Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires (9 page)

This gave him pause.

“May I ask you a personal question?” he asked.

“Of course, though I cannot promise I'll give you an answer.”

He liked how direct she was, even if it did occasionally lead to a blunt comment. “Fiona says that you do not wish to marry Mr. Denison. Is that true?”

Her expression turned from openness to wariness in an instant. “I don't believe I've told your sister anything of the sort.”

“She can be very observant.”

Lady Sarah nodded stiffly. “Mr. Denison is not my first choice, he is a practical choice—­a suitor picked for me by my father in order to facilitate an alliance.”

“What sort of alliance?”

“To be blunt, my father has a particular fondness for horses, and Mr. Denison, it appears, is in possession of some fine ones. Crossbreeding will prove financially beneficial to them both, and since I'm not getting any younger, I have decided to help Papa achieve his goal and accept Mr. Denison's offer when he asks.”

“You say he's not your first choice though. Might I ask who that fortunate individual would be?” Christopher asked. For reasons he couldn't explain—­simple curiosity, no doubt—­he needed to know who had captured her heart and why the man had not married her.

“It's inconsequential.”

The words were spoken so bitterly that they brought Christopher to an immediate halt. “I don't believe that,” he said.

“Then believe this,” she told him, her blue eyes shimmering like pools of water, “the man I loved was not the man I thought him to be. Who I marry no longer makes a difference.”

Thoroughly surprised, it took Christopher a moment to gather his wits. He hadn't imagined meeting someone who'd suffered a similar situation as he had, let alone a young lady. Intrigued and feeling strangely linked to her now, he longed to question her about her experience—­to ask her how she'd survived the ordeal—­but it was obvious that the confession had been a difficult one for her to make, so he chose not to press her.

“Then we have both survived the pain of a broken heart,” he told her instead, feeling the need to share a little of his own past with her, and to make her aware of the similarity between them. She would understand, better than his family did, for they found it impossible to comprehend why he'd continued to pine for a woman who'd never existed.

He hadn't been able to help it though, in spite of his anger. To his way of thinking, it was almost as if Miss Hepplestone had murdered his one true love and he had helplessly mourned her for well over a year. When he'd finally decided the time had come for him to move on, his parents and sisters had taken it upon themselves to throw as many eligible young ladies his way as possible. If that wasn't enough reason to regret venturing back out into Society, he wasn't sure what was. Of course, the more eager they'd been to help him make a proper match, the more determined he had become to thwart their attempts. He was stubborn that way.

The same ought to be true of Lady Sarah, especially since his mother had given him an ultimatum that offered no reprieve from wife hunting during his stay at Thorncliff. He ought to leave. Against his better judgment, Lady Sarah stopped him from doing so. At first, he'd recognized in her the same reluctance to trust others that he had felt in the wake of Miss Hepplestone's departure from England. Now, after what Lady Sarah had just told him, he wanted to know more about her.

They continued to make their way through the maze, twisting and turning in an effort to find the exit. There was something addictive about the woman at his side, he realized, perhaps because she was so apprehensive at times that the moments she smiled were to be cherished.

“Will you tell me who broke yours?” Lady Sarah asked when they arrived at the end of the maze.

They'd shared a companionable silence for several minutes, so the question was one he hadn't expected. “Only if you will reciprocate.” Christopher found himself holding his breath as he waited to see how she would reply.

Glancing about, she raised her hand and waved, and Christopher saw that his sisters were seated in the shade of a tree, waiting for them. Lady Sarah started in their direction with measured steps, her gaze slightly lowered. “I fear I'm not ready for that yet,” she said. “It's possible I never will be.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, I'd be happy to listen.”

She snorted a little before blurting, “Of all the ­people in the world, you're probably the last person I'd wish to share my troubles with.” The weight of her words must have hit her just as hard as they did Christopher, for she immediately clasped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. “Forgive me,” she gasped. “I meant no offense by that. It is just . . .”

