by Gill, Tamara
A shiver stole through her at his words. Sarah met his heated gaze and tried to calm her pounding heartbeat. “Eric … ”
“Don’t say anything. I know what I want.” He paused. “I want you.”
He kissed her again and her heart melted to the unrelenting charm and reverence she felt in his embrace. Sarah refused to acknowledge there was anything other than physical desire between them. She couldn’t feel anything for the earl. Regency England rakes didn’t fall for debutantes. His soft lips moved over hers in a dance of seduction, and Sarah waltzed, unable to take heed of her own warning.
Eric clutched her face and tipped her chin to deepen the kiss. His fingers speared through her hair and knocked pins from their set. Sarah relished the delicious feeling in her soul only this man had ever stirred.
“Marry me, Sarah.”
Sarah gaped as the shock left her floundering, trying to form words.
“I know we have not known each other long, and you may think I’m being too forward. But I know who I want as my wife. Please say you’ll marry me and become my countess.”
Sarah wiggled out of his embrace and stepped back. He couldn’t have asked what she thought he had. Stunned, she searched for something to say, anything. Still words failed her, her vocal cords seizing into knots. And in truth what could she say?
I would love to, but I’m sorry, my lord, as I’m not from your time and will not be staying beyond the Season. And then after I’ve stolen from you I will leave you again without answers or closure.
Tears blurred her vision. She was going to hell for sure. “Eric, I … You see … ” Had she been born in this century, Sarah would have already said yes.
But she had not.
The sound of voices floated up from the direction of the pond. Sarah threw a panicked look toward the shadowed figures emerging from the trees. Eric growled and stepped away. Sarah quickly fixed her hair and pulled her domino hood over to cover what she’d missed. Her mask was nowhere to be found.
Lady Anita walked beside Lord Kentum, her animated conversation cutting through the night. Lord Dean ambled behind, his gaze on the path ahead. Sarah called them over, hoping they wouldn’t pick up on the shakiness in her voice. She cast a glance at Eric who stood glaring at her friends.
“There you are, Miss Baxter. I was wondering where you may have wandered to.”
Eric tensed beside her. “Not far, as you can see.” Sarah smiled to hide her unease. Lord Dean eyed Eric suspiciously.
“May I escort you back, Miss Baxter? Supper is about to be served.”
“I think not, Dean,” Eric said. The words dripped with bored nonchalance, which was meant as anything but. “Miss Baxter has already agreed to dine with me this evening. I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news … ” Eric said, challenge in his voice.
Sarah was shocked to see Anita trying desperately to hide her amusement. She looked from one gentleman to the other. What did one do in situations like this?
Eric placed her hand on his arm and pulled her away. Sarah took one step, then stopped when Lord Dean moved before them, halting their progress.
A cold shiver stole down her spine. Lord Dean looked as furious as Eric. Eric thrummed beside her with suppressed rage, his arm beneath her hand taut as a bow string. The situation was getting out of hand.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Earnston, but I do believe Miss Baxter is fully capable of answering for herself.” Lord Dean’s voice had a resolute edge to its accommodating tone. “Maybe,” he continued, “Lady Patricia requires an escort to the supper room instead. She is, after all, who you accompanied to the ball.”
Eric had accompanied Lady Patricia?
Sarah looked to Anita, whose face was rapidly changing to worry as the two bulls refused to give the other an inch. Lord Kentum, for that matter, stood poised ready to break the gentlemen up should he need to.
Sarah pulled her hand from Eric’s arm and stepped away. “I do believe I agreed to have supper with Lady Anita and Lord Kentum, my lords. But you are both most welcome to join us.” Lord Kentum smiled and held out his spare arm for her to take. Sarah clasped it like a lifeline and sighed her relief. “Lord Earnston, Lady Patricia is also most welcome to join us. It will make the supper party all the merrier.”
