Dreaming of You

Upon being informed of the engagement, Lily was overjoyed and brimming with a multitude of plans. “You must allow Alex and me to give you a wedding, Sara. Something small and elegant in the chapel at Raiford Park, or at our home in London—”

“Thank you,” Sara said hesitantly, “but I think we might be married in the village.” She looked at Derek questioningly for his reaction to the idea.

His expression was unfathomable, but he answered readily. “Whatever you want.” Now that the leap had been taken, he didn’t care about the particulars: where, how, or even when. All that mattered was that she was his now…and he would pay any price to keep her.

Lily continued excitedly, “We’ll give a reception for you, then. I have many wonderful friends to introduce you to, respectable and otherwise. In the meanwhile we’ll send you home in one of our carriages, Sara, and Derek can stay here to talk to Lord Raiford—”

“I’m afraid not,” Derek interrupted. “Sara and I are both leaving within the hour. In my carriage.”

“Together?” Lily looked startled, and then shook her head. “You can’t. Don’t you realize what people would say when they discovered that both of you were gone?”

“Nothing they haven’t said already.” He slid a proprietary arm around Sara’s shoulders.

Lily drew her slight frame up as tall as possible, adopting the brisk tone of a chaperone defending her charge. “Where are you planning to go?”

Derek smiled slowly. “None of your damn business, gypsy.” Ignoring Lily’s sputtering protests, he stared down at his fiancée and raised his brows mockingly.

As she met his glinting green eyes, Sara realized he intended to take her to London and keep her with him for the night. Her nerves jangled with alarm. “I’m not certain it’s advisable—” she began diplomatically, but he cut her off.

“Go pack your things.”

Oh, the arrogance. But it was part of why she loved him, his single-minded determination to get what he wanted. Only blind, bullying stubbornness had enabled him to climb from the gutter. Now that the prospect of marrying her was within his reach, he planned to ensure it by well and truly compromising her. After tonight there would be no turning back. Sara stared at the broad expanse of his chest, conscious of the weight of his arm across her shoulders, the gentle stroke of his thumb and forefinger against her neck. Well…reprehensible as it was, she wanted the same thing.

“Derek,” Lily said in a steely voice, “I won’t allow you to force this poor child into something she’s not prepared for—”

“She’s not a child.” His fingers tightened on the back of Sara’s neck. “Tell her what you want, Sara.”

Helplessly Sara raised her head and looked at Lily, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. “I…I’m leaving with Mr. Craven.” She didn’t have to look at Derek to know that he was smiling in satisfaction.

Lily sighed shortly. “This entire situation is indecent!”

“A lecture from Lawless Lily on indecent behavior,” Derek mocked, leaning over to kiss his long-standing friend on the forehead. “Save it for another time, gypsy. I want to leave before everyone wakes up.”

During the carriage ride to London, Derek prompted Sara to tell him about her engagement to Perry. She hedged uncomfortably, not wanting to speak ill of her former fiancé behind his back. “That’s all in the past now. I would rather not talk about Perry.”

“I want to know how it ended between you. For all I know I’m caught in the middle of a lovers’ spat—and you’ll go running back to him when the smoke clears.”

“But you can’t really think that!”

“Can’t I?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

Sara frowned at him, although she was inwardly amused. The big, potently masculine creature sitting opposite her was simmering with jealousy, clearly longing to do battle with his unseen rival. “There isn’t much to tell,” she said evenly. “The trouble began right after Perry proposed. Although we were happy at first, it didn’t take long before we discovered that we didn’t suit. Perry said I wasn’t the same woman he’d known all his life. He said I had changed—and he was right. We’d never argued before, but suddenly it seemed we couldn’t agree on anything. I made him very unhappy, I’m afraid.”

“So you gave him plenty of lip,” Derek commented, looking pleased. His good humor restored, he reached over to pat her familiarly on the thigh. “That’s fine. I like my women saucy.”

“Well, Perry doesn’t.” She pushed away his exploring hand. “He wants a woman who will allow him to dictate to her. He wanted me to stop writing, and fill the house with children, and spend the rest of my life waiting on him—and his mother—hand and foot.”

“Clodhoppers,” Derek said without rancor, exhibiting the typical cockney disdain for simple country folk. He pulled her onto his lap, ignoring her attempts to wriggle free. “Did you tell him about me?”

“Mr. Craven,” she exclaimed, protesting the clasp of his hands on her hips.

He locked his arms around her. Their faces were very close, their noses almost touching. “Did you?”

“No, of course not. I tried not to think about you at all.” Sara’s eyes half-closed as she stared at the tanned hollow at the base of his throat. Disliking the civilized confinement of a cravat, he had removed the starched cloth and unfastened the top button of his white shirt. “I did dream about you,” she confessed.

Derek smoothed his hand over her chestnut hair and brought her head closer to his. “What was I doing in your dreams?” he asked against her lips.

“Chasing me,” she admitted in a mortified whisper.

A delicious grin curved his mouth. “Did I catch you?”

