The Seduction of Sara (24 page)

Sara followed the errant trickle of honey, stopping to press her hot mouth to each of his nipples. Nick's hand sank into her hair, the silken tangles catching his fingers. “God,” he whispered hoarsely, watching as she knelt to kiss the final trail to his stomach, “you are so beautiful.”

She smiled up at him, then reached into her pocket and pulled something out.

As lost as he was, Nick managed to gasp out, “What's that?”

“Lesson four,” she said, peeping up at him through her lashes. “Never challenge a man unless you are prepared.” She opened her hand.

Nick immediately recognized what it was. It was a French sheath, used to prevent pregnancy. “Where did you get that?”

“Anna's grandfather. He believes that these should be given freely by the crown in order to control the population.” She grinned. “He even sent one to the King by post.”

Nick tried to concentrate on her words, but his mind was too preoccupied with her fingers as they undid his breeches. This was madness. Utter madness. His hand clamped about her wrist and she looked up at him, a plea in her gaze.

He looked at the sheath she held. Normally he didn't trust them, but his body was pushed beyond endurance. He wanted Sara so badly he shook. He released her hand. “We can try it.”

As if afraid he'd change his mind she swiftly tugged down his breeches. Nick helped her, yanking them off and kicking them toward the door. She then placed the sheath over his turgid manhood.

Nick pushed down the sleeve of her gown, exposing the delicate lace of her chemise. She reached up to unlace it, but he stopped her. “Keep it on.”

“But I thought—”

“Don't think. Feel.” He cupped her breast through the fine material, his thumb finding the crest and teasing it to a peak. Then he dropped his mouth to her nipple, the wet cotton clinging, rubbing, erotic.

Sara arched in surprise as sheer pleasure raced through her.

He lifted his head. “You are too succulent a dish to leave untasted.” He placed his hands on her waist and lifted her to the edge of the table. Then he took her hands and placed them on her breasts, his gaze dark with passion. “Touch them, Sara. Touch them for me.”

She hesitantly held her hands to her breasts and he sucked in his breath, watching her every move.
Somehow the seduction had changed, and now he was in charge. He dipped his fingers into the honey, then pushed her skirts aside and knelt before her.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. He threaded his honey-coated fingers through her nether curls, his thumb sinking deeply into her.

A moan escaped her and he could feel the waves of sensation ripple through her. She wriggled on the table, trying to get closer. His head dipped, and he sucked every drop of honey from her.

Sara moaned his name, her hands clenched in his hair. Nick replaced his mouth with his fingers, so he could watch her face. His thumb circled her, tormenting her. She moaned again and all thoughts of pain, of anything, were washed away. The scent of her beckoned to him stronger and stronger, and he finally pressed his sheath-enclosed manhood against her.

Sara locked her legs about him and pulled him deep inside, drawing him home until they were merged, melded completely. He sank his hands into her hair as he began to move, slowly at first, and then with increasing speed. She could feel his tension building, could feel his need rise. At the last moment he pulled back, but Sara clenched her legs all the tighter, jealous of that part of himself that he wanted to withhold. She wanted him there, deep inside as he crested the peak of his own desire. She wanted to feel him swell and explode in wonder.

“Sara, no!” he gasped. “The sheath—”

She moved against him, pulling him deeper.

Waves of desire caught them both and Sara
crested on their passion, tightening her hold when Nick cried out her name and then collapsed against her.

Sara wrapped herself around him, holding him to her, wishing this moment could last forever. After a long moment, he pushed away and untied the sheath. She watched him through her lashes, aching for him to wrap his arms about her and to hold her.

“Sara,” Nick said, his voice strained.

“Yes?”

“You said you got this from Anna's grandfather. How long has he had it?”

“I don't know. It's the one he shows when he gives lectures. He gave it to me because it was time he bought a new one—”

Nick's face darkened. “Damn it, Sara, do you want to have children?”

“Actually, yes. I think it would be lovely to have a child.” Heavens. Where had that come from? But even as she wondered, she knew. It was having a home of her own, and feeling that she belonged here, with Nick.

Nick cursed and whirled away, snatching up his breeches and yanking them on. “Damn you, Sara. Don't
ever
do that again.”

His anger was as shocking as a plunge into icy cold water. Sara slid from the edge of the table and pushed her skirts down. “Nick, I didn't mean to—”

He caught her face between his hands, his touch less than gentle. “I am my mother's son, Sara. I would
never
curse a child of mine with this illness.”

