“Can I see you again?” he whispered, staring at her intently. “I propose a game, where I track you down no matter where you go.” He paused. “I will only stop when you ascertain my true name.”
“Like Rumpelstiltskin, is it?” She couldn’t suppress a smile.
“Indeed, it is, Madam.” His eyes were twinkling with hilarity.
Sarah felt a shiver run through her. He was daring her, and it was almost irresistible. He had already tracked her down to this lady’s tea party in respectable Bath. The thought of him pursuing her in this manner at other engagements filled her with yearning.
An exciting game, indeed. Much more thrilling than chess, to be sure.
She gazed at him steadily for a moment. Their eyes met. She saw the same excitement that she felt bubbling within him. He was as intrigued by her as she was by him. He would hardly have gone to so much effort to find her again otherwise.
Her thoughts drifted briefly to her parents and her duty, and the threat hanging over her head like the Sword of Damocles to find someone to marry or they would do it for her. But then it all dissolved into the air like fine mist.
This was her life. And she would lead it exactly as she chose. She didn’t want to think of the future. It could wait.
“Mary,” she called out, “did you say that Lord Grantham is holding a garden party, next Wednesday?”
Mary looked surprised. “Yes, Sarah.”
“Hmmm,” she said, staring back at the gentleman. “Interesting.”
He grinned, bowing slowly to her, before walking away to talk to Lady Dudley. She gazed after him. He would take her challenge; she was sure of it. Her skin tingled at the very thought of encountering him again. Who would they be next time?
He did not look back at her as he took his leave of the room. There was an awkward silence as the ladies watched him leave.
“A handsome man,” said Lady Dudley, looking faintly flushed. “Who would have thought a trader in exotic animals could be so very charming? I simply cannot recall my dear Henry ever mentioning such a cousin…”
Sarah turned to the window, stuffing her hand into her mouth before she collapsed from mirth entirely.
Chapter 8
Sarah fanned herself vigorously, feeling like her face was on fire even though it was a temperate day. Lord Grantham’s garden party. Would the mysterious, dashing gentleman find a way to procure an invitation to the event? She hardly dared hope.
All week she had been dreaming of him, replaying their two brief encounters over and over in her mind as if on a loop. He was every bit as handsome as she had imagined he would be beneath the masquerade mask. Her mind would linger on every small detail: his large hands, one of which had picked up her own hand to kiss.
His strong jawline and those smouldering dark eyes. A hundred other smaller things. The warmth of his breath as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. The sound of his voice, threaded with amusement, as he spun his delicious web of make-believe around her…
She cast her eyes around anxiously at the select group of guests at the garden party. Mary was here, of course, chatting with another lady as they admired some begonias. But there weren’t many other guests. Lord Grantham hardly ever entertained, and when he did, it was always a select crowd.
She bit her lip. She shouldn’t have challenged the mysterious gentleman to get an invitation to this of all events, but she had not been able to think of anything else so quickly. Her heart sank. He wasn’t here – of course he wasn’t. She was destined to spend the entire party with her heart in her mouth, thinking that he was about to emerge from behind a potted plant. And go home disappointed.
But then…he had gate-crashed a lady’s tea party, of all things. The gentleman obviously enjoyed a challenge. Perhaps Lord Grantham’s walled mansion was not beyond him.
Sighing, she took a deep breath and started to mingle. She couldn’t just stand around waiting for him, could she? As much as that was all she wished to do.
***
An hour later, she was resolved to the fact that he was not going to be attending. All the guests had arrived and were walking around Lord Grantham’s immaculately manicured gardens, admiring his range of striking plants which had been shipped from all over the world while they sipped pink lemonade. Some of the more energetic in the party were engaged in a game of quoits.
A spot of rain landed on Sarah’s forearm. She cast her eyes to the sky. Grey clouds were looming over head ominously. Either it would clear, or all the guests would be forced to seek shelter indoors. It was impossible to tell at this stage.
Restlessly, she drifted away from the party, taking an overgrown path towards the duck pond. Lord Grantham’s grounds seemed to sprawl out forever. She spied a rambling folly in the distance, in mock Tudor style, as well as a maze. She walked to the very edge of the maze before collapsing on the lawn, gazing up at the sky.
Time was running out for her. Already, her parents’ deadline about marrying the Earl of Tolmere had passed but she had managed to put them off with various excuses. She had pressed Mary about it, but as far as she could tell, James had not been approached by her parents with the ridiculous idea. Or if he had, he had not bothered to inform Mary of it. That was a relief, at any rate.
