Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires (22 page)

Lady Duncaster gestured to a ­couple of footmen. “Would you please ensure that Mr. Denison is carried up to his bedchamber and that he's given every comfort he requires?”

“Yes, my lady,” one of the footmen said, immediately seeing to her request with the help of two other footmen.

“Thank you,” Sarah said as she approached Lord Spencer. “Had it not been for you, Mr. Denison might not have made it.”

“I appreciate you saying so, my lady, but the truth of the matter is that anyone would have done the same,” Lord Spencer said. “It was nothing.”

Sarah disagreed, but she was not about to argue the point in front of all these ­people. Instead she nodded, agreeing to join Lady Fiona for a glass of lemonade on the terrace while Lord Spencer went in search of some dry clothing.

T
hat evening, after enjoying a lovely piece of music performed by Lady Emily at the pianoforte, Sarah quietly left the music room with the intention of seeking solace in her room. She needed to think—­to untangle all the thoughts and emotions Lord Spencer and Mr. Denison were causing. It was impossible to do so in the company of others without turning into a frustrated mess.

“Lady Sarah!”

Rather than halting and turning toward the voice that had spoken, Sarah quickened her pace, determined to avoid sharing Mr. Denison's company any further. Since recovering his senses, he'd deliberately sought her out and proceeded to criticize Lord Spencer in every conceivable manner. “He knocked me out,” he'd said, his voice pitching with outrage. “What sort of man does that?”

“I believe he was trying to save your life,” had been Sarah's reply, “as proven by the fact that you are still alive.”

“No thanks to him, I tell you. He was deliberately trying to push me under.”

“I don't see why he would have swum to your rescue if that had been the case.”

“To hasten my demise of course! Had that footman not pulled me from the water when he did, I'm convinced I would have drowned. I owe that fine young chap a debt of gratitude.”

Sarah had stared at Mr. Denison in utter dismay. Of course it was natural for him to be in a state of shock after what had happened, but was he mad? “Are you suggesting that Lord Spencer tried to kill you?” she'd asked very carefully.

“I'm not saying he was, but I'm not saying he wasn't, either. He clearly doesn't like me or my daughters.” His eyes had narrowed. “Though he certainly seems to have a fine interest in you.”

“You're quite mistaken,” Sarah had said, not liking the angry look in Mr. Denison's eyes.

“I think not,” he'd said. “In fact, I'm beginning to suspect that he might be planning to steal you away from me, but I won't allow it, I tell you. In fact, I forbid you from having anything further to do with him.”

“You . . . you can't do that.”

“Really?” He'd leaned close to her, his lips almost touching the lobe of her ear. “Then perhaps I'll just discourage his interest by telling him about your past, shall I?”

“You can't do that either.” Her hands had trembled, not so much from fear as from anger. “If word gets out, the deal will be off. Papa will withdraw his offer.”

“Are you so certain about that? The way I see it, Lord Andover will be especially glad to be rid of you if anyone discovers how willing you are to lift your skirts.”

The insult had burned, but she had held her head high and said, “You may threaten me all you like, sir, but I would urge you to consider that treating the woman you'll be spending the rest of your life with unkindly might not be the wisest decision.”

Turning, she'd walked away from him, deaf to whatever else he'd said.

Rounding a corner now, she glanced around in desperation. Another hallway intersected the one she was in. Making a sharp turn, she raced toward the first available door on her right and flung it open, closing it softly behind her as she entered the dimly lit room that would be her salvation.

“What a pleasant surprise.”

Catching her breath, she spun toward the deep masculine rumble and quickly located Lord Spencer. He was leaning over a table, hands pressed into the surface to support his weight. A stray lock of hair fell across his brow, the corner of his mouth dimpling as he looked back at Sarah. It was clear that he'd been studying a large piece of paper that lay spread out before him, until she'd disturbed his privacy.

