Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires (28 page)

 

Chapter 15

C
hristopher was livid, not only with Sarah, for tearing apart the image he'd had of her as everything he'd ever longed for in a potential wife, but also with himself, for not recognizing the nature of her true character sooner. But even when he'd wondered why she would even consider marrying a man like Mr. Denison, regardless of the story she'd fed him about her father's interest in Mr. Denison's horses, he'd thought Sarah incapable of ever having exhibited such poor judgment that it threatened any chance of him sharing a future with her. He'd been wrong, and for the second time in his life, he'd made a serious error in judgment.

Damn it all to hell!

Christ, he needed a drink. But as he approached the foot of the stairs, his pace slowed until he came to a halt, his mind swirling with everything Sarah had told him. He blinked as he stared back at the long hallway through which he'd just come. There was laughter at the end of it, leaking from the ballroom, where guests still amused themselves, compounding his melancholia.

Drawing a deep breath, Christopher started up the stairs, unable to ignore one important fact: Lady Sarah had told him everything after all, though perhaps not immediately. But she'd had good reason for that, as she had explained. Unlike Miss Hepplestone, who'd lied and manipulated her way into his affections, Lady Sarah had tried to distance herself from him—­a task that could not have been easy, considering his own determination to seek her company. Indeed, she had always insisted that she would marry Mr. Denison. It even appeared as though she and Mr. Denison had been on the verge of becoming affianced when Christopher had chosen to interfere. Clearly she didn't want to marry that man, yet she had been willing to do so for the sake of her family. His steps grew heavier until he reached the top of the stairs.

When he'd insisted on pressing his suit, she'd finally told him the truth, providing him with all the facts and, in so doing, giving him a choice, something Miss Hepplestone had been determined to deny him in her deception.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he considered going back to Sarah and apologizing for his behavior. Hell, he'd forced her to reveal her feelings for him. She had done so, even though, he knew, it had been difficult for her to accomplish such a feat on the heels of her other confession.

The knowledge that he'd hurt her didn't sit well with him, but everything she'd told him had torn him apart inside. If only he'd met her years ago so he could have prevented that scoundrel from taking advantage of her. If only Harlowe, that bloody bastard, was still alive so he could run him through for ruining her.

Christopher's fingers flexed at his sides as he stood on the landing, longing to go back and offer her comfort. The last thing she needed from him was further punishment, no matter how much the truth pained him. It was clear that she'd been shamed by her youthful folly, even though she wasn't solely responsible for what had happened. Her parents should have offered better guidance. They should have done a better job protecting her from scoundrels. Instead, they'd only given her grief, laying all the blame on her shoulders. It wasn't right.

Christopher drew a ragged breath. He really needed that drink, and then he would have to clear his head and give this entire debacle some serious thought. He continued on his way, resisting the urge to turn back to the lady who'd come to fill his every thought.

With everything he now knew about her, the urge to claim her had increased tenfold, not only because he'd been made aware that she had no virtue to protect but also because he felt an elemental need to sever the connection she had between lovemaking and Harlowe.

But if he went to her, he feared he'd lose control and take her at his will and without any thought for what might happen after. To ask her to be his mistress would without a doubt be an insult, but to ask her to be his wife . . . in light of all he knew, would such a thing be possible? He wasn't sure that it would, which was precisely why he had to let her be for the moment and stop himself from acting rashly.

Five minutes later, he was seated in Richard's room with a glass of brandy in his hand, aware that he'd already broken his promise to Sarah but knowing the problem at hand was too enormous for him to deal with on his own. He needed another person's unbiased opinion.

Standing by the window as usual, with his back toward Christopher, Richard gazed out at the darkness beyond through the narrow parting between the curtains. “I cannot offer much advice, since I have no desire to sway your decision,” he said, “but perhaps it would help if you were to consider what
you
would tell
me
if our roles were reversed.”

Christopher took a long sip of his drink as he contemplated that. “If you were in love with—­”

“In love?”

