by Liana Lefey
Her mother stared at her for a long moment, her face inscrutable. “Though I disagree with it, I respect your choice. But beware, for one day you may find that your heart has been given away without you even knowing it, my girl. And then you will have two choices: follow it, or learn to live without it. I would not advise the latter.”
Sabrina did not intend to ever be faced with that choice. Passion and desire seemed to lead to misplaced affection; therefore, she would avoid them.
Which meant avoiding Montgomery at all costs.
THE SUN SHONE brightly as Sabrina mounted her mare. The sky was a deep cerulean unmarred by clouds, the air crisp and clean. It was a perfect day for a hunt. Draping her skirts just so, she lifted her head proudly, tilting her chin up to show her profile to its best advantage. Prim and proper from her lace collar down to the shining toes of her polished boots, she knew it would be hard to believe she’d been caught kissing anyone in a library.
Such was her hope, anyway.
Fairford, who was mounting his horse just beside her, looked splendid in his pinks, a perfect example of refined English elegance.
At last, she saw him turn toward her. Immediately, she twisted away. The motion was a practiced one that deliberately exposed the sweep of her neck while emphasizing her miniscule waist. Her sister Georgiana had taught her that one.
Unfortunately, before she could turn back to him, another horse came up beside her. “Good day, Lady Sabrina. Fine morning, is it not?”
She looked up and nearly fell from her saddle. “In…indeed it is, my lord.”
Chadwick patted his mount’s neck, and it nickered softly, pawing the ground in anticipation. “I love riding on days like this. Good horse, lovely weather, excellent company. What more could anyone ask?”
His smile was benign and friendly—and completely bewildering. Her mind raced to come up with a reason why he would deliberately seek her out after having been so publicly humiliated. If London’s gossips had come down hard on her, they had been incredibly unkind to him. “I—I know of nothing better,” she replied, feeling awkward and praying she wasn’t about to be the center of a scene.
“Fairford.” Chadwick acknowledged the man behind her with a nod. “Are you for the paw or just enjoying the ride today?”
Fairford’s lip curled. “What is the point, if not to win?”
“Why, the pursuit itself, of course,” said Chadwick. “The excitement lies in the chase, does it not?”
“So speaks one who cares not whether he wins or loses,” answered Fairford. He flicked a glance at her. “One should never accept less than a win, if indeed the prize is worthy of pursuit.”
She knew Fairford was no longer discussing the hunt. It seemed she finally had his attention.
Chadwick’s smile tightened. “Defeat is a part of life, sir. A man who cannot accept this truth will soon be buried beneath the rubble of his broken pride.” He turned to her, his expression softening. “And yet, fear of losing should never stop a man from pursuing his heart’s desire.”
Oh, not again! She could actually feel the blood draining from her cheeks.
“True,” replied Fairford. “However, one man’s jewel is but a common stone to another.”
The blood returned all in a rush as she absorbed his words. Had he just called her…common?
“When it comes to determining the value of a thing, I’m afraid I have a higher standard than most,” Fairford went on, his gaze now lingering on her. “To merit my interest, the prize in question must be truly impressive.”
She released the breath she’d drawn in preparation, biting back a nasty retort. Of course, he meant not to insult her, but to challenge her. He was absolutely right to be selective. Any potential husband of hers would certainly have to pass a barrage of tests before she accepted his offer, so why should it be any different for him?
Chadwick, however, took umbrage at Fairford’s statement. “It has been my experience that one only belittles something when one feels the challenge to attain it is too difficult.”
“No one here is belittling anything.” A passing rider greeted them, temporarily forcing the conversation to a halt. Fairford’s blue gaze was icy when it swung back to regard Chadwick. “While I find our philosophical differences fascinating, I’m afraid I must now join my party. Enjoy the hunt”—again his gaze flicked over her—“and may the best man win.”
Kicking his horse into motion, he left them both staring at his retreating back.
“I remain uncertain as to which is the bigger ass—that horse’s rear or the man riding it,” muttered Chadwick. “He had no right to insult you so.”
A hot coal of shame burned in Sabrina’s gut. This man had every reason to give her the cut direct, but instead he’d thought only of coming to her defense over a perceived insult. Surprised by a sudden stinging in her eyes, she looked at him. “You are a true gentleman, my lord.”
Instantly, Chadwick’s expression changed to one of compassion.
She hesitated, not wanting to give him hope, yet not wanting to crush him, either. “I’m so sorry for what happened at the Somerset ball. I assure you, I never intended any—”
“I know,” he cut her off. “But what is done is done, and now we have little choice but to deal with the consequences. Though my heart breaks in saying it, I can no longer court you.”
Again, the unexpected pricking of unshed tears assaulted her composure.
“I expect you’ll be announcing your engagement soon, anyway.”
Her head snapped up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, naturally, Montgomery must have asked for your hand by now.”
“It…it was only a kiss!”
His brows lowered ominously. “Do you mean to tell me that he hasn’t had the decency to ask you to marry him? I should have asked your mother the next morning, if not that very night, were I in his place. That he hasn’t only proves what a complete scoundrel he is. Lady Sabrina, you must demand that he marry you at once.”
