Christopher certainly would not reveal to Phillip that he’d kissed his cousin. That was between Sara and him. He definitely didn’t regret it and he hoped that she didn’t either. Hell, he would treasure that moment between them for the rest of his life.
Then Sara added, “Lord Bridgeton is correct. There’s nothing to concern yourself over, Phillip. I regret having had the brandy and I promise I shall never do so again. Trust me.” She slowly pressed her fingers to her temple. “Other than that, we just spent the time talking.”
Phillip remained suspect. “I want to believe you both, but something tells me otherwise.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” Christopher said. “I assure you that nothing improper happened between us.”
Sara suddenly seemed to regain her composure. “Honestly, Phillip, you’re making quite a fuss over nothing.” She stood up straight, carrying herself almost regally. “Now I am going to retire for the evening and take my leave of you two gentlemen. Please don’t get into fisticuffs on my account.” She stared into Christopher’s eyes. “Thank you for a lovely, if unusual, evening, Lord Bridgeton. It was most . . .” She paused and he could swear she winked at him. “It was most . . . enlightening.”
With that, Sara scooped Boots into her arms and calmly strode from the library.
Phillip turned to look at him, his face incredulous. “We definitely need a drink now.”
Sighing heavily, Christopher said, “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
12
Mal de Mer
Feeling a little under the weather, Sara awoke much later than usual the next day. The storm from the previous evening had cleared, leaving the sky a crystal-clear blue, but Sara kept the blinds drawn, in no mood for the bright sunshine. She remained in bed, with Boots cuddled next to her, unwilling to face her parents, or her cousin Phillip or any other members of her family in light of what had happened with Lord Bridgeton the night before. She didn’t believe they were aware of what had transpired in the library, but still . . .
Christopher.
Good heavens! Not only had she drunk a glass of brandy, she had kissed Christopher Townsend. Quite passionately. For a good length of time too. And enjoyed it immensely.
Touching her fingers to her lips now, they felt almost bruised, as if she could still sense his lips pressing against hers, the coarseness of the stubble on his face. She could still taste the delicious heat of his tongue in her mouth, could still smell the intoxicating male scent of his body pressed close to hers, could still feel the secure warmth of his muscled arms wrapped around her, could still hear the rapid pounding of his heart, could still see the ardent gleam in his brown eyes.
Being with him had been an all-consuming, unique experience and it amazed her how easily it happened. If she were completely honest with herself, she had to admit that she wanted it to last longer than it had. She had most definitely wanted more . . .
Feeling her cheeks burn scarlet, she wondered how she could ever face him again. She had acted like a reckless wanton. What on earth had she been thinking to kiss him like that? That was just it! She hadn’t been thinking at all.
But it had all been very exciting. Probably one of the most exciting evenings she had ever spent with anyone, including Alexander Drake. The kiss she shared with Christopher had been unlike anything she ever shared with Alexander. Alexander had kissed her softly, quickly, chastely. It had been thrilling, of course, but nothing like that tumultuous, all-encompassing, mind-melting, knee-shaking kiss with Christopher. It was quite perplexing that she should so enjoy a kiss with a man she did not love.
A knock on her door interrupted her illicit thoughts of Christopher Townsend. Her mother entered. With a look of concern on her face, Juliette Hamilton Fleming came to stand beside the bed.
“Leighton just told me you weren’t feeling well. Aunt Colette was expecting you at the bookshop today.” Juliette placed a gentle hand on Sara’s forehead. “You feel a little warm and your cheeks are flushed. Perhaps you should remain in bed.”
“I’m fine, Mother.” Embarrassment caused her cheeks to redden even more. “I just have a headache.”
“Are you certain?” Juliette hovered over her, biting her lip.
“Yes. I already told you I’m fine.” Sara didn’t mean to sound harsh, but it came out that way. After what Christopher had told her about his family, she felt terribly guilty for the way she had treated her parents lately. She had barely been civil to them since they arrived in London, and she’d been especially cold to her mother.
