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S arah was dressing for dinner that evening when Robert came into her room with a cursory knock. He was all but dressed himself, lacking only a neck cloth, waistcoat and jacket. Esme had just finished doing her hair and was about to help her into her gown.

“Your Grace,” said Esme, dipping him a curtsy.

“You may go Esme, I will help Her Grace finish her toilette,” he said, his eyes fixed on Sarah. His hands were held behind his back, and she wondered what he was up to.

Esme dropped a curtsy again and left the room.

Sarah turned on her dressing table seat to face him, and he came to her, dropped to one knee and held out a long slender case toward her. “I should have given you this yesterday.”

She looked at him questioningly and then opened the case. Within was a fine gold chain with a blood-red ruby heart suspended from it the size of a shilling.

“Robert!”

He smiled tentatively. “Do you like it?”

“It’s magnificent!” She stroked the ruby with a gentle finger. “Is it part of the Layne jewels?” He had given her the Layne diamond and gold necklace that went with the coronet the other day.

“No. I bought this some years ago, for my bride.” He flushed faintly. “I intended it for the mythical woman who would steal my heart. It belongs to you now.”

Sarah reeled. Was that a declaration? Do I have his heart? Was that what he’d said? Was it what he meant? Her heart skipped and thudded. Tendrils of joy escaped and danced through her veins at the notion.

“Will you wear it?”

“O-of course,” she stammered. He shifted to both knees.

She turned back to the glass so that he could lay the blood-red jewel around her neck and fasten the clasp.

It nestled in the cleavage of her bosom and his eyes met hers in the mirror as he wrapped his arms round her and drew her back against him.

He nuzzled her neck. “It looks lovely on you; I knew it would.”

She turned, wrapping her arms round him, her heart full to bursting.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful. I—”

He cut her off with a kiss, pulling her tight against him, her dressing gown parting and her legs splaying either side of his hips. Her bare flesh pressed up against his hardened groin.

“Sarah.” His voice was a soft groan as he kissed her cheek and her mouth, one hand pressing her harder against him, the other finding a breast to squeeze and fondle.

“We’ll be late for dinner,” she panted, kissing him back.

“I don’t care.” He fumbled with the buttons of his falls, his stiffened cock springing free. He rubbed the head along her channel, and she moaned, rolling her hips, pressing closer. “Sarah please...” he panted.

“Yes.” She angled her hips, lifting her legs, and he pushed forward, sliding inside her easily.

Holding her hips he thrust into her rapidly, deliciously big and hard.

His thrusts rocked the stool she sat on, but she clung to him, lost in the pleasure of his member and his tongue plundering her body.

He reached between them to stimulate her with his fingers, and he groaned into her mouth. “Come, Sarah, please.” His thrusts were so rapid now, the movement threatened to dislodge her from the stool altogether. She clung to him, whimpering with rising passion. It felt so good it was almost painful.

“Robert!” she gasped.

“Yes, Sarah, come! Come please!” His voice was ragged with desire, his fingers rubbing her furiously.

This was not the gentle touch he used on her before.

This was fierce and urgent, and her body responded with a burst of rising heat.

She was so close, her flesh throbbed and pulsed, the peak just out of reach.

“Oh God!” he groaned, and she felt him burst within her and the hot rush of his release triggered her own, a cascade of pleasure flooded her body in a trembling rush, and she jerked and shuddered in his arms. Gasping, she clung to him, riding the aftershocks of her own and his pleasure.

*

Robert held her tight against him as he thrust through the dying pulses of his orgasm, his face buried in her neck, fighting for breath and the return of his pulse to a slow, heavy beat.

So fucking intense. He went over before she did.

Fuck! He had been waiting for her to come, and then he couldn’t hold the orgasm back.

He nuzzled her neck, “Sarah, did you come?” He thought she had at the end there, but he wanted to be sure.

“Yes,” she said softly, languorously, rubbing her face against his chest. She dropped her feet to the carpet, and he pulled back, dislodging himself from her body.

“Good.” He kissed her. Leaning his forehead against hers, he said, “I know I should have waited but... I can’t resist you.”

She flushed with pleasure, smiling into his deep blue eyes. He was so handsome, and his expression so softened, her heart turned over.

