The Seduction of Sara (23 page)

For Nicholas Montrose, there was no middle road. There never had been.

A
week later, Anthony Elliot, the Earl of Greyley, climbed out of his carriage and turned toward the house he'd rented for his stay in Bath. It was well built and free from the frills found in most Bath architecture, so he was considering purchasing it, if the owner could be convinced. After all, Sara was established here now, and it would be convenient to have a permanent residence nearby.

He walked up the steps to the front door. It had been three weeks since Sara had married. Marcus and he had taken turns going to visit her, reporting back on what they found. Yesterday it had been his turn, and the visit had unsettled him.

Sara had been pale and restless, her thoughts far away. But it had been her expression when
Bridgeton walked into the room that had caused Anthony to wince. Whether she knew it or not, Sara was in love. Worse, it was obvious from the longing glance she turned toward her husband that she didn't believe that love reciprocated.

Anthony balled his hand into a fist. What had Marcus been thinking in arranging the marriage? Hell, what had
he
been thinking? He should have put his foot down and prevented the whole damnable match.

The door opened as he reached the landing, and he passed his coat and hat to the waiting butler, then turned to the study.

“My lord,” the butler said. “Lady Bridgeton arrived a half hour ago.”

Sara? A sense of foreboding engulfed him as he crossed the foyer and entered the sitting room. Sara stood before the fire, her arms wrapped around her as if she was trying to ward off a chill. Her mind was obviously far away for she hadn't heard him enter, but continued to stare with unseeing eyes at the flickering fire.

Anthony noted the delicate shadows beneath her eyes. What had Bridgeton done to his sister? He took a step forward. “Sara?”

She started. “Oh, I didn't see you! How long have you been there?”

“I just came in.” He regarded her closely. “I take it this isn't a social call.”

She managed a wan smile. “I need your advice, Anthony.”

For God's sake, his advice would be to walk
away from the bastard and never look back. Still…Anthony looked into his sister's eyes and saw tears welling. “Of course,” he said hastily. “Come and sit down.” He waited until she took a chair and then he sank into the one opposite. “Sara, what has happened?”

She took a shuddering breath. “This is so awkward. But I must talk to someone and…Anthony, I need to ask you something very—”

“Perhaps you should speak to Aunt Delphi?” Anthony said, alarmed.

“I thought of her, but she's been acting so unusual lately.”

Anthony had noticed that himself. Bloody hell, he was surrounded with teary-eyed females, and there wasn't a drop of decent brandy in the house. “Aunt Delphi is probably just missing you.”

“I think it is more than that,” Sara said with a watery smile. “But I cannot ask her to help me with my problems when she obviously has her own. I also thought about asking Anna for advice, but—”

“No,”
he said vehemently. “That blasted woman doesn't know a damn thing about men.” Not that she'd admit such a thing; women like Anna Thraxton never admitted they weren't an expert on any topic.

“Her experience is rather limited in this area, so I—” Sara bit her lip. “I thought perhaps you could assist me.”

Anthony braced himself. “What is the problem? I assume we are talking about Bridgeton.”

“Yes, and I would appreciate it if you would put
your dislike of him aside.” She suddenly stood and paced a short distance away, then returned, her movements jerky and unsettled. “Anthony, I need to understand how men think.”

Well, that didn't seem too difficult. “Oh?”

“Nick…wants me.”

“Wants—” Surely she didn't mean—

“I can tell that he does. He touches me all the time and—”

“Good God,” he muttered.

Sara looked at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said hastily. “Go on.”

She eyed him uncertainly. “Very well. Nick wants me, but he's decided not to…to…” She floundered to a halt and the tears that threatened in her eyes became reality. One, single drop slipped down her cheek.

Bloody hell. Anthony raked a hand through his hair. “Do you mean to tell me that Bridgeton is not…er, fulfilling his husbandly duties?”

She nodded miserably. “Oh, Anthony, what am I to do?”

He closed his eyes.
God above
. He was a decent man, one who took his responsibilities seriously. He was a good friend, an excellent landlord, and he never cheated at cards, unless it was with one of his own brothers. What had he done to deserve this?