Heaven help her, she almost laughed aloud. “He did ask permission to court me. And I refused him.”
The look he gave her was one of utter astonishment. “You refused him?”
“I did,” she said stubbornly.
Chadwick looked uncomfortable. “Sabrina, if you hope to earn the favor of another gentleman, I should tell you that upon hearing of the incident, my own father forbade me from further pursuing your hand. You would do well to reconsider his suit.”
Feeling oddly disappointed, Sabrina could only nod. If he’d really loved her, fear of his family’s disapproval would not have stopped him. The knowledge stung, even though she wasn’t the least bit interested in becoming his wife—or interested in love.
To make matters worse, Montgomery chose that moment to appear. “Good day, friends!”
“Good day, Lord Montgomery,” she returned stiffly. Go away, Lord Montgomery!
The easy smile that stretched his lips made her toes curl. “It feels so awkward, your insisting on such formality while your mother calls me by my Christian name,” he said. “I do wish you’d call me Henry, as she does.”
She cast him a withering look. “My mother may have known you in your infancy, my lord, but I did not. Therefore, I am uncomfortable with such familiarity.”
“Ah, yes—I forget you’ve only known me as an adult.”
The barb hit its intended mark, and she felt her ears grow hot. “I’m afraid I find the status of your adulthood somewhat questionable, my lord,” she shot back in her iciest tone.
“You didn’t seem to doubt my maturity at the Somerset ball.”
Even more infuriating than his smug expression was the dangerous spark of heat elicited by his insinuation. Every insult she knew gathered on the tip of her tongue, but none of them made it past her lips before he again assaulted her dignity.
“Temper, temper, Pest,” he tutted with a meaningful nod at her clenched fists.
The dam broke. “You black-hearted son of t
he devil! How dare you even speak to me after…after—”
“After…?”
The way he said it set her cheeks aflame. “I told you I never wished to see you again,” she hissed. “Stop calling under the pretense of visiting my mother. Just go away!”
“Why? So you can lure some other poor, unsuspecting fool into your nets?” His gaze slid toward Chadwick.
Sabrina fumed. That was exactly what she was planning to do—if he would ever leave her in peace to do it. “I refuse to speak to you until you can keep a civil tongue.” She made to turn her horse, but he wasn’t finished yet.
“I find it entirely amusing that my tongue, civil or otherwise, is now viewed with such hostility,” he said lightly. “Such was certainly not the case when last we met, you and I.”
Again the blood ran hot to her face. Beside her, Chadwick’s mouth hung open.
Damn.
She grappled once more with the impulse to hurl invectives at Montgomery’s head. It would be infinitely satisfying to give him a good public dressing down, but the risk of it turning against her was too great. Thus, she kept her curses behind her teeth and urged her horse on.
He was making every effort to sabotage her. He’d as much as admitted it, the rotten scoundrel! And now, once again, he’d made it appear to everyone present that they were—she swallowed her rage, blinking back tears—together. Fairford would never look at her once word of their little tête-à-tête made the rounds.
If she’d disliked Montgomery before, she positively loathed him now. Unfortunately, her animosity did nothing to quell the desire she felt on hearing his low, intimate laughter behind her.
Henry’s gaze remained fastened on Sabrina’s retreating figure. He’d simply been unable to resist provoking her.
“Why in heaven’s name do you deliberately incite her wrath?” asked the young man beside him. “If you wish to gain a lady’s favor, should you not instead ply her with gifts and soft words?”
“Soft words will never work with that one,” Henry said with a laugh.
Confusion puckered the lad’s brow, and Henry smiled. “You’ll understand one day. If you’re very lucky.”
He joined Sabrina’s group just as they rode out, and silently kept pace with her as she worked her way to the fore. She rode as if the devil himself were on her heels. He matched her pace, stride for stride.
Glancing back at him, she urged her mount on and shot ahead, taking the first fence at full tilt.
Damn her for a fool, she’ll break her bloody neck! He followed a heartbeat after her mount cleared it, but when he saw she wasn’t going to let up, he finally backed off.
She tore across the fields, and he marked how she kept looking back over her shoulder—making sure he wasn’t too close.
She was angry, he knew. But there was something else. She was obviously terribly upset over their little sparring session, more upset than she should be. He’d embarrassed her, certainly, but there was more to it than that. She’d been embarrassed before and had not reacted in this manner. He turned the conversation over in his mind, reviewing it, looking for clues.
Any other woman would have laughed off his insinuations and played along, deflecting his comments—such was the nature of flirtation—but she hadn’t. She’d taken the bait and sunk her teeth into it with a vengeance, in turn provoking him to do the same.
She’d been shaken by their encounter too. He could see it in her eyes when she looked at him. It was most satisfying to know she was no more immune to the attraction between them than he was himself. But whereas he felt drawn to her and craved nearness, she seemed to want the opposite.
It struck him suddenly that she was afraid. Terrified. Terrified enough to refuse his suit, terrified enough to run from him now. But why? He’d given her no reason to fear him.
