Sabrina

by Kruger, Mary

  Reginald took the hand that Sabrina briefly held out to him, and almost immediately dropped it again, a faint trace of distaste on his fastidious features. His sharp eyes, missing nothing, settled speculatively on the diamond necklace. “My congratulations on your choice of decor. One would almost think you were quite familiar with Vauxhall.”

  “Pray continue, Reginald, so that I may call you out,” Oliver said, pleasantly.

  “Might cause a scandal, old boy. Wouldn’t want that.”

  Oliver’s hand caught Sabrina’s in a crushing grip. “It would be worth it. I allow no one to insult my fiancée.”

  “Coming it much too brown, Oliver,” he said mockingly, and Oliver’s lips thinned.

  “I suggest you move on.”

  “Certainly.” He bowed and passed on into the ballroom. The grip on Sabrina’s hand tightened, until she protested.

  “Oliver.”

  “I swear, one of these days,” he muttered.

  “Oliver, you wouldn’t call him out?”

  “Shh. Good evening, sir,” he said to the next guest. “May I present to you my ward?”

  “Is it that you are so concerned for him, Sabrina?” he hissed a few moments later, his earlier affection dispelled by the crushing weight of jealousy. “Is that it?”

  “No, but Oliver, the scandal—”

  “Ah. The scandal. Of course.”

  “Oliver, you won’t?” she said, anxiously. Oliver was said to be quite good with pistols, but suppose something went wrong? Suppose, somehow, Reginald gained the advantage, through luck or outright cheating, and Oliver was hurt or, God forbid, killed? She wouldn’t want to live. “Please promise me you won’t.”

  “If it concerns you that much, m’dear, of course I won’t,” he said, sounding bored. “Though why you should care so much for that fop after what he did and when I—good evening, sir.”

  When he what? Sabrina wondered. What had he been about to say? It was only with great difficulty that she turned her attention to the remainder of the guests being introduced to her. There were times when she didn’t understand Oliver, and she was beginning to wonder if she ever would.

  Several hours later Sabrina had forgotten about that odd look on Oliver’s face. It had been a wonderful evening. She had heard nothing but praise on the decor, and it was obvious that everyone was having a marvelous time, with the possible exception of Melanie, who seemed to be sulking about something. Even Oliver, who professed not to like crowded social events, seemed to be enjoying himself. He had actually danced with her twice, she thought, smiling to herself. Perhaps she could convince him to undertake a third dance.

  “I believe this is my dance,” a voice said behind her, and she turned to see Reginald. Startled, she consulted her dance card, and saw, to her dismay, that he was indeed marked down for this dance. She could not refuse him. As Melanie’s guardian he was, of necessity, a prominent person at this ball. For Melanie’s sake the Bainbridges were polite to him, but little more. He, in turn, was equally cool, and Sabrina had managed to avoid him all evening. Now courtesy demanded she dance with him.

  “Very well.” She dropped into a graceful curtsy, and as she rose, unsmiling, her eyes encountered his. They were like chips of ice, pale, cold blue, and her gaze skittered away. The unease she had felt at their first meeting came back full force. This man could destroy her with a few careless words.

  At first, though, the only words he exchanged with her were pleasantries, comments on the decor or other people present. A country dance was not, after all, like a waltz, where one could hold a private conversation, since the figures of the dance constantly separated partners. It was only toward the end, when they came together again, that Reginald spoke of other matters.

  “You have done well for yourself, Miss Carrick,” he said, as his hand clasped hers.

  “Have I, Mr. Hailey?”

  “Yes. Your father would be proud.” She missed a step, as he went on. “Those diamonds must be worth a fortune.” His gaze settled on her necklace again as she swung away from him, glad for the respite. He returned to the attack, however, as soon as they were partnered again. “I wonder what they are worth.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She blinked up at him, and her steps briefly faltered again.

  “I wonder what you would get for them if you sold them.”

  “Why would I do a thing like that? They’re the Bainbridge jewels.”

  “Are they? Well, no matter.” His smile was chilling as the music ended and he stepped away from her, bowing. “I’m sure you’ll manage to find a way to give me what I want.”

