Captives' Charade (34 page)

As she passed by the table, she allowed a self-indulgent sigh of pity to escape her lips. Her father had always preached accountability; blaming fate is a poor excuse for failing to handle oneself properly, making deliberately wrong choices. On the island, everything had seemed so inevitable, so right. But now? Sarah pressed a hand against her trembling mouth as she gulped back an urge to sob. As everyone shifted into their previous roles in proper society, the grievous blunder she had made weighed heavily on her conscience.

But what hurt the most was Stewart’s ridiculously calm acceptance of the past, and the ease with which he seemed to have forgotten her. At this very moment, he was wining and dining Lady Felicia, picking up that affair as if nothing had happened since their passionate goodbye at the London dock.

And tonight, Sarah mused bitterly, she will be the one reveling in his embraces, warming to his touch .... Aloud she scolded herself, “I must stop wanting him, loving him ....”

A brisk knock on the paneled door brought an immediate blush to her pale cheeks. Nervously she wiped her eye where a tear was beginning to form and cleared her throat before answering, “Yes?”

“Yes, of course,” Sarah answered, already slipping the latch on the double doors. “Come in, won’t you?” The doors swung open wide to reveal a petite older woman cloaked in a full-length cape of rich navy velvet, a serious-looking young girl laden with two cases behind her. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Madame Petit and the girl marched quickly into the room, leaving Sarah to close the door. “I hope we’re not interrupting your repast,” the older woman said politely. But obviously she wanted to get down to business, motioning the girl to begin unpacking. As if by way of explaining her helper’s activity, she added. “We haven’t much time to prepare a wardrobe. Mr. Chamberlain informs me you’ll be sailing in a week.”

“Oh?”Sarahresponded.“Ihadn’trealized arrangements had already been made.” Damn him for leaving me the last to know. “M-May I take your wraps?” she offered as the dress maker briskly unbuttoned her cape, reveling a plain but richly tailored gown of the same material.

“No-no, dear,” the woman waved her o ff, as her small, bright eyes narrowed to make a lightening assessment of Sarah’s tall, slender shape hidden somewhat by wrapper she wore. A softened her hawkish features which were framed by graying hair escaping from a severe bun at the nape of her neck. “I shall enjoy outfitting you,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I weary of hiding figure flaws, though I do it well. You, my dear, are perfect for my creations – softly rounded, tall and not ashamed of it.”
the rather unbecomingly faint, but pleasant smile “Myneckis--.”

“Your neck is splendid. Ru ffles at the throat and décolletage equally become you, I am sure. Remove your robe, please,” she ordered, bending to extract a measuring tape from one of the cases the helper had opened on the floor. “I will take your measurements now.”

Thus commenced a flurry of activity as the three women discussed fashion, shuffled through fabric samples, selected trims and made arrangements for fittings and purchases of suitable accessories. Despite her severe nature, Madame Petit was an appealing woman, one moment charming, the next commanding, but always wise and professional. She knew her business and accomplished it posthaste. The young girl, whose name was Rachell, turned out to be the niece of Madame Petit’s late husband, and despite her solemn countenance, she was pleasant and accomplished at assisting her aunt. They were a discerning, efficient pair and Sarah was more than pleased that Stewart had selected them to replenish her wardrobe.

Sarah helped them pack up swatches of material and trims with some regret. Their visit had turned out to be a welcome respite from her otherwise troubled evening. It was only now that she again thought of Stewart and Felicia and how their evening was progressing. Giving herself a mental shake, she stepped back from the case she was filling, allowing Rachell to close it up. “Thank you so much for coming at this late hour,” she addressed Madame Petit warmly. “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your help. I was not looking forward to journeying to Boston with but two gowns
– and one not even my own.”

Madame Petit patted Sarah’s hand affectionately. “When Mr. Henderson summoned me on behalf of Mr. Chamberlain, we came as quickly as possible. He’s always been a favorite patron.” And before Sarah could speculate, Eliane added, “This will be the first time he’s been to Charleston without purchasing a gown or wrap for his sister. But under the circumstances, there simply isn’t time to design one, let alone make it.”

