The Groom Says Yes (7 page)

She blew her nose and faced her reflection. “From now on, I shall think of myself first.” Her statement didn’t sound convincing, even to her own ears.

“I shall think of myself
first,
” she declared, her voice more determined.

Now she sounded like a fool.

Sabrina faced her patient. He’d slept through her fit. Her cousin Aileen had always claimed that a good cry eased the soul. Sabrina didn’t feel “eased.” She felt as if she could curl up on the bed beside Mr. Enright and sleep for a week.

Drawing a fortifying breath and releasing it, Sabrina attempted to feed him a bit of the broth, cooing encouraging words as she did so. When she had poured as much of it as she could down his throat, she rolled up his shirt and removed the herb poultice she had wrapped around his chest.

Dipping a cloth into water from the washbasin, she began washing the remnants of the ointment off of his skin. He made a face as his skin dried in the air but did not wake. The man was exhausted. She’d seen patients sleep twenty-four hours and more after overcoming the fever he had experienced. His body was repairing itself. Sleep could do more for a soul than all the leeches and medicines of the healer’s art.

What was interesting was that, last night, she had been so worried about him, she had barely noticed the lean muscles of his rib cage and the hard planes across his chest. He had a scar along his side. She wondered about the story behind it.

He was also younger than she’d first imagined. A shave would transform him, and curious, she fetched her father’s shaving kit. Sabrina sat on the bed close to her headboard and lifted his head to rest on her leg. She lathered his chin and jaw. She’d shaved patients a time or two before. She now ran the razor across his skin. He had a strong, noble nose and well-formed lips. It was a pleasure to watch the character in his face revealed. He was not classically handsome but had a look that would turn heads whenever he passed.

And soon, he would go on with his life.

She looked down at the peacefully sleeping Mr. Enright.

Yes, she did find him attractive. He was far more handsome than Mr. Burnett and was definitely the sort of man a woman would like to kiss.

An idea struck Sabrina. A desire.

She could hear Rolf barking outside, probably at a rabbit, but here, in this room, there were no sounds other than their breathing. She was alone with this man. He didn’t even know her name and yet, she felt close to him. He’d been delivered to her care and he would survive. In a matter of days, their lives would go in different directions.

So, what would be the harm in stealing a kiss? To discover what it felt like? To pretend for just a moment that she had a sweetheart?

If she was with him, there wasn’t a woman in the valley who wouldn’t feel a touch of jealousy.

Sabrina looked down at the man resting on her leg. He had very kissable lips. She’d never noticed that about a man before. But then, there was a presence about Mr. Enright . . . and his lips. They were thin, masculine, tempting.

She told herself a kiss was an impulse, a bit of curiosity, that and no more . . . but she could also feel the reckless pull of desire.

Before she let doubts arise, Sabrina bent over and placed her lips over those of the sleeping man.

T
he doors were driving Mac to madness. He jogged through the cavernous tunnels, opening one glowing white door after another. His gram was no longer here. She’d left him. While he’d been talking to her, she had disappeared, her image growing fainter as she listened to his story.

She was gone. They were all gone, just as in life—his brother, his mother, Moira. And now, when he opened the cavern’s glowing doors, he returned to his cell at the Old Tolbooth, the Condemned Man’s Cell, with its foul smell and the rickety cot.

He’d slam one door shut and run to the next, then the next.

Sometimes, he heard the voices of his brother and Moira. She had been known for her laughter almost as much as her fresh-cheeked beauty. Beautiful Moira. The woman he had loved . . . and lost.

Occasionally, as he tore through the tunnels, Mac thought he could hear the sound of children. He knew without being told they were Lorcan and Moira’s. He’d never met them.

Gone. All gone.

Overwhelming sadness settled upon him, and his only salvation was
her
voice. His angel.

Mac was immersed in the moment, but he also knew he dreamed.

A part of him still had reason. He’d had patients so exhausted by illness they slept as if dead. When they were well, they’d tell him of their dreams. Some even believed they had gone to another side, the place where Death resided, and returned.

Mac didn’t put any faith in their words. After almost ten years of fighting Napoleon’s war, he’d seen enough of Death to know there was nothing supernatural to it. What waited for both sinner and saint was emptiness, the same sadness that filled his life and had done so for a long time.

Now, as he wandered the halls, he wondered when he’d lost passion for life. That loss had been his reason for returning home, of wanting to reach out and forgive what had happened between himself, Lorcan, and Moira. Perhaps then, he’d feel a sense of purpose.

But they were all gone.

And he would have happily given himself over to Death as well if not for his angel.

He heard her cry and silently rejoiced when she’d found her spirit and began speaking to him again. The melodic lilt of her words was sweeter than music.

And she was close . . . somewhere behind one of these doors. He just couldn’t find her—

Lips brushed his.

