by Holt, Cheryl
“Oh, I don’t know,”she acerbically mused. “Perhaps I could have stayed with a neighbor. Perhaps I could have remained in my home—where I have always lived until you stole it.”
“I didn’t steal it!”he bellowed.
He stormed over, an angry finger wagging in her face.
“Your brother wagered you of his own accord.”
“I don’t believe you. I’m sure it was all your idea.”
“No, he brought it up out of the blue—to buy himself more time.”
“More time to what?”
“To renege, to change the result, to thwart me.”
“As if he could,”she scoffed. “He and Mildred are deranged to imagine they could prevent you from behaving however you wish.”
“Precisely,”he concurred. “And once he suggested I take you off his hands, can you actually assume—if I’d refused—he wouldn’t have sold you to someone else?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Men wager their sisters all the time. It’s not illegal. What if he’d ridden to London and offered your chastity in a London gambling hall?”
The notion shocked her, had her reeling. “Be silent.”
“I won’t be. I’ve been in those places. I’ve seen the crazed bets that are tendered. What would your chances have been to avoid a worse ending than the one I arranged for you?”
“Aren’t you wonderful! My hero!”
“I saved your pretty behind, you little fool. I wouldn’t deem it inappropriate to hear a bit of thanks from you.”
She was so irate, she was trembling. “Are you claiming I should be honored that you were haggling over me as if I was a prized cow?”
“No. I’m claiming your brother could have earned a fortune off of you. I’m surprised he hasn’t already tried it. You were upset when he announced that he’d lost the estate. What if he’d announced he lost you, too? To some stranger? To some diseased libertine or perverted reprobate?”
She blanched and stumbled away as if he’d slapped her.
Hadn’t she endured sufficient agony for one day? Hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t Hedley? Was she to spend the rest of her life, laboring under the horrid realization that it could have been much more dire? Hedley was irresponsible and immature, but must she now accept that he was mad, as well?
“He wouldn’t have done that to me,”she insisted, but without much vigor.
“He wouldn’t? I was there, Sarah.” With a deadly finality, he repeated, “I was there! Don’t tell me what he wouldn’t have done. I saw it with my own two eyes. You’re nothing to him.”
“Stop it,”she begged, his words pounding into her like blows. “Give us back our home.”
“Give it back? To Hedley? Are you insane?”
“Then let us have our thirty days to leave. Release me from the wager.”
“No.”
“Show me that you can be kind. Show me that you are a gentleman, that you know how to act like one.”
“That’s the problem for you, chérie. I am not a gentleman, and I’ve never acted like one.”
“Yes, you have. I’ve witnessed it. Free me from this wretched folly.”
“No.” He was growing more obstinate. “I will have what is mine.”
“I am not yours!”she shouted.
“You’re wrong about that. I have won you, and I claim you as my own.”
“This isn’t Africa, and I am not a slave that can be bought and sold.”
“No, but you are an unprotected female who has been bartered away by her brother.” He paused, his expression grim. “And if I don’t keep you, who might he offer you to next? Are you willing to risk it?”
Tears surged into her eyes; she couldn’t stop them.
She felt so helpless, so betrayed. By John Sinclair. By Mildred. By Hedley. By her father who should have protected her, but hadn’t.
If her own father hadn’t bothered over her, if her own brother would gamble her away, what hope was there for her to stagger on in a decent way? If she didn’t yield to Sinclair’s demands, what would become of her? Yet if she succumbed to his debauched scheme, what would become of her?
There were no valid choices, no satisfactory conclusions. There was only calamity and chaos and John Sinclair positioned like a brick wall between the life she’d previously had and the life she would have in the future.
“Oh, chérie,”he murmured, “don’t cry. Hedley isn’t worth it.”
“But my home is worth it. My life is worth it.”
“No, it isn’t. You’ve been trapped here with these despicable people—who never loved you, who will never cherish you. Hedley tossed you away, and though you don’t realize it at the moment, this is a good thing. Now you truly know him. Now you’re free of him.”
“I didn’t need to be freed. I was never bound.”
“Yes, you were.”
He came over and took her in his arms. She didn’t fight him, didn’t push him away. She was so bereft she could barely stand, and if he hadn’t been holding her, she’d have collapsed to the ground in a grief-stricken heap.
“It will be all right, Sarah,”he said.
“How can you say that?”
“There are worse fates in this world than being attached to a man like me.”
“I can’t think of any.”
“I’ve sailed the Seven Seas. I’ve observed women’s lives, women’s troubles. You’ll always be safe with me.”
“I was safe before you arrived.”
“You only thought you were.”
She sighed, her melancholy increasing. “What now?”
“I will care for you—in my way.”
She chuckled glumly. “In your way?”
“I will treat you well, and I’ll be generous. It’s more than most women expect to receive.”
She eased back so she could gaze up at him.
“Don’t do this to me,”she whispered.
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t. Please go away. Please leave us so we can return to how it used to be before you came.”
