“I can’t say that I have, unfortunately. I had a very brief trip to France two years ago, before my father died. But that’s the extent of my travels.”
“Well, perhaps sometime in the future you shall get to travel.”
“Perhaps,” he said, shrugging. “I doubt very much that I can catch up with a captain’s daughter!”
She grinned mischievously. “You are more than likely right.”
As their waltz came to an end, which seemed far too brief to suit him, Christopher looked around for Constance Fuller. He had no choice. He had to get on with it. And the sooner the better. He had pressing business to attend to, however much he enjoyed the distraction of dancing with Sara Fleming.
“Lord Bridgeton?”
“Yes?” He stared into her blue eyes, surprised to discover that he had missed something she said.
“You seemed to have drifted away from me for a moment.” She seemed almost bemused by that fact.
“I apologize. I have other things on my mind this evening.”
“Yes, I can see that.” A look of concern crossed her features. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Touched by her offer, he only wished that she could. “Thank you, but I’m afraid not, Miss Fleming.”
She favored him with an inviting smile. “Well, I was asking if you were free for a moment or two? Would you mind escorting me to the drawing room? I promised my aunt Yvette and uncle Jeffrey I would join them there after this dance and I’m not quite sure where it is.”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”
With Sara Fleming on his arm, Christopher made his way through the crowded ballroom. There was such a crush of people it took all of his effort to protect her from being jostled about. He then recalled that there was an outside entrance to the grand Wickham drawing room. He’d spent many a night playing cards here with his friend Edward Wickham and Phillip Sinclair. It would be quicker and safer to walk Sara out through the patio and around to the drawing room, than fighting their way through the crowded ballroom and interior hallways and rooms.
“Come this way,” he directed her, altering their course. She followed him willingly, her small hand tucked safely into the crook of his arm. When they finally escaped through the French doors to the outside patio, they both took a moment and breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’ve never seen this place so crowded,” he said.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I couldn’t even see where we were going. But I don’t believe this is the drawing room, Lord Bridgeton,” she added with a humorous grin, looking around at the marble terrace.
“I know a shortcut,” he explained.
She acted a bit disappointed. “Oh, and here I thought you were leading me to a shadow-filled corner down one of the garden paths.”
Christopher had to shake himself from the illicit images her words invoked in his mind, for he would like nothing better than to whisk little Miss Captain’s Daughter down one of those shadowy garden paths and kiss her luscious mouth slowly and seductively for hours.
“I hate to disappoint you, but no,” he managed to say.
She arched a brow and giggled. “Well, we should continue on then, should we not?”
Once again he offered his arm to her and she accepted. Then he guided her down the steps and along the stone pathway that led toward the drawing room. The Wickhams had installed gaslights in their garden and the golden illumination lit their way. It was a short walk before they found themselves at the French doors to the drawing room, which stood wide open. They could hear the murmur of voices inside and the rise and fall of conversation punctuated with laughter.
“Here we are,” he said, rather disappointed that their little journey was over already. But he did need to return to the ballroom and his pursuit of Lady Constance Fuller.
“That was indeed a shortcut, Lord Bridgeton. Thank you.”
Christopher looked down and felt himself drown a little in her eyes. She was so utterly lovely. Her hand still rested on his arm and it took all his willpower to resist the urge to pull her to him. Instead he stood perfectly still, just looking at her.
She said not a word either, but gazed up at him, with an expression of wonderment on her face.
“Are you still in love with him?” The words escaped his mouth before he could consider what he was asking.
“Yes.” She held his gaze and did not turn away. “I am.”
“Is he coming for you?”
“I certainly hope so.”
“So you have not heard from him yet?”
It was then she seemed to awaken from her little reverie. She glanced away. “Not yet, no. But I am sure I will hear something from him soon enough.”
“I hope he is worthy of you.”
She looked at him intently. “Why would you say something like that?”
Surprised by the sharpness of her tone, he responded, “Because you deserve to be with a man who realizes what a treasure you are.”