“You know it’s like the sun has come out from behind the clouds when you smile, Sarah.” He kissed her forehead.

“Oh, Robert, what a lovely thing to say!” she whispered.

“You are lovely,” he said softly. “I cannot wait to see you swelling with my child. You will be so beautiful then, too.”

“Robert!” she gasped. “I want that, too. Truly!”

He pulled her close and kissed her hair. “Thank you, Sarah. I begin to think you are a gift beyond price,” he murmured.

“Robert, Robert, stop it. You will make me cry!” she gulped. “We have guests to attend to, have you forgotten?”

“I confess I had. I’m lost in my wife’s beauty,” he said, softly.

He got to his feet and pulled her up into his arms. “I’ll get you a cloth and help you dress. Hopefully we haven’t kept our guests waiting too long.”

*

The next morning Robert was seated at Sarah’s little writing desk in her room, making some notes for his steward, Neville, while he waited for Sarah to finish dressing for breakfast. Esme had done her hair and been dismissed.

He was enjoying dressing his wife, tightening her laces, buttoning up her dresses.

.. kissing her neck, cupping her breasts.

He was intoxicated with her, couldn’t get enough.

He glanced over his shoulder at her as she bent to retrieve a slipper and push her foot into it.

They had made love again last night and this morning, and it was fair to say he was obsessed with his wife.

If this wasn’t love, he didn’t know what it was.

All he knew was he couldn’t bear to be apart from her for long, he couldn’t keep his hands and mouth off her, and just watching her made his heart swell with emotion.

He hadn’t uttered the words yet, because he wanted to be absolutely sure he hadn’t fallen victim to some sort of infatuation.

The emotions he was feeling were a jumble, and it worried him.

It was so unlike him to be erratic like this, up one minute and down the next should she frown or look sad or vexed.

This was nothing like he had imagined love would feel like.

He had thought it would be comfortable, not uncomfortable.

Peaceful, not turbulent. Tender and affectionate, not blazing with lust and feudal impulses.

Not that there weren’t tender moments, but they were punctuated by fits of lustful madness when he wanted to behave like a beast.

He also wasn’t sure if his feelings were returned.

He knew she had harbored a great deal of anger and resentment toward him over the forced circumstances of their marriage, and although she had appeared to absolve him of deception over the incident, he wasn’t really sure she had.

There were times when he caught a warm light in her eyes that seemed to denote at least a level of affection for him, but then she would often retreat behind a wall of shyness or, if he ruffled her feathers, sharpness of tongue.

Then there was Lannister and her feelings for him. He hoped that was behind them. She never mentioned him. Neither did he, but the notion that she cared for the blackguard still teased him with occasional flashes of insecurity and, God help him, jealousy.

The ball that would mark the end of the wedding festivities was in two days, and their remaining guests would leave after that. He would tell her then how he felt...

He turned back to his notes and the pen broke.

Damn! Pulling out the drawer he scrabbled around for a knife to mend it with, and among the debris of papers and pins and whatnot, his fingers encountered a calling card.

It had an embossed coat of arms on the back.

Flipping it over, he read the name on it: Reynard Fairbanks, Earl of Lannister.

His heart flipped and a sick feeling fell into his stomach. What was Sarah doing with Lannister’s card? All his latent worries about the earl rose up and engulfed him. Recalling his last conversation with Lannister, a dread horror took hold of him.

Turning to look at Sarah, who was arranging a shawl round her shoulders and not looking at him, his heart contracted with pain. Did she truly care for Lannister? How could she? Yet she had his card, why would she have it if—?

He shook his head. That way lay madness.

He slipped the card into his waistcoat pocket and with his heart thudding heavily, continued his search for a knife to mend the broken nib.

He found it but his hands were shaking too much, and he abandoned the attempt.

Shutting the drawer rather harder than he should, he rose and said abruptly, “I’ve just recalled something I need to talk to Neville about that can’t wait. I’ll see you downstairs later.”

She looked round at him in surprise, but he was too agitated to respond rationally if she were to say anything to him.

He left the room and bolted to the stables feeling as if he would choke or vomit if he didn’t get some fresh air.

He found Firefly chewing hay in his stall and saddled him himself rather than summon his groom, glad of something to occupy his hands while his mind raced round in circles.