Chapter 10
Sarah was awakened by a warm breath on her eyelids. In her dream, she was being cuddled by a fox, his tail whisking back and forth over her face. She drew back, blinked open her eyes reluctantly, and realized that she was face-to-face with her husband.
Douglas smiled at her, his expression clearly visible by the lamp he’d lit. The wick was trimmed low, so the glow was barely visible beyond the bed, but she could see him quite clearly.
Her eyes widened, and her breathing quickened. Her heart was beating so rapidly in her chest that it felt like a trapped bird.
“You’ve returned,” she said, gathering up the sheets in front of her. They were no protection at all, but the barrier made her feel marginally better.
“I have.”
How utterly polite they were being, especially since she didn’t feel the least bit amiable toward him at the moment.
“Where did you go?”
“I was unpacking my crates,” he said.
She frowned at him. “Why?”
“To make sure my equipment was undamaged.”
Of all the things he could have said, that was the one guaranteed to render her silent. She had thought that he might have gone to see her father, to complain about her behavior, perhaps. Or to see an old love.
“You were unpacking your equipment,” she said softly. Repeating it aloud didn’t make any more sense.
“If you’ll recall,” he said, smiling, “it’s the reason for our marriage. Your father expects me to fulfill my part of the bargain.”
“You might have told me,” she said.
“Were you worried? I should have told you not to worry.”
“Do you have the power to command emotions?” she asked. “If I had wished to worry, I would have, and I doubt anything you might say to the contrary would have stopped me from doing so.”
“Did you?”
“I did not,” she said. “In fact, I barely noticed you were gone.”
And she wouldn’t notice that he was here now, except for the fact that he had rolled off the bed and was beginning to remove his clothes.
With his eyes still on her, he slowly unfastened the row of buttons on his shirt. She looked away, down at the floor, across the bed, before returning her gaze to him.
Was it considered proper for a wife to watch her husband disrobe? She didn’t think so, but despite herself, her gaze returned to him again and again.
He was a well-made man. Quite a spectacular specimen of manhood, as a matter of fact.
A statue of a young man in the Greek Garden was equally as fine, but after her mentally comparing the two, Douglas was the clear winner.
Perhaps it was because he was human, and the statue was only marble.
More likely it was because God’s handiwork was superior to anything that man could attempt to render.
There, she’d managed to think of God, and in doing so she had turned her thoughts from a naked man.
“I won’t undress in front of you if it disturbs you,” he said softly.
“I think you do so to put me at a disadvantage, Mr. Eston.”
Without warning her, he turned, giving her a picture of his back.
Quite a handsome back it was, too, with those sinewy muscles and broad shoulders.
There were two scars on his back that made her wish to reach out her hand and touch them, so odd were they.
The first was a small line near his right shoulder.
The second almost a circular scar near the left part of his back.
He had been an adventurer, an explorer—of course he would have scars all over his body. His life had probably been one exciting event after another. Chavensworth was going to prove excessively tedious for him.
When he walked from the bed, she had a fine view of tight buttocks. For a moment, she considered closing her eyes again. But who would know if she studied him?
“Is this the first time you’ve ever seen a naked man, Lady Sarah?”
Her gaze flew to the back of his head. How did he know?
He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled.
She really wished he wouldn’t smile, especially as he was still naked.
Nor had he made any attempt to cover himself.
Except for a quick flash of a glance, she had determinedly kept her gaze on his face.
How very odd that night seemed to suit him.
He was most attractive with his shadow of the beard. Almost wicked-looking.
She shut her eyes before she was tempted to look lower than his chin.
“Of course it’s the first time I’ve ever seen a man without clothes,” she said, refusing to be humiliated.
“Do you care to reciprocate in kind?”
She opened her eyes again, but this time she kept her gaze on the tester above her head.
“I would venture to guess that you’ve seen a naked woman before, Mr. Eston.”
“Ah, but I haven’t seen you.”
She reached over and extinguished the lamp, then sat on the edge of the bed with her back to him before beginning to don her wrapper.
“What are you doing?”
“I only occupied the bed because you were not here, Mr. Eston. Now that you are, I shall return to my cot.”
“A pity,” he said. “It’s a very large bed, and I’m very tired.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Go back to sleep, Sarah,” he said softly. “I’ll not bother you.”
