Touched by Fire

by Kathleen O'Reilly

  Sarah nearly stamped her foot. Couldn’t the comtesse see? “But what if it’s true? He was protecting me, Juliette.Me. ”

  The comtesse shrugged and glanced away. “Perhaps the man wants you as hischère amie. ”

  There it was. That dark, niggling bit of doubt that had begun to follow her. Everyone was convinced the man wanted her for his mistress. Doubtless, some believed she already was. His mistress, though? To be in his company, his life, his arms. For a moment, she let the dangerous feelings burn through her. And just as quickly she rejected them. She would not be closeted away; she could be just as honorable and good as he. “I’m going to talk to him. If there’s a chance, I have to take it. Don’t you see?”

  “You think you’re in love with the man,” the comtesse said with high-handed arrogance.

  The tone stung, making Sarah feel as if she were a child. “Maybe I am.” She had loved the man in her dreams for six long years. No one else would ever do. And now she had found him.

  “No, that is desire. Never confuse one with the other. Until you know a man’s heart, or know a man’s head, you cannot love him.”

  “What do you know of love?” Sarah responded angrily, and she wanted to retract the words as soon as they were uttered. The comtesse was only telling her what she believed was true. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me. But I must try. I can win, I know I can.”

  Defeated, Juliette waved her hand. “Go,chérie. Play the fool. You need your answers, you want what you cannot have. Let me know when you have had enough of this folly. I’ll be ready to leave.”

  Suddenly feeling very alone and very cold, Sarah crossed her arms, warming herself. “You really believe he wants me only for his mistress?”

  “Non.”The comtesse shrugged. “Perhaps.” She tilted her head, and studied Sarah without judgment. “What would your answer be?”

  “I’ll be no man’s paramour.” She watched as the doors were opened and the gentlemen entered the room. The earl appeared, so handsome that her heart broke. “Not even his.”

  Colin entered the drawing room and followed the others toward the fireplace, pretending to listen to their senseless prattling. Sarah was watching him from across the room, twisting her hands. He bit his lip, trying to follow the conversation as Mackenzie regaled others with his tales from the war.

  Slowly she made her way to his side. Each step she took, his anxiety increased. Why was she doing this? Couldn’t she see what he was?

  “Lord Haverwood, may I speak to you, please?”

  He forced a polite smile on his face, which he feared would appear like a pained grimace. “Of course.”

  “Perhaps you can lead me to my coat? It’s far too late, and we need to leave.”

  Colin sighed with relief, even while he wondered when he would see her again. “Of course.” He followed her to the foyer, watching the swing in her hips with the most dissolute lust raging in his heart.

  “Lord Haverwood?” Without warning, she stopped, and he nearly ran into her.

  “Yes?”

  When she turned to face him, her gray eyes were pure steel. “May I ask you a rather indelicate question?”

  He yanked at his cravat, feeling the noose tighten around him. She knew exactly what libertine thoughts were conspiring in the rotting blackness of his head. “Of course.”

  “There has been talk—questions—about my presence this evening.” A light flush colored her cheeks, and he locked his hands behind his back. He needed them safely away from her.

  “Has someone said something to you? Insulted you in some way? I could speak to them on your behalf if you’d like. I’ll not have a guest insulted.” Such a pretty speech; he almost sounded virtuous and brave.

  She smiled at first, and then, like a wilted rose, her smile drooped precariously. “You assume the role of a protector very well.”

  Colin looked at her, confused. “I don’t understand.”

  Her eyes focused on him squarely, as if they missed nothing. “Lord Haverwood, I’m going to speak very frankly so there is no misunderstanding. I don’t know why I’m here. Your flowers, your invitation—perhaps I have misunderstood your intentions.”

  His intentions? A pure wave of fear swept through him, and he found himself unable to meet her direct gaze any longer. His intentions toward her were the worst imaginable. His fingers wanted to rip at her clothes, find the smooth skin underneath, his sex wanted to drive inside her until he found satisfaction or sanity. “What are you saying?”

