“You disgusting little worm,” Sarah said, low and vicious.
“But—”
She looked at Adam. “Please escort Lord Kirby to the door.”
His eyes glinted with amusement, but his voice was grave when he said, “Gladly.”
“But it’s night,” Lord Kirby wailed as Adam took him by the collar and forcibly marched him down the hallway. “And I think you’ve broken my nose!”
His shouting drew the attention of not only the servants but also the guests, who came out of hiding.
“What’s this?” Sir Hilary said when he saw the small procession, for Sarah and Charlotte were following Adam.
“A cad who has revealed his true colors,” Adam replied, marching Lord Kirby past the other man.
Sir Hilary glanced at Sarah and Charlotte, who still bore tearstains on her face.
His brows lowered into a frown. “Has he indeed?” he growled.
“Lottie!” Dr. Manning’s complexion was gray. “Are you all right?”
He made Charlotte’s side and took her arm as she laid her head against his shoulder.
Godric came from one of the upstairs rooms. “What is happening?”
Sarah glanced at him and felt tears well in her eyes.
Godric’s gaze went from her to Charlotte and he stilled. “D’Arque?”
“I’m disposing of rubbish,” Adam replied, shoving Lord Kirby toward the door.
“Are you indeed?” Godric drawled.
Sarah shivered. She’d never heard her brother’s voice sound so dangerous.
“Darling.” Megs had entered the hallway, and she hurried to Charlotte. Gently she drew the younger woman away from Dr. Manning. “Won’t you come with me?”
Megs glanced meaningfully at Sarah.
Sarah looked to where her brother and Adam were tossing Lord Kirby into the snow and decided that she was no longer needed here. She nodded at Megs and moved to the other side of Charlotte. “Let’s find Mama and Jane.”
They made their way up the stairs. Sarah cast worried glances at her middle sister, trying not to be too obvious about it. At the top of the stairs they found Jane, who seemed to have overheard the fight.
They all went to Mama’s room.
Mama had already retired, not at all interested in a game of hide-and-seek. She was abed with cap and shawl, but she immediately rose when she saw Charlotte between Megs and Sarah in her doorway.
Charlotte sobbed out what had happened when Mama took her into her arms.
Sarah quietly turned and rummaged in the bottom of Mama’s cupboard. At the very bottom, under a pile of old chemises, she found what she was looking for: a bottle of brandy.
She took it to where the other women were gathered, poured a tiny bit into the glass that Mama kept on her bedside table, and gave it to Charlotte.
“Thank you,” Charlotte gasped when she’d drunk.
“Can I have a sip?” Jane asked, sounding unusually somber.
Sarah wordlessly poured more into the glass and handed it to Jane.
“Do you…” Charlotte inhaled and looked at Mama. “Do you think he was right? Did I entice Lord Kirby to attack me by kissing him at the end of the holly hunt?”
“No,” their mother said fiercely. “This is entirely Lord Kirby’s fault and frankly I’m shocked at how ungentlemanly he’s acted.” She pursed her lips. “I shall have to warn my friends about him. No one wants a scoundrel like that around their daughters.”
“But what if he tells everyone that I’m…I’m a tart?” Charlotte’s bottom lip trembled. “That’s what he called me.”
Mama hugged her close, looking worried. “Then we shall tell everyone he is a liar. It will be his word against me.”
“And me,” Megs said quietly, and Mama’s expression cleared. “No one of any sense at all will believe that man against me.”
Sarah sometimes forgot that Megs was the sister of a marquess and thus a lady of importance in society.
“We’ll always stand with you, Charlotte,” Sarah said, and hugged her sister. She vowed that Charlotte would never feel the social rejection she had.
Sarah watched as Jane took charge of the bottle of brandy and poured a glass for Mama. Charlotte smiled when Mama coughed after drinking, and then they were off discussing the final plans for tomorrow’s Christmas Eve ball.
But as they chattered Sarah thought about Adam—his hands and his mouth and how he’d stared at her as he did intimate things to her body. She wanted to talk to him. To find out if he’d decided what he wanted of her. If tonight had been simply an interlude.
