Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series) (19 page)

“Sarah, hurry,” Julie commanded from her lofty perch. “Take your stocking down. The men will be here any moment. And you don’t want them to see your legs.” Julie stretched immodestly, pressing herself against the lacy front of her gown. “Or maybe that is why you tarry – you do want them to see what’s hidden beneath your skirt.”

At a loss to what was happening, and completely unnerved as center of attention, Sarah felt her skin grow hot. Not wanting to cause Julie further embarrassment, she complied as quickly as she dared, then stood awkwardly with one bare foot tucked in her shoe.

Riotous laughter floated up the stairs and down the hall; then the door to Julie’s chamber flew open. Sarah’s eyes went round as saucers and her breath stopped completely as she watched a rowdy host of gentlemen with Chris in the lead carry Clarence Morgan on their shoulders. And when she realized that Mr. Morgan’s feet were bare and he wore only his nightshirt, Sarah felt her skin turn to flame. What could these people be thinking of? She wondered. Had they no respect for Julie’s sensitivities in such a delicate matter? Then a more shocking thought occurred. Surely they would not be expected to stay and watch. Inconspicuously, she tried to edge to the back of the group, but the room was now crowded with well-wishers and Sarah found she could hardly move. Horrified, she watched as Clarence Morgan was neatly tucked under the covers beside his bride. The jokes grew more risqué and the advice more bawdy, and Sarah, embarrassed beyond her wildest imagination, desperately hoped the floor would open to swallow her.

Chris turned, and, spying her for the first time, smiled with anticipation. “Stockings,” he called. “Ladies first. Let’s not be shy, my dears. Which one of you lovelies is going to be next?”

Sarah watched as each girl stood at the foot of the bed and tossed a stocking over her shoulder toward the married couple. Cheers filled the room again and again until her head ached from the consuming noise. Her own stocking fell like a stone in her hand and nervously she tried again to edge her way to the back of the room. But Chris would have none of it and, as he tugged on her arm, she reluctantly let him move her into place at the foot of the bed. Deciding there could be no harm in the game, and desperate to have it done with, she was ready to toss it when her eyes met Nick’s. He smiled knowingly, and she felt her stomach turn to butterflies. With a flick of her wrist, Sarah sent the stocking sailing. The roar in the room turned deafening, and Sarah spun about to see Julie dangling her stocking from one finger.

“Yours landed the closest to Julie,” Chris explained, planting a smacking kiss on her forehead. “That means you’ll be the next to marry.”

Sarah felt her smile freeze in place and she wondered desperately what would happen if she were to snatch her stocking back. Unable to move, she watched without breathing as each man tossed a stocking toward Clarence Morgan. Cheers went up when Chris’s stocking covered the most distance on the counterpane. But when Nick threw and passed Chris’s marker by the breadth of two fingers, Sarah lost her courage and fled the room.

Nick had seen Sarah’s eyes grow wide with panic as he tossed, and when he heard the cheers, he knew that he had hit the mark. Smiling with satisfaction, he accepted the bottle of Brown Betty wine that was his prize, then retrieved both stockings from the impatient couple as the room began to clear. Leaning over, he placed a chaste kiss on Julie’s forehead. “Be happy, little sister,” he whispered. Nick turned and never saw how Julie’s eyes filled with tears as they followed him to the door.

Nick felt his impatience growing. It was well past midnight and Sarah was nowhere to be found. He had searched the salon, still filled with dancers, then the library. He had even crept up the stairs like a thief to sneak a peek into her bedroom. The windows had been opened wide, her trunk sat primly at the foot of the bed, but the room was empty. Walking slowly down the stairs, he heard bawdy laughter from the back hallway. He had bypassed the three gaming rooms, for he knew her aversion to dice and gambling. Now, pausing in the foyer, Nick wondered if he should have checked the gaming tables after all.

He felt a touch on his back and knew it was Sarah before he even turned around. Helpless to erase the wide grin that covered his face, he stood silent and smiled at her.

Sarah looked up into his dark eyes and her determination grew. “Will you come with me?” she questioned softly, extending her hand.

Like a dreamer afraid of waking, Nick said nothing, but allowed her to take his gloved hand. He remained silent when she led him out the door and through the gardens at the back of the house. But when her steps took the path to the barn, Nick felt his pulse quicken. Had she changed her mind? Was the decision no longer his alone?

“Do you know where you are going?” he asked, willing it not to be a mistake.

“I know.” Her smile was gentle and full of promise as they continued silently.

Nick paused once more at the barn’s great red door. “Are you sure this is where you want to be?”

For a long moment she seemed to be studying him, and Nick found his breath caught in his throat like a green lad with his first woman – eager, impatient, and desperate not to be found wanting.

