The Seduction of Sara (19 page)

M
arcus St. John, the indomitable Marquis of Treymount, was being scolded. Normally, it wasn't something he greeted with much enthusiasm. But Sara, when angered, reached a level of eloquence that bordered on genius. Since he'd been sitting at his desk when she'd stormed into his study and begun her prolonged diatribe, he'd even managed to write down some of her best phrases. They might be of use when composing his next speech for the House of Lords.

“Are you listening to me?” she demanded, coming to a halt in front of him, her fists planted on her hips, her face flushed.

He looked down to where he'd just written
“flamboyant, persnickety nodcock.” “I'm not missing a word.”

“Good, for I'll say it only once more: I won't marry Nicholas Montrose. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever.” She whirled and began stomping back and forth in front of his desk. “You have humiliated me! How could you demand such a thing from him? God, what a schemer he must think me!”

“Who cares what he thinks?”

“I do! He was helping me with—” She clamped her mouth closed and flushed a deep red. “It doesn't matter.”

Oh, but it did. Marcus had a very good idea of what his imprudent sister had been up to, and it did not please him at all. On another piece of foolscap he reread the names, “Hewlette, Bawton, Keltenton.” Written below that in a bold sweep, was the name “Nicholas Montrose, Earl of Bridgeton.” He'd pieced together what he could from Aunt Delphi and Anthony, as well as a few tidbits he'd garnered from the groom who'd escorted Sara on many of her outings. All told, the picture had been very disturbing indeed.

“Sara, what is done, is done. You put yourself in this position, and you will have to pay the consequences.” He leaned back in his chair. “You wished to marry a man of your own choosing, and so you shall.”

A startled expression lit her eyes. “Who told you I had decided to—” She bit her lip.

Marcus stifled a smile. He so loved surprising people, and within the last twenty-four hours, he had
managed to surprise two. His interview with the earl was one of his most successful endeavors of all time. In less than a half hour, he'd managed to sway Bridgeton, a confirmed bachelor by all accounts, into agreeing to marry Sara. It was not a match Marcus would have welcomed three months ago. But considering the damage his sister had done to her name owing to Lord Keltenton's unfortunate illness and Anthony's precipitous challenge, it was a marvel he'd managed to get Sara a husband at all. It was even more fortuitous that he'd managed to find one with surprising strength of character, and for whom she had some fondness. Perhaps more than fondness.

Anthony shifted in his chair by the fire as Sara began to catalog his part in “her persecution.” It would do his brother some good to be made uncomfortable. As far as Marcus could tell, Anthony had allowed his emotions to overwhelm his good judgment, culminating in calling Bridgeton out and putting Sara's name on the tongue of every gossip in town. To Anthony, there was no worse candidate for Sara's husband. But Anthony was wrong.

Marcus replaced the pen in the inkpot, remembering Bridgeton's reaction to his threat to banish Sara. Though he would never do such a thing, the earl hadn't known that, and the threat had worked just as he'd planned.

Feeling quite satisfied, Marcus rose and went to look out the window at the busy street below. “Sara, resign yourself. You will marry Bridgeton, and that is the end of it.”

Aunt Delphi looked up from where she had been
pretending to embroider by the fire. “The earl is a very handsome man, but I cannot imagine he would make a good companion.”

Still fuming, Sara stopped by Aunt Delphi's chair. “It doesn't matter what type of a companion he would be. He doesn't wish to marry me, and I don't wish to marry him.”

“He's the devil's own spawn,” Anthony said. “It goes without saying that he'll be difficult to live with.”

Sara continued to pace the floor, her skirts swishing over the Persian carpet. She'd awakened this morning to the shocking news that Nick had agreed to marry her. It was the last thing she'd expected, for if anyone could hold out against her brothers, it would be he.

Her heart ached to imagine what Nick must think of her. She wouldn't be surprised if he was even now cursing her name. Shoulders sagging, she pressed a hand to her temple. “Nick will not dance tamely to your bidding, Marcus, no matter what you say.”

“He'll do as he's promised,” Marcus said.

The words made Sara grind her teeth. “Why would he bother? He has no more wish to wed than I.”

