Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires

by Sophie Barnes

  He was well aware that from her perspective, he might even be worse than that, considering he’d just been discovered in a very secluded part of the property and in the company of her stepdaughter. Lord only knew what the lady might do if she so much as suspected what he had just been about to do with Lady Sarah. Murder him, no doubt. “Forgive me,” he said, deciding that an apology was always a good way to begin. The only problem was that he wasn’t entirely sure how to complete it.

  Thankfully, he did not have to, since Lady Sarah spoke up, saying, “I came in here to look at a particular group of trees, Mama. You know my interest in grafting. Apparently one of Lady Duncaster’s gardeners is quite adept at it. In any event, I grew too hot beneath my bonnet, so I set it aside on the wall, just there, but then the wind took it and . . . well, I was very grateful when Lord Spencer arrived and offered his assistance.”

  Lady Andover didn’t look too convinced, but apparently she decided not to challenge Lady Sarah. Instead she nodded and looked toward Christopher. “That was most kind of you, Lord Spencer, but if you’ll please forgive me, I must ask Lady Sarah to come with me. Mr. Denison has returned from his ride and is most anxious for her company.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Lady Sarah said, her eyes fixed on her stepmother.

  “Well, you mustn’t keep him waiting, Sarah. It isn’t polite,” Lady Andover said.

  There was a pause. Christopher looked from one to the other, noting their strained expressions. Perhaps he should say something?

  “We should also discuss your choice of gown for the ball on Saturday,” Lady Andover said flatly.

  “Ball?” Christopher searched his brain for the mention of such an event but found nothing.

  “It was announced at luncheon,” Lady Sarah explained. “I believe you were absent.”

  So she’d noticed. How encouraging.

  “Yes, well,” Lady Andover said as she latched on to Lady Sarah’s arm, “there’s a lot to be done if we’re to look our best. Not a moment to lose!”

  “I have no doubt that you and your daughters will look absolutely ravishing, Lady Andover,” Christopher assured her. “Indeed, I can think of no reason why you would not.”

  “Thank you,” Lady Andover replied crisply. Bidding him a good afternoon, mother and daughter then set off together, though Lady Sarah did glance back at him over her shoulder. Christopher responded with a wink, and as she turned away, he could tell she was smiling.

  Chapter 9

  Reaching for his tinderbox a ­couple of days later, Christopher ignited a wood splint and lit an oil lamp. It had been two days since he’d managed to have a private word with Lady Sarah. Somehow, Mr. Denison had constantly been hovering nearby. But after receiving a positive reply to the letter he’d posted from Portsmouth, confirming that his idea could be implemented without delay, Christopher had written a note to Lady Sarah informing her that her surprise would be ready today. Looking at his fob watch, he saw that it was almost four o’ clock in the morning, allowing him fifteen minutes in which to get ready and go meet her. Dressing with haste, he completed his toilette by dabbing a bit of sandalwood oil below his jawline, then snatched up his beaver hat and left his room.

  Ten minutes later, he rendezvoused with Lady Sarah in the conservatory. She looked stunning, with a few soft tresses of pale hair falling below the brim of her bonnet, her eyes clear with suspense of adventure and her lips as lush as he remembered them to be. The excitement of being alone with her and of doing something inadmissible together—­the risk involved—­made him feel like a young lad sneaking out of his dormitory at Eton.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I can’t believe I allowed you to talk me into this. What if we get caught?”

  “Then I suppose I’ll have to marry you,” he joked.

  “I’m beginning to think this might be a huge mistake.”

  Worried she might change her mind after all the preparations he’d made, he said, “Nobody will be the wiser. They’re all asleep, and I promise you that I have no ill intentions toward you—­I shall remain on my very best behavior.”

  “Do you swear it?”

  He looked at her steadily. “I do.”

  She exhaled slowly. “Then let us make haste, for I confess I’m quite eager to discover what it is you have planned.”

  “We’ll cut across the grass,” he said as they stepped out into the garden, the air crisp with predawn freshness. “Ready?” He offered her his hand, which she accepted as she gazed up at him with her sparkling blue eyes.

  “Ready,” she assured him.

  It was a brilliant moment—­one Christopher knew he would later look back on with great sentimentality.

  They ran toward the lake, Sarah skipping occasionally in order to keep pace with Lord Spencer’s longer strides while her skirts swirled about her legs. More than once, she felt as though she might tumble to the ground, but his firm hold on her hand held her steady, carrying her forward until they were out of sight of Thorncliff. It was both liberating and a reminder of how carefree she’d once been.

  By the time they reached the horses, she found herself quite breathless. But then apprehension overcame her as she took in the large creature that would carry her toward her destination, and she retreated a few steps.

  “You needn’t worry,” Lord Spencer said in a calm voice. “I’ll lead your horse so she cannot run away. Nothing bad is going to happen to you today, Lady Sarah. You have my word on that, as a gentleman.”

  The manner in which he spoke was so convincing. “Can we ride at a trot?”