“I knew I shouldn't have asked you,” Sara said, her voice quavering. She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and mopped her eyes. “Never mind; I'm sorry I bothered you—”

“Damn it, Sara, you haven't bothered me at all,”
Anthony snapped. “Sit back down while I think this through.” If he didn't help her, she'd go to that Thraxton woman, and heaven knew what hare-brained advice she might give.

Sara's eyes brightened. “You're thinking?”

“Don't look so surprised.” She had the grace to smile a little, and he relaxed. “Now sit.” He pointed to the chair she'd abandoned. She obediently came and perched on the edge, her gaze glued to his face.

Anthony seriously wished he'd had a drink. Hell, two would be better. “You'll have to give me more details. Has Bridgeton ever…” He gestured vaguely, not quite believing he was having this conversation.

She turned a bright pink, a dreamy expression softening her eyes. “Oh, yes.”

Damn Nicholas Montrose to hell. There was so much in that “oh, yes” that Anthony did not want to think about. “But now he refuses. Does he say why?”

“He says he doesn't want children, but I know there are ways…” She looked down at her hands, tightly clenched about her reticule. “When we first married, he…but now he won't even—” She bit her lip. “Anthony, what would you do if your wife wouldn't…you know…?”

“I'd seduce her.” And he'd be successful, too, for if there was one thing Anthony understood, it was how to arouse a woman.

“I never thought of that,” Sara said, her voice almost wondering. “I
could
seduce him.” Her gaze
was soft, and there was a faint bloom of color in her cheeks.

Oh, Lord. She stood and gave Anthony a brilliant smile. “If I seduce him, then he will see that we can still be close without risking anything.”

What the hell have I done?
“Yes, well, there's no need to be hasty, Sara. You might want to wait a while before you—”

“Anthony, thank you so much. I knew you were the one I should talk to.” She pulled her gloves from her pocket and briskly tugged them on.

He nodded dumbly and stood. “Yes, but—”

She reached up and patted his cheek. “I wish I had time to stay and talk, but I have so much to do before this evening.” With a blinding smile, she turned and whisked out of the room, leaving Anthony staring after her.

 

As soon as she'd realized the extent of Nick's illness, Sara had changed one of the old pantries at Hibberton Hall into a stillroom and began experimenting with herbs. Between Mrs. Kibble's considerable knowledge and the thick tome she'd discovered in the library, she was confident she'd discover a cure. If only she could convince Nick of that.

Now, armed with Anthony's advice, she spent part of the afternoon running errands and returned home flushed but triumphant. She took special care in dressing, wearing a deep blue gown from which she removed the lace collar. Once devoid of that, the neckline plunged to a fascinating depth. Sara looked
down and then tugged it even lower as she set about readying the stillroom.

Somewhat secluded at the end of the east wing, with a small window that opened onto the courtyard, the room had the added bonus of staying warm even on cold days. Everything readied, she sent a message to her husband and waited.

He'd not risen this morning as usual. Another of his headaches had claimed him, for he'd disappeared yesterday after lunch, and she'd not seen him since.

Her heart ached to think of him suffering alone, but his room would be locked tight, with only Wiggs given entry—and then, only to bring more brandy. Brandy was
not
the way to cure a headache, and the sooner she convinced her stubborn husband of that, the quicker he would heal.

But first she had to convince him to let her into his life. Sara set a small cup of honey on the low table, then loosened her hair, removing all but a few of the pins. Then she tugged at the low neckline of her gown until it was slightly askew. That done, she checked her reflection in the lid of a pot and was pleased to see that she looked disheveled, like a woman who had just experienced the ultimate passion. Oh yes, Nick had taught her well.

The thought of what she was about to do made her skin tingle in anticipation. With a determined effort, she banished those thoughts, picked up a pestle, and began to make powder of St. John's wort for the new tisane.

She had worked less than a minute when a deep,
husky voice came from the doorway.
“‘And all that's best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes.'”

