No Decent Gentleman (8 page)

"I have a headache," Sabrina said, rising from her chair. "Please excuse me."

Without sparing the marquess a glance, Sabrina crossed the chamber, but his voice stopped her at the door, "Princess, you have promised not to avoid me."

"That would be rather difficult since you are sleeping beneath my roof," she said without turning around, effectively avoiding his piercing gaze.

Holy hemlock and henbane
, she thought as she quit the chamber. The scoundrel gave orders like a prince. Apparently, His Arrogant Majesty had never met a strong-willed female like her and needed to be taught a lesson.

Teaching the marquess a lesson would be like poking a tiger, Sabrina thought, a grudging smile appearing on her face. He was the most commanding man she'd ever met. He positively reeked with masculinity.

Betrothals usually ended in marriage, she thought, a chill of excitement rippling down her spine. What would marriage to the marquess be like? How would she feel climbing the stairs to their bedchamber each night? How would it feel to have his strong hands caressing her naked flesh?

Sabrina felt a hot blush rising on her cheeks. Determined to clear her head of such impure thoughts, she climbed the stairs to the third floor. If only the marquess weren't the handsomest man she'd ever seen. Even scarred, the Marquess of Stonehurst was too damned attractive for her peace of mind.

Chapter 4

Sabrina hid in her bedchamber the next day.

In an effort to avoid the marquess, Sabrina feigned a headache the following morning and resigned herself to a lonely day. After washing and donning a fresh nightgown and robe, she placed a cold compress on the bedside table and then crossed the chamber to peer out the window.

The weather mirrored her mood. Gray clouds drooped sadly in a low overcast sky, and mist as sheer as a bride's veil hung in the air.

Was it only last week that she'd been happy? Her life had changed so rapidly and drastically since then. First had come her father's sudden death. That had been followed almost immediately by Edgar's disloyalty at the first sign of trouble from Vicar Dingle. Now she was betrothed to the marquess, a man she hadn't known until three days ago. How much suffering could she endure? Her problems seemed insurmountable.

With a heavy sigh, Sabrina pressed her forehead against the coolness of the window. A solitary tear trickled down her cheek. And then another.

A knock on the door startled her. Sabrina hurried back to her bed, yanked the coverlet up, and grabbed the damp cloth, placing it on her forehead.

"Who's there?" she called in a weak voice.

"It's Courtney."

"Come in."

The door swung open, and her sister crossed the chamber to sit on the edge of the bed. Courtney gazed at her worriedly.

"Forbes told me you were ill," she said in a voice no louder than a whisper. "How bad is your headache? Is there anything I can do?"

"Marry the marquess," Sabrina answered, tossing the cold compress aside.

Courtney stared at her in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"My head feels fine. What I have is a royal pain in the arse," Sabrina said. "Last night, Uncle Charles informed me that Adam and I have been betrothed since childhood."

"What wonderful news!" Courtney exclaimed, smiling. "The marquess is so handsome, and you'll become a duch—" The seventeen-year-old realized her sister wasn't smiling and quickly amended, "Oh, what a terrible shock it must have been."

Sabrina burst out laughing. "Sister, with a little practice, you would make an excellent diplomat."

"Do you really think so?"

"No."

"The marquess is wealthy, titled, handsome, and kind," Courtney argued. "Compared to the marquess, Edgar is a dishcloth." She rose from her perch on the edge of the bed. "You'll be down for luncheon?"

Sabrina shook her head. "I'm avoiding the marquess."

"Avoiding him will not alter the situation," Courtney said.

"I commend your practicality," Sabrina told her, "but I am not trying to alter the situation, at least not right now."

Courtney looked puzzled. "Then why are you feigning a headache?"

"The marquess insisted that he would not allow me to avoid him," Sabrina explained. "I've decided to teach him a much needed lesson about the many methods of avoidance."

"He won't be pleased," her sister warned.

"Do I look as if I care?" Sabrina asked, smiling. "If he doesn't like it, he can fiddle the devil."

Courtney shook her head in disapproval. "The point is that you may care someday."

Sabrina lifted her nose into the air, saying, "I doubt that."

