Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires (6 page)

“I agree.”

“You do?”

“Does that surprise you?” He took a sip of his wine.

Was he joking?

“Of course!”

He chuckled, a rich rumble that captured her awareness. “Just because I disagree with your execution doesn't mean I necessarily disagree with the practicality of it.” He slanted a look in her direction. “Your maid will have some difficult dirt stains to deal with.”

Sarah scrunched her nose. “I confess I wasn't thinking of her.” She should have done so though—­she should have crouched rather than knelt. Instead, she'd given Hester more work. Guilt took hold of her conscience.

A lull arose in the conversation as footmen arrived with the first course—­plates of salmon mousse garnished with dill and caviar, which were placed before each guest. “It appears our hostess has excellent taste in food,” Sarah said, hoping to change the subject. Her gaze drifted toward the elderly woman who sat at the head of the table, her gloved hands bedecked by jewel-­encrusted bracelets. Sarah had never seen anyone quite like her, for she appeared as though from a different age, her hair set in a style belonging to the previous century. It was most unusual, though in a fascinating sort of way. It made Sarah look forward to making the lady's acquaintance.

“Lady Duncaster is meticulous when it comes to entertaining—­especially since everyone here has paid a hefty price in order to attend. I'm sure she wishes to ensure we're all afforded an experience that will live long in our memories,” Lord Spencer said, drawing Sarah's attention back to him.

“I find it surprising that a lady of her stature would open her home like this to strangers—­and accept payment for it, no less.” Scooping a bit of mousse onto her spoon, Sarah took a bite, almost sagging at the exquisite taste and creamy smoothness.

“From what I gather, her ladyship has always had an eccentric streak, with more of a nonchalant attitude as far as Society is concerned.” Lord Spencer took a bite of his food, pausing momentarily before adding, “Running a place like this is costly. With no children or grandchildren, I daresay it must be terribly lonely as well. There's no doubt in my mind that turning Thorncliff into a guesthouse is serving more than one purpose, and if you ask me, I admire her all the more for not minding if the
ton
approves of her choice or not.”

Sarah nodded her agreement. She'd heard of cases where peers had fallen into terrible debt. God forbid if an earl should make a living at anything other than running his estate or gambling. The fact that it was more acceptable for a peer to increase his wealth at the cost of another's misfortune rather than do an honest day's work went beyond Sarah's level of comprehension, but then again, there was very little about the
ton
that made sense to her. “I must admit that Thorncliff is more extravagant than any other place I've ever visited,” she said. “From what I've seen since my arrival earlier today, it will take the duration of my stay to explore it.” She took another bite of her food. Heavens, this tasted divine.

“It was founded during the twelfth century by a knight named William Holden. After Holden's ser­vice in the Crusades, King Richard the First rewarded him with land, and William began work on what would eventually become Thorncliff Manor,” Lord Spencer told her. “Since then, each generation has expanded on it, molding it into the estate it is today.”

Sarah couldn't help but be impressed. “How do you know all of this?”

Lord Spencer shrugged. “I have a particular interest in the history of English castles. They intrigue me.”

Their plates were whisked away and a new course was set before them; glazed duck accompanied by an arrangement of fruits and vegetables.

“Has that always been the case?” Sarah asked.

Lord Spencer stilled. “Why do you ask?”

The question surprised her. “Because I'm interested.”

He looked at her for a moment as if deciding whether or not to believe her. Absurd. Why on earth would she lie about something like that?

Picking up his cutlery, he went to work on his duck. “When I was ten, my family and I visited Brighton. On our way back to London, we passed Bodiam Castle. It was as if it had been conjured from my imagination—­the perfect setting for all the stories I'd read about knights. As soon as I returned home I made a sketch of it, and then a model—­the first of many.”

“And did you ever manage to visit Bodiam Castle properly so you could explore it?” She took a bite of her food, her eyes straying across the table as she did so. Mr. Denison was watching her with a frown. So was her stepmother, she noted. Sarah chose to ignore both of them in favor of enjoying her evening. She glanced at Lord Spencer. Who would have thought that she would find him entertaining, considering his penchant for cutting remarks and quelling frowns? He was much too serious.

“Unfortunately, I did.”

“Unfortunately?”

His eyes seemed to darken. “It was a great disappointment, as is often the case when one's expectations have risen to unreasonable heights.”

“I see,” Sarah said, for it was the only response she could think to make. Nobody was this caustic by nature. Something must have happened to him to make him so cynical. Sarah couldn't stop herself from wondering what it might have been. “Will you be staying long at Thorncliff?” she found herself asking, even though she knew she shouldn't. She'd met him in the conservatory and had been placed beside him during dinner. It had to stop there.

