A Stolen Season (10 page)

“I have no idea, but I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

Sarah walked from the room, surprised her disclosure had gone so well. She had thought Richard would pitch a fit at plans to seduce the earl, especially as they’d only agreed to a little flirtation. The thought of doing just that assailed her mind and she shivered. Inappropriate as it was, Sarah couldn’t wait to start. It was time to turn this assignment into an adventure.

• • •

Anita arrived flush with excitement during her afternoon calls and Sarah ushered her into the upstairs parlor, eager to hear what had put the ear-to-ear grin on her friend’s face.

“You do realize you’re the talk of the ton?”

Sarah dropped her cup into the saucer with a clatter. “Why?”

“People believe my cousin has formed a tendre for you. Of course, I am one of those people.”

Sarah couldn’t miss the self-satisfied smile on her friend’s lips. “At a ball, people do take heed of what others around them are up to. But you did nothing wrong,” Anita hastened to add. “Ladies are allowed to take the air.”

Sarah had taken a lot more than that
. She took a sip of tea, hoping its warmth would account for her heated cheeks. Anita considered her for a moment as the silence stretched out.

“Perhaps it isn’t only Lord Earnston who’s formed a tendre?” Anita said finally.

A shiver raced through Sarah, as she relived the pleasant memory of Eric’s lips devouring hers. She paused, mid sip, thinking of the glide of his hands across her skin, strong and intoxicating. Sarah’s cheeks burned.

“It’s marvelous.” Anita clapped her hands in excitement. “I couldn’t have asked better for him. You’ll do him a world of good.” Anita wiped her lips with a napkin and met her gaze. “You know I had it from Eric himself today that he’ll attend Lady Oliver’s ball tonight.”

Well, it shouldn’t take long to put her new plan in action. “You’re not backward in coming forward are you, Anita?”

Anita laughed. “I suppose I’m not, and what a wonderful saying. I’ve never heard it before. Is it from the Continent?”

Rather than make up yet another cover story for yet another slip, Sarah rang the servant bell. “You could say that.”

Still, she spent more time fiddling with the hem of her skirt as Anita chatted on about daily events in the life of the ton, awkwardly hinting for Sarah to ask her something. Try though she might, Sarah had trouble staying with the conversation and away from her thoughts of Eric. In this society, it was paramount she keep her thoughts and feelings hidden behind a cloak of good breeding, no matter how false. Well, at least when she was in public. Behind closed doors, the earl was fair game.

Every time she closed her eyes, images of Eric and her locked together in a far from decent embrace bombarded her. And they were utterly addictive. But she would have to ensure they were never caught lest she cause a scandal that ended with her married to a man born nearly two-hundred years before she was.

The footman entered and cleared away the tea and Anita wiggled about on the settee, unable to sit still. Her eyes sparkling. “Well, if you aren’t going ask, then I’ll have to divulge it myself,” Anita said, smiling. “This morning Lord Kentum asked for my hand in marriage, and I’ve accepted him. We are betrothed!”

Keeping her seat, Sarah leaned across and hugged her friend. “I’m so happy for you. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Anita said, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m very happy.”

“And so you should be. Lord Kentum is a keeper.”

Anita frowned. “A keeper? What does that mean?”

Oops
. “It means, my dear, that he’s smitten with you as much as you are with him, and you must keep him. Hence, he’s a keeper.”

Anita laughed. “I do love these foreign sayings. You must teach me more when we have time. But I haven’t told you the best bit of my news.”

“There’s more?” Sarah asked, smiling.

“Eric has offered his estate for a house party in celebration of my forthcoming nuptials. We’re to leave London within the week and relax for a time down in Kent. You’ll love it in that part of the county. Richard, of course, will be invited, also. Please say you’ll attend. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” Anita paused. “I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I do see you as one of my closest friends and would be honored by your company.”

Sarah’s heart stopped. Lord Earnston’s home. Westerham. Kent. Could she travel back to his estate, live under his roof as a guest, all the while knowing she was the reason for the family’s grief? And what if a local resident recognized her from the night she walked into the inn, sporting a gunshot wound? Sarah clasped her upper arm and rubbed the almost healed scar through the velvet of her riding ensemble.

