The Reluctant Duchess (18 page)

“He worries about me,” she said weakly.

“Of course he does. But you're still young, Sara. You can't put your life on hold indefinitely because your father worries about you.”

“Put my life on hold? This
is
my life. There's nothing to put on hold.” Oh, she sounded pitiful, but that was the hard truth.

“What would you do if your father and mother reunited? What would you do with your new life?”

Marry Ross.
She pushed that thought away almost immediately. It was a hope she dared not hope. But there was one other thing. A wish, a desire that swirled around her in the dark of night, something she'd never put to words. “I want to do something for all the homeless children in London.”

It was as if a missing piece of her had fallen into place when she first thought of this; it felt right. She knew without a doubt that was her passion and her mission. And she knew that even if she stayed with her father, she would somehow find a way to make it a priority. She thought of the children at Mrs. Kettles's, of the girl in the corner with the baby, of the hopelessness in their eyes even at such a young age, of the desperation that cloaked them and drove them to do what it took to survive. More than she wanted anything in her life, she wanted to help them.

With the exception of wanting Ross, but that was not possible.

She found herself telling Grace about the rookery, Mrs. Kettles, and the children she saw the first time who were missing the second time.

“That's very admirable. I think you would be a wonderful voice for the children who have no voice,” Grace said.

Sara wasn't certain how she would go about it, but she knew one thing: She had a very considerable dowry that was just sitting there and would continue to sit there because she had no use for it.

“Well,” Grace said, “now that we have your life figured out, I need one more single gentleman to round out the dinner party, and the invitations can be sent.”

Sara turned her attention back to the dinner party, but her thoughts were swirling with possibilities that had been beyond her just a moment ago. For the first time in a long time she was truly excited about something.

“I would invite Lord Newport,” she said. “He always makes a wonderful dinner companion.”

“Lord Newport it is, then.” Grace penned the invitation for Lord Newport while Sara lost herself in her plans.

Ross watched Sara as they rode in the carriage to Lord and Lady Blackbourne's small dinner party.

She was quiet tonight. Contemplative. That worried him. When she thought deeply, it never boded well for him; inevitably, her thoughts centered on why they could not be together.

And lately, his thoughts had centered on why they
should
be together.

Hang society. If she was uncomfortable in it, then he didn't have to be in it. He didn't like society all that much anyway, although occasionally, it was a necessary part of his position. He would find some way to make it all work, as long as it meant that he could have Sara in his life forever.

He was still somewhat surprised by his feelings for her. His mother was correct: Sara was not the type of woman Ross was normally attracted to. But now he could see that the women he was normally attracted to were not whom he needed in his life.

Sara was meant to be his duchess.

He wanted to talk to her about that, to tell her his revelations, but his mother was also in the carriage, and he was not discussing this with his mother present. She'd done enough damage.

When they arrived at the Blackbournes' townhouse, Ross got out first and helped his mother out, then after a quick look around, he helped Sara out. She would say he was being overly cautious. He thought he wasn't being cautious enough. The last letter had been a real threat, in his mind, and he was taking all the precautions he could.

James was riding with the carriage driver. Ross would not leave Sara's side. The servants at Rossmoyne House were apprised of the situation and on high alert. Montgomery was working diligently to find the letter writer; Ross had hired a few people to keep an eye on Mrs. Kettles's establishment; and of course there was Thomas. The boy was very good at what he did and savvy enough that Ross trusted him. Other than locking Sara in a room and not letting her out, there was not much else he could do.

They entered the Blackbournes' drawing room and were greeted by Lady Grace Ashworth, the Countess of Blackbourne. She was a pretty lady. Not beautiful by society's standards, but her smile and grace made her beautiful. She was tall and angular, too thin for Ross's liking, but that was neither here nor there.

Sara and Grace hugged, a true friendship hug and not a silly touching of the cheeks. They began chattering away, and Ross's eyes glazed over. He visually searched the room and found Lord Blackbourne to the side, watching everything.

Ross knew a bit about Blackbourne. He had fought in the Crimean War and was reportedly killed during a battle. Obviously, the death pronouncement had been wrong: Blackbourne had resurfaced a year later to take over the earldom. Sara had hinted that things were not so wonderful when the Blackbournes were reunited, but she had been relatively tight-lipped regarding specifics. Ross headed for Blackbourne.

