He turned back, his face impassioned. “If ’twas only to save Wellingford, why not launch Lizbet instead? She’s old enough, and if she’s grown as beautiful as she bade fair to do, should have met great success. Why seek a husband yourself—unless you truly wished one?”
“Oh, Sinjin, you have no idea how things stood, to accuse me of that!” Angered, she rose and paced the room. “Beautiful she may be, but you know the way of the world. With neither dowry nor important connections Lizbet could scarcely hope to attract the more desirable gentlemen. How could I bear to see that gentle loveliness bestowed on someone whose sole qualification was sufficient wealth? Sinjin, you know her. Of all my sisters, she would suffer most from a union in which affection played no part.
“No, if one of us had to endure a loveless marriage, I knew it must be me. I’m the eldest—’twas only my duty.” She halted her restless pacing before the mantel and sighed. “Even had I determined to sacrifice Elizabeth, ’twould not have answered. You cannot image how little coin we had. I could not have come to chaperon her.”
She turned to face him, cutting him off before he could speak. “Surely you realize I couldn’t let her go about London with only nearsighted Aunt Sophrina to guard her! Let us speak plainly. There are those who, seeing such a beautiful innocent unprotected, might seek to force her into something less than marriage.”
At length he slowly nodded. “I suppose you are right.”
“Then you understand why I came myself—regardless of my inclination,” she concluded with caustic emphasis.
He stepped toward her, his hands outstretched. “I’m sorry, Sarah, I meant no insult. But the shock of finding you married! And to one I believe you might well choose.”
“I was lucky.” She thought of Findlay and shuddered. “The man I was nearly forced to marry is an altogether different sort. During the course of the Season, Nicholas and I became friends. When the mortgage came due, and he learned I intended to marry Sir James in order to pay it off, he proposed a marriage of convenience.”
“Kind of him.”
At Sinjin’s mocking tone, Sarah fired up. “It was indeed kind! You cannot know society if you do not realize how far above my touch is the Marquess of Englemere! Not only did he condescend to the match, but he expended a great deal of blunt over it as well. He has been everything generous, even allowing me to see you privately that I might…explain the circumstances of my marriage.”
“You mean that you would not have received me, had he not given permission?” He seemed to choke on the word.
“Certainly not. Not alone, at any rate. Despite our long friendship—mayhap because of it,” she inserted with a tinge of sadness, “’twould have been most improper.”
He stared at her. “You would be that obedient.”
“Of course. He’s my husband, Sinjin.”
He looked dumbfounded, as if, despite the knowledge of her marriage, the reality of what it meant to her—and to him—only at this moment sank in. He sat down abruptly.
Sarah seated herself as well. Done, she thought with relief, her obstreperous emotions once more well in hand.
“Will you be remaining in England, or must you return to your regiment?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“I’ve a month’s leave, though my business may take longer. I shall certainly rejoin my men after that. In good conscience, I can’t sell out until Boney’s routed.”
“I see.” Fear for him shook her, but she swallowed the words. “We must make your brief stay pleasant, then. A number of young ladies at the ball last night are both eligible and wealthy. I dare swear they would be only too eager to meet a dashing young captain.” Though the words nearly choked her, she added, “And Elizabeth—”
“Don’t, Sarah!” After a visible struggle, he seemed to master himself. “Having so successfully managed your own, do you think to play matchmaker for me? I’ve no interest whatsoever.”
“Sinjin, what’s done is done. We must go forward.”
He walked to the window and stood, tilting his glass and watching the play of light on the amber liquid. “Yes,” he said at last. “When one path closes, we find another.”
“Yes,” she echoed, relieved he seemed to understand. “Your mama would be pleased should you plan to wed. Have you seen her yet?”
“No.” He tossed down the sherry. “I shall have to post down to Sandiford, I suppose, though I’d rather not. Seeing her brings it all back.” He turned to Sarah, his face hardening. “Had she not been so opposed to our marriage, had she not harped so endlessly that I owed it to my family to marry an heiress with the means to restore our fortunes…Unable to marry you, unable to remain and resist you, the army seemed the only way out.”
