Malia Martin (24 page)

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said. She looked down at him and her hair fell forward. Still damp, it left wet trails on Trevor’s chest.

“I love your hair.” He took a strand and brought it to his lips. “The color is like white gold.”

“And I love your body,” she said. She was staring down at his chest, wide and muscled, so unlike John’s, although she had not seen her husband’s more than twice in their marriage. Still, Trevor was so much the antithesis of her husband, tall, and lovely to look at: sensitive and caring to others. Sara placed her hand against his stomach, just above where their bodies were joined.

She loved him. It was there, that simple feeling was there in her heart suddenly, as if she had known it forever. Sara blinked, and she sighed. She could not tell him; she would not.

She moved her hand up his belly and felt him
tremble beneath her. Sara glanced quickly at his face. He stared at her, his eyes that dark woodsy color she would always associate with pleasure from this moment on. “I love what your body does to mine.”

He grinned, that cocky grin that she now realized meant he was hiding something, hiding some hurt or insecurity. Sara leaned forward, placing her hands on either side of his head so that her hair cocooned them in their own world.

She kissed his mouth lightly, her breasts grazing his chest, then moved back to look in his eyes again. She had hurt him, she could see it in his glittering eyes. It was as if she could read his mind, for she knew what he wanted from her. And though she knew that she should not, she gave it to him. “I love you,” she heard herself say.

Sara closed her eyes. She should not have told him. That was not something allowed for them: love. He would marry another, make a life with another, have children with another. She should not burden him with her love.

She felt his hands in her hair, then his long, strong fingers slid along her jaw and cupped her cheek. Sara lifted her lashes.

“I love you,” he said simply. And then he pulled her against him, and kissed her. They kissed for a long time, their bodies still joined, the heat returning as they ravaged each other’s mouths.

-Trevor slid his hands to her hips, urging her
to move, and she did. She could feel him hot and hard within her, filling her so fully that she was drunk on the feeling.

She swayed above him like a goddess. And she loved him. Not just his body, but him. She knew of his weaknesses, his problems, and yet she loved him. Trevor held onto her slim hips, showing her the rhythm that would finally bring them both to the wild climax he knew awaited them. Sara had her head thrown back, her hair tickling his legs, and her breasts thrust out. Trevor felt he would come just looking at her.

He hitched himself up on his elbows, and, without disturbing their lovemaking, pulled himself back so that he leaned against the headboard of the bed.

Sara leaned forward, a small cry on her lips that made him quiver in need. Her eyes were half hidden by heavy lids, and Trevor laughed softly as she ravaged her bottom lip with her teeth. “You liked that?” he asked.

“When you moved . . .” she panted, and then writhed against him making him see stars. “I felt you . . . I can . . . you’re touching my heart.”

Trevor closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I hope so,” he said against the side of her breast.

“Oh, Trevor.” Sara slid her arms around his neck. “There’s something more. Show me. I know there’s more.”

Trevor laughed. “I’ve shown you already, haven’t I?”

“No.” She clasped him to her. “There’s more.”

He sobered, “Yes, there’s more.” He pulled her legs around so they curved about his hips, then lifted onto his knees and dropped Sara onto her back. She bounced, her hair flowing out around her face.

Trevor knelt between her knees, and began to rock against her. She caressed his back, then brought her hands up to rest on his shoulders. Trevor shivered at her touch. He bent his head to her breast, taking a puckered nipple into his mouth. She urged him to continue with her hands behind his head.

Supporting his weight with one hand, Trevor trailed the other down her stomach to the thatch of dark curls at her woman’s mound. He felt her muscles quiver against his palm.

He moved in her, sliding out, then in, slowly. Blood thrummed in his ears. A tremor shook the arm supporting him, his strength solely centered on controlling the urgent need building deep within him.

Sara moved her hands back to his shoulders, her fingernails gripped into them like small spikes. He sucked harder at her nipple and quickened his rhythm, slipping his finger closer to the tight nub of her desire. The pressure inside him threatened to spill forth as he thrust
into her, following the rhythm with his finger against her pleasure center.