  “What?” she exclaimed, but the dance was over and the people milling about gave them no chance for private conversation. She was left to wonder about that enigmatic statement, and worry about its meaning.

  Across the room Oliver, engaged in a discussion about the American situation with Lord Brougham, happened to glance up at that moment and see Sabrina, standing still, her face stricken. He had been aware that she had been dancing with Reginald, but there was nothing he could have done about that, short of causing a scene. Now he wished he had, as a wave of rage, stunning in its intensity, rose in him. What had that bastard said to upset his love? He would kill him, he would—

  His love. My God, he thought, as he at last put a name to the mixture of emotions swirling within him, the emotions only Sabrina could inspire. My God.

  At that moment, her next partner came to claim her for his dance, and instantly the worry fled Sabrina’s face, to be replaced by a sparkling smile. Oliver relaxed a little bit, though the revelation of what he was feeling still stunned him. He kept his eye on her for the remainder of the evening, but it wasn’t until the last dance that he was able to approach her.

  The orchestra struck up the waltz. It had been a good evening, except for that strange interval with Reginald, but Sabrina was not sorry it was over. She was tired and her feet ached from dancing so much. All that was forgotten, however, when she saw Oliver coming near. “This is my waltz, I believe,” he said, when he reached her, and she consulted her dance card.

  “Three dances, Oliver?” she teased, as his arm went about her waist. “How scandalous!”

  Oliver’s teeth gleamed briefly in a smile. “Let us break with convention this once, shall we?”

  “Certainly, but I am certain, you know, that I promised this dance to Chatleigh.”

  “So you did, but he did not mind doing an old friend a favor.”

  “I see.” Her eyes twinkled up at him. “Besides the fact that he has eyes for no one but his wife.”

  “Yes, though he doesn’t know it yet.” They had neared the long glass doors that opened onto the terrace, and, somewhat to Sabrina’s surprise, he swung her out into the warm, dark night.

  “Should we leave our guests, sir?” she said.

  “They will make do without us. Are you cold?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” Something was making her shiver, but she didn’t think it was the night air. Suddenly shy, she turned from him and went to stand at the balustrade, looking out over the garden.

  “Come here.” His voice was low in her ears as he wrapped his arms about her waist, drawing her back against him. She relaxed, leaning her head on his shoulder and basking in the feeling of being held by him. “Better now?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “You look beautiful in that gown.” He bent his head and planted a trail of kisses along the side of her neck. She shivered again, with the delicious sensation. “Much too beautiful. You’re mine, Sabrina.” His arms tightened, suddenly, fiercely. “Mine. I won’t share you.”

  “Silly.” Somehow she managed to turn, looping her arms around his neck. “You don’t have to.”

  “No?” His lips were a mere breath from hers.

  “No.” And she reached up on her toes, bridging that last little gap between them. His lips came down on hers, hard, and his arms crushed her to him. She couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care. �
�Oh, Oliver,” she sighed, when he had last released her and his lips were at her throat again.

  Eventually he raised his head. She leaned hers against his shoulder, and they stood together, until the music stopped playing. Then, conscious of their duties to their guests, they separated, and, smiling at each other, went back inside. That their interlude had, of necessity, been brief didn’t really matter. What did was that at last, she knew. Oliver loved her. Never mind, just now, the entanglements that had her trapped. With Oliver, her future was bright.

  Chapter 27

  The morning after such a successful ball is traditionally spent in dissecting every moment of it, a pastime in which Gwendolyn and Sabrina were happily engaged when Oliver walked into the breakfast parlor after his ride. Both ladies, Gwendolyn in a decorative dressing gown of soft pearl gray, and Sabrina, wearing a simple morning gown of pale pink, looked charming. Sabrina’s cheeks blushed a delightful color when she looked up and saw him. He was pleased to see that her hair was tumbled about her shoulders again, held back only by a satin ribbon. That was as it should be.

  “Good morning.” He took his seat at the head of the table. “Discussing the ball?”

