by Holt, Cheryl
Archibald had already come looking for her twice, and he’d stopped in the tavern in the village to mention he would pay a reward for her return.
The ass!
The servants liked Sarah, and Caroline thought they liked her, too. She hoped they’d help to conceal her at Bramble Bay, but the reward was a potent inducement. It unnerved her that people would openly discuss her with an outsider like Mr. Hook.
If they would talk to him, they would eventually talk to Archie.
“Should I call you Miss or Mrs. Patterson?”Mr. Hook asked. “Which is it?”
Caroline wouldn’t admit she was married, because he’d follow up with questions as to why she was hiding.
“How about if you call me Caroline?”
“Caroline it is.”
They were out on the verandah behind the house. The sun had set, the last twilight having flickered out. She’d been up in her room, avoiding Mr. Sinclair and Mildred and Hedley, when she’d noticed Mr. Hook. He’d been by himself, leaned against the balustrade, drinking a brandy and staring out at the ocean as if he wished he was sailing on it.
He scared her—but in a good and feminine manner. He was dark and dashing and unlike any man she’d ever met. With his black hair and eyes, his black attire and boots, he exuded danger and menace, and he intrigued her in ways he shouldn’t.
Archie had always insisted she was mad, and she had to wonder if he wasn’t correct. She’d been battered and shamed and abused by him, and she’d kill herself before she’d go back. She was broke and alone and Sarah her only friend.
Yet she was curious as to what Mr. Hook would look like without his clothes.
After being wed to Archie, after learning how disgusting a male body could be, after being taught her wifely duty and failing at it so miserably, why would a salacious thought ever cross her mind?
But Mr. Hook generated that type of rumination. A woman—even one who was as troubled and lost as she was—could start having all sorts of riotous imaginings.
Mr. Hook was the kind of fellow she’d once dreamed about having as a husband. She’d been a wistful romantic who’d read novels and yearned to have a prince carry her away.
By the time Mildred had arranged the match with Archie, Caroline had set her sights quite a bit lower. She’d had no dowry or prospects, and Bernard had passed away, so he hadn’t been around to urge caution or select someone more suitable.
As a lure to entice a spouse, there had just been her blond hair, blue eyes, curvaceous figure, and merry personality. Dull, bumbling Archibald Patterson had been eager to have her.
He was Mildred’s cousin, and Caroline had been so grateful to Mildred for finding him. But she’d been acquainted with Mildred forever, and she should have remembered to be wary.
Archie was nice enough when he was sober, but he was a heavy drinker, and alcohol changed him into a maniac. Although the bruises had faded, she still had aching bones that were a memento of what could happen if a girl wasn’t careful.
So why would she flirt with Mr. Hook? When danger oozed from his every pore, what was she hoping to achieve? Perhaps she was attracted to violence and cruelty. Perhaps she didn’t believe she deserved any better.
“Are you married, Mr. Hook?”she asked.
“Gad, no. What woman would have me?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Her interested gaze meandered down his torso. “Any number of females might assume you were worth it.”
Had those words come out of her own mouth? What was wrong with her?
She’d been sending a message, and he definitely received it. He paused and studied her, his eyes taking their own meander down her body.
“It must get boring out here in the country,”he said.
“It does.”
“It must be difficult to entertain yourself.”
“I used to think so, but lately, my luck has been improving.”
She leaned nearer, liking how tall he was, how broad across the shoulders and arms. He leaned in too, so close that his trousers brushed her skirt, the toes of his boots slipping under the hem.
“You want something from me,”he murmured. “What is it?”
“What makes you suppose I want something?”
“I’ve danced around this ballroom a few times before.”
“Have you? Then why are you asking? Don’t you know?”
He eased away and chuckled. “Yes, I know, but I’m sure if I gave it to you, you’d die from shock.”
“You have quite a high impression of yourself.”
“It’s all deserved.”
She laughed and stepped in again. Sparks flew, the air electric with sensation, and she felt wild and free.
“It’s very dark down by the beach,”she boldly said. “Would you like to take a stroll?”
“Little lady”—he pulled her to him so she was cradled to his chest—“I’d love to stroll with you until you were too sore to walk back to the house on your own.”
She wasn’t certain what he meant by his remark. She understood it was sexual, but had no idea how a woman could become too sore to walk from carnal activity.
“Let’s go”—brazenly, she nodded to the sloping lawn—“if you think you’re man enough.”
“I’m man enough. Don’t you worry about that.” But to her enormous disappointment, he set her away. “I can’t tonight.”
“Why not?”
“I’m busy.”
“With what? It seems to me you’re loitering on the verandah and drinking a brandy. You don’t look busy.”
“John and Hedley are playing cards again.”
It was the last comment she’d expected, and she scowled. “They’re playing cards?”
“Yes, and I have to watch John’s back and keep track of the gold and the chips.”
“They’ll be wagering?”
“Yes.”
“For large stakes?”
“Yes.”
Questions raced through Caroline’s head. Why would Hedley gamble with Mr. Sinclair? He behaved outrageously in London, but why bring his sordid habits to Bramble Bay? Why would Mildred allow it?