The earl tipped his head toward Ross. “Your Grace, welcome to my home.”

“My lord, please call me Ross.”

They fell into a companionable silence, watching Blackbourne's guests. Ross was looking for anyone out of the ordinary or anyone who would pose a threat to Sara. It could be anyone here, or it could be no one. It was such a frustrating process, trying to find this miscreant.

Blackbourne asked Ross about India, and they had a lively conversation. Ross was well aware that he could be overly passionate about the topic, but Blackbourne didn't seem to mind. He mostly nodded, interjecting infrequently, but Ross could tell he was listening and interested.

They were called in to dinner, where Ross was disappointed to discover that he would not be seated next to Sara. He was up the table from her and had to settle for quick glances at her, which was frustrating.

Despite her aversion to social functions, she was really quite good at them. She spoke to those on either side of her, Lord Newport on one side and the much older Lord Cranley on the other. She smiled and laughed occasionally and was otherwise simply perfect.

Since his mother had taken Sara shopping, he'd noticed an improvement in her gowns. No longer were they a drab brown or a color that washed out her complexion. Tonight she wore a simple gown in spring green with little adornment. Truth be told, she didn't need adornment; nor did she seem to want it. Unlike Meredith.

He shoved that thought away. It wasn't fair to compare Sara to Meredith. Ross had quickly discovered that the two were not alike in any way.

He liked that.

The women rose and left the men to their drink and their cigars. Ross had never been a cigar smoker, so he nursed the excellent whiskey that Blackbourne provided and leaned back to listen to the men.

Newport was the same as he'd ever been. Brash and loud, working too hard to fit in. Newport had always circled the periphery of the group Ross and Meredith had socialized with, desperate to be part of it but never fully accepted. He was one of those individuals who never quite fit in anywhere no matter how hard he tried. It seemed time had not changed him. He drank too fast and bragged too much. Ross tuned him out and turned his attention to Blackbourne, who was much more agreeable to speak to.

After a few more rounds of drinks, the men wandered to the drawing room, where the women awaited them. Ross found himself inordinately eager to get to Sara. He hated being away from her and was a bit uncomfortable admitting that it had little to do with the threat against her—although that was part of it. He simply liked being in her presence. He mulled over his major problem: How was he to convince her that they were meant to be? How could he overcome her ingrained desire to take care of her father? He certainly didn't want her abandoning her father, but she had to see that she couldn't waste her life looking after a man who was entirely fit to look after himself.

If Ross were Lord Grandview, he would have had enough of his wife living in Bath and would have ordered her home. Before Meredith's death, they had seemed to get along well; Lady Grandview seemed an amenable sort. Ross didn't understand the reason why Lady Grandview had been away for so long, but he would not have put up with it. Perhaps Lord Grandview preferred it.

Just before the men entered the drawing room, Ross caught a glimpse of a green skirt turning a corner. He hung back, letting the other gentlemen enter, then turned on his heel and followed the green skirt. He found Sara down the hall, looking up at the portraits that lined the walls, her hands behind her back as she tilted her head one way and then the next.

For a moment he stood there and watched her. It was rare that he got the chance to watch her without her knowledge, and he found himself soaking her in. How had he thought her plain? How had he thought her quiet and unassuming? She was quiet, yes, but she was also extremely intelligent. She was plain only if one didn't look past looks alone. If one were smart enough to look deep into her beautiful golden eyes, one would see a lively personality. Sara was one of those rare creatures who could see a person's true value.

And
that
, among other things, would make her a perfect duchess.

She caught sight of him from down the hall and curtsied as he approached. He took her hand and helped her stand, loving the feel of her delicate fingers in his, even through gloves. He well remembered the feel of her bare skin on his. That thought wasn't appropriate for the occasion, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She blushed and he lost his heart all over again. “I needed some time alone. It's so exhausting.”

He quirked a brow. “What is exhausting?”

She waved toward the drawing room; he was still holding her other hand and had no intention of giving it back yet. “Women are exhausting. I find I can take them only in small doses.”