  “Of course. I am persuaded that it was a great success,” Gwendolyn said.

  “Oh, la, yes, I am sure everyone had a delightful time,” Sabrina said in languid tones, and he grinned at her.

  “And I do believe that our decorations did the trick. No one will believe any scandal now.”

  “What scandal?” Sabrina’s voice was innocent.

  “Be quiet,” Oliver said, but he smiled. “Yes, I have to agree with you there. Though God knows it took ten years off my life.”

  “Poor Oliver,” Sabrina said, sweetly.

  Oliver, engaged in sorting through the morning’s mail, ignored her. “More invitations, ma’am,” he said, handing a stack of envelopes to Gwendolyn.

  “You see? After last night, no one will dare say a word against you,” Gwendolyn said. “You will be more popular than ever.”

  Oliver looked up from his mail in time to catch Sabrina’s brief grimace. “I’ve a feeling Sabrina doesn’t care much for that, do you, infant?”

  “It isn’t that, Oliver,” she protested. “But I must admit I am getting a bit tired of it. When can we return to the Abbey?”

  “Oh, my dear, surely not before the wedding!” Gwendolyn exclaimed.

  “Oh.” Sabrina shrugged. “I shall just have to endure, then.”

  “Shall we cancel the wedding, then, infant?” Oliver said lazily.

  Sabrina looked up, startled, until she saw the glint in his eyes.

  “Oh, my, perhaps we should,” she drawled. “So fatiguing, you know, all that work.” She raised her hand to cover a delicate yawn. “All those invitations to be addressed. I vow I shall sink with exhaustion.”

  Oliver grinned. “There’s always Gretna Green.”

  “There is not.” Gwendolyn’s voice was firm. “We’ll have no elopements, boy.”

  “As you wish, ma’am.” He inclined his head and then turned back to Sabrina. “Seriously, Sabrina, my life is here, in town. We will not be much in the country, after we marry.”

  “Oh, but that’s different,” Sabrina said. “At least then I’ll feel I’m doing something, instead of simply attending parties and such.”

  “God help me, do you intend to be a political wife?”

  “Do you mean like Lady Holland? Oh, heavens, no! But I am interested in what is happening.” She looked down at her plate for a moment. “And I hope you’ll feel you can share your work with me.”

  “What I can of it,” he said briefly, and she saw with dismay that the frown lines were back between his eyes. “Well.” He set down his coffee cup and rose. “I must be off.”

  “Yes. So must I. Invitations to write, you know.” Sabrina’s eyes twinkled, and Oliver smiled. “Good morning, Grandmama, Oliver.” This last was said with a lingering look toward him, but he did not take her up on the invitation so obvious in her eyes. If he did, he would not leave her side today, and that would never do.

  “Oliver.” Gwendolyn’s voice caught him as he started out the door, and he turned. “At least she ain’t an empty-headed miss.”

  Oliver smiled. “No, ma’am, that she isn’t,” he said, and left.

  True to her word, Sabrina went into the morning room and dutifully began to write invitations. She had worked her way through a good part of the list when Melanie trailed into the room, her step slow and her head drooping. “Good morning, Melly,” Sabrina said without lifting her head.

  “Morning,” Melanie said, and sighed. Sitting upon one of the sofas, she swung her legs up and reclined, one arm hanging down, the very picture of dejection. It took several more heartfelt sighs, however, before Sabrina put down her pen and turned to her.

  “In the mopes, Melly?” she said. By now she was familiar with Melanie’s tendency to overdramatize herself, and the melancholy pose didn’t fool her for an instant.

  “Who wouldn’t be, with all that I’ve had to endure?” Melanie’s voice was thin and weak.

  “Oh, dear. Are you feeling unwell this morning?”

  “Unwell! Unwell!” Melanie sat up and glared at her, before remembering her pose and lying back again. “After what happened last evening, you can ask that? I did not think you were so insensitive, Sabrina.”

  “Apparently I am, because you looked to be having a marvelous time last evening.”

  “An act, all an act, so no one could see my heart was breaking.”

  “Oh, nonsense!”

