“Only with my dancing master.”
Sarah watched Lizzie step close to Robbie. There was an expectant, dreamy expression on her face, quite at odds with Robbie’s laughing attitude. It was clear Robbie looked on Lizzie as a younger sister; Sarah doubted that Lizzie had sisterly feelings for Robbie.
“Have you really never been to a ball?” James asked as they waited for Charles to straighten his music.
“Well, I did go to a Christmas dance once at the school where I taught, but I didn’t dance.”
Sarah remembered it clearly. The Abingtons had bowed to pressure from one of their few wealthy families and had consented to hold the event, much against their better judgment. The sisters would squeeze a penny until it cried, so they were not about to hire extra staff. Sarah had done all the work, cleaning and cooking and listening to the sisters complain about the cost of such a frivolous undertaking. There’d been neither time to sew a ball gown nor any money for fabric, so she’d just worn her best dress, the one she’d worn to every commencement, formal school assembly, and Sunday service since she’d turned sixteen.
“No one asked you to dance?” James sounded shocked. “The men in Philadelphia must all be blind.”
Sarah smiled slightly and shook her head. One brave fellow had asked, but surprise had kept her silent too long. Miss Clarissa Abington had sent the young man off with a flea in his ear for his boldness.
“Well, I am not blind,” James whispered as Charles played the opening chords of the waltz. “And I very much want to waltz with you, Miss Hamilton.”
“Oh,” Sarah breathed as James’s hand touched her waist. She placed her hand carefully on his shoulder and smiled hesitantly up at him. She saw the faint golden stubble on the strong curve of his jaw; the slight cleft in his chin; and the firm line of his lips, lips that had felt so inviting on hers.
She had been this close to him in that bed at the Green Man. Closer even.
She dropped her eyes and stared at his shoulder.
“No, sweetheart, don’t stiffen up.” James spoke softly so that only she could hear as he started them moving around the room. “Think of my poor toes!”
A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up in her chest. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Yes, you can. Just relax. Close your eyes and feel the music.”
Sarah obediently closed her eyes, but it wasn’t the music she was feeling: it was the warmth of his body only inches from hers and the strength of his shoulder under her hand. She was surrounded by him, by his heat and his spicy, male scent, a mix of soap and wine and leather. When she wavered, he pulled her closer and she felt the momentary brush of his leg against her skirts, his chest against her breasts.
His broad, muscled chest with its golden hair, trailing in a thin line down to his navel.
Sarah gasped and opened her eyes. Such wanton thoughts!
James bent his head, his hands urging her even closer to his firm body. His lips were on level with her eyes. If she turned her head, if she leaned ever so slightly toward him, she would feel them on her temple.
She felt his breath against her cheek as he counted.
“One, two, three. One, two, three.”
A strange, drenching heat pooled low in her stomach.
“Follow me, love,” he whispered, his words stirring the tendrils of hair by her ears. “Come with me.”
She did. She forgot about her feet. She forgot the music room, Robbie and Lizzie, and the others. She gave herself up to James, let her body move with his.
When the music stopped, it took her more than a moment to come back to herself.
“Well, Lady Amanda,” she heard Robbie say, “I do believe James and Sarah just showed us why the waltz is such a dangerous dance.”
Chapter 5
James closed the heavy account book and leaned back in his chair, stretching the knots out of his neck and shoulders. Everything was in order, as usual. The estate ran itself, with some help from his excellent steward, Walter Birnam. In fact, all of his properties were in good order. None of his tenants had been forced to find work in the cities or in the new manufacturing mills. But all that would change if Richard got his hands on the dukedom.
He needed a wife and an heir. A wife now; an heir, God willing, nine months after the vows were said. Ever since he had realized Richard was trying to hasten his journey to the Almighty, the need to secure the succession had weighed on his mind—until Miss Sarah Hamilton had appeared in his bed.
