Sally MacKenzie Bundle

by Sally MacKenzie

  The play began, but James was far more interested in what was going on across the theater than in any of the action on stage. Dunlap was certainly more of a threat to his interests than Symington. He had the advantage of being American, as well as being damn good-looking. Still, there was something off about the fellow, something dangerous. Did Sarah feel it, too, or did she just see Dunlap’s pretty face?

  He should warn her to take care. She was new to Society, and she had led a very sheltered life. He was certain she had never dealt with a man of Dunlap’s stamp.

  James shifted his attention to the stage. Shylock was brandishing a butcher knife, passionately demanding his pound of flesh. James eyed the long, sharp blade. He’d like a pound of Dunlap’s flesh—and he knew just what part of Dunlap’s anatomy he would excise. The man had best keep his hands to himself if he didn’t want to be singing in a higher key.

  He would see if he could take Sarah aside for a moment tonight, after they had all returned. It was his duty, really. A few moments in his study. A girl could easily be led astray by a polished rake like Dunlap.

  “Sarah, a moment if you will.”

  Sarah stopped with her foot on the first stair. James was standing in the doorway to his study. She certainly was not going into that room alone with him again.

  “James.” Lady Gladys stopped also. “Did you enjoy the play?”

  “It was tolerable. I need to speak with Sarah for a moment, Aunt.”

  “Sarah’s been keeping very late hours.” Lady Gladys turned to her. “It’s been a long day. Do you wish to stay up?”

  “No.” Sarah definitely did not want to stay up with James, especially after he had spent the evening with Charlotte Wickford. “I really am very tired.”

  Lady Gladys linked arms with her. “Then perhaps we’ll see you in the morning, James.”

  James leaned against a stone column at Lady Wainwright’s ball and stared at Sarah dancing with Dunlap. He frowned. It had been a hell of a week. He had not been able to get Sarah alone to talk to her. For some blasted reason, his aunt and Lady Amanda had become exemplary chaperones.

  Well, perhaps he knew the blasted reason, but they wanted him to marry her, didn’t they? How was he going to persuade her if they weren’t going to give him any time alone with her?

  He really had been very persuasive at the Easthaven ball. A few more minutes and he would have persuaded her out of her gown.

  “Oh, your grace, how delightful to see you! I don’t believe we’ve had a moment together since that night at the Drury Lane theater.”

  James looked down and tried to smile. “Hello, Lady Charlotte.”

  “I see you are watching Miss Hamilton and Mr. Dunlap. Don’t they make a lovely couple?”

  James grunted. Lady Charlotte apparently took this for assent.

  “I introduced them, you know. They are both from the colonies. It seemed a perfect match.”

  James had never wanted to do physical violence to a woman before, but the thought of twisting Charlotte’s smug little smile off her face was quite appealing.

  “You introduced them?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “I confess I don’t know much about Dunlap. What can you tell me of his background? Since Miss Hamilton is staying under my roof, I feel some responsibility for her, you understand.”

  Lady Charlotte shrugged. “Well, I can’t tell you much, really. Your cousin, Mr. Runyon, might know something. It was he who introduced Mr. Dunlap to me.”

  Alarms clamored in James’s head as his body surged away from the wall. He took a deep breath. “I see. Perhaps I will have a word with Richard.”

  James did not find Richard, but he did see Sarah returning from the ladies’ retiring room. He grabbed her hand, pulled her into a deserted room, and closed the door.

  “James! What’s the matter?” Sarah looked around the small sitting room. “Are you mad? If we are found in here, you’ll have to marry me.”

  James wasn’t listening. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close. He breathed in her sweet scent. God, he wanted to…

  He dropped his hands and stepped back.

  “Stay away from Dunlap.”

  Sarah blinked, and her brows drew together. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Stay away from Dunlap.”

  “He’s the most beautiful man in that ballroom, and he is interested in me. Why should I stay away from him?”

  “He’s not interested in you, Sarah.”

  Sarah’s cheekbones suddenly seemed tighter, and her eyes narrowed. “Oh, he’s not, is he? I’m not attractive enough to hold his attention, I presume?”

  “No!” James tried to shake the lust from his brain and think clearly. This conversation was going all wrong.

  “You think I could only be of interest to the Belhams and Symingtons of your world, the scavengers who pick through the dregs of the Marriage Mart?”

  “Sarah—”

  “Mr. Dunlap is very charming and I will dance with him if I want to. Don’t try to stop me, your grace.”

  “God!” James had had enough. His hands shot out almost by themselves. He grabbed Sarah’s shoulders and pulled her hard against his body. His mouth came down to stop her acid words. His tongue flashed in on her gasp of shock and plundered her sweetness. He felt her sag against him and his hands slid down her back to cradle her bottom. He brought her closer against the part of him that ached so badly for her.

  “God.” He let her mouth go free as his lips traveled down over her soft skin to nuzzle her ear. “God, Sarah.”

  She stiffened and shoved hard against his chest.

  “Stop mauling me.” There were tears in her eyes. “Leave me alone.”

  His hands dropped to his sides, and she rushed out of the room.

