For the Earl's Taking Page 2

  She heard the door open and her blood froze. Nobody opened the door without knocking, except him. Sarah faced the shelves, right next the rare books cabinet. She turned abruptly and curtsied. “My lord.” Her eyes downcast, her hands clasped, her shoulders bent, she appeared meekness personified.

  The sight of her unchained a whole string of reactions in him, all of them concentrated in his middle. His blood rushed and his breath out of his grasp. He tried to take a hold of himself. But it seemed rather difficult.

  “I-I can finish it later, my lord.” She started pacing to the door.

  “Who gave you permission to leave?” His ruddiness serving to cover his too hoarse voice.

  At that, she raised her head and their eyes met. Looking at her dark-brown eyes almost defeated him. They were acquiescent, submissive. She looked like a dove in the wolf’s den. And she would not very far from being right.

  “I am sorry, my lord.” She felt herself tremble; her body stopped obeying her mind. It felt like her motor coordination totally left her.

  “Just continue with whatever you were doing.” His hoarse voice came in too silky a command. He hurriedly sat at his desk to prevent himself from doing something foolish, like lacing her by her narrow waist.

  She turned, took the cloth she would let on the shelf and carried on dusting the tomes in jerky movements. Her eyes lit with the recognition of the books that strolled by her eyes. And then Hugh saw the brightness behind the submission. He concluded she must be more intelligent than she appeared to be. His eyes went over her uniformed body. No inch of skin showed. Comfortable working boots, stockings, ankle length dress, apron, cap. Then his eyes focused on the singular piece of her body he could really see: the nape of her neck, between her immaculate cap and the dull dress’ neckline. Milky skin, lean. It seemed so smooth! She looked so petite, five feet two tall, maybe.

  “Where have you worked before?” Talking would distract his unruly thoughts.

  She turned to him, downcast eyes. “I am fresh from the country, my lord.”

  “Is that so?” Petite, bony, plain. “What did you do there?” And what did he see in her?

  “I helped my aunt to sell the cakes she made, my lord.” He towered over her even from a distance. She felt hot all over.

  “Does she bake tasty cakes?” Her waist so narrow, he could circle it with his fingers.

  She smiled faintly at the recollection. “Yes, my lord.” Her head tilted. “At least the neighbours liked it!”

  Her smile brought light to her plain face and brightness to her brown eyes. He swallowed dry, as the sight of her faint smile had consequences in the area of his loins. He went back to his paper, implying that the dialogue ended. Hurriedly, she continued her work. She turned to the shelves and his eye returned to her nape.

  His stare followed her nape as she moved about. However, it amounted to too much, too close, too long. Why the hell did he order her to stay anyway? Clear thinking shut down. He stood from his chair in an abrupt movement. Her cleaning faltered, as if sensing his move, slowed and then she resumed normal speed.

  He approached her from behind, her reflexion in the cabinet’s glass. His warm right hand reached her tempting nape. She halted. His left hand held her upper arm, to prevent her from walking away. He touched her skin. And dived into paradise. His fingers explored the warm, soft skin of hers. A sight escaped her lips, which encouraged him to move his hand farther, the line of her sleek sparrow-wing brown coloured hair, caught in the cap. Her breath quickened. He forgot all about oxygen. Her feet moved one step backwards at the same time his moved one forward. Now he could see her whole upper body reflected on the cabinet’s glass. Her breasts peaked through the rough fabric.

  His hand explored even more and touched her throat. She gulped in air as he traced her jawline. As she exhaled, he felt her body go malleable. She lost balance and leaned on him, head on his chest. His lungs demanded short breaths. He finally smelled her. Dull soap, sweet woman. He wanted more, all! Her eyelids slid down, his head bent more. His lips were one inch from her left ear. He wanted to turn her to him, he wanted to…

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Quick steps, he returned to his desk. As an automaton, she resumed her cleaning.

  “Come in.” He ordered, his voice not so cold.

