“I did not wear any,” she admitted, gripping her ruined book, and keeping pace with his rapid strides. “It is easier to turn the pages of the book without them.”
“You were walking and reading?”
“Yes.” It was the reason she had taken so long to return to the house. At times she had become so lost in the rich world of Frances Burney with her novelCecilia. She noticed they were not heading toward the direction of the main house.
“Your Grace, where do we go?”
“The conservatory is much closer,” he said, elevating his voice over the rumble of rain. “There should be a fire. You need to warm yourself immediately.”
They made it to the mostly glass solarium, and he had been right. A large fire burned in the hearth, but otherwise, the small glass enclosure was empty of servants. Robert shrugged from his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. Immediately the heat spread out and warmed. Moving behind her, he unpinned her hair and twisted it, so most of the water leaked out.
“As soon as the rain eases, we must get you inside, and we’ll ask Mrs. Hornsby to make a pot of tea and her drink which is a cure-all for every damn ailment.”
Sarah chuckled. “I am not at all ill.”
“This is a precaution against that possible illness.”
His gruff concern warmed her even more. An unexpected shiver racked her body.
“Christ, you are really cold.” He tugged her over to the fire, and she held her hands above the flame. With a spurt of sensual amusement, Sarah thought should he kiss her, her body would engulf in flames, and she would no longer be cold.
“Sarah—” he began.
She glanced up at him and he froze. The primal desire in his eyes caused a wave of heat to seize her, making her tremble. Raking his fingers through his dampened hair, he looked away.
“Stay here,” he said. “I will make the trek back for towels and a blanket.”
“Perhaps I should come with you—”
“For God's sake, Sarah, stay here.”
He was afraid to be alone with her…afraid of what they might do. She did not feel happy at that awareness because it meant he still did not find her suitable enough to accept wanting her.
“Do not do that,” he ground out. “Do not stare at me like that.”
“I have no idea how I am staring—”
He took the rest of her words and swallowed them in a kiss, and she forgot everything she had been thinking. With a muffled, desperate cry, Sarah arched against him and wrapped her hands around his neck. His taste was flavored with a hint of brandy and something sweet. Pleasure pulsed through her, and relief, and joy. Kissing him felt like coming inside from the cold. It was pure fire and evocative delight.
He stumbled with her to the chaise longue by the fire and twisted so she landed atop his chest, never once releasing her mouth from his. They pulled apart, breathing raggedly. His expression was tight, the flesh drawn over his cheekbones, his eyes heavy with sensuality.
“I want you.”
She stilled, her heart jerking erratically.
Simple, stark words that promised nothing. Only that they might return to the awkwardness once again after a burning night of pleasure. She touched the corner of his mouth with fingers that trembled. Sarah kissed him, trembling at the heat that coiled deep between her thighs. He groaned, framing her face with his hands, deepening their kiss. His tongue stroked hers, and she surrendered to the warm, languid sensations building within her, knowing she would allow him to love her again.
She wanted him too. So very much. Even as desire swept her upward, there was an ache in her heart. She wanted so much more with this man who might never see her as an equal.
A loud noise pulled them apart, and he launched to his feet as two footmen came through the conservatory door.
“Your Grace, Lady Esther saw you run toward the conservatory and sent us with blankets and another umbrella.”
A perhaps timely interruption. Sarah rose from the chaise, careful to not look at the duke. She hurried to the footman, took one of the blankets and wrapped it around her shoulders. The additional layer over his jacket warmed her even more. She allowed the footman to escort her to the main house, and she hurried to her bedchamber. Almost an hour later, she was clean from a long soaking in a hot bath, her hair dried. Having dined with the twins and their father, she was warm and toasty seated atop her bed.
A knock came at her door at precisely ten that evening.
Sarah had suspected he would come. Their dinner with the girls had been quieter than usual, and she had felt his stare for the duration of the time they all spent together. She had kissed the girls and left the nursery maid to tuck them into bed, then she had hurried to her chamber where she had continued to read. Resting the book on the coverlets, she pushed from the bed only to pause in the center of the room.