Before she could reply his lips were on hers. His mouth twisted gently, his tongue hunting for an intimate taste of her. Closing her eyes, Sara made no protest as he took her wrists in his hands and twined her arms around his neck. He stretched one of his legs out to rest his foot on the seat. Caught in the lee of his powerful thighs, she had no choice but to let her body rest on the hard length of his. Leisurely he fondled and kissed her, wringing succulent delight from every nerve. As he began to slide his hand into her bodice, the thick wool fabric of her gown resisted his efforts. Foiled in his attempt to reach her breasts, he pushed a lock of her hair aside and dragged his mouth over her throat. She stiffened, unable to hold back a whimper of pleasure. The carriage swayed and jolted suddenly, forcing their bodies closer with the impact.

Derek felt himself approaching a flashpoint beyond which there was no return. With a tortured groan he pried Sara’s voluptuous body away from his and held her away, while he struggled to emerge from a scarlet fog of desire. “Angel,” he said hoarsely, nudging her toward the opposite seat. “You…you’d better go over there.”

Bemused, Sara nearly toppled to the floor from his gentle push. “But why?”

Derek lowered his head and tunneled his fingers into his black hair. He started as he felt her hand brush the nape of his neck. “Don’t touch me,” he said, more roughly than he intended. Raising his head, he stared into Sara’s perplexed face with a crooked smile. “Sorry,” he muttered. “But if you don’t move away, sweet, you’re going to be lifting your heels for me right here.”

They entered Craven’s discreetly through the side door, being zealously guarded by Gill. “Mr. Craven,” he said respectfully, and glanced away from the female guest with a show of tact. But the gray cloak she wore was vaguely familiar. Suddenly recognizing the visitor, Gill exclaimed with pleasure, “Miss Fielding! I thought we would never see you here again! Back for more research, eh?”

Sara flushed and smiled, not knowing how to reply. “Hello, Gill.”

“Shall I tell Worthy that you’re here? He’ll certainly want to know—”

Derek interrupted in a biting voice. “I’ll ring for my bloody factotum if I want to see him. Right now I don’t want to be disturbed.” If the employees were alerted to her presence, they would all come swarming around her in a matter of minutes. He wasn’t in the mood for impromptu celebrations over Sara Fielding’s return. He had brought her here for privacy.

“Oh. Yes, Mr. Craven.” Gill’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. Prudently he buttoned his lips and resumed his station at the door.

Derek brought Sara to the apartments above the club, his hand resting on the small of her back as they ascended the stairs. She paused as soon as they entered the cluster of private rooms, and inspected the surroundings curiously. “It looks different,” she commented. Far more tasteful, actually. The rich plum draperies had been changed to a cool, powdery shade of blue. The gold-embossed leather on the walls had been replaced with a coat of gleaming ivory paint. Instead of the intricate Oriental rug on the floor, there was an elegant carpet of English floral design.

“I changed some things after you left,” Derek said dryly, thinking of all the ruined furniture and textiles that had been replaced. He had wanted her so desperately that he’d been able to ease the ache only by drinking endless bottles of gin and destroying everything in sight. Now she was there. She claimed to love him. All at once the situation seemed so fantastic that he feared he was having an alcohol dream, and he would wake in a dull stupor to discover that she wasn’t there.

Sara wandered from room to room, noting all the changes, and he followed her slowly. As they reached the bedroom, Derek was disconcerted by the heavy silence between them. He was accustomed to provocative banter, seductive smiles, experienced partners. None of the women he had known was hampered by inhibition or modesty. But Sara was quiet, her movements wooden as she went to a vase of cut flowers poised on a bronze side table. Suddenly Derek felt an unfamiliar pang of remorse. The impulse to bring her here had been selfish. He should have let her go back to her family. Like the rutting scoundrel he was, he hadn’t given her any choice—

“Is it always this awkward?” Sara asked. Her voice was hushed.

Derek turned to look at her, his gaze falling to the white rose in her hands. She had taken it from the arrangement of hothouse flowers. Nervously her fingers ruffled the fragile petals.

Self-consciously Sara sniffed the pale blossom and began to insert it back into the huge vase. “It’s nice to have roses in January,” she murmured. “Nothing in the world has such a lovely scent.”

She was so innocently beautiful, with the disordered waves of her hair falling around her face. His muscles tightened in response. He would like to have her painted this way, standing by the table with her head turned toward him, the white flower caught in her fingers. “Bring it here,” he said.

She obeyed, coming to him and handing him the rose. He closed his fingers around the plump head of the flower and pulled gently, freeing the petals from their tenuous moorings. Tossing aside the desecrated stem, he opened his hand over the bed. The petals scattered in a fragrant shower. Sara drew in a quick breath, staring at him as if mesmerized.

Derek reached for her, taking her face in his large hands. His rose-scented palm was hot against her cheek as his lips found hers. He tasted her lightly, toying, until she opened to allow the sleek plunge of his tongue. His cradling hands left her face and swept down her back and sides, savoring the shape of her body encased within the heavy gown. Sara leaned against him, lifting her arms around his shoulders. There was a tug at the ribbon that confined her hair, and a rippling curtain of russet locks fell down her back. With a growl of enjoyment Derek sank his fingers into her hair, stroking, twining, bringing handfuls to his face.

