The Ugly Duckling Debutante (House of Renwick #1)(48)

He began to sweat when he thought about how he was to go about this night. He had put it off long enough and the last thing he wanted was for Sara to think he didn’t want her. He wanted her all right; it was all he could think about. Surely this need would go away after a few stolen moments in her arms. He prayed it would, or he would be useless to everyone including himself.

Really, what was taking her so long? He raised his hand to knock on the door then lost courage. It took him a ghastly twelve minutes to finally compose himself enough to knock on the door without passing out. He was a disgrace to his sex.

“Come in,” the voice echoed.

He relaxed and opened the door. Sara was nowhere to be found, he had imagined she would be standing in front of the door waiting, instead she was. Oh. Have mercy.

She was in the bathtub.

Still in the bathtub.

The inner struggle was obviously apparent to Sara. She merely smiled and asked him to please help dry her off. Was she insane? Had she lost her mind? That was like asking a tiger if he would like a cup of tea. Tigers didn’t like tea; they liked to eat people. He didn’t know whether to close his eyes, yell, jump in the tub with her, pull her into his room half naked, or quite frankly, cry. He decided against the first, because it's not as if he hadn’t seen a woman nude before, and she was his wife, after all. He also figured yelling would bring servants into their chambers, which was the last thing he wanted. And jumping in the tub with her was completely out of the question considering she was getting out, so that left him with only the last few options. Cry.

Or take her into his room and ravish her until she begged for sleep.

Both options sounded good at the time.

“Nicholas, are you well?” her sweet voice interrupted his inner battle.

He cleared his throat as best he could. “Of course, sure, yes, why wouldn’t it be?” He used an agonizing amount of affirmative answers in that sentence. Kicking himself would have felt better than the way her eyes teased him after his sorry answer.

He mentally yelled at himself and noticed a slender leg lift out of the tub and step onto the floor. It was like slow motion and his eyes traced from her delicate ankle all the way up her thigh. It felt wrong and right all at the same time. “Do you need my help?” he managed to ask even though his breathing had grown quite laborious over the past minute or so.

Sara looked at him through heavy lids and smirked. “Do you think you’re in the best capacity to help me right now?”

An honest woman deserves an honest answer. “No.” He swallowed.

“I figured. Why don’t you pour us some wine, and I’ll join you once I dress?”

He ignored the aching need all over his body and nodded his head. Words had trouble forming on his mouth so he managed to dip his head again before exiting into his own chambers.





Chapter Nineteen



He was a fool; an idiot, actually. Any red-blooded male would have taken one look at her and wept with pure joy. Instead he just felt like weeping. Who was he to take something so perfect and make it his?

He waited anxiously in the chair by the fireplace then heard a soft knock on his door.

“Come in,” he said authoritatively. If he didn’t get a handle on himself, he was done for.

He heard Sara approach him but thankfully his back was to her. He got up from his chair and turned around. If he wasn’t already a Christian, he would have gotten on his knees and confessed everything. Surely she was the reason for his existence; surely there was a God.

She was dressed in the thinnest night rail known to mankind. He couldn’t decide if it was covering her or not. The material wasn’t exactly see-through, but the silk clung to every curve of her body, making his mouth gape open in awe.

She smiled. “Wedding present from Lady Fenton.”

Nicholas made a mental note to thank Lady Fenton the next day…repeatedly.

He gave himself another boost of confidence and offered her some wine. “You look absolutely ravishing in that Sara.”

She lifted one single eyebrow and took a sip of wine. She mocked him? That little witch! He wanted to laugh and yell all at the same time. She was toying with him! And worst of all he was falling for it like some schoolboy who had never seen a woman before. Suddenly he felt a lot more confident. He licked his lips and walked toward her. “I have another surprise for you.”

She lifted her eyebrows in a quizzical way and he saw the doubt in her eyes. How she hated his surprises. It made him want to laugh and point, both of which were not romantic.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered.

She did as he said and waited. He grabbed one of his untied cravats, and firmly attached it around her head, rendering her blind. “Can you see anything?” he teased, inches from her mouth.

She bit her pink lip and sighed. “No.”

He breathed over her mouth, “Perfect, now it’s time to eat.”

She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “You’re joking, right?”

“I never joke.” If he could see her eyes he would imagine them rolling right about now. “I’ll lead you to your seat. We’re going to play a little game. How does that sound?”

She smiled and with sudden eagerness leaned forward, dangerously close to his face. “I like games.”

God must favor him above all men. He sent up a silent prayer and arranged the dishes on the table. “You get to taste each treat, but in order to get the next treat you have to name the one you’re tasting.”