Something Sinful (12 page)

“Sarah, what in heaven’s name are you wearing?” her mother demanded from the morning room doorway.

“My brown muslin.”

“I can see that! Don’t be impertinent.”

Sarala grimaced. “I apologize, Mama. I only—”

“You were to wear your green dress. The one with the pretty lace at the neck.”

“I stepped on the hem while I was putting it on.”

“Very likely. Have Jenny mend it at once. Thankfully you still have time to look attractive.”

“Forgive me, but I thought my first priority was to look English. Doesn’t this dress better suit that purpose?”

“Only if you wish to become a vicar’s wife. Go and change at—”

“My lady,” Blankman said importantly from behind the marchioness, “Lady Sarah has a caller.”

A tremor ran through Sarala. He’d arrived twelve minutes early. Did that signal his impatience to acquire the silks? If so, all the better for her. Sarala stood. “I’m sorry, Mama, but there’s no time. I can’t very well keep a Griffin waiting while my maid mends a gown.”

“Of course you can’t.” Lady Hanover grabbed one of her daughter’s history books, hurried to the nearest chair, and seated herself. “Show him in, Blankman.”

“Very good, my lady.”

Her mother absolutely could not be present for any negotiations. “But Mama—” Before Sarala could more than begin her protest, the butler vanished back down the length of the hallway.

“Sit down, Sarah.”

She complied just as Blankman returned, Lord Charlemagne on his heels. “Lord Charlemagne Griffin,” the butler intoned, and backed out the door to allow their guest entry.

Shay bowed, while Sarala scrambled back to her feet to duplicate her mother’s curtsy. “My lord,” they said in broken unison.

“Lady Hanover, Lady Sarala,” he drawled, his gray gaze flicking toward her mother as he said the latter name.

Sarala couldn’t help a small spark of satisfaction. At least someone still preferred her real name.

“Good morning, my lord. Do come and sit with us before you make off with our Sarah.” Lady Hanover made a grand gesture toward the sofa where Sarala had perched herself.

To her surprise he dropped onto the sofa beside her. “Yes, thank you for allowing me to escort Lady Sarala about London,” he said, shaking his head as a maid appeared with an offer of tea. “It’s not often I get the chance to show the Town to someone for the first time.”

Oh, he was in fine form today. In addition, he looked very dashing. Where she’d chosen to appear conservative and perhaps a bit severe—all to good purpose, of course—Lord Charlemagne stood as the definition of the word “dashing” in buckskin breeches and tasseled Hessian boots together with a tan coat, black waistcoat, and a wonderfully tied cravat.

“We’re delighted you’ve taken such an interest in
Sarah
, for that is what we call her,” her mother said expansively. “You are too kind.”

“Not at all,” he returned just as graciously, shifting to face Sarala. “And escorting
Sarala
is entirely my pleasure, I assure you.”

For a moment Sarala’s mother looked nonplussed. She didn’t often encounter anyone who simply countermanded her wishes, and politely at that.

“Shouldn’t we be going?” Sarala asked, trying to arrange an exit before anything unpleasant should happen.

“How is your brother this morning?” Lady Hanover went on, the force of her cheerfulness a bit unnerving even to her daughter. “I only ask because he was so gracious in asking us to sit with him last evening.”

For the briefest of moments Sarala saw what might have been annoyance speed across Charlemagne’s handsome face, but it was gone before she could be sure. “He was in good spirits when I last saw him.” He pulled out his etched silver pocket watch and opened it. “If you’ll excuse us, Lady Hanover, Lady
Sarala
and I should take our leave.”

Her mother stood, tittering. “By all means! Don’t let me keep you and
Sarah
from your amusements.”

“Well. Then thank you.”

Shay nodded. “You’re welcome. But more importantly, what the devil are you wearing?”

One slender hand went to the brim of her enormous brown bonnet. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, all innocence. “I am dressed in the current fashion, am I not?”

“You look nearly like a nun. And that hat could shade all of Wiltshire.”

She faced him, having to turn well sideways to look around the edge of her bonnet. “I’m sorry you don’t approve of my wardrobe, but my appearance is irrelevant to our negotiations.”

Charlemagne couldn’t stop the shout of laughter that broke from his chest. “So this attire of yours is so I’ll look upon you as a rival rather than as a chit?”

“Precisely. And what’s so amusing about that?”

“You could wear a sack, Sarala, and you’d still be as lovely as autumn roses.”

Since he was looking for it, he caught the hesitation of her fingers, the unconscious smoothing of her ridiculously prim skirts while she conjured an appropriate response. Ha. He did affect her. Thank God his attraction wasn’t completely one-sided, since she was halfway to driving him mad as it was. And conservative as her gown happened to be, on her he found it enchanting—like a princess trying to hide her beauty by dressing in burlap. Warm arousal ran through his veins. And that hat…

“Might we return to Hyde Park today?” she asked, hesitating again with that affecting combination of innocence and the exotic.

