“He would betray me?”
There was doubt in his voice and too late, Sarah realized it would be her word against that of the secretary, a man who had served Gavin faithfully for who knew how many years.
“He wished to save your life. Mr. Talbert said that if you met Lord Rovington on the morrow, your death would be on my hands. He said that Lord Rovington has killed two men in duels.”
“That is true.”
“He said you have never dueled before.”
“That is also true. I find dueling foolish.”
“I do as well,” Sarah said stoutly. “Which is a good reason for you not to be there.”
“So then, why are you confessing now?”
“Because,” she said, her voice uncertain of his response, “if you are killed, I don’t know how I shall live with myself.”
“Why, Sarah? Then you would be free of me.”
“Would I? Do you believe me so callow I would rejoice at your death? At any death? And if I had given you this whisky, I would never forgive myself for playing a part in your disgrace. I am not that sort of woman.”
“Did Talbert offer you anything to betray me?”
“Just the promise that this was the best solution. He believes that if you miss the duel everyone will believe it is because you are happy in my bed. Therefore, he thinks any disgrace would be tempered by envy.” She shook her head, wondering if she should have been silent. “Why should you believe me? I have no proof of what I say . . . save for the vial—and what does that prove?”
“Sarah, I believe you.”
“You shouldn’t,” she argued. She wouldn’t.
To her surprise, he laughed.
“This is not humorous,” she returned.
He walked up to her. “I’m not laughing out of humor. I’m laughing because you are so concerned and you needn’t be.”
“I beg to differ, Your Grace,” she answered tartly. “I feel like I am caught in a difficult position.”
“And you are, my dear Sarah, and for that I am heartily sorry. I do not know why Talbert would wish to betray me. However, of late, I have noticed he has been less than satisfied with his position on my staff. He is an ambitious man. I must ask myself, who benefits from my disgrace?”
“Not him,” she said.
“And not you. However, Rovington could use all of this to his advantage. He knows I will see him removed as the Chairman of the Committees. I put him there and I can take him away. He would do anything to usurp my power.”
“So, you are saying that Talbert might be doing Lord Rovington’s bidding?”
“And using you. Tell me the conversation when Talbert asked you to drug me.” He pulled a chair out for Sarah and then took one for himself.
As she recalled the exchange with Mr. Talbert the best she could, Gavin listened intently. When she was done, he sat for a moment and then said, “Of course, I will stay here for the night,” he said. “Let them believe you drugged me.”
“But you will meet Rovington in the morning.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Sarah heard the steel in his voice and she wished she could dissuade him. “Men who use trickery cannot be expected to fight fair.”
“Is that Shakespeare?” he asked, teasing her.
“No, it is what I’ve learned through a life of hard living. You have power. Go to some authority. I will testify what Mr. Talbert asked me to do.”
“Talbert is only a small part of this. Rovington is the betrayer. But he has been clever, using people around me as a boundary between the deed and his manipulation. I will not let him escape, not without exacting a price.”
“Will you kill him?”
The duke appeared surprised by her question, and then answered, “I don’t know.”
“Don’t let him kill you,” she begged, suddenly frightened of the prospect.
“I won’t, Sarah.” He smiled. “Now, the hour is late. Go to bed. Go on now,” he prodded as if she was a child.
“Are you coming?”
“I have a few things to write,” he replied and crossed over to the portable desk he’d given her. He pulled out paper and pen.
“Last instructions?”
“It would be wise, although my affairs are always in order. A few last thoughts. I would also document our discussion this evening.”
Sarah wanted to pretend that it wasn’t necessary, that the whole situation was something that could be ignored. However, the way Gavin sat down at the desk and started writing told her that it would not be.
She went into the bedroom and undressed, feeling as if she was in a dream. She climbed beneath the sheets naked. She rolled on her side and watched through the door as Baynton wrote.
Would he join her?
What would she do if he did?
She could still taste the heat of the kisses they had shared that evening . . . and she knew that when he joined her, she would give him what he asked. Her stomach hollowed in fear, but it was not as great as it had been. She knew she could be calm. This was their bargain. She not only owed it to Gavin, she wanted to please him. She waited for him to come to her.
However, at some point, she fell asleep.
She woke with a start to see that the only light in the other room was from a candle burned down to the nub and she was alone in the bed.
At first, she believed he had left. She rose from the bed and with silent steps peered into the sitting room. Gavin was sprawled out in the upholstered chair, his booted heels propped up on a chair. He had removed his jacket and waistcoat and untied his neck cloth, but he still looked decidedly uncomfortable.
On the table were three folded sheets of paper. Each said, “Upon my death,” and were addressed separately. There was one for Lord Liverpool. Another for his brother Ben. The third was addressed to her—
“You remind me of one of those stories,” Baynton’s deep voice said, catching her off guard, “that my Nan used to tell of fairies who stole in the night and counted the sins of bad little boys. Except I never imagined fairies being so beautiful.”
Sarah’s first impulse was to want to hide her nakedness, but then where was the trust? She lowered her arms. “And what did these fairies do to those boys?”