"I suppose you know what is best," Courtney said, turning away. "He did ring the death knell for Papa, though."

"You won't tattle on me, will you?" Sabrina called.

Courtney turned around and then gestured as if buttoning her lips together.

"Thank you, Sister."

Sabrina spent the next few hours playing solitaire. The lunch hour came and went, each passing moment adding to her restlessness.

The marquess had made her a prisoner in her own bedchamber, Sabrina thought in growing irritation. In her mind's eye, she conjured his image—black hair, blue eyes, distinguishing scar, and devastating smile. Yes, she finally admitted to herself, Adam St. Aubyn was a prime catch.

If only he weren't so damned attractive.

If only she didn't feel vulnerably awkward in his presence.

If only she hadn't been born a bastard.

Sabrina sighed. As long as she was wishing for the impossible, she might as well wish her beloved father alive again.

A knock on the door drew her attention. Hastily, she pushed the cards beneath the coverlet and reached for the cold compress.

"Who is it?" she called in the weakest voice she could manage.

"Aunt Tess."

The door opened, and her aunt walked inside. Behind her aunt walked the marquess carrying a tray.

Sabrina dropped her mouth open in surprise. His intrusion into her bedchamber was utterly inappropriate.

Beneath her aunt's supervision, Adam set the tray on the bedside table. Then he perched on the edge of the bed.

"Adam is worried about your health," Aunt Tess explained.

"Chamomile tea and lemon cookies," Adam added, gesturing to the tray.

Sabrina finally found her voice through her surprise. "My lord, kindly remove yourself from my chamber," she said, "or I will be ruined."

"No one but your aunt knows I'm here," Adam said, silently refusing to budge from his perch on the bed.

"Servants see everything and tell their friends, who, in turn, tell their employers," Sabrina countered.

"The marquess is your betrothed," her aunt said, making herself comfortable in the chair in front of the hearth.

"I haven't forgotten," Sabrina said dryly. "However, engaged to be married doesn't mean married. And why didn't you tell me about this betrothal?"

"Oh, dear, I'm so forgetful," Aunt Tess said suddenly, rising from her chair. "I've left my needlepoint in my chamber." She hurried to the door and left before Sabrina could stop her.

"Your face is as red as your hair," Adam said, smiling. He reached out and touched her forehead, adding, "You don't seem to have a fever."

"I really must protest your presence in my chamber," Sabrina said as soon as her aunt had gone. "This is unseemly."

Ignoring her statement, Adam passed her the cup and said, "This will make you feel better."

"I don't want tea."

"What would you like, Princess?"

Sabrina smiled suddenly. "A nap, I think."

"Shall I hold you in my arms until you fall asleep?" he asked in a husky voice.

Sabrina felt the blood rushing to her face. "A tarnished reputation is no joking matter, my lord. Especially—" She broke off, unwilling to add the words
especially for a bastard like me
.

Except for the vicar on the night of her father's burial, no villager had ever insulted her or her sister in any way. However, sometimes she'd catch people looking at them and she felt certain that they knew of their ignoble origins.

Abingdon was one of those small villages where gossip traveled fast. It seemed to her that everyone knew everyone else's secrets.

On the other hand, maybe she'd imagined those pointed looks because she felt unworthy. Her sister seemed unaffected by the secrecy surrounding their births.

"Especially?" Adam prodded, drawing her attention away from her troubling thoughts.

Sabrina focused on him. "Never mind."

Adam reached over and lifted something off the floor. One of the playing cards, she realized. It must have fallen off the bed when she'd yanked the coverlet up.

"I thought you were suffering with a headache," Adam said.

"Courtney visited earlier and tried to amuse me with a game of cards," Sabrina replied by way of an explanation.

"Princess, you are trying to avoid me," he said, fixing his blue gaze on her.

"How can you even think that?" she asked, pasting an innocent expression on her face. "Why, I am in danger from expiring from the pain in my head."

"Where does it hurt?"

"My temple."

Adam cocked a dark brow at her. "Which one?"

"Both."

"Close your eyes," he ordered in a quiet voice. When she'd done that, he placed his hands on either side of her head and began to massage her temples.

