Stand and Deliver Your Love (22 page)

It was as if Sarah had stabbed him with a thousand knives.
She loves only the children. The children will always come first. She does not love me.
In a fit of anger Byron threw his glass of brandy to the hearth where it shattered into tiny shards. “Your word? With the king as witness you gave me your word you would love, honor and obey me—yet you would abandon me? Which is it Sarah? Which promise will you honor?” He stood and advanced on her. “Does a promise from your lips mean anything or do only ones from your body ring true?”

She flinched when he grabbed her arms and hauled her out of the chair. Her eyes were defiant, but when she opened her mouth to speak no sound came out. His focused on her quivering lips. Why did he still want her when she did not love him? Even as he stood there, angry enough to do her bodily harm, he wanted to kiss her full lips and bury himself to the hilt in her.
Have I finally gone mad?
“If you do not want to be with me why does your body beg for my touch?” he forced the desire strangled words from his tongue.

“No,” she moaned when his head lowered to hers.

He devoured her lips with his. Her fingers clutched his shirt front. He jerked her to him and punished her lips with a brutal kiss. When she clenched her mouth shut against his probing tongue, he growled and nipped her bottom lip. With a whimper she opened for him and he plunged his tongue into her warm recesses. She tasted sweet, like berries he thought as he explored every crevice of her mouth and lips. He wanted to punish her for the hurt she caused him but his body cried out for fulfillment. Pushing her back against the wall he groaned and tore his lips from hers.

“Promise me you will stay. Tell me you love me,” he whispered, looking deep into her
eyes.

Her voice shook. “No, I cannot.”

“Your lips lie but your sweet body tells me the truth,” he whispered. Taking her hands in his he pinned them against the wall above her head and kissed his way from her chin to the neckline of her modest dress.

When she moaned he knew the truth. Her body was
his now and forever. She surrendered to his kisses, going limp under his lips. He moved his leg between the folds of her skirt and brushed against the place where only he had touched. He wanted to tell her he loved her, to profess it to the heavens, but pride prevented him.

Then her lips were on his, soft and coaxing. He released her hands; she pulled his head to hers and demanded more. Byron groaned. Her matching passion was almost his undoing. He picked her up and laid her in front of the fire without releasing her lips. When he felt her hands fumbling frantically with his buttons he reluctantly released her and sat up. She gazed up at him through passion-hooded eyes, her lips red and swollen from his kisses. With a groan he tore off his shirt and flung it from him. She reached for the buttons on his breeches and he undid them for her and then worked feverishly on undoing the tiny row of buttons down the front of her dress. Finally, frustrated at his slow progress he pulled, rendering the garment and causing the last few buttons
to scatter across the carpet. When she leaned forward and kissed his nipple, he stiffened and groaned.

She reached up and slid her fingers through the patch of curly hair on his chest. “From the first time I saw you I want
ed to do this,” she whispered. Her fingers slid down the thin line of hairs to his navel and he knew he could wait no longer to take her. He moved between her legs and sheathed himself in one thrust. She gasped and moved her hips in a frenzied pace that matched his own. Together they rose to a dizzying height of ecstasy.

When Byron's mind finally drifted back down to earth he had forgotten all about being angry. Flipping Sarah’s discarded dress over top of them both for warmth he laid, spent, with her in his arms. Her breathing gradually slowed and she snuggled into his chest. He frowned when she beg
an to sob. He turned her to face him, baffled and concerned by her reaction to their lovemaking.

“Sarah? What is wrong?”

She didn't answer him, her sobs turning into wails of grief. He scrambled to his feet and pulled on his breeches. After wrapping her in her torn dress, he picked her up and carried her upstairs to her room. He set her with great care on the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Sarah, please stop crying, you will make yourself ill,” he pleaded. When she didn't respond he hurried to find her maid and summon a physician.

* * * *

Byron paced the floor outside Sara’s bedchamber.
What is taking that blasted physician so long in there?
He stopped and placed his ear against the door. Faint sounds of conversation drifted to him but he couldn't make out any of the words. When the door opened without warning he jumped back, tugging on his waist coat with chagrin. The physician’s lips twitched into a lopsided grin and he stepped out into the hall, shutting the door.