He grinned. The waltz last night had been heaven—but it had been hell keeping his hands where society prescribed. He had wanted to put them on many more interesting places than Sarah’s waist and gloved hand. Her breasts, for example. His hands would fit quite nicely over those. God, he’d do almost anything to see them again—even take another pillow to the ear.
He closed his eyes. Mmm, yes. He could stand to get into another pillow fight with Miss Sarah Hamilton. When she’d lifted her hands high to wallop him, he’d seen every inch of her narrow waist and delicate ribs and lovely small breasts with their rosy tips…Yes, he would definitely enjoy another pummeling.
He shifted in his chair, savoring the throb of anticipation. Some day—some day soon, he hoped—he would have her back naked in his bed, and they could take up where they had left off at the Green Man. If she were a proper British girl, they’d have set a wedding date already. But she was a prickly, independent American girl who refused to follow British rules.
He would just need to figure out a way to persuade her. He was contemplating a variety of tantalizing methods when Robbie arrived.
“Morning, James. What has you grinning so early in the day?” Robbie dropped down into the chair by James’s desk. “Or should I say ‘who’?”
James’s grin broadened. “You of all men should be happy that I’m content with my fate, since you’re to blame for the whole mess. What were you thinking? No, don’t answer that. You weren’t thinking.”
“Not true. It was merely a case of mistaken identity. Nan said she had a friend who was something special. Spun me some tale about the girl having aspirations of going to London. I figured I might help both of you.”
“Well, you certainly helped me.”
“Sorry about that, though how was I to know? Sarah has red hair—Nan said that’s how I would know the girl—and she showed up at the Green Man with no maid or luggage.”
“Do you honestly think Sarah looks like a tart?”
“Of course not. I told you, Nan said she was something special. And I was drunk.” Robbie’s eyes dropped to focus on his boots. “Um, I assume you…I mean, she’s…Well, you did, didn’t you?”
“If you are asking if I deflowered your cousin, the answer is no.”
Robbie’s gaze snapped up to focus on James’s face. “You mean she wasn’t a virgin? I know she’s a colonial and all, so I suppose they might have some different customs, and she is a bit long in the tooth…”
“Robbie, for God’s sake, stop before I feel compelled to call you out. As far as I know your cousin is a virgin. Things did not progress to the point where I was in a position to ascertain the issue.”
“They didn’t?” Robbie sounded disappointed. “You were both stark naked, for God’s sake!”
James flushed. “Yes. Well, in any event, you should be happy to know that I am quite content to marry Sarah. I confess I am more than relieved not to be offering for Lady Charlotte Wickford.”
“I should think so! God, the thought of bedding that iceberg…brrr! Sarah has got to be better than that. I take it everything is set? You’ll be calling the banns before we leave for London?”
James balanced a silver penknife on his index finger, avoiding Robbie’s gaze. “Not exactly. Things are still somewhat uncertain; however, do not worry. I will marry your lovely cousin. Now tell me—have you heard any more about Richard’s activities in the neighborhood?”
“No. He’s lying low. The man does come down to the area on occasion, so his
being here may not mean anything. I think he likes to keep an eye on the estate.”
“I bet he does.”
“Now, James, are you sure you aren’t reading too much into events? Accidents do happen, even to war heroes. Murder is a serious charge.”
“Do you think Richard is incapable of murder?”
Robbie started to answer, but stopped. Silence stretched between the two men.
“No,” Robbie said finally. “I’d like to think Richard couldn’t kill, but the man does hate you with a passion bordering on insanity.”
“Exactly. Believe me, Robbie, I am not given to flights of fancy. I am convinced that Richard is behind my accidents. If he is not stopped, he will be successful. Then he will inherit Alvord and all my other holdings. I cannot let that happen.”
“No, I can see that. Besides the fact that death ain’t terribly appealing, your cousin Richard is just a damn nasty customer. Your tenants, your servants, Lizzie, Aunt Gladys and Lady Amanda—everyone would suffer if Richard got his hands on the reins.”