“Richard and I would be the honored ones.” Sarah swallowed the sick dread rising in her throat. Seduction was one thing. A house party was a disaster.

• • •

Sarah descended the steps of the carriage and gazed up at the imposing mansion before her.
Magnificent
. Large Roman pillars ran the full length of the home’s facade. Lights blazed from the multitude of windows, and made the house sparkle on this dark, fun-filled eve. It was a vision she didn’t want to forget.

The front doors bustled with guests lining up to enter. Was Eric gracing the gilt-edged walls within? A short few hours since she’d last seen him, and yet it felt like an eternity. Her emotions warred between right and wrong, anticipation and trepidation over her plans with the charismatic earl. Could she pull this seduction off and still be seen as a lady in his eyes? Or as someone trying awfully hard to get him in the sack?

Richard took her arm and they proceeded through the reception line before entering a room that would outdo the Royal Ballroom at Richmond Palace.

Mirrors and the golden and silver silk wallpaper bounced light and color throughout the grand space.

“This is a sight you don’t often see,” Richard said, meeting her gaze.

“You can say that again. It’s spectacular.”

Anita waved from the throng and headed over to them. Sarah curtsied, and Richard bade them goodbye before heading to the card room.

“I’m so glad you’ve arrived. Come, Lord Kentum is near the terrace doors.” Anita wasn’t even subtle about steering them toward Lord Kentum. Although, Sarah had to concede, his lordship did look very dashing in his eveningwear. Sarah curtsied when they joined the marquis’s set and swiftly fell into easy conversation with his lordship’s friends.

A footman offered her a glass of sickly sweet Ratafia. Sarah declined and instead grabbed a glass of champagne. She took a sip of her drink, her attention on the guests before she spotted Eric some distance away. Who could miss such a man? He effortlessly out-classed every other gentleman here, rendering them all nondescript. Her gaze took in his body and her breathing hitched.

His coat fitted his upper body like a second skin and showed his toned arms and broad shoulders to perfection. Was he so unaware of the stunning sight he made? His nonchalant stance only accentuated his latent sexual prowess. A prowess Sarah had had the delight of experiencing. Her body thrummed at the memory, and she opened the fan hanging from her wrist and cooled her cheeks. Fashion accessories from the nineteenth century did come in handy.

Sarah tore her gaze from him, lest he catch her ogling him like the sex-starved woman she was instead of the innocent virgin she showed to the ton. Determined, she kept her focus on the dancers before her and the guests circulating the room.

She frowned as she began to notice the many ladies present casting seductive, veiled looks toward the Earl of Earnston. Sarah took a sip of her drink and peeked over her fan to see his reaction. He was ignorant of such ogling. His lordship had not the foggiest idea what effect his presence in a ballroom had on the opposite sex.

Sarah knew precisely what type of effect he had on her. It was like having an electric charge fire her blood. That was a constant since her first glance at him. Now, her body begged to fall victim to his silent charms.

His lordship grabbed a second glass of brandy from a waiting footman and drank it down in one swallow. A trickle of unease pricked her senses. Was he drunk? She watched with growing concern as he commandeered yet another brandy and downed it as well.

Why did he want to be intoxicated? An appalling thought crossed her mind. Was Eric so embarrassed and regretful over their past actions, he was afraid to face her without fortification? How embarrassing — and not at all helpful when she planned to seduce the fellow.

Perhaps he was to expose what they had done? He certainly looked tense, his face aloof and not at all welcoming.

Sarah choked on her drink as his gaze met hers like a physical blow. His dark, sinful gaze roamed her body and a satisfied smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Goosebumps rose over her flesh, and, part thrilled and part nervous, Sarah tried to get her emotions under tight control. She smiled when the blasted man had the audacity to wink at her before taking another glass of the intoxicating liquid he had a penchant for tonight.

The master of ceremonies announced the first dance and, much to Sarah’s amusement, a dashing figure bowed before her.

“Kentum, please do the honor of introducing me to your delightful company.” Lord Dean grinned and Sarah found herself laughing at his light-hearted flirting.

His shirt collar was far from starched. His clothing, although clean, looked in need of a good iron. Dandy extraordinaire, he definitely was not. His hair had an unkempt look, sun bleached and scraggly. It was easier to imagine him surfing Bells Beach in Australia than dancing away the night in nineteenth century England.