“Do you trust me?” she challenged softly, her eyes shadowed by the darkness of the night.

“With my life,” he answered, more surprised than she by the conviction of his words.

Silently she turned and beckoned for him to follow. With a sure step she picked her way through the barn’s shadowy interior, around bales of hay and sacks of grain. The sweet smell of fresh-cut grass tickled his nose. Then he saw it. A lantern set on a low stool illuminated the interior of the far stall. Coming closer, he realized that the ground had been raked clean and then covered with fresh straw. A dark blanket spread over the straw completed the pallet. Nick felt his heart stop at the sight, then the blood raced so fast that his head grew light. Determined to let her set the pace, he waited, waited while every nerve in his body clamored for release, waited while his mind took on the clarity of a fog-laden field. He could not have moved if his life had depended on it, for it had become suddenly difficult to remember to draw breath.

“Will you take your coat off?” she coaxed, with a gentleness reserved for children.

Dumbly he nodded. Simple words like “yes” now seemed completely beyond his vocabulary. But as he reached back to let the jacket slip from him, his muscles sang in protest from his morning’s folly. Instinctively she stepped behind and eased the garment from his stiff shoulders.

She guided him into the stall and directed him to kneel on the blanket. Moving to stand before him, she drew his gloves off his hands and gasped at the torn blisters that covered his palms.

“Oh, Nick.” His name on her lips sent chills of anticipation coursing through his veins. She cradled one injured hand between her own and brought it to her cheek.

For Nick, the world beyond the barn ceased to be. He would have wished the softest of linen and a wide feather bed on which to take her, but now his only desire was to feel the warmth of her damp flesh pressed close to his.

“Why did you do this to yourself?” she whispered, her voice filled with pain.

His eyes said that was the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. She only shook her head. “How foolish to try to win what you already have,” she scolded gently. “Would you take off your shirt?’

His eyes never left hers as he slowly dragged his shirt from the waistband of his breeches. But when he would have pulled the garment over his head, her hands brushed his away. “Let me,” she said softly. And then he was naked to the waist before her.

It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to reach out and run his hand down the cool porcelain skin of her cheek. But he resolved to let her see it through. He’d be ready when she faltered, but until then . . .

Gracefully she rose and moved to stand behind him, making her shadow flicker on the rough-hewed walls of the stall. Nick inhaled a pungent tang, but his befuddled mind failed to register its source until the bite of the horse liniment hit his shoulders.

Chapter Seventeen

“What the hell . . .” Nick tried to turn and rise, but Sarah’s hands were firm on his sore shoulders.

“Be still,” she scolded. “And don’t curse at me. Your shoulders pain you yet you’re too stubborn to see to this yourself.”

Nick’s protest died on his lips as her hands began to rub in earnest. They didn’t glide over his flesh, as one might expect from a genteel lady, but probed deeply, searching out each sore muscle and eliminating the stiffness. His body began to relax, and when she coaxed him to sit on the blanket so she might reach better, he complied without protest. The horse stall was small, and within minutes the tangy odor of the liniment nearly took his breath away. But as her fingers continued their magic, Nick decided breathing was not that important. His eyelids lost their moorings to flutter closed, and soon his muscles began to ease beneath her hands.

Using her sleeve, Sarah wiped the tears that streamed down her face from the strong fumes of the liniment. Never had she encountered such an odious liquid. She had begged the Carlson’s head groom for his best, and when the little man had barred her from the tackroom while he mixed the potion, she had had her doubts. But now, judging from the slump of Nick’s shoulders, the wicked concoction had done its job well.

She had thought him asleep when his contented sigh broke the silence. “Wherever did you learn to do this?” he questioned as his neck rolled limply on his shoulders.

Sarah replaced the cork on the jug and wiped the moisture from her eyes again. “Does it please you?” She knew only too well that it pleased
her
. His flesh was firm and lean beneath her hands, and the breadth of his shoulders and the depth of his muscles fascinated her. Having grown up among a people who shunned open displays of affection and touched only when necessary, she luxuriated in the opportunity to feel her hands on his bare flesh.

Nick flexed his shoulders and stretched. “I almost feel human again. You are a miracle worker.”

She continued to massage the muscles of his right shoulder blade. “It takes only common sense to know that if liniment will soothe the sore muscles on a horse, it should also work on a jackass.”

Nick straightened and within a heartbeat had a stunned Sarah sitting captive in his lap. “Jackass, is it now?”

“Mr. Beaumont,” she gasped, wiping the odious liquid off her hands. “Let me up this instant.”

From the outrage in her voice he might have let her go, but in the lantern light he had seen the cost of her caring. Her eyes were red and wet with tears from the fumes, yet she had uttered not a word of complaint as she had worked the liniment into his flesh. His heart turned over in his chest, and he knew before the night was out that he had to make her his.

