Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(91)

A smile played on Derek’s lips. “It’s too late. If you take it upon yourself to fetch me from a high-stakes game, you’ll have to face the consequences.” Pulling her to the side of the stairs that led to their apartments, Derek bent and covered her mouth with a lusty kiss. “Poor little wife,” he murmured, cupping his hands over her bottom and urging her hard against his body. “I haven’t done well by you, if you’ve been left so unsatisfied you had to come looking for me.” He nibbled at the tender spot just beneath her ear. “I’ll just have to work harder to keep up with your appetite.”

“Derek,” she protested, her hands working aimlessly over his shoulders as he kissed her again. Her heart began to race, and she couldn’t suppress a little moan of pleasure. “I-I was just concerned that you wouldn’t have enough sleep for the night.”

He strung a necklace of kisses around her throat. “You were right about that. I won’t. And neither will you.”

“I’ll never take you away from a game again,” she said, feeling the need to apologize. “I didn’t mean to disrupt your evening—”

“I’m glad you did,” Derek murmured. He grinned as he stared into her soft blue eyes. “Any time you want me, Mrs. Craven…I’m at your service.” Sliding his arm around her hips, he nudged her up the stairs.

At first it was a shock for Sara to live so intimately with a man. She had been brought up with modesty and discretion in matters of personal habits, whereas Derek had no inhibitions at all. Although Sara admired the lithe power of Derek’s body as he walked across the room naked, she knew she would never be able to expose herself so nonchalantly. He was a physical man, easily aroused and adventurous. One night he could be protective and sweetly tender, taking hours to explore her body with gentle caresses, holding her afterward as if she were a treasured child. The next he would be lusty and insolent, introducing her to sensual arts she had never imagined possible. His range of moods was infinite. She was never precisely certain what to expect from him. His humor could be ribald or exquisitely subtle. He could be quietly understanding or mocking. She had never known anyone so self-controlled, but at odd moments she had a sense of the deep-felt emotions locked inside him. And when she found her new life overwhelming, his arms were the safest haven she had ever known.

They had long conversations in bed at night, talking until they could barely keep their eyes open. Their opinions were sometimes drastically opposed, but Derek claimed to enjoy looking at the world through her eyes, even as he teased her for being an idealist. Perhaps she had affected him more than he knew, for his bitterness seemed to be eroding slowly. At times Sara noticed a trace of boyishness about him, a wont to tease and engage her in bits of nonsense, a new free and easy laugh.

“Mr. Crawen looks ’specially fine these days,” Tabitha and the other house wenches had remarked, and Sara knew that it was true. The vital, charismatic quality that had always made Derek attractive seemed to have doubled. Women stared at him covetously wherever they went, causing Sara twinges of jealousy. She took reassurance in his devotion to her. Females might flutter and simper when he was near, but he treated them all with polite indifference. Sara alone was entrusted with his secrets, his affection, his needs, and no other woman had ever come close to holding such a position in his life.

They had a well-deserved reputation for reclusiveness, though it wasn’t intentional. In the first whirlwind month of marriage, there simply wasn’t time to attend many social events. Sara was busy every waking moment. She set aside a few hours of solitude in the mornings for her writing, and spent the rest of each day making nerve-wracking decisions about the house they were to live in. They had agreed on a place Derek already owned, a handsome town mansion of three stories, surrounded by high-walled gardens. It was a house designed for entertaining. The floor plan centered around a spacious colonnaded hall, which opened into a huge drawing room and dining room. The house was serene and airy, filled with delicate white plasterwork of garlands and ribbons, the walls painted icy shades of green, mauve, and blue.

Derek had dropped the entire project of decorating it into her lap, claiming cheerfully that he had no taste. The truth of that was indisputable. His idea of elegance was to load as much gilt and carving as possible on every spare inch of space. But Sara feared that her own taste might be no better. She enlisted the advice of Lily Raiford and a small number of young society matrons with whom she was becoming friends. Cautiously she chose furniture of simple design, upholstered with pale, richly emboidered brocades. Bed hangings and window draperies were made of light-colored damask and chintz. Sara had ordered splendid framed pier glasses for several rooms, and at Lily’s suggestion, small writing tables to hold books, prints, and newspapers for guests to glance at. Her own writing desk was made of glowing rosewood, fitted with rows of compartments and drawers.

Occasionally her labors were interrupted by an evening out with Derek. They attended a play, a musical evening hosted by the Raifords, and a reception for a visiting foreign royal. Suffering under intense scrutiny at these social functions, Sara became aware of the need for suitable clothes. She was reluctant to go to the dressmaker, knowing how expensive it would be. After years of counting pennies, the act of spending large amounts of money made her feel slightly queasy. Buying furnishings for the house was necessary. Buying purely for herself was much more difficult to justify. To her surprise, Derek insisted on accompanying her to Madam Lafleur’s shop.