Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires (19 page)

The astonished expression he gave her made her insides tremble. Had she said too much? Given herself away? “Has she said something to you that might suggest such a disastrous outcome?”

“No. Of course not,” Sarah told him hastily. “I am merely wondering how a man like you might react, that is all.”

His jaw clenched. “I should say that my father would have to take responsibility, but I can assure you that I would be grievously disappointed in any of my sisters if they did not prove themselves more sensible than to toss aside their prospects without the promise of a permanent attachment.”

“And yet you yourself have admitted to being led astray by emotion,” Sarah said, her anger rising in response to his hypocrisy and the hurt he unknowingly dealt her with his words.

“When I confided in you, I did not intend for you to use the knowledge as a weapon against me.” His voice had grown quiet. “Rest assured, I have suffered great humiliation for my stupidity, but it is a fact that men are freer than women to enjoy relationships with the opposite sex without altering their marriageability significantly.”

Sarah stared off into the distance. He would never accept what she had done, which, as much as it pained her, also made her grind her teeth. How she hated this world she lived in—­the unfairness of it and all the bloody rules that served to cage and restrain. Abandoning all hope of altering Lord Spencer's mind, Sarah nodded faintly and made an effort to return to a more companionable state. “Shall we see what's keeping your sister?” Surely Lady Fiona could not still be searching for her bonnet.

He studied her briefly before offering her his arm, a wave of heat surging through her the moment she accepted. She pushed the troubling sensation aside, determined not to ponder all the what-­ifs. Lord Spencer had no wish to marry, and even if he did, she would not be good enough for him. If she had any common sense left in her, she would accept Mr. Denison's hand in marriage once he asked and forget about Lord Spencer forever.

Later that day, however, her resolve to do so wavered as she met Lord Spencer's gaze during dinner, painfully aware of the flush that rose to her cheeks. Placed diagonally across from her at the table, he'd raised his glass in her direction with the barest hint of a smile, their earlier disagreement clearly forgotten. But her father, who was seated beside her, immediately requested her attention in a discussion that he and her mother were having about the number of salons at Thorncliff. One claimed there were seven, while the other insisted on eight. When the argument was finally settled and Sarah looked back in Lord Spencer's direction, she found him conversing with his sister, Lady Newbury, who was seated to his right, forcing him to turn away from Sarah as he spoke.

Once the meal was completed, Sarah accompanied the rest of the ladies to the music room, exiting through a door that prevented her from coming within speaking distance of Lord Spencer. However, rather than following her stepmother to one of the sofas and taking a dutiful seat beside her, Sarah walked across to one of two chairs standing in a corner adjacent to a tall window. It was an excellent spot, really, Sarah decided as she sat down and looked out at the garden beyond, for although it was getting dark, torches had been lit, illuminating all the pathways for anyone desiring to go for an evening stroll.

“Is this seat taken?” a soft voice asked.

Turning her head, Sarah found Chloe Heartly, the Countess of Newbury, gazing down at her with kind eyes. She was a petite lady with auburn-­colored hair, an elegant nose and a bow-­shaped mouth, who was dressed in a lavender-­colored gown that complemented her complexion.

“No. It is not,” Sarah said. “Would you like to join me?”

“Only if you don't mind,” Lady Newbury said.

“Not in the least. Indeed, I would welcome the company.”

As soon as Lady Newbury had taken her seat, she gestured for a maid to bring them both some tea. “I hope you'll forgive me for speaking plainly, Lady Sarah,” she said as soon as they were both alone again, “but since you're surely aware that it is no coincidence, my seeking you out like this, I might as well get on with it.”

Sarah stilled, the edge of her teacup touching her lips. She took a hesitant sip, returned the cup to its saucer and gave Lady Newbury her full attention. “You may tell me whatever you wish,” Sarah told her, “and you may be as candid as you like. I promise not to be offended . . . unless you wish to liken me to a farm animal. There's a good chance I might disapprove of that.”

“I can see why he likes you,” Lady Newbury remarked with a hint of mirth. “You have a delightful sense of humor.”

