by Liana Lefey
Eventually.
The thought made her squirm as memories of Henry again intruded. His hands, his mouth…
Devil take it!
Her only chance for sanity lay in exposing Henry’s faults. She had to prove to herself once and for all that he was unequivocally the wrong man for her.
And that was something she couldn’t do if he wasn’t around. She resigned herself to enduring the torment for a little while longer.
A knock intruded upon her thoughts. “My lady, a courier has just arrived with a message for you,” the butler stiffly announced.
She looked up expectantly, but there was no tray in the servant’s hand. “Well, where is it?”
“Apologies, my lady,” the flummoxed man replied. “He refused to deliver the message to anyone but your ladyship.”
“Who sent him?”
“He would not say, my lady.”
Mystified, she put aside her book and followed the indignant servant down to the foyer. A young man awaited her, a parcel wrapped in black velvet and tied with scarlet silk ribbons in his hands.
With a bow, the young man presented the gift. “My lady, I was instructed to place this only into your hands and to tell you to open it in privacy,” he said, withdrawing an envelope from his pocket. “This accompanies it.”
Within the crinkly parchment, her fingers discerned the shape of a key. She immediately recognized the handwriting on the envelope. Thanking the courier, she turned toward the stairs.
The butler practically leaped to head her off. “My lady, hadn’t you best open it here, in case something dangerous lies within?”
“It’s quite all right. I know the sender’s hand,” she told him with a smile. Leaving the curious man behind, she continued her march up the steps to her room. Once there, she locked her door and placed the package on her bed. For a long moment, she just stared at it.
Henry’s first courtship gift. What could it be?
Taking a deep breath, she removed the ribbons and pulled back the cloth to reveal an intricately carved wooden box. A floral motif decorated its dark, polished surface, each leaf and bloom crafted of precious gems and joined to its sisters by vines of hair-fine silver inlay. The box alone was a gift worthy of royalty, yet she could feel that something else lay inside.
The envelope beckoned. Tearing it open, she inserted the strange little key into the lock and turned it. The tumblers aligned with a soft snick, and she lifted the lid. Inside lay a leather-bound book. A note slipped out as she held up the tome to more closely examine the elaborate tooling on its cover.
Sabrina,
Please accept these gifts as tokens of my great affection and regard. For my lady: Murshidabad silk from the looms of Bengal and an ancient, sacred Hindi text.
Yours,
H.
Silk? She looked to the box and there, beneath where the book had lain, was another packet, this one a soft, featherlight parcel wrapped in chambray. Opening it, she shook out a swath of palest pink silk so fine it was practically transparent.
It was a night rail.
Fingers trembling, she held out the delicate wisp of fabric, her exhalation of reverence causing it to ripple like water. The thing looked as if made for some exotic princess, its neckline embroidered in satin threads and lavishly encrusted with seed pearls, beads of silver, and tiny, sparkling jewels—diamonds and rubies, to be precise.
She gasped in astonishment. A royal gift, indeed! It was worth an absolute fortune.
No doubt Henry meant for her to wear it on their first night as husband and wife. Unbidden, a wicked curl crept across her lips, and her heart began to pound. So delicate a garment would likely be ruined within seconds of his seeing it on her.
Carefully laying it aside, she returned her attention to the book in her lap. Page after page was filled with curious, curling script that, while interesting, was also utterly unintelligible. The next leaf she turned, however, revealed a beautifully inked, color illustration depicting lovers engaged in a passionate embrace.
Naked lovers. And they were…
Her face caught fire as she stared, mesmerized.
Years ago, while clandestinely poking about in the servants’ quarters, she’d chanced upon some naughty leaflets hidden beneath a bed. This image looked nothing like those, however. Those had been crude and demeaning. This was not. This was beautiful. The couple appeared utterly enraptured with each other. She flipped through the remaining pages, stopping to absorb each illustration. Each pane had been drawn with exquisite attention to detail.
She swallowed. Every detail. Not all were sexually explicit, though the ones that were made her blush. Henry had said it was an ancient, sacred Hindi text. Obviously, it was a treatise on love.
If Mama found out about it, it would surely be ample cause for her to end his suit.
Or demand that they marry at once.
Was it worth the risk?
Her heart nearly leaped out of her throat at the sound of a knock on her door.
“My lady?” called a muffled voice from the other side.
Sabrina panicked. “A moment, if you please.” The book and gown she quickly put back into the box, which she then hid in the darkest corner of her wardrobe.
Cheeks still aflame, she went to the door and opened it.
“Your mother has returned and requests your presence downstairs at once, my lady,” the servant informed her.
As Sabrina turned to leave, her eye fell on the chess set Fairford had given her. Somehow it wasn’t very inspiring anymore. And the little book of French poetry he’d given her suddenly seemed trite and full of sentimental drivel—none of which, she knew, echoed his feelings for her. He was only satisfying the conventions of courtship.
SEVERAL DAYS LATER
“SABRINA TOLD ME how you’ve named a new flower after her,” said Mama with a bright smile as Fairford entered the room. Sabrina was glad to see she’d begun to warm toward him. “You simply must send over a cutting, so that we may grow it here in our gardens and be eternally reminded of your thoughtfulness.”