He dropped his heels heavily on the floor and sat up. “They lured them away and stole their souls and they were never heard from again.” His keen gaze wandered over her. Her breasts grew full, tightened.
She told herself it was the night air.
She knew it wasn’t.
“Come to bed,” she said and held out a hand.
Chapter Fifteen
Gavin rose, took her hand, and let her lead him into the bedroom. Sarah walked to the other side of the bed while he undressed.
She slipped between the sheets. His shadow blocked the light in the other room. She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of his boots being placed on the floor, the rustle of his clothing sliding over his body.
The air was full of him, the spiciness, the masculinity, the person.
He did not join her under the sheet but stretched beside her and pulled the coverlet over him. Her body naturally moved toward him as the mattress accommodated both of their weights, the sheet the only barrier to his body heat.
The duke bunched the pillow up beneath his arm and rested his head.
With eyes shut, Sarah waited for him to move upon her. He didn’t.
She opened her eyes. He was watching her. His lips curved into a smile at her notice. He traced her bottom lip with the tip of one finger. The motion tickled.
“Don’t you want to complete this matter between us?” she asked, the combination of fear and anticipation making it hard for her to speak.
“Is that what you want?”
“I’m ready,” she answered. And she was. She was resolved to see the matter through.
“So lovely,” he whispered. His fingers followed the curve of her neck, down to her breasts. His palm covered her and the nipple tightened under th
e smoothness of the sheet and heat of his touch. “So afraid . . .”
“I’m trying not to be,” she said in her defense. “I’m better than I was last night.”
“This is true.”
“It isn’t you.”
“I know.” He was not looking at her as he spoke, but at the way his thumb now circled that one tightened nipple. The move, even in spite of the sheet, inspired that hitch of anticipation, that stab of need.
His fingers moved the sheet down, exposing her breast.
Sarah started and then willed herself to be still, just as she had in the sitting room. This, too, called for an act of faith in him.
He watched her intently as if he had expected her panic—but she was better. Couldn’t he see that? She reached over and placed her hand against the side of his jaw. His whiskers were smoothly rough beneath her touch. She pressed her lips to his.
His body pulled her closer, the sheet still between them.
She let him kiss her just as he had at Vauxhall, and then she surprised herself by stroking him with her tongue, an invitation—a hesitant, yet bold move, and it felt right. Gavin responded and for a moment, they breathed as one.
His hand ran over the curve of her hip and buttock. She warned herself to relax. All would be fine if she would just relax.
He nuzzled his way down her neck. Through the sheet, she could feel the strength of his arousal against her thigh.
And then all conscious thought left her as his lips covered her breast. He sucked gently. His tongue brushed her and a jolt of heat she’d never known before shot straight to her core. She held him, not wanting him to ever stop what he was doing. Her fingers curled in his hair. She moved, her legs suddenly restless.
He found her other breast and gave it the same attention and Sarah heard herself gasp with both surprise and pleasure.
Pleasure. She was completely vulnerable to him . . . and yet, the fear ebbed to be replaced by this certainly sinful desire.
And then his lips were upon hers again.
There was need in his kiss, a driving need.
His hand slid to the juncture of curls at her thigh. She was moist, something she’d never experienced before. His fingers teased her. A sharp, deliciously raw sensation enveloped her. With a will of their own, her legs parted, inviting him to do more.
And he did.
Exploring fingers slid inside her and she thought she would come undone. This felt good. But it wasn’t enough. Sarah released her breath with a soft moue. A need was in her, a need only he could relieve.
He lifted himself up over, giving his wondrous touch more freedom. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, reaching for him, but he held back.
“No, Sarah, this is for you. So that you will never tremble again. Trust me, love. Trust me.”
She couldn’t have argued. Her whole being was lost in the spell of his touch. He seemed to know her better than she knew herself.
A pressure was building inside her. She turned her face into the warmth of his neck. Her body wanted to be covered by him—and then suddenly, sharp, pure sensation swept through her.
It was as if her being had become as focused as a pinprick of sunlight in the dark before bursting into warm, glorious flame.
All Sarah could do was hold on to Gavin as wave after wave of emotion flowed, relentless and pure, through her.
She couldn’t speak. Words were not adequate. It has all been so simple and yet satisfying, delightfully so.
He held her as if he understood. “Sarah.” He whispered her name as if it was a benediction. As if she mattered.
His hand found hers. He placed it upon him. He was long and hard and if he was feeling half of what had driven her, she could not imagine going without release. He guided her in what he wanted. It did not take much. He acted as if he’d been as caught up in the same storm, as if in pleasing her, he pleased himself? An astounding thought.
He gasped aloud with his own release. She felt the essence of him against her skin. He’d needed her. He was far more robust a man than Roland could ever have been, and yet, for her, he’d held himself back.
His body fell against hers after his release. The rushing beat of blood pumping through her veins matched the beat of his own. He gathered her in the haven of his arms, pressed a kiss to her hair, to her forehead, to her temple. “Ah, Sarah, you break my heart.”