Mildred had never been able to stand up to Hedley, but this conduct had to be beyond the pale.
“Why are they gambling?”she asked.
“The reason all men do: to win.”
“To win what?”
“Hedley believes he can recover Bramble Bay.”
“Recover Bramble Bay from what?”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I thought Mildred was telling everyone today. I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Hedley gambled away the estate.”
She gasped. “He what?”
“He played with John several months ago and bet too heavily. So he kept arranging new games, but he couldn’t regain any ground.”
“What are you saying?”Caroline frantically inquired. “How much has he lost?”
He gestured around. “Everything.”
“What do you mean by everything? The house? The land? The furniture? The animals and plows and barns?”
“Yes.”
“The clothes on our backs?”
His grim expression turned kind. “Yes, but John won’t take your clothes. He’ll let you have your personal things. Especially you ladies. He’s not cruel that way.”
She couldn’t wrap her mind around the calamity he was revealing. It was common fact that Hedley was spoiled and reckless, but apparently, she’d had no idea. If Bramble Bay was lost, where would she go? Where would Sarah go? What would become of those who depended on the place for their incomes and survival?
Tears welled into her eyes. She wasn’t a Teasdale, but Bramble Bay had always been her home. The beautiful spot had been forfeited over a stupid card game? How could Mr. Hook be so cavalier?
“Stop them!”she demanded.
“I can’t.”
“Make Mr. Sinclair give it back. Make him.”
“It’s out of
my hands, Caroline.”
“You’re his friend. You could dissuade him if you wanted to.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to. I’m determined that Hedley and Mildred get exactly what they deserve.”
“Get what they deserve? What are you talking about?”
“It’s not my story to tell.”
“Whose story is it?” He was stoically silent, and she said, “It’s Mr. Sinclair’s?”
He didn’t reply, which told her all she needed to know.
She whipped away and ran into the house, shouting for Sarah.
* * * *
“You didn’t come down to supper. I was hoping you would.”
Sarah smiled at Sheldon who’d been invited to dine as he frequently was. They were chatting in the main parlor. Since she was a baby, he’d been a constant fixture in her life. He was their neighbor, Patrick’s father, and her father’s friend.
He was sixty, boring, steady and dull, but rich and settled, his estate as fine as Bramble Bay.
He was bald as a ball, short and stout, his body plump from ease and affluence. His round face was covered with a bushy mustache and shaggy muttonchops. As a young man, he’d quickly outlived three wives who’d died from various causes, so he’d declared himself unlucky and gave up wedded bliss.
But age and inheritance issues were spurring him to try again. At Mildred’s urging, he’d been pressing the topic with Sarah, but she couldn’t make herself consent. Particularly not after Caroline had described marital duty.
Sarah simply couldn’t envision removing her clothes, watching as Sheldon removed his, then letting him touch her all over. It sounded tawdry, as if she’d be letting her own father do those things to her.
She kept delaying her answer, kept praying an alternative would present itself, but it was silly to dither. She had no dowry, so there was no handsome suitor who would ride up the drive and rescue her.
Sheldon was the only one who had offered. He was the only one who was willing to have her. Why couldn’t she say yes? What was wrong with her?
“I’ve been avoiding the supper table,”she explained. “Would you think I was horrid if I confessed that I don’t care for Mildred’s guests?”
“I didn’t much enjoy them either.”
“I stay away so I don’t embarrass myself by being rude.”
“That Sinclair fellow was all right, but Mr. Hook was odd and disconcerting. He looked utterly dangerous. And Miss Dubois, well, the less said about her, the better.”
“I agree completely.”
“Why are they here?”
“Mr. Sinclair claims he’s viewing property in the area.”
“With an eye toward buying?”
“I guess.”
“They might eventually be our neighbors?”
“I wouldn’t want to speculate, but it seems likely.”
He chuckled. “The annual Christmas dance at the church would certainly be more lively with those three in attendance.”
Sarah chuckled, too. “It certainly would be. If Miss Dubois sauntered in, the vicar would have an apoplexy.”
They snickered, then quieted, Sheldon sipping his nightly brandy. He always had precisely one glass after supper, but Sarah didn’t join in. He didn’t countenance women imbibing of spirits, and even though Sarah rarely drank, his prohibition made her eager to grab the bottle and down the contents—just to spite him.
“Have you thought about our last conversation?”he said, and her heart sank.
She’d hoped to slog through the evening without marriage being mentioned, but he was growing impatient.
“My feelings haven’t changed, Sheldon. I wish you’d go to town and interview other candidates. There are so many ladies who would be delighted by your interest. I can’t decide, and it’s unfair for you to have to wait on me.”
“You know I hate London, and at my age, I’m not about to run around, trying to charm some girl whose family I’ve never met. You and I are well-suited. I’m accustomed to you, and there would be no surprises.”
“No, there wouldn’t be,”which was the main problem.
She really and truly suspected—if she wed him—she’d die of boredom, but she couldn’t get him to shift his attention. He expected his constant visits to generate enthusiasm, but with his intractability and her equivocation, each discussion was more unpleasant.
