Malia Martin (14 page)

“And easy, is it not, Seamus?”

“Yes! But I would be pleased, your grace, to give you a lesson tomorrow. We shall make haggis.”

Trevor’s mouth went dry. “I would be . . . delighted.”

Seamus smiled hugely, his bald head reflecting the candlelight as he bobbed his head again.

Trevor left, carefully maneuvering up the stairs and through the maize of hallways until he found the room Mary had showed him earlier. He knocked softly. “Dinner,” he called, in a voice a touch higher than his own.

“Come in,” she said as if she held the weight of the entire world on her shoulders. Trevor hesitated. He wanted to help her, take some of that weight from her, but could he?

With a deep breath he hefted the tray and managed to turn the knob. He shoved the door open with his foot and backed into the room.

“You can put it over . . .”

He turned and her mouth dropped open.

“I planned this special meal for you, your grace. I must be with you while you eat.”

Sara blinked.

“And really, dearest Sara, I do not want to retire knowing that we are angry. I slept not a wink last night.”

The Duchess’s full lips turned down and her brows came together. “I will just bet you didn’t.”

Why on earth did the woman hate him so? Trevor sighed and put the tray on a small table. He pulled a chair over for the duchess.

She stared at him warily, then turned and sat. Trevor pushed the chair in for her, then pulled up another straight-backed chair for himself.

“This is gnocchi.”

Sara pushed at one of the small dumplings with her fork, her nose wrinkling.

“’Tis just a potato dumpling. You eat it. It does not eat you.”

She looked at him from under her lashes, then took a small bite and chewed. Her brows
immediately went up and she looked at him with a smile. “This is wonderful!”

Trevor shrugged. “It is an Italian recipe I learned from a good friend.”

“I have never . . .” Sara chewed and swallowed, then scraped another dumpling onto her fork. “This is the most amazing taste!” She put another bite in her mouth.

Trevor laughed. “I have taught Seamus how to make it. Now you can trade off between gnocchi and haggis.”

Sara groaned and swallowed. “Please, do not even say that while I am eating.” She took another bite.

“Now that I have your mouth full,” Trevor said, “I would like to continue our conversation from before.”

Sara’s eyes darkened, and she swallowed quickly, but Trevor held up his hand. “Allow me to speak. A yes or no nod from you will be just fine.”

Sara frowned, but she did not say anything. That was a start.

“First,” he started as she had before, “things do not come easily for me. Believe me, Dearest. If they did, I would not be here.” He held up his hand again, for he saw that she wanted to say something.

“Second, I will stay, but I must have someone to help me with the paperwork downstairs. Could you find someone for me?”

Sara blinked, then nodded slowly.

“Thank you.”

“And third.” Trevor stopped and took a deep breath. He could not believe what he was about to say, and so he sat back for a moment to catch his breath. It was women: he had a terrible soft spot for them. Ever since he had been a boy and had tried to protect his mother from the large, pounding fists of his father, Trevor had used his own large frame to stand in front of hurt, and deflect blows meant for women. And now this woman with her large chocolate eyes needed him. If only she just needed him to use his body to protect her!

But no, she wanted him to do things he found impossible. Take charge of a huge estate, be responsible for others’ lives . . . marry! Trevor pushed himself to the edge of his chair. “Try the carrots.”

She looked at him strangely.

“Believe me, they are good! Why do the people in this country think carrots are only for rabbits?”

Sara carefully speared the orange vegetable and bit into it. She chewed, smiled, then held up three fingers.

“Oh, yes, third,” Trevor took a deep breath. “I will marry before the year is out.”

Her eyes went even bigger and she started to say something, then she stopped. She blinked and stood quickly, pounding against her chest.

Good God, the woman was choking on the carrot.

T
revor pushed his chair back so quickly it toppled over and hit the floor with a bang. Then he rushed around and shoved Sara over the table. The vase and rose toppled to the floor, and utensils clanked against china. Trevor whacked his palm against Sara’s back, once, twice, then three times. Nothing happened.

Trevor felt himself panicking. He grabbed Sara by her shoulders and twirled her about so he could see her. Her face was tinged purple, and her lovely eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets.

