Silk and Shadows(133)

He had never seen Sara cry, not after her rough initiation to passion, not on their wedding night when he had laid bare her hidden scars, not even when she feared Ross was dying. But her tears were not a sign of reluctance, for her desire was as urgent as his. She caught his shoulders and pulled him down so that his body pressed against hers. Then she branded her husband with mouth and nails, alternately fierce and tender as she proved her love without words.

He had never before made love to a weeping woman, and he used every art at his command to dry her tears with passion. She responded without reservation, and when he gave her the most intimate of kisses, it took only moments to bring her to a shuddering climax. She cried out and lay still for half a dozen ragged breaths, one arm thrown across her eyes.

For the first time in their marriage, Sara boldly returned the intimacy. After pressing him back against the pillows, she used mouth and tongue to cherish what might have been sliced away when he was a child. With uncanny instinct, she teased and aroused, then slowed to prolong the ecstasy.

When he was on the verge of disintegrating, Sara lay back and caught his arms and drew him into the ultimate joining. As he drove into her, she whispered his name over and over, like a broken prayer.

Yet still she wept, even as her body thrust and clashed against his. Her tears were a potent aphrodisiac, inflaming him to madness, urging him to fill her with passion until there was no more room for grief.

After desire and grief had culminated in blazing rapture, they lay twined together, hearts pounding in tandem. At length he wordlessly rolled to his side and pulled her close, burying his fingers in her thick, tangled hair. Sara's light breath caressed his damp skin as she drifted into exhausted slumber.

He did not allow himself to fully relax until she lay still and pliant in his arms. Finally he slept, secure in the knowledge that his wife had forgotten ever having harbored foolish thoughts of leaving him.

* * *

Sara slept for perhaps three hours. When her eyes opened, there was light in the room, and she guessed that it was a little after dawn. Mikahl lay on his stomach, one arm thrown across her waist, both protecting and imprisoning. His face was just inches away. Relaxed in slumber, his stern features became handsome and youthful. Seeing the long black lashes against his cheek filled her with tenderness.

Though she was saturated with leaden fatigue, Sara's mind was quite clear. Perhaps it would be easier if she left later in the day when he was out, but she had a frantic need to escape as soon as possible. Leaving would get no easier with time, and knowing she could not stay would make every moment agony.

Sara slid out of the bed. When her husband shifted uneasily, she slipped a pillow under his arm. He settled down again, pulling the pillow against his chest.

She wanted to kiss her husband good-bye, but did not dare for fear of waking him. They had already said everything there was to say. Another excruciating argument would change nothing.

Though she loved him as much as ever, perhaps more, she knew she could not continue living with a man who heedlessly caused so much suffering. She did not believe that anything would deter him from his vengeful course, which meant that it would be impossible to ever be happy with him again—unless she blinded herself to what was right and wrong, and became someone she did not want to be.

Sara turned and walked to her dressing room, but she had to stop for one last look at the stranger she had loved and married and lost. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

She entered her dressing room and closed the door quietly behind her. After dressing, she began to pack. Some of her clothing was in London, so little was needed.

She was almost finished when Jenny entered the dressing room from the corridor. The maid stopped, her blue eyes widening.

Sara touched a finger to her lips for silence. "I'm leaving, Jenny," she said in a low voice. "Do you want to come with me? The choice is up to you."

"You mean you're leaving the prince? Not just going to London for a few days of shopping?" Jenny asked in disbelief.

"Exactly."

The maid swallowed but asked no questions. "Then I had better go with you. You need someone to care for you."

"Very well. I'll arrange for a carriage to be ready in half an hour. You had better go pack your own things and make any good-byes you need to."

Jenny gave her a sharp, questioning glance, then bobbed her head and left, taking one of her mistress's two bags.

Sara wondered if her maid had spent the night with Benjamin Slade, but preferred not to know. It was hardly the usual case of an innocent young maid being seduced by an older man; Jenny was no innocent, and Slade was no callous seducer.

Sara had seen the two together. Despite the differences in age and background, the mutual caring had been obvious. Perhaps they would be luckier or wiser than she and Mikahl.