Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires (14 page)

“Because it makes sense,” Fiona said. “Or maybe Lord Andover gambled Lady Sarah away. He's not exactly known for his brilliant card play.”

Christopher gaped at his sister. “Honestly, I don't know where you get your ideas, but it just so happens that Lady Sarah has told me the reason. It has to do with breeding racehorses.”

Fiona did not look convinced. “Are they arguing now?” she asked, abandoning the topic. “It looks like they might be.”

Returning his gaze to Lady Sarah's boat, Christopher saw that Mr. Denison was leaning toward Lady Sarah, his back rigid as he spoke, while she was leaning away from him. Christopher clenched his hand. The charcoal snapped.

“You ought to interfere,” Fiona said.

“It's not my place. Besides, they're out on a lake. It's not as if I can just walk up to them.”

“As a gentleman you really should—­”

“That,” he clipped, with a nod in Mr. Denison's direction, “is the man she's decided to marry. She's made her choice, Fiona, for whatever reason. More importantly, he also happens to be her parents' choice.”

“I know you detest any mention of Miss Hepplestone, but I remember you eagerly rushing to assist her with the tiniest of things—­things she was perfectly capable of handling on her own—­even though she was completely undeserving of your help or of you.”

“Don't think I haven't forgotten,” he bit out.

“I know you haven't,” Fiona said with quiet understanding. “But you are still allowing her to deny you a happy future. To this day she is skewing your vision of anyone who gets too close to you.” She sighed. “I like Lady Sarah, and—­”

“Why? What reason do you have? You've known her for exactly three days, which is entirely too little time for you to have decided that she will make a fine addition to this family. I certainly haven't.” But in spite of his protestations, he couldn't help but admit that he liked Lady Sarah as well. At least not if he was being completely honest with himself. He was just afraid of making the same mistake twice.

“You forget that I'm an excellent judge of character and that I didn't like Miss Hepplestone from the beginning. The problem was that you wouldn't listen to what I had to say.”

It was true. Fiona had only been twelve years old when she'd warned him against the woman he'd fallen in love with. He hadn't taken her seriously.

“As for the length of time you've known her,” Fiona added, “it's the same duration of time that she's known Mr. Denison, and she is considering him. Besides, since you don't plan to marry for love anyway, I hardly think it matters how well you know her as long as she is who she claims to be, which she
is
. Add to that her pleasant demeanor, her candor and her beauty, and you've found a woman more suitable to be your wife than any other I can think of.”

Perhaps Fiona was right. After all, it was common practice among the
ton
to marry without considering whether or not you'd get along with your spouse in the long run. What mattered was prestige, forming alliances and accumulating wealth. Everything else was secondary, and since all he really needed was to produce an heir, his presence would only be necessary in the bedroom—­a thought that appealed a great deal as he looked out across the water at Lady Sarah.

That morning, when she'd slipped and he'd caught her, she'd looked so kissable that he'd barely been able to resist the temptation her lips had offered. But if he married her, he'd be able to enjoy those lips, along with the rest of her, every single day. The rest of the time he'd be free to visit his club, build his models and enjoy the company of friends. It was certainly worth thinking about.

“D
id you mention my daughters to Lord Spencer?” Mr. Denison asked.

“I did,” Sarah said, grateful she could offer an honest reply.

“And did you speak favorably of them?”

“Of course!”

“Why hasn't he spoken to them then?”

Feeling like a naughty schoolgirl being chastised, Sarah sat back a little. “I'm sure his lordship has been busy with other matters. Furthermore, he is under no obligation to show an interest in Victoria or Diana simply because I have suggested it. And since he doesn't wish to marry, if you will recall, I think we should give him more time.”

“I'm of the opinion that you weren't persuasive enough. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you look at him,” Mr. Denison said as he pulled on the oars. After meeting Sarah in the library two hours earlier and informing her that he knew she'd breakfasted with Lord Spencer, he hadn't let the subject go.

“And what way might that be?” Sarah asked, exasperated by his accusations.

“Like he's the handsomest man you've ever set eyes on.” The right oar splashed against the surface in an awkward motion.