“Oh, Lord Bridgeton, that was very sweet of you.”
He suddenly felt the fool. “Yes, well then. I believe it’s time you went inside, Miss Fleming.”
She nodded and thanked him while he guided her up the steps to the entrance of the drawing room. He could see her aunt and uncle inside, the ones he met last night. Lord Sinclair and Lady Mara were with them as well and they were all talking and laughing.
He turned to go, a heavy feeling in his chest, and made his way back to the crowded ballroom. There was definitely something about that girl that drew him in and it took everything he had to fight it. He could never have her, so there was no point in dwelling on it. He had to look toward securing his future and saving his home and family. He walked over to the tall, pretty redhead who grinned invitingly at his approach.
“Good evening, Lady Constance,” he said, forcing himself to smile.
10
Any Port in a Storm
Curled up on the cushioned window seat in the Devon House library with Boots snuggled in her lap, Sara watched the rain pouring down, splashing against the windowpane. The dark clouds and stormy weather matched her gloomy mood. It had been so long and she was tired of waiting. Surely she should have received a letter from Alexander Drake by now!
She glanced over at the small writing table where she had begun yet another letter to him. It lay there, unfinished, with cross-outs and scribbles. Admittedly, she wasn’t the best of writers, but Sara had no idea if Alexander had even received her first letter, let alone the four that followed. And still there was no response.
Heartsick, she continued to stare at the rain, listening to the sound of it pelting the glass.
Am I wrong about Alexander? Are my parents right about him after all?
Perhaps it was too much of a bother for Alexander to come to London. Maybe he really didn’t love her enough to come get her.
A flash of lightning, followed by a rumble of thunder that shook the glass, caused her to jump and startle the sleeping puppy. She soothed him and sighed with despair, leaning her forehead against the cool window pane.
The glorious October day she met Alexander Drake seemed so far away now.
She had been riding in Central Park, admiring the golden leaves, bright blue sky, and the crisp autumn air. The brand-new riding habit that she’d worn for the first time that day fit her perfectly and showed off her figure. The smart black velvet jacket was her favorite, thinking it gave her a sophisticated air. She and her groom had just left the meadow and were circling back along the path, when Sara’s horse suddenly startled. She never did discover what made him rear up, catching her by surprise and tossing her to the ground, but in the next moment she was lying in the tall grass, and staring up at the most handsome face she’d ever seen.
“Miss, are you all right?” he had asked with concern in his voice, his blond hair glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
Whether she was mesmerized by his startling green eyes or struck dumb from her fall, she wasn�
�t sure which, but she was unable to speak. She could barely catch her breath. Her head swam dizzily and she could only smile at him.
“My name is Alexander Drake. Please allow me to assist you.”
With the help of her groom, Alexander carefully carried her to his carriage and took her home. It turned out Sara had sprained her ankle and gotten a nasty bump on her head, but her parents had been so grateful for his help and care of their daughter that they welcomed him in immediately. And she had been utterly smitten with him from the start.
While she recovered from her fall, she had fallen in love, for Alexander Drake came to call on her each day. He brought her pretty bouquets of flowers, delicious little treats, and books of poetry to cheer her up. And suddenly he was a part of her life. She couldn’t eat or sleep for thinking of him. Once she got well, they began to go riding together.
In spite of all the young men who vied for her attention in New York, Alexander Drake had been the only one that she wanted because he was somehow different from the other men she knew. With his golden looks, he was charming and funny and impossibly handsome. He made her feel as if she were the only girl in the world. When he smiled at her, she simply melted. And he was the most romantic man too! He treated her like a princess, wrote her adoring poetry, and whispered the most beautiful things to her. He was the perfect man, her dream come true as if from a fairy tale.