Having Christopher Townsend confide in her in such a manner touched something within her heart. No one had ever entrusted her with such deep, dark secrets before. These were real, honest-to-goodness soul-baring revelations. And Christopher had chosen to share them with her, of all people.
Christopher had been right about something else. Sara’s own childhood had been quite idyllic in comparison to his, or most anybody’s. His pointed remark made her feel spoiled and petty for being so angry with her mother and father for simply trying to protect her from Alexander Drake, however wrong they might be.
Her parents had only the best intentions for her, which could not be said for Christopher’s parents. The whole evening had been an eye-opening experience. About life. About her own life. About how privileged and fortunate she was to possess a wonderful and caring family who loved her.
She now felt like an ungrateful little brat.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Sara apologized, reaching out to grab her mother’s hand. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m simply grumpy because I didn’t sleep very well. Thank you for checking on me.”
Juliette seemed flustered by her apology but pleased too. She squeezed Sara’s hand tightly. “Oh, you’re welcome. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll let you rest now. Come down when you are ready, but I’ll make sure a tray is sent up to you in the meantime. Please eat a little something at least. It will help you feel better.”
“Thank you again,” Sara said, nodding and attempting a smile. “I will. Can you please let Aunt Colette know that I will be over to the shop just as soon as I can?”
“Of course.” Her mother placed a kiss on her forehead, gave her a little smile, and exited the bedroom.
Sara sighed heavily. She and her mother had always been close, but now things were decidedly awkward between them. Sara was still very angry with her mother and her father for what they had done, but knowing they had done it out of love for her made it harder to remain upset with them. It was all so confusing.
Last evening also left her bewildered regarding her feelings for Christopher Townsend after their torrid kiss. What did he think of her? Had he romantic feelings for her? When he said that he was angry that Alexander had kissed her . . . What did that mean? He acted as if he were jealous.
But that simply couldn’t be! Christopher couldn’t love her. She dismissed the possibility as ridiculous. And even if he did love her, it didn’t matter. Not when she loved Alexander.
Suddenly she cringed.
Alexander would be devastated if he discovered that she had been kissing another man! Just as she would be completely heartbroken to discover if he had kissed another woman. Well, she simply had to ensure that Alexander never found out about Christopher Townsend. That was all. Determined that she would not think of Lord Bridgeton or allow him to kiss her anymore, she vowed silently to herself to never be untrue to Alexander again.
Glancing at the little ormolu clock on the mantel, she saw that it was well past noon. She’d hidden in her room long enough. Reluctantly, Sara rose from the blue toile–covered four-poster bed and rang for Leighton, her lady’s maid. After a warm bath and dressing in a simple gown of pale yellow lawn, she made an effort to eat from the tray of food that had been sent to her room.
“Well, Boots,” she whispered to the sweet little puppy who stared at her so adoringly with soulful brown eyes, “I suppose we should just get it over with and go downstairs.”
He seemed to agree with her, so she kissed the top of his head, and headed for the door with Boots in her arms.
To her surprise, her cousin was standing outside her bedroom door, about to knock, when she opened it. Her heart sank to her toes. His tall body and purposeful demeanor blocked her way. There was no hope. She had to face him, the only other witness to her scandalous behavior from the night before.
“Phillip.”
“Good afternoon, Cousin Sara,” he said cheerfully, a slight gleam in his green eyes. “I was beginning to worry about you, but I’m happy to see you up and feeling well.”
“Thank you. I overslept and I just . . .” her voice trailed off. She wasn’t fooling him.
“Have a headache?” he asked, seemingly amused by the thought.
“A little one,” she admitted, feeling guilty. She squared her shoulders. “But I’m on my way downstairs just now, so if you’ll please excuse me . . .”
