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After that disastrous luncheon this afternoon, James had been perfectly sure that he would flee to his club for the evening and avoid the discomfort he’d forced between him and his wife. Sarah simply wasn’t that kind of woman. He’d proved he could coax pleasure from her beautiful body, but in the process, he’d frightened and disturbed her, forced her to a place she did not wish to go. She was a wife, not a doxy.
That had been his thinking all through the meal, while Sarah avoided his eyes and asked pleasant questions.
But then he’d kissed her.
Knowing he should leave it be, he’d still kissed her. And thank God he had.
She’d drawn in a sharp breath just before her lips offered their own fleeting pressure. When he’d looked into her eyes, they’d gone black, dilated with pleasure. Her lips remained slightly parted as if she might welcome another kiss.
After that, James hadn’t known what to think, but he’d come home early with great hopes of puzzling it out.
“Mr. Hood,” Crawford murmured, offering a bow even as he took James’s hat and gloves. “The evening paper awaits you in the library. May I bring a refreshment as well?”
“Ah . . . I’m not sure. Is Mrs. Hood in?”
“I believe she is in her chambers, sir. Shall I send word that you are home?”
James glanced toward the stairs, weighing his options. He thought of that kiss. “Yes, please do. And can Cook have dinner prepared in half an hour?” He hadn’t managed to choke down much of the cold beef on his plate this afternoon.
Waiting in the library, he paced from the window to the fireplace and back again. And again. His heart had broken today when her eyes had filled with tears. The thought that he might have hurt her was almost as bad as on their wedding night, when he’d known he must. He’d had to choke down three fingers of whisky that night before going to her. He was beginning to think he might need the same tonight.
Except that he hadn’t imagined the way she’d responded to him in the dark. Surely he hadn’t. Her whimpers of desire. Her body arching into his, needing.
The click of the door latch stopped his pacing. Sarah’s voice stopped his heart.
“James?” she whispered, so tentative.
But when he turned and saw her there, his fears tumbled away like brittle leaves.
* * *
Self-conscious at the intensity of his stare, Sarah smoothed a hand down the side of her gown. His eyes followed, making her anxiety worse.
She looked foolish, wearing a dress more appropriate for a dinner party than an evening at home. Far too much of her bosom was revealed, as if she wanted him to stare there. And her hair . . . tumbling down her back like an opera singer’s. She’d thought that putting effort into her appearance would be a subtle way of inviting her husband to seduce her. But now she was too exposed. Stripped of any pretense of innocence in this game.
“You are so beautiful,” James said simply. His eyes did not leer; they glowed, and her heart swelled in response.
“Thank you.” Her voice seemed to disappear in the large room, but it did not matter. Her husband was drawing closer.
He whispered her name, touched his hand to her cheek, and when she raised her head to look at him, he kissed her. Her eyelids fluttered closed at the first soft brush of his mouth. Then his tongue grazed her bottom lip and she opened for him, welcomed him into her body. The kiss was soft and slow. Not a promise of more to come, but an act in and of itself. As if they had a lifetime to explore each other’s bodies. And they did.
James broke the kiss first, and she was forced to lean against him for support. “I have been dreaming of kissing you all day,” he murmured.
Sarah tried to hide her pride. “But we only just kissed a few hours ago.”
“Yes. And however short a time before we kiss again tonight, I’m certain it will feel an eternity. Men are quite cursed. When a man desires a certain woman, he can think of little else.”
She blushed and put a little distance between them, unable to flirt and look him in the face at the same time. “Mm? And what of women?” From the corner of her eye, she watched him follow her progress as she strolled from the doorway toward the window.
“I’m not sure,” he finally answered. “Have you ever found yourself consumed with thoughts of kisses?”
Sarah curled her fingers into the drapery and squeezed hard to push some courage into her veins. The curtain rod gave a small creak, so she forced herself to loosen her hold. Then she took a deep breath and turned toward her husband, though she couldn’t manage to raise her gaze from the carpet. “Yes,” she admitted to the reds and golds of the Oriental tapestry, “even more than kisses . . . sometimes.”
They both held their breath after that. Only the ticking of the clock, suddenly loud, pierced the silence for a few torturous moments. Her heart struggled in desperate panic.
James finally inhaled, then breathed out one soft word. “More?”
She’d forced out all the bold talk she could, so Sarah only nodded.
