by Tracy Fobes
And yet, what if Cooper returned with the duke’s daughter? Sarah would be revealed as a member of the serving class.
Obviously the duke wouldn’t relegate Sarah to the status of scullery maid, should such a circumstance arise. He would no doubt support her throughout her days. Even so, she would never be accepted as one of the aristocracy. And despite her obvious expectations otherwise, Colin wasn’t so sure that the people of Beannach would accept her as one of their own again, now that she’d spent time living as the duke’s daughter at Inveraray. She didn’t think like them anymore, or speak like them, or even want the same things she did before she’d come here. Her transformation was most complete, thanks to him and Phineas.
She would, in short, belong nowhere.
Of late, however, her very transformation had frequently occupied his thoughts. She was different now, totally engrossed in becoming a lady, and he didn’t know for certain that the change had improved her. He remembered the fey, quicksilver sprite that had first come to Inveraray, playing her music and talking with her outrageous accent, and charming everyone she came in contact with, including himself. Now she spoke in measured tones, considered every movement before making it, and flirted like the very devil. Of her panflute he’d seen nothing lately.
She was becoming like him and every other member of the nobility. And in doing so, she was losing something . . . the same thing he’d lost. Thinking of his own wasted life, he realized he didn’t want to see her forsake this part of herself for wealth and the selfishness it brought to the unwary.
Colin turned and focused on Cooper. Another thought occurred to him. If Sarah turned out to be a serving girl, would the duke still object to a match between them? The older man certainly couldn’t complain that Colin was marrying a serving girl for her money. In fact, she’d need someone to rescue her from the netherworld that the duke’s transformation would banish her to.
Thoughts of Sarah filled his mind: her small, catlike face smiling, and making him smile, too; her contagious laugh that pealed out like a bell, clear and full of life; the little kindnesses she’d shown others. She was an angel . . . if one discounted the mistress she held in her soul, the hot-blooded woman who clearly loved to experiment and would no doubt prove unimaginably satisfying in bed. Yes, she was everything a man could dream for.
Bemused by visions of Sarah, he smiled foolishly.
“My lord?” Cooper stared at him with a curious expression.
Embarrassed, he cleared his throat. “We must find out for certain, Cooper. Go to France. Find the convent and the girl. And bring her back here.”
The other man nodded. “I knew you would say as much, my lord. I’ve already booked passage. With luck on my side, I should return within a fortnight.”
Colin gave Cooper another pouch of sovereigns, to cover any new expenses, and ushered him out the front door. As he did so, he noticed a carriage coming up the drive to Inveraray, passing between the torches that lit the way. The guests were arriving for the card party already.
Frowning, he stepped back into the great hall and waited for the rest of the family to join him in greeting the gentler townsfolk of Inveraray. Would the card party afford him a chance to speak to Sarah privately? Or would she refuse to listen to him? Now that he’d convinced himself that there was a slim chance for marriage, he regretted the distance between them even more gravely.
Thus it was an entirely changed man who waited in the central hall for Sarah to walk down the great staircase and join him as Lady Sarah, daughter of the Duke of Argyll. And when she appeared on the landing with the duke at her side, dressed in raw purple silk, with her glossy curls piled on top of her head and barely tamed by a violet silk ribbon, his throat ached just to see her. Her breasts rose like alabaster from her dark gown and her eyes were huge and violet in her small face, and her lips smiled so sweetly that he stared, bemused, unable to take his gaze from her.
She reached his side. Visions of her continued to bedevil him, memories of the sweet, rosebud peaks of her breasts and the wicked look in her eyes when she’d rubbed his leg with her foot.
In the silence that grew between, a telltale blush grew in her cheeks and he realized that his continued regard of her was complete, profound, and utterly mannerless.
The duke cleared his throat. “I can see you approve of Sarah’s appearance this evening,” he said dryly.
Drawn back to his senses, Colin offered her a bow. “You look stunning, Lady Sarah. I hope I can count on you as a partner this evening.”