“Oh, but I have something that might just make you feel better.” The smug look on his handsome face irritated her. “But if you’d rather not have it, by all means go right ahead . . .” Phillip made a gallant gesture of letting her pass by, his arm outstretched.
It was then that Sara saw something in his hand. A letter.
Her heart skipped a beat. It could just mean one thing. She had not received one single letter since she had arrived in London. This one could only be from Alexander Drake in response to hers. None of her New York friends even knew she was in England for she hadn’t written to any of them. Her mouth went dry and she could barely breathe in anticipation.
“Is that a letter for me?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“It might be.” He grinned devilishly. “I just happened to be at the door when the post arrived today. And lo and behold, if there wasn’t a letter addressed to my sweet little cousin, who wasn’t to be seen at breakfast this morning. Who, I heard, was not feeling well. That very same cousin who was drinking brandy alone in the library last night with—”
“Phillip! Shush!” Glancing down the hallway, she hoped her voice did not sound as desperate as she felt and she prayed that no one had overheard the words of her roguish cousin who seemed bent on tormenting her this afternoon.
He paused. “I might be inclined to give it to you in exchange for some information.”
“Phillip,” she managed to utter once more. “What is it you want?”
He stalked toward her, forcing her to walk backward into her bedroom. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
“Have a seat, my dear cousin,” he instructed with a note of glee in his voice.
Sara suddenly regained her spirit and set Boots on the floor. “Phillip, I don’t have time for your silly games. Please give me my letter and allow me to go about my day.” She made a grab for the letter but he moved his hand behind his back too quickly for her to get it.
“Not so fast there!” He laughed at her feeble attempt to retrieve the letter.
Growing impatient and annoyed with him, she snapped, “What in heaven’s name do you want, Phillip?”
“I told you. Just a little information,” he said, feigning sweetness. “Have a seat, Sara.”
She wanted that letter with every fiber of her being. “Fine.” She sat upon the divan near the window and crossed her arms in silent protest. “Now what is it you wish to know?”
“Well,” he said with irritating slowness, obviously enjoying her discomfiture. “There are a couple of things I’d like cleared up before I give you this letter, which you seem to want most desperately.”
“And they would happen to be what?”
Phillip gazed at her intently. “Well, for starters, I’d like to hear your version of what happened last night with Lord Bridgeton, now that you are sober. I want to see if it matches up with what he told me happened between you.”
“I’m sure it does, since we were both there. And I believe we went over all this last night in the library,” Sara retorted, unable to hide a distinct note of condescension. Well, she certainly hoped their stories matched. Christopher wouldn’t have told Phillip that they had kissed, would he? “However, I don’t care for your tone, Phillip.”
“Do you want this letter? It’s all the way from New York too.” His expression was quite self-satisfied. “Perhaps I should just give it to your mother. She would—”
“Oh, Phillip, don’t!” Sara pleaded. If her mother got her hands on that letter before she did, Sara would never get to read it. “Please.”
“Ah, now I see, you’re being a little more cooperative. Will you tell me what happened?”
“Yes,” she said with great reluctance. Boots yipped loudly, after dropping one of her old gloves at her feet, which was his invitation to play. She picked up the glove and tossed it across the room and the puppy scampered after it.
“What more do you want to know?” she began. “Everything happened just as we told you. Lord Bridgeton came here to meet with you. He was soaked from the rain and Parkins brought us some supper in the library where I was reading and planned on eating by myself anyway. As Lord Bridgeton was drying off, he made a joke about needing a stronger drink than tea, which I completely understood. I offered him some brandy and for some reason I decided I’d join him in a glass. And yes”—Sara put up her hand to prevent her cousin from speaking—“before you interrupt, I know that was foolish of me. What’s done is done. Lord Bridgeton and I chatted while he ate and I suppose the effects of the brandy caught me unaware and I fell asleep on the sofa. Then you came home. The end.”
Phillip eyed her suspiciously. “Why don’t I believe that?”