“Mrs. Slade will be disappointed, I’m sure,” Sarah murmured regretfully, wishing she had not been the cause of her hostess’s deprivation.

“Margaret Slade?” Madame Petit interjected sharply. “My dear, she is the kindest, most unselfish woman you’re likely to meet in this country. Her husband and brother indulge her only because they adore her, not because she requires such consideration. Unlike some others ....” Her last words hung without completion only for a moment, leaving Sarah no time for speculation. “Excuse me please, Lady Sarah.” Helene recouped briskly as if irritated with her slip into the realm of gossip. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, but Rachell and I must hurry. No doubt my driver is anxious to complete his duties for the evening, and we have much work to begin tomorrow morning.”

With a flourish, Eliane Petit donned her cape, gave Sarah’s proffered hand a final squeeze and bustled Rachell into the hall. “Fear not, Lady Sarah,” she called from the doorway, “we’ll have you a wardrobe fit for the crowned heads in no time. Good evening.” And with a wave, the women were gone, leaving Sarah somewhat breathless over the older one’s display of energy and confidence.

Sarah had awakened with a start, the presence of a shadowy form bringing her to full, frightened consciousness in the quiet, fire-lit bedroom.

“Whatareyoudoinghere?”shehissed,her eyes adjusting to the dark as she looked on Stewart’s silhouette crouched before the fireplace.

“Your room is cold,” he stated matter-offactly. “I was putting another long on the fire.” Rising, he added, “I didn’t mean to awaken you.”

“Well you did,” she mumbled crossly, though secretly pleased to see him. “You shouldn’t be here,” she added for propriety’s sake.

“Perhaps not.” She sensed that he was smiling, though she couldn’t see his face at the foot of the large bed for the light was behind him. “But I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Quite,” she replied pettishly, remembering with whom he had spent his evening. “You’d better go.” Decorum did not dictate her words nearly so much as a trembling desire to invite him closer. Would this torture never end? Being ever so close, yet unable to taste the sweetness of his kiss, the hard longing of his body?

Heshowednopenchantforleaving, choosing instead to lounge casually against the sturdy bedpost. “Madame Petit. Was she to your liking?”

“Yes, of course. We accomplished a great deal. She has quite an eye for color and design,” Sarah rambled, somewhat breathlessly, unnerved by his presence. “Why didn’t you tell me we’d be sailing next week?”

“An oversight, for which I apologize,” he intoned lazily, refusing to explain further. Pushing himself away from the bedpost with his shoulder, he drifted to a seat near her on the high bed. Instinctively, Sarah curled her legs closer to her body. Any physical contact, she was sure, would be her undoing.

In the short silence, Sarah had a chance to wonder why Stewart was here, and not with Lady Felicia. The question was on the tip of her tongue, but knowing he would realize her jealousy prevented her from being direct. Instead she forced herself to break the pregnant pause with a benign inquiry. “Your evening, did it go well?”

“We had a pleasant meal in the hotel dining room, if that’s what you’re referring to,” Stewart replied.

“Did you go to the Ram’s Head after?” she asked, remembering his promise to the sailors at the dock.

His darkened face studied her. “No, Ross and Felicia’s unexpected appearance precluded those plans.”

Without another word, his hand came up to brush a stray lock of silky hair from her face. Nervously, she turned her gaze away, but his fingers remained to caress the sweet-smelling tresses. “Has it been difficult for you,” he murmured gently, his voice barely audible above the crackling fire, “sleeping alone after all those weeks on the island?”

“Please go,” she begged, turning to clutch the pillow beside her head as if it were an anchor against the storm that was raging inside. He appeared not to hear her as his lean fingers traced the pulsing artery beneath the plush softness of her skin.

“You are a bonafide addiction, Lady Sarah,” he whispered. “More than once I have awakened to find myself searching for your tender body to warm my own.” Stewart’s searing lips gently tempted the sensitive spot behind her delicate ear as he murmured, “I want you, Sarah. God, how I want you.”

He was already pushing the loose chemise away from her shoulders when Sarah cried out with her last vestige of sanity. “You’re mad to come here. Leave at once or I shall scream.” With a burst of strength, she twisted herself to a sitting position before him, realizing too late that her own undergarments had betrayed her by falling away from her heaving breasts. Her gasp was at once swallowed by Stewart’s firm mouth, his tongue wasting no time exploring its target.

