The Seduction of Sarah Marks (3 page)

“Oh, they be Mr. Whistlethorpe’s latest whelps. Ugly as sin, but they make powerful good sheep dogs. The farmers in these parts are quick to snatch them up soon as they’s weaned.”

“There’s one that appears to be less than half the size of the others, and with only three fully formed legs. What will happen to it if it’s not fit to be sold?”

“Ah, yes, poor thing. Like as not, it’ll be put down.”

A shudder ran through Sarah. “Killed?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“But that would be awful.”

The maid nodded. “Ain’t nothing wasted around here, I’m afraid. Everything’s put to good use exceptin’ a pig’s squeal, so having a worthless dog serves no purpose.”

Whatever life was handing Sarah at the moment, at least she could darn well take charge of a piece of it. “Have they been weaned, yet?”

“Just the other day. They’ll be left with the mother another ten days, and then Mr. Whistlethorpe will sort them out according to their worth. Soon as he notices the deformed runt, it’ll be dealt with.”

The idea of something to call her very own lifted Sarah’s spirits. And the notion of saving the wretched little animal gave her a sense of purpose that was near to exhilarating. “Please notify Mrs. Whistlethorpe that I’ll be taking the puppy with me when we leave.”

Color rose in the maid’s cheeks. “You mean to take that little runt?”

Sarah nodded. “If you can have a basket prepared in the morning that can accommodate it, I’d be glad to.”

The maid pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oh, won’t Mrs. Whistlethorpe fairly dance with joy. The poor pup is the sweetest little thing. We couldn’t bring ourselves to do it in. I’ll see meself that Lord Eastleigh gets the basket. Victuals for it, too.”

“No! What I mean is, since this will be my doing entirely, my brother has no say in the matter.” It wouldn’t do to slip and let on that she wouldn’t be staying long with the Malverns. “You’ll take care of the matter for me?”

The maid’s wide grin nearly split her face in two. “Oh, indeed, milady. We done lied to Mr. Whistlethorpe. Told him there were six pups, not seven, so he’ll never know the difference. Been trying to figure out what to do with the poor thing for nigh on eight weeks, so both the missus and I will be resting a bit easier now.”

“Good. Then if you will, deliver the basket to the carriage right before our departure, and place it on the seat that faces forward.”

While the maid towel-dried Sarah’s hair and ordered in more hot water for the bath, the storm worsened. Guilt piled upon guilt at the idea of Eastleigh being out in it. Oh, how she would have loved to have inquired about him. And the Malvern family. But what a brainless thing to do.

A light tapping sounded on the door, and a young maid marched in with warming pans. Behind her came two more maids with steaming buckets of fresh water. Lightning lit the edges around the window curtains, and thunder shook the room. Sarah jumped. Oh, dear, to think
he
was out in this. Well, he couldn’t be. Not enough time had passed for more than a few sips of whisky. She had nothing to feel guilty about. Absolutely nothing.
Tell that to my conscience.

The warming pans went between the sheets along with another layer of guilt.

“Yer gown seems to be clean enough, but if ye would care to hand over yer chemise and unmentionables, I’ll see to having them washed and fresh for in the morning.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” While it only made sense to have her underclothing cleaned, somehow Sarah had the feeling she’d never bathed naked. “If you’ll wait outside the door, I’ll hand them over to you.”

A curious expression ran through the maid’s eyes. “I’ll leave ye, then, milady.”

When the door closed behind the woman, Sarah divested herself of her remaining clothing, rolled them in a ball, and handed them through the smallest opening she could manage. Slamming the heavy panel shut, she twisted the key in the lock and scurried to the tub where she lowered herself into the scented water. Naked or not, she doubted a bath had ever felt so welcome. The water flowed around her and over her skin like heated silk.

Heavenly.

She picked up the soap and sniffed. Chamomile and lavender. How lovely. Lord Eastleigh was right—keeping her thoughts in the present kept panic at bay.

Eastleigh.

Try as she might, it didn’t matter that he was not part of her present moment, thoughts of him overtook all else. The viscount was a presence, to be sure. All heads had turned when they’d entered the inn, with none focused on her, thank heavens. And it wasn’t merely his large stature or the low timbre of his voice. Something else about him captivated, and she wasn’t at all certain what it was.

Her hair clean and her body scrubbed, she donned the oversized nightrail, blew out the candle, and settled beneath the warm, downy comforter.

Don’t try to figure out anything. Live in the present. What matters but the moment, anyway?
Wise words, those. Lightning flickered again. She counted the seconds—One. Two. Three. Thunder boomed three miles away. A fast moving storm.
It’ll be clear tomorrow when he climbs out of the carriage. Just you wait and see.