“The entire summer,” he said. “And you?”

“Until my engagement is announced, I'd imagine.” She would not allow him to think she had any interest in him, when she didn't. No matter how handsome he might be. She'd known handsome once, and the encounter had ruined her.

“Ah.” He raised an eyebrow. “Then you really aren't trying to trap me?”

“You still suspect I might be?” She narrowed her gaze on him. “Please don't tell me you're one of those men who thinks himself so desirable that a woman would find it near impossible to resist his charms. That she would go to great lengths in order to get herself married to him against his own will.”

He reached for his wine. “Of course not.”

She continued to stare at him while he placed the glass to his lips and drank. “Good Lord,” she uttered. “You are!”

“And what if I am?” he said, leaning closer so only she could hear. “Is it so difficult for you to imagine that I am coveted? That young ladies aspire to marry me if for no other reason than to please their overeager mamas?”

“Your arrogance is unbecoming,” she said, even though she knew he spoke the truth. A man with his features and in possession of both title and wealth would never be unpopular. Quite the opposite.

“A matter of opinion,” he stated. There was a pause, and then, “Allow me to ask you this: if I had compared your eyes to summer skies when first we met, would you have been flattered? Or would you have wondered about my motives?”

Sarah forced herself to breathe, no matter how difficult the effort seemed. A coincidence. That was all it was. Lord Spencer couldn't possibly know that those exact words, among many others, had compelled her to toss away her innocence two years earlier. She told him the truth when she answered. “I would have thought you the worst possible scoundrel.”

“And so you should have if I had indeed said such a thing. Not doing so would be extremely naïve.”

Heat rose to her cheeks as she averted her gaze, concentrating on the plate of fruit that had been placed before her. Continuing her conversation with Lord Spencer would prove to be not only pointless but also painful. He was unmovable in his convictions as well as a constant reminder of how utterly stupid she'd once been. But she'd been given a chance to put all of that behind her. And so she would, with Mr. Denison by her side. In exchange, she would trade in all the silly dreams she'd ever had of marrying for love.

 

Chapter 4

H
e'd upset Lady Sarah, Christopher realized as the meal drew to an end, but as usual, he'd been unable to halt the bitter words from escaping his mouth, for they reflected the way he felt—­a wariness of any young lady who showed an interest in him.

Then again, it had been five years since Miss Hepplestone had disappeared from his life forever. How much longer was he going to put off doing his duty because of the apprehension she'd instilled in him? Forever seemed like a feasible time frame.

Rising, he offered Lady Sarah his hand, assisting her until they stood across from each other. “It was a pleasure,” he said politely. His mother had made a great effort turning him into a gentleman. It was about time he started acting like one. “Perhaps I'll see you again soon.”

“Perhaps,” she said, not meeting his gaze, though she did manage a weak smile as she took her leave of him. And then she was gone, leaving Christopher in the company of the other gentlemen with whom he was meant to enjoy the obligatory after-­dinner drink. Crossing to where his father was sitting, Christopher took the vacant seat beside him and attempted to concentrate on the conversation he was having with some of his acquaintances, Mr. Hewitt and the Duke of Pinehurst, about horses. “I've an urge to buy myself a new stallion,” Lord Oakland was saying, “and since my wife's birthday is approaching, I'm considering getting her a new mare as well. Don't suppose you'd happen to know of anyone who's selling prime stock at the moment?”

“I'd try Mr. Frick if I were you,” Mr. Hewitt said. “He's quite the expert on horses—­always has a ­couple of fine ones up for auction at Tattersalls. Few years back, he began crossbreeding his best Thoroughbred with an Arabian he acquired on the Continent, producing spectacular foals—­expensive, mind you, but well worth it if you're looking to please your wife.”

“I remember when the two of you became affianced,” the Duke of Pinehurst said, changing the subject. He was a stout-­looking fellow with more girth than height to his aging figure. He pointed a finger at Christopher. “And I remember when you were born, lad.” He sighed. “Seems like only yesterday.”

Taking the occasional sip from the glass of claret before him, Christopher listened quietly as the older men in his company began reminiscing about the past. He was only too aware of how soon he was likely to find himself in their shoes. If the speed with which the first thirty years of his life had passed him by was any indication, he'd be a grandfather before he had time to blink. It was frightening, and quickly led to a mood he didn't much care for. Devil take it, he really ought to set his mind to finding a wife.

