Even as Anthony was looking forward to kissing that noisy mouth, he had not seen the sight of it since that late noon.
She slept like the dead, Mrs. Robinson remarked while they were making rounds in the servants' area of the house. He had asked her questions regarding his inheritance after having read Mr. Collins's letter, and the old woman had answered with the best of her knowledge.
He didn't know if he was to thank the political judiciary of England for recognizing poor relations, or he should just kill off each and every single one of them for the stupidity of their laws. If they had just allowed their daughters to inherit, no one would have to trace their poor relations just for the entailment of lands.
But Anthony had not been actively taking his seat in the parliament, and if he had complaints, it was merely due to being inconvenienced at this very moment.
Anthony had learned much from the matronly woman. She has been with Sarah Jane since she was born. Aside from marrying their butler Mr. Robinson, which was to be employed at Kinsmen Place as well, they had stuck with the lady amidst all troubles.
Their life was anything but peaceful. They had to move so many times when all Lord Rosenbergs passed. He noted, even if it wasn't said outright, they seemed to be delighted that he was the very picture of youth and virility.
After all, they had been repeating and emphasizing that all of the Earls were old, except for the 10th Earl who had not been old but had been married and had terrible vices.
It didn't escape Anthony that Mathilda was suspiciously tight-lipped about the 10th Earl.
It also didn't escape Anthony that Sarah Jane had not risen for supper. It was a terrible pity. He was looking forward to teasing her that evening. and maybe invite her to sit by the fireplace for a glass of his finest wines.
Since she had got to the trouble of bringing him that marvelous mixed berry jam, it was safe to assume that she would like fortified berries as well.
"Did Lady Sarah Jane ask for supper to be sent to her room," he inquired as the maid served a bowl of turtle soup. The liquid was steaming hot and smelled fantastic.
"No, my lord."
He nodded and went back to his soup.
It would be a lonely solitary evening, just as how his days had been for the past year.
Sarah Jane woke with a start, her mind struggled to regain her focus as the room had become numbingly dark. It was quite odd for someone to awake due to darkness, but Sarah Jane had been especially sensitive to the dark—a fear from childhood that she had not gotten over.
"Is there not a single blasted candle in this room," she whispered viciously under her breath as her legs swished off the bed.
She stood, not bothering to find her slippers, as she extended her arms to feel any table counters that might contain lighting equipment.
As far as she could remember—and she had an awful memory—the last picture in her mind was the dazed gaze she speared through the big window of her room. The curtains had been drawn, and the warm orange-tinted sparkles of light had bathed her skin completely, the wind had caressed her face until she submitted to slumber.
But now it was too dark, and the darkness woke her up.
Sarah Jane glanced towards the corner of the room and saw that the window was still there, curtains drawn, and darkness surrounding all around. Her heart raced as her eyes fought to see her surroundings. The sky held no tinge of light as the luminous moon hid away from the night. The stars were covered by thick dark shadows that crawled ever-so-silently westward.
She needed to find some light. The dark was frightening her senseless.
Sarah Jane found one moment of salvation when she eyed a streak of dim yellow light on the far north, under a wooden door.
She scrambled towards the light and grasped wildly for the lever. The door opened to an unfamiliar hallway and she stood still, barefooted, without a single clue to where she was.
"Mathilda," she whispered as she looked from left to right. "Mathilda!" Her whispers grew louder, her heart beating frantically against her ribs.
Her toes curled over the carpeted halls, a spark of recognition allowed her to remember that she wasn't in Thurstason anymore.
Right, Lord Rosenberg had died, and she was now at Kinsmen Place, with Killsworth—the new Lord Rosenberg.
Sarah Jane walked down the hall, thanking whoever had decorated the place for having thought of placing a soft carpet to line the floors. "Mathilda," she called. There was no answer.
Her mind was playing games with her. She was being startled by sights and sounds that she knew weren't there.
Sarah Jane followed the low lights of random candles in the hall and turned frantically towards the corner that would lead her to the staircase.
Her mouth pursed, smacking together to call her companion again. "Ma—"
But she collided with a huge form. She screamed out of sheer white fright. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!!!"
That was not Mathilda.
"Bloody hell!" A startled curse escaped Anthony's lips, as his own heart slammed against his chest from fright. His hands viciously gripped the railing to keep his footing upright on the staircase.
Her face took an animated expression, as her arms and legs flailed wildly about. She huffed and puffed, with her hands pushing her chest down to stop the laborious heaving.