Her gaze met his steadily. “That is not for us to
decide.” Unafraid, she wrapped her hands about his wrists and held him there. “There has to be a way to stop the pain, Nick. I believe I can find a way to help you, but you have to give me some time.”

“I don't have time.”

“Nick,” she whispered, her voice a plea. “I won't stop until I find it. Even if it takes forever.”

He realized that she was telling the truth—she was committed to helping him. Just as he had been committed to helping his mother. He closed his eyes. He loved Sara too much to let her throw the rest of her life away on him.

In that moment, he knew he was truly cursed—that his life until now, with all its tragedy and emptiness, had been but a rehearsal for this terrible moment. He could not keep away from her, nor did he have the heart to leave.

This couldn't go on. He had to find a way to get Sara out of his life before it was too late.

Trembling from head to foot, Nick pulled his wrists free of her grasp and left, closing the door softly behind him.

W
iggs took a deep breath, then knocked on the door. At the muffled greeting, he entered. “Pardon me for disturbing you, my lord.”

Henri blinked. In the three months he had resided at Hibberton Hall, this was the first time Wiggs had ever come to his chamber. Henri pulled the tie on his red-velvet robe tighter. “You are not disturbing me at all. Is something wrong?”

A look of relief crossed the butler's face. “Yes, my lord. It's His Lordship. He has locked himself in his library and has not come out since yesterday. It is most unlike him.”

“Voyons!” Henri exclaimed. “I will go immediately.”

“I shall send Roberts to assist you in dressing, my lord.”

“There is no need. I have on a robe—and a damned expensive one, too.” Henri slipped a cravat pin in his pocket and walked past the outraged Wiggs. He went directly to the library and knocked on the door. As he'd expected, there was no answer.

He slipped the pin from his pocket and bent to the lock. Less than a minute later, the door opened with a click.

“Ah, there you are,
mon ami
,” he said as he walked into the darkened room. He pulled the door closed and locked it behind him. “Is there any brandy left?”

Nick sat at the desk, his feet upon it, his face drawn and haggard. Surprisingly, he didn't look drunk at all.

A stirring of concern made Henri frown. “
Mon ami?
Are you ill?”

“What do you want?”

“I awoke this morning and became very thirsty. So, I came here. I see you have brandy.”

“The door was locked.”

Henri held up the cravat pin.

A reluctant smile touched Nick's mouth. “The world is not safe with you wandering through it.”

“True.” Henri dropped the pin back into his pocket and came to sit on the edge of the desk, facing Nick. “So what are you doing here, sitting behind a locked door?”

Nick shrugged, but offered no answer.

Henri wondered at the stark despair he saw in his friend's eyes. “Nicholas, you must talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

Nick rubbed a hand over his face. “There is nothing you can do. The headaches are worsening, Henri. I don't want Sara to see me when I—” He clamped his mouth shut.

Pride, Henri knew, was not the noblest of emotions. But it was one he was very familiar with. “You must leave her.”

“I can't.” It was a cry of pain.

Henri was not surprised. “Then what will you do?”

Nick's jaw hardened. “If I cannot leave her, then I must make her leave me. I must make her so despise me that she will stay away from me.”

“How will you do that? She is crazy in love with you.”

Nick sent a dark glance at the comte. “You are a fool, Henri.”

“Not where women are concerned,” Henri said. Except, of course, for Delphi. He had wooed her, oh so carefully, and at first, she had warmed to him. But then he had become too eager. Too precipitate. He'd asked her to join him for a romantic tryst, and that had ended their budding romance.

He'd thought she was ready; all of the signs had pointed to it. And he was, after all, something of an expert in reading those signs. But she'd recoiled from his invitation with horror, cutting the connection and refusing to even speak with him.

Henri had been hurt. It wasn't as if he'd had the
audacity to ask her to marry him; that would have been an insult of the highest order. Still, he could not mistake the look of utter hurt that had filled her eyes at that instant, and the thought had made him most uncomfortable.

The more he thought about it, however, the more disgruntled he became. Finally, armed in building indignation, Henri had set out to punish Delphi. He flirted shamelessly in front of her and dallied with whoever was available.