But the fact remained that she must find a suitor soon and the mysterious gentleman was no real contender. She still didn’t know who he truly was, and he didn’t seem eager to tell her. This was just a game for him – a little bit beyond regular flirtation, to be sure, but a game nonetheless. If he truly wished to court her properly, he would have introduced himself and been done with it.
She sighed heavily, watching the grey clouds scudding across the sky. She must make a choice; the least offensive of the eligible gentlemen of the district. James was no real contender, even though she did genuinely like him – it would be like marrying her own brother.
No, she must find someone herself who she found at least moderately attractive and wasn’t a dullard before her parents saddled her with someone truly monstrous. Because she was certain James would reject their idea if they ever approached him, and then who knew who they would put forward next?
Why was I born a girl? Why can I not make the decision to not marry and still live comfortably if I so please?
For a moment, she was consumed by envy for James Marcus, the Earl of Tolmere, and all bachelors. They had no idea how good they had it, if they were lucky enough to be born with even a little independent wealth. Bachelors were encouraged to stay unmarried in their younger years and have as much fun as they possibly could; they could travel abroad if they wished, and have as many far-flung adventures as they liked.
A far cry from the life of a spinster who was always being pushed into finding a match and to sit meekly working her embroidery patch until that happened. Little wonder older spinsters always had a haunted, defeated look about them. Pressure had sucked what little joy they had of life right out of them.
“Pssst.” A voice, in the far distance. “Over here.”
Puzzled, she got to her feet, gazing around. She was sure she had heard someone calling her but there appeared to be no one in her vicinity at all. Curious, she started walking towards the maze. It had sounded as if it was coming from that direction.
“This way.” There it was again. Beyond the hedges of the maze. The voice seemed to be coming from deep within it. “Follow me.”
Sarah smiled slowly. She recognised the voice now. It was him. A tingle of delight spread throughout her body. Had he scaled the walls of the estate to find her, without even an invitation? How terribly shocking if he had.
Picking up the hem of her gown, she took a deep breath and plunged into the maze. She knew that this game of theirs could not last very long and that she must put her mind to the serious business of finding a suitable husband. But not quite yet.
***
The hedges of the maze were verdant green and perfectly manicured. Sarah followed the main path. Within its hedge walls it was darker
, especially with the sky growing greyer by the second. She almost needed a lantern to light her way.
A flash of a red coattail to her left. She grinned, changing her course to the left. She was almost upon him. She was sure of it.
She stopped abruptly, a little breathless. She appeared to be right in the centre of the maze and there was no sign of him. She frowned. Had she taken the wrong path? Should she have veered to the right instead of the left? Disconcerted, she gazed around.
Suddenly, there were arms around her, pulling her backwards into the deep recesses of a hedge. Her heart beating fast, she spun around, her hands resting upon his chest.
“Hello.” His voice was rich and deep. “Have we met before?”
Slowly, she gazed up at him. Her heart hammered in her chest. He smelt of cologne and she could see the shadow of dark hair beneath his jawline. Blazing brown eyes gazed down straight into her face, pinning her to the spot.
How beautiful he was, she thought in wonder. He possessed a wholly masculine beauty that she had never encountered before. She had never even thought that men could possess beauty but here he was before her, utterly resplendent.
“I do not think we have, Sir,” she whispered, pressing her hands into his green brocade waist coat. “I have only come to this grand mansion to tell the fortune of all the great ladies and gentlemen within it.” She smiled up at him. “Madame Zanouska, at your service. If you cross my hand with silver, I might just tell your own.”
He smiled delightedly. “A fortune teller, is it? How wonderfully exotic.” His hands tightened on her back. “Well, Madame Zanouska, can you tell me if I shall win the heart of the most exquisite young lady I have ever laid eyes upon? I shall give you a bag of silver for such knowledge.”
Sarah took a deep breath. “The young lady you speak of trembles when she is around you,” she whispered, “her heart is afire, but alas, she must play by the rules of her society most of the time. She needs someone who has the courage to fight for her.”
“A duel?” His smile widened, as his hands started to caress her. “Pistols at dawn?”
“Not anything so dramatic,” she whispered, as desire trickled through her veins at his touch. “But she is yours if you stand up for her. She cannot abide any other.”
“Interesting,” he whispered, leaning down and trailing his lips slowly across her forehead. “I feel that this lady is special – that she is definitely worth fighting for.” He paused. “I am but a thief who has scaled these high walls to plunder the treasures within. Can I hope to be a thief of hearts, as well?”
Sarah sighed. For one moment, she almost felt as if he was telling the truth. Did he find her special? But no. It was all just a game to him and it would never be anything else, would it?
