by Holt, Cheryl
He frowned down at her, feeling alarmed and anxious to flee the room immediately.
She actually sighed with pleasure and smiled up at him. To his delight, she didn’t try to slip out of his arms. She stayed where she was, her torso pressed to his, giving ample proof that she wasn’t quite as resistant as she claimed to be.
“That wasn’t so bad,”she said.
He snorted. “High praise indeed.”
“You’ve had your kiss. Would you go now?”
“I love it when a woman begs.”
“What will it take for me to be shed of you?”
“Maybe if I kissed you again, I might finally have my fill.”
He didn’t suppose he’d ever have his fill of her, which frightened him very much.
His charade in England was about concluded. Hedley was hinting that he’d like another card game, that he’d like a last opportunity to win everything back. John was tempted to humor the foolish boy who was too blind to grasp that he could never best John at any endeavor.
John was one of the world’s greatest gamblers—mostly because he had no conscience and cheated with relish. It was another trait he’d inherited from his father who was also a renowned gamester and charlatan.
He’d risked life and limb, arrest and hanging, merely to carry out his reprisal against Mildred. He’d accomplished his goal by ruining Hedley. It had been easy to trick Hedley, but Mildred had always been the target, and she would suffer the most from Hedley’s negligence.
John was at the end, a day away from the finale, and he didn’t have time to waste with Sarah Teasdale. So what was he doing?
For once, he had no command of himself. He wanted to kiss her forever, and apparently, he wouldn’t be able to drag himself away until he was satisfied that he’d made a point with her. The fact that he had no idea what point he was trying to make was irksome and annoying, but if he left Bramble Bay and never saw her again, he was positive he’d regret that he hadn’t forged ahead when he’d had the chance.
“Your fill?” She frowned up at him. “Your fill of what?”
“Of you.”
“Me! You grow more absurd by the minute.”
“I realize it’s bizarre, but you’ve thoroughly captivated me.”
“I couldn’t have.”
“You did.”
“You’re pestering me because I don’t like you.”
“Perhaps.”
“Women fawn over you. You’re used to it—I’ve seen you with Miss Dubois—and you can’t stand that I’m not in awe.”
“No, I can’t, but you should be.”
“Give me one reason why.”
“Because I’m wonderful, and you’ll never meet a man like me again.”
She chuckled. “I’m sure that’s true.”
“You should take advantage of the situation while you still can. We’re drawn to each other; we shouldn’t fight it.”
“We’re not drawn to each other, Mr. Sinclair. I have no interest in you at all, and you’re simply a lunatic who is bothering me when you shouldn’t be.”
“You have no interest in me?”
“No, none.”
“Call me John.”
“No, and you have to stop calling me Sarah.”
“I love your name. It suits you. Miss Teasdale is too stuffy.” She looked exasperated with him, but a tad charmed, as well. “In another day or two,”he told her, “you won’t ever see me again.”
“You’re leaving? And here I thought you were planning an extended visit.”
Actually, she would be leaving, along with everyone else. But he didn’t tell her that.
“Once we’re parted, will you miss me?”he asked.
“Always, Mr. Sinclair,”she sarcastically said. “I’ll pine away for the rest of my life. Are you happy now? You’ve thoroughly captivated me, too. I’m completely ensnared. I’ll never be the same.”
At her sassy comment, he laughed and laughed. “You intrigue me beyond measure, Sarah.”
“I’m so delighted to hear it.”
“You will miss me, and I believe I will miss you, too.”
“Of course you will. You’ll be absolutely devastated by the loss of me.”
“Let’s say goodbye—as if it matters.”
She studied him, as if committing his face to memory, and she nodded her agreement to have a fond farewell.
“Goodbye, Mr. Sinclair.”
“John, remember?”
“Goodbye, John.”
“Goodbye, Sarah.”
He tightened the arm that still clasped her waist, and he drew her to him so he could dip down and steal another kiss. She didn’t protest so he told himself she was amenable.
He kissed her as if he meant it, as if she was special to him and their parting would break his heart. It couldn’t—he had no heart—but it was amusing to pretend.
Obviously, she’d been kissed before. She definitely knew how, so her deceased swain must have taught her a few things prior to his perishing. Fleetingly, John wondered if she’d learned any other pertinent lessons, if she wasn’t quite as maidenly as she seemed.
He never trifled with innocents. There were too many willing trollops in his world so he didn’t have to. But it would be refreshing to avail himself of someone like her, someone who was unsullied and uncorrupted by circumstances.
He riffled through her beautiful hair, stroking her shoulders and back. She fit against him exactly right, as if she’d been created for him alone, and he reveled in the notion that she was his in even this small way.
To have better access, he leaned her across his arm and shoved at the lapels of her robe so he could untie the bow at the front of her nightgown. He slipped a hand inside and covered her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple.
He’d gone farther than he should have, which she instantly made clear. She grabbed his wrist and jerked it away, wrenching her mouth from his.
For the briefest second, he was so overcome by lust that he seriously considered ignoring her. She was petite and defenseless, her suite in a secluded area of the mansion. He could easily pick her up and carry her to the bed in the other room. He could hold her down and ravish her and hardly be winded from the struggle.