  “I’ve allowed enough time for that, so yes.” He took her hand in his and met her eyes. “The last thing I want is for you to feel nervous about this in any way, so if you don’t think you can manage it, then—­”

  “I’ll do it,” she said with a deliberate nod. She might have had a bad experience with horses in the past, but Lord Spencer had somehow managed to set her at ease. Additionally, she really wanted to see what he had planned, and perhaps prove to both of them that she could overcome her fears.

  “Thank you for trusting me,” he said with a gentle squeeze of her hand that made her shiver.

  Removing his hand from hers, he then untied the horses’ reins from a nearby tree, leaving her momentarily bereft until she felt him grasp her by the waist. A strong sensation of weightlessness followed as he lifted her up into the saddle of a speckled mare. She could not recall the last time she’d felt so self-­assured. It was all thanks to him, of course. He’d done this for her, and for that she owed him her thanks.

  “I believe we should be there in half an hour,” he said as he swung himself up onto his own horse, grabbed the reins belonging to hers, and started toward the copse of trees where the forest began. “That ought to give us just enough time to get everything ready before the sun rises.”

  “Won’t you tell me what I’m to expect?” she asked as she followed him along a well-­trod path.

  “No. I want to see your expression when you discover what I have planned for us.”

  His boyish enthusiasm, so apart from his usual austerity, was unmistakable, increasing Sarah’s curiosity tenfold. Whatever did he have in store? The best she could come up with was a special vantage point from which to watch the sun rise, so when Lord Spencer eventually led her out into an open field where a massive balloon sat waiting, Sarah could only gape in awe.

  “You told me once that you envied the freedom of birds. Unfortunately, I cannot give you wings, Lady Sarah, but I can take you up in the air if you’re willing to be a little daring.”

  “I . . .” Sarah could scarcely think of what to say. No words would ever be capable of conveying her gratitude, her amazement or her indescribable surprise at what he was willing to do for her—­the lengths he must have gone to in an effort to make this happen, all because of a comment she’d made.
Her heart thrummed with a mixture of joy and anticipation. “If I’d been given infinite time in which to wonder what you were up to, I doubt I would have considered this. It is, without a doubt, the very best of surprises.”

  Her praise clearly pleased him, for he gave her a rare smile that melted her heart as he helped her down from her horse and guided her toward a large group of men who stood waiting. “Lady Sarah,” he then said, “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. James Sadler—­an experienced balloonist—­and his son, Mr. Windham Sadler. They have very kindly made their balloon available to us today and will be helping us with our ascent.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” Sarah told them, unable to hide her enthusiasm. “I cannot tell you how excited I am to be given such a unique opportunity.”

  “The pleasure is ours, my lady,” Mr. James Sadler said. “I’ll be riding up with you while my son will remain down here to help the rest of the men control the ropes.”

  “The ropes?” Sarah asked, curious to know everything there was to know about their upcoming adventure.

  “There are four,” Mr. James Sadler explained, pointing out each of them. “My men will use them to keep the balloon anchored so we don’t drift away. I tried that once, and it took me a devil of a time to get home again. My understanding is that you’d like to return to Thorncliff at a decent hour, which is why I think it best to avoid any chance of drifting. So, if you’re ready, I should like to begin, seeing as his lordship has explained to me his desire to watch the sun rise from way up high.”

  “Well?” Sarah asked as she turned to Lord Spencer, barely able to contain her excitement. Nerves danced around her belly, but she chose to ignore them, confident that everything would go smoothly, since Lord Spencer had made the arrangements. She knew he’d never risk her safety.

  Having pulled out his pocket watch, Lord Spencer was busily staring down at the face of it. “One moment,” he said, holding up his hand in a staying motion. “Five minutes past five,” he eventually said as he swiped his thumb across the watch face three times. Returning it to his pocket, he then offered Sarah his arm and guided her toward the sturdy basket below the balloon.

  “Another superstition?” Sarah inquired as he placed his hands upon her waist and began lifting her into the basket.

  “My most prevalent one.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t dare to go flying without heeding it.”

  The statement made Sarah a little less sure of herself. She looked to Mr. James Sadler, who was following Lord Spencer into the basket. “This isn’t dangerous, is it?” she inquired. “I mean, there’s no real risk of any of us getting hurt?”

  The balloonist glanced at Lord Spencer before returning his gaze to Sarah. “If I must be truthful, my lady, I should tell you that it’s not entirely without risk. I myself have had a few accidents, but I wasn’t anchored securely to the ground when they happened. Considering our precautions, I have every confidence that you’ll be back on solid ground, safe and sound, within the hour.”

  Nodding, Sarah swallowed whatever apprehension she had and grasped one of the ropes linking the basket to the balloon. Against her other hand, she felt a brush of warmth and instinctively turned her head to find Lord Spencer staring down at her with an inscrutable expression. “Hold my hand,” he murmured as Mr. Windham Sadler called out orders and the basket gave a little jerk. “It will ease your anxiety,” he added, when she hesitated to do as he suggested.

