Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires (31 page)

“I'm glad you think so,” Chadwick said with a wide grin.

“I'll make her an offer tomorrow.”

But when Christopher arrived at breakfast the following morning, eager to see Lady Sarah again and hoping to suggest they go for a picnic later, she wasn't there. Disappointed, he decided to wait, which resulted in a lengthy conversation with Lady Duncaster about her travels to India and how she once rode an elephant. “There aren't many ladies who can make such a claim,” she said proudly. “Society has so many rules, most of which I've broken at some point or other. But I have no regrets, Spencer. You see, while all the other matrons here were dutifully doing their embroidery and producing children, I was out in the world, living. I'll never wonder what might have been, because I always followed my heart, though my parents were scandalized by some of the choices I made.” She shrugged slightly. “Well, my life has been full, and I have known great love and happiness. What more could I possibly ask for?”

What indeed?

“You make a fine point,” he told her as he met her steady gaze. “In fact, I've recently arrived at a similar conclusion—­that living a happy life is of greater importance than constantly seeking to please others.”

Lady Duncaster's smile was knowing, leaving Christopher with the distinct impression that she saw things others did not. He doubted anything escaped her. “So you will also follow your heart?” she asked.

“Edward the Fourth did when he married that impoverished widow in secret, and he was a king, whose choice of bride would have had a political impact on the entire country. Why, then, shouldn't I marry the lady of
my
choosing?”

“I can't imagine,” Lady Duncaster said.

Christopher nodded. “Then that is what I shall do.”

“I'm very happy to hear it.”

Finishing the remainder of his tea, Christopher rose. “Thank you,” he said, offering her a respectful bow.

“You're welcome.”

Christopher prepared to turn away when Lady Duncaster halted him by saying, “If I may, I would like to suggest you make haste, Lord Spencer.”

The back of his neck prickled. His heart stilled. “Any particular reason I ought to know about?”

“Lord Spencer!”

Drawn by the sound of his name being called, he looked toward the door to find Lady Andover hastening toward him. She was red-­faced and breathless.

What now?

“Thank goodness I found you,” Lady Andover wheezed.

“My lady?” Christopher's brows knit together with uncertainty.

“At first I thought she might have eloped, considering Mr. Denison's departure this morning.”

“What?” Christopher's heart slammed against his chest. Surely she couldn't be speaking of Lady Sarah. Not now, when he'd finally realized he wanted her no matter what—­that he couldn't live without her. It would be too tragic for words. Bracing himself, he said, “Who are you referring to, Lady Andover?”

“To Sarah, of course,” she practically shrieked, confirming Christopher's worst fears.

“I have since been assured by the groomsmen and servants that Mr. Denison was alone when he departed,” Lady Andover said. She drew a shuddering breath.

“Calm yourself,” Christopher told her. He felt only mildly placated by the knowledge that Lady Sarah had not left Thorncliff with Mr. Denison. In spite of his impatience to know what had happened, he pulled out a chair for Lady Andover and asked her to sit. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” he suggested.

Nodding, she dabbed her handkerchief against her forehead. Christopher gritted his teeth. “This morning, after dressing, I went to check on her to ensure she hadn't caught some nasty ailment that might prove harmful to the rest of us. As you know, my lord, she wasn't feeling well last night. When I thought about it, I realized she'd been a bit odd since the day before last.”

“Your attention to your daughter's state of being is admirable,” Lady Duncaster said dryly.

Christopher felt like applauding the comment, while Lady Andover herself seemed quite oblivious to the sarcastic criticism that had just been directed at her.

She nodded. “But when I arrived at her bedchamber, I discovered that Sarah was nowhere to be found. Nowhere, I tell you! Her sisters claim they haven't seen her since last night, so I can only assume that she must have snuck out while they were sleeping, leaving behind an empty glass case filled with straw and twigs—­most peculiar that—­and most of her clothing.” There was a very distinctive clip to her tone that sounded entirely too accusatory for Christopher's liking. He steeled himself. “Now, I don't care what silly notion has gotten into her head this time, but I will not allow her to do something rash that might potentially embarrass our family. Please, Lord Spencer, you must help me find her!”

“Of course,” he said, even as his mind reeled with the news that Lady Sarah had run off and what that might mean for their future.

He fought for control.
Calm yourself
.

