Lady Sarah's Redemption (31 page)

But there she was, doing all in her power to convince him of her
sincerity. Hadn’t she already proved it? So much more than he deserved?

No. He must not weaken and take her somewhere secluded. It would be
his undoing. He was entirely resolved to act only in Sarah’s best interests. To
take advantage of her misguided and incomprehensible tenderness would be an act
of the greatest cruelty.

 
“What are you doing?”
Sarah gasped the question as she was whisked off the dance floor and her arm
was nearly dislodged from its socket as he dragged her across the room.

“Taking you somewhere secluded.” He heard the urgency in his own
voice, and didn’t care. Dear Lord, he had no idea what he was doing, much less
what he intended doing. All he knew was that this conversation could not start
and end on a dance floor in the public domain.

“I know a private alcove, a balcony,” she said, unresisting as he
drew her along with him, delighting – it would appear - in the shocked
expressions of those scions of respectability they passed. Certainly, the
wicked gleam he saw in her eye when he glanced back, and the way the corners of
her voluptuous mouth turned up, indicated she was delighting in something.

That’s right, Roland remembered. Sarah knew the house better than
he. Had attended balls here, before.

The French doors clicked shut behind them, and they were greeted by
a blast of cold air. And she without a shawl.

In his arms she would feel no cold. He would make sure of that.

He wasted no time. Without roughness — but without undue
gentleness, either, for the clock was racing — he had her against the
wall. One hand steadied himself against the cold stone, beside her lovely face,
the other gripped her shoulder, imprisoning her, before trailing down to
encircle her waist. Her rapid breathing matched his, fuelled by the same
energy. He was confident of that, now: desire.

Still he felt unable to act upon instinct: to thrust his body
against hers and demand with a kiss, that she match him at all levels.
Restraint was an integral part of his make up and right now, restraint was
all-important. Any future they might have together depended on what happened in
the next half an hour. Succumbing to his passion, now, was premature.

And yet, wasn’t hope the wellspring of Sarah’s charm and vibrancy?
It had sustained her through so much. Despite all she’d endured she’d never
lost hope. The way she was looking at him now proved that.

With just a trace of tentativeness Roland moved his face closer to
hers.

“Sarah—” he began. It was just above a whisper. He could
hardly trust himself to speak steadily. The look in those limpid hazel eyes
nearly undid him. All that he could have hoped for was reflected in their
fathomless depths. She smiled tentatively but the invitation in the way she
melded into him was implicit.

“Why do you not despise me?” he whispered, his lips a hair’s breadth
from hers. Her warmth and the hammering of her heart against his chest nearly
drove him crazy.

“Despise you?” She cupped his chin with her hand, her look
impossibly tender. “When will you understand that you were as much a victim
that night as I was. Stop blaming yourself.
I
don’t.”

He hesitated, loosening his grip around her waist, still unsure of
the wisdom of this impulsive tryst.

“My darling Sarah, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything,”
he ground out, restraining himself from plundering her mouth as he would have
Venetia’s, “but I
must
give you this
final chance to walk away.”

Sarah stamped her foot. “For God’s sake, Roland, was Venetia this
patient? I’ve heard the gossip. The two of you couldn’t keep your hands off one
another. Is your reluctance towards me now a measure of your true feelings?”

Blood pounded in his ears. “I was twenty-one, an innocent boy
enslaved by love but I
never
loved
Venetia as I love you!”

“I’ll say it again,” she whispered, nuzzling him, brushing her lips
across his, “If you want me, I’m yours.”

The featherlight touch was more than he could bear. Groaning, he
crushed her against him, bringing his mouth down hard upon hers, extinguishing
her gasp of surprise as he plundered the velvet cavern with his tongue,
seeking, exploring, tasting and wanting more. And still more.

The rapid beating of her heart through the silk of his striped
waistcoat drove him mad with wanting. The softness of her chestnut curls, the
contours of her delectable body were like fire to a power keg. But it was the
enthusiasm of her unleashed passions that most fuelled the urgency within him;
the base animal instincts he’d spent years beating into submission threatened
to vanquish him.

Yet the beast could not be unleashed, for he had not yet won her
honourably.

With a final groan he set her from him. For several seconds they
simply gazed at one another, breathless and shaking.

“Sarah!”

Guiltily, they jerked around to face James upon the threshold.

Only the faintest uprising of his eyebrows indicated he suspected
anything untoward.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, smoothly. “I
believe you promised me this dance.”

“I’m sorry, James.” She glanced towards Roland.

He saw the brightness of her eyes, the flush on her cheeks, noticed
the faint breathlessness, and hoped Captain Fleming did not. “Mr Hawthorne and
I were just—”

“Discussing Lady Sarah’s future,” Roland supplied, smoothly.
“Perhaps we can continue our conversation during the next dance?” With a smile,
he bowed himself out.

James turned to Sarah with a frown. “You’ll catch your death out here,”
he said, taking her shoulder and propelling her indoors. “Gad, but I’m glad it
was me who stumbled upon the two of you, which is not to say I condone your
behaviour, Sarah. Reckless, as always!”

Sarah bit her lip.

Out in the passage, James turned, softening at her expression. “You
bring your troubles upon your own shoulders, my dear girl.” He sighed, draping
an arm about her shoulders and giving her a bracing squeeze before setting her
in the direction of the ballroom. “And I should remind you that you’ve already
given Mr Hawthorne his chance. You are betrothed to me now, which gives me the
right, I believe, to say I don’t like to see you cosying up to him, alone. In
fact, I won’t have it.”

 
“That’s wounded male
vanity, James, when you’ve made it clear you don’t love me.”

“Yes, but you’re about to become my wife. The contract has been
drawn up, the matter is settled and the kind of behaviour I was witness to just
now is simply unacceptable. Hawthorne is merely taking advantage.”

