by Cheryl Holt
“An incident? My goodness! Please tell me it wasn’t hideous.”
For a moment, Sarah debated if she should keep her mouth shut, but the nude escapade was the most depraved sight she’d ever witnessed. The words were begging to spill out. She couldn’t swallow them down.
She leaned in and whispered, “You won’t believe what I saw.”
“What?”
“There were several people swimming.”
Mildred wrinkled her nose. “It’s a little cold for it.”
“They weren’t wearing any clothes!”
“Really?” Mildred glanced toward the lake as if she’d like to rush out and check for herself. “Are they still there?”
“I’m sure they are.” Sarah whispered more quietly, “It was three women and a man.”
“Well, well! Maybe this party will be a lot more fun than I imagined.”
“I think the man was your nephew.”
“Why would you think that?”
“He looked exactly like you. Same face, same blue eyes. If he wasn’t Mr. Farnsworth, I’ll eat my bonnet.”
Mildred scoffed. “Trust me, Sarah, Clayton would never allow himself to be viewed unclad. He’s always been chubby, and he’s a dandy who likes his cravat to be perfectly tied.”
Just then, a man sauntered out of the house. He was about Sarah’s age, short and fat, with dull brown eyes and limp brown hair that was thinning in the front. His lips were pinched as if he was holding in a permanent complaint. He appeared fussy and persnickety and totally obnoxious.
“Ah, there’s Clayton.” Mildred’s scathing assessment traveled down his torso. “He’s very dry so I assume he wasn’t the one frolicking.”
“No, it was definitely someone else.” Who had the elegant, dissolute fellow been? “Have you another nephew in attendance? Or perhaps a cousin?”
“No, Clayton is my only relative. Unfortunately.”
“Then I have no idea who he was.”
“Might I hope he was desperately handsome?”
“Yes, he was very handsome.”
“Was he slender and fit, with muscles that tempted you to stroke your palms across them?”
“I suppose you could describe him that way.”
“And was his hair so dark and lush that you wanted to riffle your fingers through it?”
“Mildred!”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Mildred smirked. “Maybe we should finish our supper, then sneak to the lake and see if we can catch a glimpse of him in his altogether.”
Sarah’s jaw dropped. “Mildred! Honestly!”
“I love to observe an attractive male—clothed or otherwise.”
Sarah’s cheeks flushed a bright scarlet. “I have to admit he was quite dashing.”
“I’m eager to make his acquaintance, but if he’s a friend of Clayton’s he might be a boring dunce. Let’s not raise our expectations.”
“I’m betting he’ll prove to be very interesting.”
Mildred called to Mr. Farnsworth who was over by the door and conferring with a footman.
“Clayton! I’ve been here for hours. Mind your manners and say hello.”
At the sound of her voice, he whipped around like a marionette. “Aunt Mildred! There you are. I was told you’d arrived.”
“Come and meet my new companion—Miss Barrington. Then tell us who is swimming naked in the lake. It’s a man and three ladies—although the word lady isn’t necessarily accurate.”
“Swimming naked?” Mr. Farnsworth turned an odd puce color. “I can’t guess who it would be.”
“Miss Barrington and I will simply have to investigate for ourselves after the meal is over.”
She winked at Sarah, flashing a look that promised all sorts of mischief. Sarah hunkered down to watch for the debauched cad to slink in.
Who would he be? She couldn’t wait to find out.
CHAPTER TWO
Sarah was loafing on the verandah and staring out at the stars. They’d had a delightful supper, although the food hadn’t been all that great. According to Mildred, Clayton Farnsworth squandered his money on fast living so he wasn’t very regular about paying wages to his employees. He could definitely use a new chef.
Thankfully, they never did make it out to the lake to spy on the nude swimmers. They’d gotten waylaid by the other guests, and they were an interesting group.
They included Viscount Pendergast who was about to wed a Russian princess, as well as Wesley Grey whose cousin, young Caleb Grey, had just been installed as Earl of Lyndon. Mr. Grey’s friend, Michael Fenwick, was with them too. He claimed to be a prince’s natural son. From his glamorous looks and manners, Sarah absolutely thought he’d probably been raised in a palace.
Mildred had been astonished by the elevated tenor of the visitors and that her nephew had the ability to cultivate such an impressive crowd.
The evening had grown dark and chilly, and the party had moved inside. There was card playing in the front parlor and singing in the music room. Later, it sounded as if there would be gambling after the ladies went to bed. Mildred had been content with the prospect, while Sarah found it quite shocking.
But…if Mildred didn’t mind, Sarah certainly should have no opinion as to the entertainment that occurred after she was asleep.
She closed her eyes and sent a prayer winging out to her sisters, Catherine and Abigail. She hoped they were safe. She hoped their jobs were satisfying or at least not horrid. She had no idea where they were working, and in the morning she would write long missives to them.
Through all her eating and chatting, she’d been braced for the moment she would encounter the naked mystery man, but he hadn’t arrived. If the three women were present, she couldn’t tell. She’d specifically declined to gape at them and couldn’t identify any pertinent characteristics.