“Did she leave any hint of where she was going?” he asked.

“Not much,” Lady Andover admitted, “but there was a note on her escritoire addressed to you.”

Accepting the paper Lady Andover handed him, Christopher paused before unfolding the missive. He studied the elegant
S
that curled flamboyantly as part of his name. The message was brief, no more than a ­couple of sentences, really, saying simply,

During our brief acquaintance, you have become my dearest friend, which is why it pains me to know how grievously I have wronged you. Hopefully, you will one day find it in your heart to forgive me.
Please know that I wish you every possible happiness and that I will forever cherish the time we shared together at Thorncliff.

Yours always,

Sarah

Christopher stared down at the piece of paper in his hand.
Dearest friend . . .
forgive me . . . yours always.
Uncertain of his feelings and of what to do with them, he'd pushed her away, hurt her, yet her kindness flowed through the black ink.

He hadn't given her any reason to think they stood a chance anymore, had scarcely spoken to her at all for the past ­couple of days. When he had, he'd been curt and distant with her. Last night, when she'd needed comfort the most, he'd turned away from her, fearing that he would expose her to the overpowering rage that Mr. Denison's attack had evoked in him. And now she was gone, convinced no doubt that he hated her.

“Do you have any idea where she might be?” Christopher asked bluntly.

Lady Andover shook her head. “None at all. Indeed, I cannot imagine what might have gotten into that silly head of hers this time.”

Squaring his shoulders, he stared down at his future mother-­in-­law. He didn't care for her in the least. “You have a dislikeable tendency to think the worst of your daughter, Lady Andover, offering her no support at all. Your constant berating of her, your unwillingness to forgive . . . it's been extremely painful for her. She knows she made a mistake, and I do believe she's likely to regret it for the rest of her life. The least you can do, as her mother, is to offer her some measure of comfort to help ease her suffering, but for some unfathomable reason, you cannot bring yourself to do so. Why, even now you insist on being critical of her.”

“Lord Spencer,” Lady Andover blustered. “You go too far!”

“On the contrary, I fear I don't go far enough,” he muttered.

“Enough!” Turning, Christopher met the glowering gaze of Lord Andover, who'd joined them inconspicuously. “I will not tolerate such a tone, Lord Spencer. Especially not when you're addressing my wife.”

“I shall address her with politeness as soon as she agrees to treat Lady Sarah with civility and respect,” Christopher snapped, his patience running thin due to the ugly company he was presently keeping.

“Respect?” Lord Andover snorted. “I hardly think—­”

“Choose your words wisely, my lord,” Christopher said as he narrowed his eyes on Lady Sarah's father, “lest you give me no choice but to call you out—­a notion that grows more appealing by the second.”

Lady Andover gasped, while Lord Andover grew visibly pale. He tilted his head in acquiescence. “Forgive me, Lord Spencer. It is clear that my wife and I have overstepped our bounds.” Christopher doubted the words were sincere, but for Lady Sarah's sake he said, “I suggest you consider what you're going to tell your daughter when you see her again. The last thing she expects from you is understanding or acceptance.”

“As to her whereabouts,” Lady Duncaster said, drawing Christopher's attention, “you might want to try the road to Plymouth.”

“Plymouth?” Christopher's eyes narrowed as he recalled Lady Duncaster's words from earlier.
I would like to suggest you make haste
. “You knew she left and failed to tell me?”

“Highly inconsiderate of you not to inform me of her absence immediately,” Lord Andover said.

Ignoring the earl, Lady Duncaster focused on Christopher. Again, she looked as though she was peeling away his outer layers until she stared straight at his soul. He flinched marginally in response to the direct scrutiny. “What sort of hero would you be if you were in constant need of guidance, acting only when others instructed you to do so?”

“You wished for me to decide whether or not to go after her on my own?”

“This is preposterous,” Lord Andover said.

Lady Duncaster tilted her head. “She left because she couldn't bear the thought of staying and because she wanted an opportunity to decide her own fate. In so doing, she has also given you a choice, my lord. You can either let her go, or you can chase after her. As it is, she doesn't think you'll make the effort.”

Christopher's throat tightened. “Where does she intend to go?”

“Does it really matter?” Lady Duncaster asked.

No. It didn't.

“I cannot believe this,” Lady Andover said.

