The Seduction of Sara (28 page)

N
ick tossed the reins of his horse to the waiting groom and walked up the front stoop of Hibberton Hall. He was riding at least an hour a day now and was already beginning to feel the benefits. His head was clearer, the pressure behind his eyes less. All he needed was to heal his heart and he would, for the first time in his life, be whole.

But his courtship wasn't progressing at all. The traditional methods had gotten him nowhere. Perhaps it was time for a more untraditional wooing…but what?

Wiggs was waiting for him in the foyer. “My lord, the Earl of Greyley has arrived. I escorted him to the library.”

Nick didn't wait to hand his gloves and hat to the
butler, but spun on his heel and went straight to the library.

Anthony was standing at the window, arms crossed, one shoulder against the frame. “There you are,” he said without rancor. “I delivered your note.”

Nick was instantly on his guard. “I was surprised you offered to do it.”

Anthony shrugged. “You looked so forlorn, standing in the street.”

“I am not beaten yet, Greyley.”

“No, I don't think you are. You have lasted longer than I would have. She's not been very accommodating.”

“But then that has always been part of Sara's unique charm,” Nick replied with a tight smile. To what do I owe this honor?”

“She's leaving.”

“When?” Nick bit out.

“Tomorrow.”

“Dear God.” Nick raked a hand through his hair.

“I tried to talk her out of it, but she's determined.”

Nick looked at Anthony with sudden suspicion. “Why are you helping me?”

“I don't know what's going on between you and Sara, but I know the child needs a father.” He shot a hard glance at Nick. “Are you willing to assume that responsibility?”

“I will, whether Sara wants it or not.”

“That's all I need to know.” Anthony pushed himself from the window and strolled to the door.

“Will she be home this evening?”

“I'll make sure of it.” Anthony met Nick's gaze. “Don't muck this up, Bridgeton.”

“Thank you, Greyley. I owe you.” And it was a debt he would gladly repay the day Sara was his once again.

 

Well after midnight, Nick lifted the ladder from the back of the old wagon and hefted it to his shoulders, staggering a little under the weight. “Damn it,” he muttered. “I need a carpenter's assistant.”

He managed to get the ladder around the side of Lady Langtry's town house and laid it beside the rosebush. Then he tipped his head back and stared up at the window far over his head. In the entire house, it was the only one where a light burned. Sighing, he grabbed the ladder and hefted it upright. It began to tilt precariously to one side, and he hastily righted it, stepping backward into a thick puddle of mud. “Bloody hell,” he swore, resting the ladder on the side of the house, right by Sara's window. The next time he attempted this, he was going to bring one of the stable hands with him. He glanced at his muddy boots and grimaced, then tried to scrape the mud on the gravel path.

“
Mon Dieu!
What are you doing here?”

Nick whirled around. Henri stood facing him, his silver hair bright in the moonlight.

“That, Henri, is none of your business.”

“Ah, but it is my business.” The comte came to stand beside the ladder, looping an arm through a rung. “Did you know Delphi and Sara were leaving?”

“I'd heard,” Nick said shortly. He placed his foot on the bottom rung of the ladder and looked pointedly at the comte's arm. “Do you mind?”

Henri obediently stepped back. “Pray continue. You can thank me later.”

“For what?”

Henri tucked his thumbs in his waistcoat and rocked back on his heels, the very picture of a self-satisfied male. “It has taken, oh, such an effort, but I have convinced my little Delphi not to go away. And if Delphi does not go, then Sara does not go.”

“That was very good of you.”

“Ah, it was nothing.” Henri glanced up the ladder to Sara's window. “Perhaps I will wait for you in the carriage.”

Nick nodded and began to climb. He'd nearly reached the top of the ladder when Henri's voice drifted up to him.

“One more thing,
mon ami
. The terrace doors are never locked. You might want to try that way next time.”

Nick turned to glare down at him, but Henri was already wandering down the path, humming the refrain of a waltz.

Damn Henri. Nick climbed the last two rungs and reached Sara's window.

Inside her room, Sara was unsuccessfully trying to read about the proper planting for St. John's wort, but her mind kept drifting to the herb garden she'd planned at Hibberton Hall. It would have been lovely. Furthermore, it would have kept her
stillroom stocked for Nick's tisanes. She wondered if his headaches had worsened, and if he was eating well. The idea that he might be suffering at this very moment, all alone at Hibberton Hall, made her throat tighten painfully.

“He deserves to suffer,” she said aloud, blinking away the moisture that had gathered in her eyes. Still…it didn't seem fair that
she
should suffer as well. Every moment without Nick was an agony.

She loved him so much. Too much to let him ruin their marriage with his fears. Still, he hadn't had the opportunities she'd had to witness a truly loving relationship. Considering his dread that he might end up like his mother, she shouldn't have been surprised that he'd attempted to push her away in such a horrible manner.

Yet the question remained: Could he learn to treat her as a respected partner in this marriage? After her experience with Julius, Sara could accept no less. A wave of restlessness swept through her, and it was with a very heavy heart that she readied for bed, looking forlornly at the trunks that lay open in the center of the room, packed and almost ready for her journey on the morrow.

Just as she slid under the covers, a scratching sound came from her window. Sara slid to the edge of her bed, her gaze on the curtain.

There was a creak as the casement was opened. The curtains trembled, then were tossed aside as a man's figure was silhouetted against the night sky.

He was here!
Sara scrambled to find her robe,
stubbing her toe on her trunk in the process. Cursing wildly, she hopped to where her robe lay across a chair and yanked it on.

