Chapter Fourteen
“I know. But don’t you want to?”
Sarah could feel her pulse throbbing in her ears as her last words echoed in her mind.
Had she truly permitted what was rushing about her mind to be spoken?
She must have. Montague was staring with dark, wild eyes as though she had uttered something obscene, profane—but he had not asked her to leave.
And if she was not mistaken, that was desire in his eyes…or was that merely the reflection of her own expression?
“You…I…would you mind saying that again?” Montague said weakly.
Shoots of exhilaration spread through Sarah’s body as wild abandon overcame her.
It was reckless. That was what this was: reckless.
Propositioning dukes was not something nice young ladies did, after all.
But Sarah was tired of being nice. Where had nice got her? Avoiding card parties like the plague, sitting through lectures from her mother about how she would never find a husband if she did not change her ways…not fencing with Montague Lancaster, Duke of Caelfall.
She knew what she preferred.
“I said,” Sarah repeated, hoping her voice would remain level, “don’t you want to?”
She was not imagining it. There was desire in Montague’s eyes. He leaned forward, then seemed to hold himself back.
Which is probably right, Sarah told herself. What she was suggesting, albeit obliquely, was not something she should even permit herself to consider.
Ladies of society, of good breeding like herself, were not supposed to even think about kissing dukes. Gentlemen. Anyone! Let alone what she was hoping for…
Sarah’s gaze flickered to the screen just to her left, which hid the large bed she had seen before. The very subtle movement, however, did not go unnoticed.
Montague groaned. “You don’t know what you are doing to me, Sarah!”
“I know what you do to me,” Sarah breathed, unable to help herself.
Poetry was in her soul, yes, but she usually had to agonize over every syllable to make it right. So why now was it pouring from her?
“I want to kiss you, Montague—kiss you and be kissed by you all…all over,” she said, reveling in the way he groaned, eyelashes fluttering as though her words pained him. But it wasn’t pain, she could see. “I want you to touch me—touch me like you did in the bookshop.”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Montague croaked.
“Perhaps not. But I liked it. Didn’t you?”
He hung his head as though unable to bear the intensity of their conversation, and excitement flickered in Sarah’s chest.
She should not be speaking this way! Yet, how could she not? Baring her soul to Montague was like revealing it to herself. He was such a part of her life now; she could not comprehend not being so vulnerable.
And he would be gone soon.
Sarah pushed away the thought as it tinged her heart with sadness. Maybe not today, certainly not tomorrow…but one day, Montague would be doing precisely what he wanted. Returning to France.
She had to grasp at every moment she had with him, didn’t she?
Reaching for his hands, Sarah pulled them into her lap. Montague moaned.
“Montague—don’t you want this?”
“I want far too much of you!” he managed.
Desire curled around Sarah’s chest; her very bones ached. “And I want you.”
“You don’t know what you are asking,” the duke said sternly, fixing her with a look that was two parts desire, one part irritation, and one part mirth. “Sarah Lockwood, if we—your innocence would be gone; you could never get that back!”
And he had made her no promises, Sarah could not help but think. She had not asked.
Try as she might, Sarah could not go that far. She could ask for a great deal from Montague, but not that. She wouldn’t beg.
“I know that once crossed, this line is one I can never return to,” she said quietly, feeling his pulse throbbing in his fingers. “But I want to cross it with you. I want you, Montague.”
She could see she was wearing down his fine feelings.
“Christ, I’ve never been so tempted before.”
“Then let yourself be tempted,” Sarah said, impulsively kissing his cheek, then trailing kisses down his neck. “I want you to be tempted…”
Montague shivered under her touch and Sarah rejoiced in her effect. Could he not see how greatly she wanted this—how she wanted to share this with him?
But just as she reached his collarbone, exposed thanks to her clever fingers which had already removed his cravat, Montague’s hands slipped from her own and grasped her shoulders, pushing her back.
“Sarah Lockwood, you minx,” he growled.
Sarah shivered. “Guilty as charged.”
“I am supposed to be the gentleman here,” Montague said ruefully, his voice still a dark growl. “I’m supposed to be the one with the self-control.”
“And I told you, the pen is mightier than the sword.”
He groaned, catching her lips with his own and stealing a searing kiss before he leaned back. “The things you do to me!”
Sarah swallowed. She barely had the words to describe what he did to her. Her insides were molten, every inch of her cried out for his touch, and she knew this ache building in her could only be satisfied by him.