“I’m sorry, my lord, but she’s already surrendered that favor to me,” Lord Nicholson informed him, arriving in the great hall and moving immediately to Sarah’s side. Dressed in a flamboyant black frock coat edged with gold embroidery, he took Sarah’s hand and placed it in the crook of his arm.
But Sarah, a spark in her violet eyes, touched Colin on the arm with her free hand. “Please, my lord, feel free to stop by frequently and give me your advice on how best to play my hand.”
“He does have a knack for gambling,” Lord Nicholson agreed, a sneer on his face.
Jaw hardening, Colin moved to Sarah’s other side. “I’ll visit you often.”
She leaned closer to him and spoke softly. “I want to buy the duke a present, a token of my appreciation, to give to him the night of my debut two weeks from now. Do you have any ideas on what he might like?”
He wondered if she were inventing a reason for them to be together. The thought cheered him. “We’ll discuss it in length.”
“And here is our lovely Lady Helmsgate,” the duke announced loudly, ending their whispered conversation. “You’ve arrived just in time, Amelia.”
The lady in question had dressed in a daffodil-colored gown that, coupled with her blond locks and pale complexion, conspired to make her look like a giant beeswax candle. She walked down the stairs in a stately tempo that reminded Colin just how much she enjoyed being the center of attention.
“Good evening, all,” she sang out, smiling. When she focused on Sarah, however, her smile faltered and a cold glint came into her eyes. “Lady Sarah, how lovely you look tonight.”
Sarah lifted an eyebrow. “And you, too, Lady Helmsgate.”
“The guests are arriving,” the duke hurried to say. “After the initial rush is over, we’ll retire to our respective tables. Sarah, are you ready to meet your peers?”
Swallowing, she nodded and withdrew her hand from Lord Nicholson’s arm. “I’ll look to all of you for guidance.” Her gaze touched each of them in turn, excluding Lady Helmsgate.
Intrigued, Colin studied the two women carefully. A strong dislike had clearly sprung up between them, more so than expected, given that conversation Sarah had overhead between himself and Lady Helmsgate. He’d been the one to say negative things about Sarah, not Lady Helmsgate. Hadn’t Amelia also taken the time to write Sarah all of those letters, and even come to Inveraray to supposedly befriend Sarah? So why did Sarah bear such enmity toward the other woman?
He hoped that Sarah was beginning to place her faith in him, and not in Lady Helsmgate.
Lady Helmsgate moved toward Sarah, evidently planning to stand next to her. Colin quickly stepped between them. He glanced down at the black curls wreathing Sarah’s head and the luscious breasts that were ripe for his kiss, and wondered rawly how he would ever let her go if Cooper found a maidservant’s daughter in France.
A flurry of arrivals rescued him from these stark thoughts and forced him to concentrate on social niceties. He bid hello to Baron and Lady Sundridge of Combe Bank, exclaimed over the fine figure Colonel Lachlan McQuarie made even at eighty-years-old, and welcomed Dr. and Mrs. Campbell to Inveraray. Deacon John Brown viewed him with an outraged expression upon their introduction. His wife, Dorothy, ogled him shamelessly. Amused, Colin suspected the couple had heard of his reputation, and while the deacon clearly considered him in league with Satan, his wife had an entirely different opinion on the matter.
In an endless stream
they came through Inveraray’s great portal: the Reverend Joseph Renfrew, a widower; Lachlan Campbell, provost and sheriff; and other highly placed townsfolk, many of them young gentlemen whose gazes slid right past him to settle upon Sarah. Indeed, everyone who met Sarah seemed touched by her pleasing, yet vulnerable demeanor and generous smile. To her credit, Sarah held up through it all and assumed effortlessly the role of the duke’s daughter, answering in the cultured tones that Phineas had drilled into her.
After the introductions had been made, the duke wandered into the drawing room. Lord Nicholson took Sarah’s arm and led her away, leaving Colin with Lady Helmsgate. She fastened her hand onto his arm and held on tightly as he brought her along.