They were headed in the opposite direction, but he immediately turned north along Regent Street. “Certainly. May I ask why?”

“I wanted to see the Serpentine. My maid told me a queen had it built there in the park.”

One more turn, west on Piccadilly Street, and they were on their way to Hyde Park. “You truly are a stranger to London, aren’t you?” He forgot at times that she knew so little of what had surrounded him for his entire life. She seemed so capable and sure of herself that he couldn’t imagine her unsure of her footing anywhere. “Yes, the Serpentine is in the middle of Hyde Park. Queen Caroline, George II’s wife, had the Westbourne dammed to create a lake and add to the overall beauty of the park.”

“England is a very strange place, making lakes to add to the scenery.” She grinned. “But if you wish to use your knowledge of geography and architecture to overwhelm me, please know that I’m completely aware of your strategy.”

Except that at the moment his only strategy had been to entertain the Indian princess. “You’re the one who wanted to see the Serpentine. But thank you for thinking I’m a genius of subterfuge.”

“You’re also a genius of feigned innocence, my lord.”

“You called me Shay the other day.”

She looked up at him. “Shay,” she repeated softly.

He pulled the horses up so sharply that the tiger nearly fell off the back of the phaeton. “Now who’s using their wiles?”

Her eyes sparkled emerald. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I only uttered one word.”

“It’s the way you said it. Do it again, so I can listen more carefully this time.” And so he could better cover the shiver of his muscles.

“You, sir, are entirely too frivolous,” she retorted with a chuckle.

“Good God, I don’t think anyone’s ever called me frivolous before.” In fact, he was certain of it. He clucked to start the team off again.

“Hm. Does this mean I’ve judged you incorrectly, or that you’re only frivolous in my presence?”

“I have no intention of responding to that, on the grounds that it would be impossible for me to come through in anything but a shambles.” Actually, he seemed to be several things in her presence that he couldn’t be bothered with at any other time or with any other person. Certainly not with a female; if it had been anyone else, he would have complained that she was wasting his time. Here, with her, he couldn’t imagine anything more interesting. Not while they were clothed, at any rate. “If you’re not going to say my name again, we may as well discuss something else.”

“Silks?” she suggested dryly. “I was hoping we could get to that. I’ve been doing some calculations,” Sarala continued, folding her hands together on her lap. “I think a figure of three thousand five hundred pounds would be fair to both sides. What do you say to that?”

“I say that if you’re willing to lower your price by fifteen hundred pounds before we’ve barely begun, there’s probably something wrong with what you’re trying to sell me.” That wasn’t quite true; the price
was
a fair one. He simply wasn’t ready to pay it yet.

“That is not true, and you know it!
You’re
the one who told
me
about the silks, if you’ll recall. I have begun to receive other offers. If you continue to offer me nothing, don’t think I shall refrain from engaging in business with another party.”

Charlemagne lowered his gaze for a moment. “Sarala, I think you know as well as I do that this is not…typical. And neither do I think you would want me to use every means I possess to regain that shipment.”

When he looked up, his eyes met hers. “So I’m to tolerate your flirtations and compliments and insultingly low offers for as long as you wish to entertain yourself with my presence?”

If he’d thought that she meant a word of that, he would have settled the negotiations right then. “You keep agreeing to meet with me, princess, when you know how each previous encounter has gone. And yes, you have the silks, and yes, you could sell them to anyone you choose. And I
do
believe you have other offers, because I believe you to be a competent businesswoman. But the point is, you haven’t sold yet. So don’t claim that I’ve invited you here under false pretenses, when I think you enjoy my company as much as I enjoy yours.”

“You’re very sure of yourself,” she returned immediately, as they stopped beneath a beech tree. “How do you know I’m not working my wiles on you, ensnaring you to the point where you would give me any price I ask?”

Charlemagne laughed. “How do you know I’m not doing the same thing?” He hopped to the ground as his tiger moved to the head of the team. “You shouldn’t give away your strategy, at any rate. It’ll weaken your position.”

“I hardly need business lessons from you.”

Still chuckling as he circled the back of the phaeton to reach her side, he held his hands out to her. “Don’t be so quick to rebuff my offer of instruction, either. For all you know, there might be several very interesting things I could teach you.”

She met his gaze squarely. “I don’t suppose you’d care to name them, Shay? It is the only way we could both be certain what’s being offered and how interested I might be.”

Good God.
Sarala wrapped her fingers around his, and heat ran beneath his skin at the touch. A goose honked from somewhere close by, and he jumped. The feeling of being watched hadn’t returned this morning, but he continued to remain vigilant—or he tried to—nonetheless. Obviously, his mind and his body had other ideas where Sarala Carlisle was concerned. She continued to watch him closely as he helped her to the ground. “Between you and me, Sarala,” he said in a low voice, his hands on her hips as he drew her slowly closer, “a statement like the one you just made would not serve a proper chit well in London.”

Color darkened her cheeks. “You began it,” she protested. “I only responded in kind.”

