Once Upon A Dream (23 page)

“Elias, I’ll need help with my chemise.” Not because she couldn’t reach the bows. Anne had chosen her attire for this outing
carefully. She needed her lover’s help because her hands shook too badly.

His, by contrast, were competent and brisk, untying each bow in succession, until Anne’s chemise was undone, her treasures guarded only by
Sedgemere’s consideration and her own lack of courage.

“Leave it on if you like,” he said, kissing Anne onto her back. “I don’t need to see you to know that you’re glorious.”

He was glorious, finding the exact right balance between haste and leisure, between boldness and delicacy. With maddening gentleness, he caressed
Anne’s breasts through the cotton of her chemise, until she was the one to shove the fabric aside and arch into his hands.

She loved that he’d be naked with her, loved that every inch of him was available for her delectation. Memories, of clothing shoved aside while
somebody slogged through an endless Schubert sonata on the next floor down, tried to intrude.

Anne figuratively threw those memories in the lake. Sedgemere was not a presuming earl, trying to get his hands on her dowry by virtue of hastily fumbling
beneath her skirts. Sedgemere was, in fact, in no hurry whatsoever, for which Anne was tempted to kill him.

She bit his earlobe. “If you do not apply yourself to the task at hand with more focus, Your Grace, I will toss you into the water.”

He glowered down at her, his hair tousled, his chest pressing against her breasts with each breath.

“Call me Elias, by God. You’ll not be Your-Gracing me when I’m inside your very body, woman.”

Anne lifted her hips against him. “Your Grace, Your Grace, Your Gr—oh,
my
.” 

His aim was excellent, his self-restraint pure torment. Slowly, by teasing advances and retreats, Sedgemere joined their bodies, while Anne’s grasp
of words, intentions, everything but Sedgemere unraveled.

“Say my name,” he growled, bracing himself on his forearms.

He could keep up this rhythm all night, Anne suspected. All summer. For the rest of eternity. Her mind knew he expected some response from her, words of
some sort. The rest of her was incoherent with relief to have him inside her, and with yearning for yet more of him.

She ran her foot up his flank, then locked her ankles at the small of his back. The ground was hard beneath her back, and that was good, because she needed
the purchase to push into Sedgemere’s thrusts, to love him back.

“Say my name, Anne.”

She tried to harry him, to say what she needed with her body. “Sedgemere,
please
.”

He kissed her, a quick smack when she wanted to devour his mouth. “Good try, but you’ll have to do better, my dear.”

Perhaps to inspire her, he sped up for the space of five breath-stealing thrusts, then returned to a slower tempo.

“Dammit,
Elias
.”  

He laughed and showed her how much he’d been holding back. The starry sky reflected Anne’s pleasure, in fiery streaks of desire and surprise,
and then more and more pleasure, as if the entire lake had left its bounds to deluge her in sweet, sweet satisfaction. Cool fire and moonlit water, then
the solid comfort of the earth beneath her, and the lovely stirring of a breeze over her heated skin.

Sedgemere gave her long moments to simply glory in the experience, and to recover. Anne stroked his hair, kissed his shoulder, and wished she had words
instead of fleeting caresses to offer him.

Then he moved again inside her lazily, teasing her into another brief, blinding moment of gratification that helped Anne hold back the regret stalking her
joy. When he kissed her temple, then gathered her close and simply held her, she yet managed to savor the sheer pleasure, and keep the tears at bay.

When Sedgemere withdrew, however, and spilled his seed on her belly, she told herself his consideration was for the best, even while she wept.

Sedgemere braced himself on one elbow, the effort of withdrawing from his lover having resulted in a combination of relief—he’d done the
impossible in tearing himself from her, after all—and rage. Everything in him rebelled at his caution. His body had spent itself in a confused
torrent of pleasure and dismay, his mind refused to function, and even the natural wariness of the wealthy, powerful duke was looking on in bewildered
disbelief.

What would Anne think of him, nearly proposing one instant, then protecting his freedom in the next?

Fortunately, his gentlemanly honor had maintained the upper hand, for Anne’s freedom had been protected as well.

She passed him a handkerchief.

“You do this part,” she said, her hand falling to the blanket in languid surrender. “I can’t move.”