A fluttering pulse beat in Sara’s throat as Derek reached to unfasten her wool gown. She was unmoving beneath his expert hands, even when the dress dropped to the floor to reveal her crumpled linen undergarments and neatly mended cotton stockings. Slowly Derek sank to his knees before her, pulling her body against his face and breathing through her shift. Sara twitched as if she had been scalded, her small hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

Reaching beneath the hem of the shift, Derek found the waist of her drawers and eased them down to her ankles, followed by her stockings. His hands traveled over her bare legs, his fingers dipping in the hollows behind her knees, venturing up her thighs to her buttocks. She fidgeted in unease but allowed the caress…until she felt his mouth encroaching high inside her leg, his tongue crossing her skin in a burning sweep. Jerking from him with an incoherent stammer, she backed away until she felt the edge of the bed against her hips. She stared at him in round-eyed surprise.

For a moment Derek knew a dismay equal to hers. He had frightened her. Holy hell, he thought…and wondered for the first time in his life how to make love like a gentleman. He strove for a measure of restraint, while Sara gave him an apologetic glance. Surreptitiously she pulled long sheaves of hair in front of her, concealing her meagerly clad body. Half-suspecting she might bolt, Derek began to unbutton his shirt.

Sara propped herself against the massive bed, grateful for its support. A whirlwind of panic swept through her as Derek stripped off his white shirt. She switched her gaze to the floor, but not before she had seen how large and formidable his body was, his torso heavily muscled, his chest covered with thick black hair. Silvery scars marked his skin, legacies of his life in the rookery. He was a man of vast experience. All that was new and frightening to her was commonplace to him. He had known countless women who were as familiar with this act as he was. How could he help but be disappointed by her? “You’ve done this many times before, haven’t you?” she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut.

She heard his trousers drop to the floor. “Never with someone I…” He paused and cleared his throat. “Never with someone like you.” His bare feet padded across the floor toward her.

Sara flinched as his hands slid around her waist, pulling her to his naked body. The heat of his skin sank through the insubstantial layer of her shift. He was aroused, throbbing hard and forcefully erect against her. “Open your eyes,” he said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She forced herself to comply, staring straight ahead into his chest. Her heart thumped so violently that it seemed to batter against her ribs.

As if he could read her mind, Derek lowered his mouth to her hair and held her tightly. “Sara…I’m going to take care of you. I’ll never hurt you, or force you to do something you don’t want.” He took a long breath and forced himself to add reluctantly, “If you want this to stop, then tell me. I probably won’t be kind. But I’ll wait.”

She would never know how much the words cost him. It went against his nature to deny himself what he wanted so badly. He had been deprived of too much when he was young—it had made him selfish to the core. But her needs had become too important to him, her affection too precious to risk.

Sara looked up at him, reading the truth in his face. Gradually her body relaxed against his. “You must tell me how to please you,” she said softly. “I-I don’t know anything…and you know too much.”

His black lashes lowered over a flick of green fire. A wry smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “We’ll find some middle ground,” he promised, and kissed her.

Willingly Sara dropped her arms as he pushed the shift down her hips to the floor. He lifted her naked body onto the bed, and the scent of roses drifted over them. A fierce blush covered her from head to toe, and she moved to gather the covers around herself. Derek spread her beneath him with a muffled laugh, his hands traveling over her shrinking body. “Don’t be shy with me.” He kissed the translucent skin of her shoulders and the downy slope of her breast, relishing her lush softness. Raising his head, he stared into her eyes. “Sara, you have to believe…I’ve never wanted anyone like this.” He paused, aware of the sublime banality of the words. Yet he was driven to continue like an impassioned idiot, trying to make her understand. “You’re the only one who ever…Oh, bloody hell.”

As he struggled with the words, her small hand came up to his face, sliding tenderly over his jaw. She knew what he was trying to tell her. “You don’t have to say it,” she whispered. “It’s all right.”

Derek turned his lips against her palm, and she closed her fingers afterward, as if to hold the kiss for safekeeping. “Everything I have is yours,” he said raspily. “Everything.”

“I only want you.” She curved her arms around his neck and drew him down to her.

His gentleness was astonishing. She had expected the same violent passion of their other encounters…but tonight he was no pirate to ravage and plunder. Instead he claimed her with sneak-thievery, exploring her with a stealthy patience that set her nerves on fire. He stole away her modesty, her restraint, her every thought, leaving nothing but a smoldering blaze of sensation.

His hand lightly gripped the round weight of her breast, lifting it as he covered the peak with his mouth. Slowly his tongue traced over the awakening bud, causing the tender flesh to contract. He turned to her other breast, sucking and nibbling until Sara writhed against his mouth. Scooping up a fragrant handful of petals, Derek sprinkled them over her body, gently playful as he nudged them across her skin. Sara arched up to him, abandoning herself to his tender passion. A few delicate petal shards caught in the springy crop of curls between her thighs. He reached down to the soft thatch, but Sara stiffened in surprise and tried to push his hand away.

“No,” she protested as he used his leg to pry hers apart.

Derek held her down easily and smiled against her throat. “Why not?” He closed his teeth on the small lobe of her ear. Tracing the fragile rim with the tip of his tongue, licking hotly inside the shell-like curve, he spoke to her in the softest of whispers. “Every part of you belongs to me…inside and out. You’re mine everywhere. Even here.” Cupping his hand between her legs, he toyed with her until he felt a sheen of moisture against his palm. Her weak protests faded into silence as he parted the soft curls and searched her with extreme care. He found her sleek and swollen, sensitive to the touch of his fingers. Pressing, stimulating, he carefully worked his fingers into the slickness, until she gasped and pressed the crescents of her nails into his shoulders.