“Put your shirt on,” she gasped as he pulled her close. “Your muscles will tighten up again if left uncovered.” Sarah struggled against his unyielding grip and strove to keep her voice from betraying her inner turmoil. This morning in the sunlight, she had wanted nothing more than to touch his bare chest. Now, if she but turned her head she could kiss it.

Nick glanced around and saw a second blanket folded neatly to the side. Keeping her firmly in place with one arm, he reached for the blanket and dragged it about his shoulders. The heat from the liniment had penetrated deep, and now it was the growing ache in his loins that demanded attention.

“You’ve soothed me,” he said, his voice low and husky. “It’s only fair that I return the favor.” His strong fingers began to rub sensuous patterns around her collarbone, touching the bare flesh exposed by Charlotte’s daring neckline, and Sarah felt her resistance begin to melt. Then, because it seemed as natural as breathing, when he lowered his head, she raised her lips for his kiss.

At first, his touch was feather-light, brushing against her lips like the dance of a butterfly in search of nectar. And when her lips parted to admit his seeking tongue, Nick thought he might die from the pleasure of it. Wondering if his lust for her would ever be sated, he eased her to the blanket and followed her down with his body. His fingers threaded through the silky softness of her midnight hair while his lips brushed against her fine-boned features – nose, cheek, chin – to sprinkle kisses with abandon. His bare chest moved gently across her breast and the sound of rustling taffeta only enflamed him more.

She made no move to escape from his arms, but instead threaded her own fingers through his hair to pull his lips back to hers, enticing him to take the kiss deeper. Her body arched against his when his knee slipped between her legs, and her sigh of pleasure was swallowed by his kiss.

When his hand reached for the hem of her gown, Nick waited for her protest. None came. Closing his eyes and pressing his lips to the side of her neck, he savored the feel of her silken flesh as his palm traveled up the gentle curve of her leg. Layers of petticoats brushed against his wrist as his hand moved to her inner thigh. He heard her breath stop, even while her heart pounded furiously beneath him. His wide palm rested intimately on the warm, soft core of her femininity. And still, her silence bid him continue.

Nick shuddered with arousal, and scattered kisses about her face and throat. His fingers brushed against her delicate flesh and she turned her face into his neck even as her legs hesitantly moved further apart to grant him access.

Sarah gasped with pleasure as his hand stroked her softly. Ecstasy beckoned, and a consuming pressure began to build within her. She felt his hand move to cover that secret part of her. When she realized exactly how he meant to touch her, her heartbeat doubled from the intimacy of the thought.

Nick felt her tremble beneath him and wondered how such a slight and untutored girl should be able to grant him such pleasure. Raising his head, he gazed down at her in the lantern light, wanting to capture forever in his mind the pleasure on her face. But in that pause, with satisfaction but a heartbeat away, Sarah opened her eyes and smiled at him.

Nick felt is blood begin to cool. The violet eyes that gazed up at him pleading for release held complete trust. She believed in him to do the right thing. “I have not the strength to tell you no,” she had whispered. And as he gazed down at her, he was suddenly consumed by the fear that one night with her might not be enough. Would the act he had contemplated since the first time he laid eyes on her, ever truly be completed or would his mind continue to ache for her even after his body was sated? His heart pounded with want, his body throbbed with need, and Sarah lay beneath him waiting . . . waiting for him to bring a release to the tension he had created within her . . . waiting for his decision. Nick closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against hers, their breaths mingled and in his heart he knew he would never be able to take her if he meant to send her home. His hand slid unsteadily to her knee.

“Did I do something wrong?” the slight tremor in her voice temped him to throw caution to the wind. But the trust in her eyes brought his sanity racing back. Slowly, he pressed a warm kiss upon her lips, even as his hand was smoothing her skirt back into place.

“Never take a man to a barn at night unless he is your husband,” Nick said slowly. “Barns can become very dangerous places.” Sitting up, he reached for his shirt and pulled it on over his head. “We should be getting back to the house. You need your sleep, for we’ve a long day tomorrow.”

Sarah sat up and wrapped her arms about her knees, wondering how she had come so close to touching heaven only to be pulled back to earth with such a bone-jarring fall. “Nick . . .” she hesitated, tasting the sound of his name on her tongue. “What happened?”

What can I tell you?
His mind challenged.
Would you still look at me in want if I made you realize how close I came to using you to satisfy my own pleasure without once giving thought to your future
? Nick stood and reached for his jacket.