As if she hadn’t spoken, he continued. “I will take you away from here. We’ll sail to France—to my home. You’ll be shed of Hedley and Mildred. You’ll be happy there.”
“In France? I could never travel to France with you. Besides, why would we journey so far when it’s only for thirty days?”
He frowned, confused. “It’s not thirty days.”
“Hedley said it was for a month, while he and Mildred packed and made plans.”
“No, it’s not for a month.”
“How long is it then?”
“Until I’m weary of you.”
“You own me forever?”
“Yes, forever—if I wish it. Do you see why you must let me—if I wish it. Do you see why you must let me take you away? Do you understand why it’s not safe for you to remain?”
She shook her head, struggling to absorb this latest news.
Hedley had permanently sold her? It might be forever?
She tried to picture herself in France, residing with Mr. Sinclair and his accursed Annalise Dubois. Would he keep both of them? Would he flit from bed to bed?
She recalled Miss Dubois’s jealousy when she’d caught Sarah in his bedchamber. Somehow, Sarah could envision the beautiful harlot agreeing to share him.
“Tell me one true thing about you,”she pleaded as she had previously, being desperate to comprehend what drove him. “Tell me one thing that’s real.”
“My name is John Sinclair.”
“But you have other names.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me all of them.”
“It’s best if you don’t know them.”
“Why? Are you a criminal?”
“What if I am? It can make no difference in our relationship.”
“Not make a difference? Are you mad?” He stoically regarded her, but didn’t answer, and she pressed on. “Were you lying about Florence being your mother
?”
He shrugged. “How can it matter if she was or not?”
“Is Mildred your aunt? Is Hedley your cousin?”
“It’s not necessary to concern yourself over them anymore. They’re not your family. They never were.”
“Who will be my family now? You?”
“No.” A flash of bleak honestly crossed his face. “I have no need of family.”
“Then what do you need?”
“You know what it is. You know what I want from you.”
He stared down her body, so she would grasp what he intended she surrender. But she was a maiden who had scant clues as to men and women and their behavior when they were alone. She had no idea how to carry on as he was demanding.
“Whatever it is that you’re seeking from me,”she said, “I can’t provide it.”
“Yes, you can. I’ll show you how, and you’ll give it to me—freely and as gladly as you are able. If you try, then I swear that I will always support and protect you.”
For the briefest instant, she considered his proposal. After all, what were her options? Why not let him take care of her? How was it any different from marrying a rich husband to obtain security?
Yet as swiftly as the possibility arose, she shoved it away.
She was just an ordinary woman, from a rural village in the country. She’d had a moral upbringing, and she knew right from wrong, virtue from sin. She would never blithely agree to his indecent proposition. Not even to keep a roof over her head. Not even to have food to eat or clothes to wear.
“I can’t do it,”she insisted.
“You can, chérie. You will. You must.”
He dipped down and touched his lips to hers, the kiss rattling her. She was so surprised by it that she didn’t pull away. Oh, how she wished he was a more honorable sort of man, that they’d met under better circumstances.
She moaned with dismay, her distress acute, her knees finally buckling as she’d worried they might. He merely tightened his grip, cradling her more firmly to his chest.
“Have me, Sarah. Want me. Let me want you in return.”
“It’s so wrong.”
“It’s not wrong. It’s absolutely right.”
He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth, his crafty hand cupping her breast.
The sensations he generated were too overwhelming, too irresistible to be believed. She was frozen—with astonishment and alarm—and she simply held on and allowed him to have his way with her. She hadn’t the fortitude to force him to desist. She didn’t actually want him to desist.
From the very first moment, she’d been attracted to him. She’d snooped in his bedchamber, had permitted him to enter her own room in the dead of night. She’d told no one of his inappropriate visit and had reveled in the impropriety.
No wonder he presumed her to be interested in a liaison. Since he’d arrived, she’d constantly encouraged him. But she wasn’t who he assumed her to be, and she couldn’t behave as he was commanding.
He drew away, his gaze so riveting that she couldn’t figure out what to make of it. She hadn’t realized that a man could stare at a woman as he was, that she could feel unique and cherished and beloved.
He seemed captivated by her, and he was wealthy and handsome and offering himself, claiming to desire all the amorous attention she could give him.
Was she insane to refuse?
She could travel to France, could live in his home, and he would teach her things that—being unmarried—she’d never expected to learn. It could be an exciting adventure.
Many females would have jumped at the chance, but she wasn’t one of them. Hedley had narrowed her options, but there had to be other choices she hadn’t considered. She simply needed some quiet hours to think of what they might be. She had to escape from Hedley and from John Sinclair, had to hide and regroup and start over.
She knew where Sheldon was staying in London. Perhaps that was the answer. She could sneak to town and seek protection from her father’s old friend. Yes, that’s what she would do.
“I’m pleased with you,”Mr. Sinclair murmured—as if she was a new mare he was purchasing.
She wanted to hit him. “I’m delighted to hear it.”
“You’ve been kissed before.”
“I have. I was engaged years ago, remember?”