“Your collaboration in her flight is most disappointing,” Lord Andover agreed. “Sarah was supposed to go to Cape Town as soon—­”

“Cape Town?” Shocked, Christopher almost spat the words. “You want to be rid of your daughter so badly that you would send her halfway across the world? What sort of parents are you?” He composed himself. “Forget I asked that question, for indeed I already know the answer, as regrettable as that is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I intend to fetch Lady Sarah so I can ask her to be my wife.” He then strode off, not granting the Andovers a chance to say anything more. Lord help him, he was furious!

 

Chapter 19

W
ith the twenty pounds Lady Andover had kindly given her tucked away in her reticule, Sarah leaned back against the squabs of the carriage as she tumbled along the country road toward Plymouth. Lisa, the maid Lady Duncaster had insisted Sarah take along with her, sat opposite, her hands busy with a bit of mending she'd brought with her. It was almost two hours since Sarah had left Thorncliff behind, so she supposed it was possible that Spencer and her parents had discovered her absence by now. There was no question in her mind that her parents would be furious with her again, but this seemed insignificant compared with her concern over how Lord Spencer might react. Would he realize he couldn't live without her and come after her as Lady Duncaster envisioned, or would he choose to let her go? She wanted to believe in him, but she couldn't help the all-­consuming doubt that filled her, strengthened by his cold distance from her for the last ­couple of days.

Lacing her fingers together in her lap, she closed her eyes and dreamed of him. God, how she loved him: his kindness, loyalty, sense of honor and ability to make her laugh. It broke her heart to run away like this, but it was the only thing she could think of that offered them both a choice, for although she'd told Lady Duncaster that she was grateful for her offer, Sarah wasn't entirely sure she wished to accept it. If Lord Spencer failed to be the hero she needed him to be, returning to Thorncliff would be both painful and shameful. She wasn't sure her pride would allow it, which was why she still toyed with the idea of journeying to France—­if she could somehow convince the captain to veer from Lady Duncaster's orders. Yet another difficult task.

The carriage slowed, then came to a halt. “First stop of the day, my lady,” said the footman who'd ridden in front with the driver. He opened the door, reached out his gloved hand to help Sarah alight, then offered Lisa his assistance as well.

“We'll change the horses,” the driver said. “Shouldn't take more than ten minutes. Fifteen at most.”

“Thank you, Michaels. We'll use the time to stretch our legs,” Sarah said as she looked around. A narrow path led past the inn toward a small brook. “Shall we take a walk, Lisa?”

“Certainly, my lady, though I would advise you to make use of the inn's facilities first, since you may not get another chance before luncheon.”

Agreeing, they sought out the privy, which, to Sarah's relief, turned out to be cleaner than she would have expected. When they were done, they walked down to the brook, where Sarah, spotting a flat stone upon the embankment, picked it up and flicked it into the water.

“I wouldn't have thought you could skip stones, my lady,” Lisa said, sounding thoroughly impressed.

Sarah's chest tightened. “I only learned to recently. Lord Spencer taught me one day by the lake at Thorncliff.”

“I think he's a fine gentleman,” Lisa said as they turned back toward the awaiting carriage. “Very unpretentious, from what I've gathered.”

A smile tugged at Sarah's mouth as she recalled him sinking onto his knees in a field of clover and racing across the lawn with her at dawn. “Yes. I suppose he is.” Whatever else happened, she would always remember him fondly.

C
hristopher arrived at the Blood and Hound at ten o' clock with a horse in desperate need of rest. “Did a fair-­haired lady pass by here this morning?” he asked the groomsman as he dismounted.

“About this tall?” Christopher nodded as the man held his hand up to his shoulder level. “Aye. I'd say she stopped here about an hour and a half ago.”

Christopher allowed a sigh of relief. He was gaining on her, thanks to his lack of a cumbersome carriage. “Give me the fastest horse you've got.”

“Now that might be a bit tricky,” the groomsman said, catching up the reins and leading Christopher's horse toward the stables. “The carriage her ladyship was riding in took the last of our Thoroughbreds, and the ones they left behind aren't ready for the road yet.”

Hell and damnation.

“What are my options then?”

