CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“My dearest Humphrey, you are the only one who understands me.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her boon companion.
“She is positively mad for him.” Jane’s voice was amused and not at all mocking. Well, maybe just a little. “She speaks of nothing but how handsome he is, how clever he is, how well-mannered. They go for long walks together in the snow and spend hours cuddling next to the fire. Cuddling!” She snorted and shook her head. “Can you imagine?”
With a hand over her belly, Victoria giggled helplessly. “Oh, you must stop. I cannot—oh, it is too much!”
“I think it quite lovely that she has found a companion she enjoys,” said Eleanor from one of the parlor’s green velvet chairs. She smiled at the two women but seemed bemused by their mirth.
Jane held up a finger. “Listen to this: ‘His ears are not as pendulous as I would prefer. However, I find that small flaw endearing. Perfection is, after all, a form of banality. Nothing is so tedious as banality.’”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, Victoria struggled to control her laughter, which caused Eleanor and Sarah to join in.
Sarah, Colin thought, finding his attention fixed upon her, as it was almost constantly. Seated beside him on the rosewood-and-silk settee, his wife chuckled along with the other ladies before returning to her stitching. With Christmas two weeks away, she had begun crafting a small quilt for Victoria’s infant son, Gregory. He suspected that was merely one of several planned projects, as she spent much of her spare time with a needle in her hand. The rest was, naturally, spent in his bed.
He took a deep breath and tried once again to focus on the note he had received earlier that morning. But his eyes did not wish to see the words. They wished to see honey curls spread out over a pillow, a lambent honey gaze clinging to his as he thrust inside her tight, wet sheath. They wished to watch her bowed lips part in surprise as ecstasy took her.
“To be clear, we are speaking of a dog, yes?” That was Harrison, emerging briefly from The Times.
“Do not let Lady Wallingham hear you refer to Humphrey in such a way,” said Jane. “In her eyes, he is her boon companion.”
Still recovering from her fit of chortles, Victoria retrieved a handkerchief from inside her sleeve and dabbed her cheeks. “After all her lofty protestations about the worthlessness of the flea-ridden hound.”
Colin let the chatter fade around him and silently absorbed the message from his Home Office contact. The unsigned note wrinkled with the pressure from his fingers. Five targets taken since last week. The mission nears completion. Syder grows desperate and has escalated the game. Increase your vigilance accordingly.
His vigilance. Chest tight and burning, he looked to Sarah. They had been married such a short time, but already, he could not envision his life without her. The calm, sensible Sarah. The stubborn, maddening Sarah. The ripe, sensual Sarah. The kind, selfless Sarah. His beautiful honey girl.
If she were ever taken from him, his life would end. It was that simple.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. She is all that matters, he thought. I cannot allow anyone to harm her. Especially me.
“Colin,” Sarah said quietly. “What is it? You look distressed.”
Dropping his gaze briefly to the note crumpled in his hand then eyeing the colorful quilt, he wondered how he was to protect her when she stubbornly insisted on venturing outside of Clyde-Lacey House. She argued that he did not choose to confine himself, but that was immaterial. He had important matters to attend, not excursions to the linen-draper on Pall Mall.
Perhaps if he occupied her more thoroughly, she would be too exhausted to defy his wishes. He noted her soft, pale throat rippling on a swallow. The thought had merit. If she was in his bed, panting and writhing beneath him, then she could not very well be in danger.
“Come with me,” he murmured, standing and waiting for her to rise.
She glanced down at her sewing, then back up at him, her wide, golden eyes blinking with consternation. “Why?”
He sighed. “Must you question everything? I have something to discuss. Privately.”
Reluctantly, she gathered up her sewing and followed him out of the parlor, up the stairs, and into their bedchamber. She placed the quilt inside the basket near her reading chair and turned a frown upon him. “Very well, out with it. What is wrong? You have been decidedly morose this morning.”
“I do not want you venturing out again without my particular permission, do you understand?”
Slender arms crossed beneath tidy, delicious breasts encased in black bombazine. “No, I’m afraid I do not.”
“Of course you do. You are simply being obstinate.”
A finger began tapping against her elbow. “Currently, whenever I step beyond the front door, I am surrounded by an army of tall, strapping footmen.”
His stomach burned, his hands curling by his sides. “What do you mean by ‘strapping’?”
She ignored his question in favor of her own. “Did you learn something alarming? Has Syder—?”
“I am your husband.”
She lifted a brow and tapped faster. “Yes. I do seem to recall something to that effect. Promises in a church or some such.”
He did not appreciate her sarcasm, but nevertheless nodded. “Just so.” She should cease noticing how “strapping” the footmen were and obey her husband. It was in the vows they had said to one another. Surely that meant something.
Her eyes narrowed on him, her bowed lips tightening. “You know, long before we married, I managed my life with some skill and competence. I even made my own decisions about where I went and with whom.” Her eyes flared with more sarcasm. “Quite shocking, when you consider it. Sarah Battersby, a humble woman with no husband, using her tiny, pigeon-like mind to get from one place to another without mishap!”
“Believe me, I am well aware of your penchant for taking charge and ordering others to your liking.”
Something akin to hurt flashed across her face, but it was gone before he could decide whether he’d actually seen it. “I only ever did what I had to do.”
He started toward her, pausing a foot away. He wanted to take her in his arms, but at the moment, she did not appear receptive to his affection. “I know,” he said quietly. “But now you have me to care for you. Can you not accept that I am concerned for your welfare and wish to keep you from harm?”
That finger beat a fast rhythm against her black-clad elbow. “You are in just as much danger as I. More, really.” Her eyes took on a calculating glint. “If you believe the risk to me is too great, I shall accede to your wishes. Providing you follow suit.”