A male suddenly spoke from behind her. “Hello, Miss Barrington.”
She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Even though she’d only heard the voice once, she’d recognize it anywhere.
She spun slowly to face the cad from the lake, and she was stunned by the silly spurt of excitement that flooded her. He was very tall, and with her being barely five-foot-five in her slippers, he towered over her. She had to tip her head back to peer up at him.
Dressed at the height of fashion, his suit of clothes was sewn from such an expensive fabric and so perfectly tailored that he might have been wearing formal attire. The men in attendance were all handsome and debonair, but still he put all of them to shame.
Before she realized his intent, he stepped in and pressed her to the balustrade. Not in a violent or intimidating way, but he was incredibly masculine, and she was being pelted by sensations she didn’t care to acknowledge.
“We were acquainted in London,” he told her. “I’m sure you remember me. Nicholas Swift?”
“Mr. Swift!” she scolded. “We’re strangers, and you’re being very forward.”
She placed a palm on his chest to ease him away, but he was such a vain oaf—and so much bigger than she was—that she couldn’t shove him an inch.
“I’m so surprised to find you here,” he said.
“You have me confused with someone else,” she arrogantly replied.
“Don’t jest. You’re Catherine Barrington. You’re much too beautiful for me to have forgotten who you are.”
“I’m not Catherine Barrington.”
He didn’t believe her—or listen. “How is that little tart, Libby Markham? And how is Christopher? Are you sick of him already? I’d love to have a chance with you now.”
What? What?
She’d meant to give him a derisive set down, but it was clear he knew her twin sister, and he’d mistaken her for Catherine. She was charmed by his error. When they were girls, it had happened often, but these days she spent scant time with Catherine. It rarely occurred anymore.
Who was Libby Markham? Who was Chris
topher? In the weeks she and Catherine had been separated, it appeared her sister had developed a whole new life. Sarah hated it when Catherine had experiences or met people without Sarah meeting them too.
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” she said.
“Will you pretend you’re not Catherine? To what end?”
“I am her sister.”
“You’re twins?”
“Yes.”
His naughty gaze roamed down her torso, lingering at several spots he shouldn’t assess. She understood he was trying to rattle her, but if he thought he could he was deranged.
“What is your name?” he inquired.
“It’s Miss Barrington.”
“Your Christian name, darling. What is it?”
“It’s none of your business at all.”
“It’s an informal gathering. We’re all friends.”
“I might eventually be friends with some of the guests, but not all of them.”
She flashed such a scornful glower that he had to grasp she was talking about him, but the loathsome libertine wasn’t deterred.
He simply laughed at her disdain. “I’ll ask Mildred Farnsworth what it is. She’ll tell me.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“You’re being truthful that you don’t know who I am so I should introduce myself. Will you swoon if I do?”
“No, but there’s no reason for you to repeat yourself. I refuse your acquaintance.”
He ignored her. “I am Nicholas Swift.”
“So you said.” She was being rude as she never was. “Bully for you.”
“Will you be snotty for the entire party?”
“Only to you.”
“Your sister was much nicer. I should have stayed in London and chased after her instead.”
“Catherine is much nicer than I am, but she’s also much smarter. She’d never so much as glance in your direction.”
“Should we bet on it?”
“No, and your question indicates you’re a gambler. I should have guessed.”
“Yes, I’m a gambler and a wastrel.” He announced his tendencies as if he was proud of his low character.
“Don’t brag.”
“Who’s bragging? I’m just stating the facts. How are you enjoying yourself so far? Have you seen any intriguing sights?”
“You’re aware that I have, you wretch.”
He smirked. “I must admit I was amused when you stumbled on us.”
“You deem it humorous to embarrass a young lady?”
“Were you embarrassed? I didn’t notice you running off in horror. To me, you seemed entranced.”
“You’re deluded, Mr. Swift.”
“Am I?”
He looked so cocky, so confident, and she wished she could bring him down a peg, but it was probably impossible. He wasn’t the sort to feel guilty about bad behavior.
“Is it your habit to strut about naked?” she inquired. “When we advised Mr. Farnsworth about what was transpiring, he was very shocked.”
Mr. Swift waved away her comment. “I never worry about Clayton’s opinion, and he invited the strumpets who are here. If they take off their clothes, he’ll get over it.”
“What about you? You still haven’t told me if I was witnessing regular conduct from you. Are you prone to depravity?”
“Absolutely. Isn’t everyone?”
“Would you really have removed your trousers while I watched?”
He chuckled. “I don’t know.”
“Did you tug them off after I left? Did you give your fawning audience a scandalous view of your grand self?”
“I’ll never tell.” He raised a brow. “You’ll have to always wonder.”
She scoffed. “As if I’d waste my time pondering the wicked episode.”
“Won’t you? You’re quite irritated. How will you stop thinking about it?”
“I’m not irritated,” she insisted. “I’m merely stunned that adults could be so corrupt.”
“You and I live in different worlds.”