Before she could contemplate that thought any deeper, he suddenly pulled her closer. His lips found hers, soft at first, before deepening. She shuddered with wild delight as he opened her mouth beneath his own, darting his tongue within it.
She had never been kissed in such a way, nor had she ever dreamt it was possible. She was wholly ignorant of what went on between a man and a woman. Her mother had never told her, and all the young ladies in her acquaintance were as ignorant of such matters as herself. It was shocking and wonderful and exhilarating all at the same time.
He arched her back, deepening the kiss further. Suddenly, his lips left her own and he was trailing fevered kisses down her neck. One hand snaked to a breast, squeezing it hard through the silky fabric. She gasped, clinging to him harder as sparks of delight shot through her.
He groaned, almost in agony. She felt something rigid, down below, pressing into her thigh. What on earth could it be? But she was drowning in such bliss she could not push him away if she tried. She felt as weak as a kitten – as if he could scoop her up and she would turn to liquid in his arms.
Suddenly, she heard laughter and chatting. It was close. People were in the maze, approaching them. He heard it, too, breaking away from her. His chest was heaving and his breath ragged as he gazed down at her.
“This thief must away before I am discovered,” he whispered, his eyes blazing. “Thank you for telling my fortune, Sibyl. I hope that one day I shall steal that lady’s heart once and for all.”
She gazed up at him, unable to speak a word. Before her astonished eyes, he fled through the maze, his red velvet coat flashing like a fox’s tail against the green hedges.
She was still gazing after him, utterly stupefied, when Mary and Miss Abigail Harwood, arm in arm, came upon her. Her friend frowned.
“Sarah? What are you doing here by yourself? We were starting to get a little worried.” Her frown deepened. “You look as if you have seen a phantom.”
Sarah slowly turned to face her friend. “I think perhaps I have, Mary.”
Chapter 9
Arthur picked up his glass of port, twirling the ruby coloured liquid around in the glass as he contemplated it. It was rich and mellow and very expensive. Everything that he would expect from a top-notch gentlemen’s club.
He glanced around. There were probably about two dozen gentlemen in the large room located above a haberdashery and a tailor shop. Some were playing cards, others reading newspapers. A fug of cigar smoke wafted into the air.
“Another game of cards, Nordarken?” asked the captain, who was seated across from him, shuffling the deck.
Arthur grinned. “I am afraid not, old chap. I do not wish to lose all my coin today.”
The captain grinned as well. “You are well and truly distracted, my friend. It was like taking sweeties from a baby.” He stared at Arthur. “Is the dusky haired beauty on your mind again?”
Arthur drained his port, then held up his glass. A servant was at his side in an instant, refilling it.
“You know me too well,” he said slowly, staring out of the large window at the ladies and gentlemen walking the street below. “She is most definitely on my mind. It seems I cannot shake the vision of her at all.”
The captain nodded. “I thought as much. How many times have you encountered her thus far?”
“Two,” he replied distractedly. “Apart from our initial encounter, of course.” He smiled slowly, recalling those encounters. “I gate-crashed a lady’s tea party pretending to be an exotic animal trader and then I scaled a high wall at a country property pretending to be a thief. It has all been rather thrilling.”
The captain almost choked on his port. “You did what? You are teasing me, I am sure.”
“I am afraid not, my friend.” His blood warmed, thinking of the Lady Sarah. She was as gorgeous and wicked and bright as he had believed her to be, going along with everything, barely batting an eyelash. “The lady has twisted me into hard knots, and it seems there is little I will not do to be in her company again.”
The captain frowned slightly. “It is an amusing game, to be sure, but she is a respectable young lady, Nordarken. You are compromising her reputation, you know.” He took a deep breath. “There are ladies of a different calibre who are rather more…professional at game playing, if that is what you so desire.”
Arthur glanced at his friend. A flicker of guilt sparked to life within him. He knew very well that Lady Sarah Rubyton was a proper and respectable young lady; he truly shouldn’t be dallying with her in such a way. It wasn’t as if he was planning to make an honest woman out of her, was it? He really should leave well enough alone and let her get on with the serious business of finding a suitable husband.
But then, a vision of her rose before his eyes. Lady Sarah, in an indigo muslin morning gown with a hint of cream lace at the cuffs and bodice, her caramel coloured ringlets framing her face, pretending to be a fortune teller of all things. The feel of those delicious crimson red lips beneath his own. The feel of her firm breast beneath his hand as he twirled the nipple, feeling it harden at his touch…
Courting A Sinful Stranger: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 6
