He smiled against her skin as he slid one finger into her heat. Her body jerked, but not away from him, and even as he began to move within her, his thumb found her most sensitive spot, pressing lightly on the nub before beginning a slow spiral of pressure.

“What is this . . . I didn’t . . .”

She wasn’t making any sense, and he didn’t want her to. He just wanted her to feel the pleasure of his touch, to know that he worshipped her. “Relax,” he murmured.

“Impossible.”

He chuckled. He had no idea how he was keeping his own urges in check. He was rock hard but still in control. Maybe it was because his breeches were doing a fine job of holding him back; maybe it was because he knew that this was not the time or the place.

But he thought . . . No, he knew it was because he just wanted to please her.

Sarah.

His Sarah.

He wanted to watch her face when she climaxed. He wanted to hold her as she came shuddering down from heaven. Anything he desired could wait. This was for her.

But when it happened, and he watched her face and held her while her body sang with bliss, he realized that it had been for him, too.

“Your cousin will be back soon,” he said once her breathing had returned to normal.

“But you locked the door,” she said, not bothering to open her eyes.

He smiled down at her. She was adorable when she was sleepy. “You know I have to leave.”

“I know.” She opened one eye. “But I don’t have to like it.”

“I would be most grievously wounded if you did.” He slid from the bed, grateful that he was still fully dressed, and retrieved his cane. “I will see you tomorrow,” he said, leaning over to drop one last kiss on her cheek. Then, before he could fall back into temptation, he crossed the room to the door.

“Oh, Hugh?”

He turned to see her smiling like a cat with cream. “Yes, my love?”

“I said I didn’t need a ring.”

He quirked a brow.

“I do.” She wiggled her fingers. “Need a ring. Just so you know.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

Chapter Twenty-two

Even later that evening

Technically the next day

But only just

The house was very quiet as Sarah tiptoed through the night-dark hallways. She had not grown up at Whipple Hill, but if she added all of her visits together, she was certain it would come to more than a year.

It would not be hyperbole to say that she knew the house like the back of her hand.

You could never know a house like the ones you roamed as a child. Hide-and-seek had ensured that she knew every connecting door and every back staircase. But most importantly, it meant that when someone had mentioned to her several days earlier that Lord Hugh Prentice had been given the north green bedroom, she knew precisely what that meant.

And how best to get there.

When Hugh had left her room that evening, just five minutes before Honoria had returned, Sarah had thought that she would fall into a lazy, luxurious sleep. She was not sure she understood what exactly he’d done to her body, but she’d found it quite impossible to lift even a finger for some time after he left. She felt so . . . sated.

But despite her utter physical contentment, she did not sleep. Perhaps it was due to all the napping she’d done earlier, perhaps it was a casualty of an overactive mind (she did have a lot to think about, after all), but by the time her mantel clock read one in the morning, she had to accept that she would not be sleeping that night.

This should have frustrated her—she was not one who did well when overtired—and she did not want to be cranky at breakfast. But instead, all she could think was that this extra period of wakefulness was a gift, or at least she ought to consider it as such.

And gifts should never be squandered.

Which was why, at one-oh-nine in the morning, she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the door to the north green bedroom, carefully applied pressure until she felt the mechanism click, and allowed the door to swing open on its thankfully silent hinges.

With very careful movements, she closed the door behind her, turned the key in the lock, and tiptoed toward the bed. A pale shaft of moonlight striped across the carpet, providing just enough light for her to make out Hugh’s sleeping form.

She smiled. It wasn’t a large bed, but it was large enough.

He was splayed more toward the right side of the mattress, so she padded around to the left, took a small breath of courage, and climbed in. Slowly, carefully, she inched toward him until she was close enough to feel the heat that rose off his body. She moved even closer, lightly placing her hand on his back, which she was delighted to discover was bare. . . .

He came awake with a start, making such a funny snorting sound that she couldn’t help but giggle.

“Sarah?”

She smiled flirtatiously, even though he probably couldn’t see her in the darkness. “Good evening.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked groggily.

“Are you complaining?”

There was a beat of silence. And then, in a husky timbre she recognized from earlier that evening: “No.”

“I missed you,” she whispered.

“Apparently.”

She poked his chest even though she’d heard the smile in his voice. “You’re supposed to say that you missed me, too.”

His arms came around her, and before she could say a word, he’d pulled her on top of him, his hands lightly cupping her bottom through her nightgown. “I missed you, too,” he said.

Softly, she kissed his lips. “I’m going to marry you,” she said with a goofy smile.