Derek shuddered with desire, raising himself over her, possessing her mouth with a wet, carnal kiss. Sara responded with her own feminine demand, running her hands over the muscled plane of his back, seeking to pull him more heavily on top of her. Unable to wait any longer, Derek urged her knees wide and positioned himself against her. Carefully he pushed himself inside, easing beyond the virginal resistance. Sara cried out as she was sundered, invaded, in a deep thrust.

Derek held her hips steady as he drove even further, immersing himself in her warmth. His senses hovered on the verge of rapture, and he fought to contain himself as she twisted beneath him in discomfort. “I’m sorry,” Derek whispered, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry…Oh, God, don’t move.” Sara subsided against him, her breath falling on his shoulder in delicate puffs.

Gradually he mastered himself and pressed his lips to her drawn forehead. “Is it better this way?” he murmured, shifting his weight.

Sara quivered, feeling the altered pressure inside her. “I-I don’t know.”

He pushed again, a long, gentle slide. “Or this…?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

She couldn’t answer, her lips parting in suspended silence as he began an easy rhythm. Each surge brought a flick of pain, but a deep instinct clamored for her to arch upward, her inner muscles grasping to hold him inside. His black head dropped to her breasts, his mouth pulling at her nipples with gently flirting suction. Lost in a tide of building sensation, Sara felt more slickness emerge between them, until the back-and-forth motion became a smooth, frictionless glide. “Please…you must stop,” she gasped, while her muscles squeezed around him. “I can’t bear any more.”

The emerald eyes glittered with triumph. “Yes, you can.” He plunged deeper into her struggling body, his thrusts relentlessly regular. With a gasping whimper, she went still beneath him while a great wave of pleasure rolled through her, unmatched by anything she’d ever felt before. He wrapped his arms around her, impelling himself more strongly, prolonging the exquisite spasms. When she was finally satiated, he took his own fulfillment, his body shaking with violent release.

They remained locked together for a long time, relaxing amid the rumpled sheets. Derek reclined on his side and kept her against him, his lips drifting over her forehead and the silken edge of her hairline. Sara smiled in drowsy wonder, breathing in the perfume of the crushed petals and the scent of his skin.

“Was it what you expected?” He traced a gentle pattern on her hips.

She blushed and pressed her face against his chest. “No. It was much better.”

“For me too. It was different from—” Derek stopped himself, hesitant to speak of his past experiences.

“From all your other women,” she finished for him dryly. “Tell me how it was different.”

Derek shook his head. “You’re the one with the fancy words. I can’t explain it.”

“Try,” she insisted, tugging threateningly at his wiry chest curls. “In your own words.”

He covered her plucking fingers with his own, pressing her hand flat. “It was just better, all the way through. Especially this part.” He cuddled her closer. “I’ve never felt so peaceful afterward.”

“And happy?” she asked hopefully.

“I don’t know how ‘happy’ feels.” He sought her mouth for a brief, hard kiss, and his voice turned to rough velvet. “But I know I want to stay inside you forever.”

As evening approached, Sara closed herself in the seclusion of the tiled and furnished bathing room. She was nonplussed at the arrival of a housemaid who insisted on making the preparations for the bath: warming towels, drawing and testing the water, setting out a tray of soaps and perfume. Although Sara had heard it was common for aristocratic ladies to require help with their baths, she felt it was unnecessary in her case.

“Thank you, that will be enough,” she said with a disconcerted smile as she stepped into the warm water. But the maid waited while she bathed, and held up a heated towel when she emerged. Another towel was employed to pat her back and arms dry. It seemed terribly decadent, allowing someone to do what she was perfectly able to do for herself, but there seemed to be no choice. Sara sniffed curiously at the proffered flacons of perfume, detecting rose, jasmine, hyacinth, and violet, but she declined to use any of them. The maid helped her into a large robe of heavy textured silk. Murmuring thanks for the assistance, Sara was finally able to dismiss the maid. She rolled up the long sleeves of the robe and wandered back to Derek’s bedroom, the hem of the garment dragging on the floor behind her.

Clad in a similar robe, Derek was standing in front of the fireplace. He poked at a blazing log with a fire iron. As he glanced at her with a half-smile, the golden-red light played over his black hair and swarthy face. “How do you feel?”

“A little hungry,” she replied, and then added self-consciously, “very hungry.”

Derek approached her, taking her shoulders in his large hands. Smiling, he brushed a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I can do something about that.” He turned her to face a table laden with trays and silver-domed platters. “Monsieur Labarge outdid himself for your sake.”

“How wonderful, but…” Color climbed high in her cheeks. “I suppose everyone must know what we’re doing.”

“Everyone,” he agreed. “I think you’ll have to marry me, Miss Fielding.”

“To save your reputation?”

Derek grinned, bending to kiss the flash of pale throat revealed by the robe. “Someone has to make a respectable man of me.” He led her to the table and seated her. “We’ll have to serve ourselves. I dismissed the stewards.”

“Oh, good,” Sara said in relief. Draping an embroidered napkin on her lap, she reached for a platter of tiny molded pates and puddings. “I think it would be tiresome, having servants hover around all the time.”

Derek ladled out a broth flavored with vegetables, wine, and truffles. “You’ll get used to it.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then we’ll let some of them go.”