  Mr Talcott, the butler, entered the room, Mrs Talcott’s husband as a matter of fact. “Lord Ashton calling on you, my lord.” He announced respectfully.

  Hugh had completely forgotten about the fencing training they were supposed to take today. Duncan, his best friend. They had met in Eton and had been friends since then. “Please, take him to the drawing room. I’ll meet him in five minutes.”

  “Very well, my lord.” The butler left after a bow.

  Hugh looked at Sarah. She busied herself with the dusting and did not look at him. In a matter of seconds, she took her cleaning stuff, curtsied to the floor and left.

  He walked to the window and leaned his forehead on the cool glass. His body still bore traces of the effect she had on him. A bonny servant, no less. He gave himself a couple of minutes and went to meet Duncan.

  As soon as Sarah broke free from the library, she rushed to the servants’ quarters and hid herself in a remote corner, cleaning stuff and all. Breathless, flushed all over, the nape of her neck seemed to burn. She leaned on the wall, head bent back. Never in her life had she experienced such fervent sensations. On fire, she felt. Moistened. She did not know how she would concentrate on her duties now. She had to resist this temptation. She had to keep away from him. How?

  After the fencing session, Hugh managed to dissipate a little of his sexual frustration. But the bitter taste of this strange desire lingered. He felt ashamed of himself. He had never resourced to servants. Not even when all his teenage Eton peers did it. He had always deemed it undignified. Social ranks should not mix. This being a common say in his household. As far as he knew, his long gone father, Lord Christopher, did not lower himself to the point of rushing to servants’ quarters. And he, Hugh, the only boy among four sisters, did not have much opportunity or that. He had been raised by household staff, wet-nurses, nannies, even governesses. Therefore, the lesson that he learned: ranks did not mix and kept mutual, distant respect.

  He sat in his carriage, having parted from Duncan. He remembered Adelaide saying that they had an invitation for dinner at the dowager countess’ tonight. So he would have a long night of lukewarm entertainment. He hoped it would provide some distraction, though.

  Sarah sat on a corner of the backyard after luncheon, when she saw Lord Hawkmore’s carriage arriving. From her vantage point, she could see, without being seen among the trees. She saw Lord Hawkmore impeccably dressed in a beige day suit, fashionable hat and long coat. His clothes emphasised his imposing figure. The light colour brought out the darkness of his shiny hair and piercing eyes. Men’s beauty concept in itself. Her eyes feasted on him in the distance. Suddenly, he turned and looked in the direction she sat, as if sensing someone watching. She turned her back to him, heart thundering. He looked vaguely at the garden and turned to go inside.

  Lady Adelaide also wore soaring expensive outfits. Sarah thought her dresses of utter refinement, but very little comfortable. These dresses required corsets, which Sarah had never worn and intended never doing so. She could not imagine how someone could move in those tight, boned things that one had to squeeze one’s body in until no breathing would pass. She definitely did not envy the aristocratic ladies. Not for their fashion, not for their lifestyle. Life seemed so much more than tea and gossip.

  She stood up and contemplated the Hawkmore town house. The latest Victorian style, built not so long ago in this fancy London neighbourhood. What she liked more about it, the high turret at the south corner. It gave the mansion the romantic air of a medieval castle. She wished she could go there to enjoy the view of the park down the street. Time to go back to work, so she walked back to the kitchen entrance.

  She did not see Lord
Hawkmore for the rest of the day and she heard they had left for the evening. She could not decide if she felt satisfied or frustrated with his absence. Frustration sang louder in her body.

  Next day would be Sunday, she tried to cheer herself up, most of the staff got the day off, including her. She had managed to stop by the second hand bookstore not far from there and buy herself a book she intended to read during her free day.

  After a long night’s sleep, Sarah woke up invigorated next day. A long missed bath and a slow breakfast put her in a light mood. Everybody had gone to church, but she had declined the invitation, preferring to take it easy. She took refuge at the kitchen table and opened her book. For once, she did not wear her usual uniform. Her simple light-pink dress felt much more comfortable, with its wider, but discreet, neckline and short sleeves. The fire in the kitchen made it cosy and she even took out the shawl she had on her shoulders.