As their tender courtship progressed through the winter, Sara began to notice her parents’ quiet disapproval of Alexander, but she simply attributed it to their being overprotective of her. Her mother began to softly suggest that she receive other gentleman callers. “Don’t you think you are limiting yourself, dear? There are lots of other eligible men out there.” Her father would make remarks, such as, “Is that Drake coming by again this evening?” Sara smiled and airily dismissed their comments, not paying them any mind.
She was too in love with Alexander by then to care what they said.
But by early spring, Alexander declared his love for her one night in the front living room of her house and she almost died from the sweetness of it. It was a chilly evening and they were seated near the fire. She had been wearing her prettiest rose-colored watered-silk gown with the most gorgeous red cashmere scarf. Her father was not home that night and her mother had left the room for a moment to check on something. That was when it happened.
Sara could hardly breathe as Alexander whispered the words in her ear she had longed to hear from the moment they met.
“My dearest Sara, I fear I have fallen in love with you.” He took her hand in his and looked deep into her eyes. “Please tell me I have your heart. Might I dare to hope that you could love me as well?”
“Excuse me, Miss Sara?”
Startled by the voice that pulled her from her reverie, Sara turned from the rain-drenched window and looked toward the Devon House butler, who stood at the doorway of the library, waiting patiently.
“Yes, Parkins?” she asked.
“Forgive me for interrupting, but Lord Bridgeton just arrived, looking for Lord Waverly. I’m not quite sure what to do with him,” he explained. “He’s quite soaked from the storm. Shall I show him in the drawing room to wait there? Or I should perhaps bring him in here? I can serve a light supper in here now for both of you, or in the dining room if you prefer.”
“Why yes, of course, Parkins, you can show Lord Bridgeton in here. I’ll speak with him. And it would probably be best to bring supper in here too, as you and I had planned. That would be thoughtful and most appreciated,” Sara said. “And can you please send Thomas in to stoke the fire and bring some towels for Lord Bridgeton?”
“Of course, miss, right away,” Parkins said before he left the library.
“Well, Boots,” she whispered to the sleeping puppy in her arms, “we have company.” Sara gently rose from the window seat and placed Boots on a cozy chair with a warm blanket for him to snuggle with. Deep in the throes of his nap, he barely moved. Then she scurried to put away the letter she had attempted to write to Alexander Drake, stuffing the papers back into her elegant rosewood writing box that Aunt Lisette had given her as a birthday gift one year.
Wishing she was wearing something prettier than the rather plain pink day dress she had thrown on earlier, she just managed to take a peek at herself in the looking glass on the wall and straighten her hair, when the library door opened and Lord Bridgeton entered.
“Forgive me for intruding, Miss Fleming,” he said, looking a bit sheepish. His hair was indeed wet, and he had run his fingers through the thick black tresses, slicking it back from his handsome face. Drops of rain dripped down his cheeks. And once again she was struck by his height. He was quite an imposing figure.
“Oh, you’re not intruding at all.” Even though he really was, she found that she didn’t mind at all. She was oddly grateful for the distraction from her forlorn thoughts of Alexander Drake.
The footman entered and handed Lord Bridgeton a towel and then began to stoke the fire to warm the library. He also lit the lamps and a few candles since the heavy rain clouds darkened the room much earlier than usual.
“Thank you, Thomas,” Sara said before the footman left the library.
She watched Lord Bridgeton dry his face and hair as best he could while he moved to stand near the fire to allow his drenched trousers to dry.
“I was supposed to meet Waverly here an hour ago, but I got caught in the storm, as you can see,” he explained, as he continued to remedy his rain-soaked attire. “But Parkins has informed me that Waverly isn’t here yet. So I imagine he’s stranded by the storm as I was. Hopefully somewhere dry.” He laughed and turned to face her. “Thank you for allowing me to take shelter here. It’s quite a deluge outside and I’m afraid I didn’t take my carriage today, a decision I now regret. The streets are flooded and the wind has knocked down so many things, even the carriages are not getting through. I also did not have the foresight to bring an umbrella with me.”
