Sara’s bedmate was the feeling of doom that had descended on her the moment her mother swept into the drawing room.
Really?
Her mother?
She wanted to close her eyes and wish for the day to repeat itself sans her mother. She didn’t want her mother knowing about the letters, and she could kiss Ross’s fingers for coming to her rescue. Her mind had gone alarmingly blank when Lady Grandview had asked why Sara was at Rossmoyne House. However, she wasn’t certain how she would cover the lie that she and Elizabeth had told everyone of the renovations at their townhouse. Oh, this was getting more and more complicated.
And then there was the frustrating fact that she and Ross had been about to have a very important discussion when they were interrupted. What had Ross been trying to say?
She stared up at the ceiling, where candlelight played its shadows. Certainly, the Duke of Rossmoyne had not been about to propose. Their friendship was not like that. He thought of her as an obligation. A way to assuage his guilt over Meredith’s death. Yes, they had shared some amazing kisses, but did that lead to marriage?
No. She was certain that plenty of people kissed and didn’t end up married.
Besides, the thought of becoming the Duchess of Rossmoyne was terrifying. It was not something she wanted in her life—to be the center of attention at societal events. To be forced to go to societal events.
No. That was definitely not her.
And yet hadn’t she been miserable the last few days when she hadn’t seen Ross?
Surely it was just a girlish infatuation.
He didn’t feel the same way about quiet Sara, who flubbed social occasions.
But none of that mattered, because her mother was going to make sure that Sara and Ross were never alone again. She had made it clear that Sara would return to the townhouse with her. That she wasn’t there yet was a miracle in itself. Sara had bought some time by claiming that she couldn’t possibly pack on such short notice. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
Her mother had not been happy. In fact, her mother had not been happy to discover that Sara was here at all. She couldn’t understand why Sara would choose to stay with the Rossmoynes rather than at her own home.
A soft knock sounded on the door, making Sara jump and scoot up in bed. She had sent Jenny to bed a long time ago because she knew her mother would have Jenny up early to begin packing.
Good Lord, she hoped it wasn’t her mother on the other side of that door. She didn’t want to talk right now. It was hard enough sidestepping the direct questions. It had worn Sara out. “Come in,” she said hesitantly.
The door opened and Ross stepped in quickly, shutting the door behind him just as quickly.
“Ross!” Sara squeaked, sliding down into the bed and pulling the covers over her chest. She was in her nightgown. Not that he hadn’t seen her in her nightgown before. There was that one night in the study, after all. She quickly pushed those memories away. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.
He pressed his back against the door; he looked sheepish. “I thought you would never ask me in. I feared someone would come across me standing outside your door. That would have been bad.”
“What will be even worse is if someone finds you in my room in the middle of the night. You can’t be here.”
He looked at her from across the room, and her body warmed in ways that were not good. Well, they were good, but not good.
“I have a feeling that the only way we’re going to be able to talk alone is if I sneak into your room.”
He was right. Her mother’s presence changed everything and she hated that.
“I can’t stay here any longer. Mother has already opened the townhouse, and that was our excuse for my being here,” she said.
“I know.” He seemed sad about that. Would he miss her as much as she missed him?
“We’re in my bedchamber.” It seemed important to remind him of that.
Somehow he had moved closer. Sara felt far too vulnerable lying in bed with Ross just a few feet away.
“I know.” His eyes darkened and his gaze raked across her body. Her supine body.
Feeling at a disadvantage, she slid out of bed, careful to pull the blanket along with her. Ross watched her with a dark, hungry look that made her knees tremble.
There was nothing between them but a very large bed and not nearly enough clothes. And while she should be outraged, she was more intrigued. This was bad. Very bad. And yet her muddled mind fought the urge to get closer to him, to drop the blanket and sashay over there and press her body to his. Oh, that was wickedly bad and yet so tempting. He made her think things she never would have thought before. He made her want things she’d never dreamed existed.
He was watching her in a way that made her body tremble. She couldn’t take her eyes off his, couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe. The ache inside her was overwhelming, and as naive as she was about some things, she knew that only Ross could make it go away.
He stepped closer, as if drawn to her to by some invisible force. “I want you,” he whispered. “God help me, but I want you.”
She had nothing to say to that other than she wanted him just as much, if not more.
“I didn’t come here for that,” he said, taking another step that had him rounding the bed. There were three, maybe four steps between them. Too much distance, in her opinion.