The caverns with their maze of doors disappeared. Mac was in Edinburgh in the room he’d rented, and it was night, the night Gordana Raney had joined him in his bed.

He’d not invited her. The girl had taken it upon herself to be there. He’d been drunk, almost to the point of a stupor, as he’d been most nights. He’d been lost in grief and regret. His brother’s ghost haunted him.

Gordana was such a lovely lass, but she was young, and Mac didn’t want the burden of using her. She had kissed him, but he hadn’t wanted her. He was done with using people. He was done with anger. The time had come to leave self-pity behind. He’d made the decision that night—a drunken promise to change.

The girl had not taken his rejection happily. She’d left and, hours later, had been murdered.

And now she kissed him, the taste of her sweet.

When she pulled away, he found he craved her kiss.

Too soon, he wanted to say, and couldn’t. He could not speak at all. He struggled to find his way out of the darkness, to call her back, then she kissed him again.

As Mac remembered, Gordana had been very aggressive. She might have been young, but she knew her business, and she’d wanted what he had.

In contrast, now, there was a shyness to her, as if she had liked the feeling of her lips against his and wanted to explore more. Her kiss stirred him with its gentle question, and he felt himself come roaring to life. Heat surged in his loins. He
lived.

They had not killed him yet.

She started to pull away again.

Mac reached for her, hooking his hand around her neck and pulling her down to him.

There was a moment of resistance, then her lips were against his, and this time, instead of being a passive partner, Mac kissed her back.

Nor was this just any kiss. He searched for something, something hard to define, and yet, it was here in her kiss . . .

This was not Gordana. He knew that now. He kissed the angel, the woman whose kindness had kept him alive.

There was magic in this kiss. Hope.

And he was not about to let her go.

M
r. Enright’s lips were harder than hers, and yet soft at the same time.

Sabrina had meant to offer no more than a peck, the sort of kiss one gave the cheek of a relative or friend. She’d experienced no other sort. The moment she’d kissed him, she’d felt silly.

Hers had not been the sort of kiss that poets praised. They talked of hearts and earthiness and delight.

Sabrina’s kiss with Mr. Enright had been more of a rubbing of lips, and not a very long rubbing at that. She tried it once, then tried again, more out of curiosity the second time, and a hope not to be disappointed because kissing, apparently, was an anemic thing. She’d prefer the camaraderie of a hug—

Her thoughts broke off in a panic as his hand captured the back of her neck.

Her heart leaped in shock that he’d moved with his own volition. Conscious thought vanished from her mind, to be replaced by embarrassment at being caught smacking her lips against his. How could she explain what she had been doing—?

The weight of his hand brought her lips back to his.

And this time, there was no simple brush of closed flesh.

This time, their mouths melded together.

Sabrina had gasped in surprise, and Mr. Enright had taken advantage of her half-open lips, bringing potency to the kiss. Making it daring.

She was receiving her first true kiss and perhaps her last.

A smart woman would take full advantage. She’d missed so many opportunities in her life. She was not going to miss this one.

Besides, she liked this kiss.

His hand exerted gentle pressure, urging her to turn her head to just the right angle where they “fit.”

Oh, yes, they fit.

For a long moment, Sabrina marveled at how right this felt. It didn’t seem silly at all. Well, perhaps if someone witnessed their lips locked on each other’s, they might think they were amusing . . . but to Sabrina, this felt good. Completely lovely and nice.

Indeed, her whole body hummed with how lovely and nice it was. The kiss flowed through her, melting resistance until she could think of nothing but the connection between them.

She didn’t even notice that Mr. Enright had repositioned himself until he drew her down onto the bed alongside him. And she let herself be drawn, even as the bedclothes made it difficult for her skirts to stay down. They gathered at her knees. She didn’t care, she was too busy marveling over the fact their lips had never once parted.

Of course, Sabrina knew she should stop him. She wasn’t too far gone to not realize this was an impropriety. She even made an attempt to sit up, but he placed a possessive hand on the curve of her hip, and she decided there was no harm in lingering a minute more, especially as the kiss began to change.

He leaned into her, demonstrating there was more pleasure to be had the closer they were to each other.

Her eyes closed, and Sabrina allowed herself the pleasure of the moment. She indulged her curiosity.

As she kissed him, she could imagine she was breathing his soul, and she liked the idea. She was aware of the weight and presence of his body and even the texture of his skin in a way she hadn’t been while tending him.

Furthermore, he was warm in a comforting way, and she liked the scent of his skin, spicy and manly from the shaving soap and a fragrance unique to him alone. His arm slid around her waist. He gathered her closer, and his tongue intimately touched hers.

This was more than just a mere kiss. This was an invitation, an intimate one.

And Sabrina was not repulsed.

Instead, every fiber of her being came alive. He
tasted
good. He
smelled
good. He
felt
good.

