by Tracy Fobes
A long moment passed, during which neither of them spoke, though Colin could almost feel the other man’s surprise. Then Nicholson, his tone becoming intimate, murmured, “With me you shall always have your freedom to do whatever you wish . . . with whomever you wish.”
She drew in a quick breath at his reply, but the sound was cut off at the end. Afire with curiosity, Colin risked pushing aside the hedges to see what they were doing.
Lord Nicholson’s arms were locked around Sarah. He’d pressed his lips firmly against hers.
Jealousy flooded Colin’s body like acid. Every part of him burned. Just as he straightened and prepared to charge through the hedges at them, Sarah pushed Nicholson away and managed in shocked tones, “Lord Nicholson! I certainly didn’t expect . . . didn’t give you leave to . . .”
Without finishing her sentence, she jumped up and brushed off her skirts. “I’m returning to the card party. Please don’t follow me.”
Stuttering, the other man grasped her arm. “If I misunderstood you, or gave some offense —”
Sarah shook him off and hurried off toward the doors leading to the salon.
Filled with righteous anger, Colin pushed the hedges apart and stepped through.
Nicholson saw him and jumped. “Good God!”
“Keep away from Sarah, Nicholson,” Colin ground out. “Do not ever attempt intimacy with her again. If you do, I’ll personally beat your brains out.”
“Who the hell . . . Cawdor, is that you?”
The moon threw enough light onto Nicholson’s face to reveal the sneer that suddenly curved his lips. “Cawdor. It is you. Who do you think you are? Her husband?”
“She is the daughter of the Duke of Argyll, who is also my very good friend and mentor.” Colin took a menacing step forward, his hands fisting at his sides. “Call me her watch dog if you wish, but know that I will protect her to the death. A week ago, you mentioned a duel between us. Well, if I ever again discover you attempting to touch her in any way, that duel will become a reality. My aim is very good, you know, and I will aim for your heart. Do you understand?”
The other man took a faltering step backward.
Colin advanced. “Do you?”
“I understand that this is an affair of the heart. You aren’t her watch dog, you’re her would-be suitor. No doubt you’re after her fortune. How fabulously ironic.” Nicholson laughed nastily. “She won’t have you, Cawdor. You’ve got a reputation to match Satan’s. No honorable woman would have you.”
“That’s of no concern to you,” Colin growled. “Just see that you heed my warning.”
Another harsh laugh escaped Nicholson. Then, shaking his head, he turned his back on Colin and walked up the path to the terrace.
A scowl twisting his mouth, Colin watched him go. Nicholson was far too close to the mark for comfort. More so now than ever, he wished that he hadn’t garnered such an appalling reputation for himself. How in blazes would he ever convince her that the rake wished to reform? And if he did, what did the future truly offer them?
Brushing wrinkles from her skirt, Sarah hurried back into the great hall. There she paused and pressed her palms against her cheeks. Her skin felt hot, hot with anger over her own foolishness for leading Lord Nicholson on so recklessly, risking her reputation just to see if she could stoke Colin’s possessive instincts.
Indeed, her entire life was unraveling right before her eyes, and she hadn’t the slightest idea what to do about it. Throughout the entire card party she felt as if she’d had an ‘F’ emblazoned on her forehead: ‘F’ for fake. She didn’t deserve the duke’s love or Mrs. Fitzbottom’s kindness. She shouldn’t be wearing these beautiful gowns or enjoying such wondrous food. Everything they’d given her, they’d done so erroneously.
She owed the duke the truth.
And yet, now that she had the means to convince the duke that she didn’t belong at Inveraray, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to confess, to recall her memories aloud and insist she wasn’t the duke’s daughter. The fine living hadn’t stilled her tongue; she’d never had much use for wealth. A full pocket, as she’d so painfully learned over these past months, did not necessarily guarantee happiness.
Rather, she had remained quiet because of Colin. Always because of Colin. Even as she’d listened to Lady Helmsgate claim him with her nasty words a few weeks ago, she’d stayed. Why? Because some naive, half-baked part of her kept reminding her that she loved him, and hoping that something would happen, something, something . . . to bring them together.
