Sarah's Surrender (Novella) (4 page)

He saw her and he liked what he saw.

The warm glow inside her became a furnace.

The air moved as his other hand lifted and began to trace its predecessor's path, back and forth, and back again.

If a thousand shivers had filled her before, now it was a million, a hundred million.

She felt as if she was vibrating like a violin string beneath Jonathan's stroke, and he was barely touching her. A soft sigh escaped through barely parted lips and his lips turned up even more.

His eyes pulled her in and held her. It was like being caught in a dark night sky while warm water surrounded her, lapping gently at her skin. She wanted to close her eyes and exist only in the sensation, but she could not move her eyes from his and the command in them.

The cooler air of the night brushed her breast and she looked down, startled. He'd pulled open the tear, exposing all of one breast and most of the other. Her nipples grew tight as the breeze hit them, feeling almost as if they strained to be free from her. They'd been peaked before, but now, bare to all in the garden, they grew more sensitive than she could ever remember. It was almost unbearable.

A small jerk on her chin and her eyes rose to Jonathan's again.

Her breaths were short and fast now, mere puffs of air.

The hand at her chin slowly swept down until both his hands hovered just above the swell of her breasts. Together they slowly descended, fraction of an inch by fraction of an inch. She ached for more, wanted—she didn't quite know what she wanted.

His fingers circled her nipples, but did not touch.

A small moan left her mouth as she bit down on her lower lip in an attempt not to move. Her whole body yearned to press against him, to beg him to give her that mysterious something.

“You are being very good, my dear. Should I give you a reward?” His words whispered past her.

Her chin jerked in the briefest of nods.

He nodded in return and his fingers moved forward to grasp her peaked nipples.

“Ohhhh.” It was a moan, a sigh. It felt so wonderful. It was torture.

His fingers squeezed tighter. Another moan.

And still his eyes held hers, drawing out every bit of response from her, reading her every emotion, her every need.

His fingers pulled forward, stretching her, elongating the tips. The sensation was extreme, pain, pleasure—it was difficult to tell. But she wanted more, whatever it was, she wanted more—so much more.

Her thighs pressed tight together as the space between her legs began to tingle and ache. Dampness wet the tops of her thighs. Her whole body was aching with the desire for him, for his touch, for…

“You like this more than you ever did. Tell me, has some other man been teaching you, playing with you, in the years that I've been gone?” His voice grew cold again.

Oh, she wanted to tell him that it was none of his concern, that he had abandoned her, that he had no rights, none whatsoever. Only she wanted his face to soften again, wanted to see adoration mixed with the desire in his eyes, not the edge of cruelty that had suddenly taken roost there. “No, no one. It's only been you. It's always been you. If anything has changed it is you. You did not have this—act with this control when you were younger.”

Instantly his eyes darkened even further. “And you like me taking control?”

Could she admit such a thing? Was it ladylike? A lady would certainly never wish to have control, but did she want a man to take it, to command her, to order her not to move, to play her body with such expertise?

But did it matter? How could anything matter as bolts of electricity shot through her with each firm tug on her nipples?

She shook her head back and forth. “I don't know. I don't know anything. Just please don't stop.”

“Would you beg me to continue?”

“Yes. Yes, I will do whatever you want. Just don't stop. Please don't stop.”

He seemed to freeze at her words, her nipples stretched to the full extent, to that magical border of pleasure and pain.

“You would let me do whatever I want?” His voice rippled with emotion.

“God. Yes. I thought that was already clear. I told you I would give you that night we never had.” Her voice quavered as she tried to find a clear thought in a brain that was fast losing track of all but the sensations coursing through her.

“I am not sure we are discussing quite the same thing, but I will make note of your openness as I consider tomorrow.” His fingers tugged hard upon her nipples, again distracting her from his words.

Did he really mean that tomorrow night was still in question? Did he…? Oh, that was good. That was too good. Without thought, she let her head fall back against the tree, her unseeing eyes losing contact with his and staring upward at the crisscrossed branches and the heavens.

“Did I say you could look away?” his voice teased about the edge of her mind.

She made some noise in response, but could not have said what it was.

A low chuckle was his only response.

Stretch, squeeze, release. The continued tug on her nipples soared through her body, wave after wave of painful pleasure.

His lips brushed her chin and then his teeth nibbled, his tongue darting out immediately to soothe any ache away.

Her eyes drifted closed.

His mouth drifted lower, slow sweet nibbling kisses in such contrast to the hard ache of the pull on her breast. The two sensations moved her farther from a sense of balance.

It was all so unreal—but so very wonderful.

His lips moved across her collarbone and to the first swell of her breasts, the soft kisses becoming gentle nips, always followed by that slow, soft sweep of his tongue.

And then one of his hands released her, and before she could protest the hot suction of his mouth took its place.