“Please forgive the intrusion,” she said, immediately cringing in response to the breathiness of her voice. She sounded as though she was foolishly fawning over him, which perhaps she was, a little bit. It was difficult not to when the man had chosen to remove his jacket, provoking an image of careless abandon that did something wicked to her insides. Her heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest.

“There's nothing to forgive,” he said, straightening. He studied her a moment. “Are you hiding from someone?”

“Of course not.”

The door opened behind her and Sarah whirled aside, her back pressing up against the wall as the door hid her from view. “Lord Spencer,” Mr. Denison said. He paused, and Sarah imagined him glancing around the room. “Sorry to bother you, but I was looking for Lady Sarah. Have you seen her?”

“Not since dinner.”

Another pause followed. Sarah's heart raced with the dread of potential discovery. “Well,” Mr. Denison said, “I'll bid you good night then.”

“Good night, Mr. Denison,” Lord Spencer said.

The door swung shut, leaving Sarah face-­to-­face with Lord Spencer. Crossing his arms, he raised an eyebrow.

“Very well,” Sarah muttered. “I wasn't completely honest when I told you I wasn't hiding.”

“Hiding from the man you plan to marry is not very promising.” He tilted his head. “Did he say something to upset you?”

“No.” She shook her head, hoping to dispel such an idea and the catastrophe it might lead to. Diverting attention away from herself, she asked, “Are you feeling all right after what happened earlier?”

“I'm fine. Thank you for asking.”

Crossing the floor, she glanced down at the table before him. “Is that a plan of Thorncliff?”

His eyes narrowed. He was still for a moment, then finally relaxed his posture. He nodded. “Lady Duncaster was kind enough to let me borrow it.” He gestured toward a large piece of velum containing a partial drawing. “I'm trying to copy it, since it will make it easier for me to complete my model later.”

“An ingenious method for maintaining the correct proportions.” She leaned forward, studying the plan. “I'm guessing we must be here, in this room?”

“Correct.” His voice sounded slightly raspy as he placed his finger against the velum and outlined a section of the house. “Here is what remains of the original structure—­the part built by William Holden. It contains the armory, the interior courtyard that once provided the main entrance, and the ballroom, which originally served as the great hall.”

“I wouldn't have realized unless you told me,” Sarah said. She'd seen the ballroom, the floors made from polished white marble, the bottom part of the pale blue walls trimmed with moldings, the top part filled with mirrors.

“It's been remodeled many times throughout the ages, most recently by Lady Duncaster and, before her, by the late earl's father, who favored rococo.” Moving his hand, he pointed to another portion of the plan. “During the fourteenth century, the kitchen was moved to its current location and this staircase was added. It's since been masked by a cabinet to prevent anyone from making note of it. Apparently the first Duchess of Duncaster considered it a blight upon her fragile senses to view a staircase used predominantly by servants.”

Sarah couldn't help but laugh. “She must have found life very difficult if the mere sight of a staircase was capable of distressing her.”

“From what I gather, she was very high in the instep. She loved the grandeur of Thorncliff but hated being surrounded by servants. She was the sort of lady who expected all the work to be carried out without her having to witness it.”

“A difficult task, I'd imagine, considering the size of this place and the number of servants required.”

“I agree,” Lord Spencer said. Stepping away from the table, he crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a measure of brandy. “May I offer you some port, or perhaps some sherry?”

Sarah longed to accept his offer, but she'd made a promise to Chloe and . . . “I should probably leave,” she said, eying the closed door. “Our being alone like this is not the least bit proper.”

“And yet it seems to be turning into a common occurrence.” He gestured toward the carafes before him. “I repeat. Port or sherry?”

It was tempting. Too tempting. “Perhaps a small sherry. But then I really must go.”

The edge of his mouth tilted. “I take it you've chosen to reclaim your adventurous spirit?” Turning away, he poured her a glass.

His voice swept through her, warming her senses. “Since that particular conversation, I've made some considerations and have decided that I do not wish to lose any more of myself.”

“I'm pleased to hear it.” Crossing to where she stood, he gave her her glass. “I simply fail to understand how you hope to accomplish such a feat by marrying a man you do not like.”

