"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.
There were a great many things she could do to alleviate his suffering, Jarrod thought. And all of them involved the sort of things no innocent should know. Damnation, but he ached with need. And all because Sarah tempted him with every breath she took. Bloody hell, but her dress was the most incredible garment he'd ever seen any woman wear. And he fervently hoped, for the sake of his peace of mind and her virtue, that Sarah never wore it again. "I think you've done enough already."
"Have I?"
"You know you have." He looked down at her, fixing his gaze on her soft pink lips instead of her soft breasts and realized they both had the same effect on him. Everything receded except the sight and scent and feel of her in his arms. He wanted very much to kiss her and his arms trembled with restraint as he fought to keep from pressing her closer and covering her lips with his own. It was all Jarrod could do to keep from ushering Sarah from the ballroom, up the stairs to the nearest bedroom, so he could satisfy his curiosity and slake his hunger by finding out what the devil was keeping her dress up.
Sarah looked up at him and Jarrod's body tightened in response as she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue in a self-conscious gesture that sent his blood rushing southward to the part of his anatomy throbbing against the front of his trousers.
He ached with the need for release and suddenly realized that he couldn't remember ever wanting a woman as much as he wanted Sarah. Sarah. He licked his lips, tasted the thin sheen of perspiration dotting his upper lip, and realized he was literally burning with the need to kiss her.
Sarah sighed. "I couldn't help it," she admitted. "It's our anniversary of sorts."
"Oh?" Jarrod quirked an eyebrow at her. "What anniversary is that?"
"The anniversary of our first dance." She stared up at him, willing him to remember. "Last year at — "
"Lady Harralson's gala," he said. "I haven't forgotten."
She nodded. "You spent most of the evening staring at Gillian Davies. And I spent most of the evening staring at you."
"You accused me of being afraid to ask Gillian to dance," he said.
"I was jealous," Sarah admitted, "because I thought you were interested in her."
"You thought I wanted to make her my marchioness," he corrected.
"Yes."
"She's happily married to one of my closest friends," Jarrod said.
"Lord Grantham," Sarah said. "Yes, I know. I read about their marriage in the paper shortly afterward."
"I was there that evening to get a look at her before Colin approached her father. I heard there was rumor going round about her and I wanted to see for myself what sort of young lady she was." That wasn't the complete truth, but it was all that Jarrod could reveal without betraying Gillian's secret and the trust of his Free Fellows League comrades.
"You told me then that you weren't in the market for a wife."
"And you asked why I was there if I hadn't come to find a wife," he remembered.
"Would you believe I came to dance?" Sarah repeated the question he'd asked her.
"You don't appear to be dancing." Jarrod answered with the same answer Sarah had given him.
They weren't. They'd stopped in the middle of the square and the other dancers had continued around them.
"Only because you haven't asked me," Sarah said.
Jarrod offered her his arm. "Shall we rejoin the dancers?"
Sarah shook her head.
"No?" He took her arm just the same and steered her out of the square, off the dance floor to the sidelines.
"I prefer to wait for a waltz," she admitted. "Do you think Lady Garrison allows the waltz? Lady Harralson did. We waltzed the last time we danced."
It had been the only time they'd ever danced, but Jarrod didn't see the point of reminding her of that. "Shall we stay on the sidelines and watch or would you rather we withdraw to the refreshment tables?" he asked politely.
Sarah glanced down at her feet, then took a deep breath and looked up to meet his gaze. "I'd prefer that we withdraw to the Garrisons' garden. I've heard it's quite lovely this time of evening."