  She had been reading for about one hour, when she heard footsteps. She looked up, wondering who had not gone to the church, and clashed with piercing dark eyes. Quickly, she stood up and curtsied. She forgot all about the book that fell on the floor, at his feet.

  Hugh saw her and stopped mesmerized. She looked…she looked…oh dear! In his opinion, she looked like the most beautiful vision he had ever had. Her sparrow-wing brown hair fell lose over her shoulder, not totally dry yet. It shone in the fire with reddish shades. The light pink shade of her humble dress made her skin seem invitingly soft. The feminine scent that came from her... He looked her all over and back, and he still could not find his words.

  He bent to take her book, her eyes where the book fell. He looked at the cover. “Lord Byron.” She lifted her gaze to him, at last, her dark brown eyes reflecting the flames. His body responded to her in total disregard to his own will. “You like poetry…”

  He dressed black trousers and white shirt opened at the neck. He looked total perdition. All her deep night fantasies came to her memory and she blushed. She started feeling hot all over.

  She joined her both hands together in front of her. “Well, yes.” She smiled faintly. He wished she did it more often. It made her plain features look so sweet. “I bought this from a second hand book store.”

  He extended the book for her to take it. “You don’t need to do that.” He remembered to breath. “Read the ones in the library.” He issued a command.

  She took the book and their fingers touched. They stared awkwardly at each other. A shock of electricity passed between them.

  Sarah needed a way out. Now! “Shall I bring you something, my lord?” She hastened to put the book on the table and distance her burning hand from his. “The others are out, but I can try to find what you want.”

  He paced toward her; she backed one step. He paced again; she backed more.

  The way he stared at her, made a liquid heat spread all over her body.

  “I do believe you know what I want.” His piercing eyes were ripping though her

  “I…” He advanced one step; she backed another and extended her arms as if to keep her distance.

  Hugh lost his capacity of thinking clearly. The sight of her blurred all logical thought. He stared at her extended bare arm. He grabbed it and pulled her to him. He heard her gulp in air as her body clashed with his. The movement made her hair fall around her face. Her wide eyes were on him, her other hand on his chest. They were close, so close he could feel her breath on his lips.

  She wanted to fight back her own sensations. She wanted to pull him away. She wanted to run to a safe place. The proximity of his body weakened her, her body turned malleable, she flushed, her breath in short puffs. He towered over her, her head bent back. Her wide eyes pleaded and offered.

  He slid his arm around her waist and glued her to him. Their bodies touching everywhere. His bulky erection nested between them.

  “Can you feel it, Sarah?” His other hand went to her hair. “Can you feel what this is doing to me?” So small; she fit so perfectly in his arms!

  He rolled her hair around his hand and pulled it gently down, so that her lips were at his mercy. He felt unable to resist any longer. He bent his head in search of his pleasure. Their pleasure. Her lips were feather brushed by his. They were soft, warm. Her eyelids went heavy and they closed softly. He placed butterfly kisses along her lips. Heaven. Or hell! This deepened their hunger.

  A size-less eagerness placed itself in her middle and she wished he came closer, did more, took her, something! He positioned her hand, which he held, on his chest. She caressed his large chest with her both hands.

  He groaned on her lips. “You like it?”

  She only managed to nod slightly. Instinctively, she parted her lips wider against his. He could not hold back any longer. His tongue invaded her, thirsty. Seeking, exploring, demanding. She gave him all he wanted. And more. They kissed and kissed until their breaths were ragged.

  Never, absolutely never had he experienced such a complete absorbing of his senses. He savoured her lips as it meant the last minute of his life and he could not stop. He left her mouth to trail his lips down her neck and taste what his hand had already caressed. She moved to allow him more access.

