Page 55 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

M eredith entered the library quite aware of Mr. Ashcroft—no! Lord Blackstone. A marquess. She spun around and poked him in the chest. “I cannot believe you have been employed by me for three years and not once have you indicated our relation.”

He grabbed her by the fist, wincing.

“How did he not declare you dead after all these years? Answer me that! This is outrageous.” She fairly growled.

“Do I receive no credit for the work we’ve accomplished here?”

She jerked her fist from him. “Don’t you dare make light of this,” she snapped.

“You led me to believe I was alone, left to deal with him —my father.” Her voice cracked, but she refused to falter.

“And all the while, you were here. Laughing behind my back, no doubt, at the foolish little countess playing at being a schoolteacher. Running an estate.”

His smirk faded, and his brow furrowed. “Meredith—”

“No! You don’t get to say my name as if we are…

close.” Her voice shook, and she hated the tears threatening to fall.

“You don’t get to act like any of this is normal.

Do you know what I’ve endured because of him?

Because of them ?” She waved her hand, encompassing not just the duke but every man who had betrayed her trust. “And all the while, you—my brother —hiding behind a false name.”

He stepped closer, his expression softening, though his eyes gleamed with a mix of regret and something deeper. “It was never about hiding from you, Meredith.”

“Oh, wasn’t it?” She crossed her arms, her voice low and sharp. “Then what was it about, pray tell?”

He hesitated, and for the first time, she saw the vulnerable man that lay beneath the surface. “It was about surviving. Staying one step ahead of him. Yet making sure there was doubt of my death. If he had known that I was alive—”

“You could have come to me,” she interrupted, her anger flaring anew. “You could have told me the truth, Mr. Ashcroft—Lord Blackstone—whoever the devil you are. We could have faced him together.”

“And gotten you killed?” His voice rose, and his hand clenched at his side. “Do you have any idea what he’s capable of? He killed my mother. I saw him.”

Her breath hitched at the raw emotion in his tone. “Then tell me,” she demanded, softer this time. “If you’re truly my brother, tell me.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, his jaw working as if struggling with the weight of his words. “I will,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “I still have work to do. He can’t be allowed to threaten and murder people.”

She turned away, needing the distance. “You don’t get to decide if or when I’m worthy of the truth.”

“Meredith,” he said again, almost pleading now. “I didn’t wish to hurt you.”

She laughed bitterly, running a hand over her face. “Well, congratulations, Blackstone. What is your actual Christian name, if you please?”

“Dorian. Dorian Jephson.”

“Well, Dorian Jephson, you failed.”

A small choked sounded from the corner of the room. Meredith stiffened, spinning toward the source. There, half-hidden behind the shadow of a bookshelf, sat Docia Hale. She had been so still, so silent, Meredith hadn’t even noticed her presence.

Docia stood, her face a portrait of astonishment and… something else. “You’re the Marquess of Blackstone?” she asked, her voice breathy with wonder. “Truly?”

Meredith groaned. Of all the people to overhear this revelation, it had to be her. She opened her mouth to respond, but Blackstone beat her to it.

“Yes,” he said, his tone cool and practiced now, the mask slipping back into place. He bowed slightly. “At your service.”

Docia’s eyes sparkled as she stepped closer, as though drawn by some invisible force. “I had no idea.”

Meredith closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. This day could not possibly grow any worse.

The door opened and Lucius entered. “Rathbourne’s been taken into custody. Forsythe spoke of his title being stripped.” He looked at Blackstone. “I suggest you speak with him if you have inklings of maintaining your heritage.”

“Blast,” he muttered, storming out.

Docia hurried after him. Meredith rolled her eyes.

“Are you truly that angry with him?” Lucius asked her.

“Yes.” She stomped her foot. “No. I-I don’t know.”

“Come along. I know something that will do wonders in making you feel better.”

*

Meredith leaned her back against her husband’s chest, the scented hot water seeping through her skin. “Thank you for the lemon tart, my lord. How did you know it was my favorite?”

“A ridiculous question, my lady. The question is how could I not know?” he breathed against her neck, sending a delicious shiver through her.

“This was an excellent remedy to my shattered nerves,” she told him.