Sabrina nearly swooned when he first touched her, but soon yielded to his expert ministrations. His touch on her was firm but gentle; his fingers' rhythmic, circular motion on each of her temples was oh, so relaxing.

God shield her, she felt like purring.

And then his hands were gone.

Sabrina opened her eyes as he rose from the bed.

Adam stared down at her for a long, long moment. "Enjoy your games, Princess," he said in an amused tone of voice. "I will win in the end."

Sabrina met his gaze unflinchingly. "I hate losing."

Adam smiled at her. "Then we do have something in common after all." At that, he left the chamber and quietly closed the door behind him.

Sabrina passed the remainder of the day in her chamber. After supping alone, she leaned back in the bed. Unfortunately, sleep refused to come, and Sabrina fidgeted with the overwhelming need to bake her worries away. And she would do just that—as soon as the others had retired for the evening.

By ten o'clock, Sabrina judged that no one but servants would be about. She leaped out of bed and, without bothering to change into a gown but simply donning a robe, she headed for the door.

Sabrina paused to press her ear to the door. The corridor outside her chamber was quiet.

Ever so slowly, Sabrina opened the door a crack and peered out. The corridor was deserted. She hurried on bare feet down the length of the corridor to the servants' staircase at the rear of the mansion. In the event the marquess was on his way to bed, she would avoid meeting him on the main staircase.

Sabrina raced down the narrow staircase and burst into the kitchen, startling several servants. She quickly donned an apron and ordered, "Fetch me molasses, butter, brown sugar, flour, ginger, allspice, bicarbonate of soda, milk, and eggs."

"Lady Sabrina, how is your headache?" Forbes asked as the scullery maids tripped over each other to do their mistress's bidding.

Sabrina narrowed her gaze on him and cast him a jaundiced look. The majordomo chuckled.

"What are you baking tonight?" he asked.

"Thick gingerbread."

"Ah, one of my favorites."

Forbes verified that all of the items had been placed on the table and then asked, "Will there be anything else, my lady?"

"I'd like to be alone," Sabrina told him.

Forbes inclined his head, saying, "Very good, my lady." At that, the majordomo signaled the maids to leave the kitchen and before following them, called, "Pleasant baking."

Sabrina set to work immediately. She stoked the fire of the oven, sifted the flour into a large basin, and then mixed in the brown sugar, ginger, and allspice. Humming contentedly to herself, she melted the butter and molasses over a low heat and stirred it into the other ingredients along with the bicarbonate of soda dissolved in warm milk.

After lightly whisking the eggs, Sabrina added them to the gingerbread mixture and began beating it.

"Ah, Princess, I see you are feeling better," said a familiar voice.

Sabrina whirled around in surprise and demanded, "What are you doing here?"

"You invited me to be your guest for several days," Adam replied, sauntering across the kitchen toward her.

Sabrina was not amused. "I meant, what are you doing in my kitchen?"

Adam smiled. "I was on my way upstairs when Forbes informed me that you were making the best gingerbread in England," he said. "I do love gingerbread with clotted cream."

Sabrina could have throttled the majordomo. Resigning herself to the marquess's presence, she gave him the sweetest smile she could manage and said, "You'll need to whip the cream."

"I would love to whip your cream," Adam said in a husky voice.

Sabrina looked at him for a long moment. There was something about the way he'd said those words that made her suspicious of his meaning. Was that laughter lurking in his blue eyes? What was so damned humorous about whipping the cream?

Letting his comment pass unanswered, Sabrina set a bowl down in front of him. She poured chilled cream into it and handed him a whisk.

Without taking his gaze from hers, Adam lifted the whisk and began his task.

"Do not overwhip," Sabrina ordered.

"Heaven forbid," he said with a smile.

Sabrina poured the gingerbread mixture into a pan, put it into the oven, and then sat down at the kitchen table.

"Do not tell a soul that you saw me doing this," Adam said, glancing over at her, "or I'll be the laughingstock of London."

"I'll consider remaining silent," Sabrina said with an impertinent smile.

"What made you want to bake so late in the evening?" he asked.

"I always bake my anxieties away," she answered.

"And what anxieties would those be, Princess?"