Page 28 of Escaping the Earl
“Peregrine, please. I should like us to be friends. Everything I said in my steward’s cottage was the truth. Only my title was hidden from you.” He gazed earnestly at her, and she was struck again by his handsome features and how they accompanied a tender and gentle heart to match.
This man was no heartless rake, but someone like her, whose circumstances had changed unexpectedly. In another life, she would have wished to marry a man like him, but she had dropped in the ranks of society and he had risen, and now the disparity was too great between them.
“I would like to be friends as well,” she finally said and bit into her tart again, savoring the last bite of its sugary sweetness. She set the plate on a nearby table, knowing that a maid would put it away in the morning. She remained silent as he finished his, searching for what to say. She had a thousand things she wanted to discuss with him, knowing their conversation could flow so easily, but she dared not keep herself in this position much longer and risk being discovered.
“I should go to bed now.” She stood, and he hastened to his feet as well.
“I still have those books... Please allow me give them to you. Stay here, and I shall return with them in a moment.”
She waited, still in her nightgown and robe by the fire, the taste of sugar on her lips as she thought of how very dangerous this was. Ever since that night at the masked ball, she knew what could happen between men and women in the dark when passion burned between them. It would be only too easy to let herself go with Peregrine, just as she had with the man at the ball. Each time she was near him, she was haunted by bittersweet memories of that starlit night.
Realizing she’d made a mistake in waiting for him, she started toward the library door to return to her bed, but he suddenly returned, his arms wrapped around a stack of books. He set them on the table and lifted the top one. It was an old text, one that reminded her of Chaucer’sCanterbury Tales. He opened it to one of the early pages.
“This book contains the poem I read tonight.”
She scanned the text. “But this is in Middle English. You didn’t recite in that form tonight.”
“No, I am sadly familiar with Middle English. I learned it at university in order to prove one of my professors wrong.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the edge of the reading table, his long, lean muscled legs outlined in those buff breaches. For a second Sabrina found herself distracted by his body and not his mind.
“Heavens, Middle English—even I did not enjoy learning that. However did you manage it?”
“It was like having a tooth pulled, or a shoulder set back into place. I rather hope to never experience anything like that again.” He moved closer to her, his shoulder touching hers innocently as she read a few of the poems. Heat sizzled along her upper arm where they connected, and she trembled.
“Are you cold?” He put an arm around her shoulders. His scent enveloped her as he pulled her closer, a scent she realized she knew only too well. Sandalwood and leather. Was she dreaming? This couldn’t be... Could it? Her head spun at the thought that this man might actually be the one who appeared in so many of her dreams. But it had been so many months, she had to admit she could be mistaken.
“I’m not cold,” she whispered.
He gazed down at her now, his eyes inviting and warm as he licked his lips.
This was wrong. She shouldn’t do this...
Shewantedto do this.
And so, in keeping with a lifetime of poor decisions, she leaned in and turned her face toward him just as he bent his head toward her. Their heads collided with a sharpcrack!He groaned and clutched his forehead, and at the same time she held a hand to her own and gave a little yelp.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I’m so sorry, Miss Talleyrand.”
“No, no, I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh full of regret. That little blunder had cleared her head. She should not go about kissing anyone. That part of her life had been over before it had ever begun.
“Here, let me see.” He caught her chin and turned her face toward him. He gently examined her forehead. “Not even a red spot. Does it hurt?”
“Not very much,” she admitted. “Mostly my pride. You?”
“Not at all now.” He was still holding her chin in his hand. “Please let me try that again,” he said with a gentle twinkle in his eyes.
“What about our agreement to be friends?” she asked, tilting her face up. How could this man make her so hopelessly full of dangerous desire?
“I never agreed to only be friends. I said that I would not seduce you. You are seducingme, if truth be told. I’m quite powerless in your hands, Miss Talleyrand.”
“Sabrina, please.” She needed him to say her name. She wanted to let her fantasies run away with her, that he was indeed her mystery man who’d saved her and given her something magical that she would never forget. A night of love beneath the stars...
“Sabrina,” he whispered her name in that husky voice potent with yearning and midnight hunger.
Then he kissed her, and it was everything she had hoped it would be. Peregrine wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she sighed in delight against his mouth.
“Open your lips for me,” he said.
She trembled in his arms. It had to be him, her masked mystery man from Lady Germain’s ball. She did as she had that night and parted her lips. He cupped the back of her head, and his hand threaded through her loose hair until he pulled on the strands just enough to let her feel how in control he was at the moment, but she wasn’t afraid. She felt protected and cherished with him, just as she had that night at the ball.
