me, Miss Baxter, the Duchess of Winters wishes to speak to you. May I escort you?”
Sarah started at the blunt question from behind. She turned and curtsied to the Earl of Earnston, who stood over her like a looming portent of doom.
“Of course,” Sarah said. She took his lordship’s arm. Why did he look so annoyed?
“Is something the matter with Her Grace?” Sarah looked about and tried to locate Anita’s mother.
Eric glowered, his body taut as a bow string, and continued walking silently through the masses. So, his lordship was angry with her. Sufficiently so that he was about to give her a set down. Sarah clasped his sleeve and tightened her grip, reveling in the muscular perfection under his eveningwear and the argument that was about to ensue.
He whipped her past potted palms hiding a doorway and into an abandoned passage. Wall scones cast minimal light as his lordship continued to pull her along the Aubusson rug running its length. Eric paused and checked the passage before escorting her into a room to one side. Tapestries hung from the walls and needlework in all its forms lay scattered on chaise lounges, chairs, and settees.
“My lord, I do believe we’ve taken a wrong turn at some point, as it seems Her Grace is not present in this sewing room.” Sarah couldn’t resist getting in the first volley. “Unless of course,” she continued, “Her Grace is foregoing the delights of the ball to sew, and is hidden somewhere under all this mess.” Sarah bit back a laugh as Eric managed to glower even more.
But her heart sped up as he snicked the bolt on the door into place. He lit a cheroot and leaned against the door, taking just one puff before he ambled to the hearth and threw it onto the empty grate. His dark hooded gaze resembled that of a predator about to attack. For the first time in her life, Sarah could relate with Little Red Riding Hood about to be gobbled up by the Big Bad Wolf.
She swallowed.
“Did you have a pleasant waltz, Miss Baxter?”
Sarah lifted her chin. “Why, yes, I did as a matter of fact. Lord Dean is very … personable.” Lord Earnston stalked around the settee and stood before her. He stared down at Sarah and it took all her control not to smile at his jealousy.
It was obvious he was trying to scare her, ride rough-shod over her, but little did he know she was never one to sit back and take anything anyone meted out. Best to lay the ground rules now and not later.
“Are you toying with me, Miss Baxter?”
His lordship stepped closer still, and his breath caressed her lips. They were so close, only a slight lean away. Sarah swayed forward to brush her lips against his, and her stomach rolled in a delicious slide. “No,” she said.
He growled and yanked her hard against his chest. Sarah grinned and clasped the hair at his nape. His breathing came in short, ragged gasps that matched hers.
“Where did you come from, Sarah?”
Pain tore through her at the truthful answer she should give him. But she must evade the question. “From the same place everyone does. Their mother.” She grinned as he raised his eyebrows.
“You’re a teasing little minx.” His lordship paused. “Will you call me Eric when we’re in private?”
Sarah nodded. “I’d like that.”
“So would I,” he said and kissed her. Hard.
Liquid heat poured through her, and Sarah reveled in the demanding, heated embrace. Like their previous encounter, his kiss sent her spiraling into a vortex of delight. He pushed her gown from her shoulders and nipped at her bare skin. Sarah leaned back and welcomed him to slide his tongue over her flesh. His hand cupped her breast, and she whimpered in pain mixed with need.
How was it possible to feel so much desire for a single person? And why with a man born two-hundred years before her? He found her nipple through her gown, pinched the pebbled flesh, and she trembled.
Her fingers clasped his hair and pulled him up for a kiss. Oh, she wanted him. Wanted
Sarah started at the blunt question from behind. She turned and curtsied to the Earl of Earnston, who stood over her like a looming portent of doom.
“Of course,” Sarah said. She took his lordship’s arm. Why did he look so annoyed?
“Is something the matter with Her Grace?” Sarah looked about and tried to locate Anita’s mother.
Eric glowered, his body taut as a bow string, and continued walking silently through the masses. So, his lordship was angry with her. Sufficiently so that he was about to give her a set down. Sarah clasped his sleeve and tightened her grip, reveling in the muscular perfection under his eveningwear and the argument that was about to ensue.
He whipped her past potted palms hiding a doorway and into an abandoned passage. Wall scones cast minimal light as his lordship continued to pull her along the Aubusson rug running its length. Eric paused and checked the passage before escorting her into a room to one side. Tapestries hung from the walls and needlework in all its forms lay scattered on chaise lounges, chairs, and settees.
“My lord, I do believe we’ve taken a wrong turn at some point, as it seems Her Grace is not present in this sewing room.” Sarah couldn’t resist getting in the first volley. “Unless of course,” she continued, “Her Grace is foregoing the delights of the ball to sew, and is hidden somewhere under all this mess.” Sarah bit back a laugh as Eric managed to glower even more.
But her heart sped up as he snicked the bolt on the door into place. He lit a cheroot and leaned against the door, taking just one puff before he ambled to the hearth and threw it onto the empty grate. His dark hooded gaze resembled that of a predator about to attack. For the first time in her life, Sarah could relate with Little Red Riding Hood about to be gobbled up by the Big Bad Wolf.
She swallowed.
“Did you have a pleasant waltz, Miss Baxter?”
Sarah lifted her chin. “Why, yes, I did as a matter of fact. Lord Dean is very … personable.” Lord Earnston stalked around the settee and stood before her. He stared down at Sarah and it took all her control not to smile at his jealousy.
It was obvious he was trying to scare her, ride rough-shod over her, but little did he know she was never one to sit back and take anything anyone meted out. Best to lay the ground rules now and not later.
“Are you toying with me, Miss Baxter?”
His lordship stepped closer still, and his breath caressed her lips. They were so close, only a slight lean away. Sarah swayed forward to brush her lips against his, and her stomach rolled in a delicious slide. “No,” she said.
He growled and yanked her hard against his chest. Sarah grinned and clasped the hair at his nape. His breathing came in short, ragged gasps that matched hers.
“Where did you come from, Sarah?”
Pain tore through her at the truthful answer she should give him. But she must evade the question. “From the same place everyone does. Their mother.” She grinned as he raised his eyebrows.
“You’re a teasing little minx.” His lordship paused. “Will you call me Eric when we’re in private?”
Sarah nodded. “I’d like that.”
“So would I,” he said and kissed her. Hard.
Liquid heat poured through her, and Sarah reveled in the demanding, heated embrace. Like their previous encounter, his kiss sent her spiraling into a vortex of delight. He pushed her gown from her shoulders and nipped at her bare skin. Sarah leaned back and welcomed him to slide his tongue over her flesh. His hand cupped her breast, and she whimpered in pain mixed with need.
How was it possible to feel so much desire for a single person? And why with a man born two-hundred years before her? He found her nipple through her gown, pinched the pebbled flesh, and she trembled.
Her fingers clasped his hair and pulled him up for a kiss. Oh, she wanted him. Wanted
Similar Books