“Yes, damn it. I love her, Richard. I don't know how the bloody hell it happened or when, but there it is.” He hadn't thought it possible and had even said as much to Chadwick, as well as to Sarah, but he also recognized that he wouldn't feel as strongly about her confession as he did if he felt anything less.

“Are you certain?” The curiosity in Richard's voice was difficult to ignore. “After all, it wouldn't be the first time you claimed to be in such a state over a woman. We both know how the last time ended, but once that harridan had finally left for America, you quickly recovered from your state of besottery.”

“Besottery? That's not a word, surely.”

Richard grunted, and Christopher imagined that he was probably tilting his mouth and slanting an eyebrow in that self-­satisfied look he'd always exhibited whenever he'd said something original. “Consider it a new one,” Richard muttered. “The point is you were just as sure back then that you'd met the woman you were going to spend the rest of your life with as you are now.”

“That's not true,” Christopher said. “In fact, having had that previous experience, I'm now quite capable of distinguishing between love and infatuation. When it comes to Lady Sarah . . . I would give my life for her without blinking.”

“You would, or you would have?”

“I would.”

“Then your regard for her hasn't altered in spite of what she's told you?”

The answer was simple. “No,” Christopher said. He paused before adding, “That doesn't mean I'm not angry or disappointed. Truth be told, it hurts like the devil to know that another man has bedded her—­more so when I consider how grievously he wronged her. This is not the same as her having had a previous husband who died and left her a widow.
That
I would be able to accept with greater readiness, but this . . . an impressionable girl seduced by a selfish scoundrel like Harlowe. It doesn't bear thinking about.”

“What will you do?”

Christopher wasn't sure. As it was, he felt terrible about sharing Sarah's secret with his brother, but he knew Richard could be trusted, since the only person he spoke to these days was Christopher—­he'd even dismissed his valet after the man had dared to comment on the scarring.

Drumming his fingers against the armrest, Christopher studied his brother's back. “If our roles were reversed,” he eventually said, “I would probably urge you to follow your heart, provided the scandal could be contained and would not risk harming the rest of our family.”

“And can it be contained?”

“I'm not sure,” Christopher muttered as he reached inside his pocket and drew out the framed clover. He had to be honest with himself, especially as heir to his father's title. It wouldn't do if Sarah's history got out, and with ties between her family and his, her sisters would not be the only ones affected by it. “Unfortunately Mr. Denison knows as well, and he is not the sort of man who can be trusted.”

“Then I'd best wish you luck, Brother,” Richard said without turning away from the window. “I hope you eventually get what you wish for.”

A
knock at the door made Sarah flinch, and when she heard her father's voice asking if he could come in, she cringed. She'd returned to her bedchamber a half hour earlier, hoping that sleep would soon overcome her and save her from all the distressing thoughts that plagued her. Unfortunately, it had not.

Rising from her bed, she went to the door, opened it and stepped aside, allowing her father entry. “However difficult this situation must be for you, Sarah,” he said as he closed the door behind him, giving them privacy, “I can assure you it's just as hard for your mother and me.”

Sarah doubted that, and she had no qualms about saying so. “Really?” she asked. “Then I'm sure you must know what it feels like to be cut off from everyone because you fear they might discover your darkest secret? The pain of having to tell the ones you love that you do not measure up to the person they thought you to be? That you're not worthy of marriage or indeed of any form of happiness?”

“You brought this on yourself, Sarah. You have no one else to blame,” he told her sternly.

“Perhaps not, but you have no right to pretend you can possibly understand what it feels like. Whatever disappointment you have in me, however much you may resent the choice I once made . . . it doesn't even come close to matching the way I feel about myself right now.”

Her father stiffened. “You really care for Lord Spencer, don't you?”

It wasn't something she'd wished to discuss with her father, but she had no desire to lie to him either. Closing her eyes as weariness pressed against her from every angle, she told him simply, “It doesn't matter. I ruined my chance of marrying him years ago, before we even met. I'll have to live with that regret for the rest of my life, Papa. Just contemplating it is unbearable.”

