Lady Sarah's Redemption (17 page)

Caro? He hoped not. He hadn’t the stomach for more of her tears and
passionate entreaties. She’d left him half an hour before, weeping and
vengeful. He was still shaken by the encounter.

“Your harsh judgment of me is ill deserved, Mr Hawthorne, for all I
admit I am guilty of deceit,” came a cool, formal voice.

Unannounced and uninvited, she entered the room, moving with her
peculiar grace until she stood squarely before him.

Lord, she was beautiful. The light seemed to have laid a rosy cast
upon her perfect skin, set off by her gleaming hair which seemed tinged more
with russet in this light. She had always been confident but standing here
before him, as Lady Sarah, she seemed like an unobtainable goddess.

Unobtainable, like Venetia had once seemed. And little joy he had
got from attaining what he had once believed was his heart’s desire.

Silently, he digested the young woman’s impertinence while he drank
in the perfection of her form: full breasted and wasp-waisted with the most
kissable lips he’d ever encountered.

He glanced away, pretending to note the hands of the clock, so as to
hide his aching desire. Longing tore at him, devastatingly familiar. He
clenched his fists at his sides. Succumbing to his heart would be his undoing.

“I believe Mrs Hawthorne is expecting you in the drawing room.” He ignored
her words, his expression impassive as he turned back to face her.

“Why are you doing this?” She took a quick step forward, her voice
barely above a whisper.

He noted the effort it took her to keep it under control. Well, it
was hardly surprising she was upset. She had been unmasked; her whole story was
a fabrication. She had taken them all for fools, to suit her own ends. Whether
it was for a lark, or because she was acting the spoiled child who wanted to
teach her father a lesson, or even if she was a spy, which he naturally no
longer believed. Of course she would feel the need to justify herself. Her
pride required that he forgive her and farewell her as his friend when she left
on the arm of her father, rather than ejected in ignominy.

“I’m sorry?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone as disparaging as he
could manage when sorrow and disappointment were equally in the ascendant. “Why
do I do what, Lady Sarah?”

He could see her barely contained anger in the rise and fall of her
bosom as she stared at him through those exquisite, heavily lashed hazel eyes.

He answered his own question. “Why do I expel an imposter from my
household? A woman whose motives can only be under suspicion for failing to
reveal herself?” He had not meant to insult her so directly. But his instincts
for self preservation were honed to the highest degree.

“I have explained that my reasons were entirely prompted by a
spontaneous act of … desperation,” she said, tightly.

He turned his head away from the sight of her eyes bright with unshed
tears. Silently he willed her to give up the fight and just leave. He did not
have the fortitude to cope with another emotional female right now. Hadn’t he
spent the last few years ensuring that emotion — certainly that of a
romantic nature — did not become the architect of his destruction? Ten
years of Venetia was more than a lifetime of tears and tantrums. And one glance
at Lady Sarah’s damp, glistening lashes was a frightening prospect. What if she
should cry … throw herself at him?

Good God! He would be undone. Under such heavy fire he didn’t trust
himself not to reveal what was in his heart and do something unutterably
stupid. Like tell her he loved her. Then she’d never give up her fight.

 
She took a steadying
breath. “If you choose to put a more sinister slant upon it …” Her voice was
controlled, cold, even.

He didn’t like to admit he was disappointed that she refrained from
continuing in a more emotional vein. The heat had gone from the exchange.
Reason had returned.

“Clearly, Lady Sarah, you cannot remain as governess to my girls,”
he said. He tilted his head, awaiting her corroboration.

She bowed her own, her rich reddish gold locks gleaming in the
slanting sunlight. It took the greatest self control not to brush his hand over
her silken tresses and tangle his fingers in the soft curls that fell from her
top knot. A tantalizing expanse of white, flawless skin extended from the nape
of her neck to the back of her gown where a row of tiny pearl buttons began,
and ended somewhere – he swallowed – below her waist.