• • •
In the small hours of the morning, Sarah stood with the Winters in the foyer, waiting for the ducal carriage to come around. Footsteps sounded behind and Sarah turned as Eric strode toward them. Her stomach doing a little flip when he smiled.
“I’m pleased I caught you before you left, Miss Baxter. I’ve just learned you’ll be one of my guests at Kent in a fortnight.”
Sarah nodded. “Yes, I’m looking forward to it. I understand your ancestral home is very beautiful.”
“Yes, I certainly think so. I am looking forward to having you there,” he said, clasping her hand hidden beneath her domino.
“Sarah,” Eric said, taking advantage of the family’s distraction in bidding Lord Kentum goodbye to lean toward her ear, his breath a light tickling against her skin. Sarah quivered, her body yearning for him in denied need.
“I will not pressure you for an answer. But please, think about my proposal. If your concern stems from the fact we have not known each other long, let me use your time at my estate to become better acquainted and maybe by the end of the Season you may give me your answer.”
Eric had the sweetest expression on his handsome face, and it broke her heart to know she would break his within a matter of weeks. How did you tell a man in this era you would sleep with him, but marriage was certainly not a possibility? She was being cruel leading him on. Who was she kidding? Sarah felt the connection between them, too. It was like riding an out-of-control freight train that would eventually crash.
And Eric would hate her if he ever found out why she was really here and what she’d done. Sarah cleared her throat, the lie unable to form on her tongue.
“Allow me to try and win your hand,” Eric asked, his eyes full of hope.
Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. “You may try, Eric.” But you will fail.
• • •
Eric watched as the carriage disappeared down the graveled drive, and already he missed the woman cosseted inside. He laughed at this new inability to live without a woman.
“Have you asked her yet?”
Eric caught Kentum’s eye before looking back to the disappearing coach. “Yes.”
“And … what did she say?” Lord Kentum came to stand beside him.
A smile quirked Eric’s lips. “She said she would think over it. But, give me time, my good man, and I’ll win her yet.”
“You would want to and soon. Dean’s sniffing around her skirts should make anyone seize the moment.”
Eric’s eyes narrowed as he remembered Sarah not hours before, drinking and laughing with Anita, Kentum, and that damn Dean.
A few weeks into the season and he’d fallen for the most beautiful, mature debutante he’d ever met. The thought of the weeks to come on his estate filled his mind. His body roared with the knowledge that he could maneuver her alone and have time with only the two of them. “Miss Baxter will be the next Countess of Earnston, Kentum. Do not doubt it.”
“What about Lady Patricia?” Kentum asked.
Eric clenched his jaw at a question he himself had been asking. What about Lady Patricia, indeed? Earlier tonight the chit had actually had the audacity to corner him in an abandoned drawing room, and tried to steal a kiss. He had never been so uncomfortable in his entire life. He ground his teeth and met Kentum’s gaze.
“I’ll have to inform both Lady Patricia and our parents that I’ve made my choice and it’s not one to their liking.”
Kentum nodded. “Miss Baxter is a beautiful woman inside and out. You have made a good choice, Earnston.”<
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Eric nodded. “Now all I have to do is convince her of that fact.” He sighed.
“Well then,” Kentum said, clapping him on the shoulder, “may I wish you both happy.”
“Thank you. I believe we will be.” Eric watched Lord Kentum enter the ballroom, and turned and ordered his carriage. He scraped his boot against the entrance stairs in the interim.
No longer did nights at gambling dens or places like Mae’s at Soho Square hold his attention. For the first time in his life he wished to spend his nights at home with only one woman sharing his bed.
Sarah …
What he had come to feel for her was an affection so deep and enthralling that time itself would never be able to dim it. He would love her forever.
He was sure of it.
Chapter Twelve
Two weeks later Richard and Sarah arrived at Lord Earnston’s estate in Kent early in the morning after spending the previous night in Aperfield. Anita took her on a quick tour of the home’s ground floor, before a maid showed her to her room.