“I'm also exceptionally good at egg and spoon races.”

Lady Newbury laughed. “I'll have to see that to believe it. Perhaps I should have a word with Lady Duncaster—­see if it can be arranged.”

“I think it would be wonderfully diverting. Especially if it were to be an afternoon event with other contests as well, like a sack race, hoop throwing . . . apple bobbing. There could be prizes for the winners.” The thought was so appealing that Sarah could hardly contain her enthusiasm. How wonderful it would be to just play and have fun—­to be distracted from reality.

“Then it's settled,” Lady Newbury proclaimed as her dainty fingers reached for a biscuit, “but it's not really the reason why I sought you out.”

Sarah straightened herself in her chair while Lady Newbury nibbled on her biscuit. “Do go on,” Sarah urged her, curious to discover her meaning.

Leaning toward her, Lady Newbury lowered her voice to a hushed tone, just above a whisper, and said, “If you don't mind, I would like to understand your interest in Mr. Denison.”

Her voice was pleasant, yet Sarah couldn't help but discern a distinct edge to it. She felt her hands tremble, while her skin grew hot and prickly. The candor had caught her completely off guard. “And if you'll forgive me,” she said, her voice catching, “that's a very personal question.”

“Indeed it is,” Lady Newbury agreed. She studied Sarah with unrelenting curiosity. “Rest assured that the only reason I'm asking is out of concern for my brother. He tells me he enjoys your company—­an irregularity in his behavior, since he has not been known to enjoy the company of any young lady in recent memory.”

“What are you trying to say?” Sarah's heart thundered in her chest.

“Is it not clear, Lady Sarah? Spencer is in need of a wife, and the only woman he seems interested
in
is you. But rather than make yourself available to a deeper attachment with him, you maintain your courtship with Mr. Denison, insisting that he is the man you will marry even though he is far beneath your station.”

Drawing a breath, Sarah closed her eyes in anguish. Had Lord Spencer told his sister all of this? He must have. “Your brother is aware of my reasoning,” Sarah said.

“You mean he is aware of your father's interest in Mr. Denison's horses?”

Bleakly, Sarah nodded.

“Surely your father could simply buy the mares he's interested in from Mr. Denison?”

“Marrying me off will prove less costly in the short run with greater returns for the future.”

“I'm sorry,” Lady Newbury said. “I wasn't aware that your family faced financial difficulties. But if that is the case, I understand your father's reasoning even less.” She held silent a moment before saying, “If the issue is with your dowry, then I'm sure Spencer will assure your father that there is no need for one and that he will provide you with whatever you might need.”

Most would consider talk of financial matters vulgar. Unfortunately for Sarah, Lady Newbury did not, and the more she spoke, and the more she theorized, the guiltier Sarah felt. “It isn't that,” she suddenly blurted, unable to restrain herself any longer. “I mean, it isn't just about horses.”

Lady Newbury stopped talking, her eyes fixed on Sarah for the longest, most unbearable moment. Eventually, her expression softened, flooding with kindness. “Whatever troubles you may be faced with, rest assured that I will keep your confidence if you so desire. I know what it's like to be alone and how welcome a friendship can be.”

Expelling a shaky breath, Sarah attempted a smile. “Thank you, my lady, I—­”

“Please call me Chloe.”

“If you will call me Sarah.”

“I would be honored,” Chloe said.

The offer to share some of her pain with someone else was extremely tempting. “Promise me you won't speak a word of what I am about to tell you to your brother?”

“You have my word on it,” Chloe told her seriously.

Gathering her courage, Sarah glanced around, careful of who might hear what she was about to say. Nobody was close enough if she whispered, and so she said, “It is true that Mr. Denison is my parents' choice. It is to be an arranged marriage—­a marriage I am duty bound to enter into, though not only for the reason I have given Lord Spencer.”

The color of Lady Newbury's eyes intensified, but she did not look alarmed. She merely tilted her head a little before asking, “Then why?”

