She pulled away, crossing her arms over her chest, as if to protect her traitorous heart. “Th-that would be a grave mistake, Mr. Travis. That would change everything.”
“Yes, Miss Hunt, it would,” he sighed, dropping his hands to his sides.
“If you r-really believe Mr. Whitlock will be occupied for the remainder of the night, I believe I shall be going.”
“Running away, Miss Hunt?” His voice had an angry edge she had not heard before.
“Rule Two,” she answered.
Chapter Six
The Hunter coach lurched as it turned the corner on Bedford Street and entered the queue for the Webster crush. Excited voices and the clatter of horses and carriages drifted to them on the soft spring breeze. Sarah reached for the door latch and smiled at her oldest brother.
“Shall we walk the rest of the way, Reggie? It seems so silly to wait our turn in the coach when the doorway is no more than half a block away.”
His gentle hand on her arm stayed her. “No, Sarah. I sent the others ahead because I wanted to talk to you.”
Sarah settled back against the cushions. This could not be good news. She smoothed her ivory satin gown and adjusted the pink ribbon beneath her breasts. She fastened her gaze to the posy of pink roses on the seat beside her, saying a silent prayer that Reggie had not found out about her nightly forays.
“Sarah, you must know that you are…of a critical age, and that there is not much time remaining before you are labeled a spinster. I have discussed your…situation with our brothers, and they concur with me. ’Tis time you wed. We cannot indulge further demurring. You must make a choice.”
She looked up at Reggie. He was sinfully handsome, as were all the men in her family. His brow was creased with genuine concern, and she realized the degree of thought her brothers had given her situation. That they could agree on anything was a minor miracle.
“Charles? Charles agreed to this ultimatum?” Charles was sober and serious, and the world rested upon his shoulders. But he had never indicated that he was anxious over her future. Surely he would support her?
“Yes,” Reginald confirmed. “He thinks you will need a push in the right direction since your only associations are within your bluestocking group. The Wednesday League, I believe?”
“But James would never—”
“James was the first to agree,” Reginald said. “None of us want to see you unhappy, and that is why you must make a choice.”
She shook her head in disbelief. The Hunter brothers were famous for their rows and, as one, they had come together to decide her future. They had reached agreement. She must wed.
Of course she wouldn’t, but she could not tell them why. Instead, she grasped at a familiar argument. “A choice, Reggie? Of whom? You must have noted my lack of suitors.”
“Indeed we have. A few discreet inquiries have yielded the answer to that troubling question. You, Sarah, have been turning men away at their first tenuous overtures. Some of them are unmarried still and would welcome a show of interest from you. James has made a list—”
Sarah gaped at this announcement. “What? Say you and my rogue brothers have not been drumming up interest in me! Oh, how could you humiliate me so! How could you market me like vegetable marrow or a ham hock? I must be the laughingstock of the season. Poor Lady Sarah. Her brothers must solicit suitors on her behalf. Is she so graceless that none will have her?”
“Hold up, Sarah. You know we would never compromise your reputation in such a way. Did I not say ‘discreet’? And we have suggested to the men in question that henceforth inquiries should be directed to me, not you.”
“If you are all so anxious for a wedding, Reggie, what say one of you marry? You are all older than I, and you, Reggie, have a duty to the family to produce an heir. Go to it, I say, and leave me be.”
“I will not rise to your bait, Sarah. Men are marriageable at any age. A woman has a certain…”
“Urgency? Whatever makes you think that, dear brother?”
“A woman has only a certain time to bear children, whilst men can father them at any age.”
“Yet more proof that God loves the female gender best,” she snapped. “Well, I want neither a husband nor children. And at this very moment, I do not even want brothers.” Her heart squeezed painfully with the lie.
True to his nature, Reginald took a deep breath and refused to be diverted. “What you want at the moment is of little consequence, Sarah. Women need the protection and guidance of a husband. You will thank us later. You are, after all, an innocent, sensible to the demands on a wife. Unfortunately, you have had the rather base example of your brothers, and no softening influence of a mother, to add to your fears. I could wish we had not teased you so unmercifully, and—”
“No, Reggie. I spoke amiss. You and the others have been my salvation,” she told him with a degree of sincerity impossible to fake. “I would have perished without you. It is by the love I bear you all that I can even tolerate the touch of a man. You are the example of all that is worthy in your sex.”
“Tolerate? Is that not a rather strong word, Sarah?”
“I only meant that, well, having only brothers has taken a bit of the mystique of men away. Truly, because of you, I do not fear men.” No, not men. It was intimacy she feared.
Reginald took her hand and squeezed it in gratitude. “Thank you, dearling. Still, my decision stands. You will choose a husband within the month, or I will choose one for you. Lord Cedric Broxton has long petitioned me, expressing an interest in you. It would please me to cement our friendship with a marriage.”