Sarah stopped at the sight of Richard sitting on a chair before the unlit hearth. “What are you doing in here?”
Richard raised his brows. “I asked which room you were given and came to wait for you. We need to talk.” He stood and turned to face her. “What are you doing, Sarah? When are you going to take the device? You cannot tell me you have not had the opportunity to fleece his lordship yet. God knows you’ve had enough chances, how many more will you need?”
Sarah threw her pelisse onto the bed. “It isn’t as easy as that. He has to take off his clothes for me to get it, and for that to occur … ” She paused. “Well, you know … ”
“You will have to sleep with him.” Richard threw his cigarette into the unlit hearth. “I thought you planned on doing that anyway. You like the guy, and he obviously likes you, so what’s the problem? It’s not like you’re a virgin.”
Sarah shushed him and sat down on the opposite chair. “That’s not the point. I can’t just jump his bones; women of this era don’t work that way. He has to court me, woo me.” Sarah sighed at Richards’s disgusted visage. “I know it sounds lame, but it’s actually quite nice for a gentleman to sweep you off your feet.”
“And is that what his lordship is doing, Sarah? Sweeping you off your feet? Because let me tell you, we’re leaving the instant we have the device, so don’t fall for this rogue. It will only make your leaving that much harder.”
Sarah flopped back into her chair and rubbed her temples. “He’s such a nice guy, Richard — you can’t help but like him.” She shook her head. “Lord William was the same, I suspect. He did, after all, try and help me before we fell from the horses. And I had stolen from him.”
Richard sat forward. “We know the device is here. Do you want me to secure it? I’m sure at some point he wouldn’t have it on him and I can make my move.”
“No,” she said, standing as two footmen brought in her luggage. “Don’t do anything,” she said, whispering. “I’ll get it, I promise. Just give me the month, play along with the celebrations, and don’t raise any suspicions.”
Richard glared.
“One month, Sarah, and then I will take over, and believe me when I say I’ll do anything to get the device back,” he said as he stormed toward the door.
Sarah jumped as he slammed the door shut. A moment later a young woman bustled into the room.
“Good afternoon, Miss Baxter. I’m Louise and I’ve been appointed as your ladies’ maid. Lord Earnston was informed you didn’t bring your maid with you. Is that correct, Miss Baxter?”
“That is correct. Please call me Sarah.”
Louise’s eyes widened and she curtsied. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Baxter. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”
Sarah sighed and looked at her luggage piled beside the door. “I suppose I should unpack. You could help me with that.”
“No need for you to help, Miss Baxter. I’ll have it put away soon enough.”
Sarah continued to explore her room. She surveyed her spacious apartment. The teak furniture was light and feminine. A four-poster bed stood against a wall opposite the fireplace, with jade-colored silk hangings hung sensuously from the intricately carved canopy and a matching duvet covering the bed. Sarah stood transfixed by the room’s unexpected grandeur and beauty.
A lady’s writing desk sat in the corner near the windows, giving any who used it a magnificent, strategically placed view of the garden. Sarah ran her hand over the paper and noted the ink pot already set out. She absently picked up the quill and twisted it in her fingers. A half smile lifted her lips at the little details Lord Earnston attended to, to please his guests.
The floors were polished cedar and a lovely, hand woven rug, soft under foot, ran from the bed to the fire. A comfortable looking settee sat before the hearth, no doubt to curl up onto during a cold winter’s day.
The different shades of green in the soft furnishings and window-dressings contrasted with the lighter colored furniture. These in turn highlighted to perfection the different textiles and materials throughout the room. The effect was quite breathtaking. From what she’d seen of the house so far, it oozed class, history, pride, and money. Lots of money.
“This room is beautiful. Don’t you agree, Louise?” Sarah asked, sitting on her bed.
“It used to be his lordship’s before he became the earl.” Louise hung a pelisse in an armoire.