Nick closed the window and entered, looking far more dashing and handsome than any late-night visitor should.

“Wh-what do you want?” Sara asked, tying the sash about her waist in a double knot.

A smile flickered in his eyes. “I want you.”

Her heart beat faster, but she sternly quelled it. “You had me once, and you sent me away.”

“I was wrong.”

They stood staring at one another, neither moving. Sara wanted nothing more than to walk into the circle of his arms, but for the sake of their child, she couldn't. Not yet.

There was so much more she needed to hear him say, but he just stood looking at her, his face dark with some emotion. Finally, just as she decided to break the silence, he said, “I'm leaving Hibberton Hall.”

That startled her. “But…you love that place.”

“No—I love you. Without you, Hibberton Hall is an empty shell.”

“Where will you go?”

“That depends on you.”

She frowned, shoring up her defenses. “What do you mean?”

“Sara, I'm not good at saying what I feel. I never have been.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a sheaf of papers, and held them out.

She took them hesitantly. “What is this?”

“The deed for Hibberton Hall. I've decided to sell it.”

“How could you?” she asked, her heart squeezing painfully. He was leaving Hibberton—leaving her. His fingers tightened over the papers. “I can't believe you'd just let it go.”

His gaze narrowed. “Why do you care?”

“I'm very fond of the Hall. I thought you were, too.”

“I am,” he said simply. “But I want you and our child to have a roof over your heads, a place of your own. Hibberton Hall is yours.”

She looked at the packet. “You said you were
selling
it.”

“I'm a rake, Sara. There is always a price.”

A fluttering hope warmed her heart. “What's your price?”

“One kiss.” His voice hung in the air between them, husky and seductive.

Could he mean…?
Sara shook her head. “I'll not be made a fool of,” she warned.

“I'm perfectly serious. All I ask is one kiss, and the house is yours—every board and brick. I had Pratt draw up the papers this evening. It's why I came so late—I've been waiting for him to finish with the blasted document for three hours.”

He looked so annoyed that a giggle almost slipped out. Sara quickly turned away, aware of a lightening in her heart. Would she deny him even this? Could she? The thought of a kiss was too tempting. Her loneliness swelled to an ache, and she turned back. “Only one.”

Just one, tiny kiss. What harm can it do?

She closed her eyes and waited to be swept into a passionate embrace. Instead, Nick slowly placed his lips to hers, the gesture hesitant, almost reverent.

And she realized it wasn't just a kiss, but also a promise. A promise of change, so tender, so overwhelming, that she leaned into the embrace, tears springing behind her lids, her own heart leaping in answer.

Nick murmured, “I love you, Sara. I always will. And I will never again close you out of my heart.” He gazed into her eyes, then turned back to the window.

She watched him push back the curtain and swing one leg over the casement. Then he turned to look at her, his heart in his eyes. “Good-bye, Sara.”

She managed to swallow. “I'm leaving in the morning. I hope…I hope you'll at least write to me. I'm not sure where we'll be staying, but—”

“Wherever you go, I will find you. I promise.” He turned and stepped onto the ladder.

There was a note of finality to the sound. Suddenly, Sara was moving toward him. “Nick?”

He looked back.

Sara crossed the room to stand in front of him. “I want another kiss.”

His breath passed sharply through his lips. “Of course.”

Just as he leaned toward her, she placed her hands on his chest. “But first, there are a few things we must settle.”

His gaze burned into hers. “Name them.”

A feeling of power tingled through Sara. “I am not a child. In the future, whenever you have a problem, you must promise to bring it to me. I daresay I could handle your illness much better than you have.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “More than likely.”

“Second, you will promise to love me and only me, for the rest of your life.”

“I do.”

“And if you ever again dare presume to decide what I want and don't want, I will leave you and I will not come back, whether I love you or not. Do you understand?”

He sat very still, his eyes a brilliant blue. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you! Why else would I care if you were with Lucilla—whom I will never forgive for her part in your little deception. I may have to be severe in my dealings with her.”

He swung his leg back over the casement. “I almost pity her.”

“Don't waste your time.” A thought suddenly dawned. “Oh! And one more thing…the ruby ring? Do you still have it?”

A slow smile crossed his face and he nodded. “I have the whole set, my love.”

Smiling, she twined her arms about his neck and drew him to her. “I believe it's time I gave up the Lawrence sapphires for the Bridgeton rubies.”

He placed his hands on her waist. “Whatever you want, Sara. Just stay with me and love me. I wish I
could promise you that our life will be easy, but I can't.”

“No one can promise that. And so long as you don't mind if I continue to try and find a cure for your headaches, I think we will be fine.” Sara met his gaze steadily. “May I come home?”

His eyes darkened, and he pulled her against him. “Every night before I go to bed, I stop by your stillroom and imagine you there.” His voice grew husky. “Do you remember the last time, Sara?”

She could feel him, hard and ready, straining against his breeches. God, how she had missed his touch, the ardor they shared. She ached for him even within the clasp of his arms. “I have to warn you, Nick. Some of the remedies may not taste as good as my last one.” She traced a finger down his chest, lingering at his nipple. To her satisfaction, he caught his breath as it puckered. “And some may require direct application to your naked skin.”

He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Perhaps we should invest in more beehives, my love.”

“Oh, yes,” she said breathlessly as her handsome husband placed delicate kisses on each of her fingers. “I have the feeling we're going to need lots and lots of honey.”