Motion out on the verandah distracted her, and she glanced out to see Mr. Hook lazily balanced on the balustrade. Mr. Sinclair walked up to him, and they whispered like conspirators, their heads close so they wouldn’t be overheard.
It was dark outside, a few lamps burning in the garden. The dim light glinted off his blond hair, shrouding him in a golden halo so he was even more striking.
Since he’d sneaked into her bedchamber the previous evening, she hadn’t been able to think of anything but him. She was awhirl with memories: how he’d smelled, how he’d felt when he took her in his arms and kissed her.
She shouldn’t have let him, but where he was concerned, she was overly attracted and couldn’t behave. Like a besotted girl, she’d spent the day trying to cross paths with him, but he’d been conspicuously absent. He’d said he was leaving soon, and she couldn’t imagine him going without her furthering their acquaintance.
He appeared to want something from her, but she appeared to want something from him, too. What was it? Flattery? A bone of kindness thrown her way? A few compliments?
He was virile and magnificent, and observing him—while sitting with Sheldon and enduring another tedious chat—was almost painful. Yet it was beneficial, too. It solidified her decision. She’d hold out. She’d marry for love and affection, or she wouldn’t marry at all.
Mr. Sinclair whispered a final comment to Mr. Hook, then strolled away, and Sarah rose from her seat, as if hypnotized, as if she’d abandon Sheldon to chase after Mr. Sinclair.
“Honestly, Sarah,”Sheldon snapped, “have you listened to a word I’ve said?”
“I apologize, Sheldon. I’m not myself tonight. Would you like to”—she paused, struggling to devise a means of passing the time before she lost her mind—“would you like to climb to the overlook? The moon is up. The view is probably spectacular. We can take the telescope and see if there are any ships sailing by.”
He pursed his lips, his mustache quivering. “You’re aware of the trouble I have with my knees. I can’t manage the trail.”
“Yes, of course. I shouldn’t have suggested it. How about a game of cards?”
She was saved by Caroline rushing in. Her friend was agitated, her color high, her cheeks flushed bright red.
“Sarah, there you are! I’ve been searching everywhere.” She frowned at Sheldon. “Sheldon, I’m sorry, but I have to speak with Sarah. Alone.”
“What is it?”Sarah asked.
“Can you come?” Caroline gestured to the hall, her eyes flashing an urgent message.
“Sheldon, would you excuse me? I’ll be right back.”
“I don’t think you will be, Sarah,”Caroline warned.
Sarah sighed. Mildred had invited Sheldon to supper, then had vanished immediately after the meal. So she wasn’t available to entertain him.
“I’ll hurry,”she told him.
“Don’t bother.” His aggravation was clear. “Caroline has her petticoat in a wad. I’m sure it will require hours and hours to get it unraveled.”
“Sheldon…” Sarah extended a hand in supplication, but he didn’t take it.
He pushed himself to his feet. “I should head home. Make my goodbyes to Mildred, will you?”
“I will.”
“I’ll stop by tomorrow, when things are less hectic.”
He huffed out, then Caroline shut the door, assuring their privacy.
“This better be good,”Sarah said. “We’ve annoyed Sheldon, and I’ll never hear the end of it—from him or from Mildred.”
“Sheldon can choke on a crow.” Caroline had never liked the man. “You won’t
believe what I just learned.”
“What?”
“I was talking to Mr. Hook out on the verandah.”
“Really, Caroline, should you socialize with him?”
“Well, we’re lucky I was.” She led Sarah to the sofa and eased them both down.
“What did he say?”
“Mr. Sinclair is a gambler.”
“Oh, no.” A sick feeling of dread surged through Sarah’s stomach. “Why do I suspect I won’t like what you’re about to tell me?”
“Hedley gambled with him. He lost and lost and lost, and finally, he bet Bramble Bay.”
“Hedley bet…Bramble Bay?”
“Yes. Mr. Sinclair won it—right down to the clothes on our backs.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed, and she shook her head, wanting to deny Caroline’s words.
“No, it can’t be. It just can’t be. You must have misheard.”
“I didn’t, Sarah. He’s owned it for months, and he’s here to take possession.”
“Take…possession? He expects to move in and we are to…what? To leave?”
“Yes.”
“With a few bags over our shoulders like a pack of vagrants.”
“We won’t get to take any bags. Nothing belongs to us anymore.”
Sarah recalled her conversation with him the prior night. He’d mentioned leaving, that he’d never see her again, and she’d assumed he meant that he was leaving. He’d peppered her with questions about whether she had a dowry, whether she had anywhere to go if disaster struck.
She’d thought he was simply being nosy, but apparently, he’d been concerned as to what would become of her after he tossed her out of her home.
Fury sparked.
Bramble Bay had been in her family for generations. Even though Hedley had inherited it when their father died, Sarah didn’t view it as Hedley’s. Bramble Bay was hers, the Teasdale ancestral seat, and it wasn’t his to fritter away. Nor could Mr. Sinclair seize it with a turn of the cards.
It would be nice if such wretched conduct was illegal, but it wasn’t. The kingdom was rife with stories of ruination, of squandered fortunes and lost property. She’d never paid much heed to the woeful tales, deeming the participants to have suffered their just desserts for immoral behavior.