  Damn! James stood where he was, trying to rein in his emotions. That was as impossible as controlling a high-strung, unbroken thoroughbred. The moment he wrestled his breathing under control, another memory of Sarah—how she felt, how she tasted—would send his blood pounding wildly again.

  He had to get away. Outside. If he didn’t leave immediately, he was going to explode and he wasn’t sure what form that explosion would take.

  He nodded to acquaintances and put off friends as he wound his way to the front door and freedom. The ton might have its tongues wagging over his precipitous exit, but it couldn’t be helped. As long as no one attributed his turmoil to Sarah, he didn’t care. The blades and biddies could speculate all they wanted, with his blessing.

  He snatched his hat and walking stick from a footman, and the poor fellow almost leapt out of his skin to open the door for him. James didn’t even try to nod at the man. Best take himself out into the night where he belonged, where he could dissipate his feelings without harming anyone. He strode down the pavement, eager to put as much space between himself and Lady Wainwright’s townhouse as possible.

  But he couldn’t put space between himself and his thoughts.

  God, what was he to do if Sarah formed a tendre for Dunlap? He couldn’t let her marry the man. He couldn’t let her marry any man other than himself. If he did—the thought opened a black pit deep in his soul.

  He slashed at an innocent fence with his walking stick. The clang of the contact was lost in the creak of waiting carriages, the jingle of harnesses, and the drone of coachmen’s conversations, but a stray dog heard and darted into an alley.

  James picked up his pace. He needed to get control of himself. He was a man, a soldier, not some sensitive Tulip to wallow in a morass of emotion.

  He turned a corner, careless of his direction.

  He should be the one to marry Sarah. He was the one who had compromised her. His honor demanded marriage.

  He wished some misguided denizen of the dark would decide he was an easy mark and invite him into a fight. It would be a relief to release some of his tension through his fists.

  He was not so lucky. The streets were uncommonly quiet.

  At le
ast he could investigate Dunlap. He should have done that the moment the man had stepped over Easthaven’s threshold. He had the resources, the connections to discover anything he needed to know. Hell, if Dunlap had a freckle on his ass, his men would find it. Tomorrow morning he’d have a long overdue word with Walter Parks.

  After she left James, Sarah fled back to the retiring room. Thankfully, it was empty.

  She pressed her gloved hands to her flushed cheeks. She didn’t know herself anymore. How could she have said such terrible things to James? Anger had never loosened her tongue in the past. But then she had never felt such a bewildering torrent of emotion in the past.

  And why had James kissed her right after she had ranted at him like a fishwife? She dropped her head into her hands, covering her eyes. It had been more an assault than a kiss—and how her treacherous body had craved it! She could still feel the mark of his fingers and palms on her bottom, the rough invasion of his tongue in her mouth. Her knees wobbled and she sat down abruptly.

  Mr. Dunlap certainly never made her feel this way.

  “Miss Hamilton. Sarah.” Major Draysmith bowed. “May I have the next dance?”

  “Of course, Charles.” Sarah smiled. She had not seen James or Mr. Dunlap since she’d returned to the ballroom. She was relieved. Her nerves could not have survived a dance with either man. But Charles would not try her precarious emotional calm.

  She was mistaken.

  “Sarah,” Charles said as he led her onto the dance floor, “where is James?”

  She stumbled and Charles caught her arm to steady her.

  “I don’t know. He was here just a short time ago.”

  Had he rushed off to maul some other female? Sarah was certain any number of society women would welcome James’s attentions. Mrs. Thorton was missing tonight—had James left the ball for her bed? Or was he in Lady Cresten’s room? Her scantily clad figure was also missing this evening.

  “Have you settled on a date yet?”

  “A date?”

  “For your wedding.”

  “Charles, you know a duke can’t marry an American.”

  “Why not? James has offered, hasn’t he?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “So what’s the problem? He doesn’t care about rank. Is it you who does? You won’t have him because he is titled?”

  “No.” Sarah swallowed. Just the mention of James made her flushed and achy. Her emotions were so disordered, she was afraid she would burst into tears in the middle of the ballroom. “Please, Charles, can we just dance?”

  “All right, but Robbie and I mean to get to the bottom of this. If you won’t tell us the problem, we’ll ask James.”

  “Don’t do that!”

  Charles gazed down at her. “Why not? Sarah, I’d give my life for James. I want to see him happy.”

  Does no one want to see me happy? Sarah swallowed the words. They were childish but true.

  She was alone. She must not forget that. Lizzie and Lady Gladys were James’s family, not hers. Lady Amanda, Charles—even Robbie—cared first for James. They knew him.

  She was the stranger—to them and to their ways. She was American, not British. She wanted love and fidelity, not rank and wealth.

  But what was love? She hadn’t spent much time pondering that question in the past. Something pure and selfless? Or the hot, breathless neediness that consumed her whenever James touched her?

  She and Charles finished their dance in silence. She barely noticed when he bowed and departed, she was so lost in her thoughts.

