Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires

by Sophie Barnes

  She didn’t say more, yet Sarah felt as though Lady Duncaster had said everything with those two words. Discomforted by it, Sarah kept quiet as they descended the stairs and turned down a long hallway until they arrived at the interior courtyard that had once been part of Thorncliff’s façade.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Sarah said, stopping to enjoy the sound of water splashing from the fountain that stood in the center. At the opposite corner from her, partly concealed by some potted plants, stood an older woman with a paintbrush in her hand, which she occasionally flicked across the canvas in front of her.

  “Yes. I’ve always loved this part of the house,” Lady Duncaster said, her voice muted as if deliberately trying to preserve the peace the space offered. “It reminds me of an Italian villa.” Looking at Sarah with sharp eyes, she asked, “Do you know what makes it most special?”

  Sarah shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

  “The imperfections,” Lady Duncaster told her seriously. “The uneven paving stones, the way the steps over there have been worn by age and how some of the lions at the base of the fountain have cracks in them. If it weren’t so, this courtyard would not be so much different from all the rest—­it would not be as special because it wouldn’t have the same degree of character.”

  “Why do I get the distinct impression that you’re not just talking about the courtyard?”

  Lady Duncaster chuckled. “Surely you can work that one out on your own. Lord Spencer! Won’t you join us?”

  Sarah stilled, her skin tightening around her entire body as she turned around to face the man she’d been hoping to avoid. Her breath caught. Heaven help her if he didn’t somehow manage to look even more handsome than he had earlier in the day when he’d joined her and his sisters on the terrace along with Lord Chadwick. She forced herself to remain calm, but it was to no avail. She attempted a smile instead.

  “I’d be delighted to,” Lord Spencer said as he approached. His eyes warmed as they swept over Sarah, producing a shiver along the length of her spine.

  I will remain sensible, she told herself, even though she feared he might already have muddled her brain with his mere presence. Annoying man.

  “Lady Sarah would like to explore the tunnels below Thorncliff, and since you’ve shown quite an interest in the old place yourself, I thought you might like to come along,” Lady Duncaster said while Sarah secretly prayed he’d say no.

  Of course he didn’t. “How intriguing,” he said. He looked at Sarah again, which promptly heated her skin.

  Offering both ladies an arm, he placed himself between them. Sarah had no choice but to accept. Rather than avoiding Lord Spencer, as she had hoped, she would be spending her afternoon in close proximity to him instead. Thank God Lady Duncaster would be there to chaperone.

  But when they reached the bottom of the stairs leading down to the wine cellar and continued through another doorway, their path lit only by the lantern Lady Duncaster carried with her, Sarah couldn’t help but wonder if this adventure of hers had not been one of the worst ideas she’d had in a long time. The light was weak, fading swiftly to a hazy gray that turned to black within a ­couple of feet of the lantern, and when Lady Duncaster occasionally shielded the light with her body, it was like plunging into a dark hole.

  Damp and chilly, the tunnel they’d entered lent no comfort of any kind, making Sarah all the more aware of the warmth emanating from Lord Spencer’s body as he walked behind her. She tried to dislodge her awareness, but this was of course impossible.

  “During a number of wars, including the Hundred Years’ War, some of the rooms down here served as living quarters for soldiers, while others contained supplies,” Lady Duncaster said. Entering through a low archway, she shone the lantern around the room so they could see.

  “It must have been awfully cold for them down here—­especially during the winter,” Sarah said. Lord Spencer brushed against her side as he stepped inside the room after her. Caught off guard by the flip of her belly, she stifled a small gasp.

  “Of course they would have had furs to keep them warm, but it was generally thought that as long as the soldiers weren’t too comfortable, they’d be more eager to stay active,” Lady Duncaster said.

  “It probably also helped preserve the food,” Lord Spencer remarked.

  “Very true,” Lady Duncaster said as she went back out into the tunnel. “In fact we still use some of these rooms today for that exact purpose—­the ones that are closer to where the new kitchen is located.”