Her eyes searched the man's face. His expression, she was sure, was as frightened as hers.
"ANTHONY," she fairly yelled.
"Calm down, woman." He took the final step to the upper floor. It was pure luck that he had not stumbled down the stairs in his fright.
His breath settled in one long exhale. "It's only I."
"YES. YES I KNOW."
He wondered if the woman had gone deaf since the last time he saw her.
Anthony regarded her quietly. She looked like she had seen a ghost. She lost her color, looking a bit yellow. Her hair was in disarray, pins sticking from places where it should not.
She was still concentrating on how to breathe. Her chest heaved rapidly, as her hands strained to push her breasts down.
This reaction was probably more than just the surprise. She was actually afraid of something. Had there been an intruder in her room?
"Are you quite all right?" Anthony assessed her, observing her morning frock to be rumpled beyond repair, its ruffles and decorations out of order and probably torn, and he couldn't quite see it, but was that her toes?
Sarah Jane shook her head. "YES. YES."
With raised brows, Anthony focused on the hem of her dress as his hands went around her to reach her back and rubbed soothing circles. "Steady," he murmured.
She couldn't be really walking barefooted in his home. One would think this lady was raised by a pack of wolves.
"I... I AM SORRY I GAVE YOU A FRIGHT." Her breaths came in short gasps as it struggled to slow its erratic rhythm.
He rather thought that she should be sorry for rendering him deaf.
"You might want to..." His voice trailed while he gestured with his hand to lower her voice.
"Oh, god. Sorry." She shook her head as color flooded back to her face, chin, and neck.
"I woke up and—" She turned abruptly to point at the west wing hallway. "I was terrified of being so alone, and it was dark... it—it was..."
She exhaled and added, "Yes, it was." Confusion and relief finally ended the war in her body with relief winning out.
He smiled slowly, it was a comforting smile, and it did not intend to mock her, though his voice was indeed just that.
His hand still rubbing her back soothingly. "So you're telling me that dear, dear Sarah Jane is afraid of the dark?"
"I am not." Her response was too quick to be believable.
She moved to descend the stairs, but he stopped her by grabbing her arm.
"You have no shoes." He breathed hotly in her ear.
Country miss that she was, Sarah Jane had not known the meaning of the uneasy feeling that crept under her skin when she felt his breath hotly surrounding her ear.
Instantly, her skin prickled with awareness. Goose pimples erecting on its flat expanse, her skin began breaking in a cold sweat. Her startled mind worked through a thin mist, her lashes fluttering upwards to reveal dark dilated pupils in a sea of gray.
She faced him without an answer to his pertinent question. He was asking her a rather pertinent question, was he not?
Lord Killsworth was a devilishly handsome man even when he was being mocking. But their eyes locked, and his cool blue eyes melted its frost, their quiet smolder caused Sarah Jane's breath to catch.
His arms moved to encircle her waist. His hand pressed to a spot beneath her spine, slowly and achingly bringing her to him while his head bent towards her. She could see the faint shadows of where his beard had been, and she could feel their breaths mingling, as their faces became too close for comfort.
Her traitorous heart began to leap at an unsteady rhythm, pounding mercilessly against her chest. All sensible thought escaped her senses, and she was reduced to a puddle of anticipation, silently begging him to touch his lips to hers.
He was going to kiss her!
Her lips parted to aid her breathing. Her eyes focused on the descent of two pink lips on hers. His lips tickled hers in the barest of touches, and then pressed as if measuring the softness of hers. They lifted in a graceful dance, and then pressed deeper, allowing only a hairbreadth of relief before assuaging her senses once again.
Then almost all too quickly, it was gone.
Anthony hadn't meant to kiss her.
Very well, maybe he had decided that he would have to kiss her before the solicitor made anything official between them. He was to be her guardians, and guardians did not go around kissing their wards. He was sure some did, but he knew it would be highly improper.
And Anthony had not expected nor imagined that he would kiss her so soon.
And its effect...
His blood started its dangerous simmer. His muscles tightened in a familiar way and begged him to do something about the desire blooming in his belly.
Anthony had only meant to befuddle her—to merely give her a taste of pure pleasurable silence, and then would withdraw coolly, unaffected.
He had thought to blow on lips just enough to make her uncomfortable with his nearness, and then pull back to say something terribly cold and detached, like perhaps how she had a feather in her hair or how she still had stars in her eyes.