“How do you know?” Anthony asked. “Did you ask him?”

Her face heated, and Anthony covered his eyes. “Pray do not say another word. I don't wish to know.”

“Bridgeton had a choice, Sara,” Marcus said. “And he chose marriage.”

“Get married or die. I vow, how
did
he make up his mind so quickly?”

“I wanted to shoot him,” Anthony offered. “But Marcus would not allow it.”

“You are both insufferable!”

“Sara, it is already set,” Marcus said. “In two weeks' time, the Earl of Bridgeton will marry you. It is his duty. He may not have the moral quality I would wish, but he is at least a gentleman.”

“He's a bastard,” Anthony growled.

“That, too,” Marcus agreed.

“You don't know anything about him,” Sara said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. It was just like them to judge Nick solely by the face he showed to society.

“I know several things about your infamous earl,” Marcus said. “I made inquiries the first moment your path crossed his, the night of the Jeffries ball.”

“How did you know about—” Sara turned to look at Aunt Delphi, who was suddenly engrossed in picking a knot from her embroidery. “I should have known.”

Delphi had the grace to look shamefaced. “I was only trying to protect you. I could see at once that you were far more interested in that man than was good for you. And I dared not speak out, for you have a deplorable tendency to do the opposite of everything I say.”

“I'm sorry you feel I am so unreasonable,” Sara said stiffly.

“Aunt Delphi did not mean to hurt your feel
ings, but you know it's true,” Marcus replied. “You are headstrong and willful, and completely unmanageable.”

“Yes, a perfect St. John by any measure,” Sara retorted. How Nick must rue the day he'd met her. An unexpected lump of sadness clogged her throat.

Marcus turned from the window to sit on the edge of his desk. “Don't worry, Sara. Bridgeton will make an honest woman of you. His pride will not allow him to do else.”

“I don't want to be an honest woman. I tried it once, and the price was far to high.”

“She has a point, Marcus.”

Anthony raised his head. “Aunt Delphi!”

Delphi's hands fluttered. “What? It's true, you know. And I always thought—but that doesn't—Sara knows what I mean.”

“Delphinea, don't let Anthony rattle you,” Marcus said, sending a black look at his brother.

Anthony showed no remorse. “I'll wager ten pounds Bridgeton doesn't even show up for the ceremony.”

“Done,” Marcus said promptly. “Bridgeton is not like Julius. A man's reputation and his quality are often a different thing.” He met Sara's gaze and smiled. “You, of all people, should be aware of that.”

It was true. Julius had been society's darling, the most pleasant, likable man on Earth, yet a total wastrel, a compulsive gambler, an unfaithful husband.

But what of Nick? Was it possible that he, too,
was the opposite of his reputation? That beneath his caustic exterior lay tenderness and the ability for true emotion? The idea haunted her. Sara waved a hand. “It doesn't matter. I just want everyone to let me be.”

“You are acting irresponsibly.”

“And enjoying every minute of it.” She dropped into a chair and stretched her legs before her, ignoring Aunt Delphi's disapproving murmur. “Why must we follow the dictates of society every second, even when we're alone? Life is too short to waste on propriety.”

Anthony made a disgusted sound. “I can't believe you are talking about propriety.”

That fired her. She jutted out her chin, and said, “Bridgeton wasn't anywhere he wasn't invited. I happen to find him attractive.” And sensual. And tantalizingly forbidden. And, oh God, as delectable as apple tarts covered with rich, heavy cream. “Unfortunately, he isn't the kind of man one would marry.”

“Then what kind of man is he?”

“One made for sin.”

Anthony reddened. “I don't want to hear any more of that, if you please. For your sake, I hope that you are wrong and there is more to him than you think.”

Sara hugged herself, suddenly cold. “He won't come,” she said dully. “You will schedule the ceremony, and he won't show up.”

Aunt Delphi reached over to pat her hand. “I'm sure he'll come, though he's bound to be nervous. Marriage does that to men.”

“Nicholas Montrose hasn't a weak nerve in his entire body. He's as calculating as a snake and the most licentious man I've ever met.”