  Bliss. Utter bliss. She thought in a haze. If there existed paradise, she had just crossed its doors! Her hands went up his collar and immersed in his jet-black smooth hair. He moved up her neck again and regained her lips. His hand disentangled from her hair and sought her small firm breast, ready for his fondling, nicely peaked. She moaned on his kiss and arched her body, begging for more.

  In his haze of desire, he thought only of relief. He did not care about anything, only the ache of want, only the bony body that fit so accurately with his. “Let me take you to my chambers!” He murmured hoarsely in her ear. “Let’s spend the day in bed!” He kissed her neck open mouthed. For him they transformed in just a man and a woman kissing in a kitchen, right now.

  His grave voice penetrated the cloudy depths of her mind. Suddenly, what she did downed on her. It did not matter that Lady Hawkmore had gone to church, seeing and being seen. She remained the lady of the house. He, the lord. A whole world above her. She had to resist; to come back to her senses!

  She placed her hands on his shoulders and separated their bodies, with great sadness to get away of the delights he offered her. They stared at each other in short breaths. He still held her tight. She knew he could force her, he could use her, do whatever he wanted. He employed her, he paid her; he had her in his hands. He had never done it, she heard the other maids say. He might be a little different from the rest, but still an earl. She, humble tenants’ only daughter. There would be nothing there for them, for her. Just release and regrets.

  Their eyes meshed, her lips parted, her hair entangled, her cheeks flushed. At this second, he saw her beauty so clearly. His arms fell to his sides. She lowered her eyes.

  She took a step back and curtsied. “If my lord excuses me.” She turned grabbed her book and went up to her cubicle. She closed the door behind her and sat on the cot in awe.

  Hugh walked numbed to his library. Sexual frustration tore him to pieces. He sat at the sofa by the fireplace staring at the grey day outside the window. It had been a long time he did not have any mistress, but he had never felt like this with any woman. Not this reaping urge, not this insane desire, certainly not these mixed…feelings. He could go to Adelaide, and obtain physical release, or he could do it himself. It did not make any difference. She made the difference, because it would be she he would be thinking about either way. The thought of lying with any other woman made him sick.

  Pandora’s Box had been open. Now both knew what there was in it for them: heat, delectation, release, relief. Liquid fire flowed over and over. Searing attraction. All wrong, all right, all consuming. It had to be eradicated, but how? Would it anyway?

  CHAPTER 3

  In the days that followed, Sarah avoided the library as if the devil lived there. When she had to clean it, she did it at times she felt absolutely s
ure he’d be out for several hours. She avoided the corridors, using the servants’ stairs even when she did not need to do it. Nevertheless, her nights became haunted with memories of them in the kitchen and renewed fantasies that would throw flames to her body. Despite her daily exhaustion, her nights had turned into a patchwork of sleep, dreams and memories.

  Upstairs things looked no better. The poor valet would take on his lord’s sexual frustration, full blast! Lord Hawkmore would have a fit at each unsewn button. His horse got a lot of exercises and the lord won every fencing, rugby or polo contest. He became the sportsman of the Ton! The gossip papers were all reporting his deeds.

  Still, Hugh could not get rid of that gut twisting desire. He did not see much of Sarah and he realised what she did, which got him annoyed to no end! Who did she think she was to treat him with such indifference? He burned in his bed night after night! Those sports were not enough to keep her out of his mind.

  In his library, he noticed the absence of Schelling. Since Adelaide had an interest in Philosophy as he in ribbons, there could be a good chance that the book would be read by her. If she thought he would accept to continue to be treated with indifference, she would be proved very wrong.

  “Yes, my lord.” Mr Talcott answered Hugh’s call.

  “Please, inform Miss Barrow that she is summoned to the library.”

  “Perfectly, my lord.” He retired swiftly.

  A weak knock on the door. “Come in.” He ordered.

  Sarah opened the door silently and stepped in the library. “My lord called me.” As usual, she had her eyes downcast, her hands clasped in front of her and her shoulders bent.