“Sara!” he cried. Oh God, what could he do? A thought tumbled through his brain, and he acted. Grabbing the duchess by her knees, Trevor threw her over his shoulder. He bounced, her stomach coming down heavily against his arm. Then he bounced the woman again, and heard the splat of something against the floor.

“For the love of St. Peter!” Sara said loudly.

Trevor bent quickly at the waist, dropping Sara’s feet carefully to the floor, and stood. He framed her face with his hands, tilting her so that he could look into her eyes. Her wheat-colored hair had come undone and hung about her in disarray. Trevor closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them once more to the face of the woman he had begun, in a strange way, to care for. That in itself was quite a terrifying thought.

“If you do not mind, your grace,” she said, “I do not think I want to eat carrots anymore.”

Trevor chuckled. “Good idea, Sara.” Then he pulled her into his arms and leaned his chin on the top of her head. “And if
you
don’t mind, your grace,” he said, “I do not want to see your face turn purple ever again.”

“How mortifying.” Sara’s voice was muffled against his chest.

Trevor glanced down at the table. “I am afraid your dinner is ruined.”

“’Tis of no matter. I do not think I shall be able to eat for a fortnight, at least.”

“Hunger pains will ease you over your panic, I’m sure.” Trevor finally released her, and Sara stepped away, her face a healthy shade of red. She looked at the table, then at the floor.

“Um . . .”

“Perhaps you should lie down?” Trevor gestured toward Sara’s bed and the woman’s blush deepened even more.

“I thought to have a ball,” she said suddenly, and Trevor frowned.

“A ball?”

“Yes, and invite as many young women who would come.”

Trevor realized they had changed subjects. They were back on his impending nuptials, with a “Cinderella” twist, it seemed. “Ah, we shall invite all the young maidens in the country so the Prince can choose a bride, perhaps?”

Sara smoothed her hands across her skirt and nodded. “Just so.”

“Hmm.”

“I am sure many would come. You are quite a catch, your grace.”

“Quite.” Trevor thought he would be ill. “I hate large social gatherings.”

“Then you had another idea?” Sara looked at him hopefully. “To find a bride?”

No, he hadn’t. He had decided to marry, to do the deed and make everyone happy. He had not given an ounce of thought to how he would find this new Duchess of his. He stared at the old Duchess, her small face turned up to his and remembered the way her body felt . . . her mouth tasted.

“Couldn’t I just marry you?” The thought raced from his mind to his tongue, and he hadn’t realized he had said it until Sara blinked.

She coughed, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes large. Thankfully, there was nothing in her mouth this time.

Trevor truly wanted to pull the inelegant proposal back. What was he thinking? Sara scared him silly with all the things she wanted from him.

Trevor cleared his throat. Unfortunately, even though the offer had been far from eloquent, he had just asked Sara to marry him. “I mean, you have done a wonderful job of taking care of Rawlston, and the people adore you.” Trevor glanced at the Duchess’s feet. “I think the glass slipper would fit.”

“Oh, no,” she said in a small voice. “It is very much too big.” She turned away from him and went to a window.

Trevor couldn’t help the small feeling of relief that made it easier for him to breathe.

“I have been Duchess. I failed. I will not do it again.”

He knew failure. Sara did not embody that particular trait “You did not fail, Sara.”

She turned on him, “I am older than you, sir. I am no young virgin!”

Trevor could not help the words that came to his lips. “I’ve never liked virgins, actually.”

“Oh!” She returned to her contemplation of the window. Trevor could see her reflection in the dark panes: her eyes looked hollow, her brow worried. He advanced on her, but she turned again, a warning in her gaze, and he stopped.

“You must marry someone who can give you an heir, your grace.” She fisted a small hand
and held it against her mouth for a moment. “This title of Rawlston has not stayed in the same family since its conception nearly three hundred years ago. It bounces from cousin to cousin, because none of the dukes has had heirs. This title, this land, these people need stability. They need a young duchess with a fertile womb and a good duke with a keen mind.”

