Touched by Fire

by Kathleen O'Reilly

  Sarah scowled at the turncoat. “The word is ‘perfidy’ and I’ve been fooled by better than you, Iris.”

  “He was here, mum. Ask the footmen if you don’t believe me. Or Bess. She saw him as well, she did. There were legions of his men here, delivering flowers, after flowers, after flowers. A whole procession, bearing blossoms by the baskets, on, and on, and on. I thought they’d never stop. You should have been here, mum.”

  Iris did seem excited, her dark eyes alight with pleasure. “Thereare many flowers here.” Every sort she could ever imagine. No man had ever brought her flowers before. Yet flowers did not seem the sort of gesture that would appeal to the earl. No, she would not be gulled too hastily. “What did he say?”

  “He looked quite anxious to see you, he did.”

  It was time to test Iris’s veracity. “Ah, yes, I’m sure he spoke quite eloquently, and at some length, didn’t he?”

  Iris chewed a nail, peering at Sarah from beneath her curls. “I don’t know if I’d say that. He looked quite forbidding, all that brooding and morosing.”

  Brooding and morosing?Sarah nearly laughed. If Iris had switched sides, she had been well coached. Sarah tried again, not letting her hopes rise too quickly. “And I’m sure he was dressed in the highest step of fashion.”

  Iris waved her hand in the air. “Oh, no, not one of those natty toppers at all. Very much his own man. Even bellowing at the servants.”

  Sarah frowned and watched Iris very carefully. The woman was nervous, but fairly bouncing with eagerness as well. Something had happened, but what? Could it be? Really? “Iris, are you sure it was the earl?”

  “Mum, how could you doubt me? Look at his card.” Iris stabbed her finger at the turned up corner, the engraved script, the name.His name. It certainly looked real, but it would have been easy enough for Mr. Giles to take one of his master’s cards and send it over with the flowers.

  Sarah folded her arms across her chest, but her fingers trembled. “I shouldn’t believe you.”

  “It’s your head that’s telling you not to believe me. It’s time that you followed your heart.”

  “Did the earl tell you that?”

  “I heard it from a very wise man. I believe you should listen.” Iris looked so earnest, so absolutely sincere.

  Had she been wrong? Had the earl been here? In her home? She touched the chair, wondering if that’s where he sat. Would he like it, or would he think it was too missish? She sat in the chair—his chair—and pulled out a white lily, sniffing at the heavy fragrance. Flowers? Was it really true? She looked up at Iris, and oh, how badly she wanted to believe. She gathered a scarlet rose, the sweet-scented buds of honeysuckle, the soft pink of a geranium, and caressed them with a gentle hand. Had he given her flowers? Dear heavens. Hehad been here. He must have. By the time she looked up, she’d convinced herself that it was true. “Iris, sit down. Tell me everything he said.”

  Chapter Six

  “The Comtesse de Sourdet and Miss Sarah Banks.” Mr. Giles bowed low and announced them in a sonorous tone worthy of the regent himself. Sarah eyed him suspiciously, praying that he had not rooked her.

  She took one nervous step inside. The dining room was smaller than what might be expected, taking into account the earl’s station. In consequence, the moderate gathering of people appeared quite large. And to Sarah, most fearsome.

  Especially considering the way the conversation stopped, heads turned, and necks craned to achieve a better view. For long minutes the room stayed silent, and then, as connections were made and suppositions began to blossom, the whispering began in earnest.

  Sarah raised her chin and looked about, searching anxiously for their host as if he were an anchor in the midst of a stormy sea. An anchor she needed most desperately.

  And then she found him.

  For a moment, she saw panic flash in his eyes, and then quite quickly it was extinguished. Panic. Out of all the things she hoped to see in his eyes, panic was the absolute worst. Her hands began to shake. She stared, he stared, and when he made no move toward her, no bit of greeting, no polite smile, she took an embarrassed step back toward the door, needing to get away from this place as quickly as possible.

  Mr. Giles had played her for a fool. She had been gulled by a plethora of hothouse flowers and the romantic notion that the man standing one large chasm away from her was the one man who wanted to protect her.