  Determined not to be left alone with Lord Spencer, Sarah hurried after Lady Duncaster. “How long is this tunnel?” she asked.

  “When it was last measured, I was informed that it’s just under seven hundred feet in length, attaching to another tunnel that runs due south, exiting through a postern almost two miles away, a short distance from the sea.” Halting, Lady Duncaster raised her lantern to illuminate a sign on the wall that read Brokenst with an arrow beneath it. “Signs like this have been placed at regular intervals along the tunnels to allow for some sense of direction. Of course the place names aren’t all as accurate as they used to be. This one ought to say Brokenhurst now, but I find I don’t feel comfortable about replacing them. This one’s my favorite,” she said a moment later as their tunnel opened into another one.

  Lady Duncaster raised the lantern, allowing Sarah to read Isle of Wight on one sign and New Forest on the one below it, with arrows pointing in opposite directions. “Incredible,” Sarah murmured.

  “Are there other tunnels leading off of this one?” Lord Spencer asked, sounding equally intrigued.

  “There are several,” Lady Duncaster said, turning back in the direction from which they’d come. “One leads toward an abandoned monastery, while another leads only God knows where. I’ve had most of them closed off to prevent anyone from wandering down here on a lark and getting lost.”

  “It must have been dreadfully tedious to dig all these tunnels back then,” Sarah said. “I can’t even imagine anyone completing such a feat nowadays.”

  “There is a record somewhere that suggests it took almost three hundred years to complete the entire network,” Lady Duncaster said.

  Sarah was speechless, admiring the patience and tenacity that would have been required. “Are these rooms similar to the first one you showed us?” she asked as they passed several consecutive archways.

  “Yes,” Lady Duncaster said, holding the lantern toward the room so Sarah could look inside. She couldn’t get a clear impression of the room’s size, though, since the light failed to reach the walls. Stepping back, she was just about to continue after Lady Duncaster when she felt an uneven protrusion beneath her right slipper, which seemed to slide sideways as she lifted her foot. Ordinarily, she would have thought it a stone, but it made a soft metallic sound that gave her pause. Wondering if someone might have dropped something on a previous visit to the tunnels, Sarah halted her progress and was just about to call for Lady Duncaster to do the same when Lord Spencer, blinded by the diminished lighting, walked straight into her.

  “Forgive me,” he said, catching her swiftly by the waist to stop her from falling.

  The heat from his palm, pressed flat against her belly, seeped through her many layers of clothing, making her body hum with pleasure. A gasp escaped her, and she swore she heard his chest rumble.

  “I must speak with you,” Lord Spencer whispered in her ear.

  “Lady Duncaster,” Sarah said loudly, unnerved by the sparks of pleasure that the touch of his breath against her bare neck evoked. She heard him curse beneath his breath as the lantern light grew stronger and Lady Duncaster returned. “Would you please be kind enough to shine the light on the ground? I stepped on something just now and would like to make sure it’s not something important.”

  “Of course, my dear,” Lady Duncaster said as she lowered the lantern.

&nb
sp; Bending down, Sarah saw a brief sparkle. It vanished again as the lantern moved sideways. “Wait,” she said. “Move the light a little to the left.”

  Lady Duncaster did as Sarah requested, revealing a tangled cluster of what appeared to be small pieces of glass, except they seemed to catch the light in a way that suggested they might be something else entirely. Scarcely believing what she suspected she might have found, Sarah reached down and scooped the item up into her hand, where she rearranged it neatly until there was no doubt about what it was.

  “Good heavens,” Lady Duncaster remarked, her voice conveying a mild state of shock. “It looks as though your sister, Lady Fiona, might be right after all, Spencer. I’d recognize that earring anywhere.” Lifting it from Sarah’s hand, she held it up so each of the finely cut diamonds could split the light from the lantern in a dazzling flare of color. Lowering the earring, she looked at Lord Spencer and Sarah in turn. “This belonged to Her Grace, the Duchess of Marveille.”