Spirited conversation mingled in the drawing room with the glow from at least a hundred candles, lending the gathering a festive atmosphere. Perfumes from the women scented the air, and an array of meats, cheeses, breads, and pastries decorated a refreshments table. Servants had pushed the chairs and settees against the wall, and arranged six circular tables around the room, each one supplying seats for five people. Couples playing commerce, piquet, and whist had already occupied most of the tables.
Sarah, with Lord Nicholson at her side and three other beaux pressing forward to claim her, wore an impish smile. Pink bloomed in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled brightly beneath the candlelight. Clearly now that she had been introduced to country society she would remain much in demand, with more than one gentleman declaring himself bewitched by her beauty.
When Sarah noticed Colin’s entrance, she pushed back from the table and, leaving her admirers behind, threaded her way through the crowd to his side. A provocatively innocent smile curved her lips. “My lord, might I speak with you for a moment?”
Trying not to jump on the opportunity, Colin gave Lady Helsmgate an apologetic shrug. “Amelia, would you mind . . .”
The other woman’s answering no sounded more like a snarl, and it was directed precisely at Sarah. “I’ll wait right here for you, Cawdor,” she informed him with slitted eyes.
Colin, glad to be rid of his shrewish companion, led Sarah away from the gaming tables and to a corner of the room, where a potted palm lent them some privacy. “Is something wrong?”
Sighing, she knitted her hands in her skirts. “Colin, I don’t know what to do. Lord Nicholson has a way of twisting the meaning behind words. I cannot turn him away without appearing surly. Just this morning, he took me for a walk to pick violets in the woods . . .” She trailed off, one hand fluttering to her throat, looking utterly bewildered.
Too bewildered, he mused. The Sarah he’d come to know was smart as a whip. He had a sense that she was deliberately torturing him.
Still, that didn’t stop heat from invading his gut. God knew he’d seduced his share of females, and the thought of Lord Nicholson seducing Sarah made him want to plant a fist in the other man’s finely chiseled mouth. “What did he do to you?”
“Nothing objectionable, really. And yet, I felt so flustered. I suspected he wanted to . . . kiss me. At home, I might have aimed a kick at him, but here, everything is so different. The daughter of a duke wouldn’t kick.”
Silently Colin wished he hadn’t been so successful at making a lady of her. “Nicholson is a rake. He’s well practiced in getting what he wants.”
“How do I put him off without seeming ill-bred?”
Colin bent his head toward her until their lips were mere inches apart, knowing with something close to despair that he wasn’t at all different from Nicholson, at least when it came to Sarah. “We need to begin some new lessons. Now.”
“What sort of lessons?”
“The kind we’ve both wanted from the start,” he said as he gritted his teeth.
“But Lady Helmsgate . . .” A hint of triumph in her manner, she waved airily toward the blond woman, who was scanning the drawing room, no doubt looking for him.
“Lady Helmsgate can wait.”
“Oh dear, I believe she’s spotted us.” Sadly she ran her fingers along the edge of his jaw, branding him with one touch. “I suppose your advice will have to wait.” Then, without another word, she left him in the corner with only a potted palm for a companion and a rock-hard erection between his thighs.
Christ Almighty, what a hellcat, he thought. She knew exactly what she’d done to him. He’d been a victim of her teasing.
Practically growling, he emerged from the corner and rejoined Lady Helmsgate, who claimed him with a proprietary hand on his arm. She dragged him over to a table with two elderly spinsters, Dorothy and Charlotte Rumble. The Misses Rumble declared they were playing quadrille, a card game that had gone out of favor decades before. He sat down with Lady Helmsgate, and quickly he discovered why she had chosen two deaf and blind old ladies as their partners in gaming, when he felt her fondle the fabric of his breeches at the groin.
Unmoved, he took her hand and placed it back on her own lap. Disgust filled him. “Not now, Amelia. Not ever.”
She leaned close, the side of her breast pressing against his arm. “I’ll leave the door to my bedchamber unlocked this evening.”
“It’s over between us,” he repeated, his gaze returning possessively to Sarah. To his shock, he realized she’d been looking intently at him.
Sarah stared pointedly at Lady Helmsgate, the color in her cheeks going from pink to red. A quick examination of the angle at which he and Lady Helmsgate sat persuaded him that Sarah must have seen his blond companion explore his breeches.