“I cannot deny his good looks,” she said, even though she knew that to do so would be a mistake.

Mr. Denison's face reddened. “Perhaps I should remind you that you'll be marrying
me
!”

“I can assure you I haven't forgotten that fact.” How wonderful it would be if she could, just for a little while.

“And I don't like to share,” Mr. Denison warned as he leaned forward. Relaxing the oars, he took her hand.

Instinctively, Sarah retreated, leaning away from him. That too was a mistake. His eyes darkened into black thunderclouds. “Don't worry, my dear,” he murmured as his thumb stroked along her wrist, “I have no doubt that he will be removed from your mind as soon as I take you to bed. In fact, I think you will beg me for more once I put my tongue to work on your body.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Sarah to keep from gagging. Her stomach roiled at the awful image he evoked, of the two of them as lovers. Instinct told her to run—­to jump overboard and swim for shore—­but then what? She had nowhere else to go, nobody to turn to and not nearly enough money to start a new life on her own. There wasn't even a convent for her to seek refuge in anymore. Henry VIII had made sure of that when he'd disbanded them all during the sixteenth century. Silently, she cursed the former monarch and the influence he was having on her life almost three hundred years after his death.

“I can just imagine how it will be between us,” Mr. Denison continued, his lips parting as he dropped his gaze to her breasts. “Did your former lover make you shiver and tremble with pleasure?” Before she could manage a reply, he said, “I can see from your shocked expression that he did not. No wonder you're so reluctant to let me near you after such a disappointing experience. Fear not though. I'll give you everything you require. I'll—­”

“Please stop!” Good God, she couldn't stand to hear another word. “You're clearly a very passionate man, but I am a lady, Mr. Denison, and while I may have had one indiscretion, I fear I'm still quite inexperienced in these matters, as you yourself have just noted. So please, do try to restrain yourself until we are legally wed.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” he muttered, eyes boring into her. “Knowing you're not a virgin and that you're going to be mine is driving me mad with need, but if you prefer a traditional courtship, then I suppose I can accommodate your wishes for a little while longer.”

“You are most kind,” Sarah said. She almost sagged with relief when he released her hand and continued rowing, their conversation focused on mundane topics like the weather, the beauty of the estate and on gossip relating to other guests.

When she and Mr. Denison returned to shore and disembarked a while later, Sarah found Lady Fiona striding toward them with a bright smile on her face. “What an excellent day for boating,” Lady Fiona said. “I trust you had an enjoyable tour of the lake.”

“We did indeed, my lady,” Mr. Denison said, tipping his hat in greeting.

Moving to Sarah's side, Lady Fiona fell in step beside them as they started back toward the house. “I'm sorry to intrude on you like this, but I was actually hoping to take a walk with Lady Sarah so that she might advise me on a private matter.”

“No need to apologize,” Mr. Denison said. “I'm planning to enjoy my afternoon rest now anyway, so I shall leave Lady Sarah in your company.” Turning toward Sarah, he said, “I've enjoyed our time together immensely and look forward to seeing you later.”

“Likewise,” Sarah said, hoping her tone didn't sound too flat. She watched him take his leave, then breathed a sigh of relief before turning to Lady Fiona. “You look very happy today.”

“I find it difficult not to be,” Lady Fiona said. “Surrounded by Thorncliff's vast expanse of greenery, flowers, birds and overall beauty that's only accentuated by the marvelous weather we've been having, I cannot be anything but absolutely content.”

It was difficult for Sarah not to be affected by Lady Fiona's positive state of mind. With a smile, she said, “You spoke of a private matter before. Would you like to tell me how I can assist?”

“I must confess I may have exaggerated my need for your advice for Mr. Denison's benefit.” Lady Fiona slanted a hesitant look in Sarah's direction. “Truth be told, I really just wanted your company.”

“So . . . you lied?”

“Can you forgive me?”

