Page 54 of Marriage with a Proper Stranger

He did, and she continued her journey across his shoulders and down his back. For a schoolmaster who sat at his desk a good portion of his day, he was athletically built. Holding his arm, she trailed along it to the faint ink stains and calluses on the tips of his long and elegant fingers. A hazard of his occupation. He opened his eyes. “Touch me.”

Innately she understood what he meant. Part of his shaft lay exposed above the water line, standing straight up against his flat stomach. Sabrina rolled up her sleeve, reached in the tepid water, and grasped him.

“Jesus. Yes. Tighter,” he pleaded.

She obliged, and gave it a tentative caress, the head disappearing under the hood of skin. A long, ragged groan tore from Riordan’s throat. “Here, allow me to show you.” He laid his hand on top of hers and demonstrated the way he wished for her to stroke him. “It will not take long, I assure you.”

Nodding, she bit her lower lip and gave his shaft short, quick strokes, twisting it as she did. He let go of her hand, his eyes closed, every cord in his neck strained. A deep red flush spread across his chest. He did not remain quiet, he groaned and said, “Yes. Faster. Grip my cock, tighter. More.”

Regardless of the fact that he’d used the same naughty word as her late husband, her insides tumbled with desire. How satisfying to learn she had truly put the past behind her. With his head thrown back, he cried out, the sound ending on a moan that caused her heart to beat at a fast pace. He clasped the top of his shaft, his body shuddering with his release. How magnificent he looked. Fetching the cloth from the water, Riordan took her hand and wiped it clean, then cleaned himself. As he stood, the water sluiced across his muscled body.

He pointed to the towel on the nearby table and she handed it to him. Keeping her gaze on him, Sabrina observed the play of muscles as he dried his body. With the towel wrapped around his waist, he stepped out of the tub. Heavens. Now what?

As if reading her mind, he held out his hand. She took it and stood. Pulling her closer, he smiled at her, his eyes hooded, his expression sultry. “This is just the beginning,” he murmured.

The beginning of what, exactly? How could they share such closeness and part ways in a little more than two months’ time? Perhaps they could make this arrangement permanent. He’d not mentioned it since their wedding day. But it was worth discussing, especially if her feelings continued to deepen and grow. After the cruel, cold men in her life, why not embrace a good, honorable man? One she respected, admired, desired…and loved.

Yes, she loved him. Her heart soared with the knowledge.

* * * *

The next morning, Sabrina woke early, gathered pen, ink, and paper, and made her way to the dining table in the parlor. Riordan was still asleep, sprawled across the chaise longue, his bare chest exposed, blankets pooled around his waist. Was he completely naked beneath? She watched him for several moments, his chest rising and falling as his breath exhaled in short puffs. He looked like a dark angel with his black hair tousled and his fine form on display.

Staring at him, drinking in his beauty, caused her to recall every heated moment of the previous night. For years she’d thought herself dead inside because her late husband did not stir passion in her. Why would he? He was a rapist. A violator of innocence. Sabrina understood that for means of self-preservation she’d buried her emotions deep; Riordan had set them free. For once in her life an actual choice lay before her: leave with Mary once the annulment comes through, or build a life with the schoolmaster.

Sighing, she dipped the pen in the ink. Sabrina had decided to write an anonymous note to the second daughter of the Duke of Carlton, her father’s innocent target. Mary had informed her the young girl’s name was Irene.

With long, cursive strokes she wrote: To Lady Irene, I begin this letter to inform you of the character of Baron Thomas Durning, who I am told is presently courting you. I wish to warn you, my lady, of his true character.

Mittens meowed loudly at her feet. “Oh, precious.” She picked up the kitten and nuzzled it. “You’re hungry.”

“As am I,” a deep voice rumbled from across the room. She turned. Riordan sat on the edge of the chaise wearing nothing but his silk drawers and rubbing his eyes.

“For food, I take it?” she teased.

“I will settle for food.” He winked as he stretched his arms above his head. Such was the closeness between them that he did not cover himself and she was not the least bit offended—quite the opposite. A frisson of awareness shot through her as she stared at his stunning form. “God, is that the time? I’ve slept later than I intended.” He stood and strode to the small cupboard. Opening the door wide, he pulled pieces of clothing from it. As he dressed, he asked, “Whom are you writing?”

Writing? Oh, yes. He had distracted her from her letter. Placing Mittens on the floor, she replied, “I’m writing an anonymous letter to the young lady my father is courting, to advise her of his true character. Of course, I will not sign my name.”

Riordan buttoned his shirt. “Do you think it wise?”

She frowned. “I cannot sit here and do nothing. Subject another innocent young girl to my earlier fate. I could not live with myself if I did not at least warn her.”

Riordan rushed about the room, gathering his frock coat, hat, and muffler. “I agree. I suggest you keep it brief, reveal nothing that will hint at your identity.”

“Good advice. Wait, you must have food.”

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “There are biscuits and an apple in my desk drawer. Enough to get me through to the noon break. I’ll be home for lunch…and a proper kiss.”

“I can give you a proper kiss now,” she teased. How easily she could tease, when mere weeks ago she did not have the wherewithal to go about it.

“Minx. You do and I will not be in a fit state to teach children.” A loud knock caught his attention. “Must be Mary, I am late. Goodbye.” He trailed a finger down her cheek and gave her such a tender look that her heart skipped a beat. Riordan flung open the front door, said good morning to Mary, and dashed outside.

“Goodness, it’s as if flames licked at his heels,” Mary marveled. “Mr. Black is usually gone before I arrive.”

“Yes, he is running late.”

Mary closed the door and removed her cloak. “You look happy this morning, Sabrina.”