“I came to talk to you, but the words have somehow escaped me.” Another step. Three more to go. “You do that to me, Sara. You rob me of my words and my good thought. You take over my brain until there is nothing but you.”
The last three steps were covered in two great strides. He was standing before her, and she was looking up at him. His gaze devoured her. His mouth was drawn tight, and he seemed to be trembling almost as much as she was.
“Say something,” he commanded.
“Don’t leave.” Don’t leave me like this. Don’t leave me wanting you so desperately. Don’t leave me in this agonizing need. She wanted to say all of that but managed to utter only the two words.
“Ah, God.” He lowered his head and kissed her. Nothing touched but their lips, and yet it set her body on fire. With a strangled cry that was swallowed up by his mouth, Sara dropped the blanket, letting it pool on the floor.
He grasped her shoulders and she was happy for the support, since she wasn’t certain her legs could hold her up much longer. She leaned in to him until her unbound breasts rubbed against him, causing her to gasp at the pleasure that shot through her. If it felt that wonderful, what would happen if he actually touched them?
The thought had her head spinning.
With a groan, Ross dragged her to him, wrapping his arms around her until she was pinned against his hard, strong body. He was holding her up now. There was no denying that she’d lost all sense of balance. Her head swam as she kissed him back.
Ross kissed her neck. Sara never knew anything could feel so wonderful. It was only a neck, a device to hold her head up, but when he kissed her there, she swore she was about to pass out from the feelings he evoked.
And then he moved farther down. She could not help that her head fell back, that the muscles in her neck had completely stopped working. He moved lower, then lower still, until his lips were parting her nightgown without her ever knowing he had untied the prim little bow at her throat.
He pushed the nightgown off her shoulders, revealing her breasts. A small part of her woke up, the part of her that had been educated over and over to never let a man touch her there. She made a move to cover her breasts with her arms, but her arms would not move, and then his mouth was on her breast and every thought, every lesson she’d learned about being a proper lady, fled in the face of such exquisite longing and need. Oh, the need was unbearable. Her body was doing things she’d never heard of, and she realized right then that her lessons had been grossly inadequate. Why had she never learned of this?
Something was happening in that very private place between her legs. She felt swollen and uncomfortable. “Please.”
Slowly, Ross lowered her to the bed. The bed was good. Here she didn’t have to worry about falling over.
He hovered over her, the candles casting him in shadows. He ran his hands through her hair, his eyes following the movements. “Your hair is beautiful,” he said softly.
“It’s brown.” Where that came from she didn’t know, but she’d never been comfortable receiving compliments, since most of them were insincere. Some people felt that if they complimented Meredith, then they must find something to compliment on Sara.
“It’s still beautiful,” he said.
She pressed her lips together because she didn’t want to argue now about her plain brown hair.
“You do know you’re beautiful, don’t you?” His gaze pierced hers, very serious and very intent.
She turned her head away and bit her bottom lip.
“Sara. Look at me.” Gently, he touched her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You are beautiful.”
She wasn’t, but she also wasn’t going to contradict him.
He looked down on her for a very long time, then with a sigh he kissed her again, fisting his hands in her hair. His chest pressed against her and those tingling shocks returned.
Touch me, she wanted to beg.
He must have sensed her need, for his hand cupped her breast and she arched her back, nearly coming off the bed and flipping him off her.
He smiled against her lips and chuckled. “Like that, do you?”
She nodded, at a loss for words. One kiss from Ross and she was rendered mute.
“If you liked that, I can almost guarantee you will like this.” Slowly, he raised her nightgown until her legs were bare. The cool air brushed across her heated skin. There had been many times she’d taken off her nightgown and her legs had been cold, but none of those times had made her feel like this.
His fingers trailed the hem of the nightgown. Their gazes were locked, but her mind was picturing his fingers. They were coming far too close to…
“Oh,” she breathed when they brushed across the curls between her legs. She lifted her hips, silently begging for more. He was close, but not quite where she wanted him to be.
Suddenly, his fingers disappeared and he slid down her body. The friction made everything so much worse. Every part of her tingled with a need so fierce it was all she could think about.
All at once his lips were where his fingers had been.
Sara’s eyes flew open and she grabbed handfuls of his hair, trying to pull him back up. “Ross! What are you doing?”
Gently, he pried her fingers from his scalp and held her hands with his as his tongue found a spot…
Good Lord.
She cried out and arched her back. She was pinned, her legs still off the bed, Ross’s body pressing them down. She couldn’t move, and that made everything so much better.
