by Liana Lefey
The days passed at a snail’s pace, the hands on the clock seeming to creep through the hours with unbearable slowness. The sound of carriage wheels on the drive caused Sabrina to rush to the window each time, only to be disappointed. Though she told herself that it was the anticipation of the party that slowed time’s progress, and that she looked for Fairford’s carriage, in her heart she knew the awful truth.
Why should I care that he’s gone? she thought angrily, vowing to leave the curtains untouched the next time. He’s only doing as I requested. I told him to leave me be, and he is. I ought to be grateful.
The only reprieve from limbo was another letter from Georgiana expressing outrage over their sister Victoria’s situation. Having grown suspicious after too long a silence, Georgiana had gone for a surprise visit. What she’d found was their sister essentially held hostage in her own home. Victoria had threatened to petition for a divorce over her husband’s infidelity. He’d countered by threatening to have her declared mad and put away in an asylum.
She was utterly miserable.
Victoria followed her heart, and look where it landed her. All the more reason to welcome Montgomery’s absence.
The day of the garden party finally arrived, prompting a fit of feminine nerves. She could not tell whether she was anxious about her planned seduction of Fairford or hoping that Montgomery would show up. If he did…
Don’t be daft. Fairford would never invite him. Stiffening her resolve, she donned her selection: a gown of finest mint silk and creamy lace, its bodice exquisitely embroidered with birds, vines, and tiny jeweled flowers. Her hair was piled in curls atop her head with a few left loose to spill artfully over one shoulder. Designed for wear before tea, the gown’s décolletage was wide and shallow, displaying breadth of shoulders rather than depth of cleavage. It was modest, yet still somewhat provocative for the sheer amount of bare flesh it revealed.
In a word: perfect.
Her wayward thoughts drifted back to the night of the opera, reliving briefly her last conversation with Montgomery. It haunted her still.
If only he could see her in this gown, his dark eyes would fill with desire…
The image in the looking glass blushed, and she shook herself, furious. It was no use thinking such things! What was the matter with her? He was gone, and there was a conquest to be made.
Upon reaching Wollaton, they were welcomed by Fairford and his father, an elderly and kindly gentleman—just the sort of father-in-law she’d always pictured herself having.
Wollaton was beautiful and orderly. Perfection lay in every direction. She could easily imagine herself mistress of this place. She would have her own little section of the garden. Her children would play on the green beneath the spreading trees.
The vision was so vivid.
A moment later she realized that nowhere in it had she placed Fairford. And that is as it ought to be, she reasoned. Naturally, he would have business to attend to.
The party was typical of its kind: tea in the garden and plenty of inane chatter. She quickly learned that Miss Bidewell was again not in attendance. As Fairford was still officially courting her, the lady would no doubt be most unhappy to learn of her rival’s attendance. She wondered if Miss Bidewell knew her suitor was sending gifts to another woman. Perhaps her absence today was a protest?
Regardless of the reason for her not being here, Sabrina was relieved. It was much better to avoid another confrontation with her, if at all possible.
It wasn’t long, however, before her relief was replaced by irritation. Fairford had barely paid her any attention at all since his initial greeting. Keeping up her smile, she nattered on politely with the other guests until at long last, she felt a light touch on her shoulder.
“I can’t begin to tell you how delighted I am that you have at last come to my home,” said Fairford. “When you sent back all of my gifts along with so many refusals, I feared I’d somehow offended you.”
“Not at all, my lord. Though the thought was appreciated, I simply couldn’t accept them for fear of giving the wrong impression,” she replied, her appropriately prim words at odds with the siren’s smile she deliberately wore.
“And what impression would that be?”
“Why, that I had accepted your suit, of course.”
“Would you not?”
“You have not asked.”
“And if I did? Would you then accept my gifts?”
She gave him a long, steady look before allowing one corner of her mouth to curl ever so slightly. “Perhaps.”
She turned and began walking.
He followed. “You must have a look at my latest acquisition, a rare blossom from the jungles of the Americas. I procured it from a man who barely survived an encounter with savage natives in order to obtain it.”
She smiled prettily. She would have been far more impressed had he been the one to face the jungle savages, rather than merely being the man who’d purchased a silly plant. She bit her tongue, wondering when she’d become so critical. He was a gentleman! Of course he wouldn’t be tramping about in the wilds of the world hunting plants, or anything else for that matter.
She could see Hen—Montgomery doing something like that, though, for all he was a gentleman from the top of his head to the soles of his feet…A small, strangled sound escaped her throat, and Fairford looked askance. She coughed a little and smiled sweetly, wroth at herself for thinking about him again.
They sauntered down the path, feet crunching in the carefully raked gravel, until around a corner there appeared a glass structure.
“A hothouse,” she murmured. Through the misted windows, she could just make out the colorful reds, pinks, and yellows of the blooms within.
“Indeed. I keep the tropicals here. Come.” He produced a key and opened the door.
A rush of warm, moist air flowed over her, bearing the scent of earth and flowers.
“As I said at the opera, my little slice of paradise.” He closed the door behind them. “And now, with you here, the most beautiful blossom of all has joined these, and my heaven is complete.” He approached her slowly, holding out his arm. “My latest treasure lies this way.”