Roland closed his eyes as he fought to retain his distance. When she
raised her head to fix him with her hurt, angry eyes, he had put the sofa
between them.

She whispered, “I shall miss them.”

Was the regret just part of the act? he wondered. They did seem fond
of her, but an accomplished imposter surely did not form dangerous personal
attachments?

“Then I’m sorry you set yourself up for such disappointment.” Though
his tone was dismissive he longed to continue the exchange. He realized with a
wave of overpowering disappointment it may well be their last. “Please don’t
paint me the villain for acting differently from any other responsible
employer, or gentleman.”

At her look of entreaty, he added, “What else would you have me do?
Keep you on indefinitely as a most attractive houseguest?”

He wished he had not said that, just as he would have regretted
anything else said to cause the rise and fall, the delectable swell of lily
white flesh above the low, lace-lined cut of her bodice. It was a direct
assault upon his senses, upon his ability to utter words of reason. For indeed,
his words were reasonable. What else could he do but send for her father to
fetch her?

“Is that all?” She swallowed and bit her lip. There was a dangerous
gleam in her eye. “Do you mean to tell me that … before … you were simply
taking advantage of an attractive… governess? If there was nothing else …?”

She could not finish and he immediately felt put in the wrong. “I am
not that kind of man,” he muttered. “I told you before.”

“Then if there were some … feeling behind your past words and
actions, how can you dismiss me so coldly? Why are you unable to acknowledge-”

No, this was too dangerous. He cut her off, running the back of his
hand across his eyes to ease the pressure pounding in his head. “We are getting
nowhere, madam.” He took several decisive steps to his desk. Pulling out his
chair, he turned with a look of cool enquiry, as if daring her to detain him
further. “Thank you for your services. If you have any further requests, I
suggest you direct them to Mrs Hawthorne. Good day.”

* * *

From the casement Sarah watched the crested carriage roll up the
driveway and halt before the front steps. She felt a surge of guilt, fear and,
yes, above all, joy at seeing her father’s mane of grizzled white hair as he
removed his top hat for a moment to give his scalp a good scratch, frowning up
at the house as he did so.

Then she saw the hunted look in his tawny eyes replaced by echoing
joy as he recognized her through the glass window.

Within moments he was indoors, thrusting his outerwear at Lavery,
while Sarah was running down the curved staircase, throwing herself into his
arms at the bottom.

Unashamedly, they both wept. Then Lord Miles raised his head and caught
sight of Roland over Sarah’s shoulder.

For an instant he froze. Sarah, still gripped in a fierce bear hug,
felt the strange cocktail of emotions replaced by one dominant feeling: fear.
What would her father do now?

He appeared to falter. For one ghastly moment she thought he was
about to break down and would have to be led to a chair and revived.

That, she decided a moment later, would have been preferable to his
finding solace in anger, his habitual refuge. It would be over in an instant,
but she cringed as he directed his obviously confused emotions upon Roland.

“How dare you contain my daughter, a vulnerable unmarried female,
under your roof for nearly two months while I am left with the unspeakable
devastation of believing her dead?” he thundered.

Shaking his fist, Lord Miles took a threatening step towards Roland.
Sarah wondered if Roland, too, would defend himself using his most comfortable
defence: irony. She was surprised when he advanced towards Lord Miles, hand
outstretched, a tight half smile upon his face. Surprised, and touched, that
when her father refused to grasp it, Roland placed it instead, in a most
conciliatory manner, upon the old man’s shoulder.

“Lord Miles, may I offer you some refreshment — brandy —
perhaps, after your tiring journey?” he suggested. Already he was motioning to
Lavery to expedite this request.

“Do you think I would accept refreshment from my enemy?” thundered
Lord Miles.

Sarah held her breath and watched as Roland gently propelled Lord
Miles through the hallway. Her father moved slowly, like an old man. Remorse
cut through her like a knife.

“Our opposing political views and previous history,” said Roland,
carefully, “do not necessarily make us enemies.”