An image flooded her mind of Eastleigh twisting and turning while he tried to fit his long legs into some kind of comfortable position, his damp, curly locks flying about. Good heavens, she’d shared a bed with him, knew how unruly his hair looked in the morning. Her cheeks heated. She pressed the back of her hand against one. She’d been in bed with a stranger. Imagine that!

But this wasn’t just any stranger.

The servants were right—he was a handsome gent. So handsome, she had trouble keeping her eyes off his every move. And his voice, the way it went husky at the oddest times. Thoughts of him set off a pulse thrumming deep in her belly. Worse, her nipples puckered.

Somehow, she didn’t think this had ever happened to her before.

A blaze of lightning lit the edges of the curtains, and thunder shook her to the core. What if the carriage leaked?

Oh, she would never sleep knowing he was out there in this mess and it was all her doing. What did it matter if they shared a room? They’d done it before without harm coming to her. Besides, everyone below thought them brother and sister.

More lightning lit the room. Thunder boomed and everything around her shook. “That does it!”

She scrambled from the bed and yanked on the bell pull. Setting a candle aflame, she unlocked the door and waited for the maid.

“Milady?”

Sarah handed the key to the servant. “I fear I neglected to give this to my brother.” Her stomach twisted at her lie. “Please lock me in and see he gets it straight away. You’ll find him in the pub.”

After the maid secured the room, Sarah made her way back to bed, pulled the covers to her neck and kept to the edge of the mattress, her heart hammering. She hoped he hadn’t gone out in all this mess. Then again, she half-hoped he had.

It seemed an eternity before the door opened and Eastleigh stepped inside. Slipping the key into his pocket, he leaned a shoulder against the wall, folded his arms across his chest, and gave her a lop-sided grin, his eyes filled with mischief. “I don’t suppose you’d consider turning your head while I bathed?”

Chapter Four

Oh, for heaven’s sake!
Sarah kept her back to Eastleigh, her head buried beneath a pillow, and clung to the edge of the mattress opposite the tub. If she wasn’t careful, she’d tumble over the side. The arrogance of the man, announcing in front of the chambermaid that he was claiming his right to a hot soak since his sister had enjoyed one. But humming while sitting naked in a tub she’d only recently vacated? The nerve.

With every break in the booming thunder, his happy little tune vibrated through the metal bedframe and into her ears, breaking down what little remained of her sensibilities. He was taunting her outright. Getting even for his near banishment to the carriage.

With a muffled “
Humph
,” she yanked the covers over the pillow. Low laughter rumbled through the mattress. The beast. He hadn’t slept in the carriage after all, so he should be thankful, not provoking. Did the man have no conscience? Here she was, in a terrible fix, and tomorrow—oh, she mustn’t think about her predicament and what might become of her. Except, if she didn’t, there was only one other thing to consider—the present moment. And
him
. Naked. Not ten feet away. Oh, dear.

The bed shook. She jumped. What
was
he up to now? She managed to gather the bedclothes tighter around her.

“Madam,” he commanded. “Come out from under there before you suffocate.”

She inched the covers down and lifted the pillow. Damp curls clung to his forehead, he was clean shaven, and…and…good heavens! She slammed the pillow back in place.

He shook the mattress again. “Don’t be such a turtle. I gave you my word I wouldn’t harm you.”

Slowly, she lifted the pillow and peeked at him again. Firelight shot shadows across the walls. Long shadows. Of him. She sucked in her breath. “Sir, you are wearing nothing but a nightshirt!”

A chuckle came from him and hovered in the air above her. He climbed into bed. She scrambled out the other side. “You are indecently clothed.”

He craned his neck and gave her an up and down glance. “And you aren’t? Perhaps I should rethink my assessment of
you
—that rag you wear is rather offensive the way it flops around your feet and pools on the floor. And in case you haven’t noticed, the sleeves hang well past your fingertips and the neck of it rises to your chin.” He crossed his arms behind his head. “Ugly as sin…the gown, not you. Now if you please, get into bed. We’ve a long journey ahead of us on the morrow, and I am fatigued.”

She shoved her sleeves to her elbows. They fell right back down.

He watched her intently, and then a slow burn of a smile worked its way along his mouth.

A shiver ran through her.

“I’ll blow out the candle once you are in bed, madam. Otherwise, you’ll likely tangle yourself in that ungodly thing, trip and fall, and then where will I be? Out of the bed to look after you…me in a nightshirt and you in a nightrail. How positively
indecent
. How would that appear to someone running in here to see what the racket was about? Only to find me helping my clumsy sister to her feet, and both of us in an
improper
state of dress, daring to don the very rags they loaned us.
Tsk, tsk, tsk
.”