She allowed him to guide her past perfect blossoms of jasmine and hibiscus. Orchids of all varieties painted a riot of color all around, and the tinkling of water played a merry tune from some hidden place. When they reached its source, a small decorative fountain, Fairford stopped.
Reaching out, he gently lifted a trailing vine bearing bright, golden flowers the color of new butter. The bell-like blooms emitted a heady cloud of scent, enveloping them in a cocoon of sweetness. “Here is a flower that has had no name given it—until now,” he said, turning toward her. “I named it after you, hoping it would make amends for my treatment of you when we first met. I sent in the petition to the Royal Botanical Society weeks ago. They sent the approval yesterday, just in time.” Plucking an envelope from his coat pocket, he presented it to her.
Opening it, she scanned the enclosed paper until she saw it: Jasminum-Sabrinus Floridum.
He’d named a bloody flower after her.
What did one say in response to such a thing? “I—I’m not…what I mean to say is…”
Stepping forward, he gently grasped her shoulders. “Sabrina, since the day we met, I’ve been able to think of little else but you. I’ve come to adore you, to long for you, my darling.”
It was all she could do not to burst into laughter. For all its naïveté, Chadwick’s heartfelt declaration had been much more inspiring. Fairford’s was nothing more than a pretty phrase concocted to dupe her into believing the lie of his regard. There was no true feeling behind it whatsoever. Still, that was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
Telling herself it was the right decision, she slowly lowered her lashes, giving him the smoldering stare she’d learned from watching her sisters, the same one she had practiced in the mirror since the age of nine.
Emboldened, Fairford ran a single finger a
long her shoulder where it merged into the column of her neck.
Closing her eyes, she obliged, bending her neck to accommodate.
Bending, he ran the tip of his tongue along the line of her collarbone.
She expected a rush of pleasant sensation to flood through her the way it had before. The way it had with Henry. But there was nothing. Nothing but mild irritation at the rasp of his stubble against her delicate skin and a shudder of distaste. She quashed it and made herself bring her hands up to his shoulders.
Bending her back, Fairford flicked his tongue across the hollow at her throat, then took her chin in his hand and claimed her mouth.
She wanted to scream in frustration. It was revolting! She felt as if he were trying to suffocate her with his tongue—and he tasted all wrong. Where was the lightning in her veins? Where was the familiar pull in her belly?
Where was Henry?
Stubbornly, she silenced the thought and tried to concentrate on the moment, on making her body feel passion.
It was impossible. Memories of Henry kept intruding, until finally she could take no more. Pulling away suddenly, she turned so Fairford wouldn’t see the truth in her eyes—that she was repulsed by him. Her hands trembled as she brought them to her face.
“Sabrina, darling,” said Fairford, lust making his voice rough. “I shall speak with my father tonight. No doubt he’ll be thrilled with my selection. You’ll make a fine baroness.”
Her hackles rose at his peremptory attitude. His “selection” indeed! Why, the arrogance of the man! Who did he think he was? She was an earl’s daughter, and he a mere baron’s son. And to assume that she would marry him without even the preamble of courtship?
Her next act was impetuous, born of swift, hot anger.
“I…oh, dear me, how awkward!” she gasped, casting her eyes down as though stricken with embarrassment. “I think I must have misunderstood your intent. I did not take your declaration as a proposal of marriage, but of courtship. I feel I must inform you that Lord Montgomery has also declared his devotion to me, and as I was unaware of your interest at the time, I’ve already permitted him to press his suit.”
Fairford froze, his smile fading. “You’ll tell him he must withdraw it at once, naturally.”
She looked him directly in the eye. “A lady may have as many suitors as she pleases until she becomes engaged, my lord. Since I hardly know you well enough to agree to such a serious commitment, I should like a bit of time to become better acquainted before making my decision.”
His smug expression evaporated. As quickly as she’d seen it flicker across his face, however, the momentary flare of ire was hidden behind a contrite mask.
“Forgive my gross assumption. I suppose I’d rather hoped you’d set your heart on having me to the exclusion of all others.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Perhaps I also misunderstood your intent, my lord. Are you not also currently paying court to Miss Gertrude Bidewell?” Touché!
“It was my father’s wish that I court Miss Bidewell,” he replied. “Given the situation between you and me, however, I intend to withdraw my suit immediately. I’m certain he will agree. Ours is the more advantageous match, after all.”
Had she been the romantic sort, his statement would have been extremely offensive. But I am not, she told herself, wrestling her bruised pride into submission. This was merely the preliminary to marital negotiations between them, nothing more. And a perfect opportunity to set the tone for the future.
With an eloquent shrug, she turned to the bright flowers that now bore her name. “It would be unfair of me to expect you to give up your options while I have no inclination to do the same. I assure you, it will bother me not at all if you continue to pay court to Miss Bidewell until such a time as a mutual understanding is reached between us, if ever. You’ll find I’m not the jealous or possessive sort.”
There! Now he knew she would tolerate his having a mistress. She glanced at him over her shoulder as she plucked a flower and tucked it into her curls.