Her body grew taut and straight. It felt like she would stretch right out of her skin. Where had the sensations come from? She'd never felt their like before. And did it matter? No, not in the slightest. All that mattered was his touch—that he didn't stop.

She arched forward, offering herself, her breasts, to him fully.

His mouth moved from one tight peak to the other, his hands working her whenever lips departed.

God, oh God. Her whole being was becoming centered on the growing ache of her breasts and the tight knot of sensation that was increasing between her legs; she wanted to press forward, to rub against his hardness. So good. So very good. It was only the barest memory of his command not to move that held her, that tied her as surely as any thick length of hemp.

A moan. A sigh. Another moan.

And then suddenly his lips were gone. The shock of the absence filled her.

Her head jerked downward, ready protest forming on her lips.

And then she saw his eyes, felt their power as they devoured her. Saw the want, the need, and the force of his desire.

He did not look at her face; instead his eyes were locked upon her chest, measuring each breath, each shudder of delicate flesh.

She had done that to him. She had caused that look.

Wonder and power filled her.

“Look down, look at yourself,” he barked.

“What?” The question was fuzzy, her mind not yet clear.

He did not reply.

Following his direction, she gathered her wits and looked down at her breasts.

Were those hers? Swollen and red-tipped, the nipples elongated.

“You are so beautiful, near perfect.” She could hear the swallow in his voice.

Beautiful? The thought cleared her mind. She wasn't quite sure she looked beautiful. Different certainly, but beautiful? She'd never seen breasts look like this.

He must have caught her look. “Do not doubt yourself. You have always been beautiful.”

That was certainly not true. She wasn't sure that anybody had ever before told her she was beautiful. When he'd been younger it had probably never occurred to him to say the words, assuming he'd even thought them at the time.

Her mind was too clear now, too far removed from the heated passion of the moment before.

A shiver shook her. Suddenly it seemed cold and dark in the garden. The sounds of the house far too near.

“May I close my dress, please?” She didn't know why she'd asked. She should just have done it.

He drew in a long, slow breath, the air wafting across her chilled skin. “Yes. We clearly cannot go further here. We have already gone too far.”

She wasn't sure there was any
we
about it. All she'd done was stand there, stand there and moan to be more precise.

Regret played at the corners of her mind, but she pushed it back hard. She had made her decision. And based on the last few moments it might even be all she had dreamed of.

Moving slowly, her body slightly stiff from her forced stillness, she lifted an empty palm and held it out.

Jonathan stared at it for one long moment before placing the lava pin within it.

Trying to pull the fabric tight over her tender breasts, she whispered, “I will return it to you tomorrow.”

“I will leave you a message to let you know.” And then he was gone. A single step back, and darkness and trees hid him from view.

To let you know?
What did that mean? Was there still any question as to their meeting or did he merely mean that he would let her know where?

Had he lost his mind? Jonathan stood in the shadows against the high wall and waited. This whole idea was ludicrous. Who would ever have dreamed of taking a young lady to Madame Rouge's? Well, he did know he wasn't the first. He had heard stories, but that didn't mean it was a sound idea.

Still, where else could he take Sarah? Assuming he was to take her anyplace at all.

He could still call the whole thing off. Yes, he would still have to meet her, he was too much of a gentleman to just abandon her, but he could tell her he had rethought the whole idea; that it made no sense for either of them to engage in such an encounter.

Only he wanted to meet her.

He wanted to see her.

He wanted to hold her.

He wanted to fuck her.

There it was, as simple as that. He, Mr. Jonathan Perry, wished to fuck Miss Sarah Swilp. He'd wanted to for years, almost since he'd started putting his cock to its intended use. He could not pretend otherwise.

What had happened five years ago might have left a sour taste in his mouth, but it had not taken away his desire, not taken away his need to possess her.

Possess her. That was even more accurate than fuck her. He wanted, no needed, to possess her.

And tonight was the night.

She would not back away tonight, would not hold out marriage as the price.

He would have her and not be trapped.

Trapped. He saw his brother's face, pale and harrowed, never allowed a moment's peace. Yes, he'd seen what forced marriage did to a man.

That would not be his path.

He heard wheels on the pavement and the clack of hooves. The dark carriage rolled along the road and paused opposite him. He hesitated, unsure whether to step forward or not.

A small, deeply cloaked figure stepped down with the coachman's help. There was the rumble of voices, not happy ones, and then the petite figure strode across the road. The coachman leapt up and with an unhappy glare, rambled away.

The figure stepped out of the street and, after a brief glance about, headed straight for him. He was glad that she had taken his advice regarding the cloak.

“Your coachman was not pleased to leave you here. Will he tell your father?” he asked.

“No.” She pushed her hood back so that he could see her face. “He may not have thought this a suitable area to leave a lady at this hour, but he has no fondness for Papa. His loyalty is to me.”