His mouth set, he moved his chair a full ten inches away from Lady Helmsgate’s.
She gaped at him. “What’s wrong with you, Cawdor?”
“Find someone else,” he growled. “Lord Nicholson, perhaps.”
Eyebrow raised, she nodded meaningfully toward Sarah. “Trying to win over your little milksop? Well, you’ll have to work very hard, for Lord Nicholson has quite captured her interest.”
“I suppose I had better get to it, then,” he told her, and pushed back from the table, leaving her open-mouthed with the Misses Rumble for companions.
He went to the refreshments table that bore a cascade of plucked violets, reminding him that Lord Nicholson had almost plucked Sarah, and selected a glass of lemonade. Glass in hand, he wound his way past the card tables toward Sarah.
Her eyes sparkled brighter than before and her laughter wove a spell around all of her admirers. If Lady Helmsgate’s fondling him had bothered her, she hid it well, throwing herself fully into the card game and charming the men who continued to exclaim themselves her ardent admirers.
Just as their card game wrapped up and Sarah — of course — collected her winnings, he arrived at her side with the glass of lemonade. “You must be thirsty,” he said, offering her the glass. “I’ve brought you refreshment.”
“Actually, I am rather hot,” she admitted. Neglecting his glass, she opened a fan instead and fluttered it expertly. Silently Colin applauded Mrs. Fitzbottom’s fine lessons.
“Allow me to escort you into the gardens,” Lord Nicholson said to her. “It’s much cooler there, in the moonlight.”
Instantly three identical offers from the other gentlemen followed his. Colin lifted an eyebrow, half of him amused. How easily she had tamed them. His little kitten had a natural ability when it came to men. The other half of him, however, wanted to tell her admirers that if they so much as breathed on her, they’d answer to him.
She shot Colin a challenging look, then placed her hand on Lord Nicholson’s arm. Amid a chorus of groans, she allowed Lord Nicholson to lead her out of the drawing room.
Colin couldn’t very well follow without appearing a watchdog; unfortunately, he had to stay behind and stew. He took up post by the refreshments table and helped himself to a glass of whiskey, his attention continually returning to his watch fob. One minute passed since she’d left. Then two. When five minutes had passed, Colin began tapping his foot, and after ten, he could take no more. He slipped out of the drawing room and made his way to
the salon, which possessed French doors leading out onto a terrace. The doors were open, and beyond the terrace, the finest gardens in all of western Scotland glittered in the moonlight.
Every foot carefully placed, he crept over to the terrace. It was empty. The moonlight, however, provided a very good view of the gardens and the couple within, sitting on a bench. During his boyhood days, he’d discovered many a path leading through these gardens, and now he put that knowledge to use by sneaking behind a hedge and sidling up to that bench. While the hedge concealed him, it also made it impossible to observe what they were doing. Nevertheless, what he heard made his ears burn.
“Though we’ve only known each other for a small amount of time, you mean more to me than life itself,” Nicholson whispered ardently. “Can you not feel it, Sarah? From the first day we met, something sparked between us.”
Colin heard the sound of rustling, and then the snap of a vine or stem breaking.
“You are a fine gentleman, Robin,” she murmured. “Even so, I’m not certain —”
She broke off suddenly with a little gasp. “How beautiful,” she finally exclaimed. “It’s almost silver in the moonlight.”
“For you,” he said. “My love is like a red, red, rose, that’s newly sprung in June. My love is like the melody, that’s sweetly played in tune.”
She laughed softly. “Very clever, Robin. Did you make it up?”
Teeth gritted, Colin waited for Nicholson to ascribe the poem to its rightful creator, Robert Burns. When the other man said nothing, he nearly snorted aloud.
“Won’t you take pity on me, beautiful Sarah,” Nicholson pressed, “and tell me that you could love me, even if you don’t now?”
“I suppose I could, had I a mind to. But I don’t, Robin. I don’t plan on marrying.”
“Why not?”
“Quite frankly, I don’t want to lose my freedom.”