His heart thudded in his chest. Instinct told him to leave her unspoken words alone, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. “Just what?” he asked.

“The thought of you knowing me that well frightens me.” She looked away from him, her voice muffled as she continued to speak. “If you must know, it's because I should hate for you to think less of me.”

“I daresay that would be quite impossible, Lady Sarah, though I am curious to know why our paths have never crossed before.”

For a brief second, she looked perplexed—­as if she wasn't comfortable with the question. Eventually she said, “Following Grandmamma's death a little over a year ago, I chose to remove myself from Society while I mourned her. I was still young, so it didn't seem the sort of thing that would make a difference, but it does mean I'm not as accustomed to mingling with the aristocracy as I ought to be, having had only one Season.”

“Well, I think you're doing splendidly, though it does explain why we haven't met before. I was abroad traveling the Continent two years ago, which is when I suspect you must have made your debut.”

“Indeed,” she murmured, eyeing him warily as they approached his sisters. Stopping a short distance away, she said, “I know we've only just met, but I was wondering if I might impose on you for a favor?”

“What sort of favor?” Her tone ­coupled with her evasive gaze made him wary.

“You won't like it, I'm afraid, but Mr. Denison is looking to get his daughters settled and has asked me to assist.” Cold dread seeped through Christopher's veins, starting at the top of his head. “After seeing me in conversation with you last night, he's decided that having you for a son-­in-­law would suit him splendidly.”

“I'm sure it would,” Christopher said, “though I do believe I'd likely jump into the Channel and swim for France before allowing such a thing to happen.”

“I understand, and have made him aware of your disinterest in marriage, but he insists.”

“I hope you're not implying that this favor involves me getting leg-­shackled.” That would certainly be an outrageous request to make of any man.

“Of course not.” She looked as though she might cross her arms. Instead she placed one hand on her hip. “I would never presume to suggest such a thing, but if you could make an effort to talk to them a little or perhaps take them for a walk—­”

“A walk is out of the question. There's no time limit to it and few possibilities for me to extricate myself in case I wish to flee their company.” What was he saying? He should tell her she was being entirely too forward. Which she was.

“A brief inquiry about their day then?”

“I won't enjoy it.” He'd seen Miss Victoria Denison and Miss Diana Denison at breakfast that morning, his interest piqued by their association to the man whom Lady Sarah intended to wed. Neither, as it turned out, was very attractive or refined.

“It would help me a great deal,” Lady Sarah told him quietly.

“Allow me to think on it,” he said. Of course he would do it. Especially since he sensed her concern with the issue. Clearly it mattered to her a great deal, though he'd yet to figure out why. But even if he was willing to assist her, there was no need for him to look like a green lad being led about by a woman he'd only just met. Contemplatively, he continued toward his sisters while Lady Sarah thanked him, her voice filled with gratitude.

“Shall we walk back to the house?” Laura asked, rising to greet them. “We can have tea and strawberry tarts on the terrace.”

“If only we could have
choux à la crème
instead,” Christopher said, recalling the treat he'd discovered at a small intimate café in Paris.

“You might as well give up on that,” Emily told him as she collected the bonnet she'd removed from her head.

“
Choux à la crème
?” Lady Sarah inquired with a quizzical expression when they were once again alone, trailing after the rest of the group at a pace that even a snail would lose patience with.

“It's a delicious cream-­filled pastry,” Christopher explained. “When I returned from my travels, I tried to explain what it looked like to Mama's and Papa's cook, but her attempt at making it was such a failure I chose to avoid repeating the effort.”

“A pity, if it's your favorite.”

Christopher shrugged. “I'm sure I'll return to France one day, if for no other reason than to acquire the recipe.”

“Have you been to many countries?” Lady Sarah asked.

