Page 67 of The Princess Stakes
She froze in place. “I beg your pardon.”
“Since the ball, my nights have been torture.”
Hers had, too, if she was being honest. Sleepless, restless…waking with the sheets bunched around her waist and her body drenched in sweat, she was plagued by dreams that bordered on indecency. She didn’t dare think of any of them, or her face would give her scandalous thoughts away.
“Is that so?” she murmured, staring at Asha and Ravenna, who were lost in their own musical world and would not notice if the roof caved in over their heads.
As if determining the same, Rhystan leaned toward her ever so slightly, the side of his muscular arm brushing the sleeve of her dress, and Sarani swore that sparks arced between them. Her cheeks flamed. Ducking her head, she attempted to compose herself. Goodness, she wished she didn’t blush so easily. Or that her body wasn’t so…weakwhere he was concerned.
His ungloved hand came to rest beside her on the seat, and she lowered hers to rest beside his. Slowly,slowly, their small fingers touched, hot, bare skin sliding together. Sarani bit back a gasp as the barest graze of his finger ignited the ember of memory in her core that was impossible to ignore. Impossible to forget.
“I want you, Sarani,” he rasped. “Will you come with me?”
The pure need in his words preceded the storm, now brewing inside of her.
A cyclone of desire and unfulfilled dreams.
And heaven help her, she wanted to steer the bow of her doomed ship right into it. She wanted to give herself over to it, to let it take her to destruction or completion. She did not care which. Sarani needed to keep just one part of him when everything shattered around them. Because it would…eventually.
Lies weren’t meant to hold up forever.
For now, she wanted to embrace the fantasy. Even if it meant lying to herself.
She gave the only answer she could. “Yes.”
Nineteen
She isn’t bloody coming.
It wasn’t his first thought. His first thoughts had been gilded in elation. In bliss. In brilliant, fiery-edged desire. But the possibility of her not showing up gutted him. She’d seemed so willing in the music room. She’d saidyes. But it’d been nearly an hour of him having a bracingly cold bath and then pacing a hole in the Aubusson carpets of the drawing room, checking his pocket watch every time the long hand moved.
Maybe she’d run into Ravenna on the way or, God forbid, the duchess. Or perhaps she’d simply changed her mind. He could not—would not—blame her if she did. People were allowed to have second thoughts.
God, she truly wasn’t coming.
The tentative footsteps in the hallway had his heart pounding and his blood heating.
It was scandalous in the extreme what they were doing. An engaged couple could step out together alone, but not at night. If either of them got caught, a swift trip to the altar would be the least of it. But he’d dismissed Fullerton for the evening, and he knew for a fact that his mother had already retired. All that left was Ravenna, and she’d been angling to push them together for a while now. Any servant who saw them leaving Huntley House would hold his or her tongue on pain of dismissal without a reference.
Rhystan cracked open the door of the salon, and she slid inside, the sultry scent of jasmine flowing in her wake and making his entire body clench with need. If he wasn’t careful, he’d slam her to the door, rip the cloak and gown from her body, and take her against the walls right then and there.
“I thought you’d decided against joining me,” he ground out, reaching for his hat. He was holding on to his discipline by the thinnest of threads.
“I considered it,” she said, eyes wide as though she could sense his struggle, though she did not retreat. In fact, answering desire flashed in that dark green-gold gaze.
He groaned, nearly crushing the satin-edged brim of his hat. “Do you wish to go with me, Sarani?” he rumbled. “Because once we leave this house, I won’t let you out of my sight, out of my reach, until I’ve made you mine—ruined you—in every way.”
She shivered, but feral bright eyes lifted to his as she whispered, “Ruin me, then.”
This woman.
Grabbing her hand, he led her down the stairs to where his coach was waiting. The door hadn’t fully closed before he was upon her, his mouth crushing hers. God, her taste! Like sin and summer nights, like spice and sunshine. The blend, uniquely her, did him in. Sarani did not hold back either. Her fingers sifted into his hair, breasts smashing into his chest and erasing what little space there was between them, parting lips and legs to receive him. She’d never held back, not with him. Even as a girl, her kisses had been passionate, her response without artifice.
He wanted to see her come again, but this time not with his fingers.
“I’m sorry. I need to—” Rhystan tore his mouth from hers as he crashed to his haunches on the floor of the carriage, kissing along her neck and tugging at the fastenings on her cloak.
“Rhystan, what are you doing?”