Guiding the horse into one of the stalls, the groomsman held a bucket of water up so the animal could drink. “There's a gelding a few stalls down that the innkeeper uses to plow the vegetable garden out back. A few children from the village also come and ride him on occasion. He's a fine and gentle horse, but he ain't fast.”

“Are you suggesting I borrow him?” Christopher asked as calmly as he could. His previous feeling of victory had been cast from him, replaced by a sense of impending failure.

“Don't see what choice you have if you wish to be on your way. The next posting inn's about twenty miles away. Hopefully you'll have better luck there.”

If Christopher took the gelding, it would probably take him twice as long to get there as he'd hoped, but it would take even longer if he didn't. Dallying certainly wouldn't hasten his progress, so he accepted the horse he could get, determined to make the best of it.

A
fter two more stops during the day, they reached Exeter when it was growing dark. “We'd best stop for the night,” the driver said as the footman helped Sarah alight. “Wouldn't want to risk an accident or, God forbid, being held up by highwaymen.”

Sarah agreed. “Thank you, Michaels. I'll see to it that rooms and supper are made available to you.”

With Lisa by her side, she then entered the timbered building comprising the Hog's Head Tavern. She had diminished hope for Lord Spencer's arrival. It didn't look as though he would be coming after all, for if he were, he would have caught up with her by now, surely. Pushing the melancholy thought from her mind with the knowledge that she had servants to care for, she looked around the establishment.

The interior was dimly lit, with low ceilings held upright by roughly carved beams, providing both a rustic and intimate atmosphere that Sarah found oddly appealing in its simplicity. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, approaching a slender man with a balding head and graying whiskers who was seated at a table with a tankard of ale and what appeared to be a ledger. “Are you by any chance the innkeeper?”

Raising his gaze, he examined her for a moment and finally nodded. “That I be.” He closed his book and got to his feet with unhurried movements, his eyes drifting from Sarah to Lisa and back again. “Would you like a room for the night, or just supper? Molly's got a fine stew boiling in the kitchen.”

“Actually, I should like two adjoining rooms if at all possible, as well as accommodations for my driver and footman. There are four of us in total, so we'll require four meals as well. The stew sounds like a fine suggestion.”

The innkeeper scratched his chin. “Not sure I can manage adjoining rooms, my lady, but I can place you across from each other if that's acceptable to you.”

Sarah looked hesitantly at Lisa. Sarah had always enjoyed a private bedchamber, and although she quite liked Lisa, she especially felt the need for privacy now after being cooped up in a carriage all day. “That will be fine, thank you.”

“As for your driver and footman, I can offer them a room to share above the stables.”

Again, Sarah agreed.

“Each room will cost ye a shilling,” the innkeeper said, meandering toward a row of numbered hooks on the wall where a collection of keys was hanging. Snatching two of them, he called for a young woman to show Sarah and Lisa to their rooms. Sarah suspected she might be his daughter.

“Supper is ready whenever you are, my lady,” the young woman said after showing Sarah up to her room. Her cheeks were round and her smile was welcoming.

“Thank you,” Sarah said as the door closed. Once alone, she studied her surroundings, deciding that she was extremely pleased with the room she'd been given. It was far more comfortable than she'd imagined it would be. Removing her kidskin gloves, she untied her bonnet and set it on a small round table. Smoothing back a few loose strands of hair, she crossed to the washbasin and poured water into it, reveling in the soothing freshness as she soaked a small cloth, wrung it and placed it against her face.

Fleetingly, she thought of her parents and how angry they would be with her for causing them further humiliation—­the embarrassment of having to tell ­people they didn't know where their daughter was. Either that or they simply wouldn't care. Perhaps they'd even be relieved to find her gone, happy to be rid of the burden she presented.

A sigh crept across her lips as she thought of her sisters. She was going to miss them terribly if she didn't return to Thorncliff. She decided to post a letter to them before continuing her journey tomorrow.

The decision to do so eased some of her pain, the majority of which was related to Lord Spencer. It seemed increasingly unlikely that he'd come, but even if he did, could she really allow herself to accept his hand in marriage if he proposed? She couldn't bear the thought of him being constantly aware of how imperfect she was, which she'd no doubt he would be. How could he not, when she'd carelessly squandered the one thing that would bind her to him, and him alone? There was no doubt in her mind that whatever he said, however prepared he was to overlook it, a part of him would always resent her for allowing another man—­worse than that, a man who cared nothing for her—­the right to her virtue.

