Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires (5 page)

“And this year? I do hope you and your family haven't suffered any more losses.”

“I . . . er . . . there was no need for me to go to London this year,” Sarah managed, hoping her new companion would accept that without further question.

She didn't of course, her eyebrows rising as she leaned toward Sarah. “No need?” she asked.

And now for the unavoidable truth. “My father found a suitor for me before the Season began.”

“Oh.” Lady Fiona looked very disappointed, but then her face brightened. “Who is he? What's his name?”

Sarah cringed. “Mr. Denison.”

Lady Fiona looked pensive. Eventually she shook her head. “I've never heard of him.” She studied Sarah. “Have you met him yet?”

“Just this afternoon,” Sarah admitted while she prayed for this conversation to come to a speedy end.

“Well?” Lady Fiona asked. “What's he like?”

“Er . . .”

“Is he handsome?” Lady Fiona asked impatiently. Before Sarah could utter a word, she said, “I can tell by your expression that he's not.” She looked at Sarah with pity until Sarah felt like screaming. It was all so unfair!

“He's older,” Sarah confided. It was clear that she would not be rid of Lady Fiona or her prying questions anytime soon.

Lady Fiona's eyes narrowed. “How much older?”

“I can't say,” Sarah said, for indeed she could not. She could only hazard a guess.

“Well,” Lady Fiona said, her expression softening with a smile as she took Sarah by the arm and steered her away from the tempting alcove, “if he doesn't please you, then I'm sure we can find someone else who does.”

“Wh-­what?” Whatever Lady Fiona was getting at, Sarah didn't like it. “My parents insist on Mr. Denison,” she said, hoping to dissuade the woman from whatever matchmaking scheme she was contemplating.

Lady Fiona glanced at her with disbelief. “Why?”

“Well . . . I . . . that is . . .” How on earth was she going to explain their reasoning?

“I'm sure they believe they've found a good husband for you,” Lady Fiona said as she pulled Sarah along. “But parents' criteria always differ from their daughter's. Considering your lengthy absence from Society, I think you ought to have a look around Thorncliff before making any hasty decisions. There are plenty of eligible gentlemen here. Young and handsome ones even.”

“I don't know . . .” Sarah hedged.

Lady Fiona looked at her in dismay. “You cannot mean that you would rather marry an old untitled man you barely know as opposed to a dashing viscount or earl?”

“My parents—­”

“Yes, yes. Their opinion on the matter is clear. But what about yours?”

Sarah blinked, and Lady Fiona grinned. “Fear not. We'll find someone better for you than this Mr. Denison fellow, but first I am going to ensure that you make some more friends by introducing you to my family. I have every confidence that you'll enjoy spending time with me and my sisters during your stay here.”

Sarah groaned. This was going to be a disaster. Arm linked with Sarah's, Lady Fiona guided her toward their shared destination—­a group of ladies chatting amicably with an older ­couple and a gentleman: a man whom Sarah recognized immediately. Lord Spencer.

Heaven help her! Sarah wanted to dig in her heels and claw her way back to safety, but Lady Fiona had a very firm hold on her arm, and before Sarah knew it, she was brought before the rest of the Heartlys and introduced, all the while acutely aware of Lord Spencer's dark gaze boring into her.

“So you see,” Lady Fiona said as soon as the necessary pleasantries had been exchanged, “Lady Sarah is now back in Society.” She gave her brother a pointed look that made Sarah's cheeks flame.

“We're absolutely delighted to make your acquaintance,” Lady Fiona's mother, Lady Oakland, said. “I'm sure my daughters will enjoy your company immensely, and if there's ever a need of dancing . . . well, Spencer makes an excellent partner. I do hope you'll keep him in mind.”

Sarah nodded, because it was the only thing she
could
do while the Heartly daughters smiled with unabashed glee. Lord and Lady Oakland looked equally enthusiastic at the prospect of pairing her off with their son, while Lord Spencer appeared rather acerbic. Hardly surprising, when it was embarrassingly apparent that his entire family was on a matchmaking spree.