But he was too near, and before he knew what was going on, his lips were on hers and he could not find it in himself to pull away.
He had had his taste, and now he needed more.
Mere inches away from each other, his hands moved up to her neck, cradling her face to see if she would be amendable for another. Her eyes closed, pink lips parting, an invitation for him to kiss her, and God help them both, he obliged.
Sarah Jane was pure honey. Her lips still tasted of sweet berries, her breath warm and intoxicating that caused his gut to clench with raw desire. His fingers pulled behind her head, tilting her for his better access. Pins fell from her tousled hair, the lush waves tangling tightly around his fingers as he pushed his way into her mouth.
Her back arched, pressing the front of her body to his hardness, her untaught hands falling gently on his hips, and moved on its own accord towards his spine.
Feeling his member grow agitated in his trousers, he withdrew all too quickly.
He was losing control from an unlearned kiss.
His eyes searched the lady who almost brought him to ruin. Sarah Jane was not by any means beautiful by the ton's standards. Her eyes were an unremarkable shade of silver-gray that lacked the starkness of blue. Her hair was a dark ashen color that was neither blonde nor brunette. Her skin was not pale nor tanned. And most importantly, certainly an important characteristic for blushing debutantes, she weighed a little more than 10 stone.
She was mediocre at best, and atrocious at worst.
But she had molded perfectly into his hands, her weight and plumpness was exquisite to his touch.
His hands have now squeezed its way towards her hips. He did not at all mind that her plush form was pressed to him. He could imagine her under him. He could almost feel her legs wrapped around him, her breasts smothering his face.
His member throbbed from accumulated blood, and he reluctantly released her hips before he caused danger to them both.
Hell and damnation, he needed a woman in his bed. He needed someone as womanly as Sarah Jane, preferably with the same lush mouth and same awkward shade of hair.
He wanted her too much, the kind of desire utterly foreign to him. In the multitude of women he had bedded, there had been different sizes, heights, social standing, and hair color, but no one had ever brought him to this state from a single kiss.
Finally regaining her senses, Sarah Jane blinked rapidly, gasping for air. "You... You—"
Anthony was still thick with desire. He did not trust himself to speak.
"You asked me a question." She stared at him with a dumbstruck expression.
His brows furrowed at her statement. After what they had shared, and his thoughts traveling to dangerous corners, this was what she had to say?
"Yes, I believe you did."
Did he really ask her a question?
Shaking her head when he didn't answer, she said, "I was going to go downstairs when you pulled me f-for... for..." She couldn't seem to bring herself to say it. Her unease brought him unmistakable pleasure.
He bowed his head to hide a smile creeping to his lips, giving him the sight of her small toes peeking out of the hem of her dress. Anthony looked up with a boyish grin on his face.
"Ah, yes." He took her hand, comfortable now that his blood had relaxed to a sizzle. He placed it in the crook of his arm and strolled towards the west wing. "I was merely concerned about why you were walking barefooted in my home."
Her cheeks pinkened. That was it? She mused. He had kissed her because he was enamored with her toes? That wasn't terribly romantic.
"I left my shoes in my room in haste to go out."
"Going somewhere?"
Her stomach grumbled and he laughed.
"Ah yes, I haven't had the pleasure of your company for this evening's meal."
"Well, let me retrieve them, and then you can have it." She smiled, giggled even.
Anthony felt that he should ask what 'it' she had meant, but instead held his tongue.
She made him wait under the doorframe while she took one candle from the hall into the room to look for her shoes. In a few moments, she returned to him with a knowing smile and slippered feet.
"Now, you can have it."
Anthony had his own detailed version of the 'it', but he doubted she shared his meaning. "I can have what?"
"Why, the pleasure of my company of course." She replied with a cheeky grin and pulled him back to the staircase.
Heaven help him, but he smiled. He had a big wide and goofy smile as he let the cheeky young girl pull him to wherever she wanted to go.
——-
A/N: Don't you ever wish all first kisses were like that? What was yours like? Mine was absolutely not like this. *sigh*
Thank you for reading my work. It always gives me pleasure to find new readers and meet them or talk to them! I've spent hours dreaming of this story, hours researching so that it would be historically accurate, and hours writing it to the best of my abilities. Comments are highly appreciated so that I can improve further. If you've enjoyed yourself reading this, kindly consider giving it a vote so that it bumps up Wattpad's algorithm :) Thank you!!