  “Are you telling me that her jewelry arrived at Thorncliff after all?” Lord Spencer asked in a tight voice.

  “It would appear so,” Lady Duncaster said. She shook her head. “I never would have thought it, but there’s no mistaking this earring. I borrowed it from Her Grace once for a dinner aboard the Endurance.”

  “The ship on the lake?” Sarah asked.

  A smile graced Lady Duncaster’s lips. “The very same one that carried me from India to England on the voyage where I fell in love for the first and last time. George bought it for me for our tenth anniversary when he discovered that it was being decommissioned. It’s been on the lake ever since.”

  “Fiona will be delighted,” Lord Spencer said.

  “I know she will,” Lady Duncaster said, “but I’m not sure it would be wise of us to tell anyone about our discovery just yet. The house is filled to the brim with guests, and while most of them are comfortably wealthy, there are others who aren’t quite as well off as they’d like to appear.”

  Sarah didn’t bother questioning Lady Duncaster’s knowledge of her guests’ financial situation. Instead she asked, “But how can they be here if they cannot afford it?”

  “I suppose some of them are hoping to try their luck at the gaming tables or other bets, while others might attempt to make a beneficial match for themselves. The point is though, that if word gets out that the treasure exists, I fear there may be ­people, servants even, who will tear this house to pieces in an effort to find it.”

  “I understand your reasoning completely,” Sarah said, watching as Lady Duncaster handed the earring to Lord Spencer and asked him to put it in his pocket. “Your great-­aunt wanted your grandmother to have this. Hopefully we’ll find the other one to match so that you may give it to someone who deserves it.” Looking briefly at Sarah, she turned around and continued through the tunnel.

  Cheeks burning, Sarah hurried after her. She was acutely aware of Lord Spencer’s heavy footfalls behind her, of the masculine strength he exuded and of her own fluttering heart.

  Remember your promise to Chloe, she told herself. Remember Mr. Denison.

  Her body revolted at the very idea of it.

  “There is an important matter I would like to discuss with you privately, if you think you can spare a moment,” Christopher told his father later.

  Lord Oakland, who was exiting the music room with his wife on his arm, stopped to eye his eldest son with grave consideration. “Your mama and I were planning to go for a ride in the carriage—­have a look around the countryside and neighboring villages.” He glanced down at his wife. “But perhaps we can postpone the excursion for half an hour, my dear?”

  “I have to go and fetch my bonnet anyway,” Lady Oakland said, her assessing gaze resting upon Christopher’s face. His mother had always been very astute when it came to his troubles—­he’d never been able to keep them from her. “I’ll meet you out in front at say . . . three o’ clock? Is that enough time?”

  “I believe so,” Christopher said. “Thank you, Mama.”

  With a warm smile, Lady Oakland patted Christopher on the arm as she glided away, disappearing around a corner. “Well, then,” Lord Oakland spoke assertively, “shall we try to find a vacant salon?”

  A short while later, Christopher found himself seated in a magenta-­colored room with white floral patterns rising toward the ceiling from above each window and door. The furniture, consisting of two large sofa swings suspended from intricately carved wooden frames by thick chains, added a distinctly Indian feel—­or so Lord Oakland claimed. Christopher had no doubt it was true, for he’d never felt more foreign than he did right now amidst piles of silk cushions stitched in shimmering metallic tones and strewn about the floor.

  Trying to ignore his current surroundings and the distraction they offered, since he knew he was short on time, Christopher sat down on one of the sofas, disturbed by the swaying movement it offered, and faced his father. “If I were to court a woman who might have had a past association with a traitor, would you be against it, or would you trust my decision and give me your blessing?”

  “Surely we’re not discussing Lady Sarah?” Lord Oakland said, his voice both grave and pensive.

  “We are indeed,” Christopher confessed.

  Lord Oakland frowned. “I see.” His frown deepened. “Treason is a very serious offense, Spencer.”