Sarah promptly choked on the small sip she'd taken. “Forgive me,” she said, accepting the handkerchief he offered and dabbing at the liquid now staining her bodice.

He said nothing, and when she raised her gaze, she found him looking at her intently. Heated, she took a deliberate step back. “I like him well enough,” she lied, determined not to embrace the undeniable attraction unfolding between herself and Lord Spencer.

Disappointment filled his eyes. “I suppose that's why you hid from him, because your fondness for him was too much to bear? Come now, Lady Sarah. Why are you lying to me?” He took a step toward her, setting his glass on the table as he did so.

Sarah retreated once more. If only she'd left when she'd had the chance, she would not be having this impossible conversation. “Because I enjoy the liberty of our discussions and do not wish to darken them with thoughts of an unavoidable future. When I am with you, I . . .” The words caught in her throat. She'd said too much. Far too much.

Lord Spencer advanced, forcing her farther back until she found herself pressed against the wall. “When you are with me you . . . ?”

“Please don't come any closer,” she whispered, her heart in utter turmoil. If he closed the distance, if he kissed her, if he showed her what she had no choice but to sacrifice . . . she feared she would not be able to stand it.

“I asked you a question, Lady Sarah.” He honored her request and remained where he was.

With shuddering breaths and quivering lips, she met his gaze, confounded by the pure sincerity that shone there. “When I am with you, I feel beautiful, respected and admired without having ever received a direct compliment. You've shown an interest in me when those closest to me did not.”

“And Mr. Denison has not? The man is a fool if he doesn't—­” Unable to answer truthfully when Lord Spencer was studying her so closely, she'd looked away. “Lady Sarah.” His voice was low and careful. “I asked you before if he's said something inappropriate to you, and you said no. Were you telling me the truth?”

She couldn't lie to him, but neither could she meet his gaze without dissolving into a pool of tears. “He has made it clear that he looks forward to our wedding night with great anticipation.”

There was a stretch of silence before Lord Spencer said, “Any man would do so if he were marrying you, and ordinarily a woman would be flattered by the ability to provoke such a reaction in her future husband. But, considering your powerful reaction right now, I suspect he may have phrased his longing for you in an undesirable manner.”

“He said the most outrageous things to me,” Sarah said, unable to stop herself from succumbing to the note of sympathy in Lord Spencer's voice. If only she could tell him everything.

“Considering your innocence, he should have restrained himself better.”

Innocence.

One simple word to remind her of what she'd squandered. Regret filled her, as did guilt, because here she was, allowing Lord Spencer to think that Mr. Denison had wronged her most grievously when in fact it was her own bloody fault.

She didn't deserve Lord Spencer's kindness, his sympathy or his affection. “Thank you, my lord. Your insight has been most helpful.” She moved to step past him, but he blocked her path with his arm.

“Is your situation so impossible that you are completely incapable of entertaining other offers?”

“O-­other offers?” Heavens, she sounded like a complete nitwit.

“From other gentlemen.” He leaned closer until she could scarcely breathe. “From someone you might find more pleasing.”

A nervous laugh escaped her. “I don't suppose you're referring to yourself?”

His eyes darkened, the air around them thickening with a strange kind of tension that made her stomach whirl and her legs feel weak. “Don't tell me you're not aware of what's between us.”

“You mean the easy camaraderie we share?” Lord, she felt nervous, the worst part being that she could think of no way to stop it. Her mind was in a muddle and her heart was turning cartwheels in her chest.

“There is that,” he said, his eyes darkening even further as he placed his right arm on the other side of her, fencing her in, “but there's also this.”

Panic rose up inside her when she realized his intent. “My lord! I—­” His lips brushed against hers, silencing whatever protest she'd planned to make. Aware of how wrong this was, no matter how wonderfully right it felt, she struggled against the many sensations assailing her mind, her body and her senses. It was like swimming upstream in the middle of a torrential downpour.