by Cheryl Holt
“No,” Sarah lied.
“Has anyone stopped by who shouldn’t have? Has her lawyer come? Has she had a private discussion she didn’t allow you to overhear?”
“With her lawyer?” Sarah scowled at him. “No.”
His expression grew sycophantic. “Please don’t be upset. I’m anxious over her situation, and I’m not always around to chase off scoundrels.”
“I understand.”
Sarah understood all right. He was a duplicitous fiend, and she couldn’t wait to warn Mildred. Or might Mildred already suspect?
“I’m particularly alarmed by Mr. Swift,” he said, “and how he’s glommed onto her. He’s precisely the sort of blackguard who fleeces her out of her money.”
“Mr. Swift?”
“Yes, I can practically predict the tales of woe he’ll eventually tell her. She’s a sympathetic person, and she’s gullible. She can’t resist a sob story.”
Mildred? Gullible? Sarah wanted to laugh. “Yes, I’ve noticed that about her.”
“We could be a team,” he brightly urged. “You and I—we could protect her together. I’d feel so much better if you were helping me.”
“I’d be glad to spy for you,” Sarah fibbed as she angrily wondered how many of Mildred’s prior companions he’d coerced into tattling.
“I knew you’d be sensible.”
To her disgust, he slipped her a coin—as if she were a scullery maid who’d earned a penny by cleaning his shoes.
“There’s more where that came from,” he pompously stated, “if you keep me posted on her antics. Before I leave for London, I’ll jot down my address so you can write me if you have information to provide.”
Then he winked as if they’d entered into a secret agreement. She was so incensed she nearly slapped him. It took every ounce of her composure to pretend she wasn’t insulted.
“Oh, I will be so relieved to have your wise counsel,” she sarcastically gushed.
He beamed like the pretentious ass he was. “I’m happy to guide you.”
“Now I’m sorry,” she said, “but I have to get downstairs.”
“Yes, let’s both go. I’m hungry, and I can smell that roast!”
Sarah turned her back on him and started down. She was struggling to control her breathing, to reassert some of the aplomb she’d mustered when she’d still been in Mildred’s bedchamber and preening in the mirror.
She was spitting mad, but she could hardly burst into the parlor and spew accusations. Later on, she would apprise Mildred of what had occurred, but for the moment it was a birthday party, and Sarah wouldn’t ruin it with bickering.
The coin Mr. Winthrop had given her was burning a hole in her palm. She clutched it tightly and marched down to the vestibule. Mildred was chatting with Nicholas and, braced for anything, she rounded the corner and swept into the room.
“Here’s Sarah,” Mildred said. “My, my, aren’t you pretty tonight?”
“Hello, Mildred.” She smiled at Nicholas, her affection shining through. “And hello, Nicholas. I’m delighted you could join us for supper.”
“So am I.” He stood to greet her, and he seemed mesmerized. “You look fantastic.”
“Thank you.”
“No, seriously, I mean you look fantastic.”
“She always looks fantastic,” Mildred said.
“But she’s outdone herself this evening,” Nicholas claimed.
She walked over to him, and he bent down and kissed her on the cheek. It was such a brazen gesture, but Sarah didn’t deflect it.
She clasped his hand and squeezed his fingers. “It’s nice to see you too.”
Yet as he sat on the sofa, and she could have sat next to him she went over and sat with Mildred instead. They stared across at him, and he received the message loud and clear that their relationship had changed.
Mr. Winthrop strolled in after that, but Sarah’s gaze was fixed on Nicholas, and she didn’t glance at the other man for a single second.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nicholas and Sarah strolled down the deserted street. They were holding hands, whispering endearments. An occasional carriage rumbled by, and there were other people out strolling too, but for the most part they were alone. It was another beautiful evening, the weather behaving itself so the final night of the Midsummer Festival could wrap up.
If they kept on, they’d eventually reach the crowds and the lamps and the music. But he wasn’t eager to get there. He was content to have her all to himself for a few more minutes.
Supper was over, and after it had concluded Mildred had shooed them out of the house, suggesting they walk to the fair one last time. Was Sarah aware that Mildred had asked him to leave? If so, was she glad of it? Or was she disappointed? He couldn’t choose what her answer would be.
Normally, her emotions were so clear to him it was like reading a book, but for once he couldn’t discern her sentiment.
It had been a pleasant meal. Mildred had been chatty and happy, giving no sign that she’d ordered Nicholas to vacate the premises an hour earlier. Mr. Winthrop was cordial, although Nicholas didn’t like the man. He was too pompous, too indulgent to Mildred—as if she were a child he was minding.
Sarah had been her usual gorgeous self, merry and talkative, but he’d noticed a coldness toward Mr. Winthrop. Did she dislike him as much as Nicholas?
In her new gown, with her hair braided and curled, she’d been ravishing. He’d been seated across from her at the small dining table, and he’d filled up his eyes, anxious to stare until he was certain he’d never forget a single detail.