“I mean to see that he doesn’t.”
There was a knock at the door, and Sarah looked into the room. “Am I interrupting?”
“Nothing that isn’t better interrupted. Please come in,” James said. He and Robbie stood. “Were you looking for me or had you heard that your disreputable cousin had come calling?”
“Actually, I was looking for you, your grace, but it’s just as well that Robbie is here. Did you know that the dressmaker has arrived?”
“Well, no.” James considered Sarah. Her lips were pressed together in a tense, thin line. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes, there’s a problem.”
“Ah.” James threw Robbie a glance. Robbie was eyeing Sarah as though he expected her to explode at any moment. “I trust you will enlighten us as to the nature of the problem?”
“She wants to make me dresses.”
“Yes, I imagine she does. She is a dressmaker, Sarah.” James watched Sarah grip her skirts so tightly the fabric looked in danger of tearing.
“I know she’s a dressmaker. Do you know how many dresses she wants to make me?”
“Ah, I begin to see the problem. No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Too many.”
Robbie erupted into laughter. Sarah glared at him.
“I don’t know what you’re laughing about. You’re the one paying for all this, aren’t you?”
Robbie nodded and waved his hand. It was clear he was not going to risk a more coherent reply. Sarah turned back to James.
“Your aunt and Lizzie are in league with this woman. And they say I’ll need even more clothes once we get to London. Do Englishwomen spend their entire day changing their clothes?”
“Um, I can’t say I’ve really considered the matter, have you, Robbie?”
“Oh, stop laughing. It’s a shocking waste of money! For example, Mrs. Croft wants to make me a riding habit and I don’t even ride.”
“You don’t ride?” Robbie stopped laughing abruptly and gaped at Sarah. She made a face back at him.
“You needn’t act as though I’m a freak of some kind. I have two perfectly good legs. Why would I need to sit on some large beast to get around?”
“Are you afraid of horses, Sarah?” James asked.
“No, I don’t think so. I’ve just never had occasion to ride. We lived in the city and walked everywhere.”
“Hmm. Well, you’ll want to learn to ride,” James said.
“I will?” Sarah looked skeptical. “I hope you don’t expect me to go chasing over the countryside after some scruffy fox. I won’t do it. And I don’t care to go jumping over fences either.”
“Good God! Robbie said. James just smiled.
“Simple riding will be fine. I’m not hunting mad myself. I’ll give you a lesson or two as soon as your habit is ready. We’ll cover the basics now and refine your skills when we come back to Alvord after the Season.”
“I hope to have a position by the end of your Season,” Sarah said. “I won’t be coming back to Alvord.”
“No? Well, we’ll see.”
“You should know that James always gets what he wants,” Robbie offered helpfully. “I’m not certain how he does it—sheer pigheadedness most probably.”
“Nonsense, Robbie. The trick is to always want what is reasonable.”
“If you mean marrying me, your grace, certainly you can see that that is not reasonable.” Sarah ticked off the reasons on her fingers. “I’m an American; I have no idea how to manage a house this size; I can’t dance; I don’t ride.”
James came around his desk. He grasped Sarah’s hand and gently folded down each finger. “You dance very well, Sarah, and we’ll work on the riding. Mrs. Stallings has run Alvord for years, even when my mother was alive. I’m sure she’ll be happy to continue doing so, under your direction, of course. And while it’s true that you are an American, you are also the cousin of the Earl of Westbrooke.”
“And that is a great distinction,” Robbie said. He gave a short bow. “Well, much as you two will miss me, I’d better be going.”
James kept Sarah’s hand in his as they walked Robbie to the door. She tugged back slightly, expecting him to release her, but he tightened his grip, linking their fingers. She was sure the footmen must notice that their employer was holding her hand, but not one so much as blinked. Layton even went so far as to nod and smile at her.
“I was planning on visiting one of my tenants,” James said as Robbie rode off. “I’d be happy to have you come along, if Mrs. Croft can spare you.”