“So I did. I apologize.” For a moment they stood inches apart, gazing at each other while he tried to remember why he couldn’t just kiss her again.
The park. They were in the middle of damned Hyde Park.
Charlemagne abruptly released her, clearing his throat as he did so. “I hope you have an appetite, because Cook was extremely generous with the portions in our basket.”

Feeling unaccountably awkward, like a schoolboy on his first outing with a member of the opposite sex, he pulled the blanket from the top of the picnic basket and spread it in the shade of a nearby tree. Whatever he’d said to get her here, he knew full well that this looked like a courtship—and that anyone passing by would likely think so as well. The fact that the word had even occurred to him, much less that he’d applied it to one particular woman, should have stunned him, but everything surrounding every encounter with Sarala seemed both dreamlike and intensely clear.

He gave it all up as madness, and had simply begun for the first time to let things play out as they would—no strategy, no planning required except for making certain that he spent as much time as possible with her. The most dismaying thought was that perhaps she
did
consider all of this a strategy, and that for the second time she was well on the way to outwitting him.

Hauling the heavy basket over to the blanket, he set it down and offered a hand to the momentarily silent Sarala. He shouldn’t have spoken as he had, but she certainly hadn’t seemed offended. Figuring her out was a devil of an effort—and one he was enjoying mightily.

Rather than take his hand, Sarala sank onto the blanket on her own. “The last time I sat on a blanket,” she said abruptly, “it was to learn how to charm a cobra.”

He grinned, not entirely surprised. “I hope you’re not comparing me with the snake.”

Sarala pursed her lips. “No, but the techniques of business negotiation and snake charming are very similar.”

“How so?”

“Well,” she began, at the same time reaching down to pull off her shoes, “it’s mostly distraction and redirection.” She paused, her eyes on her task. “Is it working?” she finally continued.

One by one the brown walking shoes landed on the blanket beside her, leaving him with a tantalizing glimpse of ankle. Had that been a henna tattoo? Sweet Lucifer.

Absolutely it was working.
“Just how bold are you?” he asked.

“This bold.” Leaning forward onto her hands, she stretched out to kiss him softly on the mouth, her bonnet enveloping both of them.

Lightning speared straight down his spine to his crotch. He kissed her back hard and hot, her soft lips molding to his. For Christ’s sake, he should have chosen a more secluded spot for luncheon. The parked phaeton offered some protection from curious eyes, but not nearly enough. Peeling her out of that ridiculous goose-necked gown, freeing her hair from the confines of that enormous bonnet…Just the thought left him hard and aching.

Keenly aware of where they were and just how fleeting their privacy was likely to be, Charlemagne reluctantly retreated an inch. “Someone might see us, Saral—”

She turned her head so swiftly to look that she nearly took his nose off with the brim of her bonnet. “I only wanted to see if a third kiss would be as distracting as the first and second.”

He stifled his purely male, prideful smile. “And was it?”

“I meant for you.”

This time he scowled. “Very amusing.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong—you kiss quite well. As a weapon, though, it can cut both ways.”

Charlemagne eyed her. “So according to you, I kissed you previously solely to strengthen my bargaining position.”

“Yes,” she answered succinctly.

“And so you kissed me today to demonstrate that my so-called tactics aren’t working?”

“To demonstrate that I’m perfectly aware of them.” She folded her hands over her lap. “Shall we eat?”

“Twenty-five hundred pounds,” he ground out.
He
would not be the one to look like a besotted fool. And if she wanted a negotiation, he would give her one.

She blinked. “Those silks are worth far more than that. And if you won’t open the picnic basket, I will.” So saying, she tugged it toward her and flipped open the lid.

If not for the color lingering in her cheeks and the slight tremor in her hands, he would have thought her kiss had been exactly what she claimed—a lesson in turnabout as fair play. No one, however, kissed that hungrily simply to demonstrate a point. One thing he hadn’t anticipated, though, was that she had had lessons in snake charming. He blew out his breath.
Enjoy the moment, idiot.

“Ham and currants?” she asked, handing him a cloth-wrapped sandwich.

He made certain his fingers brushed hers as he took it. “Hand me the Madeira and I’ll pour us some.”

“Certainly.” She complied, handing him the bottle and two glasses. “May I ask you a question?”

“You don’t need my permission, but of course.”

“How many of your other business rivals have you taken on picnics?”

Charlemagne laughed at the sly sparkle in her eyes. “None. And if you’re about to ask how many of them I’ve kissed, the answer is the same.” He handed her a glass of ruby red Madeira.

“Very well, I’ll be more broad. How many of your opponents have been females?”

“I got into a bidding war with Lady Adulsen over a nearly two-thousand-year-old marble bust of Caesar, but that’s the only one I recall.”

“And who won?”

Charlemagne grinned. “I’ll invite you to Griffin House for dinner and show it to you. It’s in the billiards room.”

Sarala drank a large gulp of Madeira. “If you can afford to relegate such a treasure to your billiards room, you can afford to pay thirty-five hundred pounds for those silks.”