Angry and frightened of the power he held over her, Sarah struggled but her slender arms were pinned uselessly by her shift and his strong arms wrapped around her. His fine wool waistcoat brushed intoxicatingly against her peaking breasts. Sarah moaned at the overwhelming temptation of his practiced assault.

His kisses were relentless, gentle yet with a persuasive fervor she could not hope to ward off. His coming here was wrong; their entire intimate relationship was wrong. But knowing, admitting that, was still not helping her now. She loved him and her love made her weak, a slave to his undeniable passion.

His hands had released her from the imprisonment of her chemise and now he seemed bent on holding her close while loosening his own clothing. Finally forced to release her in order to throw off his vest and shirt, she gasped tearfully in a final attempt to stop him. “Felicia is here for you now. Can’t you finally leave me alone?”

Itwasasifshehadslappedhim.Hisdark eyes grew narrow and a metallic glint pierced her soul. His jaw worked ominously as he stared down at her. “You think I have come only to ease some primitive desire? Something that any comely wench could satisfy?”

Shaken by his crudeness, she nonetheless could not give words to a lie that would stop his callousness. “You’ve given me no cause to think otherwise,” she choked, knowing she was forcing an issue whose outcome would bring her no satisfaction. Stewart did not love her, had no desire to marry her, and would not pretend simply to continue his seduction.

His defensiveness suddenly turned to resignation. Combing his fingers through his freshly trimmed hair, he sighed, “I believe whatever our feelings are for each other, they are not the same ... or else we would not be discussing them now.”

The silence that followed was broken momentarily by the crackling fire and the disconsolate hiss of burning sap. For Sarah, it seemed to mock the sound of her breaking heart. Straightening his clothes, Stewart rose, offering, “I apologize for my indiscretion. I have no right to be here, as you say.”

His head bent while he gathered his waistcoat and put it on. She could not see his eyes. “I was going to inform you later, but I may as well tell you now.” Sarah pressed her arms around herself, curling up tighter as she sunk behind the covers, knowing she would be wounded even deeper by what he had to say.

“I will not be accompanying you to Boston.” His voice was clipped, precise, showing no emotion whatsoever. “I’ve decided to finish some business here and join you and Jeremiah later.” Shocked, never even entertaining the possibility that Stewart would be absent, she simply stared at him, a glaze settling over her vivid blue eyes. He added, “You may now feel utterly safe.”

Despite her own pain, Sarah could see that Stewart was not pleased with himself. His parting words seemed to prove her correct. “I somehow felt,” he began tentatively, “that what happened between us on that blasted island was mutually agreeable – and that it could be put into perspective –
shrugged his
not completely forgotten.” He

hands into his trouser pockets, locking her eyes in a serious gaze. “But as society does not allow women to enjoy life with the same appetite as men, nor enable them to entertain fond memories of a past, I promise this night never to subject you to any recollections of shared intimacies. What transpired, I assure you as a gentleman, did not. Good evening, Lady Sarah.”

The journey to Boston was miserable, and only partly due to the frigid weather. Jeremiah, Sarah and the crew sailed in the bleek coldness of November, following a sumptuous farewell dinner with Felicia, Ross and, of course, Stewart. Each attempted a lighthearted mood, but it seemed, at least to Sarah, that only Stewart and Felicia were truly enjoying themselves. Jeremiah, she knew, longed to be in Boston with his darling Peggy and the children. Ross might have had a better time if Sarah had been able to respond to his kindnesses more receptively. But she was homesick, she explained, and found herself feeling worse as she told him some of her family’s Christmas traditions.

Sarah prayed that somehow by now her parents had learned that she was safe in America. She had posted letters the day they’d arrived in Charleston. She knew the posts should reach them well before Christmas, and it lightened her heart somewhat to know that the good news was on its way back to England.

During the voyage, Jeremiah sensed that all was not well with Sarah, and though they shared the special closeness of people who have weathered grave danger together, he did not pry and she did not seem to want to discuss any personal matters with him.