A flood of heat washed across her, so strong that her knees trembled. Gripping the mortar tightly, she put a smile on her face and turned. Unshaven, Nick leaned against the doorjamb, his hands in the pockets of his breeches, his shirt undone. His intense gaze followed her every move. At the sight of him, so close, and so…vulnerable somehow, her yearning flared to life. It was all she could do not to reach for him.

“It's good to see you up and about,” Sara managed with false cheerfulness.

“Liar. I look like hell, and you know it.”

“I am fixing another tisane for your headache.”

Something flickered in his eyes, then faded. “Is that why you sent for me? I was afraid something had occurred with the workmen.”

“No, I just want you to try this. Mrs. Kibble claims it can cure everything from pains to rashes.”

His gaze raked across her, lingering on her low neckline. “Can it cure the longing to sin?” His mouth hardened when she blushed. “I'm no saint, Sara. Sinning is one of the few things I do well.”

No, he wasn't a saint. He was delectable. Irresistible. Everything Sara had ever wanted. A pang settled in the pit of her stomach, heating her from the inside out and making her hot and restless.

Nick moved from the doorway and stalked closer. She shivered in anticipation. He was so beautiful, and he was all hers.

He stopped before her, his warm, masculine presence completely surrounding her. “Just being with you makes me a better person.”

His voice dropped, and she could feel the brush of his breath against her ear. “I would like to sink into your goodness, surround myself with your sweetness. But I can't. Do you understand that, Sara?”

His gaze rested appreciatively on the low-cut gown, on the way her hair was tumbling about her shoulders. She could almost feel the heat rising from him in thick, languorous waves. “Losing yourself inside me will make all of your aches go away,” she said.

He froze, then turned on his heel as if to leave, but Sara was quicker. She dropped the mortar and pestle and reached for him, locking her arms about his chest.

“Sara, don't—”

“Your head is not the only place that aches.” She rested her hand on the bulge that evinced his desire. “Why don't we work on this one, first?”

He tried to pull away, but she held him tighter. “Remember lesson one, Nick? You cannot run with the wolves without knowing how to fight like one.”

His eyes closed as if he were in pain.

Sara rose on her tiptoes and ran the tip of her tongue along his lower lip.

His brow creased, but still he didn't move. He stood, hands fisted at his sides, an expression of longing on his face.

He wasn't going to push her away! Sara took one
of his hands and unfisted it, then placed it on her breast. “Touch me, Nick,” she whispered against his cheek, trembling with desire.

He opened his eyes and groaned. Then, as if unable to stop, his hands gently stroked her, pulling her nipples to taut readiness. She swelled at his touch, her flesh fuller, riper.

The air about them thickened, growing heavy with their need. Sara reached behind her and found the small cup of honey. “Lesson two,” she whispered, dipping her finger into the honey. “Never underestimate the power of a kiss.”

She placed her finger on his bottom lip. Nick's body tightened and he wondered if he was dreaming. Perhaps he was still lying in bed, his brandy-soaked mind creating the ultimate fantasy. The honey beaded on his lower lip and Sara slowly pulled his mouth to hers. As she kissed him, her hands tugged at his shirt and she pulled it free, then dropped it to the floor. Her hands roamed everywhere, caressing, touching, stroking.

Just as he thought he could take no more, she pulled back and met his gaze, her eyes dark with desire. “Three: If you want a man to know you are interested in him,” she whispered, “then touch him.”

Her hand closed over his erection. It was exquisite. Pleasure and pain mingled and became one. Nick knew he could not let Sara's seduction continue, but he was powerless to resist her. Powerless to do anything but stand still and let her do what she would.

She dipped her finger into the honey once more and touched his chest. The drop quivered a moment, then trickled down his chest and to his stomach.

Her finger traced the line left by the honey, her eyes slumberous and mysterious. “I wonder if you are as sweet as the nectar.” She pressed her mouth to his bare skin, her tongue flickering across the base of his throat, branding him.

He ground his teeth to maintain control. She had learned seduction all too well, and with each delectable lesson, he was condemned to a hell of his own making.