  It was not the least bit proper, but neither was sneaking out of Thorncliff unchaperoned, Sarah decided. Besides, she had no illusion about Lord Spencer’s motives, since he did not wish to marry. Additionally, he had assured her that he would never try to seduce her, and while she secretly wished he might err from his gentlemanly ways just once, she believed him. Friends; that was all they were—­all they would ever be. Her fingers grasped Lord Spencer’s, and she immediately savored the comfort he offered as his hand closed around hers, reminding her that they were in this together.

  Gradually, they rose, putting first one foot, then five, fifteen, and eventually thirty feet between themselves and the ground. They traveled up above the treetops, where birds remained dormant, until they reached such a staggering height that Sarah was able to glimpse Thorncliff far away in the distance, placed firmly against the sprawling dips and curves of the English countryside. “This is undoubtedly the most incredible thing I have ever experienced,” she whispered.

  “I’m glad you think so,” he told her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as he stepped up behind her, his arm coming about her waist, securing her against him.

  It felt natural, in spite of the giddy flutter in the pit of her belly. He was strong, his chest a solid wall against her back, and he was warm, sheltering her against the chilly dawn air that cooled even further as they rose higher.

  “How can I ever thank you?” she asked in wonder as a glow emerged upon the horizon.

  “You’ve already given me a clover.” His words whispered softly against her cheek, stirring to life an awareness that made her insides quiver.

  She laughed in response to his statement. “It seems such a paltry offering in the face of all this.”

  “Hmm . . . and yet it was picked with a great deal of consideration. For that reason alone, its significance is priceless.” He paused for a moment before saying, “You once asked me who broke my heart. I think it’s time for me to be completely honest with you.”

  Sarah felt her chest tighten. “I’d be honored to share your confidence.” If only she could reciprocate.

  Expelling a deep breath, Lord Spencer began relating the details of his relationship with a certain Miss Hepplestone while Sarah listened intently to every detail. With each word he spoke, she could feel them growing closer—­a similar sensation to the one she’d felt in the maze, and then later by the lake that morning when he’d taught her how to skip stones. It was almost as if their souls were reaching out and embracing each other, which was unlike anything she’d ever felt with anyone else before.

  When he stopped talking, Sarah leaned her head back against his shoulder and said, “You mustn’t blame yourself for falling prey to her scheme. You lost your heart to a woman whom, from what you’ve just told me, most men would eagerly have married. Unfortunately, she was nothing more than a fabrication created by Miss Hepplestone with the sole purpose of deceiving you. She is the one who’s to blame, my lord. Not you. Never you.”

  “I was a fool,” he said, his words a plain statement of fact.

  “We’ve all done foolish things at one time or another. You should be thankful that you discovered the truth before it was too late and that you didn’t end up married to her.”

  “And so I am.” Lowering his head, his cheek touched hers. “Will you share your own foolish exploits with me? Somebody broke your heart, Lady Sarah. Tell me who it was.”

  She stiffened, her nerves wrought with tension. “What would be the point?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he fell silent while shades of red spilled across the sky. His confession had brought them closer, and then she’d broadened the distance between them by refusing to reciprocate. Standing there with him so close, yet so far away, Sarah desperately wished they lived in a different time, when her one foolish mistake would not matter nearly as much—­a time in which she and Lord Spencer could explore the deep connection developing between them, and where they might have a chance of being together.

  Returning to the house later, Sarah inquired about Lord Spencer’s work as they strolled across the lawn. “Will you include the gardens in your model of Thorncliff?”

  “Of course. The manor would not be complete without them.”

  “So you’ll even construct copies of the ship and the maze?” She couldn’t help but marvel at his attention to detail.

  Lord Spencer nodded. “I plan to. Yes.”

  “But what will you do with it once
it’s complete?”

  He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  She spread her arms wide. “Please don’t tell me you plan to hide all these models away from the world.” To be so passionate about something and not share it seemed wasteful.

  “I don’t exactly hide them—­”

  “I’m pleased to hear it.”

  “But I don’t exactly put them on display either.”

  She halted her progress. “Whyever not?”

  “For someone who hasn’t even seen my work, you seem surprisingly confident that anyone else would have an interest in, or even appreciate, the models for what they are.”

  “You doubt yourself,” she told him matter-­of-­factly. Before he could respond, she said, “I think it’s natural for any artist to fear censorship.”

  “I’m not an artist, and I don’t fear censorship,” he protested. “When I complete my model of Thorncliff, I’ll have ten in total. Of course I’ve considered the possibility of an exhibition, but I doubt anything will ever come of it. My models are a hobby, Lady Sarah, hardly worthy of anyone else’s perusal.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And you say you don’t fear censorship.” He did not look amused. “I think an exhibition of your models would be a grand way to introduce the public to the incredible architecture of English castles.”

  “Why are you so insistent on this?” he asked testily.

  “Because I believe in you and the ability you have to do something more with your ‘hobby’ than you think possible,” she told him hotly.

  He stared at her, then shook his head. “You are being absurdly stubborn right now.”

  “I’m trying to be supportive.”

  “I appreciate that, Lady Sarah, truly I do, but until you’ve actually seen one of my models, you really have no idea if I’m deserving of your support or not.”

  She decided not to argue even though she was certain his models couldn’t be anything short of brilliant—­not if his drawings were any reflection of his skill.