“I honestly have no idea. But that is exactly what happened.”
It was mostly true anyway. She only left out the specifics of exactly what they discussed and the fact that they had kissed each other. Quite passionately. His mouth hot on hers. His hands caressing her face, her body. Sara’s cheeks grew warm again at the memory.
He looked a bit crestfallen at the simplicity of her tale. “That’s just what Bridgeton said.”
“Because that is all that happened. Now can I please have my letter?”
“What did you two talk about all night?” he asked, eyeing her carefully.
Sara let out a frustrated sigh, before taking the glove Boots had retrieved and tossing it across the room for him to chase once more. “If you must know, he confided in me some things about his rather unhappy childhood, which I promised not to share with anyone else. So I shan’t tell you more than that.”
“He did?” Phillip was incredulous. “Why would Bridgeton discuss his childhood with you of all people? Why, he barely knows you!”
“I’ve no idea. You’ll have to ask him that.” Sara really didn’t know why Christopher told her those things about his family. And although he hadn’t actually asked her not to tell anyone what he’d revealed, she just innately sensed those were things not shared with others. He trusted her. Besides, they were not her secrets to tell. She rose from the divan and held out her hand. “May I have my letter now?”
“Did he kiss you?”
“Of course not!” she protested heatedly. Good heavens! She had practically begged the man to kiss her! I think I shall die if you don’t. But Phillip did not need to know that. It was mortifying enough that she’d spoken those words aloud to Christopher. Maybe it was due to the brandy that she’d acted so wantonly? Yes, that was it. She’d blame it on the brandy.
“Then why was your hair undone?” Phillip questioned.
“Because it’s more comfortable to lay your head on a pillow without pins in your hair, believe it or not.” Growing more annoyed by the minute, she continued, “Now you’re just being ridiculous, Phillip, and looking for trouble where there is none. Aside from my having one glass of brandy, which I promise you I now regret, nothing illicit happened between Lord Bridgeton and me last night. I’m sorry if the truth disappoints you.”
He looked somewhat hurt. “I’m actually just trying to p
rotect you.”
“I understand and I do appreciate that sentiment. Truly I do. But there’s nothing to protect me from. Christopher was a perfect gentleman.” Who called her “his beautiful Sara” and kissed her and caused her blood to race in her veins and made her want to kiss him all night long. But no, nothing happened.
Phillip arched an inquisitive brow. “So it’s Christopher now, is it?”
“Well, yes,” Sara reasoned, and spoke as if explaining it all to a small child. “He confided in me and we are friends now. I gave him leave to call me Sara. It is what happens between two friendly adults. None of that is a crime.”
“I suppose . . .” he muttered, still not totally convinced.
“Are we finished now?” she asked, growing quite impatient with him. “My letter?”
“You’re awfully anxious to have this letter from New York . . .” he said, examining the envelope closely. “I wonder who it’s from? It must be someone you don’t wish your mother to know about . . .”
Oh, how she wanted to strangle her cousin! Not even when they were children had he annoyed her more. “Phillip, please.”
“Tell me who it’s from or I will tell your mother and father about last night in the library and hand over this letter to them.”
“You wouldn’t!” she gasped, as panic began to overtake her. She would die if she didn’t have that letter. If either of her parents got their hands on that letter she would never know what Alexander had written to her. “You wouldn’t be so cruel to me!”
He held the letter above her head, out of reach. “Try me.”
“You’re being positively evil today, Phillip.”
“If I were being truly evil I would have read the letter first myself, then given it to your mother already.” His earlier teasing tone vanished and his dark green eyes were steady on her. “So I consider myself to be acting quite reasonably, given the circumstances of my innocent cousin being whisked away from an unscrupulous suitor by her parents to the safety of my home. After what I witnessed last night, and then discovering this letter today, I’m simply trying to do what’s best for you.”
The Heiress He's Been Waiting For Page 13