Sarah chuckled. “Of course.” They strolled toward a group of large oak trees with wide canopies that stood to one side of the lake. As they neared, Sarah saw that someone was sitting beneath one of them—­a man with his head bowed over a book that he'd propped up against one bent knee. Wearing a wide-­brimmed hat, Sarah didn't recognize him until he looked up, arresting her with his penetrating gaze and that vexing hint of a smile that he casually wore with aplomb. It made her heart beat a little faster.

“Spencer!” Lady Fiona said. “What a surprise, finding you here.”

He frowned, leading Sarah to believe that it was no great surprise at all. Catching the sparkle in Lady Fiona's eyes and the hint of mischief about her lips, Sarah was even more convinced that the woman had deliberately contrived to bring them together. Already planning an excuse to return to the house so she wouldn't intrude on Lord Spencer's privacy, Sarah considered telling the Heartly siblings that she'd just been reminded of a previous engagement when Lord Spencer stood up. “Won't you join me?” he asked.

Sarah studied him briefly, then looked to the ground where he gestured. The wide blanket he'd been sitting on would provide enough space for them all. Sarah was tempted, but she held herself back, unsure of allowing herself the joy of his company.

“What a lovely idea,” Lady Fiona said as she stepped toward the blanket. “There's a brilliant view of the house from here, as well as of the lake, and with the shade from the tree I daresay we'll manage to keep our fair complexions. Come sit, Lady Sarah, and you'll see what I mean.”

Unwilling to disappoint and more than a little tempted to spend her afternoon with Lady Fiona and most especially with Lord Spencer, Sarah lowered herself onto the blanket.

“What are you working on?” Lady Fiona asked her brother when they were all seated.

Having taken a seat beside Lord Spencer, Sarah could practically hear him grinding his teeth and tried not to smile at the knowledge that he was thoroughly annoyed with his sister. “Just a sketch,” he said, glaring at Lady Fiona.

Unable to resist, Sarah said, “Might I have a look?”

Ever so slowly, he turned his eyes on her, as if considering all the possible excuses he could give in order to not grant her wish. How curious. “There's nothing much to see—­just rough preliminary drawings of Thorncliff.”

“Why don't you let me be the judge of that?” Sarah asked, more curious now due to his reluctance.

After a long moment he sighed, shook his head and reached for the book, handing it to Sarah. He watched as she opened it, contemplating all the ways in which he was going to murder his sister for this. Not so much for engineering an opportunity for him to spend more time with Lady Sarah but for bringing Lady Sarah's attention to his sketchbook. Drawings, in his estimation, were personal—­a visual expression of the artist's innermost thoughts, and while most of his sketches were works of precision, lacking any emotion, there was one that he feared might divulge too much.

Carefully, Lady Sarah turned the first page, revealing a detail of Thorncliff's main entrance. “This is very intricate,” she said. Her finger drifted across the paper, drawing Christopher's attention to the delicate structure of her hand. “Are there really two dragons perched above the door?”

“Yes,” he said, unable to ignore the fruity scent of her. He leaned slightly closer so he could explore it further. Citrus, perhaps? He cleared his throat. “Each is holding a gilt flag. They're quite an atypical feature for an English manor, which is why I want to be certain I include them in the model.”

“Spencer loves originality,” Fiona said. And then, “Please excuse me a moment. I see Lady Genevieve over there, and I would so like to inquire about the gown she wore last night to dinner—­it was very exquisite. I'll be back in just a moment.”

Spencer watched her go, exasperated by her conspicuous attempt at getting him alone with Lady Sarah, not that he minded such an outcome in the least. It was the method that bothered him. “If you turn the page, you'll see that there are also tiny dragons peeking out from below the roofline.”

“So there are,” she said, studying the images. “I quite like them, I think.” Lifting her gaze, she met his, her cheeks coloring as she did so. Hastily, as if attempting to appease a shock of nervousness, she brushed aside a stray lock of hair and looked away.

No doubt Lady Sarah was affected by his close proximity, which in turn sent a coil of awareness spiraling through him. He leaned in once more, pretending to study his work as well. Instead he studied her; the pulse beating like the wings of a timid bird against the curve of her neck, soft skin that would feel so smooth to the touch, a spray of tiny freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. What was it about her that fascinated him so?