Sally MacKenzie Bundle (167 page)

“I think Runyon was causing trouble,” Charles said.

“Was he?” James looked intently at Sarah. She ducked her head and put the champagne glass to her lips again. “What did he do, Sarah?”

“Nothing, really. I think he was trying to frighten me. I told him you and I were just acquaintances, but he didn’t believe me.” She took another sip of champagne.

Charles snorted. “Of course he didn’t believe you—the two of you just about set the ballroom on fire with that waltz.”

“Damn!” James sounded both angry and frustrated.

Had he kissed Charlotte Wickford, Sarah wondered. He must have, if he had considered becoming engaged to her. She took a larger swallow of champagne. The bubbles were definitely nice.

“Can’t say I like him getting near Sarah,” Charles said.

“You
can’t like it?” James’s voice rose. He lowered it. “God, I
hate
it, but I can’t order the man out of London, much as I’d like to. At least he’s gone now. I saw him leave just before I came in here.”

Sarah let the men’s words wash over her as she watched the champagne bubbles stream up from the bottom of her glass. She raised it to her lips again.

“I think that is probably enough, sweetheart,” James said, taking the glass away. “Let’s go dance, shall we?”

Sarah felt as if her head were floating above her shoulders. She smiled at Charles. “If you’ll excuse us?”

“Ma’am, James was my commanding officer. Of
course
I’ll excuse you.”

“Wise, Charles. Very wise.” James put his hand under Sarah’s arm and helped her to her feet. She swayed slightly and leaned into him. “No more champagne.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re tipsy, sweetheart.”

As they entered the ballroom, the orchestra was starting another waltz. Sarah smiled. She much preferred the waltz to all the other dances—especially if she was going to be dancing with James. He took her into his arms and she closed her eyes, savoring the music. She felt light and graceful, surrounded by James’s strength. There was nowhere else she would rather be. She decided Richard’s words were unimportant.

“Am I putting you to sleep, Sarah?”

“No.” She looked up at him, still under the spell of his closeness. The right corner of his mouth twitched up.

“Keep looking at me like that, my love, and the
ton
will never recover from the scandal I may feel compelled to enact.”

Every inch of Sarah’s skin burst into fiery bloom. Her body began to throb in a most embarrassing place and her knees were suddenly wobbly. She was afraid she was going to melt into him.

“James!” she said, weakly.

He laughed. “We are probably scandalizing society enough just dancing together. I suggest a mental diversion. Perhaps you should recite the
Declaration of Independence.”

Sarah’s mind went blank. All she could do was stare at James’s lips. She knew that was a very improper, even stupid thing to do, but she had lost all control of her muscles.

“I don’t think so.”

“Hmm. Well I have to admit I am exceedingly pleased to have reduced you to such a mindless state, sweetheart, but we do need to change the subject. My inexpressibles are getting much too expressive.”

“What?”

“Never mind. What exactly did my unpleasant cousin say to you during your dance?”

Sarah missed a step. James steadied her, pulling her a little closer than proper. Her breasts brushed against his chest. She felt the contact all the way to her toes. “Nothing,” she whispered. “Nothing at all.”

“I think that’s quite enough.” Robbie plucked the champagne glass out of Sarah’s fingers.

“You should talk.” Sarah had to concentrate to get each word past her uncooperative lips. She knew she wasn’t completely tethered to reality. She liked the feeling. She watched James dance by with a tall, buxom brunette.

“Exactly. An excess of spirits led to your current predicament.”

“Your
excess, not mine.” Sarah would have argued further, but she couldn’t focus on the issue long enough to marshal her fuzzy thoughts. She watched the brunette smile up at James. Had he been in her bed yet?

“Does James know you’ve been sampling his champagne so freely?”

Sarah shrugged. “He doesn’t care.”

“Oh, I think he cares very much. Come on, this is the last dance. I’ll haul you around the floor in the hopes that you’ll sober up.”

“I’m not drunk.”

Robbie smiled. “Not quite, perhaps. I’ll bet you have a headache in the morning, though.”

“Are you going to dance or lecture me?”

“Dance, I think. Come on.”