“Of course. I shall be delighted to oblige.”
“Excellent. Now, then. I hope you don’t mind, my lord, but I’ve invited over a few friends to join us for a small gathering this afternoon. Sheffield will be here at any moment, as well as the Hesterfields and the Darlingtons and a few others,” she said, waving a hand vaguely. “With the weather being so very lovely, I’ve decided we shall take to the outdoors. I do hope you’ll join us.”
Even as he nodded amiably, Sabrina once more wrestled down a powerful urge to swear. She’d counted on having time alone with him. How could she begin to accustom herself to his manner while being forced to natter over cards and stale tea cakes with a bunch of their friends?
Just then, the butler announced Sheffield’s arrival.
Mama rose. “You’ll have to excuse me, my lord. My other guests are beginning to arrive.”
He bowed before her. “Lady Sabrina, always a pleasure.”
“I must apologize,” she began after allowing him to kiss her hand. Though he hid it well, she could tell he was disappointed.
He shrugged. “No harm done. But I did wish to speak to you in pr—”
“Ah! There you are. I see that I am not the first of your admirers to arrive,” teased Lord Sheffield from the doorway. He crossed the room to kiss her cheek in fatherly fashion. “I do hope you’ll join me in a game of chess, my dear. I’ve yet to ease the sting of your having beaten me last week.”
Sabrina flicked a nervous glance in Fairford’s direction. “Ah…yes, of course, my lord.” She’d lied to him regarding her skill at the game, for Georgiana had once told her a man did not like to think his woman was more intelligent than himself. It might be off-putting if he discovered she was good enough to beat the likes of Sheffield, who was a player of some renown.
“Excellent! Then I hereby claim a match,” said Sheffield.
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard the news,”
interjected Lady Aylesford as she came up behind Sheffield with a group of guests. “Our Sabrina has had a newly discovered flower named after her by the Royal Society, thanks to Lord Fairford!”
After an hour or so, Sabrina thought she’d go mad if she had to retell the story one more time. As if a silly flower mattered in the least. It had been a ploy to win her affections, nothing more. She longed for peace and quiet, but the din only rose as more people arrived. Obviously, Mama’s idea of a “small gathering” was everyone else’s idea of a large, noisy throng.
By the time they finally moved outdoors, she was extremely grateful. Fairford now lay on a blanket across from her, watching while she set up the chessboard again. They had played four rounds thus far, and she’d purposely lost two of them. Two moves ago, she had deliberately put her queen in jeopardy, ensuring his win.
She gazed at the others out enjoying the day and spied her mother and Sheffield strolling across the lawn, chatting amiably. Her mother was smiling, her face filled with contentment. There was not a hint of any passion between them whatsoever, not even the faintest whiff of the kind of insanity she experienced with Henry.
They have exactly what I desire.
“Checkmate,” Fairford murmured, tipping her king. He arose and stretched. “I believe I’m ready for a constitutional.”
“Of course, my lord,” she said, rising to join him. “The orchards should be particularly fine on a day like this.”
Sauntering past manicured lawns and bordered gardens, they entered the lush green of the orchards. Spring had at last arrived, and every twig was swollen with fat, fuzzy green buds.
Stopping beneath the spreading branches of a gnarled old apple tree, he turned to her. Before he could so much as utter a word, however, she stepped right up to him and kissed him firmly on the mouth. In the conservatory, she’d been timid, reticent. It was time to see if she could bring herself to feel some sort of attraction for him.
At first, it was gentle and not entirely unpleasant. The moment she brushed her tongue against his lips, however, everything changed. With a groan, he backed her up against the bole of a tree and ground his pelvis into her belly.
She refrained from rolling her eyes. All men seemed to be led by the beast between their legs. She tolerated it—until his hands began fumbling at her breasts. Without thinking, she sank her teeth into his bottom lip in protest. The salty tang of blood touched her tongue, and she shoved him away just as he moaned in pain.
She’d felt no reciprocal desire whatsoever. No tingles, no flashes of liquid heat, no shivers of pleasure. Only revulsion. “Please accept my apologies, my lord. I—I don’t know what possessed me.”
He moved in behind her and grasped her shoulders lightly. “You need not apologize, my dear. Not to me. The truth of the matter is that you only barely beat me to the mark. I fully intended to kiss you the moment we were out of view,” he murmured, caressing the tip of her ear with his lips.
She shrank away from his touch. “I think we had better return.” She could not seem to overcome her reaction to him.
His hands tightened on her shoulders. “I think not. Not just yet.”
Turning her around, he hauled her close and dug his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull, preventing any escape. Startled, she began to struggle as his tongue delved deep into her mouth. She pushed at him with her other hand, but he only grabbed her wrist in a viselike grip. She gasped and kicked at him as the delicate bones rubbed together painfully. It was to little effect, however, for her heavy skirts prevented any real contact.
A chuckle escaped him as she squirmed, and his fingers tightened in her hair, wresting a whimper from her throat. The tiny sound seemed to satisfy some need in him, and he broke away. She stood there, shaking. Disgust filled her. She’d heard of men who enjoyed violent love play.
