Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires

by Sophie Barnes

  Desire.

  The word crept through him, so innocent in her use of it, yet provoking a series of thoughts he ought not to be having. He should know better. Hell, he’d promised himself never to let another woman tempt him ever again. Glancing down at her profile, he could not deny that as much as he tried to resist, Lady Sarah stirred his blood.

  His heart increased its pace as her fingers curled into the wool of his jacket. This could not be happening. Worse than that, he could not allow himself to like her, not when he had every intention of simply placating his mother and sisters by engaging Lady Sarah in the occasional conversation. Nothing more.

  And yet, all obligation aside, there was no denying that he enjoyed sparring with her—­that he liked watching her stand up to him no matter how uncomfortable he probably made her feel. Recalling the unhindered smile that had captured her face when she’d found Snowball, he felt an odd swelling inside his chest. For reasons he could not explain, and against his better judgment, he found himself drawn to her—­had in fact looked forward to seeing her again today. Clearly, he was allowing himself to be led astray. It had to stop.

  “My lord?”

  Her voice brought him out of his reverie, and he realized that his mouth had gone inexplicably dry. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “I was lost in thought.”

  “You stopped very abruptly,” she said, “and I feared perhaps I’d upset you. In any case, we ought to hasten our progress if we are to keep up with your sisters. I believe they went that way.”

  It was then that Christopher realized how alone they were. Again. Indeed, if it weren’t for the occasional squeal of laughter sifting through the air, there would be no evidence of anyone else’s presence. Lowering his gaze, he looked down at Lady Sarah, who was staring toward the turn in the path with some measure of anxiety. There was a restlessness about her entire body that easily conveyed her eagerness to seek the company of others and avoid being left alone with him.

  “Why are you so nervous?” he asked without making a move to follow the rest of their party.

  “Because we ought not be alone together,” she said. “It isn’t proper.”

  He considered that for a moment before saying, “I’m hardly going to ravish you out here in public where anyone could happen upon us at any given time. Honestly, Lady Sarah, I do believe you’re overreacting.”

  Her eyes met his at that moment, bright and accusing and with the slightest hint of fear. “Am I?”

  Noticing that a lock of her hair had come undone and was trailing down the side of her neck, Christopher reached out, catching it between his fingers. Her breath caught, and it was as if her whole body shuddered in response. Christopher stilled, his eyes locked with hers. Then hesitantly and with utmost care so as not to startle her any further, he placed the tips of his fingers against the side of her neck and felt her pulse. It was leaping in a frantic rhythm, not from any passionate response, he wagered, judging from the look of panic she was presently bestowing upon him, but because she did not trust his motive.

  Damn. He scarcely knew his motive himself, other than that he’d succumbed to the urge to touch her—­had accepted the excuse her hair had offered. Retrieving his hand, he stepped back. “What on earth do you imagine I might do to you that you would be so thoroughly alarmed?”

  Her chin rose a notch as she stared back at him boldly, her composure seemingly restored by some miracle. “The worst, if you must know.”

  “Good God, I would never,” he blurted.

  She held his gaze. “You would not be the first man to make such a claim, my lord, but since you yourself have been blessed with sisters, I’m sure you can appreciate the value of a woman’s reputation.”

  Christopher flinched. She was absolutely right, and though he hadn’t done anything truly inappropriate, he’d certainly thought about it, and that was almost just as bad. “My apologies,” he said. “I’ve no desire to make you feel uncomfortable, and since I do not wish to marry at present, as you well know, then it goes without saying that I will try to avoid any compromising situations. Which is why I cannot help but wonder if it isn’t really me you fear but yourself?”

  Why the devil would he say something like that?

  Her jaw clenched and she grew rigid, as if she was struggling to remain calm. Christopher braced himself for the biting remark he knew would come, except it didn’t. Instead, Lady Sarah closed her eyes, no doubt eager to block him out. She took a deep, shuddering breath, then raised her chin. Her eyes opened and she looked to the sky. Christopher followed her gaze until he found himself admiring a ­couple of swallows who appeared to be caught in a playful chase.

  “There’s something to be envied in the freedom of birds,” Lady Sarah said. She sounded detached, as if she was speaking to herself rather than to him. “What I wouldn’t give for the opportunity to fly away from it all.”

  “You wish to flee?” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Is it because of Mr. Denison?”

  Abandoning the swallows, Lady Sarah looked at him for the longest moment, studying him with her clear blue eyes, until she finally spoke. “Have you ever done something regrettable, my lord? Something that suggests exceedingly poor judgment on your part, and for which you will never be able to forgive yourself?”

  The question gave him pause, not so much because of how unexpected it was but because of what it told him about Lady Sarah . . . and because of its importance. He sensed that if he told her he had not, it would put an immediate end to their newly established acquaintanceship, while if he spoke the truth, it would bring them closer somehow. “Yes,” he said simply.