But the foolish woman didn't even know the proper way to respond to such treatment. Instead of flouting him and flirting heedlessly herself, she merely watched him with large, sad eyes. Eyes that caused Henri additional hours of unhappiness.

Voyons
, it was enough to drive a man insane. And now this. Henri cast a surreptitious glance at his friend. There was something almost despairing about the way Nick sat so still, his face devoid of all emotion. Henri had seen similar expressions on the face of some of his countrymen when they'd lost everything they possessed in the war.

Henri sighed and stood. “I think you are making a mistake,
mon ami
. Sara is your wife, and it is her duty to stand by your side, whatever occurs.”

“You say that as if you envy it.”

“Perhaps I do. But it is your decision, and you must do what you think is right. If you need my help, Nicholas, you have but to ask.”

Nick watched as the comte left the room, closing the door behind him. For a long moment he simply sat still, wondering if he had the strength to do what
needed to be done. But he had no choice. Sara had proven that when she'd seduced him so thoroughly in the stillroom. He was powerless against her—too besotted to walk away.

So he had to make Sara leave.

He knew her well. Better, perhaps, than she knew herself. Julius had betrayed her, leaving her hurt and alone. Because of that, she would never again allow herself to be so used.

He looked down at the desk where a missive lay on the top of the blotter. It was addressed to Lucilla Kettering, the nefarious Lady Knowles. For all her faults, Lucilla would serve his purpose perfectly. By this time tomorrow, Sara would hate him as much as she hated Julius.

Why did the thought fill him with grief, instead of relief?

 

“…and then the elephant stepped on Lady Birlington's hat and—”

“Elephant?” Sara blinked.

A lopsided grin graced Anna's wide mouth. “I wanted to see if you were listening.”

Sara hadn't been, of course. Her mind was too occupied with her errant husband. Since last week's interlude in the stillroom, he had assiduously avoided her company. She met Anna's curious gaze and managed a wan smile. “I was listening.”

“No, you weren't. I also had a baboon riding in a carriage, a dog kissing Lady Elderton, and a blue fish at the Fretwood ball, and you didn't catch a one.”

“I'm sorry. I've just been preoccupied.”

Anna placed her hand on Sara's. “What happened?”

Sara picked up a blue tasseled pillow and held it against her stomach. Damn her impulsive tongue. Why had she blurted to Nick that foolish thing about having a child? But she knew why she'd said it…“I believe I have made a mistake.” And she was baffled as to how to fix it.

Until that moment, having a child hadn't really occurred to her. But somehow the combination of Nick's sultry presence and the remnants of their passionate encounter added to her realization that she was really and truly happy, and had made her reach out for just a little bit more. If only she'd known that that little bit would drive Nick away.

Perhaps if she told him that she'd been teasing, that she didn't really want a child at all…but she
did
want children. Not right now, of course, but soon…Nine months seemed about right. Sara held the little pillow more tightly. Perhaps he just needed a little time to adjust.

The door opened, and Nick strolled in. Sara's heart leapt at the sight of him. He looked wildly handsome in his riding clothes. He hesitated when he saw Anna, but then smiled and came forward, bowing gracefully. “Miss Thraxton. How delightful to see you.”

Anna returned his greeting and he turned to his wife. “Sara, I came to tell you that I will be leaving this afternoon.”

She dug her fingers into the pillow even as she said in a voice of great unconcern, “Oh? When will you be back?”

Nick adjusted his cuff, careful not to meet her gaze. “A week. Maybe more.”

He was lying. She knew it as clearly as if he'd told her so, himself. “Where are you going?” She hated the words as soon as they left her mouth.

His gaze hardened. “That, my dear, is none of your business.”

Anna gave a shocked gasp, but Sara's training as Julius Lawrence's perfect wife stood her in good stead. She was able to hold Nick's gaze, though her eyes burned and her throat ached.

Nick put on his hat. “If you need anything, Wiggs will know how to get in touch with me.” With another quick bow to Anna, he left.

This time not only was her pride being shredded, but her heart, as well. Sara closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his booted feet as he crossed the foyer and went out. Moments later he cantered by, riding as if the hounds of hell were at his heels.

Then she let the tears fall. Anna put her arm about her shoulders and murmured words of consolation, but none helped. For the first time since Julius's death, Sara cried—and it was for another man.

 

After Anna had gone and Sara had had time to compose herself, she found Wiggs. “Where is he?”

