But the foolish woman didn’t even know the proper way to respond to such treatment. Instead of flouting him and flirting heedlessly herself, she merely watched him with large, sad eyes. Eyes that caused Henri additional hours of unhappiness.
Voyons, it was enough to drive a man insane. And now this. Henri cast a surreptitious glance at his friend. There was something almost despairing about the way Nick sat so still, his face devoid of all emotion. Henri had seen similar expressions on the face of some of his countrymen when they’d lost everything they possessed in the war.
Henri sighed and stood. “I think you are making a mistake, mon ami. Sara is your wife, and it is her duty to stand by your side, whatever occurs.”
“You say that as if you envy it.”
“Perhaps I do. But it is your decision, and you must do what you think is right. If you need my help, Nicholas, you have but to ask.”
Nick watched as the comte left the room, closing the door behind him. For a long moment he simply sat still, wondering if he had the strength to do what needed to be done. But he had no choice. Sara had proven that when she’d seduced him so thoroughly in the stillroom. He was powerless against her—too besotted to walk away.
So he had to make Sara leave.
He knew her well. Better, perhaps, than she knew herself. Julius had betrayed her, leaving her hurt and alone. Because of that, she would never again allow herself to be so used.
He looked down at the desk where a missive lay on the top of the blotter. It was addressed to Lucilla Kettering, the nefarious Lady Knowles. For all her faults, Lucilla would serve his purpose perfectly. By this time tomorrow, Sara would hate him as much as she hated Julius.
Why did the thought fill him with grief, instead of relief?
“…and then the elephant stepped on Lady Birlington’s hat and—”
“Elephant?” Sara blinked.
A lopsided grin graced Anna’s wide mouth. “I wanted to see if you were listening.”
Sara hadn’t been, of course. Her mind was too occupied with her errant husband. Since last week’s interlude in the stillroom, he had assiduously avoided her company. She met Anna’s curious gaze and managed a wan smile. “I was listening.”
“No, you weren’t. I also had a baboon riding in a carriage, a dog kissing Lady Elderton, and a blue fish at the Fretwood ball, and you didn’t catch a one.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve just been preoccupied.”
Anna placed her hand on Sara’s. “What happened?”
Sara picked up a blue tasseled pillow and held it against her stomach. Damn her impulsive tongue. Why had she blurted to Nick that foolish thing about having a child? But she knew why she’d said it…“I believe I have made a mistake.” And she was baffled as to how to fix it.
Until that moment, having a child hadn’t really occurred to her. But somehow the combination of Nick’s sultry presence and the remnants of their passionate encounter added to her realization that she was really and truly happy, and had made her reach out for just a little bit more. If only she’d known that that little bit would drive Nick away.
Perhaps if she told him that she’d been teasing, that she didn’t really want a child at all…but she did want children. Not right now, of course, but soon…Nine months seemed about right. Sara held the little pillow more tightly. Perhaps he just needed a little time to adjust.
The door opened, and Nick strolled in. Sara’s heart leapt at the sight of him. He looked wildly handsome in his riding clothes. He hesitated when he saw Anna, but then smiled and came forward, bowing gracefully. “Miss Thraxton. How delightful to see you.”
Anna returned his greeting and he turned to his wife. “Sara, I came to tell you that I will be leaving this afternoon.”
She dug her fingers into the pillow even as she said in a voice of great unconcern, “Oh? When will you be back?”
Nick adjusted his cuff, careful not to meet her gaze. “A week. Maybe more.”
He was lying. She knew it as clearly as if he’d told her so, himself. “Where are you going?” She hated the words as soon as they left her mouth.
His gaze hardened. “That, my dear, is none of your business.”
Anna gave a shocked gasp, but Sara’s training as Julius Lawrence’s perfect wife stood her in good stead. She was able to hold Nick’s gaze, though her eyes burned and her throat ached.
Nick put on his hat. “If you need anything, Wiggs will know how to get in touch with me.” With another quick bow to Anna, he left.
