And, according to Tom, had learned what she was really made of. She’d always known she didn’t have what it took to be a brilliant social hostess like Gussie, she might not have any interest in all the worthy causes that so fired up her other sister Harriet, she might not be practical and clever like Mary, but for the first time in her life, none of that seemed to matter.
Loyal and brave, he’d said. Co
mpassionate and kind.
Those things were all much better than being clever, or accomplished, weren’t they? At least, the way he’d said it sounded as though he thought so.
Which made her almost believe it, too.
* * *
How he wished he hadn’t said he didn’t need anything for the pain. It was all very well hating the way it clouded his mind. And he certainly didn’t want to end up craving it, the way he’d seen so many men fall victim to laudanum once it got its hooks into them.
But nor did he relish lying here, wide-awake, feeling like one enormous bruise. Everything ached. Everything.
He slid one hand under the sheet, seeking to ease the place he ached most of all. The one ache he could do something about, for himself.
He must be on the mend, if that could be giving him so much trouble.
It had started to sit up and take notice the moment Lady Sarah had left the room to go and prepare for bed. There was a little room, a room that had been her maid’s when she’d stayed here before, she’d told him, which she was now using as a dressing room. Which was right next door. Her washstand must be on the other side of the wall from the head of his bed, because he’d distinctly heard the sound of water being poured into a basin. And splashing. His imagination had supplied the rest. He’d imagined buttons unpopping. Clothing slithering to the floor. Porcelain-white skin, all wet and soapy. Water running down her body just where he wanted to run his hands. Then, of course, she’d rub herself dry with a towel. Her face first, and then her arms, her legs, her breasts...
His breath quickened. He whipped his hand away, clenching it into a fist. What was he doing? He couldn’t sully her with his lustful imaginings, when she was lying there, unaware. It felt so wrong.
He stifled a groan as the ropes of her pallet creaked. She was turning over. Trying in vain to get comfortable, because he’d taken possession of her bed. And now she was throwing the blankets off. Because she was too hot. Well, it was a hot and sultry night.
He was certainly sweating. Was she?
His mouth watered at the thought of swiping his tongue over her neck, down, over her breasts, tasting the salt of her. The woman taste of her. He wanted to lick her all over, until she moaned with pleasure.
Right on cue, she did moan. Shifted on her bed, just as though she was responding to his unclean thoughts.
He pressed the heels of his hands over his ears. Reached over his head for his pillow. Pulled it over his face.
But it couldn’t block out the sound of Sarah’s sudden, strangled scream.
Tom flung the pillow aside. Of course she wasn’t lying there dreaming of an earthy encounter with him. He sat up as she moaned again. No—by the sound of it, she was having a nightmare.
A pretty nasty one, if he was any judge. She was whimpering now. And from the way the screen suddenly rattled, she’d flung out her hand to ward off...something.
He got out of bed, planted his feet on the floor and waited a second or two for the room to stop spinning. Then tottered the few feet to the end of the screen, rounded it and stood looking down at her. His breath caught. God, but she was lovely, lying in the abandoned sprawl of sleep. She’d kicked off all her blankets, and rucked her nightgown up to her knees. A gentleman wouldn’t let his eyes linger, but he couldn’t help savouring the sight of her beautiful, shapely legs.
‘Lady Sarah,’ he murmured gently, dropping to his knees at her side. ‘Wake up.’
She whimpered again. In the feeble light that made it to this darkened corner of the room from his bedside candle, he could see silvery trails of tears streaking her cheeks, which brought him to his senses. No longer did he want to run his hands over those invitingly bared legs. He wanted to scoop her up into his arms and comfort her.
‘Lady Sarah,’ he said again, a little louder. ‘You are having a nightmare.’
He reached down and shook her shoulder gently. Her eyes flew open wide.
‘Tom!’ Before he had a chance to explain that he had a perfectly innocent explanation for kneeling over her as she slept, she’d flung her arms round his neck and buried her face against him.
‘Oh, Tom, it was horrible. Horrible!’
‘It’s over now. It was just a nightmare.’ He put his arms round her. Inhaled the fragrance of sleepy woman. The scent that was normally a prelude to becoming intimate.
He gritted his teeth. That wasn’t what Sarah needed from him tonight. She wasn’t an experienced woman looking for a good time, but a vulnerable young lady who’d only stumbled into his life by accident. And what she needed after a nightmare was to feel safe, secure.
Actually, tonight she probably would be perfectly safe from him, even if his conscience wasn’t shouting at him like a regimental sergeant-major. He simply wasn’t fit enough to do her any real mischief.