His tongue swirled and stroked and sucked, and Sara could do nothing but ride out the waves of glorious pleasure that lapped at her. Until it broke over her and she cried out, her body convulsing beneath Ross as the wave of sensation engulfed her, until stars danced before her clenched eyes.
She drifted back down, her body relaxed, so sated that she knew she would not be able to move for an entire week or more.
Ross moved up her body and lay down beside her.
She turned to smile at him, then frowned when she realized she was nearly naked and he was fully clothed, still in his boots, even. “What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“Surely there is some pleasure I can give you. I’m fully aware that we didn’t complete the…” She searched for an appropriate word. Ross had touched her, licked her, in places no one else had ever touched; surely she could say it. “Act.”
Ross chuckled. “No, we didn’t complete the act, nor will we.”
“But why?”
“Because I would never do that to you.”
Her frown deepened. “I’ve been led to believe that it only hurts for a moment, and then it can possibly feel good.”
Ross groaned and threw his forearm over his eyes. “You undo me, Sara.” He peeked at her from under his arm. “When we complete the act, as you so eloquently put it, I will make certain that any pain will be overcome by extreme pleasure.”
“Oh.” She really had no words for that, and although just a moment ago she’d felt as if she could not move for a week, she now knew she wanted to bring him as much joy.
She reached between his legs and softly stroked his manhood through his trousers. Ross sucked in a breath and his eyes darkened.
“You don’t need to do this,” he said.
“Yes, I do.”
With her fingers she felt the outline of him, the breadth and width and length. All impressive. Ross groaned, emboldening her to explore more. She pressed her palm in to him, gently at first, then exerting more pressure. He moaned and his hips came up, pushing into her hand.
She undid the buttons of his trousers and freed his manhood. It was long and red and swollen, almost angry-looking. Gingerly, she touched it and was surprised to discover that it was hot to the touch—and extremely sensitive. It actually jumped. She pulled back in shock. Ross took her hand and put it back, showing her how to rub until she set up a rhythm that he seemed to enjoy.
She pulled her gaze from his manhood and found herself mesmerized by his expression. His eyes had closed and his face was pinched in concentration. He was moaning as his hips met her hand in each downward motion.
His eyes flew open and his gaze clashed with hers. His hips moved faster. “I’m going to…” Then he cried out and warm fluid shot from the tip of his manhood. Automatically, Sara stopped rubbing him, but his hand covering hers forced a few more strokes as fluid shot out in jerky streams.
Eventually, it stopped and Ross collapsed back on the bed with a hoarse sigh.
“Did I shock you?” He cracked an eye open to look at her.
“Some. I was more fascinated.”
He chuckled. Sara slid off the bed, surprised to find that her legs could barely hold her up. What she had just done to Ross had made her want more of what he had done to her. She managed to make it across her room to wet a washcloth. Gently, she wiped up the fluid as he watched her closely.
“You continue to surprise me,” he said.
“Why is that?” She tossed the washcloth on the floor with a mental note to remember to pick it up before Jenny came in the morning.
“You just do.” He buttoned his fly, then scooted up in the bed and patted the spot beside him.
Sara lay next to him, her head on his shoulder, listening to him breathe. She felt complete, whole, sated. Happy.
They must have dozed, for she jerked and woke to find that the first light of dawn was infiltrating her room. She didn’t want this to end but at the same time felt a frisson of alarm that they could be caught.
Ross kissed the top of her head and climbed out of bed, leaving her cold and wishing they could stay that way for a few more hours. But today was the day when she was to move out of Rossmoyne House. That thought brought her back to reality with a very painful thud.
She scooted off the bed and grabbed the blanket from the floor. She wrapped it around her, shivering in the cold morning.
“Have you thought about our conversation?” he asked, facing her once again from across the bed.
“Conversation?” Her mind went blank. After all they had done to each other, she could not recall what conversation he was referring to.
“Are you going to make me say it?” he asked with a tilt to his lips.
“Say what?” She truly was befuddled, and it was her traitorous body’s fault. And Ross’s fault for being so delectable. His hair fell over one eye, mussed from everything they had done. His collar was gone and his shirt was open enough to reveal the strong column of his throat. She remembered the way he kissed her throat and what it had made her feel, and she wondered whether it would make him feel the same way if she kissed him right there. Right where his shirt opened up.
“I think we should marry.”
His words dropped between them like something tossed from the sky. She would not have been more surprised if something had fallen out of the sky, crashed through the roof, and landed at her feet.