Sara frowned, knowing how difficult it was to find employment in London. Many of the prostitutes she had talked to had once been maids dismissed by aristocratic employers. Cast out in the streets, they had no choice but to sell themselves. “I couldn’t dismiss anyone just because I’m not accustomed to being waited on,” she protested.

Derek was amused by her dilemma. “Then it seems we’ll have to keep the servants.” He gave her an encouraging smile, handing her a glass of wine. “You’ll have more time for your writing this way.”

“That’s true,” she said, brightening at the thought.

They consumed the supper at a leisurely pace, while the level of wine in the bottle dipped lower and the fire on the grate burned to hot red coals. Sara had never eaten such a delicious meal in her life: succulent lobster and quail meat baked in pastry, and chicken breasts rolled in crumbly batter, fried in butter, and covered with a rich Madeira sauce. Derek kept urging her to try different morsels: a bite of potato soufflé dabbed with soured cream, a spoonful of liqueur-flavored jelly that dissolved on her tongue, a taste of salmon smothered in herbs. Finally replete, Sara collapsed in her chair and watched him as he left to stoke the fire. “Do you eat like this all the time?” she asked contentedly, dabbing her spoon in a delicate almond-flavored custard. “I don’t understand why you’re not fat. You should have a belly the size of the king’s.”

Derek laughed and returned to the table, pulling Sara into his lap as he sat down. “Thank God I don’t…or I wouldn’t be able to hold you like this.”

She curled against his hard chest and sipped from the wineglass he held to her lips. “How did you acquire such a talented chef?”

“I’d heard of Labarge’s reputation, and I wanted the best for my club. So I went to France to hire him.”

“Was it difficult to convince him to leave with you?”

Derek smiled reminiscently. “Almost impossible. The Labarges had worked for the family of a French count for generations. Labarge didn’t want to break tradition, not when his father and grandfather had been employed by the same family. But everyone has a price. I finally offered to pay him two thousand pounds a year. I also agreed to hire most of his kitchen staff.”

“Two thousand?” she repeated in amazement. “I’ve never heard of a chef being paid so much.”

“Don’t you think he’s worth it?”

“Well, I enjoy his dishes very much,” Sara said earnestly. “But I’m from the country. I wouldn’t know good French food from bad.”

Derek laughed at her artlessness. “What do people eat in the country?”

“Root vegetables, stews, mutton…I make a very good pepper pot.”

Slowly he stroked the rumbled cascade of her hair. “You’ll have to make it for me someday.”

“I don’t think Monsieur Labarge would allow it. He’s very possessive of his kitchen.”

Derek continued to play with her hair. “We’ll go to a cottage I have in Shropshire.” A smile crossed his face. “You’ll put on an apron and cook for me. I’ve never had a woman do that before.”

“That would be nice,” she said dreamily, lowering her head to his shoulder. But the mention of the cottage had awakened her interest. After a moment she looked up at him with a question in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked.

She seemed to choose her words carefully. “Mr. Worthy once told me that you own a great deal of property. And everyone says you’ve made a fortune from the club. I’ve heard people claim that you’re one of the wealthiest men in England. I’ve just been wondering…” She hesitated, recalling Perry’s admonition that it wasn’t a woman’s place to ask about finances. “Oh, never mind.”

“What is it you want to know? How much I own?” Derek read the answer in her abashed expression, and he smiled wryly. “There isn’t a simple answer to that. As well as my personal holdings, there are estates, mansions, and tracts of land deeded to Craven’s in payment of gambling debts. Also a yacht, jewelry, artwork…even some Thoroughbreds. Those things aren’t strictly mine, since they belong to the club…”

“But the club belongs to you,” she finished.

“Exactly.”

Sara couldn’t resist probing further. “What do you count among your personal holdings?”

Derek had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “Four estates…a terrace in London…a chateau in the Loire Valley—”

“A chateau? I thought you didn’t like France!”

“It came with excellent vineyards,” he said defensively, and resumed his list. “A castle at Bath—”

“A castle?” she repeated in bemusement.

He made a gesture as if it were nothing. “It’s in ruins. But there are wooded hills with deer, and streams full of fish—”

“I’m sure it’s very picturesque,” Sara said in a strangled voice. “You needn’t go on.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “Why do you look like that?”

Sara nearly choked on a mixture of laughter and dismay. “I’ve just begun to realize how wealthy you are. It’s rather frightening.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

There was a teasing lightness to his tone, but his eyes glinted oddly as he replied. “You’ve been compromised, sweet. It’s too late to change your mind.”

Sara shook her head and stood up from his lap. “I can live with being compromised. Where are my clothes?” She was only jesting, not reading the sudden tension in his face.

“You said you would stay with me no matter what.”

“At the time,” she said, wandering to the fireplace, “I didn’t know that a chateau and a castle would be part of the arrangement.” She shook her head in bemusement. “It’s almost too much to take in. I think I’d better go back to Greenwood Corners.” She didn’t know that he had followed her until he spun her to face him. His hand grasped her upper arms with bruising force. Sara was alarmed as she looked up at his harsh face.

“What?” she gasped. “What in the world—”

“I won’t let you leave me.” His voice was even, but his large body was rigid, his hands hurtful.