Trevor feasted at Sara’s breast, loving the feel of the soft swell against his cheek and the hard tip in his mouth. And he rocked against her, the blood rushing crazily through his veins and pulsing harder into his member.

Her tight walls gripped him suddenly. She cried out his name, and he smiled. Trevor lifted his head without breaking his rhythm, locking his gaze with hers. He slid his finger against the now swollen nub that would bring her crashing through the waves of ecstasy.

Her eyes fluttered closed. She cried out again, and he felt the first contraction of her hot sheath. It tightened around him again and again, harder and harder. Trevor continued to thrust into her, and just as he felt her relax beneath him, his body shuddered with the strength of his desire.

It coursed through him, shaking him. He groaned over and over as he thrust inside her, pouring his seed deep into her womb. Wheiv the waves subsided, he put his face beside hers, smelling her. She reached around him and held tightly.

H
e had never stayed close to a woman after making love to her. Usually, they left him quickly, taking their money as they went. This time he lingered, and she stayed. He grew soft inside her, rolling her so they lay side by side.

The storm outside still pounded relentlessly against the windows, shaking the panes. A tree branch thudded against the roof every once in a while and rain thrashed against the walls of the small inn. But inside their room, under the blankets, Trevor felt as if nothing could ever hurt them or make him cold again.

Hooking his leg over Sara’s to keep her close, Trevor buried his face in her hair that spilled over the pillow. It smelled of spring rain. Trevor inhaled the scent, his body relaxing against Sara’s. This, he thought, was how he would like to spend every night for the rest of his life. And since he knew that was impossible, Trevor
pushed all other thoughts from his mind and reveled in the moment.

It was still dark when Sara stirred awake. Her body ached, but it was a sweet, tender ache she would never wish away. She heard the soft trill of a bird. It was morning, she realized, and light would come soon on the trail of the bird’s song. Sara inched away from Trevor’s heat, tilting her head to watch him in sleep.

He was an incredibly beautiful man. His lashes, dark and long, swept his high, sculpted cheekbones and his pirate’s scruff accented his strong jaw. Sara reached up and gently trailed her finger along the underside of his chin. She wanted to wake him, touch him, make him love her. For it would not happen again, ever.

But he was deep asleep, and this was the perfect opportunity for her to run away. Sara slipped from the bed, smothering a cry when her bare feet hit the cold wood floor. The rain had stopped, but had left behind a chill in the air that made Sara shiver as she darted to her clothes, which hung in front of the now dead fire.

The pants Lily had found for her were stiff. They felt frozen, truly. Sara crushed them in her hands, trying to warm them up before she pulled them on. She glanced over at Trevor, warm under a mound of blankets, his hair dark against the white pillow. It took all her will
power to stay cold and alone at the other side of the room.

As quietly as she could, Sara pulled on the dark brown breeches and broadcloth shirt, then the hat and coat. The coat still held a bit of dampness, and Sara stuck her arms in the sleeves reluctantly. Through the window/she could tell that the sky was lightening. It wasn’t the pitch black it had seemed when she awoke.

She must leave before Trevor stirred.

Sara went to the small desk where Trevor had been reading the night before and found a small stash of paper and a quill. In large round letters she wrote:
Go to London. I am going to Rawlston. Do not worry. I will be safe
.

She nearly wrote of her love, but with a sigh, she placed the quill on the desk. She put the note on top of the letter he had been reading, and smiled ruefully. He would be angry, she was sure, when he read that note.

One last look at Trevor, and Sara slipped through the door, closing it behind her with a soft click. She ran, then, down the stairs and out to the stables. And the entire way, she wanted to stop, turn, and run back to her lover’s arms. That she would never feel them around her again made her wish she could cry.

Not now, though; she had to hurry. If Trevor woke before she was well on her way, she knew he would insist on accompanying her back to Rawlston. He, like Grady, would never believe she could be perfectly safe on her own. And
then he would miss finding Stuart and taking care of the scoundrel. Sara would not let that happen.

She opened the large door to the stables. It creaked on its iron hinges, startling a bird in the rafters to flight. It was too early even for the stablehands to be about. Sara went to Ophelia’s stall, dug a handful of oats out of a bucket nearby, and fed the old girl from her palm.