“That is good.”

“Yes.”

A moment of awkward silence hung between them.

“Where are we going?” Sarah asked, after a bit. “I do hope you don't intend to do this in an alley.”

“You know me far better than that.”

She nodded. “Yes, or at least, I did. I will trust you have not changed that much.”

“I have, at least, not changed in such a way that I would take a woman, any woman, against a cold wall. I cannot make any other promises.”

She blinked up at him. “I am not sure what you mean. And you have not told me where we are going.”

He lifted his cane and pointed down the street at the discreet red door.

“They will let us in there?” she began. “Oh, I mean they will let us have a chamber and…?”

“The door belongs to Madame Rouge's Club for Gentlemen of Taste.”

“Oh, a gentlemen's club will not allow me entry.”

“It is not a gentlemen's club, at least not in the normal manner. It is, in fact, a brothel.”

Sarah stopped and turned to him. Her eyes grew wide. “You are taking me to a brothel? Truly?”

“Yes, truly. Do you have an issue with that?”

Her mouth opened slightly and she blinked. She did have a thing with blinking. He was afraid it was one more thing he could only qualify as adorable.

“I am not really sure,” she said. “I probably should, but I have to confess that I don't know enough to know if I should protest or not. Is it a rough place? It does not look so.”

Ruby's a rough place? The idea was ludicrous. “You will have to come and find out for yourself. Do keep your hood up, however. You may see faces you know—or, more important, be seen by them.”

Instantly, she lifted her hands to pull the hood forward, obscuring her features. “I will trust you.”

“That is all I ask this night: your trust.”

“I do hope you'll be asking for a good deal more than that.”

“But all that comes from trust. I hope you will understand that by the end of the evening.” He held out his hand and led her forward.

They passed through the narrow iron gate and up the brick stairs to the red door. He rapped upon it once and an elderly gentleman pulled the door open. “Mr. Perry, it is good to see you again.”

“Thank you, Simms.”

“May I take your hat? And your companion's cloak?” Simms asked.

Jonathan handed over his hat and stick. “I believe we will keep the cloak.”

“As you wish. I believe that Madame is waiting for you in the parlor.” He gestured to the elegant double door.

He held out his hand to Sarah and took a step forward. “Let us not keep her waiting.”

Simms snorted, very quietly. “It is true she does not like to be kept waiting.”

It was Jonathan's turn to snort. “No, she most definitely does not.”

Simms stepped ahead and tapped on the door, before opening it. “Mr. Perry is here, Madame.”

“Send him in, Simms.” Ruby's rich voice echoed from the room.

Simms pushed the door wide and gestured them in before shutting it behind them.

Ruby reclined on the settee against the far wall, as regal as any empress. She held out a long pale arm in greeting. “I have arranged all as you wished, Jonathan. The green room at the top of the second stairwell. You may tell Simms if you need anything else.”

“You are a delight as always, Ruby.”

She smiled. “And tell me, has your friend been here before?”

“It is not like you to ask questions.” He glanced at Sarah, who stood a step back. Her hood still shadowed her face, but he could sense her curiosity as she glanced about the room, finally settling on Ruby. He could only wonder what she made of the beautiful, voluptuous madam and her vivid red hair.

“You have never brought a newcomer before. I merely like to assure myself that all is as it should be. That all parties are willing—and eager.”

He sensed Sarah about to reply, and gestured her to silence. “I promise you that we are both willing and eager.” He glanced at Sarah and then back to Ruby. “In fact, it was my lady who proposed this meeting—even if I took care of the details.”

Ruby's deep chuckle. “Still, I imagine this is not quite where she thought she would end up. I imagine she pictured a bed in a quiet inn, or that you would sneak her into your home.”

“You are probably right about that. But I could think of no place better.”

Another husky laugh. “You do flatter. And you know me well. Flattering my beauty will get you nowhere, flatter my establishment and…”

“And I will get a green room up a flight of stairs.”

“Ah, as I say you know me well.” Ruby turned to Sarah, looking past Jonathan. “And do you have anything to say? Any questions? Is there anything you would like to ask another woman? One who knows things?”

Sarah bobbed her head, but did not speak.

“Go ahead, if you wish,” Jonathan said. “Even if Ruby did recognize your voice—which I can't imagine she would—I trust her to remain discreet.”

“If you trust her, I do too,” Sarah whispered, before turning her shadowed face in Ruby's direction. “I don't think I have any questions at the moment. Is it possible for me to ask you later?”

Ruby smiled gently. “Of course, although I am not sure when we will have another chance to talk. My guests normally leave quietly before the sun is up.” She turned back to Jonathan. “I will have Simms escort you up.” She rose with easy grace and walked to the door, opening it and directing a few words into the hall.