  Could she be happy with James? No, it was impossible. He was a duke; she was a republican. He was a libertine; she was not…yet. But if she kept company with him much longer…She closed her eyes in embarrassment—and saw the image of James’s lovely naked chest.

  “You are looking a little lonely, Miss Hamilton.”

  “Mr. Runyon.” Sarah preferred her isolation to his company.

  Richard held out his hand. “Come.”

  “I’m a little tired. I believe I’ll just stay here, but thank you anyway.”

  Richard kept his hand extended. Sarah heard the chaperones start to whisper. She looked over. They were staring at her with bright eyes, like feral dogs scenting blood.

  “Very well.”

  “Wise choice, Miss Hamilton. You don’t want those harpies eavesdropping on our conversation,” Richard said as the music began.

  “No?”

  “No.” He looked around the dance floor. “I don’t see Cousin James.”

  “He was here a little while ago. I’m sure he’s sorry he missed you.”

  “I doubt it.” He jerked her through a turn. She narrowly managed to avoid bumping the couple next to them. “I assume you’ve taken my warning to heart, Miss Hamilton.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “About James’s single state. Surely you remember? I thought that was the reason James was not sniffing around your skirts.”

  Sarah stared back into Richard’s cold eyes. “I see your manners have not improved, Mr. Runyon.”

  His lips moved upwards in a parody of a smile. “My manners are the least of your concerns, Miss Hamilton. You just be sure to keep your legs together around my cousin.”

  Sarah knew she was gaping. Fortunately, her feet moved to the music automatically.

  “You have stayed out of his bed, haven’t you?” He studied her face. “You still have the look of a virgin. Am I right?”

  “Mr. Runyon!”

  “Must be. You couldn’t fake that shocked expression. Take a breath, Miss Hamilton, and listen carefully. It is definitely in your best interests to stay a virgin, at least where my cousin is concerned. Trying to become a duchess would be a very grave mistake.”

  At that, Richard dropped his hands and walked off the dance floor, stranding Sarah in the middle of the ballroom. The other couples, the sharp-eyed young girls and their foppish partners, swirled around her. She heard their sniggering and whispering, felt their gloating eyes. The hundreds of candles flickering throughout the room in the chandeliers and wall sconces could well have been the fires of hell.

  She wondered if she would ever waken from this nightmare.

  Robbie and Charles found James at White’s the next week.

  “Gentlemen,” James said, putting down his newspaper, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

  “It ain’t a pleasure, Alvord.” Robbie took the chair across from him. “Damn, you look like hell.”

  “Thank you, Robbie. Always complimentary. Do you have some observations of a personal nature to make also, Charles?”

  Charles dropped down into the seat next to Robbie. “He’s right. You do look like hell.”

  James bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I shall take due note of my declining physical state.” He picked up his newspaper. “Don’t let me keep you from your engagements.”

  “That’s exactly it, James,” Charles said. “Why isn’t there an engagement?”

  “I beg your pardon?” James looked at them over the edge of his paper.

  “Now don’t go all ducal on us, James,” Robbie said. “Charles is right. I thought you were getting engaged to my cousin. Honor requires it, don’t you know.”

  “I will not discuss Miss Hamilton.”

  “You damn well will discuss her or I’ll be meeting you at dawn.”

  “Robbie,” Charles said, “lower your voice. I don’t think we need to make your cousin’s troubles the talk of White’s any more than they already are.”

  “Damnation.” Robbie looked around. The other men in the room were studiously reading their newspapers, ears cocked in their direction. He lowered his voice. “Look, Alvord, while you’ve been making yourself scarce, the damn ton has been tearing Sarah apart. Your bloody cousin left her in the middle of the dance floor at Wainwright’s last week, and even that American—Dunlap—ain’t around much anymore.”

  “Robbie.” James shut his eyes.

  “What’s wrong, J
ames?” Charles said. “All of what Robbie says is true. I thought you cared for Sarah.”

  James took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Gentlemen, you have delivered your message.”

  Robbie gaped at James. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “That’s all I can say.”

  “You’re not going to tell us what is going on?”

  “No.”

  “Well, dammit, James, at least promise to see her. Come to the Palmerson do tonight. Sarah will be there. See for yourself.”

  “Robbie…”

  “No, I’m not going to let you out of it. Charles and I will find you and drag you there if need be, right, Charles?”

  Charles nodded. “We have to know that you’ve seen her for yourself, James. If you still want to go on as you have once you’ve seen her, well…” Charles spread his hands. “I can’t believe you could be so cold, but at least I’ll feel like we did our best to bring you to your senses.”

  “Do we have your word that you’ll be there?” Robbie asked.

  James sat still, then nodded once. “It will not make any difference, but I will come.”

  “Good. Come on then, Charles, let’s get out of here.”

  James did not watch Robbie and Charles leave. Instead he took the note he had received after the Wainwright ball out of his pocket. He opened it, but he didn’t need to read it. He had memorized the words:

  Miss Hamilton says she is still a virgin. Since her continued good health depends on her maintaining that state, you would be best advised to avoid her.

  The note wasn’t signed, but James recognized Richard’s writing.