This time not only was her pride being shredded, but her heart, as well. Sara closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his booted feet as he crossed the foyer and went out. Moments later he cantered by, riding as if the hounds of hell were at his heels.
Then she let the tears fall. Anna put her arm about her shoulders and murmured words of consolation, but none helped. For the first time since Julius’s death, Sara cried—and it was for another man.
After Anna had gone and Sara had had time to compose herself, she found Wiggs. “Where is he?”
“My lord is at the gatekeeper’s cottage. He said he was going to work on some estate business.”
Sara blinked, surprised Wiggs had answered her so readily and that Nick was so close. “Have the landau brought up.”
The butler bowed and left. Sara remained in the foyer, pacing impatiently. This was not the way one ran a marriage. Problems should be discussed, debated, even yelled about. But apparently things had been different in the Montrose family than in the St. John family, and Nick did not feel comfortable expressing himself. Not beyond lust, at least.
The landau was finally ready and Sara stepped outside. Just as she reached the carriage, a clatter arose in the yard. She turned and found the Comte du Lac astride his bay.
“Ah, the lovely countess. Have you seen Nick? I must ask him—”
“Nick is not here.”
Henri paused, his bright gaze quickly assessing her. “What has happened, chère? You appear disturbed.”
“I am going to visit my husband and have a word with him.”
“You are in a passion, no? I will ride with you. A woman in a passion should never travel alone.”
She climbed into the landau with more energy than grace. “Thank you for your concern, but it is unnecessary.” She nodded to the groom, and they were off. They had almost reached the cottage before Sara realized that Henri had followed her. When they arrived, he hopped off his horse and came to assist her alight.
The cottage was awash with light and color, the windows thrown open. Sara frowned to hear voices and laughter spilling from the upstairs window.
Henri glanced uneasily at the cottage. “Perhaps we should not be here. Why don’t we—”
Sara pushed past him and entered. Somehow, she climbed the narrow stairs and walked straight into the main bedchamber.
Nick stood in the center of the room, his shirt off, his breeches undone, his hair tousled. Standing beside him, her hands intimately splayed over his chest, was Lucilla Kettering, her sumptuous body clothed in a diaphanous gown that showed every curve.
Lucilla saw Sara first, and a crafty catlike smile curved her mouth. “Why, darling. We have a visitor.” She leaned her head against Nick’s shoulder and purred up at him, “I do hope this doesn’t mean you can’t stay to play.”
“I can stay as long as I wish.” It was Nick’s voice, yet it wasn’t. Nick’s voice had never been so cold, so hard. He flickered an impersonal gaze Sara’s way, and asked, “What do you want?”
She wanted for this moment to never be. She wanted to disappear in a puff of smoke and wake up in a dream where Nick loved her. Loved her as much as she loved him.
“I came to talk to you,” Sara said, amazed to discover that her voice worked. “Nick, don’t do this.”
Lucilla gave a throaty chuckle, her eyes filled with false pity. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but he already has.” She trailed her hand down Nick’s chest to where his breeches hung o
pen. “Several times, in fact.”
Nick caught Lucilla’s hand before it went any farther, though his gaze never left Sara. “Leave, Sara. Now.”
Sara’s mouth filled with an acrid taste, and her heart clenched in pain. Yet something seemed off about the scene. There was no intimacy between the two who stood before her. Nick seemed unyielding and stern, and Lucilla’s voice held a tinge of desperation. She didn’t sound anything like a woman who had just won the man of her dreams.
And despite Lucilla’s claims, the covers on the bed behind them were still tightly drawn, the pillows unmussed. Like Lucilla’s gown, everything in the room was perfect. Too perfect.
“Sara,” Nick said, wondering why she was still standing there, an arrested look on her face. “Sara, please go.” His chest ached and a dull pressure thudded behind his eyes. No matter what hell he descended into, he would never forget the expression on Sara’s face when she walked through the door and saw him with Lucilla.