He smiled benevolently. “Forgive me, my darling,” he said, caressing her cheek. She flinched. “You simply bring out the beast in me. How can any man hope to maintain his self-control with you?”
She forced out a flirtatious chuckle, unwilling to let him see that he had upset her. “Surely not you, my lord? A man of the world such as yourself has probably lost count of the number of ladies he’s kissed.”
“None so inspiring as you,” he answered smoothly. “They were a mere candle to your bright sun. I cannot remember a single name in your presence, other than your own sweet syllables. You drive me mad with your charms.”
She concentrated on the grass at her feet. “You flatter me, my lord.”
He moved in behind her. “I never offer an insincere compliment.” She forced down her panic as he reached around to caress the side of her breast and then moved lower, flattening his palm against her belly. “And when I say you drive me to madness, I truly mean it.” He pressed himself against her buttocks for emphasis. “I want you,” he whispered at her ear. “Now.”
She stepped away. “I am no lightskirt, my lord. I shan’t give myself to any man but my lawful husband.”
“Then marry me, and let’s have done with this ridiculous game.”
Her brows lifted in response to his tone. “If it is a game, then surely you understand that the stakes are highest for me.”
He addressed her in a more conciliatory manner. “I’m ready to make a commitment here and now. I’ll make a fine husband, Sabrina. I’m wealthy, titled, decent looking.” He smiled boyishly. “Marry me, and I’ll make you the envy of all women.”
Such arrogance! No woman ever brought up the competition during a marriage proposal, but she did not hesitate. “I should be the envy of all women if I married Lord Montgomery as well. Why should I choose you over him?”
Fairford stood there, stunned into silence for a moment. “Why should you choose…? Well, because—because I…because I can give you what you want,” he blurted, clearly confused.
“Exactly what is it that you think I want?” She cocked her head to one side and waited.
“Why, what every woman wants: a passionate, devoted husband. Not to mention a fine home for you a…and our children,” he added quickly. “I can provide a life of comfort and security. You will never lack for anything. Name it, and it will be yours.”
“And what of Mrs. Childers, your mistress?”
Once more, he was taken aback. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“If I choose to accept your offer, I expect you to keep to my bed—and my bed alone—until two males are born of the union. After that, what you do is a matter of supreme indifference to me. I ask only that you are discreet and that you leave me in peace.”
“So much for sentimentality,” he said with unexpected bitterness. “What you propose is a business arrangement, not a marriage.”
She laughed softly. It was regretful that she had to be so blunt, but he had to understand where she stood on the matter if they were to agree to marry. “Perhaps it is, at that. A husband must provide for his wife’s safety and comfort, and in return she must provide him with heirs and care for their family and home. I should like the relationship to be an amiable one, of course, but unlike the majority of my sex, I don’t delude myself. The lies of ‘true love’ and ‘happily ever after’ are the stuff of children’s stories. I prefer to be pragmatic. Life becomes far less disappointing when one’s expectations are within reason.”
“I should think you’d want to keep such unconventional opinions to yourself, lest you drive away your mark,” he replied indignantly. “After all, a man likes to at least think he’s wanted for more than his purse!”
“I see. Does my honesty wound your heart, then, my lord?” She knew he didn’t love her. But desire would be enough.
“No. But it certainly doesn’t fill me with delight, either.” He peered at her curiously. “You truly have no interest in love?”
“Love is for little girls and sentimentalists. Not for me.”
“Why marry at all, then?”
“I suppose I could take care of my mother until she dies, after which I c
ould choose to live with relatives or become a teacher or governess. But there is no security, no happiness in such a life. I want a home of my own, children to raise, and above all, peace.”
“And in return?”
“My bloodline and dowry, my body to bear your children, and my considerable skills as hostess and chatelaine. Your life as my husband will be a pleasant and comfortable one, my lord. There shall be no contention in your home with me as its keeper.”
“And what of your loyalty?” he asked. “What would bind you to me, if not love? How could I be certain of your fidelity?”
“Rest assured I shall keep my wedding vows. I’ve no interest in romantic entanglements.”
“But what of passion? Has desire no impact on your decision at all?”
She decided to be completely candid. “If it did, I should already be married to Lord Montgomery and we would not be having this conversation. But I am not so foolish as to allow myself to be led by the nose into making a bad decision over a purely physical reaction.”
Her answer gave him pause. “Not many women have such self-discipline,” he said softly, surprising her. “Sentimentality I can live without, but not passion,” he said, edging closer. “And passion is what I feel for you, Sabrina. I’ll admit I didn’t want to feel it, but it exists, nonetheless. I would want it returned in some measure, at least for a while.”
“I should think that over time, it would come of its own volition, my lord. Familiarity should eventually overcome reticence,” she demurred. She would never feel any kind of passion for this man. But she would make certain he never knew it.
“And when will you arrive at your decision?” he asked.
“Selecting a husband is the most important decision of any woman’s life. My choice is one I must live with for the rest of it; therefore, I must decide carefully.”
“Indeed, I could not agree more. But know that I, too, have other options and a choice to make—and I will not wait forever.”
She smiled faintly. “Miss Bidewell.”