White-­blonde hair and clear blue eyes filled his mind's eye as he pondered Lady Sarah. What was he thinking? He knew little about her—­had only just met her—­yet she was the first who came to mind as he contemplated his future. Perhaps because he secretly enjoyed the way she scrunched her nose when he annoyed her. Or because of how blunt she'd been with him during dinner. Nobody, not even his sisters, had dared accuse him of being afraid. Not that it mattered. Lady Sarah had already set her sights on someone else and would soon be announcing her engagement.

He was still wondering who the lucky fellow might be when his father rose from his seat along with the other gentlemen, their conversation apparently at an end. “Shall we go and join the ladies?” his father asked him, “or would you prefer a game of cards?”

Getting to his feet, Christopher rose to his full height—­an inch above his father. “A game of whist would be splendid.” Anything to take his mind off his duty.

By eleven o'clock, Christopher and his father had won most of the rounds. “Gentlemen, I think I'm going to retire,” Christopher said, downing the last of his brandy.

“Already?” Mr. Hewitt asked. “How about one last round?”

“You'll have to find another partner,” Pinehurst told Hewitt. “I've been ready for bed myself this past hour.”

“It's been a pleasure,” Christopher said, rising.

With a nod, Christopher's father wished him a good night, as did Hewitt and Pinehurst. Hewitt did not look pleased, probably because he'd hoped his luck would change and that he and Pinehurst would win another round before closing the game. It wasn't likely to happen unless Christopher and his father deliberately allowed it.

Exiting the room, Christopher turned right, in a direction that would lead him toward the stairs. It was an exceedingly long hallway with a series of nooks set into the walls, where vases filled with bursts of lilacs had been placed to their best advantage. The distance between doorways leading into different rooms was at least twenty paces, occasionally twice that, and as he passed each one, he glanced inside, marveling at the vast variety of design between them. He was just about to pass the last room on his right when his sister Fiona stepped out, blocking his path. “We need to talk,” she said as she reached for his hand and began dragging him back inside the room with her.

What the devil?

“Have you been lying in wait for me?” he asked. “How on earth did you even know I'd be coming this way?”

“I knew you'd eventually need to go upstairs, and I didn't want to miss you once you did.
We
didn't want to miss you.”

Christopher froze.
We?
That's when it occurred to him that the room Fiona had led him into was filled with not only his remaining sisters but with his mother as well.
Damnation!
He turned for the door, determined to make his escape while he could, only to find that Fiona had closed it, locked it, and removed the key during the momentary state of bewilderment he'd endured upon seeing all those familiar faces staring back at him. It was a trap, and he could see no decent way out of it.

“I apologize,” his mother said as she patted the seat next to her, “but we knew you'd find a way to avoid us if you suspected us of wanting to speak with you.”

“And why do you suppose that is?” he asked as he strode across to the vacant spot the settee offered and lowered himself onto it. “Surely not because the only subject you wish to discuss with me these days is the acquisition of a wife.”

“If you would only make an effort to speak with the young ladies you meet, I'd at least be able to relax in the assurance that you would eventually warm to one of them, but how are you to find a bride for yourself when you insist on avoiding them all?” Lady Oakland asked.

“I did not avoid Lady Sarah during supper, Mama,” Christopher said defensively.

Belatedly, he realized his mistake as a hush filled the room and his mother smiled serenely. “Indeed, you spoke to her much longer than I've seen you speak to any other young lady in recent memory. You didn't ignore her, Kip.”

True. Lady Sarah was not the sort of lady one ignored.

“And from my own conversation with her,” Fiona added, “I found her delightful company. She's well-­spoken and pretty, not to mention that there's a gentility about her that's much to be admired.”

She's also in dire need of kissing.

Christopher blinked. When the hell had his thoughts taken on a life of their own? He clenched his jaw. “I will not allow any of you to involve yourselves in my private affairs,” he said. “I thought I made that perfectly clear during our ride here.” Glaring at Laura, Rachel and Fiona in turn, he was only marginally satisfied to see them avoid his gaze. Chloe hadn't been present during that conversation, so he addressed her next, saying, “You, of all ­people, ought to understand my reluctance to marry.”

“Certainly I do,” Chloe said. “I know what it is to lose faith in someone you love. But you are Papa's heir, Kip. You may not want the responsibility that's been placed upon your shoulders, but it's yours nonetheless. Besides, there's every possibility that you'll make a wonderful match and that you'll be happy.”

“I doubt it,” Christopher muttered, unwilling to fuel their enthusiasm in any way.

“Just so you know, this wasn't my idea,” Rachel mumbled.

“Thank you, Rachel,” Christopher said. “I'm glad to see that at least one of you has refrained from ignoring my wishes.”

“Oh do be sensible,” Laura said. “Lady Sarah is very pleasant.”