  “Your guests seem to believe there is a certain—arrangement between us.”

  He looked beyond her, noticed the elaborate wallpaper, wondered if it was new. “Arrangement?” Surprisingly enough, his voice sounded normal, calm. Inside him, the razor-sharp tail of a wyvern had just ripped his belly apart.

  Sarah slapped her hand against the wall, blocking his gaze, and thoughts of the wyvern disappeared. “Are you so blind that you overlooked the knowing leers and the eternal tittering? I will not have my reputation damaged any further, my lord.”

  He rubbed his eyes, his head pounding. “That was never my intent.”

  “What exactly is your intent?” She stood before him, breathing fire, her eyes spitting flames. “In one instant, you barely speak to me, yet in another you act as if you want me for. . .” She stopped. The hall became eerily quiet, his breathing loud and labored in the silence.

  He wanted to know, oddly enough. Wanted to know what she thought. “Want you for what?” he asked, almost a whisper, afraid of her answer, yet aching to know.

  She shook her head angrily, a few tendrils of red hair escaping. Temptation warred within him. “Can you not see what they are saying? That you want me for your mistress? Is that it?”

  Something lodged in his throat. He found himself unable to breathe. Finally, he swallowed, the exquisite notion bringing more images to his head than his dreams ever allowed. “My mistress? Dear God, no. Is that what you really believe?”

  “I don’t know what to believe. You send me flowers, you invite me here and look at me as if . . .”

  He gathered his courage, and his eyes locked with hers. He kept his voice flat, expressionless. “As if what?”

  It took only a moment. Her feelings were transparent on her face, her eyes shocked, humiliated. “They’re wrong, aren’t they? I’m wrong, aren’t I?”

  He made no move to touch her, every bit of him frozen with fear. “Wrong about what?”

  Her face was suffused with color, and her mouth worked as she struggled with her words. “That’s not it, is it? You don’t want me, do you?”

  You don’t want me, do you?Every inch of his sex, every thought in his head bespoke of the insanity that he felt when he was near her. If he didn’t know the dragon lived inside him, he would be on his knees begging her. And she thought he didn’t want her?

  “I do,” he said instantly, and then just as quickly realized what he’d just uttered. “No.”

  The color left her cheeks, the life left her eyes. “I’ll leave now.” She looked about the foyer. “I just need to find the comtesse.” She blinked quickly, one small tear sliding down her face, and she scrubbed it away furiously. “I’m sorry. Could you tell her that I’ll be waiting outside? Fresh air and all that.”

  “Sarah . . .” He stopped. What in God’s name could he say to her now? Better that she should hate him. The wyvern ripped through his belly once more.

  She walked quickly down the walk, her cloak forgotten. Colin felt like the worst sort of bastard. He had tried so hard to do the right thing, to be the DragonSlayer. To keep her safe. And yet when she had stood before him, crying, for God’s sake, he had wanted to comfort her. Pull her into his arms, arms that had killed countless men. Hold her against his cursed hulking body, wiping her tears away and all the while thinking of driving inside her until he went mad once more.

  There was only one thing he could do.

  “Giles!”

  “Sir?” The man appeared, a broken gl
ass in his hand.

  “Get Miss Banks her cloak.”

  Giles looked about the empty foyer. “Where is Miss Banks, sir? What have you done with her?”

  Colin pointed to the front entrance, and Giles sniffed.

  The butler disappeared and returned with her cloak in hand and gave it to Colin. “Here, sir. I don’t know why the young woman is standing outside in the cold, alone, but I’m sure you’re responsible.”

  Colin handed it back. “Take this to her. I can’t speak with her, Giles. I’ll only make things worse.”

  “That’s impossible, sir. I must go and lambaste the waiters. Lazy lot of them. All the best, sir.” The butler thrust the coat in Colin’s arms, and left.

  Colin stared at the dark weave of her cloak, rubbed the woolen fabric with his careless hands, and heard Giles’s footsteps echo down the empty hallway.