Fleetingly, Sarah wondered if it was possible for her to dissolve into the Persian carpet on which she was standing. And to think she'd been concerned about the Duchess of Pinehurst! The Heartlys might not be equipped with quizzing glasses, but it was clear that they were in possession of something far worse—­a keen desire to find the viscount a wife.

“Thank you, my lady, but I'm so out of practice that I really don't have any intention of dancing while I'm here. I'd hate to embarrass my partner by making a cake of myself,” Sarah said, hoping to discourage Lord Spencer's wrath. After all, the last time she'd seen him, she'd suspected him of suspecting her of entrapment.

“Good evening, Lady Oakland,” came a voice from behind Sarah's right shoulder. She winced, recognizing it as her stepmother's. “Lord Oakland,” Lady Andover added. “How delightful it is to see you both here, and with your lovely children, no less.”

Lady Oakland smiled politely, while Lord Oakland offered a bow. “We thought we'd escape to Thorncliff while our home is being renovated.”

“A wonderful retreat, don't you agree?” Lady Andover asked.

“Oh, without a doubt,” Lord Oakland said.

“I see you've met my eldest daughter,” Lady Andover continued, her smile unfaltering as she looked about the group of ­people gathered before her, “but unfortunately I must steal her away. I hope you don't mind.”

“Of course not,” Lady Oakland said. To Sarah she added, “It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Lady Sarah, and since we'll be here the entire summer, I'm sure we'll have another opportunity to talk later.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Sarah told her politely.

“I'm sure she'll look forward to it,” Lady Andover remarked, her smile particularly bright as she pulled Sarah away with her. After a few paces, she whispered, “Don't lose focus, Sarah. It is widely known that Lord and Lady Andover are actively encouraging their son to marry. It would be a travesty if they were to pin their hopes on you. Have a care and stay away from them.”

There was no opportunity for Sarah to comment on that remark, since they came within hearing of Mr. Denison and Sarah's father, who were busily conversing with two young ladies of a similar age to Sarah.

“How radiant you look,” Mr. Denison said, not bothering to hide his interest while his eyes took her in. Sarah shuddered. “If I may, I'd like to introduce you to my daughters.”

Forcing a smile, Sarah greeted Miss Victoria Denison and Miss Diana Denison, noting that they were not the prettiest women in the world. “A pleasure,” she said, even though it did not look as though they reciprocated the sentiment. Sarah couldn't blame them.

A gong sounded, announcing that it was time for the guests to move to the dining room. Inside, a table long enough to seat a hundred was dressed in white tablecloths and peach-­colored floral arrangements. Discovering there were place cards, Sarah drew a breath. It would take forever for everyone to find their seats.

Following her family, she glanced down at the individual cards, reading the names as she passed and wondering at how many she didn't know. It was shocking to think that a mere two years could result in such ignorance of the British peerage.

“I do hope I'll be seated next to you,” Mr. Denison whispered behind her.

She politely nodded, continuing along until her mother found her seat, then her father's, then her sister Juliet's, who'd been placed between her father and a young gentleman no more than seventeen years of age. Alice was seated on the other side of this gentleman and possibly next to his father, while Sarah still hadn't found her spot.

“Dash it all,” she heard Mr. Denison say. “I'm here.”

“Enjoy your meal,” Sarah told him, not waiting for his reply as she crossed to the opposite side of the table. She was free—­for now. Finally, she spotted her name, elegantly curling its way along a piece of paper.

“Allow me to assist.”

There was no need for Sarah to look at the man who'd just spoken in order to recognize that voice: rich and warm, with a hint of tension. Darting a look in her stepmother's direction, Sarah was met with a stern look of disapproval, as if it was somehow Sarah's fault that she'd been seated next to Lord Spencer. “Thank you,” she said, “but I can manage.”

“I insist,” he muttered, his hands already pulling her chair away from the table so she could take her seat.

The words brushed against the nape of her neck, producing a shiver. Stiffening, Sarah swallowed as she fought to maintain her composure. She would resist him.

