‘Why on earth did we do that?’ she asked, sounding as distracted as he felt.
‘Shocking Marguerite, as I recall. That seems a little redundant now.’
Sara nodded. ‘Absolutely.’ She gasped as he let his fingers roam.
He had forgotten, somehow, that she had been married, that she would know exactly what she was about—and that she knew what she needed also, he realised, as she arched up to meet his own seeking fingers.
Mouths joined in an endless kiss, they moved together, became one undulating, shifting, yearning body, stoking fires even as they soothed them, teasing and tormenting, then gentling, caressing. Sara was like liquid silk in his hands, against his body, demanding, yielding, giving, challenging him to demand more, give more.
When he finally rose up over her, caging her between his elbows, fitting himself into the cradle of her curves, she became still, gazing up into his eyes from the fathomless moonstone-grey of her own. ‘Lucian. Yes. Yes.’
It must have been some time for her, he made himself remember that, made himself go slowly and she let him lead, quivering in his arms with little moans of encouragement as she opened like a flower to take him, then held him within her, tight, hot, still. And she stayed motionless in his arms, as her inner muscles rippled and stroked with a subtle, devastating pulse that had him shaking with the effort to hold back his climax.
‘Wicked, clever woman,’ he whispered and finally let himself move, take over the rhythm, drive them both tighter and higher into a spiral of pleasure that became a sharply focused endless moment of sensation made up of the sound of their bodies working together, their mingled, sobbing breath, the scent of their arousal, until he knew he could not hold on much longer. ‘Come, come for me now...’
And as Sara arched up, eyes wide, lips parted on a keening cry of pleasure, he wrenched himself from her and shuddered to completion on the silken skin of her belly.
* * *
‘I suppose we should move,’ Sara suggested as she lay with her cheek pressed to the admirably hard planes of Lucian’s chest some unfathomable time later.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, his voice rumbling under her ear. ‘Excellent idea.’ He did not stir.
‘It must be seven o’clock.’ He grunted, sounding suspiciously like a man drifting off to sleep again. Sara blew on his nipple, which produced some reaction, although one that was not very conducive to getting out of bed.
‘Someone has to be strong-minded,’ she announced, mentally cursing eloping couples and her own sense of responsibility that told her she must somehow create a happy ending for Marguerite and Gregory.
‘Are you a nag, madam?’ Lucian sat up, catching her by the shoulders to pull her up with him. ‘Am I to rise and go forth and deliver lectures and chastisement?’
‘No. You are to rise and think of some way of extracting those two from this pickle with reputations intact.’
‘London is quiet. I could get them back to the town house and married from there by special licence. Or St George’s, Hanover Square, with a show of openness, but safe in the knowledge that virtually everyone is out of town.’ Lucian got off the bed, stooped to give her a rapid kiss, then threw on his robe and pulled the bell rope.
Sara burrowed down under the covers when a tap on the door heralded a maid servant who was promptly sent for hot water. ‘And plenty of it. And breakfast in half an hour.’
‘That all seems rather hole-and-corner,’ she remarked ten minutes later as she sat up in bed, arms wrapped around her knees, and admired the view of Lucian, naked, shaving. He really does have the most excellent backside, she thought, indulging in a long, sensual stretch. ‘Especially with her not being out yet.’
‘I know it. What I need is a house party, if only I knew who to trust. Then the pair of them, finding themselves away from the normal environment of my town house, can make the startling discovery that they are in love.’
‘And you can be persuaded, in full view of the interested onlookers, to yield to the pleas of young love and all will be well?’
‘Exactly.’ Lucian tipped the water into the slop bucket and began to dress. Sara took his place at the washstand, marvelling at how easy it was to be like this with him, so at ease and yet tingling with the awareness of his closeness, of his body.
‘The only problem being, I do not know anyone I can trust well enough to turn up, out of the blue, with a battered secretary who has been absent from the scene for months and a wan-looking little sister.’ He raised his chin and squinted into the glass as he tied his neckcloth.
Sara dipped the brush in her toothpowder and scrubbed at her teeth, rinsed, spat and straightened up with an idea. ‘But I do. My parents have a house party and the first guests arrived yesterday. We can join that. I think you will need to tell them something of the background, but you can trust them absolutely to keep the secret and to play along with the deception.’
‘Whereabouts?’ Lucian stuck a pin in his neckcloth and turned. ‘It would be perfect—if they agree.’
‘Eldonstone is in Hertfordshire, near St Albans. About one hundred and fifty miles from here, I suppose.’ She took the walking dress out of the valise, gave it a shake, frowned at the creases and put it on anyway. This was where respectability began.
‘It would be perfect,’ Lucian repeated, slowly, ‘if you and I had not just become lovers.’
‘That is simple. We are not lovers for however long we are at Eldonstone,’ Sara said, rather more firmly than she felt. ‘Quite simple. We met at Sandbay, I became friends with Marguerite and invited you both to the house party. You have a great press of business, so Gregory comes, too. He has been away for some time recovering from whatever caused his injury and he and Marguerite see each other differently in these new surroundings.’
‘While you and I behave with great circumspection,’ Lucian said with resignation. ‘The things I do for my sister.’
She laughed and he turned from packing his valise to look at her, his expression serious but unreadable. ‘Are you all right? This morning—’
‘This morning was bliss and I cannot wait to do it again and I am very much all right, Lucian.’ She hesitated, wondering how to say this right, word it so that he understood she had no expectations beyond this relationship. ‘I feel free. Free to have made the choice to be your lover.’ Now she knew what she was doing, she had choice and there was nothing to feel guilty about in her relationship with this man. She had experienced more than enough guilt to last her a lifetime.
‘Good.’ He nodded, still serious. ‘That is good.’
So, Lucian had no desire for this to be anything but a coming together for mutual pleasure either. That was excellent, just what she wanted. Of course it was.
* * *
‘How good is your acting?’ Sara asked Marguerite as the chaise bumped off the cobbles and on to the road towards Lichfield. The relief of discovering that she could marry Gregory safely, or perhaps the effects of a night in her lover’s arms, had put roses in Marguerite’s cheeks and a glow in her eyes. I wonder if it has done that for me. She certainly felt physically transformed. Looser, warmer, more alive.
‘My acting?’ The young woman bit her lip in puzzlement. ‘I have no idea. Why?’
‘Because you are going to have to seem to either fall gradually for Gregory or to have a coup de foudre, a sudden revelation that you love him. What we must avoid at all costs is any impression that the two of you felt anything for each other before this house party.’
‘I can do that—in fact, I can see it all perfectly.’ Marguerite smiled. ‘I think perhaps I will be solicitous of him because