  He was alone now. All he needed to do was to give her the cloak, send the comtesse outside, and then return to his guests. Surely that was easy. He had done nothing right this evening and she would freeze outside if he didn’t go out there quickly.

  What kind of gentleman was he? He was supposed to be a DragonSlayer, for God’s sake. He just needed to go forward, put the cloak on her shoulders—no, that would involve touching her and he did not feel comfortable with that idea. He would hand her the cloak. He didn’t need to look at her. He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t see the dragon’s gaze luring him into perdition. Why couldn’t he be normal?

  He looked down at his feet, wondering why they were not moving. This would never do. She was freezing out there, braced against the iron fencework that surrounded the grounds, a slim figure barely visible in the dark fog.

  He swallowed and wanted to run. No. He took one resolute step forward. There. That wasn’t so difficult. Now another. Yes. Just so. He smiled. Simple, actually.

  Her carriage turned the corner and slowed as it approached the walk. She was partway in the street when the crack of a whip sounded in the fog. He looked sharply at her carriage, saw the cloaked figure spurring the horses, her vehicle speeding toward her.

  The driver was a fool; his horses would never stop in time. Colin began to run, but then the man urged his horses faster, and Colin realized the man’s actions were deliberate.

  Sarah stared at her driver for much too long, and then began to run back toward the safety of the house, away from the street, but her skirts hampered her progress and she fell. Colin called out to her, saw her frightened gaze, her face ghostly white in the dim moonlight.

  He had to get to her. Quickly. The man’s whip cracked through the night air, and Colin heard the man’s voice. Heard him urge his horses faster. Sarah got to her knees, struggling to rise.

  There was no time left. He reached out as far as he could and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him with all his strength. She fell against his chest, and he heard her sharp intake of breath, and together they crashed to the ground, rolling in the muck and mire, the merciless wheels rolling past, the driver’s curses fading into the night.

  Chapter Eight

  Colin closed his eyes, rested his forehead on hers, and waited until his heart began to beat once more. “You aren’t hurt, are you?” His hands moved over her quickly, searching, but thankfully she seemed fine.

  “No,” she answered, and he felt her breath, soft and gentle against his cheek. Oh, God. Sarah shifted beneath him and he bit back a groan.

  She struggled to get up from the puddle of mire they had landed in, and his arms tightened instinctively, longing to maintain their position, her soft breasts against his chest, the warmth of her hips cradling his thigh. He had imagined this for so many nights and his dreams had never been so magnificent.

  “Lord Haverwood,” she whispered, “get off me. I’d like to survive this evening with some small bit of my reputation preserved.” Her eyes focused pointedly on a spot somewhere above him.

  His guests.

  He bit his lip, hard, very hard, and raised his head. A knot of eyes peered at them curiously, a tight ring of ladies and gents staring at them in embarrassed silence.

  Bloody hell.

  After one long, draining breath, he rolled off her and rose, extending his hand. “I’m sorry about the mess.” She took his outstretched hand and climbed to her feet, brushing at her dress. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, bits of mud clinging to her auburn hair. If anything, he wanted her more.

  The comtesse came to her, brushing her clothes, and Colin handed the woman Sarah’s cloak. Sarah grabbed the cursed object and wrapped it tightly around her, her chin tilted toward the sky. “Good evening, Lord Haverwood. The evening has been one that I won’t soon forget.”

  She sniffed and turned, ready to depart.

  And there was no carriage.

  For a time, she stood stiff and straight, as if considering walking back to her home, but then her shoulders sagged and she turned back around, lost.

  He could not have that; she did not wear defeat well. There was no mutinous sparkle in her eye. There was no spirited blush in her cheeks. “Giles, bring round the carriage.” He looked at her, wishing he could do more. “My man, Etiénne D’Albon, will drive you home.” The Frenchman made his way through the ring of onlookers and Colin took him aside. “Take her home, make sure she gets there safely. I’ll speak to you tomorrow after I’ve been to the Horse Guards.”