If he’d been brave enough or determined enough, he could have made her his own. This very second, he could propose marriage, and he was positive she’d accept. He could be her husband for the rest of his life, but for some reason he couldn’t convince himself to grab for that ending. Why?
He was either insane or incredibly stupid. It was the only explanation. Perhaps it was a mix of both. He was insane and stupid.
“You’re very quiet,” she said.
“I was thinking about Mr. Winthrop. Will you find it shocking if I tell you I don’t like him?”
“Oh, Nicholas, I’m so relieved to hear your opinion. I couldn’t bear to disrupt Mildred’s party so I’ve been biting my tongue.”
“About what?”
“He stopped me in the hall upstairs. He forced me to confer about her.”
“Confer over what issue?”
“He peppered me with questions about how she spends her money. He asked if she’d been to the fortunetellers or if her lawyer had visited us.”
“Why would he want to know that?”
“I’ve been wondering the very same. He has to be worried that she’s changed her Will.”
“Why would he worry? Is he a beneficiary?”
“I have no idea, but look at this.” She extended her hand and was clutching a coin. “He tipped me—as if I were a scullery maid who’d shined his shoes!”
“What a dog!”
“He believes we’ve entered into a conspiracy, that he’s paid me to tattle Mildred’s secrets to him. I’m so angry I could bust.”
“How were you so calm during supper?”
“I refused to upset Mildred, but I will definitely inform her about it once we’re alone.”
“Every year, she has a new companion. He must have been bribing all of them.”
“That’s what I assume. He was so nonchalant about it, as if I’d blithely agree to betray her. He was so sure of himself that he had to have done it in the past.”
“I hate to suppose anyone would scheme against her,” Nicholas said. “Especially a man she views as a friend.”
“And he was particularly concerned about you!”
“Me?”
“Yes, he’s afraid you’re a charlatan who’s crawled out of the woodwork to steal all her money.”
He laughed at that. “I have many fla
ws, but I like to imagine I’m not the type who would steal from a woman I like as much as I like her.”
“I’m incensed in too many ways to count.”
“He must be in league with her nephew. I suspect Clayton has Mr. Winthrop spy on her, then he reports back on what he’s learned.”
“At this point, nothing would surprise me.”
Up ahead, the street was getting busier, and he asked, “Shall we walk through the fair? Would you like to? We could visit Mr. Dubois and buy another love potion.”
She shot him a hot glare. “We don’t need any potions.”
“Probably not.”
“Could we just talk for a minute?”
“I thought we were talking.”
“It hasn’t been about any important topics.”
“Except for the discovery that Mildred’s oldest friend is deceiving her.”
There was a rock wall next to them, and she sat down on it. She peered up at him, and he felt young and foolish. Why had he involved himself with her? It had been supreme idiocy right from the start, but he hadn’t been able to resist.
A poignant silence played out, and finally she broke it. “I think you have something to tell me.”
“Yes.”
But he couldn’t begin, and she said, “Well…? Spit it out. It’s humorous to observe as you squirm and stammer and attempt to explain in a manner that won’t distress me. I won’t be distressed. I promise.”
“You won’t wail and cry and call me names?”
She snorted with amusement. “I’ll try to control myself.”
“Praise be. I can’t abide a weepy woman.”
He still couldn’t begin though, and she kept them marching forward.
“Mildred asked you to return to your rented room. Will you go tonight?”
“As soon as we’re back.”
“Will you depart for London tomorrow? Or will you tarry for a bit?”
He dithered forever, desperate to figure out what his reply should be. Ultimately, he settled on, “I’m staying for a few more days, but I might not stop by again.”
“If you don’t socialize with us, how will you occupy your time?”
“I have some acquaintances in Bath all of a sudden.”
“Ah…so you’ll drink and gamble and revel.”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever wished you lived a different sort of life?”
There was the crux of their problem, tossed out into the open. He didn’t really wish that. He liked gambling and gamboling, and he’d never carried on any other way. Occasionally, he tried to picture himself working in an office as a clerk or maybe a solicitor. He tried to picture himself crammed into a little house, with a wife and six or seven children underfoot and needing to be clothed and fed.
He couldn’t envision himself in such a domestic scenario, while she would fit into it perfectly. She should find a kind man who could give her the home and family she deserved to have. But he had to be wealthy so he could lift her burdens with servants and other support.
He couldn’t be that man, and he didn’t want to be that man.
“No, I wouldn’t like anything to change,” he said.
“Why was I so certain that would be your answer?”
“I’m a cad and a bounder. I admit it.”
“I saw you with my cousin, Desdemona, today.”
“Mildred told me.”
“Do you fancy her? Tell me the truth.”
“No, I don’t.”
“We’re in such a dark spot,” she said. “Your eyes are shadowed so I can’t look into them to decide if you’re lying or not.”
“I’m not lying.”
He’d bumped into Lady Middlebury on the sidewalk outside the hotel, and she’d mentioned she was moving to a house Clayton had rented. She’d invited Nicholas to join them, and he’d let her convince him. Lord Pendergast would be there too, and with his being engaged to his Russian princess his purse was full of money. Nicholas was eager to win some of it from him.