  “I am aware of that,” Christopher said. “But is it fair that she should suffer just because she allowed the attentions of a man she did not truly know? Is her situation really so much different from my own?”

  “I gather she was not aware of her beau’s transgressions?”

  “Of course not! How can you even suppose such a thing?”

  “Calm yourself. I’m only trying to get all the facts.” Lord Oakland studied his son. “You’re certain of her innocence though? That she did not collaborate with this man?”

  “It was Harlowe, Papa,” Christopher said as he leaned back against a plump cushion.

  “I suspected it might have been.” There was a moment’s silence before Lord Oakland said, “Have you confronted her with your knowledge about this past connection of hers?”

  “No.”

  “You should, because I’ll tell you this much, Spencer; I find it highly unlikely that Lord and Lady Andover would insist on marrying their eldest daughter to a man like Mr. Denison if her only fault was that she’d once encouraged the attentions of Harlowe.”

  “There’s also the matter of Lord Andover’s interest in Mr. Denison’s horses. I believe this to be the real incentive for the match.”

  “However keen Lord Andover may be on horses, I very much doubt Mr. Denison’s are enough to prompt the earl to offer up his eldest daughter. If you ask me, there’s something more to it. And don’t forget that while you were absent from England at the time, your mother and I were not. Harlowe was a marquess and considered most eligible, so we would have known if he and Lady Sarah had formed an attachment, since we were hoping to pair either Laura or Emily with him.”

  “Thank God you didn’t.”

  “For which we may have Lady Sarah to thank. But since nobody else knew what Harlowe had done at the time, I don’t think anyone would fault Lady Sarah even if she had become affianced with him, which again suggests that her connection to Harlowe cannot be all there is to it, unless of course she was aware of his transgressions and chose to turn a blind eye because of some misplaced sense of duty.”

  “I don’t believe she would have done that.”

  “Which takes us straight back to the question of what might have led to her parents’ disinterests in arranging a more favorable match for her.”

  Christopher sighed. “I cannot imagine.”

  Lord Oakland raised an eyebrow. “Well, forgive me for saying this, Spencer, but you certainly know how to pick them, don’t you?”

  Christopher
stiffened in response to the reference to Miss Hepplestone. “Lady Sarah is different,” he said. “She’s not a charlatan.”

  “That may be true,” Lord Oakland muttered, “but from what I’ve seen of her, she seems quite prepared to marry Mr. Denison. It makes no sense unless there’s something else we do not know about. My advice to you would be to find out what that something might be and how great a threat it may pose to this family.”

  It wasn’t what Christopher wanted to hear, but he knew his father was right. “I’ll do what I can, Papa. I assure you.”

  Chapter 13

  That evening, Lady Sarah couldn’t help but feel as though she was out of place amidst the opulence of the Thorncliff ballroom. She was standing in a small group consisting of Chloe, Lady Ravensby, the daughter of the Duke of Hefton, and Lady Forthright, the daughter of the Earl of Rentonbury. Only twice before had she entered a crowded ballroom dressed in her evening finery, but that was so long ago now and overshadowed by such heartache that she would rather forget all about it. Yet here she was, dressed in a silk ice-­blue gown, her necklace and earrings set with diamonds and her hair arranged elegantly at the back of her head, twined with silver ribbons. Hester really had outdone herself, and as a result, Sarah had danced four sets already. Only two more remained, the last one being the waltz.

  Her stomach clenched at the thought of being held in Lord Spencer’s arms. When Mr. Denison had asked to partner with her for the waltz and she’d had to mention Lord Spencer, Mr. Denison had gone into a quiet rage, which Sarah had found incredibly distressing. And then of course there was her father! Lord, she’d never been so angry with another person in all her life. Apparently, he’d had a very cozy conversation with Lord Spencer the day before, yet her father had failed to mention it to her until that very evening as they’d descended the stairs to the ballroom. That he would allow Lord Spencer to court her if she agreed, forcing her to deal with the increasingly persistent viscount, was not fair. “You could have made up a story to dissuade him,” Sarah had said.