Cedric? She could not imagine being with Cedric, lying beneath him, receiving him into her body, bearing his children. The mere thought revulsed her. Clearly Reggie would have to know the truth before the month was out. But not now. Not tonight. And not here, when the door to their coach could be thrown open at any moment by a footman. Not when she would have to smile and greet friends and pretend that nothing was amiss.
Meanwhile, how could she prevent Reginald from making plans? “I do not think Lord Cedric and I are…suited.”
“He thinks so, but we shall leave that question for later, m’dear. For now, all you need know is that you should begin looking in earnest amongst the young men who curry your favor. I am amenable to you making your own choice, but choose you will, and soon, because if you do not, I shall choose for you.”
Her own choice? The face of Ethan Travis, Demon of Alsatia, rose to her mind. What would Reggie say to such a choice? That he was well beneath her station? That no good could come of it? Yes, but Ethan would surely be preferable to Lord Cedric Broxton, or any of the other useless self-involved dandies who sought her company. But the only favors Ethan curried were the sort one could purchase. That would shock Reggie to the core.
Oh, drat! She had to talk to Annica at once. Nica was the only one she could trust to understand these strange thoughts and feelings she’d been having—confusing Ethan Travis with some ideal of manhood, thinking of him every time romance or marriage was mentioned. She knew she could not—would not—marry, so why would these thoughts even enter her head?
She was saved the necessity of a reply to Reggie by the arrival of a footman to open the door of their coach at the steps of the Websters’ manor. He let go of her hand and gave her the posy of pink roses.
She and Reggie were soon separated by the crush of the crowd, and she waved to him before being swept up the steps and through the door. She wanted to find Annica and the others to report the results of her first “following” lesson and discover if they had any leads on the children’s whereabouts from Mr. Renquist.
Before she could locate her friends, Lord Cedric seized her hand and pulled her toward the punch bowl, his eyes bright with pleasure. The suspicion entered her mind that he had been waiting for her. How clever of Reggie and Cedric. Catch her whilst his admonition was still fresh in her mind. Was it a conspiracy?
“Lady Sarah, I vow I am pleased t
o see you tonight. I have missed you at the late routs the past several nights. And did you not have a voucher for Almack’s last night?”
“Last night?” She frowned, trying to recall what had been on her social calendar. “Was that last night, Lord Cedric?”
“It was, indeed. I intended to claim a dance. I was devastated that you did not come. But there will be other nights, Lady Sarah, and other balls,” Cedric continued. “I am certain I will collect my share of dances.”
Was there something veiled in that phrase, Sarah wondered, or was she simply being overly imaginative?
Cedric paused in the process of ladling her a cup of punch, a speculative gleam in his deep blue eyes. “May I look forward to a waltz tonight, Lady Sarah?”
She had the vague feeling that she had been rather neatly maneuvered. Deny, and she would look rude and inconsiderate. Accept, and she would have stepped willingly into Lord Cedric and Reggie’s tender trap. Though she saw the trap, she could see no way out without being rude. “I believe I can make room for you in my evening, Lord Cedric. I am to meet my friends, and then go on to another rout, but there will be time. Perhaps in half an hour?”
He took her arm as she began to turn away. “I hear the orchestra now, Lady Sarah. If you are not committed—”
The touch caught her by surprise and triggered a panic reaction. She whirled on him and stepped back, effectively disengaging his hold. “I am committed, Lord Cedric. Did I not tell you I must find my friends?” The look of hurt surprise in his clear blue eyes made her feel churlish.
What, she wondered, was wrong with her that she could not warm to the man? He was deemed a stellar “catch” for any young woman. He was handsome, had an engaging smile, impeccable manners, an excellent family name and wealth to match. Given all that, she could understand why Reggie would want to promote him. Perhaps she should be a little gentler with the man.
“Give me half an hour, Lord Cedric. I could devote my full attention then.”
Lord Cedric proffered the punch cup again. “I am more than content with that,” he said. “For now.”
Sarah’s smile locked in place. She accepted the cup and her hand brushed Lord Cedric’s. His touch was cool and smooth in contrast to the warm roughness of Ethan Travis’s. She recoiled from the contact, not liking the sensation, and put the cup down again.
Speechless at her reaction, Lord Cedric stared at her.
She held her posy in one hand and gave him a listless wave with her other. “Ta-ta, Lord Cedric. Keep well, won’t you?”
She pressed through the crowd in the direction she had glimpsed Annica a few moments before. She needed to talk to someone who knew her and knew her history. Nica would know what she should do about Mr. Travis. She had been through something similar with Auberville.
Oh, Lord! She could even smell him—that clean scent of lime and soap! What was wrong with her? She must be losing her mind!
She was jostled by the crowd and a firm hand from behind cupped her elbow to steady her. Warm breath fanned her ear and a deep voice rasped a hushed demand. “Meet me in the garden in a quarter of an hour.”