“I can’t think,” Sedgemere muttered, wiping the evidence of his passion from her pale midriff. “God above, Anne Faraday.”

Should he propose again now? Hold her? Leave her in peace? Being a duke did not prepare a man for being a lover, much less a fiancé on offer.

“We ought to go for a swim,” Anne said. “Though we might set the lake aboil.”

Her voice was different, not so crisp, not so… confident.

“You aren’t going anywhere, madam,” Sedgemere said, finishing with the handkerchief and tossing it in the direction of his boots.
He’d wash that handkerchief himself and treasure it all his days. “I will expire if you abandon me for the pleasures of a brisk swim, for any
pleasures save those available in my embrace.”

Anne rolled to her side, giving him her back. “You would have to carry me to the lake, Elias. Even a dozen steps are beyond me. What a formidable
lover you are.”

Elias
. Freely given, affectionately rendered. The last of the frustration resulting from their truncated joining slipped away. Sedgemere tucked himself around
his lady and flipped the quilt over them.

“When I think of the days I’ve wasted flying kites and skipping rocks,” he said, nuzzling her nape. “Stewarding sheep races, for
pity’s sake.”

“Every duke needs a talent to fall back on when the title pales,” Anne replied, kissing his forearm. “You will be the foremost steward in
all the realm for sheep races.”

Anne had explained to the boys how to jockey a sheep, waved her hat madly to inspire the sheep to complete the racecourse, and hoisted Ralph into
Sedgemere’s arms at the conclusion of the contest. From there, Sedgemere had naturally put the boy on his shoulders and lost the last remaining bit
of his heart into Anne Faraday’s keeping.

Her inherent kindness extended even to taking care of male hopes and dreams, to nurturing the tender male ego.

“Stewarding sheep races is indeed a demanding and much sought-after profession,” Sedgemere said. “Might I also aspire to become the
steward of your heart, Anne?”

Her posture remained the same, sprawled on her side, her bum tucked into the lee of Sedgemere’s body, her cheek pillowed on his biceps, her feet
tucked between his calves.

The moment changed, nonetheless, and Sedgemere wasn’t quite sure how. Did that stillness mean he had her full attention, or that she was poised to
march off into the night? 

“You already have my heart, Sedgemere. You had it the moment you noticed that Helen Trimble regards me as if I were the evidence of a passing goose
on the bottom of her shoe. You had it when you lent me your teams all the way up from Nottinghamshire. You had it when I saw how protective you are of
Hardcastle, though he hardly needs protecting. You had it when you realized your boys are in want of encouragement.”

Sedgemere was encouraged, for this litany had nothing to do with his title, or with his consequence. He’d merely behaved as a gentleman toward…
well, as a besotted gentleman.

“You imply that my lovemaking did not impress you,” he said, his hand finding its way to a warm, abundant breast. “Shall I address that
shortcoming?”

 She lifted her cheek from his arm. “Somebody has lit the lamps in the nursery.”

Against Sedgemere’s palm, flesh ruched delicately. “One of the boys had a nightmare or started a pillow fight.”

He’d like to have pillow fights with Anne, also formal dinners, house parties, holidays, quiet breakfasts, afternoon naps…

And babies.

“Sedgemere, your boys have that bedroom just before the corner. Why would they be awake at this hour?”

“They should be cast away with their labors, you’ve kept them so active,” Sedgemere said, withdrawing his hand. “I suppose you want
to investigate?”

Anne scrambled to sitting, and gathered up her chemise. “What if one of the boys has fallen ill? Feeding a great herd of people can mean the kitchen
is less careful to keep hot food hot and cold food cold. Bad fish can carry a grown man off, or bad eggs. Mutton can turn, and if the sauces are heavy, and
a boy is hungry, he might not notice.”

Oh, how Sedgemere loved her, loved her fierce protectiveness of the boys, her ferocious passion, her laughter.

Her hesitance to accept his offer of marriage was not so endearing.

“Anne, calm yourself. They are robust boys, and nobody in the entire gathering has shown a single symptom of ill health. They know not to eat
anything that tastes off, because a duke’s heir might be drugged and kidnapped.”

Her head emerged from her chemise. “Gracious, Sedgemere, you lead an exciting life. Hadn’t you best get dressed?”

He did not want to get dressed. He wanted to tackle Anne and ravish her and tickle her, and then make love with her in the warm, shallow waters of the
lake.