Ross chuckled. “You have voiced every man's private thoughts.”

With a smile she turned to the wall of portraits, their hands still entwined. It seemed she wasn't in a hurry to relinquish their hold, either. “I was perusing the earl's history. There is quite an impressive line of them.”

“It's an old and respected family.”

“I've decided he looks most like this one.” She pointed to a portrait with her free hand.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are tonight?” The thought slipped from his lips unbidden, but he wouldn't have taken the words back even if he could.

Color rose to her cheeks, and she turned her head slightly away from him as if she didn't know how to receive the compliment.

“That's very kind of you,” she mumbled.

“I'm being truthful. You are beautiful.”

She moved down to the next portrait, tugging him with her. He was happy to follow. If looking at Blackbourne's ancestors bought him some time alone with her, who was he to complain?

He stepped closer to her, too close for propriety, but there was no one to see. He could tell the moment Sara was aware of his presence. Her shoulders became tense and her breathing not as easy. Her fingers flexed in his.

“We should return to the drawing room before everyone realizes we are both missing,” she said.

“Yes.” But he didn't want to. He liked that it was just the two of them. He liked being alone with her.

For a long moment they faced each other, neither willing to move toward the drawing room. Finally, Ross turned and, still holding her hand, walked back the way they had come, but each step took effort. He didn't want to go back there with all those people. He didn't want to have to let go of her hand. He didn't want to relinquish her to the other guests.

Looking furtively around, he spied a closed door to their left and pulled her toward it.

“Ross, what are you doing?” she hissed. But he noticed that she didn't pull back and didn't resist.

He opened the door and peeked in to discover it was empty. Quickly, he pulled her in with him and closed the door.

They appeared to be in a little-used music room. A piano stood shrouded in the shadows and a lone music stand was in the middle of the room. A harp hovered a few feet away.

Sara's lips twitched in a suppressed smile. “What are you about, Your Grace?”

“This.” His lips descended on hers, and he groaned because he was finally where he'd wanted to be all night. Hang the people in the drawing room. He wanted only to be with Sara.

She responded because she was Sara and she had hidden depths that he was beginning to uncover. Her kisses were like candy to him—sweet and oh, so addicting. He couldn't have just one. He needed all of them.

He backed her against the wall and placed his hands on either side of her head because he feared he couldn't control himself and his hands would roam. He was not too far gone to know that would be most inappropriate in her friend's music room. But he wanted to touch her. Everywhere.

She placed her palms on his chest, and he knew she could feel his thundering heart. His need for her grew each day until he felt he would burst if he didn't have her, but he would not defile her. She was too precious for that.

Sara was the one who pulled away first, her breathing ragged and sharp. She gulped in air, her lips wet from their kisses.

They couldn't return to the drawing room like this. Everyone would know what they had been doing, and he would not do that to her reputation. It was bad enough that they were missing from the dinner party.

He backed up, leaving her leaning against the wall, her chest rising and falling in labored breaths.

“You undo me,” he whispered.

“As do you me.”

“We need to talk about this, Sara.”

She pushed away from the wall and shook out her skirts with trembling hands, avoiding his gaze.

“Sara…”

She cleared her throat and opened the door beside her. “We should return.”

A burst of laughter from down the hall punctuated her point. The Blackbournes' townhouse, full of guests, was not the place to talk.

Sara slipped out of the music room and headed back to the drawing room. He gave her the time she needed. It wouldn't do if they arrived together, although he knew that many of them would have noted their absence—specifically, his mother and Lady Blackbourne.

When his body was finally under control, when his heart had returned to a somewhat normal operation and his breathing had eased, Ross, too, stepped out of the music room, only to be confronted with Lord Newport.

Although Newport was just a few years younger than Ross, he still looked like a young man recently out of university. He had smooth skin that would probably never sport a full beard and a wild head of blond curls that a comb would not contain. His dull blue eyes were looking accusingly at Ross.

“Lord Newport,” Ross said, looking at Newport coolly.

“Rossmoyne.”

Ross didn't miss the slight. He had never given Newport leave to address him so casually. His lips thinned. He nodded at the upstart and left him standing in the hallway as he entered the drawing room.