A Mistress for Major Bartlett (Brides of Waterloo)

She didn’t resist. But nor did she respond. Not with her mouth, anyway, but she was breathing heavily. And he was shaking with the force of desire surging through him.

‘Oh, Tom, you’re shaking,’ she whispered. ‘You mustn’t exert yourself.’

‘It isn’t that! It’s because I want you so much. Can’t you tell?’

‘I...’ She shook her head. ‘I thought it was just because you’ve been so ill. That whenever you try to do too much, you tremble.’

‘No. That’s not it.’

He wanted to take her hand and place it over his arousal. He wanted to put his own hand between her legs. He wanted to tear the ties of her nightgown open with his teeth and devour her breasts.

He shut his eyes and moaned again.

‘Tom,’ she whispered. ‘What should I do? I don’t want to torment you.’

And he was a man with a healthy appetite. He’d warned her. She’d even warned herself about the risks of playing with fire. By letting him comb her hair, she’d somehow stoked his simmering urges until they were raging red hot.

And since she was the one who’d fanned the flames, shouldn’t she go through with it? She didn’t want him to think she was a tease. And he did look so tortured, poor lamb, that...that...

Except—would it be fair to him to let him make love to her, completely? Wouldn’t he take that as a sign that she loved him back? That she belonged to him, even? No! She couldn’t belong to a man. Not even Tom. She’d vowed never to put herself completely in any man’s power, the way Mama had done.

Besides, she wasn’t completely sure she was ready to commit the sin everyone assumed she and Tom were already enjoying. At the moment, she could still hold her head high, knowing that she was innocent of all their nasty suspicions. She would even be able to face Justin down, knowing she’d done no wrong. But would she be able to look anyone in the face, if she really did fall? She’d always been the picture of perfect propriety. How they would all laugh if they knew she’d been tumbled by the English army’s most notorious rake.

But worst of all was the dread that Tom might think less of her. It was a bit ridiculous, the way he kept calling her an angel. But the way he always leapt to her defence, whenever anyone assumed she’d been intimate with him, the way he spoke of her purity almost with reverence... A shaft of ice pierced her to the core. Would he still claim to love her if she was no longer innocent? If she admitted she had desires, like all the other women he’d bedded, would he think she was no better than them?

‘Perhaps I ought to sleep on the truckle bed, after all.’

‘No!’ His eyes flew open. ‘Oh, no. Please, don’t go all the way over there. Behind that screen. It will only make things worse. At least if you are here beside me I can hold you. Smell you.’

She crouched on the bed for a few moments, eyeing him warily.

He grimaced. ‘I’m not an animal, Sarah. I won’t ravish you.’

‘I know,’ she replied indignantly. ‘I never, not for a moment, thought you would. It’s just...’ She caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Won’t it be hard for you? Having me in bed, when you want...and not doing anything about it?’

Hard? She had no idea how hard.

‘I will be hard all night no matter where you sleep,’ he admitted.

She glanced down, saw exactly how hard he was, blushed and looked back at his face.

‘Isn’t there anything I can do? To ease—’ she glanced down at where the sheet tented over his engorged manhood ‘—your, um, discomfort?’

Oh, yes, there was plenty she could do to ease that. Two or three strokes from her soft white hands, a swipe of her tongue, and he would be done. He was that primed.

‘No.’ He groaned. She wasn’t a whore. She was pure. Totally pure. And he couldn’t debase her by teaching her how to give him relief.

‘Just lie down next to me. Let me hold you. And I will be content.’

She did so, though she didn’t snuggle up to him the way she’d done the last two nights. She was tense. Almost as tense as him.

Sweat broke out on his brow.

It was going to be a long night.

He’d never claimed to be a good man. Never so much as attempted any form of self-restraint. But he would rather cut his own throat than betray Sarah’s trust.

And so, for the third night in a row, he lay sleepless, tortured by the combination of a raging desire, and the presence of the woman who caused it, lying innocent and trusting, in his arms.