“We certainly do.”
“I’m delighted by loose tarts. They keep my life interesting.”
“Well, I’m ecstatic to report that I’m not loose or a tart so there will be few reasons for us to socialize. There’s nothing about me that would tantalize you.”
“That, Miss Barrington, is where you’re very, very wrong.”
He was exceedingly sly, and he’d sidled even nearer. The toes of his shoes had slipped under the hem of her skirt, and his leg was pressed to her own. There was a strange energy flowing between them, almost as if their proximity was generating sparks. The sensation was thrilling and disturbing. What could be causing it?
His blue, blue eyes danced with mischief, and she was struck again by how much he resembled Mildred. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t a Farnsworth nephew.
“You look exactly like your sister,” he said, “but your hair is a tad more blond.”
He was correct, but she didn’t like that he would note such a small variation. It made him seem shrewd and perceptive, and she wanted him to be stupid and thick-headed.
“Yes, it’s a tad more blond.”
“And your eyes are bluer.”
His voice was like a caress that sent jolts of pleasure out to her extremities. She stepped away, refusing to be enticed by him. He bit down a grin, realizing he’d won their brief battle of wills.
“Who is Christopher?” she asked.
“My friend in town.”
“You mentioned his name in the same sentence as my sister. Are they acquainted?”
“I’m sure they’re very well acquainted by now.”
She scowled. “What do you mean?”
“Christopher is a libertine who loves to flirt. The last time I saw her, she appeared completely smitten.”
“Catherine is smitten?”
“Is that so hard to accept?”
“Yes. Would he take advantage of her?”
“Only if she lets him, and he can be very persuasive.”
He was smiling like the devil in disguise, and she had no idea if he was being candid or not.
Catherine was mature and pragmatic. Their family’s catastrophe had forced them to grow up very fast. She was wary of men and would never succumb to a cad, but just in case Sarah would add a word of warning about this Christopher person when she penned her letter in the morning.
“I can’t decide if you’re telling the truth about your friend,” she said. “Catherine would never involve herself with a libertine.”
He shrugged. “Women constantly involve themselves with debauched fellows. Why would your sister be immune?”
“She’s too prudent.”
“Really? Oh, Miss Barrington, I wish you liked to bet. It would be so easy to fleece you.”
She snorted with disgust. “That comment certainly leaves me glad to have met you.”
“You should be glad.”
“Your vanity knows no bounds.”
“No, it doesn’t.” He gestured to the dark garden. There were lamps lit on the various trails, but mostly it was shadows and hidden corners. “Will you walk in the garden with me?”
“Walk? With you?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You’d enjoy it,” he pompously claimed.
“If that’s what you suppose, you’re absolutely deranged.”
“I’m not deranged. I’m perfectly lucid and incredibly focused on what I want. I usually get it too.”
His hot gaze wandered down her torso again, and she couldn’t figure out why she didn’t stomp off in a huff. It would stroke his ego to fluster her, and she couldn’t deny it was exhilarating to engage in banter.
“Who is Libby Markham?” she asked. “You mentioned her too.”
“She’s your sister’s friend. They attended the dances at Vauxhall.”
“My sister has a friend n
amed Libby Markham? She was dancing at Vauxhall?”
“Yes.”
“If you suddenly told me she flew to the moon, I couldn’t be more surprised.”
“Why? Your sister is quite the social butterfly in town.”
“I guess I should stay in better contact with her. I had no idea about any of this.”
“Yes, and Libby is a nuisance, and she’ll likely cause trouble for your sister before they’re through.”
“You know this because…?”
“Libby is a trollop who tried to convince me to ruin her.”
Sarah gasped. “Mr. Swift, I assume there’s some reason you would confess such a salacious detail, but I can’t imagine why you’d assume I should listen.”
“In case you were wondering, I didn’t ruin her.”
“I wasn’t wondering!”
“I could have proceeded, but I declined. My gallant tendencies surged to the fore.”
“Mr. Swift! Please! You’re embarrassing me.”
“How? Will a few risqué sentences send you into a faint? I’d wager you’re made of sterner stuff than that.”
“I’m not from your world, and I can’t deduce how to react to such a story.”
“I like looking at you when you’re embarrassed. You’re so pretty, and your cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink.”
She frowned. “You’re flirting with me.”
“Yes, I can’t help myself.”
“Well, stop it.”
“Why should I?”
“I don’t like men who flirt.”
“That’s the silliest remark I’ve ever heard. What female doesn’t like a man to flirt?”
“This one doesn’t.”
“What a terribly boring life you must lead.”
“My life is fine,” she declared.
“Is it?”
The question dangled between them, and he was scrutinizing her so meticulously, as if he was aware of how she’d chafed and fought against the calamities that had pummeled her. After her parents’ deaths, it had taken years to reinvent herself, to lower her standards, to become a totally different person from whom she’d been raised to be.
She should have been married by now. Her father should have chosen a lofty spouse for her from a premier family. She should have had several children, should have been content with her doting husband and grand home.