The main benefit of the meeting was that he’d gotten himself out of his pathetic wager with Lady Middlebury. He’d paid her the twenty pounds they’d bet as to whether he could ruin Sarah. His excuse had been that Mildred watched her like a hawk so there had been no opportunity for a dalliance.
He’d also insisted Sarah was too innocent, and he had no patience with virgins. The Countess had teased him for failing to woo Sarah, for losing his touch with the ladies, and he’d laughed and allowed her to presume exactly that.
“Please promise me,” Sarah said, “you will never have an affair with her.”
“I never will. I promise.”
“I realize I have no claim on your affection.”
“You’re wrong, Sarah. You have all of my affection.”
She ignored his comment. “It would hurt me if you proceeded with her.”
“I know, and while I constantly confess to being a libertine, I’m not nearly as bad as I pretend to be.”
It was a huge falsehood, but he felt he should utter it. He would always hope she had warm memories of him, and he didn’t want her imagining him immersed in one destructive amour after the next. If he involved himself with a woman, it was because he would profit financially. Sarah had nothing to offer so he wouldn’t permit himself to be interested.
But he should have recognized she was too smart to be deceived.
“You’re absolutely as bad as you pretend to be,” she said. “Don’t try to fool me. You can’t.”
“All right, I won’t.”
“When will you return to London?”
“Before the week is out.” There was that high-stakes card game he was determined to attend.
“Do you have an apartment in London?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“So you have an address.”
He smiled. “Yes, I have an address like an ordinary adult.”
“Could we correspond? What would you think of that?”
The notion produced a rush of gladness, but he tamped it down. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Let me reflect on it.”
“Why isn’t it a good idea? Are you afraid to have me learn about your future mischief? Or are you simply a typical male who hates writing letters?”
“It’s both of those.”
“At least you’re honest about it.”
“Once I leave Bath, we should probably have a complete separation.”
“Of course we should, you thick oaf, but I’m anxious to keep my hooks in you. I’d like to remain connected even if I never see you again.”
Suddenly, he felt as if his heart was breaking, which was ridiculous because he’d never felt as if he had a heart. He could woo and grow fond, then cut ties without warning. He never suffered the slightest regret, but he couldn’t bear to ponder parting from her.
Why couldn’t he just do what any sane man would do? Why couldn’t he marry her and get it over with? Why all this drama and anguish?
He bent down and kissed her, but he didn’t linger. A pair of drunks staggered by. They were arguing, the moment fraught with tension as he waited for them to pass.
After it was silent again, she said, “You could have proposed, you know. I would have accepted.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“You deserve someone better than me.”
“I’m certain that’s true, but silly me I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”
“It’s deranged for you to want me. I never should have spent a single second in your company.”
“And I shouldn’t have spent a single second in yours, but I couldn’t resist.”
“I couldn’t resist either.”
“Will you ever bite the bullet and wed?” she asked him.
“I doubt it. I wouldn’t be that cruel to any woman.”
“I’ve just realized why we shouldn’t correspond. If I ev
er found out you’d picked a bride—and it wasn’t me—it would make me so sad, but very angry too.”
“If I shackled myself, it would be for money.”
“I comprehend your reasoning—it’s every bachelor’s dream—but it wounds me to hear you’d wed for money but not for love.”
“I’m too notorious to have a wife. What would I do with one?”
She scoffed. “You always act as if you’re awful.”
“That’s because I am.”
“You have a few redeeming qualities buried down deep.”
He grinned. “Maybe.”
“Would you promise me something?”
“More promises?” he teased. “Haven’t I mentioned I never keep them?”
“Yes, you mentioned it, but I don’t believe you. Besides, this one’s easy.”
“What is it?”
“I’d like you to always be friends with Mildred.”
“It’s a simple request so yes. I will.”
“I can watch over her this year while I’m working for her, but once my position ends I won’t see her very often. Perhaps not ever.”
“I understand.”
“You’re a man so you can travel and pop in to check on her. I don’t trust her nephew, and with how Mr. Winthrop spoke to me I’d like her to have a different kind of man in her life, one who will look out for her rather than her fortune.”
“I can do that.”
“If Clayton or Mr. Winthrop are ever excessively dreadful to her, her attorney is Mr. Thumberton in London. He’s her trustee, and I’m betting he’d put a stop to any nonsense.”
“Thumberton. I won’t forget.”
“I have to tell you a secret about her—so you’ll appreciate how serious this situation is. But you have to swear you’ll never tell a soul.”
“I never would.”
He sat next to her on the wall, and he took her hand and linked their fingers.
“When Mildred was a girl,” she said, “she was engaged to a very boring fellow her father had chosen for her.”
“I can’t imagine she was too happy about it.”
“No, and she fell in love with a school friend of her brother’s. His name was Robert Stone. His father had been an adventurer in Africa and Arabia, and Robert was sent to England to attend university. I gather he was quite dashing.”