“Are you ready for another long walk, Ophie?” The horse snorted and arched her neck, then sniffed at Sara’s sleeves. She turned and took up the entire bucket of oats to put beneath the mare’s nose. “At least it’s not raining anymore, girl. Don’t know if I could get back on, if it were raining this morning.”

Ophelia sniffed her approval to this statement, pounding her front leg against the stall floor without bring her nose out of the feed bucket. Sara looked around the dark stables nervously, noticing that she had left the door open. She turned back to Ophelia and stroked her mane. “C’mon, girl, hurry up. We have to get out of here before anyone wakes up.”

“Too late.”

Sara jumped, the bucket falling through her fingers. She turned to see Trevor standing in the doorway, his buttonless shirt hanging open and his feet bare. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths.

“Oh, Trevor.”

He took a deep breath. “Not even a goodbye
kiss?” he asked flippantly, but Sara could see the hurt in his eyes.

Sara moved toward him, but he took a few steps back and she stopped. “I did not want to make it impossible for you to get to London in time to catch Stuart. I knew you would want to accompany me back to Rawlston.”

“Or I could do something as practical as hiring you a carriage and a footman.”

Sara shook her head. “No, I can’t do that. I have to return as inconspicuously as I left.”

They stood about ten feet away from each other, the strain between them palpable. “Fine.” Trevor turned on his heel.

“Don’t!” she cried, and he stopped. “Don’t, Trevor,” Sara pleaded. “I love you.”

Trevor leaned his head back, combing his fingers through his hair before he turned back to her. “Why would you leave then, like this, without saying goodbye?”

Sara blinked. “I was afraid.”

“Of me?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I was afraid of myself.”

Trevor frowned, shaking his head.

“I was afraid that I would not be able to say goodbye.”

A bird began a song outside the door. Sara turned to Ophelia, picking up the poor mare’s feed. The horse snuffled and went back to munching her breakfast.

She heard Trevor’s feet crunch over the dry
hay that littered the floor and closed her eyes as he came up behind her, cupping her shoulders in his large hands. “Then do not say good-bye.”

Sara laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “This is what I was afraid of.”

“Sara.” Trevor turned her to face him. He took the feed bucket and placed it in Ophelia’s stall, then cradled her face in his hands and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss filled with love, and it tore at Sara’s heart so that she finally pulled away.

“Do not do that.” She turned away to stare out a grimy window at the lightening sky.

“Is it because you think I am stupid?”

“You are not stupid.” She pivoted toward him, her consternation at his words creasing her brow. “You cannot believe that you are, Trevor. Just because you see things differently . . .”

“I know I am not stupid, Sara. But others who learn of my difficulty always perceive me as stupid.” He stared at her. “I wanted to know if you did also.”

“Of course not.”

“And you can see now that I am not lazy.”

“Oh, Trevor.” Her heart burned with shame. Sara went to him and took one of his hands in hers. “All those terrible things I said before. They were wrong. I did not understand.” Sara brought Trevor’s hand to her lips. “You are a strong, wonderful man, and I . . .” Oh, she
should not say it anymore. Once was enough. Once was too much.

“Love me?” Trevor asked. “As I love you, Sara. I have found, finally, a person, who understands me, who knows of my problem, but values me still.” He pulled her into an embrace, her face against the open edges of his shirt. “Marry me, Sara. Be my Duchess.”

Sara shivered, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her tongue, for she feared that she might say yes, and she could not. Oh yes, she wanted to be with Trevor for the rest of her life, feel his arms around her, feel his heat in her bed at night as they grew old together. But he was the Duke of Rawlston. And she would not marry the Duke of Rawlston, for then she would have failed twice as a duchess. And the second time she would have done it knowingly, turning a blind eye to the fate of her people, thinking only of herself and her own happiness.

Sara pushed from Trevor’s embrace. She took Ophelia from her stall and began to saddle the mare. “I was the duchess already, Trevor. It is done, and I shall not go back. It was a mistake the first time, and I try not to repeat mistakes.”