“Oh, dear,” Aunt Delphi said faintly, blinking rapidly. “Then I suppose it's a good thing that your brothers are here to see to it that he does his duty.”

Sara covered her eyes with one hand. That was exactly the problem. She didn't want to be anyone's “duty” ever again. But now, it appeared she'd have no choice.

 

Time crawled to a stop as the day progressed. Sara thought about going to Hibberton Hall, but every time she went to the door, she wondered what she would say and how Nick would react. Each time, she ended up back in the sitting room, her stomach almost sick with apprehension.

Marcus and Anthony left after dinner, and Sara heard them returning to their bedchambers shortly after she'd retired. Alone in her room, Sara leaned her heated face against the cool windowpane. Damn Marcus. She could only pray that Nick didn't think she had anything to do with this. The deep burn of humiliation made her move impatiently from the window. She would go see Nick tomorrow and assure him that all they had to do was stand firm in their denials, and Marcus would let them be.

In a way, she was surprised Nick had not come to visit her already. “The jackanapes,” she muttered. It was the least he could do. She plopped down at the vanity and stared at her reflection, pulling the pins from her hair and tossing them onto the cluttered
surface. “He didn't come because he didn't wish to. I will be as welcome in Hibberton Hall as the plague.” She could almost imagine him recoiling in disgust when next he saw her, his fine mouth curved in a sneer.

The image was so vivid that her throat tightened. She'd managed to hold her tears at bay this long by steadfastly keeping in motion. But in the quiet of the night, the reality was almost too much to bear.

A soft knock startled her. It was well past midnight, and she'd thought everyone was abed. Opening the door, Sara discovered Aunt Delphi clothed in a heavily ruffled robe, a tray in her hands.

She offered a hesitant smile. “I hope I'm not bothering you, but I brought you some tea.”

“I don't really want—”

“It will make you feel better.”

Sara couldn't refuse such a hopeful look. She stood back and allowed her aunt into her room. “I was just getting ready for bed.”

Aunt Delphi swept past, the edges of her robe opening to reveal a lacy gown beneath. Sara lifted her brows at the sight of such a racy garment, but she refrained from comment. In the past month, Aunt Delphi had shown remarkable signs of improvement, and Sara was not about to discourage her now.

Sara took the cup her aunt held out to her, and sat down.

“There,” Aunt Delphi said, settling back in her chair and beaming. “This is much better, isn't it? I vow but it has been an eventful few days.”

When her aunt then sat fiddling with her teacup,
Sara's curiosity increased. “Is something wrong, Aunt Delphi?”

“Well, I…that is—I just wanted you to know that despite what you think, despite what your brothers think, I'm very proud of you.”

Sara blinked. “Proud?”

A smile touched Delphi's mouth. “You remind me so much of your mother; she always went after what she wanted in life. I never did anything adventurous except…” She looked down at her cup, a wistful expression on her face.

“Except what?”

“When I was sixteen, there was a young man—a boy, really. We were young and impressionable, and neither of us had a feather to fly with, but oh, how we did dream.”

“What happened?”

Her smile turned sad. “He wanted me to run away with him, but my mother was very ill, you know. So I stayed in Herefordshire. His father sent him on a tour of the Continent. When I saw him next, he was married to a young lady who possessed a much greater fortune than I.”

Aunt Delphi ran a finger around the rim of her teacup, her gaze faraway. “I think he was happy. He seemed to be, at any rate.”

“Oh, Aunt!” Sara said impulsively. She put her cup aside to grasp her aunt's hand. “I'm so sorry.”

Delphi laughed so genuinely that Sara blinked. “Nonsense; I'm sure it was for the best. I would not have traded those last few months with my mother for the world.”

“I daresay it was difficult at the time.”

“Of course. But later, Langtry asked my father for my hand in marriage. He was wealthy, titled, and his family had always been particularly close to mine.”

“Did you love him?”

Aunt Delphi set her cup on the saucer, the gentle clink loud in the silence. “I came to respect him greatly. He was a very deserving man.”

“But did you love him?”

“Eventually. Sometimes one doesn't get everything one wants in life. Sometimes you just have to make do.”