“My lord is at the gatekeeper's cottage. He said he was going to work on some estate business.”

Sara blinked, surprised Wiggs had answered her so readily and that Nick was so close. “Have the landau brought up.”

The butler bowed and left. Sara remained in the
foyer, pacing impatiently. This was
not
the way one ran a marriage. Problems should be discussed, debated, even yelled about. But apparently things had been different in the Montrose family than in the St. John family, and Nick did not feel comfortable expressing himself. Not beyond lust, at least.

The landau was finally ready and Sara stepped outside. Just as she reached the carriage, a clatter arose in the yard. She turned and found the Comte du Lac astride his bay.

“Ah, the lovely countess. Have you seen Nick? I must ask him—”

“Nick is not here.”

Henri paused, his bright gaze quickly assessing her. “What has happened,
chère
? You appear disturbed.”

“I am going to visit my husband and have a word with him.”

“You are in a passion, no? I will ride with you. A woman in a passion should never travel alone.”

She climbed into the landau with more energy than grace. “Thank you for your concern, but it is unnecessary.” She nodded to the groom, and they were off. They had almost reached the cottage before Sara realized that Henri had followed her. When they arrived, he hopped off his horse and came to assist her alight.

The cottage was awash with light and color, the windows thrown open. Sara frowned to hear voices and laughter spilling from the upstairs window.

Henri glanced uneasily at the cottage. “Perhaps we should not be here. Why don't we—”

Sara pushed past him and entered. Somehow, she climbed the narrow stairs and walked straight into the main bedchamber.

Nick stood in the center of the room, his shirt off, his breeches undone, his hair tousled. Standing beside him, her hands intimately splayed over his chest, was Lucilla Kettering, her sumptuous body clothed in a diaphanous gown that showed every curve.

Lucilla saw Sara first, and a crafty catlike smile curved her mouth. “Why, darling. We have a visitor.” She leaned her head against Nick's shoulder and purred up at him, “I do hope this doesn't mean you can't stay to play.”

“I can stay as long as I wish.” It was Nick's voice, yet it wasn't. Nick's voice had never been so cold, so hard. He flickered an impersonal gaze Sara's way, and asked, “What do you want?”

She wanted for this moment to never be. She wanted to disappear in a puff of smoke and wake up in a dream where Nick loved her. Loved her as much as she loved him.

“I came to talk to you,” Sara said, amazed to discover that her voice worked. “Nick, don't do this.”

Lucilla gave a throaty chuckle, her eyes filled with false pity. “I don't know how to tell you this, but he already has.” She trailed her hand down Nick's chest to where his breeches hung open. “Several times, in fact.”

Nick caught Lucilla's hand before it went any farther, though his gaze never left Sara. “Leave, Sara. Now.”

Sara's mouth filled with an acrid taste, and her heart clenched in pain. Yet something seemed off about the scene. There was no intimacy between the two who stood before her. Nick seemed unyielding and stern, and Lucilla's voice held a tinge of desperation. She didn't sound anything like a woman who had just won the man of her dreams.

And despite Lucilla's claims, the covers on the bed behind them were still tightly drawn, the pillows unmussed. Like Lucilla's gown, everything in the room was perfect. Too perfect.

“Sara,” Nick said, wondering why she was still standing there, an arrested look on her face. “Sara, please go.” His chest ached and a dull pressure thudded behind his eyes. No matter what hell he descended into, he would never forget the expression on Sara's face when she walked through the door and saw him with Lucilla.

Sara raised her eyes to his, and in that instant, he knew that she'd seen through his deception.

“If you wanted me to leave, all you had to do was say so.” She flicked a glance at Lucilla. “As for you, you can have him.” She turned on her heel and walked from the room.

Nick stared at the empty doorway, his heart thudding slow and sick against his throat. Desolation held him in its icy grip and he felt nothing but the echo of a deep, soulless emptiness that was so overwhelming he almost staggered.

Just as he'd intended, she was gone. And he would never see her again.

Henri's startled face appeared in the doorway.

When he caught sight of Lucilla, his face hardened. He whipped his gaze to Nick. “
Mon Dieu
, what have you done?”

“Where is she?”

“She jumped into her carriage and fled as if running for her life.”

“Go after her. She shouldn't be alone.” For an instant, Nick feared that Henri would argue with him, but after one more glance, the older man left.