“She can spare me. My fidgeting was driving her so crazy she was ready to impale me with her needle. Are you sure I’m not too shabby to go visiting?”
James ran his eyes down her body. She felt a faint flush burn her cheeks.
“You’ll do. These are old friends. They don’t much care about fashion. Go fetch your bonnet.”
James was leaning against the gig when Sarah stepped outside.
“You look much too elegant for such a plebeian vehicle, your grace,” she said.
“Ah, but I’m just a simple farmer at heart.” James handed her into her seat. His eyes laughed up at her. They were almost the same color as his hair, their long lashes tipped in gold. She felt a light tug on her hand and leaned forward. Her eyes settled on his lips. They looked firm and warm. How would they feel today?
She jerked her head back and sat up straight. What was she thinking? They were on the front drive, in full view of the main entrance and hundreds of windows.
James sighed. “I almost had you there, didn’t I?”
Sarah shot him her most quelling glance, perfected after years at the Abington Academy for Young Ladies. “Behave yourself, your grace.”
He walked around and swung himself up into the driver’s seat. “Behaving is not as much fun as misbehaving, Miss Hamilton. Admit it. Or could it be that you have never misbehaved?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sarah stared straight ahead over the horse’s rump.
“I don’t believe you have.” James snapped the reins and the horse obligingly ambled into motion. “I shall have to change that.”
“And you are a great expert on misbehavior, I don’t doubt.”
“Not really. I had too many responsibilities to misbehave often, but I’m happy to make up for lost time.”
“How old were you when you inherited the title?” Sarah was surprised. From the stories her father and the Abington sisters had told her, she’d assumed the entire aristocracy lived thoughtless lives of endless pleasure.
“Twenty-five. But as firstborn and only son, I was in training from the moment I could toddle around the estate.” James snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my father quizzed me on planting and precedence while I was still in the arms of my wet nurse. And no, I am not a candidate for pity, if I read aright the look in those big eyes of yours. I will just have to try to kiss you again to see them spark. Today they are gree
n, you know.”
“I do not have green eyes.”
“You do this morning. They are not a deep green, I grant you. I believe the color depends on your mood or on what you’re wearing. I hope you have ordered some gowns in blues and greens.”
“I think Mrs. Croft is making up one or two in those colors.”
“Splendid,” James said. Sarah thought he looked too innocent. “Then I can observe to see if your eyes change color accordingly. Perhaps I shall even write a treatise, On the Colors of Sarah Hamilton’s Eyes. What do you think?”
“I think you would not sell many copies of such a work, your grace.”
“There is one problem,” James said thoughtfully.
“One problem? I would say there was significantly more than one problem with such a hare-brained notion.”
James continued as if Sarah hadn’t spoken. “To fully determine the color of your eyes, I should first try to ascertain their hue in isolation, free from any extraneous influence. I know I had the perfect opportunity to begin my investigations at the Green Man, but I confess I found it difficult to make accurate observations while being hit in the head with a pillow.”
“Your grace!” Sarah placed her hand on her middle. Her stomach was fluttering in a most unusual fashion. “What are you talking about?”
“Eye color, Sarah. Yours, specifically. We need to free your person from all distracting colors, particularly that wretched brown dress, before I can make an accurate determination of their exact hue.”
Sarah felt his eyes on her throat, moving down her neck as if he were brushing away the offending brown cloth.
“I suppose we could begin our research now, though I did tell Birnam I would visit this tenant. But let us permit nothing to stand in the way of scientific inquiry. We shall turn the gig around and gallop back to Alvord. My aunt—not to mention Lizzie and Lady Amanda—may be a trifle shocked when we repair to my room, but devoted students of nature must not let public opinion sway their investigations. Unless you wish to shed those offending garments now? We could start outdoors, but it is a trifle chilly and I confess I prefer inside for our first studies. A locked door would prove a definite advantage, I’m certain.”
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