Fairford’s eyes widened, and he nodded slowly. “As you say, then. I shall leave matters as they stand until you decide which of us to accept as your betrothed. But I warn you, I shall not make it easy to choose my competitor.” He stepped forward and placed a kiss on the nape of her neck.
She allowed him to touch her for an instant longer and then sauntered away. She could barely breathe and wanted nothing more than to run from this place. With an iron will, she maintained her leisurely pace as she moved to the exit.
Fairford followed a few steps behind, his presence making her skin prickle unpleasantly.
He wanted her, but he didn’t love her. That much was clear.
And I’ll never be hurt by it because I’ll never love him. It was exactly the kind of arrangement she’d planned. But now that it came down to it, she questioned the wisdom of such a plan.
Plans…
Frustration filled her. All her careful plans had gone awry in the worst way. She’d certainly put her foot in it, telling Fairford that she had accepted Henry’s suit. Now she had no choice but to follow through and make that lie a reality.
Strangely, the idea was not as disheartening as she thought it ought to be.
HENRY WANTED TO hit something, to pulverize it to bits. To make it feel like his heart did at the moment. He’d arrived home only to be immediately informed by his father that Fairford was now officially courting Sabrina.
To find out like this, with nary a personal word from her? How could she?
The very next morning, a servant entered bearing a letter addressed to him in an achingly familiar hand. Snatching it off the tray, Henry crumpled the missive unopened, intending to toss it into the fire and forget all about Sabrina Grayson. But his hand was stayed by the monstrous pain in his heart. Dismissing the bewildered servant, he flattened out the envelope as best he could, tore it open, and scanned its contents.
It was an invitation to tea. Today. He tossed the letter into the hearth and watched it flare orange for a moment before disintegrating into ash. He would see her one last time.
Upon arrival at Aylesford House, he was shown into the parlor where Sabrina waited. The sight of her standing in the sunlight at the window was like a physical blow.
Still facing the glass, she spoke without inflection. “I am allowing Fairford to court me, but I will also accept your suit as well, if you still wish it.”
In two strides he was across the room. “I swear to you that you will not regret it.” He felt her arms tighten around him briefly before she stiffened and pulled away.
“I am only doing this out of kindness to my mother. She wishes me to give you a chance.”
His hands fell to his sides. “If you truly have no real desire to marry me, then why should I bother?”
“Because”—she hesitated, as though debating whether to continue—“because in addition, of late, I have begun to question my chosen path.”
“Fairford is not turning out quite to your taste, I take it?” he said, immediately biting his tongue as her green eyes flashed.
“I simply wish to know whether or not you and I can, in fact, coexist peaceably as adults—something I very seriously doubt,” she snapped.
He watched as she stopped and struggled for calm.
Her eyes were on the carpet as she continued. “I admit that I have perhaps been unfairly biased against you due to a childhood animosity. That, and the fact that I did not wish to allow my desires to lead me astray. I am willing to put aside past differences, if you will do the same,” she stressed with a sharp look, “and stop constantly trying to provoking me.”
“Agreed,” he said. He would try his best. “And as for your latter ex…reason?”
She blushed. “As I said, I have recently come to debate whether or not my chosen course is the best. Regardless, my mother wishes me to give you a fair chance, and I cannot deny her.”
Henry sent a prayer of thanks to heaven. She might think she was
only doing this at her mother’s command, but he knew better. She was finally beginning to come to her senses. He took her face between his hands and kissed her gently. He felt the trembling of her lips, and he breathed in her soft sigh. “Sabrina, I promise you that I will never give you any reason to—” Sounds from the hall outside signaled the arrival of Lady Aylesford and tea, and Sabrina moved away.
Damn.
By the time he left, a plan had begun to form. He needed to expose Fairford’s perfidy, but Sabrina would never believe a word of it from him. He needed help…
Sabrina went to her room utterly drained. Closing the door, she lay on her bed, her heart galloping like a horse gone mad.
All of her careful plans had gone awry in the worst way. She should never have sent Henry that note, but nagging doubts had forced her to reconsider him. The sensible choice just didn’t make as much sense anymore. Or was it just her body’s—or worse, her heart’s—demands interfering?
But the feeling of being in his arms again…all the fire that had been so utterly lacking in Fairford’s kiss had been there with Henry. It was no use denying her desire for him. Coupled with the emotional attachment beginning to form between them, it was a disaster waiting to happen.
Urgency filled her. Though she had misgivings, she must give Fairford a fair chance as well. The thought of him touching her was still repugnant, but she chose to ignore it. After all, her gut reaction was what had gotten her into so much trouble with Henry. She dare not trust something as fallacious as instinct, whether it pointed in the direction she wanted or not, to make her decision for her.
The chess set and poetry book Fairford had again sent caught her eye. She’d accepted them the second time. It still surprised her that he’d remembered their conversation at the opera. He’d also invited her to a literary-club meeting this week. His thoughtfulness and consideration pleased her enormously.
With passion erased from the equation, Fairford made perfect sense. She could never love him, but she could get along with him just fine. And she was certain she’d be able to tolerate him in the marriage bed.