  “Miss Banks.” Haverwood’s voice carried loudly, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. “I’m so very glad you’re here.”

  Sarah froze. She was accustomed to judging an opponent by the waver of their voice, a burst of delight or despair in their eyes when a card is dealt, a shaking hand, or a refusal to meet her gaze. There was no uncertainty in his voice, his eyes were now fathomless pools of sherry, meeting her gaze fully, dead-on, in the manner of a practiced cardplayer, and her will seemed to weaken immeasurably. Silence descended on the room until only the thundering of her heart echoed in her head.

  It seemed like years, but the clock ticked only a moment and then Haverwood took a step toward her. One small step only, but for Sarah it was enough and she let go of her breath.

  A gesture, a measure of his intent to play the host, and she, always strong willed in the face of adversity, nearly fainted, so absolute was her relief. She commanded her knees to cease their wobbling, and blessedly, they did.

  The comtesse glanced toward the earl, approval in her eyes. The man had gained another ally.

  The earl walked over to them and then nodded in greeting. “Forgive my poor manners. I can only plead that I’m new to the city and am quite unaccustomed to performing the role of gentleman.”

  Sarah could only bob her head in reply, as once again the earl’s appearance had robbed her of her voice. As before, his attire was simple yet appealing, his broad shoulders enhanced exquisitely by the fitted confines of his coat. His tan hands and face contrasted sharply with the stark white of his shirt. His dark hair was worn shorter than most of the gentlemen in the room, the soft tips just brushing the top of his coat. Sarah had known he was handsome, but each time she saw him again, she was swept away by his presence, her sensibilities buffeted until she could not think at all.

  “Comtesse, may I borrow your companion for a moment?”

  Juliette looked at Sarah with a query in her eyes. Sarah looked up at Haverwood, searching for some answer, some reason to trust him. Any would do, any at all. He withstood her scrutiny, swallowing nervously and raising his hand as if to pull at his cravat.

  “You are all right with this,oui ?” asked the comtesse in a whisper.

  “Oh, yes, right as a line, fit as a fiddle.” Sarah smiled brightly, taking the earl’s arm and letting him lead her away, her anxiety slowly beginning to subside, her nerves becoming accustomed to the pleasant disturbance that his touch caused. Now that she had made her decision to stay, she was determined to make the best of it.

  He took her arm and even through her long, white gloves, she could feel his strength and was comforted by it. He was a man who made a woman feel safe and sheltered, and for Sarah, there was nothing she desired more.

  As they made their way around the room, Sarah glanced about the enquiring faces of those that were in attendance. Yet with the earl by her side, there was none of the usual apprehension that she felt in such gatherings. The largest group was gathered in front of the fire, the gentleman leaning against the heavy mantelpiece, the ladies giggling at the appropriate moments. The ladies were a whitewash of pastels and pearls, a charming display of innocence and purity, leaving Sarah feeling garish and completely overdone in her dark rose-colored gown.

  Mrs. Lambert was ensconced in the corner, Catherine close at hand. All the others in the room were strangers, but none seemed hostile, only curious. Introductions were made quickly, and Sarah found herself greeted by uncertain women and affable men. She nodded and smiled politely, the names passing by her in a fog, only aware of the way his arm brushed against
her side with delicious frequency. He seemed earnest, and truth be told, somewhat baffled by his duties, but handled them quite admirably. And if he forgot a name, or was not as suave as some of the more polished gentlemen, she could only like him more.

  “You’re looking very well this evening,” Haverwood said, speaking for her ears alone. She shivered, not at all cold.

  “A compliment, my lord, or merely an expression of surprise?”

  He led her to the sideboard and poured her a glass of wine from the crystal decanter. The reflection of the fire’s flames sparkled in the glass and he appeared to study them intently before replying. “A compliment, of course. What made you decide to attend this evening? I didn’t think you’d be here.”