“Oh, but Phillip isn’t in town today!” Sara told him. “He left early this morning with his father, my father, and Simon to look over their estate. They won’t be back until tomorrow or the day after. Perhaps you had the date mixed up?”
Lord Bridgeton looked thoroughly puzzled. “That’s odd. I was positive I was supposed to meet him this afternoon.”
“Knowing my cousin Phillip, I’m sure the fault lies with him,” she said. “But I’m afraid I’m the only one at home at the moment to entertain you. My mother and Aunt Colette are visiting with my aunt Lisette. So it’s just me.”
The smile Lord Bridgeton bestowed upon her actually gave her a little thrill. “I don’t object to that at all,” he said with an amused glance.
Parkins entered the library with a tray of piping hot tea and warm bread, assorted cheeses and fruits, cold chicken, and some teacakes with icing. He placed the tray on the table in front of the sofa. “Will there be anything else, miss?”
“No, thank you, Parkins, this is wonderful,” Sara said, dismissing him. She had planned on a light supper anyway since she was the only one at home. Now she at least had some company besides Boots. And very handsome company at that!
The butler left the two of them alone in the library.
“How do you take your tea?” she asked Lord Bridgeton, as she arranged the china cups and saucers.
“Just a little sugar, please.” He remained in front of the fire, warming himself by rubbing his hands together.
As she fixed Lord Bridgeton a plate of food and a cup of tea, she felt the domestic intimacy of the situation and found it oddly comforting on this late stormy afternoon. She looked back up to offer the tea to him and froze. The teacup rattled on the saucer and the tea spilled over the edge of the cup.
Transfixed, she stared as he stood before the fire, removing his fitted jacket and placing it over the back of a nearby chair to dry. He slowly untied his cravat and laid it on the end table, then loosened the opening of his white linen shirt and rolled up his
sleeves. Through the thin, slightly damp fabric she could see the outline of his broad chest and the bulging muscles on his arms and was completely stunned.
He was a beautiful example of the male form: tall, classically handsome, muscular, and exuding a quiet strength. Involuntarily her pulse quickened at the sight. He was so utterly male and she was all alone with him in this room.
“Your tea . . .” she managed to squeak when she was able to find her voice.
“Oh, thank you!” he exclaimed, walking toward her. Carefully he took the cup from her hands. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it will do in a pinch.”
Sara gave him a knowing look. “You’d prefer something stronger, Lord Bridgeton? Whiskey, perhaps?”
“Have you any?” he asked in grateful disbelief. “It’s been a hell of a day.” He immediately apologized. “Please forgive my language, Miss Fleming.”
She placed both hands on her hips. “Have you forgotten I’m a sea captain’s daughter, Lord Bridgeton? I’ve spent a good deal of my life aboard ship surrounded by dozens of sailors who did not always watch their language when I was around, no matter how hard they tried to behave. Believe me, I’ve heard much worse language than that.”
“I do recall you telling tales of your seafaring childhood, but I don’t remember hearing anything about swear words.” He grinned mischievously at her.
Sara walked over to a large, well-stocked liquor cabinet and rummaged through Uncle Lucien’s elegant bottles. She knew her liquors too. Spending her life on a ship dominated by men had taught her a variety of useful things, including how to serve drinks. She held up two crystal decanters. “Would you prefer brandy?” she asked. “Or whiskey?”
He arched a challenging brow in her direction. “Whichever one you’ll drink with me, Miss Captain’s Daughter.”
“Brandy it is then,” she answered evenly.
Sara had never had a drop of either liquor in her life but for some reason she leaned toward the brandy. She wasn’t about to back down from a dare, and Lord Bridgeton had definitely just laid down a challenge. Surprised by his wicked sense of fun, she gamely joined in. Deftly she poured two glasses full of the golden brown liquid. It smelled dreadfully, but she was determined not to show fear, having only had tastes of wine and champagne before. She walked toward him, holding out the crystal glass.
The Heiress He's Been Waiting For Page 10