“I cannot tell you the specifics,” Sarah said, knowing she'd already said too much, “or more precisely, I
will
not. My entire family—­my sisters' prospects—­everything depends on my silence. Good heavens, if you only knew . . . you'd think me the worst possible match for your brother.”

“And yet you do not strike me as a woman with ill intent, but rather as someone who might have behaved foolishly on one occasion, for which you have decided to torment yourself for the rest of your days. As for my brother, he's a good man, Lady Sarah, and certainly deserves to make a fine match for himself. But wouldn't you agree that he also deserves the chance to make an unbiased decision?”

Sarah nodded, uncertain as to where this conversation was heading. Lady Newbury couldn't possibly approve of her after what Sarah had just told her.

Lady Newbury frowned as if considering something. “How will he be able to do so unless he has all the facts?”

Sarah sat back, her chest tightening with apprehension and . . . undeniable fear. She felt as if Lady Newbury had just dragged her seat to the edge of a cliff and proceeded to tilt it over the precipice. Lord help her, she could feel herself sliding toward the abyss. “I am not an option.”

“So you say. But what if he disagrees?”

“A moot point, since I cannot possibly reveal to him all my reasons for marrying Mr. Denison.”
Least of all to him.
The thought of willingly subjecting herself to his disapproval was unthinkable.

He would despise her in every conceivable way if he knew the sort of woman she was.

“You're afraid of how he will react.” It wasn't a question but an observation mirroring Sarah's own thoughts.

“Terrified,” Sarah confessed. She reached for her teacup but abandoned that idea, since she knew the tea would now be tepid, in which case there was little point in drinking it at all.

“Which suggests his opinion matters a great deal to you . . . perhaps because of your feelings for him?”

Feelings.

Closing her eyes briefly against the rush of emotion that threatened to topple her straight into the abyss, Sarah envisioned Lord Spencer in her mind's eye. She'd developed a fondness for him in the short time she'd known him, perhaps because he'd made no attempt to seduce her—­had offered no flowery prose, no praise to her beauty, and no examples of the endless suffering he would endure if she failed to return his undying affection.

Looking inward, she contemplated the contents of her heart. There could be no denying the effect he'd had on her since their first encounter or the fact that she looked forward to seeing him every day when she awoke. “I like him a great deal,” she said.

Chloe nodded. “Then you consider him a friend?”

“Of course!”

“Then you know what you must do,” Chloe said. “More to the point, I will not allow my brother to lose his heart to an illusion, which is precisely what I fear may happen if you don't show him your hand.” She bit into a biscuit before adding, “You're clearly a damsel in distress, Lady Sarah, which makes you extremely hard to resist for a man as valiant as Spencer.”

Sarah's heart thumped loudly in her chest, and she became aware that she was clutching the fabric of her skirts between her fingers, twisting it so tight that the creases would be near impossible to remove. “I don't know that I'm strong enough or brave enough to face such a challenge.” She spoke to herself more than to Chloe. “But you are right. Lord Spencer ought not develop a tendre for a woman whom he no doubt considers to have an unblemished past, so I will make you a promise. I will not further my relationship with him unless I am prepared to tell him everything.”

“That sounds perfectly reasonable to me,” Chloe said. Reaching out, she placed one hand over Sarah's. “I can only guess what your secret might be, Sarah, but I'd like you to know that I admire your courage, both in being prepared to make an unfavorable match for the sake of your family, and also for your willingness to do what is right, even if it won't be easy. I can assure you, however, that the worst thing you can possibly do is to continue building a relationship—­any relationship—­on the foundation of a lie, even if it's one born from omission.”

“One sometimes has the tendency to get carried away on wishes that cannot be sustained if we reveal all there is to know about ourselves.”

“Tell him your secrets, Lady Sarah, I implore you. Spencer is an understanding and forgiving man as long as he doesn't feel he's being cornered or having the wool pulled over his eyes. Speak with him if you think there's even the slightest chance that the two of you might have a future. I'm certainly fond of you already and I've barely spent more than half an hour in your company. By that rationale, he must be veritably smitten.”