But tonight Lady Helmsgate had truly convinced her that Colin would never be hers, not even for a time. She’d seen the woman lay her hand directly on him, for God’s sake. Who knew how many times he’d visited her bedchamber? No, he wasn’t sleeping in a cold, lonely bed as she was. Colin never slept in a cold, lonely bed. His bed was always warm. Any woman would do.
Jealousy choked her, leaving her practically speechless. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she tried for calm. Eventually she felt capable of re-entering the drawing room. Pasting a smile on her face, she returned to the card party and found herself immediately surrounded by gentlemen. A quick glance around the room revealed that Colin had left, however, and flirtation lost its appeal for her. She spoke sweetly to them but didn’t encourage them any further.
Lady Helmsgate, she saw, had stationed herself by the harp. She’d have expected to find the blonde missing. After all, Colin had slipped away. To her surprise, however, Lady Helmsgate made no attempt to leave; instead, she motioned to the duke, who joined her and listened to something she whispered in his ear.
When she’d finished, the duke glanced toward Sarah and shook his head no. Lady Helmsgate laughed and swatted him playfully on the arm, then stood up and lightly clapped her hands.
“May I have everyone’s attention, please,” she sang out sweetly. “A few gentlemen have asked me to play the harp for them, and I’ve agreed, but I must have accompaniment. Sarah, since you’ve been so diligently practicing singing, I thought you might join me.”
Sarah felt the heat drain from her face. She couldn’t sing worth a damn, and Lady Helmsgate knew it. She and Colin had spent their lesson together doing just about everything other than singing, blast the man and her own wayward desires. The other woman was clearly trying to embarrass her. “No, I couldn’t,” she said firmly.
Her admirers clustered around her begged her to join Lady Helmsgate. The blonde then assisted them in their harassment by grabbing Sarah’s hand and physically dragging her toward the harp. Panicked, Sarah looked to the duke to save her. He shrugged helplessly, reminding her that he hadn’t much practice himself when it came to society and its games.
“I’d like to hear Lady Sarah play the flute, rather than sing.” The deep, masculine voice, coming from the back of the room, penetrated the din of encouragement. “I’ve already sent a footman to retrieve your flute, Lady Sarah.”
Sarah’s gaze locked with Colin’s. She understood that he was trying to help her, by suggesting she play the flute, which she felt much more comfortable with. Even so, in his flintlike eyes she saw a dangerous gleam, as if she’d done something to anger him.
Her hackles rose immediately in response. Pride demanded she buck his suggestion simply because he’d made it. Still, she didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of all these people by opening her mouth in song, and furiously she convinced herself that she would rather take his suggestion than embarrass the duke.
Acquiescing graciously, she seated herself by Lady Helmsgate and accepted her panflute from the servant who appeared by her side moments later. “What shall we play?” she asked the blonde.
Lady Helmsgate lifted one mocking eyebrow. “Play whatever you wish, Lady Sarah. I’m certain I’ll be able to accompany you.”
Her stomach coiling tight, Sarah turned the flute over in her hands. What, indeed, would she play? The sheeps’ song? The cows’ song? Or perhaps she ought to trill her flute like a nightingale. The
truth was, she didn’t know any real music on her panflute.
Brows knitted, she felt the pressure from all of the eyes watching her. She gazed at the tapestries and the mirror and the little mouse hole in the corner in the way of a vixen seeking to escape a trap. She had just begun to feel giddy when suddenly, it came to her. Just like that. She had a few friends in this room that Lady Helmsgate didn’t know about, and she would call on them now.
“May I have a moment to practice?” she asked those closest to her, and they all nodded eagerly.
“Take as long as you need, Lady Sarah,” a gentleman said.
Barely hiding her smile, she lifted the panflute to her lips and began to play, one note at a time — high, squeaking notes that pleaded to her friend the mouse for assistance. She pointed out her foe, the lady in yellow, and begged him to hurry, all the while promising to provide him fantastic snacks for weeks to come if he helped her.
