by Karen Ranney
Karen Ranney
Sold to a Laird
To my readers
Contents
Chapter 1
“Good afternoon, Simons,” she said, pulling off her gloves. “Is…
Chapter 2
The town house Douglas had purchased on his arrival in…
Chapter 3
Two days later, Sarah was well and truly wed, to…
Chapter 4
Thomas, anticipatory as always, opened the door just as she…
Chapter 5
The sad fact was that, despite her annoyance, misgivings, and…
Chapter 6
An hour past dawn, Douglas found Chavensworth’s library.
Chapter 7
Despite the fact that there were numerous tasks to be…
Chapter 8
She should be ecstatic. She should be overjoyed. Her husband…
Chapter 9
Sarah went first to her own bedchamber and gathered up…
Chapter 10
Sarah was awakened by a warm breath on her eyelids.
Chapter 11
Sarah met with the home steward the next day. Since…
Chapter 12
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Thunder rolled from…
Chapter 13
“Get that look off your face, man,” Anthony, Duke of…
Chapter 14
Dressing seemed to be a task alien to Sarah, as…
Chapter 15
The funeral was a restrained ceremony, befitting the Duchess of…
Chapter 16
Douglas walked out the door in the north façade, an…
Chapter 17
They arrived in the city midmorning of the next day.
Chapter 18
Sarah had evidently not slept well the night before, and…
Chapter 19
Scotland had welcomed them with sunny skies for the past…
Chapter 20
The young girl—Sarah was uncertain as to her actual position…
Chapter 21
A knock on the door made Sarah roll her eyes.
Chapter 22
Sarah emerged from the bathing chamber to find that Douglas…
Chapter 23
Douglas awakened to the feeling of Sarah’s skin against his.
Chapter 24
Donald Tulloch, Laird of Kilmarin, had arranged for this meeting…
Chapter 25
Douglas wasn’t at dinner.
Chapter 26
Leaving Kilmarin was more difficult than Sarah had anticipated.
Chapter 27
Sarah stood, walked to the pier glass, and surveyed herself…
Chapter 28
Rain had fallen throughout the night, pinging against the oak…
Chapter 29
Douglas carried her through the crowd of servants as she…
Chapter 30
The next morning, Sarah sent Florie back to her own…
Chapter 31
On Friday, Sarah dressed in one of her favorite ensembles,…
Chapter 32
“The Duke of Herridge is an excessively greedy man, Simons,”…
Chapter 33
Sarah was in the library, in a special area she’d…
Epilogue
The Duke of Herridge stood at the door and watched…
Author’s Note
About the Author
Other Books by Karen Ranney
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
Late spring, 1860
London, England
“Good afternoon, Simons,” she said, pulling off her gloves. “Is my father at home?”
“I shall inquire of His Grace, Lady Sarah,” the majordomo said, taking her gloves as well as the bonnet she removed. He placed them on a table she recognized only too well. Two months ago, it had been in the Winter Parlor at Chavensworth.
Lady Sarah surveyed herself in the mirror. She was presentable.
“Never mind, Simons,” she said. “You know as well as I that my father will probably refuse to see me.”
The majordomo didn’t respond. Simons was, if nothing else, exquisitely tactful.
Without waiting for him to precede her, she strode down the corridor. Her father was partial to emerald green, and it was obvious here in the dark carpet and the wallpaper. She felt as if she were in a lush cave made of leaves, the smell not unlike that of forest undergrowth, dank and dark. No doubt the result of the tobacco he smoked in his study.
“Lady Sarah,” Simons whispered, following her.
Deliberately ignoring the rest of what the man was saying, she halted in front of the study door, then resolutely grabbed the latch and opened it.
“If you send Mother to Scotland, she will die,” she said, entering the room.
A second later, she halted, stunned into silence by the presence of the man seated on the other side of her father’s desk, a man even now rising from his chair. A look of surprise marred his features. The expression was infinitely preferable to the frightening look on her father’s face.
The words needed to be said, and even though they’d exploded from her with none of the tact or grace she’d been taught, they were the truth.
“She is dying,” she said, ignoring the stranger in favor of her father who, unlike the man opposite him, still remained seated. His square face was florid, his blue eyes narrowed as they stared at her without a glint of recognition. “She won’t survive the journey.”
He didn’t say a word, merely inclined his head, a gesture that inspired Simons to put his hand on her arm. She shook it off, determined not to be moved from the room.
“Why Scotland? Why now?” If she was going to be punished, she might as well truly deserve it.