“Thank you,” she said as she claimed her seat and waited for him to sit down next to her, his leg briefly brushing hers as he did so. The touch sent a tremor racing along her every nerve. “I was actually hoping for a chance to speak with you,” she confessed, pleased that her voice sounded normal.

“Oh?”

“After our encounter earlier,” she whispered while the gentleman to the other side of her conversed with the lady to his right, “I just . . . well, I wanted to apologize for creating a situation that could have been devastating to us both. It wasn't intentional. That is to say, I'm not trying to trap you.”

“No?”

Allowing herself to look his way, Sarah saw that his face was turned toward her and that he was studying her closely.

“Truly, you have no cause for alarm,” she assured him, “though I realize it may not appear that way after your mother's recent effort to pair us off and Lady Fiona's blatant insinuation, but I promise you that neither was speaking on my behalf.”

“And why should I believe you?” he asked, his eyes searching her for she knew not what. “I know nothing about you other than that you have a peculiar fondness for rodents.”

“You say that as if it's a bad thing.”

“Wouldn't you rather have a puppy or a kitten?”

Sarah shook her head. “I'm not allowed any pets. My stepmother's allergic.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You sneaky little minx,” he muttered.

Sarah shrugged. “Snowball doesn't bother anyone as long as I keep him in my room. Besides, he makes me happy.”

Lord Spencer snorted. “Happiness is fleeting and highly overrated.”

Sarah stared at him while a footman leaned over, filling her glass with wine. “I don't understand you, my lord. You're both young and handsome.” When he raised an eyebrow, she said, “There's little point in denying the obvious. You're also in possession of a title—­one that's probably attached to a nice piece of property, so unless you've gambled away your fortune, you should be quite well off.”

“An astute observation for a woman who claims to have no interest in me.”

“My lord, I'm beginning to think you're too arrogant for your own good.” She winced. “Forgive me. I should not have said that. I merely meant to point out that you have little to complain about, especially when you also have a large family that clearly cares about you.”

“Oh?”

“They wouldn't be so concerned with helping you pick a bride otherwise. I trust you are free to pick any lady of your choosing as long as she is agreeable and accepts your offer?”

“Yes,” he murmured, staring at the tablecloth. “Except I have no intention to marry.”

“Not ever? Surely you must do so eventually, considering your position.”

“If and when I do shall be my own affair, Lady Sarah, nobody else's.”

She bit her lip, suppressing the urge to hit him. A punch straight to the shoulder—­that ought to convey her annoyance with him. “Your freedom to choose is enviable, my lord, and yet you bemoan it when you should consider yourself lucky instead. Not everyone has your advantage.”

Lord Spencer nodded. “True. But did you ever consider that being one of the most eligible bachelors in England can come with its own set of problems? ­People aren't always what they seem, Lady Sarah. Most will pretend to be something they're not in order to charm you.”

“So you're the suspicious sort?”

“I prefer to think of myself as cautious.”

“Or perhaps you're just afraid of letting down your guard.”

His features tightened, his eyes turning to flint, until Sarah felt like squirming. She should not have said that either.

“Lady Sarah,” he spoke between clenched teeth, “are you deliberately trying to provoke me?”

Determined not to let her discomfort show, Sarah said, “Not at all, my lord. I was merely making an observation. Unfortunately I have a tendency to speak before I think.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. She detected the hint of a smile. Her muscles relaxed.

“So I've noticed,” he said.

Reaching for her glass, Sarah took a sip of her wine. She shouldn't be encouraging this conversation. In fact, she ought to be closing herself off from any possible connection with him, but there was something about him—­something she wasn't quite able to resist. “I've never been known for my good judgment,” she admitted. Not the sort of thing you told a man you might be interested in. But she wasn't interested in him of course. She couldn't be. She was going to marry Mr. Denison.

Lord Spencer's expression brightened, though he still refused to allow an actual smile. “I'm beginning to suspect that today was not the first time you found yourself crawling around on the floor.”

“A useful exercise when you're looking for something you've dropped.”