Sara raised her eyes to his, and in that instant, he knew that she’d seen through his deception.
“If you wanted me to leave, all you had to do was say so.” She flicked a glance at Lucilla. “As for you, you can have him.” She turned on her heel and walked from the room.
Nick stared at the empty doorway, his heart thudding slow and sick against his throat. Desolation held him in its icy grip and he felt nothing but the echo of a deep, soulless emptiness that was so overwhelming he almost staggered.
Just as he’d intended, she was gone. And he would never see her again.
Henri’s startled face appeared in the doorway.
When he caught sight of Lucilla, his face hardened. He whipped his gaze to Nick. “Mon Dieu, what have you done?”
“Where is she?”
“She jumped into her carriage and fled as if running for her life.”
“Go after her. She shouldn’t be alone.” For an instant, Nick feared that Henri would argue with him, but after one more glance, the older man left.
Frozen, Nick stood staring at the open door. His life was over. Nothing mattered now. He would see to the restoration of Hibberton Hall and leave it to Sara along with his fortune. At least she would have something from him. Some small gesture that might let her know what she meant to him.
A slender female hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Nick,” Lucilla said, her voice brushing against his neck. “That was rather enjoyable, wasn’t it? Just like when we were in Paris.”
Nick turned away. “You can go now, Lucilla. I will send a draft to your house that more than covers your gaming debts. You should be able to live quite comfortably for a while without being forced to sell yourself yet again.”
“But Nick,” she said, placing her hand on his. “Now that Sara’s gone—”
“I can go straight to hell, where I belong. And you, my dear, can leave.” He strode toward the door. “Don’t worry about locking up. By tomorrow, this place will be burnt to the ground.”
Lucilla blinked and glanced around at the fine furnishings. “All of it?”
“Yes,” he said, his heart as bleak as his soul. “I never want to see this place again.” With that, he turned and left.
Several days later, Anthony arrived on his aunt’s doorstep. Damn the Elliot family and their constant squabbling. He’d been called back to London to sort out a dispute, and it had taken Delphi’s missive almost a week to find him. He followed the servant to where his aunt sat waiting.
“Thank God you have come,” she said, starting up from her chair.
“Where is she?” Anthony asked.
“In her room. I vow, Anthony, I’m at my wits’ end.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Have you talked to her?”
“I’ve tried, but she won’t say a word. I had a tray taken to her room, but she won’t eat, either.” Delphi took a shaky breath. “I heard what happened from a very reliable source.”
“Who?”
“That’s none of your business,” Delphi snapped, then colored. “Sara caught Bridgeton with another woman. It must have been difficult for her, after Julius.”
It would have been more than difficult, especially if she’d attempted to seduce him. Thanks to my misbegotten advice. Anthony rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe she’ll talk to me.”
Delphi looked unconvinced. “I hope so. I’m worried about her.”
Moments later, Anthony knocked hesitantly on Sara’s door. When there was no answer, he opened it. “Sara?”
He expected to see her collapsed on her bed, tears streaming from her face. Instead she was pacing, her hands fisted to her side, her face pale and tense. He closed the door behind him, then crossed to lean against the bedpost.
She slanted a furious glance his way. “If you’ve come to talk, you are wasting your time.”
Anthony shrugged. “I’ve never been one for conversation. I’m just here to keep you company.”
She crossed her arms and increased her pace. “Nicholas Montrose is a bastard.”
“I know.”
“And a…an ass.”
Anthony nodded, noting how her eyes blazed. His heart ached for her. “Shall I kill him for you?”
“No,” she snapped. “Death is too good for a man like him. Let him be alone, if that’s what he wants. I want nothing more to do with him.”
“Are you certain?”
“I’m positive.” She took two more steps then came to an abrupt halt, her face crumpling.
Anthony closed the space between them, catching her to his chest as sobs wracked her body.