The stranger glanced at her father, then over at her. She deliberately didn’t look in his direction. What on earth would she do if there was pity in his glance? She’d dissolve into tears, pleasing her father and shaming herself. So she did what she always did in her father’s presence, blocked out the emotions she was feeling. Instead, she concentrated on the reason she was here, in London, in her least favorite place on earth—her father’s home.
“She’s weaker each day. Why send her away?”
Nothing altered his expression—not sorrow, or regret, or any type of remorse. If anything, his expression steadied and solidified, human flesh taking on the impression of stone.
He looked down at the papers in front of him, suddenly pushing them away with one finger.
“You say you need investors, Eston?” he asked, addressing the man standing in front of him. “But you believe this invention of yours to be profitable?”
Was she being dismissed? With no word at all?
Sarah forced herself to remain in place, hands clenched together in front of her. Simons stood behind her, implacable and silent.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Her father stared down at the blotter, picking something up between two fingers and stretching them toward the stranger. The other man extended his hand, palm up, to receive something small and glittering in the afternoon light.
“You can replicate it, then? And make them larger?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Her father glanced at her then, and Sarah realized he’d not forgotten her presence at all.
“You’ve asked for a great amount of money, Eston.”
“Not for the return, Your Grace.”
She took a few steps forward, toward her father’s desk. Did she imagine that the older man tensed the closer she came? She could not relent. None of her letters had been answered. Nor had her father deigned to answer any of the handwritten messages she’d sent with a f
ootman. All she had left was this, a personal appeal. If he wanted her to beg, she would. Her mother was dying; what was a little humiliation?
Her father held up his hand as if to forestall her advance. She halted, ever conscious of her father’s temper. She’d learned several lessons when dealing with her father, lessons that she’d never forgotten. Don’t incite his anger. Never insist or demand. Never tell him he’s wrong.
Today, she was flouting all those lessons.
She remained where she was, determined that he would not discover that she clasped her hands in front of her to still their trembling. Or that her lips were clamped firmly shut for the same reason.
Her fear always seemed to please him in some horrid way.
He turned to the man who still stood in front of the desk. Not a supplicant, merely someone who looked, strangely enough, like her father’s equal. The Duke of Herridge was a formidable figure, yet the man who faced him was as tall and as commanding in his own way.
If she hadn’t been so worried about her mother, Sarah would have been more curious about him.
“How desperate are you for funds, Eston?” her father asked.
“Not desperate at all, Your Grace. If you decide not to invest, there are other men who have made overtures. You’re the first I’ve met.”
“I have not said that I refuse to invest in your invention. Instead, I propose that our venture be a more permanent one.”
“And what permanent venture would you propose?” the stranger asked.
Her father glanced over at her. “I have a daughter who insists on remaining unmarried. Two very expensive seasons have proven what I’ve always known. No one else can abide her. I will enter into a bargain with you, Eston, but instead of money, I’ll give you my daughter.” His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t married, are you?”
“No, Your Grace,” the stranger said.
“Then take her as your bride.”
Sarah was gripping her hands together so tightly she could feel each separate bone. She was bruising herself, no doubt. Was this to be her punishment, then? For daring to challenge the Duke of Herridge’s cruelty she was to be sold to a stranger?
“I believe a special license takes a few days, but no more than that,” her father said. “If you need somewhere to work, use Chavensworth. In fact, I would prefer it, in order to have some idea of your progress.” He sat back in his chair and regarded the stranger with some equanimity.
“You cannot be serious,” Sarah said, carefully not looking in the stranger’s direction.
She’d never been in any doubt as to her father’s feelings for her. He’d made his disdain for her perfectly clear. It was one thing to know that he didn’t like her, quite another to share this moment with someone to whom she’d not even been introduced.
The Duke of Herridge folded his arms across his chest and looked impassively at the stranger. “Well, Eston? What’s your answer?”
Eston glanced over at her again, and this time she forced herself to meet his gaze. He was absurdly handsome. His hair was black, his features perfect, and his mouth reminded her of the statues in the Greek Garden at home. His nose was a bit too long perhaps, and his chin too bluntly squared. But it was his eyes that drew her attention more than the arrangement of his features. His eyes were greenish blue, the color of a dawn sky.
What was a man doing with such eyes?
She wanted to tell him not to regard her with such assiduousness. His intensity made her even more uncomfortable than her father’s words.
Was he actually giving credence to her father’s improbable suggestion? It wasn’t the first time her father had said something shocking in public regarding her. He seemed to choose a crowded ballroom, a highly attended dinner party, a foyer filled with partygoers waiting for their carriages to arrive in which to criticize her, illuminate her shortcomings. She’d grown accustomed to his remarks and quite prepared for them.
Nothing could have prepared her for today, however.
