Chapter 25
Douglas wasn’t at dinner.
When Sarah inquired about his absence, neither Linda nor her grandfather knew of his whereabouts. But Robert was also missing, which made her think the two men were together.
Dinner consisted of a Kilmarin version of kedegeree, a dish consisting of flaked fish, rice, and greens. Served with Kilmarin venison sausages and black pudding, it was a very filling meal. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much of an appetite.
“You spent the entire day with Linda?” her grandfather asked.
Linda nodded. “She did, Grandfather.”
“You’ve shown her all of Kilmarin?”
Sarah spoke. “She has. I’m surprised my shoes have not lost their soles. Kilmarin is larger than it appears.”
“Tullochs have been here seven hundred years,” Donald said. “Each generation has left its legacy. Sometimes that meant more building.”
Sarah stifled her smile. From what she’d seen, Donald was more than willing to continue that legacy. Scaffolding over the exterior of the east wing had been erected for workers to add a two-story conservatory built to Donald’s specifications.
“I found something in my mother’s room,” she said.
“I thought she would like to see Morna’s room,” Linda hurriedly explained when Donald Tulloch turned an angry glance on her.
“And I did,” Sarah said. “Thank you, cousin.”
“What did you find?” her grandfather asked.
“A mirror. A hand mirror in a box. It looks to be quite old, and bears a Latin inscription about the future.”
She waited for one of them to explain what she’d seen in the mirror, but both of them appeared confused.
“I know of no mirror,” he said. “It might have been a gift to Morna, but it was not from me.”
Her grandfather didn’t mention her mother again, and the dinner was a pleasant one, as if they’d never spoken in the garden, as if he’d never hinted that she might be a bastard.
She excused herself finally, returning to the suite she shared with Douglas, only to find it empty.
Where was he? She sat on the bench at the end of the bed. If they had been at Chavensworth, she would have gone to the observatory, but where did she seek him out at Kilmarin?
At the sound of water she jerked her head around. She stood, walked behind the screen and opened the bathing room door, only to discover her husband standing there, once again naked.
Two faint scratches marred the perfection of his left shoulder. Had she done that?
“Where have you been?”
A large oval mirror was mounted on the wall above the basin. He stared into it rather than look at her.
“If I walked in on you, Lady Sarah, I’d be chastised, if not commanded, to leave the chamber.”
She felt her cheeks warm. He was absolutely correct. She would not have tolerated such behavior from him. She turned to leave, her hand on the doorframe.
“Forgive me,” she said.
“I didn’t command you to leave,” he said.
She warmed even further.
“I’ve been exploring Kilmarin land,” he said. “And Kilmarin. I’ve been told that you received a similar tour.”
She nodded. “Not of the land.”
“Or the sheep,” he added.
“Or the sheep.”
“How about the cattle?”
She shook her head, smiling. “No cattle.”
“You education is lacking, I can see,” he said.
“You weren’t at dinner,” she said.
“I would have made it to dinner if I could have.”
“Are you hungry?”
He shook his head. “We entered through the kitchens. I’ve been fed by an assortment of females.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows rose.
“All aged, with missing teeth and hairy moles,” he said.
“I cannot remember encountering anyone of that description.”
“Surely you’re not jealous.”
The fact was unavoidable—she was. How idiotic of her. She was feeling jealous and unsettled, and a dozen other emotions.
He came out from behind the basin. “What is it, Sarah?” He reached for a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and led her into the sitting room, to the sofa. Instead of sitting opposite her, he sat next to her, so close that she could feel the heat from his body.
Was this entirely proper?
“Are you glad you came to Scotland?”
“I don’t know,” she said, finally. “I met my grandfather, but I know when we leave here I’ll probably never see him again. I don’t want to find someone only to lose him.”
His smile surprised her.
“Have I said something amusing?” she asked.
“What you’ve just described is life itself, Sarah. Not very much about life is permanent. We find friends only to lose them. We find lovers only for them to prove inconstant. We assume we’ll always be young and healthy, and yet time delivers its own blow.”
“That sounds horribly dour, Mr. Eston.”
His smile deepened at the use of his surname.
“Not at all, Lady Sarah. The lesson is to celebrate what we have, when we have it. Love as if you will never love again. Share each moment with a friend. Never take your life for granted or your health. Wring from each day all the laughter that’s in it, all the adventure you can stomach, all the emotion your heart can hold. ”
She listened to him in silence, then glanced away. “I think it’s easier to hide yourself away rather than to be hurt repeatedly,” she said.
“I never said it was easy living in the moment, Sarah. It takes courage.”
“I am not certain I’m that brave,” she said.
“While I’m absolutely certain you are.” He picked up her hand and studied it in silence. “Do you regret last night?” he asked finally.
She looked at him, shocked. “No.”
“Are you certain?”
“Is that horrible of me?” she asked. Her own voice sounded small and tiny and frightened. She cleared her throat. “Is it wrong to want to feel joy and pleasure?”
“That’s called life, Sarah,” he said, smiling.
What had he said? You and I shall have a love affair. At the moment, that was exactly what it felt like. He smiled at her, and her heart felt absurdly light, as if he were capable of washing away grief with an expression.
He stood. As he stretched out his hand to her, the towel dropped to the floor.
Oh my.
What a truly mesmerizing sight, especially the way his manhood seemed to grow as she stared at it, as if it were a giant waking and stretching.
She took his hand and stood, reaching up to touch his shoulder below the scratches.
“Did I do that?”