“I never thought I would have to persuade you to make love to me.”
Montague half laughed, half whimpered at her words. “Neither did I. It turns out I have greater morals than I thought.”
Sarah reached out and cupped his cheek with her palm, forcing his gaze to meet hers. Excitement still tingled within her, and she knew she would not leave this room without him loving her, bedding her, showing her precisely what pleasure was.
“I want you,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “You, Montague.”
He swallowed. “And you are absolutely—”
“How am I supposed to write about lovemaking,” Sarah cut across him with what she hoped was a flirtatious smile, “if I have never experienced it?”
Montague Lancaster let out a sharp breath. “Don’t tell me you write erotic poetry, Sarah, or I shall be completely undone!”
This time, Sarah kissed him. His hands were still grasping her shoulders, but to her surprise and delight, he did not push her away. He pulled her closer. So close she could hardly breathe as the kiss deepened to something she had never known before.
When the kiss finally ended, Sarah’s head was spinning. “Th-That was—”
“The last kiss,” Montague said firmly.
Sarah grinned mischievously. “The first kiss I shall write about.”
The duke sighed heavily as he shook his head. “I am the man here, a gentleman to boot! I am the one who is supposed to be able to resist you!”
And he was trying, she could see. Sarah could not help but be impressed—though a duke must have women throwing themselves at him all the time, she reminded herself with a flicker of pain.
So why was he resisting her so strongly?
As though he could read her mind, Montague took a deep breath. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Sarah. God, far from it. It’s just…you know I have nothing to offer you.”
She had known the remark was coming. Even so, it was hard to hear.
“I know,” she said firmly, as though delighted he had pointed out the differences in their station.
“No, I mean—dammit,” Montague said curtly. “I meant…I meant I have very little. I am not a wealthy man, Sarah, for all that my title suggests. In truth, the estate is still in arrears of debt until Michaelmas, and even then I will not be a rich man.”
Sarah stared. Did he mean…no, surely not.
“If I were to marry you, and I am not saying I can offer you such a thing at this time,” Montague said quietly, “it would be to live in relative simplicity.”
She almost laughed. “You mean how I live now?”
It was all too much to believe, to take in. Was this a proposal—or at least, as close to a proposal as he could manage, while his estate was in debt?
Of course, that explained why he was here, in a room in the college! There was no great dark secret; he was a duke after all. He merely had to live here while the estate became solvent.
Relief and desire mingled in Sarah’s heart. “If you do not take me right now, Montague Lancaster, I will take you.”
And that, it appeared, was what tipped the resistant duke over the edge.
“Sarah…”
And then she was pressed against the sofa, Montague covering her body with his, her legs somehow parted so he could nestle into her, and Sarah was overcome.
Who would not be?
Montague’s lips found hers and Sarah welcomed them, welcomed the heat they blossomed not only in her mouth but in her very soul. Tendrils of pleasure were becoming shoots, sparks, heat she could not understand rushing through her.
Sarah whimpered as the kiss ended and Montague pulled away. “Where are you—”
“Come with me,” he said in a rough voice, eyes blazing.
There was no choice but to obey. He rose from the sofa and offered his hand. Sarah took it, adoring the way her fingers entwined so easily with his own, and rose.
His hands immediately cupped her buttocks as he pulled her close. “You are so beautiful, Sarah.”
Sarah’s eyelashes fluttered closed as she lost herself in the kiss. Oh, this was wonderful! Everything she had thought, and wanted, yet more.
There was certainly more of Montague than before. There appeared to be…well, a hard something pressing into her hips.
“Montague!”
She had not been able to help it. Sarah gasped as his fingers crept up her gown to the side tie which kept the bodice together.
In one swift movement, he undid it.
Montague grinned wickedly, all the passion he had attempted to restrain unleashed. “I want to see you, Sarah. All of you.”
Sarah swallowed. She had understood the theory of what was about to happen. Her body had told her in no uncertain terms she craved his touch all over, and that would unquestionably mean she would let him. It would be so much easier if she were without clothes.
Still. The idea of standing before Montague, utterly naked…
“Come,” he said with a glint in his eye. “I’ll go first.”
“But—” Sarah started, with no idea what words would follow.
Her breath caught in her throat as Montague leaned over the sofa to turn the key in the lock, then started to pull at his jacket and waistcoat. Within a moment, both were lying on the floor. They were soon joined by his shirt.
Sarah stared.