Or if it was the beginning of something more.
Chapter Eleven
Several hours later Prince Brad was deep in conversation with the last lady, a princess both erudite and beautiful, when she asked him how he best liked frog legs prepared.
There was an awful silence.
The frog opened her mouth indignantly, but Prince Brad beat her to it. “I’m afraid I do not care to dine upon frog legs as I consider this frog my friend.”
And he swept from the room—with the frog.…
—From The Frog Princess
Three hours later Adam silently walked down the hall to Sarah’s room. After the commotion of rushing Kirby out of the house—and then gathering his possessions and tossing them out with him—the members of the party had decided to retire for the night.
Adam had spent the last several hours pacing his room, waiting until it was late enough that everyone would be asleep.
This was folly. Seeking Sarah out in the dead of night. She’d said she didn’t trust him. A quick romp in a hidden room hardly changed that.
He wanted to change her opinion of him. He wanted—
A sound came from down the hall.
Adam slid into the deep shadows by a statue.
He heard a door closing.
After five more minutes of silence he continued on his way. Sarah’s room was at the end of a corridor.
He reached the door and tried the handle.
Unlocked.
Carefully he eased the door open and slipped into the room. A banked fire burned low on the grate, giving a glowing, flickering light. Sarah slept in a curtained bed. He approached it quietly and stood looking down at her. She lay on her side, her golden hair spread upon her pillow like silk, one hand curled by her chin, and at the sight he realized something.
He didn’t want this to end.
Didn’t want to walk away and never see Sarah again except as an acquaintance, passing by her at a dance or on Bond Street. Didn’t want her to become a memory—a lost, regretful dream.
He wanted forever.
Which meant he shouldn’t be here tonight. He needed to show her that it wasn’t simply an animal impulse for him.
He turned to go, but it was too late.
He saw her eyes flutter open in the mellow light.
She stretched out her hand to him. “Adam?”
And he was lost.
Sarah woke from a dream of Adam to find him standing by her bed.
She had no idea why he was there, but in her dream-laden state she didn’t care.
She wanted him. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
He groaned low and then he was leaning over her, pressing his lips to hers almost sweetly.
She opened her mouth, licking across his lips tentatively. Her hands slid over his shoulders and she realized he was fully dressed while she was only in her chemise.
She didn’t want that.
“Take this off,” she whispered, tugging at his coat sleeves. It felt as if this spell would not break if she only whispered.
He straightened to tear off his coat and waistcoat and throw aside his neckcloth. When he placed a knee on the bed beside her hip, bending to her, she pulled his wig off as well.
She shoved aside her coverlet. “Come to me.”
“You’re a siren,” he whispered as he lay atop her. “You’ll drive me mad.”
This seemed doubtful. It was she who would be driven mad. He was heavy on her, his hard chest pressing against her soft breasts, his stomach and pelvis aligned with hers, his legs sprawled, one between her thighs. And she could feel his penis, heavy and thick, probing her belly even through the cloth of his breeches.
She wanted.
She slipped her hands inside the collar of his shirt and heard a button pop as she wrapped her fingers over his bare shoulders. He was warm and male and she could smell his heat.
His desire.
He palmed her breast and she lost her breath. His hand was big and certain, his fingers splayed over the mound of her breast, her nipple caught between his thumb and forefinger.
He brought his fingers together, squeezing her nipple between.
She called out softly, the sensation was so new, so wonderful.
He lifted and pushed himself down her so that his face was level with her breast and took her nipple into his mouth right through the chemise.
It was a crude act. A sensual act. She could feel him drawing on her, could feel the material of the chemise chafe her skin.
He drew back and blew on the wet material and she could feel her nipple harden into a small, pebbled bud.
Then he moved to her other breast.
“You’re so lovely,” he whispered before he took her into his mouth and sucked.
She ran her fingers across his shorn head, feeling the prickly short hair, the strong neck, the working jaw.
She wanted him. Wanted him so much it was a physical ache. “Make love to me.”
He froze for a second, and then he was sliding even farther down her body, bunching her chemise up around her waist.
He parted her legs and threw them over the crooks of his arms.