She blinked in astonishment. “I don’t want to leave you. You must know that I was teasing you!” As his eyes bored into hers, she realized that she had discovered a vulnerable spot, like a thin patch on the surface of a frozen river. In a few careless words she had broken through to the dark depths he concealed so well. He was deadly quiet, still staring at her, while she tried to soothe him. “I won’t make a joke of it again. I was just surprised. You…you mustn’t hold my arms so tightly.”

His fingers loosened, and he began to breathe again, in rough surges. All the comfortable ease of the evening was gone. Abruptly they had become strangers. “Nothing would make me leave you,” Sara murmured. “You don’t trust me yet, do you?”

“I’ve known too many deceitful women.” Derek was bitterly surprised by his own actions. He’d just demonstrated beyond a doubt why they didn’t belong together. Trust was only one of many things he couldn’t give her.

“All I ask is that you try.” Sara leaned toward him, against the slight pressure he exerted to hold her back. She pressed her ear to his wildly beating heart. Faith, constancy, trust…He’d known little of such things. He would need time to learn them. “You’re far too worldly,” she whispered. “You don’t want to believe in anything you can’t see or touch. It’s not your fault. I know why you’ve had to be that way. But you must try to have faith in me.”

“I don’t know if I can change.”

“You’ve already changed.” She smiled as she thought of the way he’d been when they first met.

Derek was silent for a long moment. “You’re right,” he said with a touch of surprise.

She kissed his silk-covered chest and sighed. “Perhaps it’s odd, but I’m not afraid of being poor. It’s what I’ve always been used to. I am a little afraid of being rich, though. I can’t imagine myself living in a mansion.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I used to walk through the rookery, and instead of seeing thieves’ kitchens and beggars, I would imagine gold palaces and servants. Rooms full of candles, tables piled with food.”

“And you made it all come true.”

“I had some luck.”

“It wasn’t luck.” She held him more tightly. “It was you. You’re a remarkable man.”

He touched her as if he couldn’t stop himself. “I want you,” he muttered, although the fact was becoming obvious, with her body flattened against his. His palms skimmed the deep curves of her hips, waist, breasts. Roughly he tugged at the silk robe until it parted in the front. Firelight danced over her exposed skin, gilding the porcelain whiteness.

Sara made a hesitant move toward the bed, but he pulled her back to stand before him. He removed her robe, dropping it to the floor. His long fingers wrapped around her breasts, thumbs passing over her nipples in light circles. There was a new, wicked certainty in his touch, for he had already learned what aroused her. Pushing her down to the floor, he nudged her back into the silken pool of their robes. Sara stretched out at his bidding, and he lowered himself over her, blocking the fire glow from the grate. She shivered at the erotic slide of his tongue as he licked the shadowed undercurve of her breast. His mouth wandered over her in open, wet kisses that sent ripples of sensation across her skin. In some places she felt his teeth close on her, eliciting a twitch of startled reaction.

Derek made a prison of his own body, his muscled legs tangling with hers, his weight caging her against the carpeted floor. She couldn’t hold back a quiet moan as he pressed himself intimately against her, stiffness and burning silken skin…he made a tantalizing motion, a rhythm that promised relief from the sweet torment. Sara lifted herself to him, eager for his possession. But he held back, his green eyes blazing with deviltry.

“Please,” she whispered.

He moved downward to kiss her navel, his tongue intruding in the tiny hollow. A few delicate swirls, and he blew softly against the damp circle. He fitted his hands around the deep curve of her waist, then shaped the roundness of her hips in his palms, kneading gently. The feathery brush of curls against his chin was a powerful enticement. He worked his mouth down in the inviting triangle, ignoring her sudden jolt of unwillingness. Hungrily he breathed in the scent of her, his nerves stimulated by the earthy sweetness.

Spurred into action, Sara struggled frantically to escape him. He wrapped his arms up around her thighs, mastering her, and his head dipped low into the space he had made for himself. He swept through the lush curls with short, wheedling touches of his tongue. Sara groaned a denial as he reached deeper into the soft cleft, searching for the intoxicating taste of her body.

His fingers wove gently through the patch of curls, separating them. He found the delicate center of sensation and stroked with his tongue, teasing, insinuating deep in the softness. Steeped in pleasure and shame, Sara lay motionless.

The taste of her was maddeningly erotic. He covered the enticing female flesh with his mouth and tugged firmly. At the same time he slid his fingers inside the moist passage, stroking in counterpoint to the steady rhythm of his mouth. Sara cried out suddenly, pulled into a whirling upheaval, her senses overflowing.

As the last tremor subsided, Derek levered his body over hers and pushed himself inside her, gripping her hips in his large hands. He gave a pleasured groan and began to thrust in a sustained motion. Their bodies converged until there was no space left between them. Feeling the shudder of his climax resounding deep against her womb, Sara enfolded him in her arms. She rubbed her face against his gleaming black hair. “I do love you,” she whispered in his ear. “And I’ll never leave you.”

They passed through the center of Greenwood Corners at midmorning. Sara kept away from the windows, knowing the gossip it would cause for her to be seen in the magnificent private carriage. Strolling merchants and village women carrying large baskets on their arms stopped to watch the vehicle’s progress. Shopkeepers came outside to remark on the lacquered carriage, the pair of outriders, and the liveried footman in attendance. Such an equipage had rarely, if ever, been seen in Greenwood Corners. A few people followed the vehicle far enough to determine its direction and ran back to report that it was traveling toward the Fieldings’ cottage.