“I’m the one with shattered nerves.” His arm tightened across her abdomen with his words. “I mean it, Meredith, don’t you ever run headlong into those mines again. I vow, I’ll shut them down.”

“I wonder what Papa was looking for in the old study.”

“I venture to guess it was the journal. He had to know his signature as Marquess Blackstone would come back to haunt him,” he said thoughtfully.

“That makes perfect sense, I suppose. How long have you known that Mr. Ashcroft—I mean Lord Blackstone—was my father’s heir?”

“Don’t you mean your brother?”

She wrinkled her nose unable to address that particular subject. Why ruin a perfectly good bath in a perfectly good bathing chamber with a perfectly good husband? “That’s too difficult a concept to think about right now. Do you think Thornfield will be hung?”

“At the very least, transported.” Lucius’s hands caressed her ribs then came up to smooth over her shoulders. An oil extract released the pleasant fragrance of violets.

“Who will you designate to run the mine?” Her voice came out breathy while her body tingled beneath such tender ministrations.

His hands moved over her breasts and her breath hitched. She closed her eyes and covered his hands with hers, letting out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Trevorrow,” he murmured against her neck. “He was pushing back at Thornfield’s utter lack of safety measures. Trevorrow shall do admirably. Especially with Samuel Trenwith’s assistance.”

She turned her head sharply, meeting his eyes. “Samuel Trenwith?”

“I think he would be especially cognizant of safety, don’t you?” His fingers slid between her legs and pressed her sex.

Meredith gasped and her head fell back to his shoulder—the good one, she hoped. Her fingers grasped his adding her own pressure to ease that climatic ache. “Yes. Most… definitely.”

He bit then licked her neck, suckled lightly while his fingers worked their magic between her legs. He started slowly. But that didn’t last. Soon his hands were working furiously until she couldn’t catch her breath.

“That’s it, love. Let… go. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The words. The freedom. The validation blasted through her.

The light struck with such fierce intensity that it seemed to sear the air itself.

As though the world behind her eyes had been dipped in molten gold, every detail washed in a white-hot brilliance so sharp it etched its presence to the backs of her eyelids.

It wasn’t simply the brightness—it was an assault, a flood of radiance, that overwhelmed her with blazing magnitude.

Her breaths came in harsh, rapid intakes.

“Turn around,” he panted against her neck. “Straddle me.”

A pleasant shiver in the water’s warmth stole through her.

“I’m not certain I have the ability.” But she did as he asked.

Her eyes went to his shoulder then to the bandages floating in the bath.

“Oh, no, your wound.” Bruising in dark purples, greens, and fading to yellow bloomed around his puckered skin.

He acted as if she hadn’t spoken, pulling her over him and guiding the stiff rod of his erection into her, then groaning.

She leaned forward and his lips grasped one nipple, then grazed it with his teeth. White-hot fervor coursed through her like a stream of raw energy, ravaging her every nerve ending. “Lucius.” She hauled in a deep breath. “Lucius. I… I…”

“I love you, Meredith. Marry … me.” His hips surged up, sending water sloshing over the sides of the tub. Then a second time. A third time as another climax pinpointed and claimed her senses, stealing any ability to comprehend his words.

“Marry?” Her backside burned where his hands imprinted her body, pressing her closer.

He took her mouth in a torrid kiss that robbed her of further words. Tongues dueled for dominance but there were no losers in this contest.

With a last surge up, his roar bellowed against the bathing chamber’s steamy walls. All she could do was hold on for dear life. “God, Meredith. Oh, God.”

She fell against his chest, her heart and sex pounding in perfect synchronization with his while attempting to draw breath into her lungs.

It took a moment for her sensations to return though her pulse still beat with erratic thumps.

Slowly, she pushed from his chest. “Did you say marry? Lucius, we’re alre—”

“I mean truly marry, darling. Nothing held back. I wish to pledge my commitment to you for all to see.”

A blast of emotion had Meredith blinking quickly. She was touched as never before.

“Don’t cry, darling. Please. I didn’t wish to upset you…”

“I-I’m not upset,” she hiccupped. She cupped his face with both hands. “I love you, too.” Raising her voice above a whisper was an impossible feat.

His breath seemed to release in a huge sigh of relief. “Help me out of here,” he said smiling slightly. “Your breasts are too enticing and distracting for me to think properly.”