As much as she longed for him to come rushing after her, she suddenly wondered about her answer if he proposed. Could she ignore the guilt she would feel in denying him a proper wife? Could she live with the knowledge that she wasn't quite good enough, and that she never would be?

Doubt began to settle, increasing as she went downstairs to supper with Lisa. By the time their meal was over and Sarah returned to her room, she knew her worries had been unfounded. Lord Spencer wasn't going to come, which, as much as it saddened her, also pushed aside the nervousness that had clutched at her stomach the entire day. She no longer had to wonder what to say to him or how to explain her actions. Only one decision remained: whether to go to France or return to Thorncliff.

C
hristopher was at his wit's end and very, very annoyed. An hour and a half after leaving the Blood and Hound, the gelding had gone lame due to a poorly shod shoe. After removing the shoe, Christopher had clutched his clover in his hand and walked the remaining five miles to the next posting inn while the poor horse had limped along beside him.

“I need to change my horse,” he'd told the groomsman upon his arrival.

“I can see that,” the groomsman had said, eying the gelding with a pitiful expression. “Luckily we've a fast stallion available. I'll ready him for you straightaway if you like.”

Finally, a stroke of luck! Christopher's spirits brightened and his hopes were restored until, halfway between Honiton and Exeter, it started to rain.

What began as a light drizzle quickly evolved into a steady downpour as clouds drew together, darkening the sky from a dusky indigo to pitch black. Christopher cursed as he pressed onward. When he'd left Thorncliff that morning, the sun had been shining, promising nothing but brilliant weather. He wasn't prepared for this—­had even forgotten his hat in his haste to be on his way. Now he was caught in the dark, racing along a country road with water pelting in his face, his clothes as wet as they'd been after he'd jumped in the lake to rescue Mr. Denison. Thinking of Sarah, he urged his horse to run faster until, blessedly, a glow emerged in the distance, brightening as he drew closer. He could finally see the faint outline of the inn ahead.

Feeling victorious, he slowed his horse to a trot and entered the courtyard, where he leapt from the saddle and called for a groom to assist. “Go on inside, my lord,” the man said as Christopher dropped a shilling in his hand.

Thanking him, Christopher strode toward the front door, his boots sloshing through puddles as he went. Once inside, he wiped the water from his face with the palm of his hand.

“Welcome, sir,” an older man said by way of greeting. He introduced himself as Mr. Garison, the innkeeper. “Might I offer you a room? I can have a bath brought up and ask one of the maids to see to your clothes—­make sure you get dry and don't catch a chill.”

As tempting as the offer was, Christopher had not traveled all day to the point of near exhaustion so he could waste additional time away from Sarah. He wanted to see her—­
needed
to do so—­and had no intention of waiting one more second. “In due course,” he said. “First I'd like to know if a lady arrived here earlier by carriage. She's quite distinctive looking due to her light blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She would have been accompanied by a maid.”

Mr. Garison's eyes turned wary. “I cannot confirm or deny that, sir, since I don't believe in handing out information about ­people to anyone, unless they've committed a crime and the constable happens to be inquiring about them.”

Drawing himself up to his full height, Christopher leveled Mr. Garison with the most quelling look he could muster and said, “I am Viscount Spencer, the Earl of Oakland's son. The lady I am seeking is the Earl of Andover's daughter. Lord Andover has charged me with the task of finding her and bringing her home, but if you require further incentive to inform me of her whereabouts, I can promise you that you will be well compensated for your assistance in this matter.”

Mr. Garison looked neither impressed nor influenced by Christopher's authoritative tone. “If you think my moral compass can be swayed so easily, think again, my lord.”

Frustrated, Christopher looked past Mr. Garison at the staircase beyond. He could make a dash for it and proceed to pound on every door upstairs, but the hour was late, and in spite of the sense of urgency that filled him, his manners as a gentleman did not allow for such a selfish course of action. Raking his fingers through his hair, he decided to make another attempt at convincing Mr. Garison to help. “I will confess that I am personally invested in the search for her ladyship.” Mr. Garison's expression softened a little, urging Christopher to continue. “It's my intention to ask for her hand in marriage and to tell her that . . . that I've been the greatest fool and that I love her.”