“Anne, will you marry me?”

“Now is not the time, Sedgemere. Your children might be ill, fevered, dyspeptic. One of them might be injured, or might have gone missing. One must
always be aware of risks, and with children, the risks are limitless.”

Not a
yes
, but also not a
no
, and she was right. Now was not the time. Sedgemere found his shirt, then pulled on his breeches.

“It’s probably nothing. Ralph still occasionally wet the bed as recently as last summer. His brothers helped him hide the sheets and get new
ones from the linen closet. I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t overheard the housemaids discussing it.”

 The dress went on next, a loose, high-waisted smock with short sleeves and a lace-edged bodice. Of all Anne’s dresses, including her dinner
finery and ballroom attire, this one would always be Sedgemere’s favorite.

“You should be proud of the boys for sticking together,” she said. “Not all brothers do. I can’t find my—”

Sedgemere passed her a pair of low-heeled slippers. “I am proud of the boys, and lately, I’ve started telling them that. I do hope Ralph
hasn’t wet the bed. He’ll be mortified.”

“Perhaps his duck has got loose,” Anne said, kneeling up to help Sedgemere with his cravat. “Any duck would grow restless, living in
boxes and closets.”

“His
what
?”

“Josephine, his duck. I come out before breakfast for a walk around the lake, and Ralph is often in company with Josephine, whom he has brought clear
from Nottinghamshire. She’s a very well-traveled duck. Hold still, Sedgemere.”

Anne finger-brushed his hair into order, fluffed his cravat, and passed him his jacket.

Because she was studying him, Sedgemere had a moment to study her. The moon had risen higher, and thus more light was available, and he could see what she
doubtless hoped was hidden by the darkness.

Despite her brisk tone, despite her obvious concern for the children—and this damned traveling duck— Sedgemere’s intimate attentions had
moved Anne Faraday to tears.

Now was not the time, she’d said, but as Sedgemere took her hand and led her back to the house, he vowed that they would find the time, and
he’d have an answer to why his lovemaking had made her cry.

And an answer to his proposal of marriage. 

The maids were in an uproar, Richard and Ryland were pacing about in their nightshirts, a footman hovered, and two governesses in nightcaps and night-robes
were arguing about whose job it was to evict rogue ducks.

Sedgemere stood in the middle of this pandemonium as if nursery riots were simply another duty on the endless list of duties dukes took in stride, while
Anne could not find a useful thought to think or a helpful deed to do. Three older boys from the room across the corridor lingered in the doorway, and a
small red-haired girl peeked around the jamb as well.

“The lot of you will please settle down.” Sedgemere hadn’t raised his voice, and he’d hoisted Ralph onto his hip. “Lord
Ralph, when did you last see the duck?”

“She was in her b-box after supper,” Ralph wailed, “but somebody let her out. I’ll never s-see her again, and Josie was my only
d-duck.”

Two of the boys hovering in the door slipped away, the footman took to bouncing forward and back on his toes, and everybody else fell silent.

“You,” Sedgemere said to the footman, “please follow the two fellows who departed and search their quarters. If you require my aid in
that endeavor, I’ll happily lend it, and I’m sure the boys’ parents will too. You two,” he went on, addressing the governesses,
“are excused with my apologies for the uproar. If you maids would see the other children to their beds and search the playrooms for any stray ducks,
I’d appreciate it.”

“But my Josephine is lost,” Ralph moaned. “My only d-duck, and she won’t know her way around, and the other boys are mean, and the
cook will kill her and feed her to the guests.”

“Anne,” Sedgemere said, “in the morning, you’ll have a word with the Duchess of Veramoor if Josephine remains truant. Please
instruct Her Grace to modify the menus so no duck is served until Josephine has been returned to her owner’s care.”

One did not instruct the Duchess of Veramoor, but that wasn’t the point. “Certainly, Sedgemere. I’ll speak with Her Grace before
breakfast.”

“Can you do it tonight?” Ralph asked. Tears streaked his pale cheeks, and he didn’t even raise his head from his papa’s shoulder.

“Morning will suffice,” Sedgemere said. “Nobody is awake in the kitchen to wield so much as a butter knife at this hour, my boy, and duck
is never served for breakfast. It isn’t done.”