Clearly his sisters had not met the same woman Christopher had encountered in the conservatory or at the dinner table, because
that
Lady Sarah had not been genteel or pleasant when she'd accused him of being an idiot or of being too arrogant for his own good. He allowed an inward smile at the recollection.

“She's lovely,” Emily continued, “and not at all like that horrid Miss—­”

“Hush!” Lady Oakland narrowed her eyes on her daughter while Christopher gripped the armrest next to him. “We will not speak of that woman ever again. Is that clear?” Dark ringlets bobbed in accordance with Lady Oakland's wishes while all her daughters nodded agreement. Lady Oakland relaxed her posture. “Good.” She turned to look at Christopher. “From where I was sitting, it looked as though Lady Sarah was pleased with your company this evening. She smiled at you a great deal even though you insisted on treating her to your stone face.”

“My what?” Christopher asked.

“That incessant scowl of yours,” his mother explained. “I'm surprised flowers don't wither and die in your presence.”

He shook his head. “Really, Mama, I think you exaggerate.” But he knew she was right. Smiles were inviting, and he had no wish to invite anyone to do or think or say anything. Regardless, Lady Sarah had favored him with her smile, and she'd been radiant.

“Do I?” his mother asked. Immediately Christopher's sisters shook their heads. They weren't blind.

“Lady Sarah is a proper young lady of good breeding, Kip,” his mother went on. “We know she comes from a very good family, and although you were absent when she made her debut, I had the good fortune of attending a dinner at which she was asked to play the pianoforte—­she's very accomplished.”

Christopher suppressed a groan. This was getting out of hand. “I think you're exaggerating her interest in me. Besides,” he added, “she's getting engaged to someone else.”

The sooner his sisters and mother left the subject alone, the sooner he could continue upstairs to bed. He was beginning to acquire a headache.

“To whom?” Rachel asked.

Christopher dealt her a deadly look, which had seemingly little effect on her. “What does it matter? The point is that there is no point to this conversation, since Lady Sarah is already spoken for.”

“By Mr. Denison,” Fiona supplied. When everyone turned to her for an explanation, she shrugged her shoulders. “A minor detail, considering she doesn't wish to marry him.”

“And you deduced this how?” Christopher bit out.

Unfazed by his tone of annoyance, Fiona said, “It was clear in the way she spoke of him.”

Closing his eyes, Christopher fought for patience. “Please tell me you didn't question a woman you'd only just met about her feelings for the man she intends to marry.”

“Of course I did,” Fiona replied. “How else was I to discover if she was worthy of your considerations?”

Christopher groaned. Opening his eyes, he looked at each of them in turn. “Have you completely lost your minds? Do you even hear what you are saying?”

“I believe we're suggesting that you should save Lady Sarah from her undesirable suitor and—­”

“Enough,” Christopher clipped, cutting off Laura. “Your romantic notions are captivating too much of your time if you imagine there's any chance of such a scenario taking place. It's completely unrealistic and best suited to one of your novels.”

“That was rather harsh,” his mother said in that tone of hers that made him feel so very small.

He felt as though he'd just kicked a puppy, and by the pained expression on Laura's face, he realized he might as well have. “I'm sorry,” he said. “You know I think you're extremely talented, but this . . . it's all too much.”

Laura nodded. “I'm sorry too, Kip. I just want for you to find that special someone who will make you happy. We all do.”

“I know you do,” he said, even though he knew this would never happen. His heart had grown cold after Miss Hepplestone's machinations. A love match had become an impossibility.

“And I think Lady Sarah is our best bet,” Lady Fiona said, stubborn as always. “Don't think we didn't notice that you
almost
smiled while you were talking to her.”

Of course his sisters had noticed that minor slip in his composure.

“Or that she looked slightly flustered when she was first introduced to all of us,” Chloe said. “Especially when she looked at you, Kip.”

“I'm sure she was just uncomfortable with being dragged before a group of ­people she didn't know, who, if I may remind you, practically insisted she be paired off with me in some capacity or other,” Christopher said. “What on earth were you thinking?”

“That she was glancing at you a great deal during that particular conversation,” Emily said. She frowned. “Are you sure you never met her before this evening? I could have sworn there was a certain familiarity between the two of you, though it did perhaps seem a bit strained.”

There was no way in hell he was going to mention his encounter with Lady Sarah in the conservatory earlier in the day. Only trouble lay in that direction. “You're imagining things,” he said.

“I don't think so,” Chloe said.

Christopher was reaching his limit. “I don't want any of you to interfere,” he told his mother and sisters crisply.

“And we won't,” Lady Oakland assured him as she offered a far too innocent smile, “as long as you promise to give Lady Sarah a chance.”