“Very well,” Eston said. “I’ll take your daughter, Your Grace.”
“I would say that you’ve made a good bargain for yourself, but I’ve no wish to lie to you, Eston. She’ll be a chain of rocks around your neck. Still and all, being my son-in-law cannot help but do you some good in the world.”
He was serious. He was actually serious. And so was Eston, if the considering glance he gave her was to be believed.
“The arrangement will suit me as well,” the Duke of Herridge said. “If your discovery is a good as you claim, you’ll make me a rich man. Not to mention ridding me of a nuisance.”
“Have you lost your mind, Father?” Sarah said. “You cannot be serious.”
He ignored her and spoke to Simons, still standing silently behind her.
“I am ignorant of the procedure for obtaining a special license. See that it’s done.” He glanced at Eston. “I’m certain you will do what you need in that regard, Eston.”
“What makes you think I shall accede to this preposterous plan of yours, Father?”
“If you do not, I’ll have your mother packed up for Scotland in less than a day.” A smug, triumphant smile curved his lips. “It’s your choice. Marriage or Scotland?”
For the first time, Eston spoke to her directly. “What is your name?” he asked.
“My name?” She turned her head and regarded him, wondering why she was suddenly incapable of answering that simple question. She did know her name, did she not?
“If we are to be wed, then I think we should perhaps begin with names.”
“Sarah,” she finally said.
He placed his right hand against his midriff and bowed slowly from the waist. Not deferential enough to be servile.
“Douglas Eston.”
Her father appeared amused. She stiffened her shoulders and inclined her head.
Not one word came to mind to convince him to change his mind. All her father had to do was simply wave his hands in the air, and she was married, dismissed, and banished with no more effort than it took to dismiss an untrustworthy servant.
The Duke of Herridge turned his attention to Eston again. “Her mother’s family lives in Scotland. If she becomes a burden, I suggest you send her there. I should’ve done the same with her mother years ago.”
Sarah turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” the duke asked.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Back to Chavensworth,” she said. “Mother needs me.”
“She’ll have to do without you,” her father said. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’re well and truly wed.”
Douglas didn’t need the Duke of Herridge’s money, and he certainly didn’t need to be married. But something, an emotion he couldn’t quite name, held him rooted to the spot.
Sarah looked terrified, and he couldn’t help but wonder if her father was astute enough—or cared enough—to notice. He’d had his own experience with fear and attempting to suppress it. He saw the same in Sarah now. Her hands were clenched tightly in front of her—to hide their trembling? Her eyes were downcast—to mask the fear in them? Her lips were pressed tightly together, either to still their quivering or to hide the fact that they were suddenly bloodless.
Douglas wanted to stand in front of her, to protect her from the Duke of Herridge’s cruelty. Or dispatch the man from the room altogether. If they were alone, he might ask her if she loathed the idea of marriage so very much. Or he might even press his suit, a thought that nearly had him fleeing from the room.
He hadn’t known her fifteen minutes ago, hadn’t seen her or dreamed of her, or envisioned her being part of the world in which he lived. He had not once thought to know a woman named Sarah, with her demeanor, with temper fleshing in her eyes at the same time as fear.
That was the insanity of this meeting. Not the Duke of Herridge’s obvious greed and just as apparent cruelty. Not Sarah’s aversion to her father. Not even the bargain Douglas was willing to make—a bargain that ridiculous
ly included marriage—but the fact that if Sarah slipped away now, before he’d spoken to her, before he had known her, Douglas knew he would regret it for the whole of his life.
“I shall see about getting a special license,” Douglas said.
The duke simply waved his hand at him, as if to speed him on his way.
One last look at Sarah, and he was reluctantly gone.
Chapter 2
The town house Douglas had purchased on his arrival in London was not as large as that belonging to the Duke of Herridge, but it was in a fashionable area. The rest of the houses on the square were occupied by peers, a fact he’d already been told. The same person who kept him apprised of his neighbors also harangued him on a daily basis about purchasing the furniture needed to at least equal their standards.
He left his carriage, the equal to any owned by his neighbors. It, too, had been recently purchased, as had the horses, and for an amount that he’d once thought exorbitant.
The young man opening the door was a stranger, but Douglas had given Alano leave to hire a new staff.
“Where is Alano?” Douglas asked.
“And just who would be asking?”
How like Alano to have found the most annoying young man in London. Douglas bit back his irritation, and answered, “Your employer.”
“Sir,” the young man said, his attitude shifting immediately, “I am Paulson, and I believe Mr. Alano is in the wine cellar.”
Mr. Alano? Douglas shook his head as he entered the house, veered to the right, and angled himself between two stacks of crates.
