In time, he’d realize the mistake he’d made in choosing her. But for right now, he held her.
For right now, she would be at peace.
In this manner, she fell asleep.
At last, Gavin now knew her taste, her scent. He understood men, but women were a mystery.
He had pleased her. She had tried his self-control. It had taken all his will to not bury himself deep in her. Even now, the animal instinct to mate was upon him. Then again, it had been since he’d seen the flash of her bare legs upon the stage.
Or did it go back further?
The first time he’d met her, she’d been masquerading as Lady Charlene’s maid . . . and he’d noticed her green eyes, the glint of intelligence in them—so unfitting a maid—and the dark sweep of her lashes.
Now he knew more about her. He had learned her fears. She could not afford to trust easily. Neither could he.
The thought startled him.
He’d always believed his motives were clear. He prided himself on his honesty and yet he saw bits of himself in Sarah’s doubts.
His father had been the first to betray him with his stern, often brutal expectations for his son while squandering the family fortune with insane schemes and investments. Gavin had been shocked when he’d realized he had inherited an estate in disarray.
It had taken years and iron discipline to replenish the coffers. It had also taken luck, a quality Gavin hated because he had no control over it.
And then there was the politics, the negotiating and bargaining and arguing against men’s base natures.
He’d been everything he’d been trained to become. He wielded power, made decisions, delivered what needed to be done, and he never had a moment’s peace. He’d never been content . . . until now.
Sarah’s breathing was gentle and relaxed. She slept deeply as if she knew he’d not let harm come to her. He brushed her hair with his lips. Such a vibrant color, one that matched her spirit. His Sarah.
Would she thank him on the morrow? Or return to her prickly self?
He didn’t know. What he did understand is that for this moment, all was right.
And, if upon meeting Rov, this was Gavin’s last night on earth, then it was a good one.
With that thought, he surprised himself by falling into his own tranquil sleep.
He woke well before dawn, alert and relaxed. Sarah was still in his arms. He, of course, was hard as an iron pike. He’d give everything he owned to ignore the duel, to kiss her awake, to be inside her—
Gavin cut short his wistful lust and carefully eased out from beneath her sleeping form. He poured water into the basin and slapped his face with it, thankful that it was cold enough to bring him to his senses. He began dressing—
She sat up in bed, the sheet dropping to her waist. Her thick hair was in charming disarray. She pushed it aside and then, heedless of her own lovely nakedness, stood.
Gavin suddenly found it hard to button his breeches.
“Sarah, go back to sleep.”
“I’m going with you,” she answered. She frowned groggily as she reached for her dress.
Shirtless, Gavin took her by the arms, preventing her from dressing. “You will stay here. This way I know you are safe.”
She stared at his chest a moment. Her breasts had hardened into two tight points and he remembered the feeling of them in his mouth. His grip tightened on her arms as he struggled with the knowledge he must push her away and ignore the desire to toss her onto the bed and have his way with her. The perfume of her body, still warm from sleep, was intoxicating.
Sarah pulled away from him and drew her dress over her head. “I’m going.” She efficiently braided her unruly hair and then began lacing the back of her dress.
Gavin watched her a moment and then decided he didn’t mind having her with him. He finished dressing himself. By the time he’d pulled on his boots, she had used tooth powder and washed her face and was ready to go. She had twisted her braid into a graceful knot at her neck and was tying the ribbon to her hat.
After hearing her tell of the plot to give him the sleeping draught, he had written a note to his brother to meet him at the hotel and given it to the hall steward to deliver. Therefore, as they stepped out the Clarendon’s front door, Ben waited. He had driven a smart phaeton with his tiger, a lad named David, on the step behind the seat. “Good morning, brother,” Ben called.
