Come Be My Love (26 page)

"Esther Cromwell?" Admiral
Windemere's
silvery brows gathered into a puzzled frown. "I failed to recognize her." After a few more turns about the floor, Admiral Windemere said, "If I may be so bold, who escorted Miss Cromwell to the ball?"

Sarah tore her eyes from the vacant doorway where she'd last seen Jon. "Who?"

"Miss Cromwell. Who is Miss Cromwell's escort?"

"Oh... uh, yes," Sarah replied. "She came with Mayor and Mrs. Harris." Determined to concentrate on her dancing partner, Sarah smiled, but the admiral didn't notice, obviously engrossed in thoughts of his own. Catching the gleam of interest in his eyes and realizing where his thoughts lay, she said, "Would you like to chat with Miss Cromwell?"

Admiral
Windemere's
eyes brightened with excitement. "Yes, I would indeed."

When the music stopped, Sarah walked with Admiral Windemere to where Esther stood. The admiral lifted Esther's gloved hand and touched his lips to her fingertips. "Lovely lady, you have quite taken my breath away," he said, peering into Esther’s sparkling eyes. "May I have the remainder of the dances with you?"

Too stunned to speak, Esther simply stood staring at the admiral, who in turn seemed to have forgotten that he was leaving Sarah quite alone on the dance floor. Tucking Esther's hand into the crook of his elbow, he swept her onto the dance floor and into his arms, where Sarah suspected Esther would remain for the rest of the evening.

Jon was at Sarah's side at once, with Mary Letitia nowhere to be seen. Sarah looked at Jon, and to her shock, saw the ruddy imprint of a hand on his cheek. Had he tried to kiss Mary Letitia when they were on the veranda? It certainly appeared that way. Feeling queasy fingers curling inside, she said with a trace of sarcasm, "Did you and Miss Windemere enjoy the moonbeams?"

Jon raised his hand to his face and rubbed. "We had a slight... disagreement."

"So I surmised."

Jon took Sarah's hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow. "Aren't you curious why we disagreed?"

Sarah shrugged. "I imagine it had something to do with you forcing yourself on her. Isn't that usually why a woman slaps a man?"

She started to pull her hand away, but Jon held it fast. "It had something to do with my calling her a spoiled, manipulative, sharp-tongued shrew. I'm afraid the lady took offense."

"You called her that? But why?"

"Because that's what she is. And because she said some rather unflattering things about you in very unladylike terms."

"Like what?"

"That, my good woman, I’ll never reveal." He patted her hand. "Now, unfortunately, before we can start dancing, I must make the rounds and offer salutations, one of the demands of my job. But afterward, I intend to have you to myself for the rest of the evening."

For the next hour, Jon ushered Sarah on a circuit of the ballroom, greeting one dignitary after another and exchanging cordial words. Sarah talked with the wives, finding most of them reserved and some a bit staid, perhaps even offended by her presence. Jon appeared impervious to their sideways glances, continuing his exchanges while either holding onto her elbow or placing his hand at her waist. They joined the crowd gathered around the long tables and while sipping champagne, they feasted on
patés
, fine cheeses, exotic fruits and fancy hors d'oeuvres.

At last, when the orchestra began playing a slow waltz, Jon said, "Shall we?"

Anxious to be away from the stodgy dignitaries, Sarah nodded. They stepped onto the dance floor, and Jon slipped his arm around her, drawing her close, and said, "In case you're not aware of it, Miss Ashley, you have been ogled by every fire-breathing male in this ballroom."

Sarah's lips curved with pleasure. Resting one gloved hand on his shoulder and curling the other in his palm, she gazed into his dark, smoldering eyes, and said, "I wouldn't know about that, Governor Cromwell, as I am not aware of any man in this room but you."

Jon pressed his palm against her back, drawing her closer to him. "And that, my sweet, is as it should be." He waltzed with her around the floor, guiding her into the current of twirling couples, spinning her round and round beneath the glittering chandeliers.

