Chapter 23
Sam’s entire body hummed with excitement.
She felt invigorated—liberated—though a bit dismayed at the sheer violence of the match as she exited with a satisfied smile while Mr. Jackson held the door.
That Elijah would make good on his promise and accompany her to Gentleman Jackson’s had never actually seemed like a viable outcome.
She’d expected him to send word that he could not attend her that day or arrive and outright forbid her to go to a men’s sporting establishment.
Though it wasn’t only the sight of the shirtless fighters, their hands gloved and raised for battle that caused a flutter of anticipation to course through her the second they’d entered the private room.
Sam could think of only one thing after they had departed Craven House: the kiss she would owe Elijah at the end of their outing.
She’d dreamed of pressing her body close to his, setting her lips upon his, allowing her tongue to explore…since their night in the study at Hollybrooke. In fact, his lips had no more left hers that long ago night than she was already longing for another kiss.
Remembering the scandalous image in In Physica Educationem in Caritate: Volumen Unum had not dulled her need.
The sight had filled many lonely nights in the last six weeks.
Several times, she’d wondered if Eli had returned the book to Cummings’ study before he departed.
She could not be so lucky to learn he’d absconded with the volume.
The sun shone brightly, assaulting her eyes after their time spent in the dimly lit interior of Jackson’s private sparring room.
It had all been exciting, yet far less grand than she’d expected.
Garrett hurried off to his club every Tuesday afternoon at precisely one o’clock.
Could it be that her brother was truly in need of exercise?
“Miss Samantha?”
She focused, pushing the thoughts from her mind to see Elijah’s offered hand. His carriage waited in the alley where they’d left it. How long had they been within the club? The sun had crested and started its descent toward the western horizon.
Mid-afternoon.
Her sisters, with any luck, would still be attending Jude: settling her into her new home, offering suggestions for renovations, and keeping the dowager Lady Cartwright from sinking her claws into her new daughter-in-law while Simon handled his affairs at the museum.
It had been far too easy to slip from the house without notice.
Before Jude’s betrothal to Simon, Marce had been like a hawk, hovering over her siblings, waiting for one to step out of line.
Now it seemed they could come and go as they pleased; though, certainly, her blessings would not continue.
Their manservant, Mr. Curtis, was sure to see the carriage return to deposit her at her doorstep.
Possibly worse was if the elderly servant spied Sam kissing Lord Ridgefeld.
The Ridgefeld carriage was comfortable and maintained—if dated—but still far more luxurious than the Craven House coach.
The dark burgundy seats showed off her dark green gown to its finest. She much liked the way the two hues paired and silently committed to finding a sash of the exact shade to wear with her gown.
When the carriage started out of the alley, Sam met Elijah’s stare, and she knew he too thought of the kiss to come. Maybe she should pull the curtains, shimmy across the carriage to sit beside him and give him his reward before they reached her home.
“You are flushed, are you overly warm?” he asked with a hint of concern.
She could not admit it was the anticipation of their parting that brought heat to her cheeks, though his concern did bring to mind another reason. “No, my lord. Quite the opposite, I must admit. The breeze from the open curtains is cold against my face.”
Without another word, he turned to both sides and pulled the cords free of their holds, releasing the material to cover the windows, casting a shadow across his face.
She didn’t favor the way it hid his deep cocoa-brown eyes or the dark lashes framing them.
Concealed the way his lips parted when he smiled and his dimple appeared.
Sam had no need to see them now in reality, as her memories conjured them whenever she closed her eyes.
She fought the urge to allow her lids to lower and the pleasurable sensations to take hold.
She would not allow herself even the briefest moment of fancy while the real man sat mere inches from her.
So close…yet so incredibly far away.
If she were to reach out to him, would he come to her willingly?
Did the mere thought make her a wanton woman, unworthy of a man such as him?
Sam could not—would not—think in those terms. Similar to men, women had needs.
So far, besides a few not so intelligent decisions, she’d managed to harness her desires since gaining a peek at the wickedness denied to unwed ladies.
If she asked politely, would Elijah show her all she’d been unable to see in her limited time with In Physica Educationem in Caritate?
If she’d been thinking correctly the previous evening, Sam would have added it to her list of demands in recompense for his ungentlemanly departure from Derbyshire.
The likelihood that he’d continue to answer her demands—or that she had many others planned—had a sense of urgency filling her. They would arrive at her townhouse shortly.
Sam pushed from her place and came to rest next to Elijah on his bench.
His eyes barely registered the shock of her movement when his hands slipped around her back and beneath her knees, lifting her to settle across his lap. The muscles of his thighs could be felt through her many layers of underpinnings and his woolen trousers.
Her pulse quickened at the same time she allowed a groan to escape.
Sam didn’t hesitant a moment before anchoring her arms around his neck and scooting closer into him. The heat from his body warmed her.
“Are you claiming your compensation, my lord?” The question left her on a sigh as desire pooled at her core. The slight sway and jostle of the coach added a sensual rhythm to their embrace.
A shudder ran through him, and his mouth landed against hers—crushing, demanding, controlling—utterly captivating her.
His hands moved along her back slowly, at odds with their kiss.
She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him securely to her as she pressed him into the seat.
The need to be closer to him—to feel more of Elijah against her—was more than she could bear, and Sam hastily released her hold on him.
Grabbing her long skirt, she adjusted to straddle him, her knees on either side of his hips on the bench.
The position allowed her to feel his desire for her: the hardened length of his manhood straining against the flap of his trousers. Begging to be freed. As if of their own accord, her hips pressed into him, and she shivered with need.
She’d never straddled a man, but her body knew exactly what to do as she gently started to rock back and forth. She pressed her core to his rigid length as the heat between them grew.
So focused by the friction their bodies created, Sam almost lost pace with their kiss.
But when Elijah’s hands dropped lower, cupping her bottom and lifting slightly, her most intimate place lost contact with him. The shift in position pressed her breasts to his chest, and his mouth moved from her lips, tracing kisses across her cheek to her ear.
She moaned as he took her lobe between his teeth and nibbled…so gently, Sam thought she’d imagined it.
But then his mouth moved to the spot behind her lobe and sparks of longing coursed through her. A hidden spot. Did all married women and experienced men know of this delicate place that could send a woman into a frenzy of need?
She didn’t know, but the one thing she did understand was that she did not want Elijah’s lips to leave that sensitive place.
“Elijah.” Her head tilted back, and her eyes opened to see the roof of the enclosed carriage.
She attempted to focus on a tiny tear in the material above her, anything to keep her from thinking about the storm building inside her with each second that their bodies remained pressed together. “Do not stop.”
Elijah’s only response was to drag his lips farther down her neck.
Her bosom heaved as she struggled to bring air into her lungs…and remember what to do after it was there.
It was all too much.
Yet, not nearly enough.
Every inch of her flooded with increased warmth, so hot she felt she would, at any moment, perish in the flames of her lust. She sensed the inferno’s ever demanding pull.
Sam stiffened, preparing to fall into the pit of desire…willingly.
Oh, so readily she would go if only to feel this sensation forevermore.
The warmth turned to an extreme awareness of where her hands rested, the feel of her breasts pressed against his starched linen shirt, the way his neckcloth grazed her exposed bosom above her neckline.
Sam commanded her fingers into action, determined to give him an ounce of the pleasure he was giving her. Gently kneading, her hands caressed Elijah’s neck and down across his shoulder blades—solid muscle. Gained from years exploring the farthest reaches of the known world.
In a way, Sam was now an explorer—an adventurer with a course set to discover everything that matters of the flesh had to offer.
And that started with Elijah Watson, Lord Ridgefeld, a most proper marquis.