“May I have the next dance, Miss Baxter?”

Sarah nodded. “Of course.” He walked her out onto the dance floor and pulled her into his arms for a waltz.

“I do believe I am the object of every gentleman’s jealousy in this room at present, Miss Baxter.”

Sarah remained amused at his open manner and saucy words. The smile faded fast, however, as it dawned on her what he was truly after. “You tease, my lord. If anything they are jealous I’m dancing with a future duke,” she said, attempting to draw some boundaries.

Lord Dean’s eyes smoldered. Sarah swallowed her annoyance that his lordship wore the same expression Lord Earnston had in the garden, as if she was a delicious morsel to be devoured.

“You do yourself disfavor, Miss Baxter.”

He yanked her close for a turn. How many men were going to try to pick her up in nineteenth century England?

And just what did one say to a randy partner that would not get her thrown out of this party, too? She played it safe and said nothing.

“Can you not feel a certain earl’s eyes upon us, Miss Baxter? If the fellow could draw a sword, I’d be dead.” He laughed as his hold increased for the coming turn — or to annoy Lord Earnston, Sarah wasn’t sure.

But she knew her game, and refused to react to or acknowledge the truth of his words. She knew Eric was watching them. His stance against the wall may have looked relaxed, but his face proclaimed something else entirely. And for some ridiculous reason, Sarah liked it.

The dance ended and Lord Dean glided her to a stop. He clasped her hand and bowed over it. “Thank you for a wonderful waltz, Miss Baxter. I can only say how sorry I am that I did not meet you first.”

“Thank you, my lord, it was most enjoyable. I hope we may have the chance to do it again someday.”

Lord Dean’s eyes searched hers, once again setting off stalker alarm bells in the back of her mind. She raised her brows and refused her body’s urge to tell him to take a hike.

“That, Miss Baxter, you can count on. Until I see a golden band on your ring finger, a gentleman must never give up hope.”

“Excuse me, Miss Baxter, the Duchess of Winters wishes to speak to you. May I escort you?”

Sarah started at the blunt question from behind. She turned and curtsied to the Earl of Earnston, who stood over her like a looming portent of doom.

“Of course,” Sarah said. She took his lordship’s arm. Why did he look so annoyed?

“Is something the matter with Her Grace?” Sarah looked about and tried to locate Anita’s mother.

Eric glowered, his body taut as a bow string, and continued walking silently through the masses. So, his lordship was angry with her. Sufficiently so that he was about to give her a set down. Sarah clasped his sleeve and tightened her grip, reveling in the muscular perfection under his eveningwear and the argument that was about to ensue.

He whipped her past potted palms hiding a doorway and into an abandoned passage. Wall scones cast minimal light as his lordship continued to pull her along the Aubusson rug running its length. Eric paused and checked the passage before escorting her into a room to one side. Tapestries hung from the walls and needlework in all its forms lay scattered on chaise lounges, chairs, and settees.

“My lord, I do believe we’ve taken a wrong turn at some point, as it seems Her Grace is not present in this sewing room.” Sarah couldn’t resist getting in the first volley. “Unless of course,” she continued, “Her Grace is foregoing the delights of the ball to sew, and is hidden somewhere under all this mess.” Sarah bit back a laugh as Eric managed to glower even more.

But her heart sped up as he snicked the bolt on the door into place. He lit a cheroot and leaned against the door, taking just one puff before he ambled to the hearth and threw it onto the empty grate. His dark hooded gaze resembled that of a predator about to attack. For the first time in her life, Sarah could relate with Little Red Riding Hood about to be gobbled up by the Big Bad Wolf.

She swallowed.

“Did you have a pleasant waltz, Miss Baxter?”

Sarah lifted her chin. “Why, yes, I did as a matter of fact. Lord Dean is very … personable.” Lord Earnston stalked around the settee and stood before her. He stared down at Sarah and it took all her control not to smile at his jealousy.

It was obvious he was trying to scare her, ride rough-shod over her, but little did he know she was never one to sit back and take anything anyone meted out. Best to lay the ground rules now and not later.