“You just gave me the best back rub I’ve ever had.” He helped her to stand but avoided her eyes, afraid to see the pain his actions had already caused her. Pain for which he had no remedy. With quick, efficient movements, he folded the horse blankets and tossed them over the wall. The silence between them grew, forcing Nick to turn and watch her slowly brush the wrinkles from her skirt. Frantically, he searched for a way to restore her smile. Then with an exaggerated bow, he leaned forward and sniffed. “Positively the most unusual scent of the season. Tell me, Miss Townsend, is it a secret family potion or did you have it imported from France?”

Reeling with confusion and the desperate need to cry, Sarah fought back her tears and gratefully accepted his attempt at humor. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Beaumont.” She struggled to keep her voice light and carefree. “Isn’t this scent, this eau de horse, what all the young ladies are wearing this season?”

Despite her efforts, he heard the unmistakable pain in her voice, and guilt gnawed like a giant rat in his belly. “If I’ve done the right thing, then damn it why don’t I feel good about it?” he muttered.

Sarah turned for the lantern. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Nick took the lantern, but when he would have reached for her arm, she carefully sidestepped him and kept her face averted. “We’d better get back to the house,” he sighed. “We leave early tomorrow, so you’ll want to get a good night’s rest.”

What I want is a night in your arms
, she thought, and
to understand what really happened here
. But the words never left her lips and, side by side yet never touching, the two left the barn to spend the night in turmoil.

The sun had yet to make its presence known when Sarah left the snoring women in her room and tiptoed down the rear stairs to seek solitude in the back gardens. The early-morning air was brisk and she pulled her shawl more firmly about her shoulders as she restlessly paced the garden’s meandering paths. Why didn’t he want her? She puzzled. First the picnic and now this. True, she had asked him to the barn, but it had been Nick who had pulled her to his lap and started the fires burning.

“Lord,” she whispered to the morning stars, “why does this have to be so difficult? Why do I care so much for a man I must leave? And why is it that with but one kiss, he can make me forget all that I am about? I wasn’t raised to be wanton, but he looks at me and I burn.” Her fingers rubbed at her temples as she tired to clear the confusion from her mind and recapture the serenity she always strove to maintain. In her heart, she knew Nick had made the right decision for them, just as she had asked him to. Why then was she finding it so hard to accept? She watched the first hint of daylight touch the darkness of the night and lifted her face into the breeze that stirred the magnolia blossoms around her. Her silent tears were over, but they’d left a dry, achy lump deep in her heart, and a knot now seemed permanently lodged in her throat.

“You’re certainly up early.”

Sarah spun about to find Chris leaning beside a gnarled oak tree. Her hand flew to her lips as she gasped in fright.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said gently, reaching to take her arm and urging her to sit on the nearby bench.

Sarah shook her head and tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart. “I’m sorry,” she gasped hoarsely. “I didn’t hear you approach.”

Chris tipped her chin up with his forefinger and scowled. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”

Sarah jerked away before she could stop herself. “I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

He sat beside her on the bench and braced his arm on the edge behind her. “I know what you mean. Tell me, does Bertha still snore?”

Sarah’s eyes grew wide in amazement. “How do you know that?’

Chris chuckled and leaned closer. “Julie had to share a room with her once when we went to a wedding at the Attwater’s . The next morning she told anyone who would listen and most who would not that Bertha Adkins was an elephant who hogged the bed and snored like a damaged brass horn.”

Sarah felt the beginnings of a smile and took a grateful breath of the dew-laden air. “Well, since it’s not a secret,” she confided, “Mrs. Adkins does indeed snore, but I’ll not comment as to her resemblance to an animal.”

For a moment they sat in comfortable silence, then as the sky began to blossom with streaks of color and the songbirds started their chatter, Chris reached over and took her hand. “Are you anxious to be home?” he questioned.

Sarah felt her nerves begin to tighten again. “I find I miss my family more than I would ever have thought possible.”

Chris smiled down at her but refused to release her hand. “I know about the kidnapping, Sarah,” he said gently. “Nick told me the afternoon you arrived.”

She stared down at her feet and prayed that her tears were indeed over.

He watched her shudder and placed his arm about her slender shoulders. “It’s all right. I‘ll not betray your confidence. But I must admit, after seeing you and Nick together, it truly makes one want to believe in fate.”

She turned her questioning eyes to him. “What do you mean?”

Chris shrugged. “I’ve known Nick for more than twenty years and never have I seen him as happy as he is when he’s with you. Then he tells me the circumstances of your meeting and –
voilà
! Fate.”

Sarah shook her head and turned back to watch the symphony of colors that now streaked the sky. “I think you are mistaken,” she said sadly, thinking of the final moments in the barn and how quickly Nick had rushed her back to her room after. “Mr. Beaumont has been more than gracious to me, but I return home knowing only too well that he harbors no regret to see the last of me.”