It stung that she would distrust him so without just cause. He’d shown great restraint in only kissing her. Granted, it had been her first, but still. A girl with as many sisters as she had couldn’t possibly be afraid of something so benign as a kiss. And he’d asked to court her. He had behaved with honor where many other men would not.
Somewhere along the way, he’d missed something. Something vital. If he did not find that missing piece of the puzzle, he would never be able to get close to her. And he wanted to. Very much.
STARING INTO THE hearth, Sabrina contemplated the events of the day with chagrin.
The whole of the afternoon had been spent trying to avoid Montgomery to no avail.
Dinner had been a catastrophe. Their hostess had seated her beside Fairford—and opposite Montgomery. Her shining opportunity to impress Fairford had been utterly ruined. Their discourse had been stilted and lifeless, devoid of any wit or substance. It was damned difficult to converse politely with a gentleman when another man was disassembling your gown with his eyes.
She buried her face in her hands and groaned.
When the water in her bath had cooled enough to be uncomfortable, she dried off and poured herself a large glass of mulled wine. It served to drive away the chill and warm her somewhat, but it did absolutely nothing to relax her. Nothing would bring her relief save Montgomery’s removal from this house.
She knew he slept somewhere in the opposite wing, but that mattered not. He might as well have been in the next room, as far as she was concerned.
It was going to be a long night.
A faint rustle at the door drew her attention, and she watched as something slid beneath it. The moment the messenger’s footsteps retreated, she tiptoed over and snatched up the note. She frowned. It was probably another hideous poem from Chadwick.
“I should never have come to this damned house party,” she muttered sourly as she tore off the wax and opened it. The writing jumped at her from the page:
I’ve been an ass. Please forgive me. H.
Her traitorous heart pounded as she refolded it. Padding to the desk, she picked up a quill, hesitating, uncertain whether to respond or to simply ignore the communication.
Nib touched paper.
Forgiven. Now, I beg you to leave me alone! S.
Half an hour later, she still lay awake, unable to sleep after having sent her reply. A soft knock startled her from her reverie. Flinging off the coverlet, she rushed across the room, hoping to catch the messenger and tell him to bear the letter back to its author unopened. She jerked open the door and gasped in surprise.
“May I come in?” asked Montgomery.
“Did you not read my note? No.”
“Sabri—”
“No!” She tried to close the door, but his foot was wedged in the opening.
“Sabrina, I must speak with you.”
“Do you think I’ve forgotten what happened the last time you managed to get me alone?” she hissed, pushing against the door in vain.
“I swear I shall not lay a hand upon you. Upon my honor.”
She snorted, unable to contain her censure. “What honor?”
“I wish only to speak with you, and then I shall trouble you no more this night. You have my word.”
After a moment, she reluctantly stepped aside, allowing him to slip past. She followed, deliberately leaving the door unlocked. As long as he didn’t get between her and that door, she was safe. Shivering, she moved to the fire’s warmth. “Have your say, then, and begone,” she commanded.
With a strangled curse, he strode over to her bed and yanked off the heavy down quilt. Coming back, he held it out to her. When she made no move to take it, he shook it, ignoring her maidenly squeak of fright. “Take it—or I won’t be responsible for what happens.”
The shriek she’d been preparing to release died in her throat, suffocated by mortification. Snatching the blanket, she quickly pulled it around herself, grateful for the warmth as well as the concealment it provided.
With a sigh, he sank into one of the chairs before the hearth, gesturing for her to do the same.
She perched on the very edge of the seat opposite him and w
aited, terrified of the heat already unfurling in her belly.
“I wasn’t going to come here tonight, but I could not rest after receiving your reply. I think we need to discuss what is between us.”
“There is nothing between us, my lord. A kiss does not constitute an obligation.”
He smiled wryly. “No, it does not. But I won’t deny my desire for you, Sabrina. Why you choose to deny yours for me I cannot understand. It isn’t as if I’ve asked you to have an affaire—I approached you honorably and offered suit. I have not changed my mind.”
“I cannot accept,” she managed.
“Why?”
“Because…” Her parched tongue would not form the words. Every fevered dream she’d had this past week was sitting right here in front of her, living and breathing. In her room. He wore his shirtsleeves with the neck open, and she could see his throat as it worked when he spoke. Her fingers longed to trace the line of it, to feel his voice vibrating beneath them.
Sweet heaven help me…
“Why?” he again demanded. “Why won’t you consider me?”
“Because you’re not the right man!” There, I said it.
One brow rose. “And might I inquire as to whom you think that man might be?”
She answered him with stubborn silence.
“Who, Sabrina?”
“I don’t know—but it isn’t you!” She saw him flinch, and shame gnawed at her. “I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I just…” She took a deep, steadying breath. Perhaps if he knew the truth, he would have mercy and leave her alone. “It was like this between my parents, and my mother was miserable because of it. I cannot endure what she suffered. Please understand.”
“We are not our parents.”
“No, but I’m not so foolish as to think history cannot repeat itself. I want a marriage that does not include this sort of emotional upheaval.”