“I … I just wish I were marrying a man who loves me,” she said,
bleakly, ignoring the interested looks of a couple of society matrons.

James continued to propel her towards the ballroom. “I hold you in
the greatest affection. Isn’t that enough?”

Sarah took a deep breath and turned, blocking his path. “James,” she
asked, gently, “would you be very disappointed if you
didn’t
marry me?”

“Good God! Is that what all that was about on the balcony?
Hawthorne’s proposed at last? And you’ve accepted him?”

“No, he hasn’t. James, please—” Sarah tugged at his sleeve to
bring him back to her. His wounded pride was hard to bear.

“He’s toying with you, Sarah. He’s made it clear he has no intention
of being leg-shackled. Your admiration feeds his vanity. And he …” Flushing,
James looked away.

Sarah waited.

“Truth is, Sarah,” he said in a rush, his expression suddenly
sympathetic as looked into her eyes and patted her shoulder, “the fellow has a
chère amie
.”

Sarah blinked. “That’s ridiculous,” she said scornfully.

“Oh Sarah,” he muttered, “I knew you’d take it like that. You might
think it’s a bag of moonshine and I’m trying to bamboozle you because I don’t
care for the fellow. Only I know this to be the truth.” He hesitated, adding,
“Though you’re not to think
I’m
in
the habit of frequenting bawdy houses—”

Relief made her gasp, “So that is where he was seen?”

The Hollingsworths! Someone must have observed him enter the
brothel.

“No … ” James appeared to be weighing up his words. “Fact is, Lady
Condon made it known. She was scandalized Hawthorne would carry his politics
over the boundaries of what most people consider acceptable.”

Sarah waited, still sceptical.

“Lady Condon visited her seamstress and was forced to pass the time
of day with a … female, clearly from the Cyprian corps who was being fitted for
a modish ensemble.” He sighed. “Hawthorne was with her, offering his considered
opinion. He … was financing her.”

“She must have been a friend.”

“She was no one Lady Condon had ever set eyes upon.”

“A visitor from abroad?”

James looked at her with even greater sympathy. “I believe the
violent orange hue of her glorious ringlets is not a colour favoured by the
respectable. Besides,” he added, “I saw Hawthorne with my own eyes lead a bit
o’ muslin into a dark alley off the Haymarket not three weeks ago.”

Sarah shook her head as if to clear of it of doubt. James did not
lie, yet there had to be some explanation. With dignity, she took the arm he
offered as they continued their progress towards the ballroom.

“He’s a dark horse,” James persisted, oblivious to her feelings.
“His wife was infamous. The betting book at White’s is offering ten to one the
daughter is going the way of her mother—”

Sarah swung round furiously, nearly knocking into a couple who had
to sidestep past them. “How dare you slander Caro!” she flared. “Nor have you
the right to cast slurs upon Mr Hawthorne’s reputation on account of hearsay.
If you want my opinion, the bit o’ muslin he supposedly led away was a lass in
distress whom he was offering assistance.”

“Sarah, that’s doing it too brown,” said James, exasperated. “All
right, I’m sorry I slandered Miss Hawthorne. I’d forgotten she was your charge
for three months. But really, Hawthorne doesn’t deserve your slavish defence.
Now where are you going?”

She had to find Caro. She’d been away too long and Caro was inclined
to rashness.

“To mend a tear in my skirt, James,” she bit out.

Surely James’s allegations couldn’t be true, she told herself.
Though what did a man plagued by loneliness do to ease his frustration? She
didn’t really know much about these things.

A cotillion was in progress as she entered through the double doors
but it felt claustrophobic in the crowded ballroom. James had not gone after
her. She knew he thought she was being ridiculous; that he didn’t believe she’d
end their betrothal so she could wed Mr Hawthorne. Well, he didn’t believe Mr
Hawthorne harboured those kinds of feelings. But he did. She knew he did.

She squared her shoulders. Marrying Roland Hawthorne was exactly
what she intended doing. With a sigh she sagged against the wall near the
supper room. That’s if Roland could sink his pride or put a bullet through Sir
Richard’s head.

A footman bearing aloft a silver tray offered her a glass of
champagne. She drank it too quickly, trying to find a reason for Roland’s
earlier behaviour. He’d surely not have kissed her like that if he was going to
allow her to marry James? In which case, she thought, sudden excitement flaring
within her, he must have come up with some plan to avenge himself against Sir
Richard? That would account for the confidence she’d noted earlier.

Pushing herself back from the wall, she remembered the urgency of
finding Caro. If Roland was forced into action against his better judgment he’d
not thank his daughter for it.

Caro was no longer with Philly. When a thorough search of the card
room, ballroom and ladies’ dressing room did not yield the girl, she became
anxious.

Interrupting James discussing his latest horseflesh with Colonel
Marshall, Sarah asked if they’d seen her.

“Heading for the balcony not long ago,” replied the colonel.
“Couldn’t believe me eyes when she was pointed out as Lady Venetia’s gel.
Already rivalling her mother in the looks department, and it’d appear Sir
Richard’s as taken with her as he was with the mother.” He cleared his throat.
“Beg pardon, Lady Sarah. Forgot you’d spent time under their roof.”

Sarah hadn’t waited for his apology. Almost running, she jostled her
way through the crowd in the direction of the balcony.

Why had Caro not listened to her?

Because she thought Sarah had abandoned her with empty promises?

Perhaps an opportunity had afforded itself which, to the impulsive
Caro, seemed too good to resist.

She heard voices on the other side of the door which led outside.
With her hand on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder to ensure she was
not being observed. She had almost pushed the door open by the time she
registered the incredible sight in the ballroom behind her.