“How dare you mock me.” She stomped toward a chair where an extra quilt lay folded, but her feet snagged the hem. She caught herself before she fell.

He snorted.

Kicking free from the tangle and ignoring his sarcasm, she lifted her skirt past her ankles and carried the blanket to the bed. She rolled the bulky quilt lengthwise, and setting it firmly between them, crawled into bed.

He lifted on an elbow, all humor gone from his countenance. His dark gaze shifted back and forth from the bundle to her. “Is this your way of seeing that I don’t come near you?”

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed again, jarring her senses. Shaken by the storm and the way he regarded her, Sarah gave him her back and yanked the covers up to her ears. “Will this devil of a storm never cease?” She bit her lip and hauled in a shaky breath. How in the world had her life come to this?

“I hope you realize, madam, that what you have just done is called
bundling
and is meant to separate an unmarried couple who are promised to one another, but caught in a circumstance where they must sleep in the same bed for lack of space. Might I remind you that we are supposed to be seen as brother and sister, that we are not in a heated state where we cannot keep our hands off one another, and we have no parents monitoring us?”

“You are crass and unforgivably rude.”

“How so?”

“Humming merrily along in a bathing tub in the middle of a storm.” Her words trailed off into little more than a mutter. “Whilst I am beside myself with worry.” She couldn’t think of another response, she was so embarrassed.

He blew out the candle, leaving only the flicker of dying embers to cast shadows across the ceiling. “Forgive me, but since I was certain you’d be most uncomfortable upon my return, humming a tune was my pitiful attempt at a bit of levity.”

A pause and he heaved a sigh. “Truth be told, if I hadn’t done something to diffuse this dynamite of a situation, I’d likely be deep into a headache, one that’s plagued me since my war injuries. Once it takes hold, you wouldn’t see me out of this bed for days. I am bearing with your troubles, so if you please, do try to bear with mine.”

Was that anger in his voice? Certainly irritation. Now she was the one who should make amends. “Pardon. I was merely seeing to both our comfort is all.” Feeble apology, that.

He blew out a muttering breath in a great exhale and rolled onto his side, taking a good deal of the covers with him. “The last thing I would want to do is fondle a woman who does not wish to be touched. Now, good night!”

Even though guilt speared her conscience anew at his remark of fighting a headache, Sarah turned over and yanked her share of the blankets back.

He sat up with a growl, his eyes flashing ominous in the flickering light. “There may as well be three people in here with that god-forsaken quilt stuffed between us!”

Grabbing up the bundle, he flung it across the room. “How bloody wide do you think this bed is, anyway?” He flopped onto his back.

“Well,” she huffed, trying to sound more courageous than she felt. “There’s no need to bully and curse.”

“Madam, in case you haven’t noticed, I am not a small man. And in case you have yet to notice, I have not harmed you. At this point, I would rather shag the innkeeper’s horse-faced wife than place a finger half way to your side of the bed. Go to sleep!”

He snorted and went back to lying on his side, with Sarah left to stare at his broad back. She ogled his shoulders while lightning etched pale white around the edges of the curtains, and thunder gave off a muffled rumble in the distance. At least the storm was no longer overhead. Soon, it would be far enough away to allow a modicum of rest.

His breathing grew steady. Lord, he lay so close, his body heat radiating into her, smelling so fresh and turning her insides into knots. Odd, but at the same time, his closeness also gave her a peculiar sense of comfort. If she lifted her hand only a little, she could easily touch his hair. From the moment she’d laid eyes on him, she’d been drawn to those messy curls. The way they appeared so silky soft. Were they? She’d done fairly well at avoiding such consideration this evening, but now, with the storm settling and the quietude in the room, he stole any other thoughts.

Little good it did to tell herself over and over to think of him as a brother. A couple inches closer and she’d be nestled against him like spoons in a drawer. Her cheeks flushed at the improper thought, and her stomach curled at the notion of having shared a bed with him. But
he
acted as though such an event was a daily occurrence. Well, perhaps it was. Was he used to such behavior? After all, he was an unmarried viscount, handsome as sin, and most likely wealthy. Women probably fell all over themselves at his invitation to crawl in beside him. Maybe all it took was a simple lift of his eyebrow. That particular habit spoke volumes. And one he managed rather well. Yes, in all likelihood, women were eager to climb into his bed, while here she was desperately trying to figure a way out.

She took in a long, slow breath, only to catch his scent again. They had shared the same soap, so why did he smell different? It was as though a heady musk settled about him. Oh, dear. There went her senses again, running wild until she wanted to squirm.

It wouldn’t do to rustle about and wake him. She held still until her legs ached. The air felt suddenly stifling, the room boxing her in. All because she was having an unholy reaction to his nearness. She didn’t like this, not at all. And what was more, she was thoroughly disgusted with herself for being so entirely attuned to his every breath—and to the fact that he lay so close.