“How do you suppose your mother and I feel?” he grated out. “You are our eldest daughter, Sarah. We had such grand plans for you, only to watch you toss them all aside for a hasty romp.”

The vulgarity of his words shocked her. “It wasn't like that, Papa.”

“No? You were ruled by lust, Sarah, nothing more.”

“I thought myself in love! Indeed, I thought that I would marry him. He certainly promised that he would marry me, but then the criminal charges were brought against him. I must confess that I am glad in a way that I did not bear his name when that happened. Lord help me, I was so naïve, and so very foolish.”

“There's no denying that.” Her father sighed, looking suddenly much older than his forty-­eight years. “I've no desire to continue arguing with you. It's tiresome, Sarah.”

“I agree with you there, sir,” she told him testily, though the edge of her tone had dulled significantly. A pause rose between them, growing awkward until Sarah eventually filled it by saying, “Lord Spencer still plans to duel Mr. Denison tomorrow. I tried to stop him, but he insists that it is a matter of honor—­that he cannot renege even though I made it clear that I am not worth fighting over.”

Lord Andover's eyes sharpened. “You told him the entire truth?”

“I wished to impress upon him the importance that he disassociate himself from me.”

“Then I will pray he can be trusted, Sarah.” Crossing to the window, Lord Andover glanced out at the garden. “As for your future, I have given it some thought. I will try to convince Mr. Denison to marry you, but if he's changed his mind, we'll need to make other plans. You cannot remain at home any longer, Sarah. While your mother and I were hoping to get you settled in some capacity, we may have to consider other options.”

“Like what?” Sarah asked, uncertain of what her father might suggest.

“I wrote to your uncle, Mr. Bentley, before Christmas, inquiring if he might consider taking you on as a governess for his three children.”

“But Mr. Bentley is in Cape Town!”

“Precisely.” Lord Andover looked at her steadily. “By the time I heard back from him, I'd managed to secure a match for you with Mr. Denison, which I believed you would find more favorable, since it would allow you to remain in England.”

“But can't I become a governess in England?” she asked hopefully, attempting to sound amicable. After everything she'd put her parents through, she doubted they'd grant her much of a say in the matter, but she was determined to try. “Or perhaps a lady's companion?”

Her father spun around to face her, his eyes a deadly shade of black. “Don't you see? ­People would always wonder why an accomplished lady of breeding ended up in such a lowly position. And where there is curiosity, an answer soon follows. We cannot risk anyone discovering the truth about you, when Juliet will be making her debut next year.”

“I realize that, Papa.”

“It's settled then,” Lord Andover told her ominously. “If Mr. Denison still wants you, which I pray he will, since I'll otherwise have to find a way of shutting that eager mouth of his, you will marry him without hesitation, and by God you will smile when you do so. If, however, he's had a change of heart, we will begin arranging for your immediate departure for Cape Town. Either way, I trust you'll manage to show a bit of gratitude in return for the lengths Lady Andover and I have gone to on your behalf.”

“Gratitude,” Sarah muttered faintly.

“Indeed, Sarah, you ought to be eternally grateful for the restraint I've managed to exhibit whenever I've been forced to contemplate this horrid affair. Don't think I didn't consider turning you out or having you horsewhipped on more than one occasion. Bloody hell!”

Silenced by her father's burst of anger, Sarah nodded grimly. He was right, of course. She had acted deplorably, had squandered her prospects, and now it was time to pay the price. She should indeed be grateful that her father was willing to try to get her settled, even if it would mean marrying a man she did not care for, who'd be far below her station and who would not treat her well. That failing, there was Mr. Bentley in Cape Town and his three children, a position she supposed she could align herself with during the two months it would no doubt take for her to arrive there. “Thank you, sir,” she told her father stiffly. “Your generosity is greatly appreciated.”