  Alarmed, she raised her head, and looked at him carefully. He seemed so calm and gracious, yet still she did not trust his purpose. She had yet to ascertain exactly why he had invited her.If he had invited her. Mr. Giles was still quite suspect. Cautiously, she answered as narrowly as possible. “What made you think that? Your methods of invitation were most persuasive.”

  “I should not have been surprised, should I? I think I have underestimated your courage.” He cocked his head. “Which methods exactly were you most . . . persuaded by? I must remember them in the future.” A smile appeared quickly, nervously, and then was gone, a dimple flashing in his cheek.

  It was so easy to smile back at a man from whom such gestures did not come often. In his presence, she could believe that everything would be all right. “I’d never seen so many flowers in all my life. They were quite beautiful. Thank you.”

  He looked at her sharply. “So it was my flowers that swayed you?”

  Sarah took a cautious sip of wine, the sweet taste burning in her throat. “No.”

  “Then what?”

  Still she wasn’t certain of why he was so intent on his questions. This was not an idle conversation. Had he not been at her house after all? “You can’t guess?”

  “Miss Banks, I would never attempt to discern your reasons for anything. I’m sure I’d be proven wrong. I am very glad you’re here this evening, and it really doesn’t matter to me why you chose to appear.” Colin’s closed expression brooked no argument but since his answer was quite agreeable to her, Sarah searched for a new conversation topic.

  So badly she wanted to start anew. To trust him. He seemed uncomfortable, almost as skittish as she felt herself. But she had never seen him at ease. Even here, in his home.

  She studied their surroundings. This was where he lived. It was furnished in a simple manner, almost stark. If Sarah had not known it was his, she would have guessed. Tables and chairs were placed not for a decorative touch, but for their usefulness. In the far corner hung a large painting of a knight battling a dragon. The eyes of the beast were not the fierce, deadly ones that Sarah had seen so often. Instead, the dragon looked forlorn and alone, and somewhat sad. She sighed, feeling sorry for the beast. “You have a lovely home.”

  “Thank you. I like it—although many have told me it looks much too bare. It suits me, however. I don’t spend much time in the city and as such have little need for anything elaborate here.”

  She placed her glass on the sideboard; she would gulp the rest of the contents if he continued to look at her so. “You prefer the quiet of the country?” The house looked as if it were barely occupied.

  “Infinitely.” There was such heartfelt relief in his voice, she laughed.

  “I’ve never been to the country. It seems a wonderful way to escape.”

  “Yes, it is.” He stared at the wounded dragon on the wall, his gaze sad as well. “But sometimes it’s very lonely.”

  “Sometimes the city is lonely as well.”

  A long look of understanding passed between them, and she realized that even though they lived in different places, occupied different circles, the need to belong burned as strongly in him as it did in her.

  Something inside her that had been very cold turned warm and she sighed with pleasure. She didn’t want to think beyond this moment and she smiled up at him. “It was your visit.”

  “My visit?” He looked at her, confused.

  “Yes. You were curious why I decided to accept your invitation.”

  “Oh, yes. You’ve decided to tell me after all?”

  “When Mr. Giles appeared with the invitation, I was skeptical.”

  He glanced toward the corner where Mr. Giles was hovering near the other guests, attending to their needs. “You don’t trust him, do you?”

  She followed his look. “No.”

  “I don’t always trust him myself. Quite wise of you, Miss Banks.”

  She smiled at his approval. “Thank you.”

  He lifted his glass. “You must continue your reasoning.”

  “Oh, yes. When my maid informed me you had come to call, I first believed she was playing me for a mark. Iris knows better.”

  “A charming woman, your maid. What made you believe her after all?”

  “The accuracy of her description of you.”

  “I don’t want to hear this, do I?” He smiled crookedly.

  Her heart tripped and she felt it necessary to put him out of his misery. “Actually, she was quite complimentary of you—”

  He perked up immeasurably. “Perhaps I do want to hear it.”

  “—in a very truthful manner.”

  “I was better off in ignorance, wasn’t I?”

  Sarah laughed. “She said you were most succinct and not foppish at all. Quite your own man.”

  He stared at Mr. Giles across the room and muttered something under his breath. “Very perceptive, your Iris. Her character-reading abilities are quite accurate. It’s almost uncanny.”