“Really?” Sarah looked about the space and a twinge of ever-present guilt pricked her. It would have still been his lordship’s room had she not caused his brother’s death. Of course any trace of femininity would be missing should Eric still sleep here. She could imagine him quite comfortable here.
Sarah jumped off the bed and walked toward the windows overlooking the garden. She gazed out over the private courtyard below–a walled oasis hedged by strategically placed plants to create patterned beds.
Further away she could see manicured lawns and wild deer grazing on the meadow. It was a very pretty aspect, especially at this time of year when the flowers were still blooming. Different shades of roses and lavender grew in profusion, the warm day releasing the wonderful aroma to drift into her room.
A knock at the door sounded and Louise opened it. “A missive for Miss Baxter,” a footman said, handing the note to Louise.
Sarah took the letter and opened it. “Louise, would you help me change? Lord Earnston has invited me to ride with him.”
“Of course, Miss Baxter.”
Sarah quickly changed and left the room before heading along the first floor passage.
“Sarah.” She turned and smiled as Eric strode toward her. “I’m happy to see you. I hope your travels were not arduous.”
“Not at all, my lord. I’m just heading for the stable for our ride.”
“Ahh, yes, I look forward to it but before we go would you like a tour of some of the house?”
Sarah nodded. “I would love that. From what I’ve seen already it’s very beautiful.” Eric took her arm and a sense of awareness shivered down her spine.
“Well then, let us start with the portrait gallery.”
Sarah welcomed having him so close to her again. Eric walked them toward the south wing, which housed the Grand Gallery, and rattled off names of previous earls, their wives, their children and so forth, the multitude of names soon lost on Sarah.
One painting in particular caught her eye and she stopped. “Eric wait, is this you in the portrait?”
He sighed and a look of distaste crossed his visage. He came to stand before the painting and glowered. “Yes, it’s the latest in the collection, painted three years ago by John Jackson.”
Sarah fought not to boggle at the name of the artist. How amazing to be painted by such a famous histo
rical artist and yet not know it.
She took in the work of art. Eric had been painted leaning against an old oak, two wolfhounds lying at their ease near his feet. He looked thoroughly bored and not the least amused. She smiled.
Eric stilled beside her, an affronted look crossed his face. “What! Don’t you like it?” He looked at it again. “I suppose it is not too bad.”
“No, on the contrary, I like it very much,” she said. “I just think Mr. Jackson has caught the aristocratic side of you more than your true self, that’s all.”
“I didn’t know I had two sides. Very interesting notion, my dear. Would you care to explain your findings?”
Did she? “Well … it’s just sometimes you can be so serious, and forgive me if you take offence at this, but cold toward people when in society. For instance,” she continued, “the first night we met, you kicked Richard and I out of your home. You didn’t even bother to find out why we were there or how we came to be. And in this image, you look very stately and grand and he’s caught that.”
“I would not send you packing now, Miss Baxter.”
Sarah laughed. “I wouldn’t let you.”
Eric gave her a heart-stopping grin and took her arm, before continuing with the tour.
“You do realize, my dear, that you’re not supposed to speak in such a forward manner to a gentleman, do you not?”
“I know,” Sarah said and laughed.
They moved on into the grand ballroom, which ran directly behind the gallery, consuming one-half of the first floor space. Sarah momentarily lost her breath. The room was glorious. Its size was scarcely comprehendible; gold gilding wrapped around candle sconces, mirrors, and chandeliers. The room looked fit for royalty; she could only imagine how grand it would look in a couple of weeks for Anita’s engagement ball.
Large Corinthian columns with carved alcoves housed statues in different poses and scenes. Two fireplaces stood proud and tall at opposite ends of the room. Made from grey granite they were features in themselves.
Sarah sighed, spellbound. “I have never seen anything so stunning. This room literally takes my breath away.” She stepped further into the area and turning full circle so as to not miss any of it.