She couldn’t help it. She fidgeted.

His breath hitched.

Well, she couldn’t sleep, and lying still had turned into a painful impossibility. She reached out and set the tips of her fingers on his shoulder, but retracted them as though she’d touched fire. “Are you awake, Lord Eastleigh?”

“I am now,” he responded.

“I’m sorry to awaken you, but I forgot to recommend something.”

“Dear God, what now? That blasted quilt stays where it is.”

“I wanted to ask you to remove yourself from the bed first thing in the morning, get yourself downstairs straight away, and allow me to see to my needs in private.”

“Indeed, madam. I had planned on it. I was raised with a few manners, in case it’s not apparent.”

That went swimmingly. She inched back until her hips fairly hung off the bed. “Oh. I see. Well, good night, then.”

…

What a blasted lie, pretending to be asleep. And what had he been about, telling her the last thing he wished to do was touch her? That flimsy nightrail she wore had seen so many washings it was practically threadbare. It did nothing to hide her breasts. With nipples that peaked like they were just begging to be nipped between his teeth. And despite their firmness, those splendid breasts had bounced when she’d raced across the room with that bloody quilt. And the way her round little arse jiggled and her hips swayed when she ran to fetch it. Not to mention the glimpse he got of those slim ankles when she’d lifted her gown. He could’ve watched that delightful little show all through the night.

His cock hardened, and an ache set in. He tried ignoring it and sought sleep, but the woman next to him breathed quietly, and with every inhale, he pictured her breasts rising up to meet his mouth.

Those perfect little peaks.

Damn it!

He rolled onto his side, away from her, but he swore he could feel her heat. Perhaps he should’ve chosen the carriage, after all. Nothing like cold rain to dash lascivious thoughts right out of one’s head. He’d have gone there, knowing what a prude she was, except for the chance at a hot bath. God, the way his leg had set to aching in this foul weather, he had been desperate for a soak. He’d not had one the night before, the first time he’d missed out since he’d been removed from the battlefield. Still, here she was. He’d be a bigger liar if he told himself the thought of lying beside her didn’t light a fire in him.

He snorted. If she knew what he was thinking, she’d be the one flying out of the room and into the carriage—bloody quilt and all. He snorted again.

“Are you quite all right?” Her voice sounded even more silken in the darkness.

“Quite, madam. I was in the beginnings of a dream and nearly dead asleep until you said something. Again.” Lord, come morning, he’d find himself in Hades if he didn’t stop fibbing. What he wouldn’t give to pull her into his arms and order her to fall asleep curled against him. He set his teeth together at the renewed stiffness of his erection—so rigid as to be painful. And there was nothing he could do about it. Bloody, bloody hell!

Tossing and turning would do no good or she’d be kept awake as well, so he decided to figure out how many lambs might have been born by the time he returned home. Almost the same as counting sheep, but at least the numbers held purpose.

And fall asleep he must have, for when he opened his eyes, the essence of morning light shown through the edges of the curtains. But Lord Almighty, he faced a sleeping woman tucked up closed to him whose one hand rested beneath her cheek while the other curled around his waist. And his arm was slung around the top of her pillow, nearly cradling her against his shoulder. When had that happened?

He watched her sleep, so innocent, so lovely. He’d better rise before she opened her eyes and saw where she’d landed during the night. Not to mention the embarrassment of his physical state. Blame it on the morning, that.
Oh, yes, don’t blame it on wanting her.
Never blame it on wanting the hell out of her.

He touched his lips to her forehead, caught the lovely scent of her hair and slowly, carefully, slid from the bed.

When he’d finished dressing, he made his way back to where she lay, still unmoving. What he wouldn’t give to reach out and run the back of his hand across her cheek and gently wake her, but he dared not. She’d only fly from the bed and trip all over herself in that ridiculous nightrail.

“Wake up,” he murmured, and gave the mattress a little shake. Her eyes fluttered open. She brushed a wisp of hair off her cheek, a blank look in her eyes until she remembered where she was. “Oh!”

There went the covers, up around her neck.

“And good morning to you, madam.” He backed away from the bed. “Now then, I’m on my way downstairs. I’ll see to having breakfast waiting for you, so if you’re of a mind to make haste, we should arrive at my home in time for afternoon tea.”

She sat up, pulling the bedding with her. “Truly? In time for tea?”

He nodded and couldn’t help but grin. Damn she was beautiful, even sleepy-eyed. “Indeed.” How he’d like to lean over and kiss that luscious mouth. Instead, he tossed the key onto the bed. “I’ll be off then, hungry as a bear in spring, so do hurry.” Like an idiot, he stood staring at her.