Sarah fought the memories his words recalled. “At least you got away! I used to pray I might find somewhere—anywhere—else to go. Anywhere but home where the walks, the glens, the very barns teemed with—”
His gaze shot back, and too late, she fell silent. She knew he was recalling, as she was, their last day before he went off to war.
They rode together as the sun was setting, and he walked her back to Wellingford’s shabby parlor. They said their goodbyes under her mama’s eye, exchanging proper expressions of mutual regard, and one chaste kiss.
But later that night, wild with grief and despair, Sarah stole out of the house and rode to Sandiford. She threw a pebble at his window, as she had in childhood when she’d bidden him to sneak out, and as in childhood, he came.
He met her in the stables, but unlike the many times before, she’d not had his horse saddled and ready. Instead, she threw herself in his arms, weeping, and covered his face with kisses. He laid her back against the sweet-smelling straw, and she molded herself to him, as if to burn into her skin forever the feel of his body against hers.
“I could have taken you that night, couldn’t I?” Sinjin said softly. “You wouldn’t have resisted. I think perhaps you wanted me to. It would have changed everything, wouldn’t it? And you knew it.”
He laughed, the tone a travesty of humor. “But I was too noble—or stupid. I could envision no honorable choice but to leave, and how could I have ridden away, knowing you might carry my child?”
Sarah said nothing. She concentrated all her energy on drawing air in smooth, even drafts, lest dizziness overcome her or the agony in her chest rob her of breath.
Sinjin’s expression harshened. “Damn, but I wish I’d not been so noble. Regardless of what happened after, I know one thing for sure. Had I taken you then, you would never have come to London—would you, Sarah?”
“Stop!” Sarah cried out, unable to stand it longer. “It makes no difference now! ’Tis long past and done.”
Sinjin sighed heavily. “I thought to buy time when I rode away, time for—something—to happen. But in the end, love was not enough. You’re lost to me—by your own choice.”
Her torment exploded in fury. “My choice? How dare you talk to me of love, or choice? Yours was the first choice, Sinjin—and it wasn’t me! I would have married you with us penniless both, worked happily my whole life to restore my home and yours. You chose to ride away.”
He flung himself at her. “Sarah, how can you think—”
She held up a hand, halting him. “I’m sorry, Sinjin. That wasn’t fair. Your choice was the honorable one, perhaps the only one. As was mine, when I had to make it three months ago. We can only live with both of them now.”
“Then there’s nothing left for us? I will not believe that! You still love me, Sarah—I know it. Surely we can work out something.” His voice dropped to a hush. “I cannot live the rest of my life without you.”
A lead weight seemed to bear down on her, hampering thought and making breathing difficult. “You must. Oh, Sinjin, can you not understand? I’m Nicholas’s wife now. He rescued my family and has treated me with such unfailing courtesy I would tear out my heart, if I must, before I would dishonor him.”
“And mine?”
&nbs
p; “And y-yours,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
His fierce face softened and he leapt to her side. “Ah, sweetheart, don’t weep.”
His fingers barely grazed her shoulder, but she sprang back as if his gloved hand held burning coals.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried. “You must never touch me. How can I bear it, else?”
Sinjin froze, his hand still outstretched, his face bereft and pleading. Slowly his hand fell to his side.
Leaving him standing in the middle of the room, Sarah stumbled to the window seat. With an inarticulate growl that might have been anguish, or anger, or both, Sinjin walked over and dropped onto the sofa.
Sarah hugged herself, as if by holding on tightly she could contain the ravaging pain. She had thought in these three years she had learned every nuance of wretchedness heartbreak could offer, but she’d been wrong. Nothing compared to the soul-searing agony she felt now, her heart bleeding with love for him, half her instincts screaming for her to fly to him, and the other half telling her ’twas too late.
Desperately she listened to the faint voice of reason. Anything less meant scandal and dishonor. She would not—she would not—allow the love that had burned so purely in her for so many years to end like that.
“Glendenning said we had an early caller, my dear.”