Entranced by the lilting music swirling in her head, intoxicated with the headiness of being in Jon's arms, and captivated by the gleam of pleasure in his eyes, Sarah felt bewitched. And as she held his gaze, the people around her receded, the music and laughter diminished, the flicker of candles and the sparkle of crystal faded... All she was aware of was the feel of Jon's shoulder beneath her palm, and the pressure of his hand against her back, and the warmth of his fingers closed around hers. It was at that moment that she realized she loved him, intensely, desperately, totally. Gazing into his mesmerizing eyes, she found herself in a world in which nothing existed but her and Jon. His arm around her tightened, drawing her closer. His movements slowed, and his lips brushed her forehead.

"I fear you have charmed me with your magic, fairy princess," he said.

The deep, rich sound of his voice uttering the romantic words drew Sarah deeper into the enchantment of the moment. Peering into his eyes, she said in a breathless voice, "No, my darling, I am the one who has fallen utterly and completely under your spell."

"If you are under my spell," Jon said, his gaze resting on her lips, "then I have accomplished my goal." He moved to kiss her and she raised her chin to receive his kiss...

It was then that she realized the music had stopped and they stood transfixed in the center of the dance floor, swaying slowly to music only they could hear, lips a breath apart, oblivious to everything and everyone around them.

Mortified, Sarah glanced around, aware that all eyes were fixed on them. Flushing hot with embarrassment and humiliation, she dropped her hand from Jon's shoulder and turned out of his arms. Jon held her hand. "Just ignore them," he said, "and we'll go out on the veranda. I promised you stars and moonbeams, and we won't find them in here."

Knowing there would be gossip whether they stayed in the ballroom or stepped outside, and wanting to be away from the sharp stares and furtive whisperings, Sarah squared her shoulders, held her head high, and walked with Jon off the dance floor.

As they threaded their way between couples who eyed them surreptitiously, she tightened her hold on Jon's arm, uncertain whether her quaking limbs would support her. They walked past a coterie of women whose conversation ceased until they'd passed, at which time a babble of voices broke out. Sarah only half-heard what was said, but she caught the word "mistress" quite clearly. To her dismay, she saw Mary Letitia standing with two other women near the entrance to the ballroom. Mary Letitia whispered something to the woman beside her, who passed it on to the other woman, who stared at Sarah, and Sarah knew that some perverse tidbit of gossip had just been exchanged. Lifting her chin, she determined to ignore the women, but when she and Jon passed the group to leave the room, her eyes defied her and shifted to meet Mary
Letitia's
icy gaze and mocking smile.

With his hand resting possessively at Sarah's waist, Jon nodded politely to the women, then said to Mary Letitia, “Good evening, Miss Windemere. I hope your hand has recovered."

Mary Letitia turned crimson.

Jon guided Sarah out the door and onto the candlelit gallery, where couples strolled leisurely along a wide pathway lined with Chinese lanterns. Where the lanterns ended, Jon took Sarah’s hand and led her down a narrow pathway lit by moonlight to a small pavilion overlooking the bay. Gazing across the water, Sarah said, "My coming here with you was a terrible mistake. Mr. De Cosmos will use his pen to create something quite improper and notorious about our untimely actions on the dance floor, and it will be crafted to have an adverse effect on you."

Jon shrugged. "Regardless of what De Cosmos writes, the people of this colony will be the ones to decide whether or not I'm doing my job, and they can simply look around at the civil services they now enjoy to determine that."

"Then they'll look at me on your arm and forget all of it," Sarah said, pondering the knowing leers and sniggering talk. "And I'm certain that whatever Mr. De Cosmos omits, Mary Letitia will supply. I really think we should leave."

"No," Jon said. "I promised you dancing under the stars, and that's what we'll do." He clasped both hands behind her waist as the distant strains of music floated to them on the breeze. Held in his close embrace, Sarah laced her fingers behind his neck, and under rays of silvery moonbeams they glided in easy, unhurried steps, turning slowly to the winsome music and the sound of Jon's low humming. When the music ended, Sarah raised her lips to his, and he kissed her lingeringly. Her heart began to hammer, and she felt vibrant with energy, blazing with desire. He kissed her again, harder this time, and she held him tighter. Stroking the side of her jaw with his thumb, he said, "I believe, my sweet, that you share my thoughts."