Byron cleared his throat. “Is she all right?”

“Your wife will be fine. I have given her some laudanum to help her sleep. After a good night's rest she should be herself again.”

Byron released his pent up breath
. The doctor didn't seem to be overly concerned, so whatever was wrong with Sarah could not be that serious. “What is the matter with her?”

He gave Byron a dirty look. “I believe she is suffering from stress and exhaustion. You should take better care of your wife. See she rests with no excitement for a few days.”

Byron bristled at the man’s insinuation it was he who was responsible for Sarah’s

condition, but he kept his feelings to himself.

“Now if you will excuse me I will be on my way, my lord.”

“I will show you out.”

“That will be quite all right, I shall see myself out. I have roamed these halls many a day since before you were born,” the physician pointed out. He headed off down the hallway swinging his medical bag.

Byron entered Sarah’s room. Her maid was sitting in a chair beside the bed but stood when he entered. She put her fingers to her lips and l
eft the room closing the door behind her. Byron moved to the vacated chair and sat. Sarah lay, dressed in a clean nightdress, with the blanket tucked across her chest. Her eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He noted the dark circles under her eyes which confirmed the physician’s diagnosis and brushed wayward curl from her forehead. He was responsible for her illness he realized. It was all his fault. The woman had been a veritable recluse and he let her fall into a hellish prison and then dropped her back into a society she could not possibly cope with in so short a time. He shook his head disgusted with his own lack of compassion. How could he have been such a blunderbuss?

The butler poked his head around the door and motioned for him. Byron sighed and got to his feet. After one last look at Sarah he left the room.

“There is a man here asking to speak with you, my lord.”

“Who is it?”

“He says his name is Bert, my lord.”

“Bring him to my study,” Byron started down the stairs and headed for the study. Why was Bert here? What could the man possibly want to discuss?

He seated himself behind his desk and waited. It wasn't long before the butler showed Bert in. The old sailor removed his hat and stood fidgeting with the brim.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Byron asked, waving the man to the empty seat across from his desk.

Bert shuffled forward and perched on the edge of the chair, “The missus bid me come.”

He cleared his th
roat, his eyes darting around the room. “She’s worried about the mistress, you see.”

Byron snorted. “There is nothing to worry about. You can reassure your missus I have not beaten Lady Sarah, despite the fact I was sorely tempted to.”

Bert scowled but nodded. “Don't be too harsh on the lass. She means well.”

“That may be, but the woman is going to destroy me if she does not watch her step,” Byron grumbled.

“I best be going,” Bert said, preparing to leave.

“Wait.” Byron opened his desk drawer, pulling out the letter he had written earlier. “Take this to my solicitor.”

Bert frowned. “What is it?”

“A letter of credit. My solicitor will give you the three hundred pounds I promised Sarah at the cottage. It is the best I can do. My father’s actions have left me strapped for cash at the moment.”

The sailor looked surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”

“A bargain was struck and I mean to honor it.”

Bert nodded, settling his hat back on his head. “Thank you, my lord.” He started for the door, pausing on the threshold. “For what it is worth, you’re a good man. The mistress is lucky she found you.”

Byron nodded. “I appreciate that, Bert.”

The sailor nodded. “Take care of her. If you break her heart, be warned, I will come back and knock your block off.”

Byron grinned as the man left. Loyalty was something he could appreciate.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sarah slid the lunch tray off her lap. She hadn't seen Byron since her embarrassing

breakdown the night before, choosing to have her meals instead in her room by herself. Her attention turned to the silver tray Mavis placed earlier on her bedside table. It was overflowing with calling cards from, she suspected, the who’s who of the ton. Since she had yet to order some calling cards of her own, she spent the majority of the morning penning thank you notes in response to the cards of congratulations and best wishes on her nuptials.

Stretching, she decided a quick stroll around the garden would be just the thing she needed before she finished her correspondence. After ringing for her maid she climbed out of bed and wandered to her wardrobe to choose a comfortable day dress. She decided on a bright simple and cheery carmine-colored dress.

“I think I shall go for a walk in the garden,” she informed the maid when the girl entered the room, “I can see from my window some of the roses are starting to bloom. It looks so nice outside.”