She didn’t answer. She’d been robbed of speech. For a long moment, she let herself be at peace, her head on his shoulder, savoring the aftermath.
Ever so slowly, consciousness returned. He pulled the coverlet over both of them. She stared into his eyes. “Why just for me? Why did you deny yourself?”
“I don’t want you afraid. Not of me, Sarah. Never of me—and yet, I had to do something or I would explode.”
All her life she’d witnessed men taking what they wanted without thought to anyone’s needs but their own.
And now Gavin had proven to her, that not all men were selfish, that there was more. She wrapped her arms around his neck and burst into tears.
He held her, whispering words she could not hear and yet understood. He didn’t just want her body; he wanted her trust. He may even want her soul, and in this moment, Sarah could have given it to him. She was so tired of being afraid, of being alone, of being forgotten.
She hugged her arms around his torso, her legs intertwined with his, the sheet still between them.
Didn’t he know she was flawed, imperfect?
In time, he’d realize the mistake he’d made in choosing her. But for right now, he held her.
For right now, she would be at peace.
In this manner, she fell asleep.
At last, Gavin now knew her taste, her scent. He understood men, but women were a mystery.
He had pleased her. She had tried his self-control. It had taken all his will to not bury himself deep in her. Even now, the animal instinct to mate was upon him. Then again, it had been since he’d seen the flash of her bare legs upon the stage.
Or did it go back further?
The first time he’d met her, she’d been masquerading as Lady Charlene’s maid . . . and he’d noticed her green eyes, the glint of intelligence in them—so unfitting a maid—and the dark sweep of her lashes.
Now he knew more about her. He had learned her fears. She could not afford to trust easily. Neither could he.
The thought startled him.
He’d always believed his motives were clear. He prided himself on his honesty and yet he saw bits of himself in Sarah’s doubts.
His father had been the first to betray him with his stern, often brutal expectations for his son while squandering the family fortune with insane schemes and investments. Gavin had been shocked when he’d realized he had inherited an estate in disarray.
It had taken years and iron discipline to replenish the coffers. It had also taken luck, a quality Gavin hated because he had no control over it.
And then there was the politics, the negotiating and bargaining and arguing against men’s base natures.
He’d been everything he’d been trained to become. He wielded power, made decisions, delivered what needed to be done, and he never had a moment’s peace. He’d never been content . . . until now.
Sarah’s breathing was gentle and relaxed. She slept deeply as if she knew he’d not let harm come to her. He brushed her hair with his lips. Such a vibrant color, one that matched her spirit. His Sarah.
Would she thank him on the morrow? Or return to her prickly self?
He didn’t know. What he did understand is that for this moment, all was right.
And, if upon meeting Rov, this was Gavin’s last night on earth, then it was a good one.
With that thought, he surprised himself by falling into his own tranquil sleep.
He woke well before dawn, alert and relaxed. Sarah was still in his arms. He, of course, was hard as an iron pike. He’d give everything he owned to ignore the duel, to kiss her awake, to be inside her—<
br />
Gavin cut short his wistful lust and carefully eased out from beneath her sleeping form. He poured water into the basin and slapped his face with it, thankful that it was cold enough to bring him to his senses. He began dressing—
She sat up in bed, the sheet dropping to her waist. Her thick hair was in charming disarray. She pushed it aside and then, heedless of her own lovely nakedness, stood.
Gavin suddenly found it hard to button his breeches.
“Sarah, go back to sleep.”
“I’m going with you,” she answered. She frowned groggily as she reached for her dress.
Shirtless, Gavin took her by the arms, preventing her from dressing. “You will stay here. This way I know you are safe.”
She stared at his chest a moment. Her breasts had hardened into two tight points and he remembered the feeling of them in his mouth. His grip tightened on her arms as he struggled with the knowledge he must push her away and ignore the desire to toss her onto the bed and have his way with her. The perfume of her body, still warm from sleep, was intoxicating.
Sarah pulled away from him and drew her dress over her head. “I’m going.” She efficiently braided her unruly hair and then began lacing the back of her dress.
Gavin watched her a moment and then decided he didn’t mind having her with him. He finished dressing himself. By the time he’d pulled on his boots, she had used tooth powder and washed her face and was ready to go. She had twisted her braid into a graceful knot at her neck and was tying the ribbon to her hat.
After hearing her tell of the plot to give him the sleeping draught, he had written a note to his brother to meet him at the hotel and given it to the hall steward to deliver. Therefore, as they stepped out the Clarendon’s front door, Ben waited. He had driven a smart phaeton with his tiger, a lad named David, on the step behind the seat. “Good morning, brother,” Ben called.
“You are a cheery man this morning,” Gavin said.
“I always feel good when I believe a rascal is going to receive what he deserves.”
“Are you talking about Rov or myself?”
“I’ll let you guess.” Ben’s interested gaze wandered over to Sarah.
Gavin said, “This is Mrs. Pettijohn. She is accompanying us. Sarah, this is my brother Ben. Do not believe anything he tells you unless he is talking about his lovely wife.”
A Date at the Altar Page 17