“Are you still a maid?”
She gnawed on her cheek, the urge to slap him growing by leaps and bounds.
“You insult me by asking.”
“Your brother said that you are chaste. I have to be sure I’m getting what I bargained for.”
“Shut up, Mr. Sinclair.” She whipped away and marched down the hill.
“Our discussion is not finished,”he haughtily intoned. “I don’t give you leave to depart.”
She glared over her shoulder. “So? You don’t own me, and I don’t have to stand here and be disparaged by you.”
He dipped his head in agreement. “My apologies if I offended.”
“Obviously, you’re used to dealing with whores like Miss Dubois.”
“I am. I admit it.”
She’d never previously uttered a scandalous word like whore, and she felt as if she’d stumbled off a high cliff, that she was falling and falling through the air. Where would she be when she landed at the bottom?
“I’m not like her.”
“I’m glad that you are not.”
“You can’t speak to me as you would to her. You can’t treat me as you would treat her.”
“You’re correct. I have dabbled with trollops for a very long time, and I have forgotten myself and my manners. I have some.”
“Marvelous. I hope you’ll display them from here on out.”
“I will.”
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone.”
She was shaky from the terrible day, from her race to Sheldon’s house, from Mr. Sinclair’s kiss, from his domineering ways. Too many awful things had happened, too many challenges had been presented, too many decisions had to be made. If she spent another second with him, she couldn’t predict how she might react.
She kept on, and momentarily, she heard him riding up behind her. He extended his hand.
“There’s no need for you to walk. I can take you down.”
She stared and stared, but didn’t reach for him, and he sighed as if she was a puppy he was training and she had difficulty learning the tricks he was teaching.
“It’s silly to fight me,”he said. “You can’t win.”
“I can try.”
“But you won’t succeed. There’s no point in exhausting yourself.”
He didn’t move, but continued to sternly gaze at her, confident that—through sheer force of will—he could pressure her to relent.
He had such an overbearing personality. How had he acquired such arrogant traits? If Florence was his mother, then the Earl of Trent was his father. Was it simply his aristocratic blood showing itself? Or was he naturally imperious? How could anyone defy him and survive to tell the tale?
Finally, she clasped hold, and with ease, he lifted her and settled her in front of him. He was astride, but she was perched sideways, her body crushed to his chest.
The horse started down, its swaying gait shifting her back and forth, and she struggled not to lean against Sinclair, but it was impossible to avoid contact.
He was humored by her paltry attempts to keep some space between them, and he slipped and arm around her waist and snuggled her nearer. She gave up the fight again, quickly recognizing that what he’d said was correct: She couldn’t win with him.
They arrived at the house, and he dropped her to her feet.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”he asked.
“It was pretty bad,”she petulantly replied, and he laughed.
“I can’t have you wandering unless I know where you are.”
She grumbled with frustration. “Mr. Sinclair, I have—”
“Call me John.”
&nbs
p; “No. Mr. Sinclair, I have lived at Bramble Bay all my life. I am perfectly capable of taking a stroll without your permission.”
“I’m afraid I have to insist.”
“And I’m afraid I have to insist, too.”
He grinned his devil’s grin, and she steeled herself against it, refusing to enjoy the sight.
“We’ll see who prevails in this battle of ours,”he said.
“Yes, we will.”
“I’m quite adept at getting what I want.”
“So am I,”she lied.
In fact, she was a mediator, a conciliator. She didn’t like quarreling or arguments, and she tried to make everyone happy. With kin like Mildred and Hedley, she’d had plenty of practice. She was a veritable expert at ensuring that relationships ran smoothly, that there was no discord.
“We leave tomorrow,”he advised.
“Leave? Leave for where?”
“For France.”
“I’m not going to France with you.”
“We sail in the evening, with the tide.”
“No, we don’t.”
“We’ll depart Bramble Bay at three in order to reach my ship on time.”
“Aren’t you listening?”
“Aren’t you? Don’t bring much. A satchel of personal items will be sufficient.”
“Won’t I need any clothes?”she sarcastically inquired. “Will you have me strutting about in the nude?”
“Yes,”he alarmed her by saying. “I don’t like your attire. It conceals your beauty.”
The compliment flummoxed her. He’d noticed her attire? He didn’t like it? It concealed her beauty?
“My clothes are fine,”she tersely snapped.
“No, they’re not. I’ll buy you new when we arrive.”
He yanked on the reins and rode off.
She’d hoped to have some time to change his mind, to dissuade him from his folly, but apparently, time was the one thing she didn’t have. Whatever she planned, however she traveled to London to escape him, it would have to be carried out before three the next afternoon.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“My husband is not at home.”
“He is.”
“He is not.”
Phillip Sinclair sighed with resignation.
It was always difficult to call on his father, Charles Sinclair, Earl of Trent. Charles’s wife, Susan, hated Phillip and never wanted him admitted. The servants had specific instructions to let him in over her objection, and they answered to Charles—not Susan—so Phillip’s visits were a never-ending source of discord.