Sarah stepped on Robbie’s toes twice. She lost her balance through one of the turns, but Robbie kept her upright. As the music ended, he led her over to James. The brunette had already been deposited with her chaperone.

“You want me to lean Sarah in the corner somewhere?”

James examined her. She glowered back at him.

“A little too much champagne?”

“No,” she said.

“Yes,” Robbie said.

“Come along.” James took her arm. “It’s time to say good night to our guests. If you stand still and don’t talk too much, you’ll be fine.”

Robbie was the last to leave. After the door closed behind him, Lizzie skipped over and hugged James.

“That was wonderful!” She spun across the entry hall, her dress whirling out in a frothy billow. “I danced every dance! I’m so excited, I’ll never be able to sleep.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to turn away all the young bucks who come visiting in the morning,” Lady Amanda said as she started up the stairs. “We’ll say you’re indisposed.”

Lizzie stopped in mid-spin. “Oh, no! Don’t do that!”

Lady Gladys chuckled. “Off to bed with you then, if you don’t want to look hagged for all your admirers.” She took Lizzie’s arm, but paused on the first step to glance over her shoulder. “Coming, Sarah?”

James took Sarah’s hand. “I’m afraid I’m going to detain Sarah just a few more minutes. We have some things to discuss.”

Lady Gladys rolled her eyes. “You don’t fool me, boy. I was young once, you know, hard as that may be to believe. Just don’t get too lost in your ‘discussion.’ I’m all for your early wedding, but I don’t want the guests counting the months till your heir is born.”

James chuckled. “Aunt! Please be a little more discreet. Poor Sarah and Lizzie are as red as pomegranates.”

“Balderdash. Come along, Lizzie. We’ll leave these two lovebirds alone.”

Lizzie winked at Sarah and helped Lady Gladys up the steps. Sarah watched them until she felt James tug on her hand. She went with him into his study. She knew it was not a good idea, but her brain was no longer in charge of her actions. Something else was guiding her now, some need she didn’t understand. Her good sense was just a spectator.

James closed the door quietly behind them. Sarah’s awareness of him, of his body with its planes and angles, muscles and strength, hit her in the throat. Her eyes traced the line of his jaw against the soft whiteness of his cravat, stopping at the defined curve of his lips. She wanted to touch those lips, to feel them on her skin. She was breathless, expectant.

He led her over to his big chair. The room was shadowy, lit only by the banked fire. He sat down and tugged her gently onto his lap. She sank into the strength of his thighs, the wall of his chest, the warmth of his arms.

“Mmm, you taste good.” James’s words rumbled past her ear as his lips, soft as worn velvet, grazed over her earlobe, down her jaw, to the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “I thought I would go mad whenever I saw you dancing with another man tonight. When I found you in the refreshment room with Charles, I felt battle rage, and Charles is one of my closest friends.”

His tongue flicked over the seam of her lips. She inhaled in surprise, and he came into her, filling her. She was overwhelmed by the intimacy of the action, transfixed by the rough sweetness of his tongue, the tangy smell of his skin, the latent power of his body. Her head fell back against his shoulder. She pulsed with a dark, wet heat that pooled between her legs. His hand cupped her breast and she moaned. She ached there, too. She shifted in his lap, trying to get closer. His thumb rubbed lightly over her nipple.

It was the faintest touch, but the shock of it flashed through her body, clearing the champagne fog from her mind. She stiffened and struggled, pushing against his chest. His arms loosened immediately and she sat up, gasping and shivering.

James had had his
tongue
in her mouth and his hands on parts of her body even she barely touched. And the throbbing down there…Sarah shook her head, but the thought and the feeling didn’t leave. God in heaven. James was definitely turning her into a wanton. Was this how he started with all his women? Made them so mindless they would do whatever he wanted? Or was this just how the
ton
behaved—all those beautiful, sophisticated
worldly
women. Well, Sarah wasn’t worldly. She was just a provincial, naive American.

“Sarah?”

“Richard said the
ton
calls you ‘Monk.’”

“Did he?” There was no inflection in James’s voice, but his body told the truth of it. His hands dropped away from her. She was still sitting in his lap, but she might as well have been sitting in the straightest, most formal chair.