“Are you jesting?” she whispered.
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
“Then you have fallen and bumped your head, and we need to call for a doctor to take a look at you.”
He let out a frustrated growl. “I can assure you I have not fallen and bumped my head, and no one will be calling any doctor.”
All of her anxiety, all of her fears, returned full force. This was not just Ross standing on the other side of her bed. This was not just Ross, to whom she had made love—without actually doing the act. This was the Duke of Rossmoyne, an important political figure. A powerful man who needed an equally powerful wife. Or at least a wife who wasn’t terrified of being out in society.
“I didn’t think this would be so difficult,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. That hand had touched her in intimate places. Private places. It had skimmed her breasts and touched her legs and…
“You can’t seriously want to marry me,” she said, dragging her attention back to the present.
“I would not have asked if I weren’t serious.”
“You didn’t precisely ask. You declared that you thought we should marry. There’s a world of difference between thinking we should marry and wanting to marry.”
“Truly? We’re discussing semantics? I am in your bedchamber—after having sneaked down the hall in fear that I would get caught in my own home, I might add. I practically made love to you, and you are picking apart my words?”
“I’m sorry, but I want to be completely sure this is what you mean. Because if you just think we should, well then, that’s completely different.”
His look of intense frustration softened, and to her horror and joy, he rounded the bed and walked toward her. She tightened her hold on the blanket, but she knew it was no real barrier against him. All he had to do was touch her once and she would relinquish her hold on the feeble shield.
“I can see now I’ve gone about this all wrong. Will you marry me, Sara?”
He stood before her and she had to look up at him, her heart in her throat, the words she wanted to say choking her so she could not say them.
“You’re killing me with your silence,” he whispered, and there was not a little unease in his tone.
“Because I cannot speak.”
“And why can’t you speak?” He was so close that he could easily touch her. She felt her body sway toward him, a silent invitation for his touch.
“Because I’m frightened.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
He drew back and frowned. “Me? Certainly you know I would never hurt you.”
“I know you would never mean to hurt me.”
His frown deepened, became fierce. “What do you mean?”
“We are forced together due to circumstances beyond our control. Once I leave, I fear you will see the error of your ways. I’m not duchess material, Ross. I’m not what you need.”
“You are everything I need, and when you leave, I will miss you desperately and count the hours until I can see you again.”
She smiled at the beautiful words, but they didn’t ease her fear that he would one day realize his terrible mistake. She was not Meredith. She was not made to be a duchess.
Because she could resist no longer, she touched his cheek. His skin was warm and prickly with the day’s worth of beard that shadowed his jawline. In the darkness of her bedroom, with him standing in front of her, she finally admitted to herself her fierce love for him. Somewhere, sometime in their days together, she had fallen in love with him.
“You don’t know your own worth, Sara.”
She wanted to believe him. She desperately wanted to believe him, but a part of her held back. To her he had always been the star of society, the person everyone else wanted to be, and she would always be plain, quiet Sara.
“We don’t match,” she said in an attempt to get him to understand. “You are light and I am shadows.”
His eyes narrowed in surprising anger. “I wish you thought better of yourself.”
“I know exactly who I am. You seem to forget who you are.”
“I know who I am.” He stepped away, clearly disappointed in her. “And I thought you knew who I was. I guess I was wrong. You see what you want to see, what others see.” He took another step back and she wanted to cry out at the loss. He was pulling away from her, already realizing the mistake he’d made, just like she’d known he would.
He backed all the way to the door, where he stared at her for the longest time. Sara felt so cold her teeth were chattering. Tears clogged her throat. Her stomach churned and her knees trembled.
She couldn’t tear her gaze from his, from the hurt and anger that shone from his beautiful amber eyes. I’m sorry, she wanted to shout, but held her tongue. He might think now that they were suited, but he would realize how wrong he was in a few months or, if she were lucky, a few years. When he wanted to go to balls and host parties to push his political ideas, she could not be the shining presence he needed on his arm.
It was far better that he realize it now than in a few years, when her heart was fully engaged. It would kill her to live half a life with him knowing she was a disappointment.
He opened the door and hesitated as if waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, he nodded to her. “Goodbye, Sara.”
She swallowed, tears swimming in her eyes. She couldn’t even say goodbye.
He closed the door behind him and she cried out, stifling the sound by bunching the blanket against her mouth. She blinked and the tears, let loose, raced down her cheeks.
This is for the best.
If that were the case, then why did it hurt so much?