pants, a burlap jacket, a dirty cap and a few dollars. He allowed her to change behind a curtain in his back room. Again on the street, she headed in the direction the shopkeeper had pointed her—the wharves. She was going home.

  Tears filled her eyes as she stuffed her hands into her pockets, lowering her head against the wind whipping between the tall buildings. Without the money she had hidden in the tack room under a floorboard back at the farm, it was not going to be easy, but she was determined. Nearly penniless except for the money she had earned from the race and money from the pawnshop, she was going home to Lucia and Angelique if she had to swim to cross the ocean.

  Down at the docks, Sapphire moved from ship to ship making inquiries as to anyone headed for England who might be in need of a cabin boy. When a man with a patch over his eye and fish breath told her the Sally Mae was looking for kitchen help because their boy had fallen overboard the night before and drowned, she thanked him. Tugging on her felt cap, she headed for the Sally Mae, a schooner out of Bristol.

  Sapphire found the ship’s cook on the deck of the small transport vessel overseeing the loading of crates of chickens and geese. He took one look at her, inquired as to her health and then gave a nod. “A might skinny, but I guess you’ll do,” he grumbled. “‘Least you won’t eat much.” He pointed to the crates of chickens still on the dock. “Whattaya standin’ there for? Get the blessed chickens on board, boy.” He hooked his thumb behind him and spat a long stream of tobacco over the side of the rail. “We sail on the afternoon tide.”

  Hours later, Sapphire was standing on the deck beside the cook, trying to stay out of the way of the lines as they were thrown from the dock onto the ship. She saw Blake an instant before he saw her, and she seriously considered diving off the ship and swimming toward England.

  “Wait! Wait!” Blake shouted, running down the dock. “You! On the ship! Sally Mae, wait!”

  One of the sailors just beginning to pull up the gangplank peered over the side to the dock. “Cap’n,” he called. “We got a gen’leman sayin’ to wait ‘ere.”

  Sapphire glanced around her but there was nowhere to go, no place to run, and to dive into the water would have been pure stupidity. Anger flared in her as she knotted her hands into fists and turned away so as not to have to see the exchange about to take place between the captain of the ship she had nearly escaped on and Blake Thixton.

  “Sir, are you the captain?” Blake called up, shading his eyes against the afternoon sun.

  The captain nodded, pulling off his hat, recognizing in an instant that the fellow in the black frock coat and top hat was an important man. “Yes, sir, how might I help you, sir?”

  Sapphire couldn’t resist turning her head, curious as to exactly how he would explain himself.

  “Sir, my son. You have my son on board. A red-haired young fellow.” He touched his neck. “Hair to here. A slight boy.”

  Had she not been so angry that he had found her, Sapphire might have laughed. Blake Thixton was a man who could think quickly on his feet, she would give him that.

  The captain turned to face the cook still standing beside Sapphire. The cook raised his dirty hands. “The lad was lookin’ fer work, Cap’n. I didn’t know he was a rich boy run away.”

  “Please. No harm has been done,” Blake hollered up, sounding every bit the concerned father. “Just send him down. If I don’t return him to his mother by sunset, I’ll not be able to return at all.”

  The captain chuckled as he signaled for the deck hand to lower the gangplank again.

  “Go ahead, lad,” the captain said good-naturedly.

  Sapphire stood her ground for a moment, her jaw set. Surely there had to be some way to avoid this. She didn’t want to argue with Blake on a dock, she didn’t want to embarrass him by telling h
im she couldn’t be with him because he didn’t think she was an honest woman. Because he would never love her.

  “Go on, do’s the cap’n says.” The cook gave her a push.

  Sapphire walked slowly across the deck. When she reached the gangplank, Blake was standing on the dock, as handsome as she had ever seen him, looking tall and regal in his proper coat and top hat.

  “Come along, Sam,” he called, offering a hand.

  Sapphire slowly walked down the gangplank. At the bottom, Blake grabbed her arm and began to walk her away briskly. “Thank you,” he called. “Safe sailing!”

  She walked beside him in silence until they were far enough away that those on the Sally Mae could no longer see them.

  “My carriage is this way,” Blake said gruffly. “Come on.”

  “No.” Sapphire stopped on the street that abutted the dock. There were men everywhere—sailors, merchants, venders selling and buying wares. She ignored the confusion that swirled around them, focusing on Blake’s face.

  “No? What do you mean, no?” he demanded. “What the hell did you think you were doing on that ship?”

  “I was going home!” she shouted at him.

  “Home? Home is with me.”

  “No, home is not with you, Blake. When will you get it through your thick American head that I will not be your mistress? I am the daughter of Lord Edward Wessex and I will be no man’s mistress! No man’s, not even yours.”

  “Let’s get into the carriage.” He glanced around, not appearing to have heard a word she said. “People are beginning to stare.”

  When he tried to rest his hand on her shoulder to move her along, she flung it off. “I will not get in your carriage and I don’t care if people stare. I’m going back to England, away from this place. Away from you!”

  His face, which had been lined with anger a moment before, changed expression. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I’m serious!” She flung herself at him, beating him with her fists. “Bastard. I wouldn’t stay here with you, not if you—”