When they reached her parents’ home, Derek helped Sara from the private carriage. He spoke briefly with the footman before walking Sara along the path that led to the cottage door.

“I wish the night wasn’t over,” she said, holding his arm tightly.

“There’ll be other nights for us.”

“Not for a while.”

That earned her a piercing glance. “You’ll arrange the wedding as soon as possible. Accept Lily’s offer of help if necessary.”

“Yes, sir.” Sara smiled at his commanding tone. “It almost sounds as if you’re anxious to marry me.”

“It won’t be a moment too soon,” he muttered.

Sara was glad of his sudden fretfulness, knowing it meant that he was reluctant to be parted from her. She was half-afraid that she had dreamed the last two days. “If you don’t come back for me, I’ll find you in London,” she threatened. “Or I’ll send Papa—and he’ll bring you here at the end of his old musket.”

Derek grimaced. “I’m not certain any man in his right mind would choose me for his daughter.”

“Oh, Papa’s a wise, dear man. You’ll adore each other. Just make certain to speak loudly so he can hear you.” They stopped at the door, and Sara turned the handle to open it. “Mama?” she called.

Katie appeared in the doorway with a delighted exclamation, and made a move to embrace her daughter. “Sara, how was the ball? You must tell me everyth—” She stopped at once as she saw the man beside Sara, his dark, broad-shouldered form filling the doorway.

“Mama, this is Mr. Craven,” Sara said softly.

Taken aback, Katie stared at the two of them with round eyes. “Isaac,” she called, her voice higher-pitched than usual. “Sara’s brought someone home with her. A man.”

“Has she? Well, let me have a look at him.”

Abruptly Derek found himself confronted by two small gray-haired people. Scrutinizing him closely, they welcomed him into the tidy, worn little cottage. There were sprays of dried flowers and herbs, painted pottery, and piles of books everywhere. He had to duck his head to avoid a low overhead beam as he crossed the threshold. As Sara introduced him to her father, they shook hands cordially. The old man’s face was engraved with lines of good humor and character, his blue eyes lit with a friendly twinkle.

“Papa,” Sara chattered, “you’ll remember I mentioned Mr. Craven before. We met during my research in London. He owns a social club.” She proceeded to bustle her mother toward the kitchen. “Mama, let’s make some tea while the men become acquainted.”

They went into the kitchen and closed the door. Dazed, Katie fumbled for the jar of tea while Sara began to pump water energetically at the sink. “You’ve taken my breath away,” Katie remarked, hunting for a spoon.

“Mr. Craven was at Raiford Park this weekend,” Sara said, her face mantled with the high color of excitement. “It’s a complicated story, but the long and the short of it is…I love him, and he proposed to me, and I said yes!”

Katie’s mouth dropped. She sat in a chair, fanning her hands over the center of her chest as if to calm her heart “Your Mr. Craven proposed,” she repeated numbly.

“He’s the most wonderful man in the world. You and Papa are going to love him as much as I do.”

“Sara…isn’t this terribly sudden? Think of all the years you’ve known Perry—”

“Mr. Craven makes me a thousand times happier than Perry ever could. Don’t look worried, Mama. Haven’t you always known me to be sensible?” She smiled confidently. “I’ve made the right choice. You’ll see.” As Katie began to ask something else, Sara motioned for her to be quiet, while portions of the men’s conversation filtered from the other room. Carefully Sara pressed her ear to the door.

“…you’re a little too late in asking, Mr. Craven. Sara already has a fiancé. Young Kingswood.”

Sara couldn’t stop herself from interrupting. She opened the door enough to stick her head through the space. “He’s not my fiancé anymore, Papa. Perry and I became unengaged before I left this weekend.”

Isaac looked perplexed. “You did? Why?”

“I’ll explain later.” She gave Derek an encouraging look and retreated behind the door.

Katie watched her daughter with wry amusement. “There’s no need to pop back and forth like a turtle in its shell. I have a feeling your Mr. Craven is quite capable of talking to Papa without any help from you.”

Sara rested her ear against the panels again. “Shhh.”

“…I can’t say I approve of my daughter marrying a gambler,” came Isaac’s voice.

“I don’t gamble, sir. I own a club where others gamble.”

“Splitting hairs, my boy. I don’t approve of the whole business. On the other hand…I don’t approve of men drinking too much, and I suppose I don’t hold it against our local tavern owner. Tell me more about this social club. You have fancy women working there, do you? Has Sara met any of these poor fallen creatures?”

“I can’t keep her away from them,” Derek said dryly.

“My Sara has a kind heart. Drawn to unfortunates. The city is a dangerous place for a girl like her.”

Sara opened the door again. “I’ve never come to any harm there, Papa!”

Derek spoke before Isaac could reply. “Is there any bread to go with the tea, Sara?”

“Yes,” she answered, slightly perplexed. “Would you like some toast?”

“Lots of it. Very thin slices.” Derek held up his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate.

She frowned at him, realizing he intended to keep her too busy to interrupt again. “Very well,” she said grudgingly, and went back into the kitchen.