She wanted to ask him, irrationally and pedantically, if he would promise on his honor to leave her alone, but instead, she remained mute, removed her wrapper, and slid her legs below the counterpane. She lay back on the pillow, her arms at her side.
When he lay beside her, his bare arm brushed against hers. Pulling away would have seemed rude, almost a rebuff. Instead, her skin warmed where they touched. Her little finger was beside his, and she didn’t doubt that if she moved her foot a little to the left, it would brush his leg.
“Do you not sleep in a nightshirt?”
“I do not. Nor have I ever. Nor will I ever.”
“I locked the door,” she said.
“I noticed.”
Did he unlock it? Or did he force the lock? Had he damaged the door? She certainly didn’t want word of that getting around Chavensworth. She could just imagine the gossip below stairs.
She wasn’t about to ask him. Nor could she get up and check herself. Not with him lying there naked.
Moonlight shone into the room, too bright for her peace of mind.
“Isn’t it odd,” she said. “I was so tired earlier, and now I don’t seem to be at all sleepy.”
He didn’t respond.
Had he already fallen asleep? If so, she envied him.
Finally, he spoke. “Tell me what growing up at Chavensworth was like,” he said.
“Busy,” she said, so quickly that it startled her. Nor had she envisioned telling him the truth, so starkly and unadorned. “I was very busy,” she added quickly. “Between my lessons from my governess and my lessons about Chavensworth, I had very few free hours.”
He didn’t respond. No one had ever asked her about her childhood before now. No one had ever been interested.
“And your childhood?” she asked politely.
“I had few free hours as well,” he said.
There was a tone in his voice that she wanted to examine, but before she could say a word, his hand reached out and covered hers. She was so surprised by the gesture that she didn’t know what to say.
A few minutes later, she thought of a question. “Tell me about your adventures all over the world,” she said.
“Tales of a foolish young man?”
“Were you?”
“At first,” he admitted. “I had to learn quickly, else I doubt I would have survived. I was all for seeing the world, for learning as much as I could about as many things as I could. I’ve always had a healthy curiosity.”
She moved away, slid from beneath the sheets, and sat on the edge of the bed.
“What’s the matter, Sarah?” he asked, leaning up on his elbow and looking over at her.
“Nothing,” she said.
He placed his hand on the small of her back.
It was the first time he’d ever done so, the first time he’d ever touched her while she was so flimsily dressed.
Only one small layer of clothing separated his bare palm from her bare back.
Her body knew instantly, sending a shiver up her spine, tightening her nipples.
“Tell me,” he said.
“You always want to know what I’m thinking,” she said, twisting to look at him. “What does it matter?”
“You’re my wife.”
“I am the Duke of Herridge’s daughter. The Duchess of Herridge’s daughter. Your wife. Can someone not once belong to me instead of me forever belonging to someone?”
“So you would have me be Lady Sarah’s husband?”
She knew only too well that she wasn’t being entirely rational. The moonlit night with its heady mix of warm, lavender-perfumed air seemed to call for strong emotion.
“Is that why you wanted to see my breasts?” she asked. “Because of your healthy curiosity?”
She spoke to the other side of the room, knowing that if she turned to face him, she probably wouldn’t have the courage to continue.
“Why?” He laughed, a sound she hadn’t expected. “Sarah, I want to see your breasts so I can at least dream of how it will be to touch you.”
“Oh.”
“We’re strangers to each other, and it’s too soon to take you as my wife.”
Were all bridegrooms as considerate?
“Besides, you’re a beautiful woman, and I’m a man who appreciates beauty. Especially beautiful breasts. But you needn’t worry, I’ve never yet ravaged a woman.”
Women probably threw themselves at his feet, like roses wishing to shed their petals.
Several moments passed.
“Even if you weren’t my wife,” he said softly, “I would be taken by the striking color of your eyes, your black hair. Or perhaps it’s your bearing that entices me, your habit of looking at people intently, one eyebrow raised, as if you are waiting for them to prove themselves to you.”
“I don’t do that,” she said, taken aback.
“Yes, you do, and if you doubt me, I suggest you ask anyone at Chavensworth what it’s like to be stared down by Lady Sarah.”
She faced forward, staring in the darkness, the moonlight adding shadows to the shape of the bureau. “Am I that frightening, truly?”
“Not frightening it all,” he said. “Merely arresting.”