Sinjin drew in his breath sharply, but Sarah could not even trust herself to glance up as her husband strolled in.
Chapter Ten
Taut with trepidation, Nicholas paused at the morning room door. He’d barely been able to mask his outrage when Glendenning informed him a Captain Viscount Sandiford had called on his wife.
He never dreamed the soldier would make a move so quickly. Telling the butler he’d announce himself, Nicholas dismissed him—and two loitering footmen.
What were they doing there, behind closed doors? Was Sarah merely filling in the captain on the circumstances of her hasty marriage? Or, if he were to walk in unannounced, would he discover his wife in another man’s embrace? Sickness churned in his gut.
Hands sweating, he raised a fist to knock, paused, lowered it. If the worst were going to occur, better to find out straightaway. Taking a deep breath, he thrust open the door and strode in.
When he saw Sarah at the window, the captain seated on the sofa, he went almost dizzy with relief.
“Good day, Sarah,” he called. “And—Captain.” He couldn’t bring himself to add “welcome.”
The viscount rose lazily to his full height. “Lord Englemere.” He sketched a bow. “Sarah’s been telling me what a timely—rescue you made in marrying her.”
The words, though polite, held an edge. Nicholas suppressed an urge to smack the slightly mocking smile off the captain’s bronzed face.
“We rescued each other.” He strove for a polite tone while he poured himself a badly needed sherry. “Despite the pleasure of greeting old friends, after your experiences London must seem rather tame. Do you make a long visit?”
That was direct probing after a bare minimum of greeting, but Nicholas couldn’t help himself. The captain seemed aware of it, for the mocking smile deepened.
“I’m not sure as yet. My business here is—complex. It could take some time to resolve.”
So the captain did not intend to fade away gracefully. What gall the man possessed! Nicholas’s ire refueled.
And like a distraught parent whose anxiety over a missing child transforms, once the child is found unharmed, into anger, he fixed a furious gaze on Sarah.
Who had yet to glance up or utter a word. Whatever had possessed her to grant the bounder a private interview? Didn’t she know the servants would be whispering? Just how warmly had she welcomed the brazen hussar?
Eyes narrowing, Nicholas crossed to the window. “I trust you’ve spent a pleasant morning, my dear?” he asked with barbed intent as he carried her hand to his lips.
As soon as he touched her, though, his anger lessened. Her fingers were chilled, her body rigid, and her eyes, when she finally looked up, spoke of an anguish too deep to hide. As she must have realized, for she quickly averted them.
“Oh, quite,” she replied, her voice unsteady. “Sinjin and I caught up on old times. We mustn’t keep him, though. Having just returned to England, I expect he has many friends to see and much pressing business.”
Whatever was distressing her, she didn’t want the captain to linger. Relief rippled through Nicholas.
“Yes, I mustn’t outstay my welcome,” said the captain, his lips twitching at the irony. He made them a bow. “Sarah, Lord Englemere. It was truly good to see you, and I hope to enjoy your hospitality again.”
Sarah remained at the window after the captain departed. She held herself stiffly, her eyes fixed straight ahead, as if she might shatter if she moved.
Nicholas stood hesitant. Distrust, fury and irritation at her indiscretion battled with compassion. His instinct to comfort, however, strengthened every moment he gazed at her obviously distraught figure. Finally, with a sigh, he drew her into his arms.
She shuddered, then clutched his shoulders and laid her head against his chest. His heart twisted. The remnants of his suspicious anger dissolving, he hugged her close.
After a moment she disengaged herself. With shaking hands, she smoothed her skirts.
Dimly he heard the clock strike. At any moment they might receive morning callers. Looking at her still-trembling figure, he knew she wasn’t ready for that.
“Is a headache troubling you, sweet Sarah?”
“No, my lord.” She managed a wan smile. “I’m quite well, thank you.”
Her face was ashen and her lip bled where she must have bitten it. “Well” indeed. His smoldering anger toward the captain revived. Just how harshly had the man grilled her?