  She waited a moment, but then she nodded, as if deciding she would believe him. When she made to continue along the path, Christopher caught her gently by the arm, halting her progress. “Lady Sarah,” he told her seriously, “it’s impossible for me to imagine what kind of burden might be troubling you, but I do know how difficult it can be to feel as though you’ve acted stupidly—­to fear the judgment of others if they were to discover your folly.” She tried to pull away, her face increasingly devoid of emotion with every breath she took, as if she was building a wall between them. Persistent as ever, Christopher slipped his hand down around hers and raised it to his lips, kissing her gloved knuckles before saying, “You needn’t confide in me. Not ever. But I would like for you to know that as unlikely as you may find it, I am your friend, if you wish it. So are my sisters.”

  Her whole demeanor seemed to change in response to that promise, and she suddenly smiled wide and beautifully. “Thank you,” she said, those gorgeous eyes of hers dancing with joy. “You are most kind.”

  Her happiness in response to such a small gesture filled him with pleasure, and it struck him that it was harder for him to train his emotions around her today than it had been yesterday. Somehow, she’d reached inside his chest with her confession and spoken directly to his heart.

  Retreat, his inner voice told him.

  Pushing aside the compassion that muddled his brain and weakened his defenses, Christopher tried to consider Lady Sarah objectively. She was not like Miss Hepplestone, he decided, or any other young lady he’d ever met, for that matter. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Lady Sarah that women coveted him, chased him even, to the point where one such woman had delivered the performance of a lifetime in her attempt to wed him. None of it had been genuine, and Christopher had never felt more used or humiliated.

  But with Lady Sarah it was different. She made no attempt to seek his company or to try and charm him. In fact, the only interest she’d shown in him had had nothing to do with his title or wealth but rather with his passion for castles. Additionally, she had made it clear to him and to Fiona that she planned to marry Mr. Denison.

  This gave him pause.

  “May I ask you a personal question?” he asked.

  “Of course, though I cannot promise I’ll give you an
answer.”

  He liked how direct she was, even if it did occasionally lead to a blunt comment. “Fiona says that you do not wish to marry Mr. Denison. Is that true?”

  Her expression turned from openness to wariness in an instant. “I don’t believe I’ve told your sister anything of the sort.”

  “She can be very observant.”

  Lady Sarah nodded stiffly. “Mr. Denison is not my first choice, he is a practical choice—­a suitor picked for me by my father in order to facilitate an alliance.”

  “What sort of alliance?”

  “To be blunt, my father has a particular fondness for horses, and Mr. Denison, it appears, is in possession of some fine ones. Crossbreeding will prove financially beneficial to them both, and since I’m not getting any younger, I have decided to help Papa achieve his goal and accept Mr. Denison’s offer when he asks.”

  “You say he’s not your first choice though. Might I ask who that fortunate individual would be?” Christopher asked. For reasons he couldn’t explain—­simple curiosity, no doubt—­he needed to know who had captured her heart and why the man had not married her.

  “It’s inconsequential.”

  The words were spoken so bitterly that they brought Christopher to an immediate halt. “I don’t believe that,” he said.

  “Then believe this,” she told him, her blue eyes shimmering like pools of water, “the man I loved was not the man I thought him to be. Who I marry no longer makes a difference.”

  Thoroughly surprised, it took Christopher a moment to gather his wits. He hadn’t imagined meeting someone who’d suffered a similar situation as he had, let alone a young lady. Intrigued and feeling strangely linked to her now, he longed to question her about her experience—­to ask her how she’d survived the ordeal—­but it was obvious that the confession had been a difficult one for her to make, so he chose not to press her.

  “Then we have both survived the pain of a broken heart,” he told her instead, feeling the need to share a little of his own past with her, and to make her aware of the similarity between them. She would understand, better than his family did, for they found it impossible to comprehend why he’d continued to pine for a woman who’d never existed.

  He hadn’t been able to help it though, in spite of his anger. To his way of thinking, it was almost as if Miss Hepplestone had murdered his one true love and he had helplessly mourned her for well over a year. When he’d finally decided the time had come for him to move on, his parents and sisters had taken it upon themselves to throw as many eligible young ladies his way as possible. If that wasn’t enough reason to regret venturing back out into Society, he wasn’t sure what was. Of course, the more eager they’d been to help him make a proper match, the more determined he had become to thwart their attempts. He was stubborn that way.

  The same ought to be true of Lady Sarah, especially since his mother had given him an ultimatum that offered no reprieve from wife hunting during his stay at Thorncliff. He ought to leave. Against his better judgment, Lady Sarah stopped him from doing so. At first, he’d recognized in her the same reluctance to trust others that he had felt in the wake of Miss Hepplestone’s departure from England. Now, after what Lady Sarah had just told him, he wanted to know more about her.

  They continued to make their way through the maze, twisting and turning in an effort to find the exit. There was something addictive about the woman at his side, he realized, perhaps because she was so apprehensive at times that the moments she smiled were to be cherished.

  “Will you tell me who broke yours?” Lady Sarah asked when they arrived at the end of the maze.

  They’d shared a companionable silence for several minutes, so the question was one he hadn’t expected. “Only if you will reciprocate.” Christopher found himself holding his breath as he waited to see how she would reply.