“It is a lovely day out,” her maid agreed,
helping her dress. The girl rebraided her hair and then twisted it into a tidy knot at the base of her neck. “Do not forget your parasol,” she advised.

Sarah made a face but picked up the delicate sunshade. She made her way downstairs and out onto the veranda. The air was fresh and clean. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the fragrant scent of the lilacs and roses in bloom. She wandered down the stone paths, admiring the many different types of flowers in the garden. Frowning she stopped at a weedy looking bed of herbs. Getting down on her knees she began to pluck the offending weeds from the damp soil unmindful of her dress.

Her mind wandered back to the previous evening. She was ashamed to have let Byron see her in her moment of weakness. surely he would want an explanation for her emotional breakdown and what would she tell him? To tell him she loved him but was torn between him and the children would only anger him. After all, he had already commanded she cut all ties with her former life.

The children needed her and Byron didn't. The children wanted her and Byron wanted nothing more than her body. Could she blame him for not loving her? He had been forced to marry her just as she had been forced to marry him. What was she going to do? She couldn't run back to the orphanage, because he would know where she was and come for her as he did before.

Sarah plucked the last weed from the herb bed and stood. With a satisfied sigh she wiped her hands on her skirt and turned back up the path towards the house. Stopping at the daisy bed that had an abundance of frilly white blooms, she picked an armload and carried them with her into the house. On her way up the stairs to her room she noticed an empty vase by the front door.

Taking a large handful of the flowers she set the rest down and began to arrange them in the vase. A long shadow fell across the floor where she crouched. She
glanced up. Byron stood staring at her with a brooding look.

He extended his hand to help her up. “I see you are feeling better.”

Sarah ignored his hand and stood. “Yes, thank you.”

“What are you doing?”

“I pulled the weeds from the herb bed and saw the flowers. I thought to fill the vase.”

“I have a gardener to do those things.”

“I was bored,” she mumbled hiding her dirty hands behind her skirt.

“I think we should retire to my study so you can explain to me what happened here last
night.”

She studied the tiles on the floor to avoid his gaze. “There is nothing to talk about.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I was simply over
tired.”

Byron cupped her chin in his hand, tipping her face up to look at him. He searched her eyes for a moment. “If I have done something that troubles you, then I should be told. I am your husband and can right any wrongs as I see fit.”

Sarah steeled herself against his searching look. “Rest assured, my lord, if there was a wrong that I thought you would fix, I would tell you.”

He sighed and released her chin. “Very well. Since you are feeling better we shall be leaving for my country estate first thing in the morning for I have sold this decrepit old house to pay my creditors.”

Sarah caught her breath. “I do not wish to go!”

Byron fixed her with a cold stare. “We are leaving first thing in the morning,” he repeated. “If you are not ready to go by then or decide to do something foolish such as run away, I shall employ every man at my disposal to hunt you down. Then I will return you to Newgate where you will live out the rest of your days.”

Heedless of her shocked gasp he turned on his heel and marched down the hall to his study. He gave her one last scowl and entered the room. Sarah flinched as the door slammed shut behind him. She stared at it for a moment before going to pack for the journey.

When Sarah and her mai
d had everything packed into two trunks she penned a note to Bert to let him know she was leaving for the country. She placed inside the envelope, the sapphire stick pin she removed from Byron’s cravat the night she tended his wounds at the cottage. She hoped it would tide the orphanage over until she could find another way to raise funds. While her maid saw to it the message was delivered, Sarah requested a dinner tray sent up to her room. The last thing she wanted was to sit through an uncomfortable meal with her husband.

Sh
e was still awake when Byron retired to his room later that evening. She feigned sleep when door knob of the adjoining door turned. It opened. Soft foot falls crossed the carpet and paused at the side of her bed. Would he wake her? Did he expect her to allow him access to her bed? She concentrated on keeping her breathing deep and even. His fingers stroked her cheek, trailing down to trace the curve of her lower lip.

“I thought I knew what love was, until you stole my heart, highwaywo
man. I love you.”

His finger ceased stroking
, footsteps shuffled back across the carpet and the door clicked shut.

He loved her! Sarah wanted to leap from the bed, run after him and throw herself into his arms. Instead, she cried herself to sleep knowing she couldn't desert the children just because she had found her happily ever after.