Its snout twitching, the mouse came out of its hole. A blur of gray, it raced across the floor, weaving in and out of shoes and chair legs, until it reached the hem of Lady Helmsgate’s dress. Sarah blew a few more encouraging notes on her panflute.
“Are you ready yet?” Lady Helmsgate asked, unaware that the mouse was creeping up her skirt.
Into her hair, Sarah played, then lowered her panflute from her lips. “Yes, I’m ready. I’m going to play an old folk song, ‘Black Is the Color’. You know which one I’m speaking of.”
“Yes, I do,” the other woman snarled, then strummed an opening flourish on her harp.
The mouse had crept around to the back of her dress and was making its way to her hair, Sarah noted. She lifted the panflute to her lips and played the first few notes.
“There’s a mouse in her hair.”
Someone in the back of the room, an elderly voice, spoke quite matter-of-factly.
Sarah stopped playing.
“Look, there’s a mouse in her hair,” another voice said loudly, this one male.
“Who’s got a mouse in her hair?” Wide-eyed, Lady Helmsgate looked all around the room. “Who?”
The mouse finished its climb and sat upon the very top of her curls, its whiskers twitching.
Paling visibly, Lady Helmsgate pressed a hand against her bosom. “Why are you all looking at me?”
“Good God, that’s not an ornament. That’s a real mouse.”
Someone squealed.
Her lips opening in a round O, the blond woman patted her curls. The moment she touched the mouse’s body, she screeched aloud and jumped up, knocking the harp over. She began dancing around and tearing at her curls. “There’s a mouse in my hair! Someone get him, get him off!”
Her antics dislodged the mouse, who fell to the floor. Sarah immediately scooped him up, her action going unnoticed in the melee that broke out, with Lady Helmsgate screeching uncontrollably and everyone else looking around the carpet. Whispering her thanks to the furry creature, she swiped a large chunk of cheese off the refreshments table on her way back to the mouse hole, and placed him safely in his hole with the cheese.
By this time, servants with brooms had entered and most of the guests had rushed out of the drawing room. The duke, moisture beading on his brow, bid them to remain calm and stay for more card playing. The more sensible guests, however, realized that the card party was over and bid him good night in return, with many apologies for leaving. Soon, everyone had left and, with Lord Nicholson’s help, Lady Helmsgate had retired to her room.
The duke watched Lady Helsmgate struggle up the stairs, then shook his head apologetically at Sarah. “I’m sorry, my dear, to have your first party end so dreadfully. Who would have thought that a mouse would climb into poor Lady Helmsgate’s hair?”
“What a terrible thing to happen to her.”
Wiping at the moisture over his brow, the duke frowned. “I just can’t understand it. A mouse, of all things, in Lady Helmsgate’s hair. Well, all of this excitement has exhausted me. I believe I’ll turn in. Are you coming, Sarah?”
“I have to collect my panflute. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
“Good night then, and please don’t worry about your debut. I cannot imagine such a thing happening again. At the very least, I’ll make sure that Lady Helmsgate’s toilette contains nothing to attract vermin the next time.” The duke turned toward the stairs and, still muttering and shaking his head, took himself off to bed.
Sarah stifled a chuckle as she made her way back to the drawing room. Servants had already righted the chairs, swept up the spilled food, and removed most of the extra tables from the room. They’d also extinguished several of the candles. Shadows hid in the corners and dulled the tapestries. The room, she thought, had gained an oppressive air, making her want to tiptoe. Or perhaps guilt was just getting to her. The trick she’d played had frightened Lady Helmsgate far more than she had imagined it would.
Sighing deeply, she collected her panflute from the floor. She had just turned to go when she heard clapping from somewhere behind her.
She spun around and came face-to-face with Colin.
“Brava, kitten. Your playing was, shall we say, inspired?”
15
“M y lord.” Sarah smiled tightly. “You must be angry with me for sending Lady Helmsgate up to her bedchamber overset. Surely she will bar her door to you tonight, and you’ll be forced to sleep between cold sheets. My humble apologies.”