  Glancing about, she raised her hand and waved, and Christopher saw that his sisters were seated in the shade of a tree, waiting for them. Lady Sarah started in their direction with measured steps, her gaze slightly lowered. “I fear I’m not ready for that yet,” she said. “It’s possible I never will be.”

  “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’d be happy to listen.”

  She snorted a little before blurting, “Of all the ­people in the world, you’re probably the last person I’d wish to share my troubles with.” The weight of her words must have hit her just as hard as they did Christopher, for she immediately clasped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. “Forgive me,” she gasped. “I meant no offense by that. It is just . . .”

  His heart thudded in his chest. Instinct told him to leave her unspoken words alone, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Just what?” he asked.

  “The thought of you knowing me that well frightens me.” She looked away from him, her voice muffled as she continued to speak. “If you must know, it’s because I should hate for you to think less of me.”

  “I daresay that would be quite impossible, Lady Sarah, though I am curious to know why our paths have never crossed before.”

  For a brief second, she looked perplexed—­as if she wasn’t comfortable with the question. Eventually she said, “Following Grandmamma’s death a little over a year ago, I chose to remove myself from Society while I mourned her. I was still young, so it didn’t seem the sort of thing that would make a difference, but it does mean I’m not as accustomed to mingling with the aristocracy as I ought to be, having had only one Season.”

  “Well, I think you’re doing splendidly, though it does explain why we haven’t met before. I was abroad traveling the Continent two years ago, which is when I suspect you must have made your debut.”

  “Indeed,” she murmured, eyeing him warily as they approached his sisters. Stopping a short distance away, she said, “I know we’ve only just met, but I was wondering if I might impose on you for a favor?”

  “What sort of favor?” Her tone ­coupled with her evasive gaze made him wary.

  “You won’t like it, I’m afraid, but Mr. Denison is looking to get his daughters settled and has asked me to assist.” Cold dread seeped through Christopher’s veins, starting at the top of his head. “After seeing me in conversation with you last night, he’s decided that having you for a son-­in-­law would suit him splendidly.”

  “I’m sure it would,” Christopher said, “though I do believe I’d likely jump into the Channel and swim for France before allowing such a thing to happen.”

  “I understand, and have made him aware of your disinterest in marriage, but he insists.”

  “I hope you’re not implying that this favor involves me getting leg-­shackled.” That would certainly be an outrageous request to make of any man.

  “Of course not.” She looked as though she might cross her arms. Instead she placed one hand on her hip. “I would never presume to suggest such a thing, but if you could make an effort to talk to them a little or perhaps take them for a walk—­”

  “A walk is out of the question. There’s no time limit to it and few possibilities for me to extricate myself in case I wish to flee their company.” What was he saying? He should tell her she was being entirely too forward. Which she was.

  “A brief inquiry about their day then?”

  “I won’t enjoy it.” He’d seen Miss Victoria Denison and Miss Diana Denison at breakfast that morning, his interest piqued by their association to the man whom Lady Sarah intended to wed. Neither, as it turned out, was very attractive or refined.

  “It would help me a great deal,” Lady Sarah told him quietly.

  “Allow me to think on it,” he said. Of course he would do it. Especially since he sensed her concern with the issue. Clearly it mattered to her a great deal, though he’d yet to figure out why. But even if he was willing to assist her, there was no need for him to look like a green lad being led about by a woman he’d only just met. Contemp
latively, he continued toward his sisters while Lady Sarah thanked him, her voice filled with gratitude.

  “Shall we walk back to the house?” Laura asked, rising to greet them. “We can have tea and strawberry tarts on the terrace.”

  “If only we could have choux à la crème instead,” Christopher said, recalling the treat he’d discovered at a small intimate café in Paris.

  “You might as well give up on that,” Emily told him as she collected the bonnet she’d removed from her head.

  “Choux à la crème?” Lady Sarah inquired with a quizzical expression when they were once again alone, trailing after the rest of the group at a pace that even a snail would lose patience with.

  “It’s a delicious cream-­filled pastry,” Christopher explained. “When I returned from my travels, I tried to explain what it looked like to Mama’s and Papa’s cook, but her attempt at making it was such a failure I chose to avoid repeating the effort.”

  “A pity, if it’s your favorite.”

  Christopher shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll return to France one day, if for no other reason than to acquire the recipe.”

  “Have you been to many countries?” Lady Sarah asked.

  A gentle breeze tugged at her hemline, offering Christopher a subtle glimpse of her ankles as he followed the movement. They appeared to be slim and delicate. Diverting his gaze, he tried not to ponder what the rest of her body might look like if it were uncovered. “A fair number, I suppose, though not nearly as many as I’d like. Italy was among the most remarkable—­its beauty and history are unforgettable.”

  Lady Sarah nodded. “I’d love to see the world beyond England one day, but it’s harder for a woman to travel abroad than it is for a man. In all likelihood, I’ll remain here forever.”

  Looking down at her upturned face, Christopher couldn’t help but notice the sadness that filled her eyes. Schooling his features to hide his concern, Christopher decided not to question her further about her decision to marry Mr. Denison. Considering how briefly he’d known her, he’d already invaded her privacy enough. Instead, he would have to step back and allow her the freedom to confide in him when she was ready to do so.