Yet he genuinely liked her and didn’t want her to have such a horrid opinion of him. Over the next hours and days, she’d have many other reasons to hate him. Let those be the basis for her loathing.
“No, no, no,”she scolded as she twisted away. “We’re not doing this.”
She gazed up at him, appearing rumpled and adorable. He liked that he could fluster her, that he could disconcert her. She wouldn’t ever forget him, would stew and recollect.
He smiled. “You can’t blame me for trying.”
“Yes, I can. I can’t stand my ground with you, and I’m annoyed by my weakness. I take one look at you, and my common sense flies out the window.”
“You’re wild about me.”
“I guess I must be. Why else would I allow you such liberties?”
“I wouldn’t have any fun if I didn’t make an attempt.”
“You’re really pushing your luck with me.”
“Yes, I am, but that’s always been my way. You’d be surprised how far a man can go when he’s daring and bold.”
“No, I wouldn’t. The only daring man I’ve ever known is Hedley, and his audacity has constantly led him to ruin.”
In light of Hedley’s most recent egregious conduct, John couldn’t argue.
“When I decided to come here,”he said, “I didn’t realize Hedley had a sister. I hope you’ll remember that.”
Completely confused, she frowned. “All right. I’ll remember.”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry. Not about Hedley, but about you. Remember that too, will you?”
“All right,”she said again more slowly.
“I regret that you were caught up in it. I wish there could have been a different ending for you.”
“What are you telling me?”
“If you have trouble later on, if you require assistance, my friend Mr. Hook can contact me.” It was an offer he’d never intended to extend. But he had. “I’ll help you.”
“Help me what?”
He touched a finger to her forehead, then traced it down the bridge of her nose, across her lips and chin and throat, to her cleavage.
His body was prodding him to continue, to start in again, but he couldn’t. She was about to witness plenty of bad behavior from him. No need to make it worse.
“Au revoir, chérie.”
He lifted her hand and placed a very hot kiss on the inside of her wrist. Then he turned and walked away.
“Mr. Sinclair!” He kept on, and she snapped, “John! What is happening? Tell me!”
He glanced back, but couldn’t bear to see how pretty she looked, how young and alone.
He couldn’t explain the rage that drove him, the revenge that motivated him. He was a burning cauldron of ire and fury, and she had no business standing so close. She’d only be incinerated by the flames.
He whipped away and went to the door, jiggled his knife in the lock. It clicked open easily, and he vanished into the night, not caring a whit if there was anyone in the hall who might notice him as he sneaked out of her room.
CHAPTER FOUR
“He’s agreed to play again, Mother. It’s wonderful news.”
“I don’t know, Hedley. You haven’t had much success so far.”
“I can beat him! I’m sure of it.”
That’s what you said last time, Mildred nearly snapped, but what was the point?
It was futile to scold. The damage was done, and the only question remaining was how they could maneuver to the end with the least amount of scandal and difficulty.
She and Hedley were sequestered in her sitting room, the morning sun shining in the windows. When she’d initially wed Bernard, the remodel of the pretty parlor had been her first task as a bride.
She’d been devastated by her marriage, furious and bereaved at having plunged to the bottom of society’s ladder. In coming to Bramble Bay, a small and unremarkable estate beyond the edge of nowhere, she’d been desperate for a quiet sanctuary where she could retire from her hectic duties and calm herself sufficiently that she could continue on.
She’d had to run Bernard’s household, as well as raise his daughter and his ward. She’d had to endure his nightly urges. He’d been in his forties and determined to sire a son, so he’d never missed an evening.
Through it all, the sole benefit, her sole joy, had been Hedley.
Bernard had always cautioned that she was spoiling Hedley, that her fussing and cosseting was making him weak and unreliable. It had been the root of all their quarrels. She’d envisioned such a grand future for Hedley that she’d been blind to any flaw or moral failing. Oh, how she hated to admit that Bernard had been correct.
Hedley was the worst sort of profligate and gambler. His habit was an almost uncontrollable madness. He would be overcome by the need to wager, by the certainty that he could win. There was no stopping him, and by the time she’d realized the extent of his obsession, it had been too late.
If she’d been more astute, if she’d paid more attention, could she have seen the disaster approaching? Could she have prevented this dire conclusion?
She didn’t think so, and she refused to accept any blame. Hedley had moved to London when he turned eighteen, and he’d insisted on taking charge of the family finances, but he wasn’t good with money or numbers.
He complained about their bank accounts, about the income from the estate, how it was never big enough to cover his expenses.
The past year had been a nightmare as creditors had begun to contact her. She hadn’t known how to answer their curt messages. As legal judgments had been delivered, she’d ignored them, her fury growing with each humiliating episode.
Her father had been an earl, descended from a long line of aristocrats. No paltry creditor would have dared embarrass him by demanding remuneration for a bill that was overdue. But Mildred had had to marry down due to the outrageous behavior of her older sister Florence. There had been no chance for Mildred to have a husband suitable to her station.
Florence had made a brilliant match, had wed an earl herself and birthed him two sons. Then she’d shocked the entire world when she’d fled to Paris with her lover, Charles Sinclair, Lord Trent.