“I suspect the curious will be anxious to bedevil us this morning—especially after Clarissa’s rumor. An appalling prospect,” he said with an exaggerated shudder. “Shall we cry craven, and deny ourselves?”
“Would that not be dreadfully impolite?”
“You’re looking pulled, sweeting. We’ve only just returned to town, and are unaccustomed to late hours. At least—” he winked “—late hours in a ballroom.”
A genuine smile rewarded that quip. “I should like to rest,” she admitted.
“I’ll escort you up, then.”
As they crossed the hallway, he told Glendenning to deny them. Once inside the privacy of her chamber, he again embraced her.
“Rest well, sweeting. I’ll look in on you later.”
“Please, stay. I haven’t yet properly thanked you.”
“Thanked me?”
“For inventing that errand this morning. Somehow you guessed Sinjin would take the first opportunity to seek me out. We have been friends so long, I owed him at least a full explanation. You knew I could not have received him in private to give it, had you been at home.”
He stared incredulously into her clear gray eyes, but he could find no guile there. Either she was the best actress he’d ever met, or she believed what she’d just said.
“You give me too much credit,” he managed at last.
“You give yourself too little. Most gentlemen, I dare swear, upon anticipating a visit from a wife’s former—friend, would forbid him the house.”
Unable to invent a response, he simply stood silent. Should he confess that, had he in truth even suspected the captain might have the temerity to call, he would have locked her in her chamber and barred the front door?
“Thank you, Nicholas, for trusting me.”
The simple words stabbed in his gut like a dagger. She seemed to believe him a better man than he was. The knowledge awed—and shamed him.
“You…you are welcome,” he stumbled.
She studied him, and for an instant he feared she suspected the truth. Then she said softly, “What a puzzle you are.” And kissed him.
Guilt, and a primitive urge to reestablish his claim on her, impelled him to respond. His
original intent to leave her in solitude wavered, then evaporated altogether as with unprecedented boldness, she slid her hand under the linen of his shirt to stroke the bare skin beneath.
His last thought, before he abandoned all other efforts to free the excessive number of buttons on her bodice, was fierce and comforting. In her distress, she had returned not to her former lover’s arms, but to his.
Several mornings later, as Nicholas worked at his desk over a dossier of papers, Glendenning interrupted him to announce a caller—Captain Lord Sandiford.
His first impulse was to deny himself. But for form’s sake he really must attempt to be friendly to Sarah’s dearest…neighbor. Even though he could barely stand the sight of the man.
“Show him in, Glendenning. And bring us some sherry.”
He rose as the captain entered, looking splendid in his regimentals, drat him. “Sandiford, I trust you’re enjoying your London sojourn. Can I do aught to assist?”
“To shorten it, you mean?” the captain suggested.
Nicholas pressed his lips together. He would not, he vowed, let this insufferable man annoy him. “You’ve missed Sarah, I’m afraid, but do stay if you like. Some sherry?”
The captain merely grinned. “You are too gracious, my lord. Yes, sherry would do nicely. And I waited until Sarah left. I wish to speak with you privately.”
Nicholas tried not to let his surprise show. Uneasiness stirred as well. “Indeed? How may I serve you?”
The captain deposited his lanky frame in a leather wing chair opposite. After a sip, he looked up at Nicholas.
“First, it appears I owe you thanks. You’ve saved me the killing of this Sir James Findlay, who, by all accounts, is an out-and-out villain. I plan to return abroad in any event, but it will be more pleasant to leave England without a cloud over my head. Though I must admit the idea of Sarah being a widow has a certain appeal.”
Nicholas choked on his sherry.
Seeming unaware, the captain continued briskly. “I must compliment you also. It seems your friend—a Mr. Waterman, is it?—did a highly satisfactory job of rearranging the bastard’s face. Though he’s left London, I understand, you might have a care. He’s found himself another tool—a weasel-faced society fribble named Lord John Weston. Paid his gambling debts, which I hear were considerable, and now the man toddles back and forth from London to Findlay’s country home. He’ll bear watching.”
The Wedding Gamble Page 14