  “It isn’t!” Melanie exclaimed, abandoning the long-suffering voice and sitting up. “Oh, didn’t you see? Bevin hardly paid attention to me all evening!”

  “And you hardly paid attention to him,” Sabrina pointed out, “which is nothing unusual.”

  “You don’t understand! Didn’t you see him dancing attendance on Georgina Moulton? Oh, Rina, he’s in love with somebody else!” And to Sabrina’s complete astonishment, she burst into tears.

  “Melly!” Sabrina went across to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “I had no idea. Are you sure?” For answer, Melly nodded. “But it was only last evening—”

  “It doesn’t matter!” Melanie wailed. “After the way I’ve treated him I deserve it if he finds someone new. Oh, Sabrina, what am I going to do?”

  “You’re in love with him.”

  “Yes, of course I’m in love with him.” Melanie sat up and noisily blew her nose. “What did you think?”

  “That you didn’t care two pins for him,” Sabrina said frankly.

  “I didn’t, once, but, oh, Rina, as I got to know him, something happened. Oh, you don’t know what it’s like!”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And, suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and I wanted to be with him all the time, and he—he turned to that Moulton girl, instead—”

  “Hush.” Sabrina patted her hand. “She hasn’t captured him yet. It’s you he’s engaged to, am I right?”

  “Yes, but an arranged marriage, and it will mean nothing to him now.”

  “Then it is up to you to make it mean something.” She took Melanie’s shoulders and gave them a little shake. “Melly, haven’t you ever noticed the way he looks at you?”

  Melanie looked up at her through eyelashes sparkling with tears, and Sabrina ruefully wondered how she could still look so pretty, even when so upset. “N—no.”

  “Well, trust me, it is not the look of a man who is indifferent! But you cannot expect him to wait forever.”

  “I don’t.” She sat up. “And he doesn’t have to. Sabrina, will you help me?”

  “You know I will, Melly. What can I do?”

  “Come shopping with me.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I overheard Bevin say he will be at Gentleman Jackson’s this morning.”

  “Ah. Then we must contrive to be in Bond Street ourselves.” She leaned back and pretended to study
Melanie critically. “Melly, I think you need a new bonnet.”

  “I think I do, too,” Melly said, and, giggling, the two girls put their heads together and began to plan.

  And so, sometime later, when Viscount Bevin came out of Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon, Sabrina and Melanie happened to be coming out of the milliner’s opposite. It was the most natural thing in the world for Bevin to cross the street to join them, and just as natural for him and Melanie to walk a little apart. Sabrina went back to the carriage, to let them have this moment alone and yet still keep them in sight. She had just reached it when she heard someone call her name.

  “Mr. Tenbroeck,” she said wearily, turning as the man approached her. “Can I not have a moment’s peace?”

  “Has the duke told you anything of what is happening at the Office?” he asked abruptly, without first greeting her.

  “No, I told you that he does not discuss his work with me.” She walked a few paces away from the carriage, so that the coachman would not overhear their discussion. “Why?”

  “It seems someone had discovered there is a spy.”

  Sabrina drew in her breath, sharply. “What?”

  “Yes. You must have been careless.”

  “No, I made sure no one knew,” she said, but she remembered, with a sinking feeling, the day she had left Oliver’s desk unlocked, and the footman had seemed to keep watch on the study. “Oh, no, what do we do now?”

  “Nothing, as yet. Has your guardian changed toward you?”

  “No, not in the way you mean.” But he would, Sabrina thought, because now she would certainly have to tell him.

  Tenbroeck let out his breath. “Then perhaps we are safe. But we will have to suspend our activities for a time.”

  “Thank God!”

  “There is just one more thing.”

  “Oh, no! Can we not just forget about it, until the suspicion is forgotten?”

  “No! You do not realize how desperate our case is. We grow closer to war every day. Have you not heard about the new embargo?” Sabrina nodded. The embargo on trade with Britain that America had recently imposed was meant to last just three months, but any such action was now seen by the British government as warlike. “Your guardian has a new document, and rumor is it lists English spies operating in America. We need that information.”