He glanced at the mark and smiled. “I’m more than willing to be wounded in the art of love, Sarah.”
With that, she allowed him to lead her to their bed.
She looked as if she were torn between running away and pulling him after her, propriety vying with decadence. She bumped against him, her skirts enveloping him, her breasts against his chest.
A gasp escaped her.
“Are you well, Sarah?”
She nodded, her hair brushing against his bare chest. He tried not to shiver at the feel of her breath against his skin.
“I didn’t hurt you last night?”
She shook her head, tossing her hair against him again.
How did he ask his wife if she would couple with him again? There was nothing in his journal addressing the situation.
He was hot and hard and heavy, breathing with great difficulty as if the room were an oven and not the chilly place it was.
He wanted to be inside her, and surrounding her, keeping her warm and loving her.
He wanted it all, all the feelings of her, the smells, the silkiness of her skin, the sighs she gave when her body pleased her.
In the most carnal and atavistic way, he wanted to mate with her, place her legs over his shoulders and bury himself in her.
He walked into the bedroom and halted at the side of the bed. He turned his back to the bed and pulled her into his arms. Not to kiss her; kissing Sarah was an occupation in itself. No, right now he needed to rid her of all those clothes.
He began unbuttoning the buttons of her black dress. Should he tell her that she looked beautiful in her mourning, or would that be considered loutish behavior?
“Why are you even wearing a corset?” he asked, annoyed with the laces that stood between him and her skin.
“Would you have me act the harlot?” she asked breathlessly. “Dear heavens, I am, aren’t I?”
He raised his head. By the lamplight her eyes were bright, her hair tumbled, color suffusing her cheeks and a smile curving her lips. She had never looked lovelier. His wife, waiting to be ravished.
“If you are, then I’m…” He hesitated. “What is the male equivalent of harlot?” he asked.
“Pan?” she suggested.
He didn’t know who or what Pan was, and made a mental note to write the name down in his journal and learn about it later. For now, he concentrated on unlacing her corset.
“Why do women wear these infernal things?” he asked, fumbling with the long cords.
“To produce the right curves of the female frame,” she said.
He stared down at her upturned face. “You have to be jesting. You have the perfect form.”
Her color deepened.
She bent her head, removing first one sleeve, then the other.
Finally, she pulled off the bodice of her dress and her unlaced corset, tossing both to the bench at the end of the bed.
She was left with a shift, he thought it was called, and her skirt, round and plumped by more confusing womanly garments.
“It’s a hoop,” she said, brushing away his impatient hands so she could untie the tapes herself.
“I know nothing of fashion,” he said.
“A hoop is to shield the female frame.”
“The same one the corset is trying to form?”
She laughed, one of the first times he’d ever heard her laugh so freely.
He stilled, his hands on his hips, feeling his heart turn over.
“I know well enough where all your parts are,” he said softly. “Do you not realize I think about you all the time, Sarah? Or that my hands can feel the shape of you even when you’re not around?”
She didn’t speak, concentrating on untying the tapes, both hands at the task.
But her face was flaming red, and her fingers trembled.
Finally, the tapes were untied, and the hoops dropped to the floor, along with the skirt, leaving her attired in her shift and the cutest ruffled garment he’d ever seen.
He realized he’d never before seen her undress. She’d always been in her nightgown, or had disrobed behind a screen.
“There’s a lot to this getting you naked, Sarah,” he said, smiling.
She looked as if she wanted to admonish him, but she smiled instead, slowly dropping the lacy drawers to the floor.
“Could we extinguish the lamp?” she asked softly. She was still dressed in her shift, but the garment was so sheer that he could see enticing shadows and her breasts pressing against the thin linen.
Darkness would ease her, even though it would strip him of the pleasure of looking at her. He walked to the bedside table and extinguished the lamp, then returned to her side.
A rustle of fabric alerted him to the fact that she was now naked.
He reached out and pulled her into his arms, holding her against his body for a moment until she gripped his shoulders. A moment later, he effortlessly lifted her to the bed, joining her there.
His fingers swept from beneath her arm, along the swell of her breast then down to her waist and stomach. The palms of his hands pressed against the side of each breast until the plump curves met. He bent his head and kissed both of them at the same time.
“You’ve beautiful breasts, Sarah,” he said. “Not only are they lovely in shape and form, but they’re very sensitive.” He bent and licked one nipple.
“Douglas,” she whispered.
“My dearest Sarah. My lovely Sarah.” My beloved.
He cradled her in his arms, whispered in her ear, crooned to her in a soft, entreating voice. She turned to him, her face nestled in the space between his neck and shoulder, her breath hot, her heart racing.
“Oh, Douglas.”
His fingers knew her, stroked across her skin, explored her, seeking out places that made her sigh, that made her clutch him with urgent fingers.
She repeated his name, her voice sighing.
His palms tenderly stroked across her skin, his lips followed, and when he kissed her, his mind quieted and found peace.
His open lips touched hers, and in that kiss was all the reserve he used, all the tenderness he’d ever shown her, and just a hint of the passion he felt.
His body was simply an extension of his mind, or a wick to his soul. Slowly, gently, carefully, so as to cause her no harm or discomfort, he entered her, centered himself, seated himself, and felt in that instant that in her heat, dampness, and mystery, he’d found himself home at last.
“Sarah,” he whispered, nearly done in by the pleasure coursing through his body, by the astonishing joy lightening his spirit. “Sarah,” he said, and her name became a benediction, and a way of expressing the inexpressible.