Colin abandoned his casual slouch by the fireplace and closed the distance between them. Steely-eyed, he flicked a finger across her cheek. “And what of Lord Nicholson? Will he warm your sheets tonight?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not the one who goes through lovers more quickly than stockings,” she ground out, painfully aware of his hard, lithe body so close to hers.
A disturbing smile lightened his face. “I do believe you’re jealous, kitten. Still, you’re wrong. I haven’t been making love to Lady Helmsgate.”
“Do you think I’m blind? I’ve seen what you and that . . . that blond baggage have been up to.”
“You’ve drawn the wrong conclusions.”
Righteous indignation brought her simmering temper to a full boil. “I suppose this is how a man manages to keep two mistresses at once: by lying to each of them, to keep them docile.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You always lie.”
“Name one instance where I’ve lied.”
Glaring, she poked him in the chest with one finger. “All right, you say you aren’t making love to Lady Helmsgate. Then why did she fondle your . . . your . . .”
His smile widened to a lazy grin. “My what?”
“You know very well what I mean.”
“Oh, that. Well, Lady Helmsgate fondled me without my permission. Didn’t you see me remove her hand?”
“No, I didn’t,” she haughtily declared. “And I don’t believe you. All you are is between your legs.”
“I’d very much like to show you what’s between my legs. We can even put a name to it, if you’d like.”
His gaze held a wicked gleam, one that made her heart race and her cheeks flush with heat. Ignoring the tumult inside her, she narrowed her eyes at him. “How dare you.”
“You pretend to be the proper little lady, but we know differently, don’t we, kitten?”
At this, the final insult, her tongue nearly twisted with fury. “You son of a bitch,” she breathed.
He affected a look of hurt. “Kitten!”
She recalled the worst term she’d ever heard used and hurled it at him. “Whoremaster!”
“Lady Sarah!”
Eyes narrowed, she put all of the feeling she was capable of into her voice. “You bastard.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “Now you’ve cut me to the quick.”
The frustration and jealousy that had filled her for days exploded. Determined to do him serious harm, she flew at him, fists clenched. He sidestepped her easily with a laugh and trapped her body against his, crushing h
er. “A truce, little cat. Please.”
Ineffectually she pummeled his chest with her fists. Already the traitorous urges were taking over inside her. Angry at her own weakness, she nevertheless gave in to the inevitable and went limp against him.
Gently he stroked her hair. “Do you realize what your anger tells me?”
“No,” she stammered, unaccountably possessed by a desire to cry.
“That you care.” Shuddering, he pulled her tight against him. “You have no idea how much I’ve tortured myself, thinking my horrible reputation had made you indifferent to me.”
“I could never be indifferent to you.”
“I see that now. Sarah, you have to believe me. There’s nothing between Lady Helmsgate and me. Nothing.”
“I want to believe you,” she told him through brimming eyes. “I want to so badly.”
“Then allow yourself to believe. I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
She gazed at his beloved features, his blue eyes with the soft light shining in them, his unremarkable nose, and the soft lock of black hair that fell over his forehead. Something inside her twisted unbearably, something halfway between pleasure and pain. She knew he would never be hers; the duke and their positions in society would always work against them. Still, she needed to hold him, if only for a time. And after he’d loved her and she had fixed his countenance and deep voice in her memory forever, she could return to Beannach.
She sighed softly against him. “You mentioned some new lessons earlier.”
A fire leaped into his gaze, one so strong she nearly ran from the room. “Go to your bedchamber,” he murmured. “Dismiss Mrs. Fitzbottom as quickly as possible, and leave your door unlocked. I’ll come to you as soon as I can.”
Ignoring the rapid beat of her heart, she nodded. “Please hurry.”
His mouth frankly sensual, he released her. “Go. Now.”
Sarah needed no further encouragement. Throwing him one last yearning glance, she hurried out of the drawing room and up the stairs. When she entered her bedchamber, she discovered Mrs. Fitzbottom already waiting for her.