After that debacle, an aristocratic spouse for Mildred was impossible. In light of her sister’s disgrace, what sane man would trust Mildred?
She’d been forced to wed Bernard who was little more than a country farmer, dumped on him at seventeen, after his wife had died. Mildred’s father had declared it the best he could do and that she ought to be grateful he’d found her a husband at all.
But she’d never been grateful, and because of Bernard’s lowly status, the property wasn’t entailed. They weren’t protected from predators like John Sinclair.
With the instincts of a vulture, he’d swept in and lured Hedley into a card game he never should have attempted. John Sinclair was very much like Charles Sinclair who’d tantalized idiotic Florence with dreams of the gaiety to be had in France, and Mildred wondered if Mr. Sinclair wasn’t related to Charles.
She’d asked him once, but he’d claimed no connection to or knowledge of Lord Trent. But a rogue who would steal a woman’s home in a card game would certainly stoop to lying. She’d never met Lord Trent, but she’d heard he was blond and handsome, as was Mr. Sinclair. If she ultimately learned that Mr. Sinclair and Lord Trent were distant kin, she wouldn’t be surprised in the least.
“I have to try, Mother.” Hedley yanked her from her bitter reverie. “What other choice is there?”
“I suppose there’s none.”
“I can win it all back. I’m positive.” He came over and knelt by her chair, and he clasped her hands. His gaze was so earnest, his demeanor so pleading. “Say you’ll help me. Say you’ll support me in this.”
She’d never been able to deny him anything. That was the whole problem.
She sighed with resignation. “What would you have me do?”
“We’ll need one of the rooms, probably the side parlor overlooking the garden, set up for an extended use.”
“Extended use? What does that mean?”
“We might continue for several days so servants will have to provide a constant stream of food and cigars and brandy. It could take a bit of maneuvering for me to work him into a corner.”
She studied her son. With his brown hair and big blue eyes, he was very attractive, but with his slight build and thin frame, he appeared small and very young. She thought of John Sinclair, of his size and maturity and masculine attributes.
He was thirty, so he was only a decade older than Hedley, but in stature and deportment, he seemed a hundred years older. She didn’t expect Hedley could work him into a corner or anywhere else. Yet if Hedley didn’t wager with Mr. Sinclair again, they’d exhausted their options.
Mildred had always loathed Sarah. She was happy and pleasant—Hedley’s exact opposite—and adored by everyone at Bramble Bay. Mildred couldn’t imagine telling her of Hedley’s shameful conduct, couldn’t bear to envision the censure Sarah would level at them both.
Wasn’t it best to try every possible alternative? If Hedley gambled, where was the harm? There was nothing left to lose. He’d already bet every item of value, right down to the silverware in the drawers.
She peered out the window, across the sloping lawn to the shimmering ocean in the distance, speculating as to how many more times she’d be able to stare out at the familiar sight.
She could see her reflection in the glass. She was only forty-one, her hair still mostly brown, with a few strands of silver to show her age. Her blue eyes, so much like Hedley’s, could sparkle on the rare occasions when she was feeling cheery. But worry over his catastrophe had thinned her torso until she was positively emaciated.
Ire swept through her. She could
n’t have anymore children, and she yearned to be a decade younger. If she was, she’d rush next door to visit their neighbor, Sheldon Fishburn.
He was rich and established and planning to wed again, and Mildred could have snagged him if she hadn’t been so old. But he was desperate for an heir. Poor, deceased Patrick was the lone child Sheldon had ever sired, and with him being in his sixties, he had to get a boy brewing with a new wife before it was too late.
He was willing to have Sarah despite her advanced age of twenty-five. Yet Sarah—in her typical snobbish fashion—deemed herself too good for him.
Well, Mildred couldn’t wait to hear Sarah’s opinion in another day or so. As the world came crashing down, and she had nowhere to live and no kin to take her in, she wouldn’t think Sheldon quite so elderly or tedious.
“All right, darling,”she finally said. “Let me summon the housekeeper. We’ll prepare the parlor for your game. When would you like to start?”
“How about tonight after supper?”
“Fine. Everything will be arranged as you’ve requested.”
“Thank you, Mother! Thank you!” He pulled her to her feet, hugged her and danced her around the room. She wished his enthusiasm could be catching, that she could muster some optimism for the outcome, but she was drowning in the worst sense of foreboding.
“Hedley, honestly. Calm yourself.”
“I’ll save us, Mother. I will!”
“Yes, I’m sure you’ll save us all.”
“I’ll send Mr. Sinclair packing—with his tail tucked between his legs. Just see if I don’t.”
“You will, Hedley. You will.”
She was too weary to be happy, too afraid for the future. She eased away from him, went to her bedchamber, and closed the door.
* * * *
“Hello, Mr. Hook.”
“Hello, Miss Patterson. Or should I say Mrs. Patterson?”
“Who told you I was married.”
“A little bird.”
Caroline frowned.
She didn’t want the servants chatting about her private business to strangers. When she’d run away from her husband Archibald and slinked to Bramble Bay, Sarah had been very clear with the staff as to the need for secrecy.