Her arm had found its way to his waist, her hand pressed against the small of his back. She experienced him not as a patient, but as man, sliding her fingers beneath his shirt. His skin was smooth except for the scar, and she traced the line of it up his side.

A throbbing need began to build in her. Was this desire? This yearning to open all of herself to him? Especially in the most intimate places?

He slid his tongue along hers again, and Sabrina wrapped herself—arms, legs, hands—around him.

And still the kiss deepened. It grew heated. He tasted her, devoured her.

Dear God, she liked this kiss.

Now she understood why the poets praised a kiss. There was more to it than she had ever imagined.

And when Mr. Enright kissed her fully, without any reservations between them, she eagerly welcomed him, wanting more, more, and
more.

Her full breasts flattened against the hard muscles of his chest as he leaned over her. Yes,
that
chest, the one she had eyed with admiration. His hips fit with hers.

But what robbed her of all reason, what sent her spirit on fire with delicious anticipation, was his hand upon her breast. Her
naked
breast. Sabrina had no understanding of how her dress had become unlaced, but she didn’t care. She was undone, and happy for it.

If she’d had a will to set limits or think rationally, it had vanished.

She now became a new being. Had she once exercised good sense? How ridiculous of her! She liked
this.
She was light and laughter . . . and need. Oh, yes, she
needed
him.

Capturing Mr. Enright’s jaw with both her hands, she kissed him with all the budding passion inside her, and he responded. He was as hungry as she was. She wallowed in these kisses, reveled in them, and their magic was only heightened when he circled her hardened nipple with his thumb.

She quivered, just as the poets had claimed she would . . . Her loins were on fire. Yes, she had loins, another one of those poetic terms used to describe lust. She’d never read the word “loins” again without recalling this exquisite heat ignited by his touch.

Deep within her, a pressure was building. The word
desire
beat through her veins.

Yes, she desired him. Right now, she couldn’t live without him. “Please,” she heard herself whisper against his lips. “Please, please, please.”

He knew what she wanted.

His leg slid between hers. His hand raised her skirts even higher, so they were gathered around her waist. She was exposed to him, but she didn’t feel vulnerable or afraid.

For the first time in her life, she felt completely alive.

Being this close to him, having his body all around her, feeling his hips resting on hers, was better than kissing.

She could feel his hardness. She wasn’t naïve. She knew the differences between men and women, but she’d never experienced them—and right now Sabrina was caught up in the “experience.”

His weight felt good. His touch was not gentle but demanding, insistent.

At last, their kiss broke.

His breath was hot against her ear as he whispered, “I need you.”

I need you.

What perfect words.

In all of Sabrina’s life, only her mother had “needed” her and solely because, as an invalid, she’d had no other choice.

But this man wasn’t bound to her . . . other than through their kisses.

His lips brushed her temple. Even that simple contact gave her pleasure—

The first sweep of his hand against her most intimate parts was shocking. The touch jerked her out of the haze she’d been lulled into.

“Steady,” he said. His low voice touched a deep chord connecting her body with the stimulation of his knowledgeable hand. He nuzzled her neck, kissed her ear, and she thought she could linger a moment longer. He was trying to make her happy—and succeeding.

“Sweet angel,” he murmured.

Sabrina smiled. No one had ever described her as an angel or sweet. He made her feel like one. Certainly, she no longer felt of this earth. And she’d do anything she must to be what he wanted. His lips captured hers once more. Such delicious lips. No wonder she liked kissing them.

Her hands found their way under his shirt. The buttons of his breeches were undone. She didn’t know how or when that had happened, but she liked it. She now had access to the hard muscles of his abdomen and the curve of his hip. He was long and lean, and his skin felt warm and smooth beneath her palm. The scent of him made her wild with wanting.

Sabrina was no longer the woman everyone thought her.
Look at me now, Dame Agatha. I’m living fully.

She was who she wanted to be—and if all the women in the parish had tromped into this bedroom behind her father, she could not have stopped herself from relishing the hard planes of his chest and from pressing liquid need against his hardness—

The thrust, sure, steady, and demanding in its strength, surprised her.

She’d barely registered the fact that he was inside her, when
sharp
pain tore through the magic of the moment, dousing it with reality.

His naked hips were cradled between her thighs. Her stockings had fallen although she still wore her shoes. Her skirts were around her waist.

His breeches were
not
around his waist. His hips, his buttocks were muscular and strong. All of him was strong, and she knew because she felt as if he were splitting her in two.

And there was the problem.

Sabrina had been so caught up in the wonder of discovery, she now discovered herself no longer a virgin.

The shock sent her mind reeling. Her first inclination was to run, to escape.

She started to scramble out from underneath him, but he braced his arms so they formed a wall around her. “No,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “You can’t leave now. Not now.”