However, she still could not sleep after midnight and decided she would go down to the kitchens for a glass of milk to see if that might calm her. She pulled on her robe and slipped out of bed. The stone floor was icy, so she slipped into a pair of silver mule slippers and began the long walk from her bedchamber to the kitchens. She descended the main stairs, and the boisterous sounds of men laughing still came from the billiard room. Why men would stay awake so late she would never know.
Once in the darkened kitchens, it took her a moment to light a few candles before she found a saucepan and began to warm some milk. She was pouring it into a glass when she heard booted steps outside the open door.
Peregrine stood there, looking more a handsome man of leisure than ever in buckskin trousers and a white lawn shirt. His crimson-colored waistcoat, patterned with gold-embroidered stag heads, accented his broad chest all the way down to his narrow hips, giving him a fine masculine figure. For a second she froze, too entranced by the sight of him to remember that she was to avoid being alone with him. The faint sound of the men carousing above them echoed down the stairs, but it faded away the longer she stared at him.
“Miss Talleyrand—I’m sorry, I—” He cleared his throat. “What are you doing down here?”
“I thought a bit of milk would help me sleep.” She stepped to the side so he could see the saucepan.
“Oh, yes. As it happens, I’m here for that as well.”
“Milk?”
He nodded. “And for those.” He grinned bashfully and pointed at the plate of strawberry tarts nearby. “I have a sudden urge for sweets.”
She smiled back. “Me too.”
“Would you like one?”
“Do you suppose the cook will be mad if she finds them missing tomorrow?” Sabrina asked.
“If she is, we’ll blame Lonsdale and Rafe for it. Agreed?” He held out a hand.
With a laugh, she accepted and shook it. She poured more milk into the saucepan and warmed a second glass while Peregrine put two tarts on a pair of plates. They carried their milk and secret dessert out of the kitchen.
“To the library?” Peregrine suggested.
“You don’t think anyone will be there?”
“At this hour? Christ, no. Only the men are still awake, and I can promise you not one of them will be in the library.”
“Won’t they know you’ve gone?”
“They know, and they don’t expect me back. I told them I was off to bed, and I was, before I decided I needed something sweet.”
She wished she could find an excuse to go straight up to bed herself, but in truth she didn’t want to. She wanted to see him again. There was something about him that calmed her and yet strangely excited her.
“Very well, direct me to the library.”
Once they arrived, they settled into two chairs by the fire.
“This is rather nice, isn’t it?” he asked as they enjoyed their desserts.
“It is,” she agreed. “Lord Rutland, I must tell you I enjoyed that poem you recited this evening.” She couldn’t help but steal a glance at him and noticed he was doing the same toward her.
“I thought you’d left,” he said.
“No, I stayed until the moment you finished, and then while everyone was distracted by Lord Lonsdale I slipped out. Your poem was beautiful.”
“Thank you. I admit I did feel rather inspired to choose that one.”
They were silent a long moment before Sabrina spoke. “My lord . . .”
“Peregrine, please. I should like us to be friends. Everything I said in my steward’s cottage was the truth. Only my title was hidden from you.” He gazed earnestly at her, and she was struck again by his handsome features and how they accompanied a tender and gentle heart to match.
This man was no heartless rake, but someone like her, whose circumstances had changed unexpectedly. In another life, she would have wished to marry a man like him, but she had dropped in the ranks of society and he had risen, and now the disparity was too great between them.
“I would like to be friends as well,” she finally said and bit into her tart again, savoring the last bite of its sugary sweetness. She set the plate on a nearby table, knowing that a maid would put it away in the morning. She remained silent as he finished his, searching for what to say. She had a thousand things she wanted to discuss with him, knowing their conversation could flow so easily, but she dared not keep herself in this position much longer and risk being discovered.
“I should go to bed now.” She stood, and he hastened to his feet as well.
“I still have those books . . . Please allow me give them to you. Stay here, and I shall return with them in a moment.”
She waited, still in her nightgown and robe by the fire, the taste of sugar on her lips as she thought of how very dangerous this was. Ever since that night at the masked ball, she knew what could happen between men and women in the dark when passion burned between them. It would be only too easy to let herself go with Peregrine, just as she had with the man at the ball. Each time she was near him, she was haunted by bittersweet memories of that starlit night.
Realizing she’d made a mistake in waiting for him, she started toward the library door to return to her bed, but he suddenly returned, his arms wrapped around a stack of books. He set them on the table and lifted the top one. It was an old text, one that reminded her of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. He opened it to one of the early pages.
“This book contains the poem I read tonight.”
She scanned the text. “But this is in Middle English. You didn’t recite in that form tonight.”
“No, I am sadly familiar with Middle English. I learned it at university in order to prove one of my professors wrong.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the edge of the reading table, his long, lean muscled legs outlined in those buff breaches. For a second Sabrina found herself distracted by his body and not his mind.
“Heavens, Middle English—even I did not enjoy learning that. However did you manage it?”
“It was like having a tooth pulled, or a shoulder set back into place. I rather hope to never experience anything like that again.” He moved closer to her, his shoulder touching hers innocently as she read a few of the poems. Heat sizzled along her upper arm where they connected, and she trembled.
“Are you cold?” He put an arm around her shoulders. His scent enveloped her as he pulled her closer, a scent she realized she knew only too well. Sandalwood and leather. Was she dreaming? This couldn’t be . . . Could it? Her head spun at the thought that this man might actually be the one who appeared in so many of her dreams. But it had been so many months, she had to admit she could be mistaken.
“I’m not cold,” she whispered.
He gazed down at her now, his eyes inviting and warm as he licked his lips.
This was wrong. She shouldn’t do this . . .
She wanted to do this.
And so, in keeping with a lifetime of poor decisions, she leaned in and turned her face toward him just as he bent his head toward her. Their heads collided with a sharp crack! He groaned and clutched his forehead, and at the same time she held a hand to her own and gave a little yelp.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I’m so sorry, Miss Talleyrand.”