“An enemy milks his advantage. For the past two months you have
detained the one treasure I hold dearer to my heart than any other.”

He stumbled as he turned to look at Sarah, who was bringing up the
rear. How feeble he appeared, she thought with horror. Surely he had not lost
his mind? Dear Lord, she prayed, do not let her be the cause of that.

 
“My lord,” said Roland,
taking a seat opposite Lord Miles once they’d gained the library, “make what
charges you will once you have spoken to your daughter. She’s been recovering
after a terrible ordeal at sea and, I fear, has not known, herself, who she
really is. Had the truth been apparent, your Lordship would have been informed
upon the instant.”

Sarah wished Roland had given
her
the benefit of such a plausible pretext.

The brandy revived Lord Miles. He sat up straighter and fixed a pair
of small but intense eyes on Sarah. How well she remembered that look,
terrifying beneath his beetling white brows. He’d often used it to great
effect, quelling her when her opinion ran counter to his.

But now there was no firm conviction to defend. Only his grief and
pain to assuage.

Seated opposite her father, Sarah clasped her hands in her lap and
hung her head. “Forgive me, father,” she murmured. “I accept all blame. I’ve
taken advantage of Mr Hawthorne and his family who have looked after me so
kindly, ignorant of the truth. And I have given you more pain than any father
ought to bear.”

“Why, Sarah?” Lord Miles’s confusion was pitiful.

Mr Hawthorne rose. “I shall leave you for a few minutes.”

Sarah nearly wept at the regret on his face as he looked at her en
route to the door. She wanted to leap up and throw her arms around his neck,
delivering a different and far more passionate apology for her behaviour than
the one she was making her father.

So this was it. She would not be granted a reprieve.

He was nearly at the door when Mrs Hawthorne’s raised voice issued
from down the corridor.

“Roland!” she cried, sweeping into the room and wringing her hands.
Without acknowledging her guest, she added, breathlessly, “Caro’s gone! It’s
true, I found this upon your bed!” She waved a piece of parchment, its seal
broken.

He took it, scanning it quickly. “This letter is for me.”

“The door to your chamber was open, Roland, and when I saw it I
thought …” Her voice trailed off as she looked with unmistakable loathing at
Sarah.

So, thought Sarah, she would have had no compunction in intercepting
and keeping secret from Roland any communication Sarah might have attempted.

“You must act quickly, Roland! Oh, my dear Lord, what will we do?”
Crumpling onto the nearest chair in a heap of lavender stripes she began to
wail.

Dry-throated, Sarah asked, “Does she say where?”

Not looking at her, Mr Hawthorne carefully refolded the paper. “She
has gone to London,” he said in clipped tones, “with Mr Hollingsworth.”

Sarah gasped. “Does she say why?”

Mr Hawthorne ran a hand across his brow, while Mrs Hawthorne
shrieked as she rose to her feet, “She has learnt the truth, Roland. I don’t
know how she could have discovered-”

“There is no proof to be discovered!” snapped Roland. “There has
always been servant’s gossip. It’s not a plausible reason.”

Sarah caught her breath and wondered why it hadn’t occurred to her
before that Caro’s parentage would inevitably be called into question given
Venetia’s faithlessness.

“Caro is highly emotional, particularly now. He directed a pointed
look at Sarah. “If she has overheard something which threatens her sense of
security in this household I’ve no doubt her vulnerability has been compounded
by feeling deceived by those she once trusted.”

Anger replaced Sarah’s lovelorn passion of earlier and she trembled
with it as she rose. “I cannot leave unchallenged the insinuation that I bear
some guilt for Caro’s desertion.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” he said, roughly. Addressing Lord
Miles in more civil tones, he said, “Forgive my rudeness, sir, but I must
leave, urgently. Please consider yourself a welcome guest in my home for as
long as you choose. Arrangements have been made for you to stay the night
rather than oblige you to repeat your long and tedious journey, in the
darkness. Cecily.” He turned to his trembling sister-in-law. “If you need me I
shall be at my club.”