Trevor felt his heart beat an odd rhythm when Sara said that one word: keen. He looked away quickly and laughed bitterly. Keen mind? That he could not promise.

Sara pushed away from the windowsill suddenly and stood before him. “Have I hurt you?” she asked fervently. She took his hands in hers. “You have not come to . . . I mean, you do not hold a tendre for me, do you?” She clutched at his hands.

Trevor turned his gaze on her, their faces very close. He laughed again, slipping his hand from hers, and cupped her cheek. “Do not worry your tender heart, little one, what I feel for you is not such a lofty or spiritual thing.” Trevor leaned forward just a hair so that he could feel Sara’s breath against his mouth. “What I feel is an aching and abiding lust for you, dearest Sara.”

She frowned and began to push away, but Trevor grabbed her shoulders and held her. “Perhaps if we just rid ourselves of this cursed tension between us, I’ll be able to think straight.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“This,” he hissed, pulling her body flush to his and dropping his mouth to hers.

She opened to him, and he wrapped his arms about her small body, one hand plunging into the hair at the base of her skull, the other cupping her rounded bottom.

And then her mouth pinched closed, and she shoved against his chest

That had not been at all long enough. Trevor tightened his arms about her. “Finish this with me, Sara, or we shall just be kindling the fire rather than putting it out.”

Sara quit her struggles with a sigh, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. “There is no fire.”

“Believe me, there is fire.”

She glanced up at him, frustration furrowing her smooth forehead. “There cannot be. You are . . . I am . . . we . . .”

“You make no sense, Duchess,” Trevor growled, leaning toward her lips.

She slapped her hand over his mouth, holding it there, and he blinked in shock. “I am the Dowager Duchess, Trevor. I am older than you. I am . . .” She faltered for a moment, her brows arching toward each other as she stared at him. “You must think of me as you would your mother,” she said finally.

Trevor cleared his throat and chuckled. Still she kept her hand over his mouth, so he licked her palm. Sara yelped, pulling her hand away.
“There is absolutely no way on this earth I can think of you as my mother,” Trevor said, and kissed her again. This time he moved quickly, tonguing his way through her teeth and tasting her fully. He felt her stiffen, felt her hands on his chest, but he kept her pressed against him and used every weapon in his arsenal of seduction.

He curled his hips forward, sliding a hand up her side to caress the side of her breast, and mimicked the ancient rhythm of love with his tongue in her mouth.

Her resistance weakened, her fingers curling into his shirt rather than pushing away. And then her small tongue darted out and met his. Trevor forgot every strategy of attack he had ever used and just tasted her. She seemed to melt against him, her head tipping to the side, providing him unobstructed access to the soft sweetness of her mouth.

When he knew she was beyond resisting, Trevor risked giving up possession of her lips and descended the column of her neck, nipping and kissing as he went.

He moved, backing her against the wall as he traced the line of her bodice with his tongue. He trailed his hands up over the luscious curves of her waist and rested his thumbs beneath her breasts.

“We cannot do this,” she whispered.

It was dangerous to let her mouth free. But he had the smooth, plump skin of her breast
against his own lips, and he could not tear himself away. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured instead, and slid his thumbs up to graze her nipples through the thin fabric of her gown.

She groaned deeply, then took his face in her hands and pulled his mouth back to hers.
She
kissed
him
this time, a hard, demanding, hot kiss that seared through his body.

Blood pumped and thunder rumbled. Trevor exalted in his triumph. He would have her. He could taste it on her tongue. He slipped his hand beneath the top of her gown and found the fullness of her naked breast as he devoured her mouth.

And then she pushed him away.

“No!” She twisted, batting at his hands and crossing her arms across her chest. “No, we mustn’t.” She lurched away from him.

Trevor plunged his fingers through his hair, disrupting the leather band once again. “I thought you insane, but actually, you just cause the cursed affliction.”

Sara moved to the furthest corner of the room. “I think you should leave, your grace.”

“Oh, for the love of God, call me by name, at least.”

“You care not for me, as you have said. You only wish to quench your lust.” She pointed to the door. “You have others for that. Many, I am sure.”