She didn’t need to ask, but she did anyway. “Is it true?” The words were shrill, defensive. Just like the foolish little virgin she was.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s true.”

Chapter 8

James heard the door close behind Sarah. He should have risen when she had, but his manners had abandoned him. Truthfully, he couldn’t move. The pain of Sarah’s rejection was paralyzing.

He stared into the fire. What had he done wrong? He could have sworn Sarah had responded to him. He had felt her sweet bottom squirm against his heat, had heard her little moans of pleasure. Had he misunderstood? Had he been so caught up in his own passion that he had misinterpreted her reactions?

When she had first pulled away, he’d thought he had frightened her, that he had gone too fast. But then she had thrown that bloody nickname in his teeth.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. God, desire still pounded through his body, making it hard to think. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

What the
hell
had he done wrong? In an instant she had gone from hot and pliant to cold and stiff. Her beautiful lips, swollen from his kisses, had twisted in disgust. He had felt like a clumsy boy again.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The bloody nickname went back to Cambridge and Richard, of course. Richard had spread it throughout the school once he’d gotten wind of James’s disastrous trip to the Dancing Piper.

It was an ugly memory. On James’s sixteenth birthday his father had paid him a rare visit.

“Sixteen! Time you learned to be a man, son.”

“I thought I was learning to be a man, Father.” James had actually been happy to see the duke. He missed Alvord; he missed Aunt Gladys and Lizzie, who was then only five years old. “How are things at Alvord?”

“Well I’m sure. They’d send word if anything was amiss. Haven’t been at Alvord for a while, you know. Came out from London. More to do there.”

James had stared at his father. At sixteen, he couldn’t imagine anything better than being at Alvord.

“Now, James, I’ve got quite a treat planned for you.” His father had looked everywhere but at him. “You aren’t still a virgin, are you? Haven’t tumbled one of the maids at Alvord? That yaller-haired girl—Meg’s her name. Or is it Mary? She’s quite accommodating, as I remember. Had a piece of her, lad?”

James had felt his ears burn. He’d swallowed, his mouth as dry as dust.

“No, heh? Well, that’s why I came, James. Hell, by the time I was sixteen, I must have laid at least a half-dozen girls. I’m giving you a birthday present, lad. We’re off to the Dancing Piper.”

James had heard Richard and the other boys talk about the Dancing Piper. Nerves twisted his gut. “I don’t think I can go, Father. I have to finish my Cicero.”

“Put those damn books down. There’s more to life than books, boy. It’s past time you learned that.”

James had to admit, as he matched his steps to the duke’s, that excitement twisted alongside the dread in his stomach. He
was
sixteen. He noticed women. He’d been dreaming of them for a while, but his fantasies always turned vague at the most interesting parts. Perhaps now he would be able to fill in some details.

He had walked past the Dancing Piper many times, detouring to view the building that held such mysteries. The outside was not impressive. It looked like any other tavern or small inn. The sign needed a fresh coat of paint and one of the windows was cracked, but James was willing to reserve judgment.

“Place’s grown a bit shabby,” his father muttered. He pushed open the front door.

The first thing that struck James was the smell—the stink of stale ale and stale bodies. The common room was dark; the ceiling, low. Smoke from the candles and the fireplace made the air thick. James felt the walls close in on him and his stomach twisted again. He took a deep breath. A mistake. He started coughing. His father whacked him on the back.

“Yer grace, what a surprise!”

James found himself staring down at the largest breasts he had ever seen. He straightened quickly. The breasts belonged to an otherwise small woman. In the murky light, her hair looked blond. Squinting, James saw the lines she had tried to cover with paint around her mouth and eyes. He was appalled to see her link her arm through his father’s and lean those large breasts against his father’s side.

“To what do we owe the honor of yer presence?”

James watched his father preen under this female’s attention.

“I’ve brought my son for a little polishing, Dolly. Well, more than a little. He’s got no damn experience at all.”

Dolly turned her small, calculating eyes to James. “A fine, strapping lad like this and never been with a woman?” Dolly did not bother to keep her voice down. James saw a pair of older boys he knew sniggering.