  Her fingers drummed nervously on the sideboard. Gathering her courage, she asked the question that had bothered her since she held his card and invitation in her hands. “Lord Haverwood, why did you invite me?”

  The earl met her eyes and shook his head slowly. “I couldn’t give you one good reason.”

  As answers went, it was no answer at all and she sighed with frustration. However Sarah was not one to quit and so she stowed her anxious fingers behind her back, and stood her ground. “Are you trying to make a fool of me?”

  He shook his head quickly and his steady gaze warmed her. “I would never do that. You must believe me. I’d much rather be a laughingstock myself than to have you hurt.”

  “A noble sentiment from a man who has nothing to lose.”

  “No, only the truth from a man accustomed to lowly expectations.”

  She frowned, not understanding him. “You can’t be speaking of yourself.”

  “You know nothing of me, Miss Banks. You really don’t want to know me.”

  “Miss Banks? How lovely to see you.” Mrs. Lambert swooped upon them, an insistent hand on the earl’s arm. “Lord Haverwood, could I impart on you to assist Catherine? She is attempting to identify the artist who painted that lovely picture and can’t quite discern the signature.”

  Sarah wanted to pummel the woman. What had he meant? Now she was only more confused.

  The earl shot one last questioning look at Sarah, then went to attend to his guests, leaving her alone. With Mrs. Lambert.

  “Mrs. Lambert,” Sarah said as pleasantly as she could through gritted teeth. “You’re looking very well this evening.”

  “Miss Banks, you keep appearing.”

  “Rather like a bad shilling?” Sarah asked tightly.

  Mrs. Lambert fixed Sarah with a stare that was far from benign. “I’m not quite sure you’ve been truthful with me.”

  “Regarding what?”

  “Your situation with the earl.” At Sarah’s skeptical glance, she continued. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way he looks at you.”

  The way he looked at her. The thought of a gentleman’s perusal had never caused her such decadent pleasures before. She cleared her throat and attempted a reproachful expression. “I’m sure the earl looks at m
e in the same manner as he looks at anyone else,” she replied primly, wanting to squash the gossip and at the same time wanting to hear more about how the earl looked at her.

  Mrs. Lambert was in no mood to comply. “Don’t play me for an innocent.”

  Sarah threw up her hands. “All right, then. How does the earl look at me, Mrs. Lambert?”

  “I don’t want to see my daughter hurt. The earl is a fine match for her.”

  “Of course. Congratulations. You must be very proud.”

  “I ask you to consider Catherine’s reputation in this matter. If you choose to become the earl’s mistress after they’re married, that is your right, but I will not have her tarnished by your dealings with Haverwood.”

  Mistress?Mrs. Lambert looked serious, and no properly bred woman would make a joke about such matters. “Mistress? Is that what you believe? Is that what everyone believes?” She shouldn’t have been surprised, after all, she was the first that laid the tale of the wager about. But now it was no longer fun, no longer a matter for amusement. It sickened her and she laid a protective hand against her stomach. Is that what the earl believed? What he wanted? She swallowed quickly, tasting the remains of the wine in the back of her throat. She had been so embroiled in the world as she wanted it that she had overlooked what surely must be the most obvious assumption. For once, she was glad her father was not alive to see her mistakes. She had thought she had the upper hand, she had thought she was making a fool of the ton. Instead, the ton had been making a fool of her.

  “Surely you’re aware of the gossip surrounding the two of you?” Mrs. Lambert asked.

  “Yes, but gossip is not fact. It’s labeled ‘gossip’ for a reason, Mrs. Lambert.” Sarah responded more sharply than she intended, but Mrs. Lambert was not deterred.

  “You deny the stories.”

  Sarah scoffed. “Of course I deny them. They’re ridiculous.”

  “And yet here you are. Once again.” The woman’s voice was soft, reminding Sarah of what must look to be very foolish behavior.

  Her temper flared dangerously. Damn Haverwood for taking away her sense. “Perhaps I should leave. Is that what you’re asking?”