  The Frenchman smiled his effervescent smile. “My pleasure.”

  That smug smile was an invitation for trouble. Colin had seen it often enough. “Etiénne. Stay away from her.”

  Etiénne clapped a dramatic hand over his heart. “Haverwood, you wound me. You think that I would seduce your woman.”

  “She’s not my woman.”

  Etiénne lifted his brows. “Then I can?”

  “No!”

  The smug smile returned. “Ah, it is good to see you confused,mon ami . Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Just make sure she’s safe.”

  The carriage arrived, Sarah and the comtesse climbed inside, and Etiénne seated himself next to the driver. They drove off, leaving a mud-shrouded Colin alone with his guests.

  Goddamn.

  No matter which way Sarah adjusted herself, the mud was cold, and she thought perhaps she smelled of something particularly foul. A fitting finale for a truly humiliating evening.

  Juliette handed her a blanket, her eyes dark with pity.

  “You don’t have to look at me so,” Sarah said, wrapping the coarse wool around her tightly, but the heavy cloth did nothing to ease her pain. If only her father were here. To wrap her in his arms, laugh with his booming voice until she could not help but laugh as well. To tell her what to do. To tell her how to win.“A Banks must always win, Sarah mine. There’s not a loser among us. Never has been, never will.”

  “I’m sorry,chérie. ”

  The sad tone was Sarah’s undoing. As if she had lost, for God’s sake. She was a Banks and she must never forget that. “I don’t need your pity,” she replied, sounding quite snippy even to her own ears.

  “He is no good for you. You deserve a fine man. One with courage and integrity. The earl, bah, he has none.”

  The earl was not a coward. He might have many foibles, but he was certainly not that, and the possibility that her protector, her knight in shining armor was nothing more than an illusion caused her to bristle most unbecomingly. “He defended me to that barracuda at Westover’s ball. Considering the tale Catherine told, he has more courage than good sense. His reputation could have been severely damaged with such derring-do. All on my account.” A small sigh escaped from her, and a bit of warmth seeped through her bones into her heart.

  “Even after this,” Juliette spread her hands wide, “you defend him? Do not believe the gossip. That man with such a pronounced code of honor left you alone to fend for yourself among those wolves. Courage?Non, non. ”

  For the nonce, Sarah forgot the moments when he denied her. Later she could remember th
at and dwell on it, determine what he was about. Now, smelling like a piggery and shaking with cold, she could bask in the knowledge that he had defended her, not once, but twice. “He is the bravest man I know,” she sniffed.

  Juliette sighed. “You know few men,chérie. ”

  “You think I should forget him? Put him out of my mind? A man whom I have yearned for for years?”

  “Yes,” Juliette answered bluntly.

  “But he is my fate.” He wanted her. A dark thrill of pleasure shot through her.

  “Fate? You sound like your father. The earl treated you as a common trollop this evening. If your eyes were not so filled with stars, you could see that he is no good.”

  “I see things very well.”

  “Yes, usually you do not overlook human failings, or character flaws, but tonight—I have never seen you act like such a naive young girl.”

  Sarah felt the sting of truth, but pushed it away handily. “Why do you say that?”

  “You cannot win this man, Sarah. Walk away.”

  “I can win his heart, but it will take perseverance. He is a complex man, harder to discover his habitude or his vulnerabilities.” Already her spirits began to improve. If she could determine exactly what is was that he wanted from Miss Lambert, then of course she could succeed.

  “This is no game. You will get hurt.”

  Sarah laughed with ill humor. “Do you think I’m not hurt already? How can it hurt any worse?”

  The comtesse looked to the heavens. “You will chase after him like a Petticoat Lane doxy? Where is your pride?”

  Sarah flung a lank strand of hair out of her eyes. “My pride? I’m sitting here cold and covered with mud and something else I don’t even want to know about. Sixteen members of society saw me fall into a puddle, saw the earl escort Catherine Lambert to dinner, saw how he ignored me for most of the evening. Whatever pride I had before this evening has certainly gone missing.”