Isaac regarded the man sitting across from him in a new way, a smile creasing his leathery face. “You’re patient with her,” he said approvingly. “I’m glad of that. She was always a wilful child. She has her own ideas about things.” Derek was tempted to make a sardonic remark, but he kept silent and watched the old man sitting there in his comfortable chair, gnarled hands resting on the knitted blanket over his knees. A fond look came over Isaac’s face, and he continued as if to himself, “She was a miracle for Katie and me, born to us long after the time for childbearing had passed. We thank God every day for giving her to us. I could never entrust her to someone who might cause her harm. Young Kingswood is a self-indulgent man…but at least he’s a gentle sort.” The blue eyes met Derek’s in a direct, guileless stare. “Mr. Craven, I’ve brought up my daughter to think for herself. If I were twenty years younger, I wouldn’t have allowed her such freedom. But her mother and I are elderly, and as nature takes its course, there will come a time when we won’t be here to protect her. I thought it was best to teach Sara to trust her own judgment. If Sara wants to marry you, she will, whether I approve or not.”

Derek met his eyes without blinking. “Your approval may not be necessary, sir, but I still would like to have it.”

A faint smile came to Isaac’s face. “All I want is your assurance that you’ll treat my daughter with kindness.”

Derek had never talked to another man so earnestly; no maneuvering or shrewdness, nothing but humble honesty. “I want to be more than kind to Sara. I want to keep her safe, and happy, and provide whatever will please her. I don’t pretend to deserve her. I’m not educated or wellborn, and even the devil wouldn’t have my reputation. My one saving grace is that I’m not a fool. I would never interfere with her writing, or any of the projects she chooses for herself. I would never try to separate Sara from her family. I respect her too much for that. I don’t want to change her.”

Isaac seemed to find the words reassuring, but there was lingering doubt in his expression. “I believe you are sincere. But marriage, a wife, children…That’s a load of responsibility you’ve never had before.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t prepared for it.”

Their conversation was interrupted by an enthusiastic knocking on the front door of the cottage. Isaac’s gray brows quirked in curiosity as he rose to answer.

Derek stood up also, and watched intently as a slender young man with pale, longish hair entered the room. His fair forehead was puckered with worried impatience. “I heard that a fine carriage had passed through town,” he said rather breathlessly. “Was it Sara? If she’s returned, I would like to talk to her immediately.”

Hearing the arrival of another visitor, Sara emerged from the kitchen, followed by her mother. She stopped short in amazement. “Perry,” she said weakly.

Somehow Sara had never thought that the two men would have occasion to be in the same room together. The silence was ponderous. She sought the right words to break it, while one part of her mind marveled at the striking differences between the two men.

Perry’s handsomeness was fit for poetry. He was as pale and golden as a fairy-tale prince. A crest of pink color extended from his cheekbones across the bridge of his refined nose. His eyes gleamed bright and blue. Derek, by contrast, looked dark and surly, exhibiting all the charm of a sullen cat. He didn’t return Sara’s glance, all his attention focused on the newcomer.

Mustering her nerve, Sara stepped forward. “Perry…I would like to introduce you to Mr. Craven, a…a visitor from London.”

Perry glanced at the swarthy stranger, and then back at Sara. “Why is he here?” he asked with a petulant frown.

“He and I…Well, we…” She cleared her throat and said baldly, “He’s my fiancé.”

“What nonsense,” Perry said curtly. “I’m your fiancé. You left the village before we could resolve our differences.”

“We did resolve them,” Sara said, inching closer to Derek. “And I realized that I’m much better suited to Mr. Craven.”

“Is this by chance Derek Craven?” Perry demanded in outrage. “Why, he’s a complete blackguard! Everyone in decent society knows it. I can scarcely believe your father would let him in the house!”

Sara bristled defensively. “I’m beginning to wish he hadn’t let you in!”

“If this is the company you’ve been keeping, no wonder you changed so greatly,” Perry sneered. “It certainly explains your attempts to satisfy your insatiable lust with me. I’ve wracked my brains all weekend trying to make excuses for your wanton advances—”

Derek started for Perry with a snarl. “You pompous little runt—”

Yelping with fright, Perry charged outside, his legs a blur as he hurried back to the safety of his home and his mother.

Swiftly discarding the idea of pursuit, Derek turned to Sara. “What did he mean, ‘insatiable lust’?”

She hastened to explain. “Well, ‘insatiable’ means unable to satisfy—”

“I know that,” he said in a biting tone. “Why did he say it about you?”

Sara rolled her eyes and shrugged. “It was nothing. I merely tried to kiss him once the way you kissed me, and he…” Her voice faded as she realized that her parents were watching the pair of them in dumb-founded silence.

Isaac was the first to speak, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. “I’ve seen and heard enough, Mr. Craven. If you and my daughter are already talking about ‘insatiable lust,’ I think I’d better give you my approval…and hope for a quick wedding.”

They were married in the village church, the ceremony small and simple. Sara’s only concession to Lily’s grandiose plans was to allow the church to be filled with fresh flowers and greenery. Surrounded by family and friends, she exchanged vows with a man far different than the one she had always expected to marry. With Perry, the future had been predictable. Now the coming weeks, months, and years loomed before her in a tangle of possibilities. She sensed the bewilderment of her friends, who had never dreamed that she would spurn Perry Kingswood in favor of a man she barely knew.

But Sara saw Derek for exactly what he was, no more and no less, and she was aware that he might never change. It was enough that he loved her. In spite of his faults, he would take care of her and defend her to the last breath of life. Separately they had different strengths. Together they were complete.