After an interminable time, she hiccuped to a stop. “Oh, Anthony,” she whispered. “He didn’t love me. Not even a little. I thought he might come to, but—” Pain convulsed through her and she gripped Anthony’s jacket and pressed her face against him.
Anthony rubbed his cheek against her hair. “Ah, sweetheart. Just forget this part of your life. Let it go.”
“I can’t.”
“It will be hard, but you can do it, Sara. I know you can. One day, you’ll look back on this and—”
“No, I won’t.” There was quiet surety in her voice.
He pushed her hair away from her face. “Why not? You started over after Julius died. This will be the same.”
“It will never be the same. Never.” She raised her pain-filled eyes to his. “I’m pregnant, Anthony. I’m going to have Nick’s child, and he hates the very sight of me.” With that, she dropped her head against his chest and broke into fresh sobs.
It was a pity the Earl of Bridgeton was not present at this exact moment, because Anthony would have killed him with his bare hands—as slowly and as painfully as he could. As it was, he was forced to stay with his sister and hold her until her tears finally dried.
Uncertain what to do then, Anthony ordered her to bed. To his surprise, she went, falling quickly asleep as if exhausted. He stood for a long while looking down at her, noting the bluish circles beneath her eyes, the sad turn of her lips even in her sleep. It was painful, he knew. But perhaps it was for the best.
Anthony bent over and kissed his sister’s cheek, then turned and quietly left the room.
Chapter 21
A week passed before Sara declared herself ready to leave the house. After careful consideration, Delphi chose the Boswells’ dinner party. It was to be a very small, select sort of party with only ten couples present. After dinner, a musical performance by Lady Boswell was to serve as the evening’s entertainment. All in all, Delphi thought it was the perfect event for Sara to make her reappearance.
Lady Boswell, a large, imposing woman who wore a turban, fixed her cheerful gaze on Sara. “Lady Bridgeton, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance. May I say that you are even prettier than was reported?”
Sara managed a smile. “Thank you. Aunt Delphi has told me so much about you, as well. I hear we are in for a rare treat this evening.”
“Well, never let it be said that I don’t know how to entertain, be it a coun
tess or a princess. Speaking of which, we have some relatives of yours coming this evening. I doubt you’ve met them yet, for they’ve been in the country for a while and everyone knows that—” A stir at the door made her look up. “Ah, there they are now. If you’ll pardon me, I must greet them.” She turned to meet two new visitors.
Sara watched as Lady Boswell greeted a tall, slender woman dressed in the height of fashion and wearing a pair of spectacles. But it was the man beside her that caught Sara’s attention. She could only see him from behind. Tall and well formed, with hair as black as night, he reminded her of someone.
Sara was just about to ask Delphi for his name when he turned her way. Her heart contracted painfully. With the exception of his dark coloring, the man looked exactly like Nick.
Lady Boswell brought the newcomers over and introduced them. Sara knew immediately that this was Nick’s cousin. She glanced curiously at the viscountess and encountered such a frank look from the woman’s amazing green eyes, that she colored and dropped her gaze. Uncomfortable, she mumbled her greeting and made her escape as soon as possible.
The rest of the evening was agony. Sara could not look away from Lord Hunterston. After dinner, she thankfully escaped to the music room and took a seat in the farthest corner, hoping she could escape the poignant reminder of her husband.
Lord Boswell, a bluff, pleasant man with a loud laugh, escorted his wife to the pianoforte and made ready for the evening’s entertainment. Sara saw to her dismay that Viscount Hunterston was sitting near the front of the room with Aunt Delphi, directly in her line of sight. Almost moaning, Sara closed her eyes.
“Alec looks amazingly like your husband,” said a voice to her side.
Sara jerked her gaze around and found herself looking into the deep green eyes of the viscountess. “Yes,” Sara heard herself say. “Yes, he does.”
“Quite disturbing, in a way. But then, one doesn’t think of ‘Bridgeton’ and ‘comfort’ in the same sentence.”
The Seduction of Sara Page 25