She was in a brothel. A cathouse. A whore's den. Sarah didn't know any other terms, but she turned each one over in her mind with delicious slowness. She'd never thought she'd find herself in such a situation and knew she should be appalled. The very idea of it was far from anything that she had ever imagined.

And yet it was wonderful, freeing, and exciting. She, poor little Sarah Swilp, was in a brothel and about to have sexual relations. It was a heady thought.

She ought to be horrified. She ought to be frightened. She ought to be nervous.

So many oughts—and she felt none of them.

It might have been different if Madame Rouge's had been dark or dingy or loud or uncouth or…any of a list of things that it most definitely was not. It was beautiful and classic. It could have been the home of any great lady with its soft colors and discreet finishings. It was certainly not the way she had pictured a whorehouse.

“If you're done staring about, I believe Simms is growing impatient waiting for us.”

She wasn't sure she'd ever be done staring about, particularly at the—whores didn't seem like the right word. They certainly didn't look like what she thought whores looked like. Were they courtesans? She had to admit she wasn't exactly sure what the difference was between a whore and a courtesan, but she was sure the women here were more related to the later. She could have met them at any of the balls or soirées she attended and not been surprised, except that they were so beautiful. She wasn't sure that she'd ever seen women so young move with such confidence and grace. She'd sometimes seen married women move in such a way, but never girls who must still be under twenty, girls who were younger than she. Not that it was hard for anyone to have more grace than she did. She expected there were twelve-year-olds who did.

Papa had certainly made that clear when they spoke this morning. He'd been delighted that Mr. Meyers would be calling tomorrow, making it more than clear that she was lucky for the offer, an offer she would never have needed if it had not been for her papa's debts. With determination she turned her mind away. This night was not about that and she would not let such ugly thoughts intrude.

“What is troubling you?” Jonathan asked. “Even without seeing your face, I can sense your disquiet. Are you wishing you had not come? Do you wish to change your mind?”

He had always known her too well. “No, I am very sure that this is where I am meant to be.”

“Meant to be? Isn't that a bit strong?”

“No. I don't believe it is. And you are right, Simms is impatient. Let us follow him now.” She did not wish to pursue this conversation any further.

“As you wish.”

As you wish.
She had to admit she did like the sound of that. So few of her wishes had ever been granted. Now that sounded like she was feeling sorry for herself, and she was not. She had taken this night for her own and she would not let any form of pity mar it. She pushed her shoulders back, and her chin up. It was a pity that she needed to keep the hood over her face; striding up the stairs like a queen would have been delightful.

Up the stairs they went, only to pause as Simms opened the first door and stepped inside. She watched his expression and smiled to herself. He was as proper as any butler, making sure that all was in order, that his job was complete. Satisfied, he held out an arm and gestured them in. After a few quiet words with Jonathan, he turned and left the room.

And they were alone.

For the first time she began to feel the nerves she had expected.

They were alone.

“You can take off the cloak now,” Jonathan said.

She raised her hands to the clasp, then hesitated. There was security in not being seen. What if when he saw her he changed his mind? It had been dark in the garden last night; perhaps he had imagined her again as a girl of nineteen, a girl with rosy cheeks and a ready smile.

“Would you like me to help?” he asked, reaching forward.

She took a step back. “No. I think I can manage.” She wasn't quite ready to be touched. Suddenly everything seemed to be moving too fast. She undid the cloak, but held it still in place.

“I hope it pleases you,” he said, gesturing about. “I understand that Ruby has grander rooms, but I thought this would suit you.”

“You have been here before? In this chamber?” That did not suit her at all.

“Yes, but not as you would expect,” he hurried to explain. “Once after a long evening my friends and I ended up back here just drinking and playing cards and I ended up in this bed. Nobody makes a gent as comfortable as Ruby. She always knows just what one wants—and I don't place any entendre on that statement. If we stay too late and drink too much, sometimes she shuffles us upstairs to sleep it off.”

She shouldn't have believed him. It sounded like an excuse. But believe him she did. Her mind filled with the image of the man she had known, the laughing, smiling, caring, loving one. That man would have stayed up all night with friends only to tumble into bed alone, a happy drunk. This man next to her? It was harder to be sure. He had certainly acted out of character on that night five years ago. And now it was so hard to judge the man behind the stiff exterior.

Still she trusted him to bring her here, and she was trusting him with so much more.

She would trust his word as well.

Her chin tilted up and then down, the briefest of nods.

Her eyes focused about the chamber. Madame Rouge had nicer chambers? She wasn't sure she'd ever been somewhere so fine. It was not a large room, or overtly decorated, but the bed's headboard was of quilted white damask and the coverlet was of deepest green velvet and clearly of finest quality. It made her want to jump upon it, just to roll about in its softness, to rub her cheek against it like a kitten.

The fire was glowing, casting light and warmth throughout the room. It was almost too warm, yet still she held the cloak.