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Mary Balogh: Secrets of the Heart

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Mary Balogh Secrets of the Heart

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    Theirs should have been the perfect marriage. Sarah was as wildly in love with the Duke of Cranwell as he was with her…until, on their wedding night, Sarah was forced to reveal the secret of her past. And that, midst great public scandal, ended their marriage almost before it began.     Then in fashionable Bath their paths crossed again. The stunningly beautiful Sarah knew it was folly to think this dashing and sought-after lord would ever get over her shocking betrayal. His fury made it painfully clear that they should separate again, this time forever.     Sarah could find a thousand arguments against the wisdom -or likelihood- of so miserable an edict. For one, the duke's ridiculous masculine pride was no match for the sensuous power of her affection for him…as she counted on love to melt the last shred of his resistance to her passionate surrender…

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"Murderer!" Her hand crept to her throat. "Don't be absurd, Win. He is a child."

"Child murderers hang in England as well as adults, Sarah," he said, gazing into her eyes.

She shook her head.

His hand covered hers reassuringly. "You and I know Gray is not quite normal," he said. "It would be a terrible injustice for him to swing, Sarah. But it would happen, you know. I am going to keep my mouth shut. You need have no fear. It will be our secret. No one else knows or ever will."

She grasped his hand and pressed it to her lips. "Win," she said. "Oh, my dear Win. How wonderful you are! How will I ever be able to show you my gratitude?"

She had been blind enough over the next few years not even to realize how he made use of their secret. She lent him money that was never repaid, ran errands, was constantly at his beck and call. And she had done it all gladly, worshipfully almost. She had never been conscious of serving him only to buy his silence.

She really had been as fond of Winston as of a brother. And proud, too. He had been an extraordinarily handsome boy as far back as she could remember, with his blond hair, hazel eyes, and white teeth, and with his laughter-filled face. As they both grew older, Sarah had become aware that almost every girl for miles around sighed for one smile from him. And she had become a little conceited about the fact that he was frequently in her company. She had enjoyed feeling envious female eyes on her as they entered church together on a Sunday or walked down the village street together. Foolish, foolish girl.

When she was sixteen and Winston was home from university for the summer, he had started to touch her. She hardly noticed at first. They had always been close. He had often held her hand or lifted her down from fences or tickled her until she was weak with laughter. But these touches were different and made her uncomfortable. He came up behind her once when she was sitting on a stile reading a book and put his arms around her waist. She smiled and put her head back on his shoulder. She expected him to pitch her backward. Instead he held her waist with one arm and explored the contours of both breasts with the other hand.

"Don't, Win," she said, uncomfortable.

"You've grown, Sarah," he said into her ear. And then he did pitch her backward, threatening to drop her on the ground until she shrieked for mercy.

Another time he was lifting her down from the same stile, his hands beneath her arms. And again he touched her breasts, his thumbs this time pressing in on her nipples. She slapped his hands away without stopping to think, and he grinned.

"I think we are losing our angular little Sarah and gaining a shapely woman," he said. "Look at this!" And his hands traced the curve of her waist and the growing fullness of her hips. He gripped her hips tightly suddenly and pulled her lower half against his groin. Then he released her and laughed.

"You really are turning into a woman, Sarah," he said. "I bet that blush reaches right down to your toes."

"Stop it this instant, Winston Bowen," she scolded, "or I shall tell Uncle Randolph."

"No, you won't, Sarah," he said, laughing into her eyes. "You like being touched, don't you?"

It went on like that all summer, small incidents that made her uncomfortable and uneasy yet had not seemed serious enough to make a big fuss over. Winston was an attractive boy, after all, and she was woman enough already, at the age of sixteen, to feel a twinge of excitement over the fact that he had noticed her blossoming womanhood and appeared to appreciate it.

It was the following summer that everything went wrong. He had not been home either at Christmas or at Easter, and she had completely forgotten those small incidents- from the previous year. She was delighted to see him, delighted at the prospect of needs having a companion close to her own age again. She was dearly fond of Graham, but he did not satisfy all her needs of friendship. And Winston had grown more attractive than ever, tall and muscular, like a blond god. And he was not one whit less amiable and carefree.

He began on her on their very first ride together. Again it was a hot day, and they had stopped to rest amongst some trees on a hillside several miles from home. She, foolish and naive, stretched out on the ground and spread her hands palm-down on the cool grass, sighing with contentment. Winston was quiet for a while, presumably stretched out beside her. Then she felt his hand on her breast.

"Don't, Win," she said, turning her face to him and laughing in some embarrassment.

"Don't what, Sarah?" he asked with wide-eyed innocence. And he moved the hand deliberately to the other breast.

"Don't do that," she said, flushing. "Please, Win."

"You have lovely breasts, Sarah," he said. "Full and firm." His fingers tightened around the one that rested in his palm.

"Win," she said, laughing again in hot embarrassment. "Please stop it."

"If you say so, Sarah," he said meekly. And he moved his hand away and placed it palm-down on her abdomen. He grinned down into her face as he pushed his fingers down between her legs and tightened his clasp of her.

Sarah pushed him away in a panic and scrambled up onto her knees.

He laughed. "Have I scared you, Sarah?" he asked. "That's more than I ever did with all the ghost stories I told and tricks I played when you were younger. Come and sit down again. You aren't afraid of me, are you? Silly girl. Come on. I didn't mean to frighten you."

She sat, and he stretched out beside her and regaled her with stories of his university days until she was giggling with amusement and forgot the discomfort she had felt a few minutes before.

Even so, she was a little more wary the next time he suggested a ride. She made an excuse not to go. It was several days later that he found her at her favorite haunt, the stile, where she was again reading. He stood beside her, his arms resting on the fence for a while, before suggesting that they go for a walk. She had been sitting and reading for more than an hour and agreed.

The walk took them across the pasture to a clump of bushes at the other side, where he suggested they sit (town. She was only slightly uneasy. She sat, her arms around her knees.

He talked for a while, until she was thoroughly relaxed, and then he reached for her hand. She gave it. They had often sat thus in the past. He tickled the palm with one finger until she giggled and would have pulled the hand away. But he turned it palm-up and put it to his mouth, his tongue continuing the tickling movements that his finger had abandoned. And then his mouth moved up her bare arm toward her short puffed sleeve.

She giggled again. "Don't be absurd, Win. You are tickling me." Her giggles stopped cold when he lifted his head and she saw the expression on his face. "Win," she said, "let go of my arm. It is time to be getting back."

"You tease, Sarah!" he said. "You know you don't mean that." And one hand came up to hold her chin as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Sarah froze. She waited for the kiss to stop. She did not like the sensations it created at all. She thought of Winston as a brother. Brothers did not do this with their sisters. And then he opened his mouth over hers and she felt his tongue pushing against her lips. She felt nausea and panic both at the same time and pushed at the hand that still held her chin.

He lifted his head to look at her. "Don't fight," he said. "You are bound to be frightened at first. But don't fight. You will like it if you will just relax."

"I don't like it," she said decisively. "I want to go home, Win."

"No, you don't," he said. "Lie down, Sarah, and relax for a few minutes."

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