A gentle breeze tugged at her hemline, offering Christopher a subtle glimpse of her ankles as he followed the movement. They appeared to be slim and delicate. Diverting his gaze, he tried not to ponder what the rest of her body might look like if it were uncovered. “A fair number, I suppose, though not nearly as many as I'd like. Italy was among the most remarkable—­its beauty and history are unforgettable.”

Lady Sarah nodded. “I'd love to see the world beyond England one day, but it's harder for a woman to travel abroad than it is for a man. In all likelihood, I'll remain here forever.”

Looking down at her upturned face, Christopher couldn't help but notice the sadness that filled her eyes. Schooling his features to hide his concern, Christopher decided not to question her further about her decision to marry Mr. Denison. Considering how briefly he'd known her, he'd already invaded her privacy enough. Instead, he would have to step back and allow her the freedom to confide in him when she was ready to do so.

“I
saw you in Lord Spencer's company this morning,” Sarah's stepmother told her later when they were having tea together in the Indian salon. Sarah doubted her stepmother was enjoying it any more than she was, but they'd both agreed that they must remain cordial with each other if they were to prevent gossip.

“His sisters were there as well,” Sarah said.

Setting her cup aside, Lady Andover gave her daughter a pointed look. “Are you suggesting that the ladies present held greater appeal than his lordship?”

“No. He is a striking man, Mama, and I confess that I do enjoy his company immensely. What I meant to imply was that you needn't concern yourself about my reputation. He and I were not alone.”

“Not even in the maze?”

Sarah felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Of course Lady Andover would ask the one question Sarah wished to avoid answering. Steeling herself, she told the truth. “We were separated from the others for a short while. Nothing happened.”

“And you expect me to believe that, given your history?”

Anger flared to life within her. “I do, Mama, especially since you know I have never lied to you, though in hindsight, I sometimes wish I had.”

Lady Andover sat back against her chair and gave Sarah a hard stare. “You have quite the backbone when others are not within earshot.” When Sarah said nothing, her stepmother continued in a steely tone. “Did I not warn you to stay away from the Heartlys? Your future is not with them. It is with Mr. Denison, to whom you should be eternally grateful. You should be spending your days with him instead, unless of course you wish for him to change his mind about you.”

It was exactly what Sarah wanted. Unfortunately she was well aware that ­people didn't always get what they wanted and that she wouldn't either.

“I'm sure Papa's business arrangement with Mr. Denison, along with my dowry, are incentive enough for Mr. Denison to make me an offer once our courtship draws to an end.”

“How vulgar of you to say such a thing.”

“I don't see why, when it is obviously true.”

Lady Andover scoffed. “I'm sure Mr. Denison also appreciates your feminine beauty and realizes that you . . . oh don't look so horrified, Sarah. A woman's ability to encourage an amorous response in her husband is a strength. Wield it correctly, and you'll soon have Mr. Denison dancing to your tune.”

Sarah shuddered. She wasn't sure she could handle any more “amorous responses” from Mr. Denison without being violently ill, never mind a lifetime supply of it.

Her stepmother's eyes pierced Sarah like needles while her mouth curved in a smirk. “Besides, unlike most young ladies, it's nothing you haven't tried before. I'm sure Mr. Denison will be ever so pleased by your experience on your wedding night. Really, Sarah, there's nothing for you to worry about at all.” Heart bouncing about her chest, Sarah definitely disagreed. “But in order for any of this to transpire and for your sisters, whom I know you love and adore, to have the bright futures they deserve, you must make every effort to encourage Mr. Denison and to stay away from the Heartlys. Especially from Lord Spencer. We simply cannot risk the possibility of him making an offer.”

Sarah fought not to roll her eyes. “He scarcely knows me, so I find that prospect highly unlikely, especially since he does not wish to marry. He has also been made aware that Mr. Denison is presently courting me and that I intend to accept his eventual proposal, but”—­she held up her hand to stay her stepmother's words of protest—­“if Lord Spencer decides to ignore all of that and make me an offer, which he won't, I shall simply decline.”