They slipped into the darkness and made their way to the coach. Behind closed carriage doors, and rocking gently to the motion of the coach, Jon pulled Sarah to him, and said, "At last I have you all to myself."

Sarah settled into his arms and cuddled against him. "My thoughts exactly,” she said. “I have endured quite enough pointed stares for one night."

Jon gave her a wicked smile. "And I would like to get on with your lessons—" he nibbled her neck "—by morning we should have covered several more. You're a very apt pupil."

Sarah moaned as he kissed his way down her throat. "You can't stay till morning," she said. "I haven't made up my mind about us and I don't want anyone to know you're there. But I do want you to stay for a little while."

"You'll have me for at least that long." Jon nibbled her ear lobe. "Peterson can drop me off and return later so my carriage won’t be seen, should anyone pass—" he kissed beneath her ear...

"Umm... But won't Peterson talk?" Sarah said, dreamily.

"He's gotten me out of more scrapes than I can remember," Jon replied, "so you have nothing to fear from him."

Maybe nothing to fear from Peterson, Sarah realized, but she did fear her own reaction to Jon’s kisses and caresses. But the way she felt now, even if Peterson did talk, she was beyond caring. Propriety seemed irrelevant. All she wanted was for Jon to hold her, and cover her with fevered kisses and end her yearning. Yet nothing had been decided. Jon had never told her he loved her, though he called her his love, but he’d never actually said the words,
I love you
. Perhaps a man never said those words to his mistress.

The coach pulled to a halt in front of the cottage, and Jon instructed Peterson to return for him at midnight. Once inside the cottage, while Jon doffed his coat and bow tie and loosened his shirt collar, Sarah lit several lanterns, taking one to the bedroom, where she placed it on the bedstand. When she returned to the living room, Jon pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. She responded by kissing him back with a hunger that surprised her, as if she couldn't get enough of him. But when the kiss was over, Jon lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom and lowered her onto the bed.

Stretching alongside her, he braced his head on his hand, gazed down at her, and said, while toying with a silk garland, "You are a most exquisite sight, my love, but you would look even more beautiful clothed in blushing pink flesh instead of this gown."

He removed the garland from her hair and combed his fingers through her long tresses, drawing her head back, and pressed his lips to hers, holding them there until Sarah's nerves hummed like hundreds of taut wires. Then his hands moved leisurely over her, touching her in places that until now had been forbidden to him.

 
"You have no idea how I've waited for this moment," Jon said planting kisses across her shoulders. And when he started unfastening her gown, Sarah made no move to stop him, but instead, allowed him to slip it from her. When she was naked and laying on the bed, Jon brushed her hair aside so he could see her breasts, then he sent a trail of kissed over them and took a puckered nipple into his mouth and began suckling.

Sarah curled her fingers into his hair as tingles radiated through her, spiraling downward. But after a while, she said, "Jon, you still have your clothes on. I want you naked alongside me."

Jon stopped what he was doing, and said, "Does this mean you're giving me your answer?"

"No," Sarah replied, "It means I want you to make love to me just for tonight."

Jon stood and stripped off his clothes, and as he did, Sarah's eyes wandered over his broad chest and down, her heart racing, her loins aching with the unmistakable urging of her body as Jon stood before her, eyes smoldering with need. His hips were narrower than she'd expected, his thighs more powerful, his male part large and thrusting upward. The burning low and deep inside her grew, until it became exquisite torture. Her lips parted, her nostrils flared with her short rapid breaths, and perspiration beaded on her forehead.

Stretching alongside her, Jon tangled his hands in her hair as he pressed his lips to hers, and as she felt the urgency of his need, a molten probe moving against her, shivers radiated from the juncture of her thighs, and sharp pangs shot through her loins.

As Jon caressed with his hands and teased with his tongue, soft moans escaped her lips. His palm followed the curves of her body, his fingers exploring forbidden places. Her body responded like quicksilver. Her lips moved in breathless pleas. The ache inside her was so intense, she wanted to be claimed at once. Instead, Jon kissed the hollow of her neck and the swell of her breasts, then pressed his mouth to hers, until their breaths merged and became one.