He crowded closer. “Damn it all, Sarah, I married you to protect you. I bloody well wish you would let me.”
The earlier flash of hurt returned, this time settling in and making her pale. His insides twisted at the sight. Bloody hell. What had he said? Only that he wished to protect her. Causing her pain was precisely the opposite of his aims.
“My offer stands,” she said softly. “You may prove the seriousness of your admonition by adhering to it yourself.” Her posture was stiff, her chin raised in defiance.
How had he bungled this so badly? Running one hand through his hair and propping the other on his hip, he muttered, “I am a dreadful husband.”
Some of the starch left her shoulders and a frown furrowed her brow. “No, you are not.”
He snorted. “Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Colin.”
“I have already made you unhappy. After a week.”
Her folded arms unfolded. “On the contrary, I am most content.”
“Content.”
“Satisfied.”
“Are you, by chance, referring to all the times I made you—”
She cleared her throat pointedly and arched her brows in warning. “I am speaking generally.”
Inching closer until nothing separated them but a breath of her wildflower scent, Colin lowered his head and his voice. “Are you certain of that?”
Her only answer was several panting breaths, a parting of lips, and a flush of skin.
He ran a knuckle lightly from her jaw down to the small indentation at the base of her throat. “Because, if I knew your contentment rested in that quarter, I would not cease my efforts until every inch of you was saturated in … satisfaction.”
She gave a little moan in the back of her throat. Then she grasped his face between her hands and pulled him down into her kiss. Her honeyed mouth opened against his, seeking his tongue. He happily obliged, enfolding her in his arms and taking control.
He’d had a great deal of practice stripping her of her clothing over the past week. Swiftly, he put his skills to work, unfastening, unlacing, uncovering his beautiful wife. Then he lifted her, loving the feel of her arms clinging to his neck, and set her gently upon the bed. Before he pulled away entirely, he let his hands linger on her skin, stroking over creamy flesh and hard, cinnamon-hued nipples.
Her panting moan stoked blistering need, hardening his cock so intensely and swiftly, he worried he would not have the patience to tend her properly, as he wished to do. I will control it, he vowed silently. I must.
It was becoming a familiar pattern. Their first time making love, he’d not been able to say anything other than her name. The fire between them had literally rendered him speechless, like an animal in thrall. With other women, he had always been playful and teasing. With Sarah, his obsessive lust crowded out everything other than itself. But if he wished to occupy her mind to the exclusion of all else—including thoughts of defying his wishes—then he must focus on her pleasure alone.
Breathing deeply and slowly to calm his body, he carefully stripped away his clothing, then backed slowly toward her dressing table.
“Colin,” she protested, squirming against the bed to prop herself up on her elbows. The move thrust her round, beautiful breasts forward. “You cannot leave.” Her voice was stern. Demanding.
He dropped his gaze to his fully erect cock, flying high and flushed with need, then grinned at her. “Does it look as though I am going anywhere, sweet?” He retrieved what he’d been seeking from her dressing table and returned to her side. Trailing the end of the strand of pearls from her throat’s hollow down across her chest and belly, he let the gems tease the thatch of honey curls at her core. “Other than here, of course.”
Breathing labored, eyes dilated, she collapsed back onto the pillow and panted, “Well, do be quick about it.”
“Hmm,” he uttered as he lay down next to her, settling one of his legs between hers and leaning his elbow next to her head. Immediately, she spread her thighs, anticipating that he would accede to her demand. “Perhaps not too quick, Governess.”
She frowned up at him as he plucked the pins from her hair and spread the delicious curls out where his hands could grasp them properly. “Governess?” she asked huskily.
He took the strand of pearls and stretched it along her thighs. “I have long wondered what it would be like to take instruction from you.” Leading with one end of the long strand, he gently pressed pearls between her glistening folds, ensuring they nestled against her firm, swollen nub. Then, with small, steady tugs, he drew the pearls up over her mound, crossing the plains of her belly like an explorer, letting the gems drag and pulse against the tiny center of her pleasure. A long, keening cry choked from her throat. Her hips writhed against the mattress. Her hands clawed at the coverlet then at the pillow beneath her head.
“We shall soon discover how much I have to learn,” he continued, dragging the pearls upward until they touched her nipple. He continued pulling, pleasuring those tight, puckered tips, as well. First one, then the other, curling the pearls along their curves. Finally, the trailing end of the strand left her folds, releasing with a small tug, and he drew the necklace up to drape twice across her throat. “Tell me, Governess. Tell me what you want.”
A blaze of honey met his eyes. “You.”
He gave her a wicked grin. “Is that all?”
“Inside me. Now,” she growled.
“Yes, Mrs. Lacey.”
Ever the obedient student, he moved atop her and thrust into her slick heat, driving hard and high. She wailed and clutched his hair, her sheath quivering around him, adjusting to his swift invasion. “Is that better? Have I got it right, do you think?”
“Oh, Colin,” she groaned. “More. Please.”
He gave her what she asked, driving his hips against hers, burying his face against her neck, where the pearls lay scented with her wildflower honey. He tasted them and her skin, running his tongue along two lustrous surfaces until he was drunk. Drunk on her.
He felt the gathering of his release build with each hard thrust. Where her legs wrapped around him and her heels dug into the small of his back, it coiled and spread, centered in his cock. Suddenly, she seized upon him, clawing his shoulders with little stinging bites and screaming his name in a voice nearly gone. He pumped harder through her spasms, maintaining their intensity as long as possible before his own climax could be contained no longer. With three final thrusts, he let go and lost every thread of himself in her depths.
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