She did not need to turn. Dizzy with shock, she gave a single nod.
When he’d first seen Sadie Hunt in the crush of the crowd, Ethan had been amazed. She looked like an angel, all pink and white. She seemed so at ease in the surroundings—more so than he—that he wondered if it could really be her. After all, he’d never seen her in a dress before, or in the light of a thousand candles. But of course it was. He could never mistake the burnished shade of her hair, the lush, inviting cupid’s bow mouth, the fan of long black lashes against her cheek and the slender, supple line of her figure. Oh yes, it was Sadie. No one else could have stirred him so instantly and completely.
But what could the little troublemaker be doing at an event hosted by a high-ranking member of the ton? Which trade was she plying tonight? Who was her target?
Now she could present an even greater threat to his plans. He must make her understand that she could not expose either of them by invading the world of the ton.
To her credit, she did not falter, turn, speak or betray his demand that she meet him in the garden as she passed him by. She continued on her way until she intercepted Reginald Hunter, Lord Lockwood. Ethan was too far away to hear what was said between them, but Lockwood shook his head and held up one hand, palm outward in denial. He gave her a pat on her shoulder and watched as she walked away, his affection easy to see.
That surprised Ethan. Lockwood, although a bit of a rake, was not known as a womanizer. Did he avoid scandal by availing himself of courtesans? High-priced, discriminating courtesans? Was that Sadie’s game?
Once again he felt anger burn in the pit of his stomach. He had bloody well get over his unwarranted possessiveness where Sadie Hunt was concerned unless he was willing to accept the full consequences of it. That thought brought him up short.
He conjured an image of Sadie, curled up in his bed, the glorious chestnut locks in stark contrast against his bed linens, waiting for his return at night. Her doe eyes, as deep a plum as pansies, opening to greet him, burning with desire. The soft scented flesh as it lay bare to his gaze. The luscious lips, swollen and wet from his kisses, or parted in the throes of orgasm. Those black lashes lying against cheeks flushed with the afterglow of lovemaking. If he bought her—made her his mistress…
He swallowed hard, suppressing the image. He glanced at the faces around him to see if anyone had noted his utter distraction. No. He was safe from that embarrassment. He downed two cups of rum punch in rapid succession and made his way through the French doors to the gardens.
He found a spot protected by a boxwood hedge. The warmth of the rum seeped through his veins and calmed his thoughts enough to wonder if he’d ever know a moment’s peace again if he took on the task of saving Sadie.
“Psst! Mr. Travis.” Her whispered voice carried to him from the other side of the hedge.
He slipped around the side of the hedge and seized her arm, dragging her back with him. She did not resist when he pulled her against his chest and cupped the back of her head with one hand. “Sadie,” he whispered. His voice sounded harsh to his ears and he softened his plea. “Sadie…”
Her eyes were enormous as he lowered his mouth to hers and claimed it. No sweet, teasing kiss this time, but a kiss fully realized. No tentative brushing of lips, but deep and demanding more. No barely parted lips, but an open, hungry quest.
After her initial surprise, she melted into him, lifting her arms to wrap around his neck. She was oddly, innocently, unpracticed, as if such a thing was new to her. And that aroused him even more. He wanted her here and now!
Hands shaking with the effort, he held her away from him, and took in a long, shattering breath. “Sadie, what are you doing here?”
She blinked and dropped her arms. “I…I might ask you the same, Mr. Travis,” she murmured at last.
“Rule Two,” he grinned.
She returned his smile. “We are not engaged in following now, sir. Do the rules apply?”
“Are you engaged in your other occupation tonight?”
She glanced away. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. Are you going to give me away?”
He shook his head. “Never think it, Sadie. Need I say that I expect the same courtesy from you?”
“No, you needn’t. And shall I assume that you are here in your other occupation? Hmm. Demon of Alsatia. I wonder what business such a person could have in Lord Webster’s ballroom?”
“Too much curiosity is not a good thing, Miss Hunt.”
“I shall try to remember that, Mr. Travis,” she said as she took another backward step. “You do the same.”
A small tug on her hand landed her back in his arms. “I have not seen you like this before, Sadie. I swear, you seduce my senses. Gone is the little guttersnipe, and in its place is a swan. You are sleek and elegant and self-assured and—” he smiled as a tendril slipped its pink satin cord to c
url at her temple “—the more disheveled you become, the more I want to ravish you.”
“You tease me, sir,” she sighed.
“Not in the least. I still want to know, Sadie. How much? Not for an hour. Nor for a night. How much to be my mistress? How much to keep yourself for me alone?”
Her eyes widened and she turned away from him. “There is not enough to buy me, Mr. Travis. I cannot become a man’s property. I fear being trapped and powerless more than anything else in this world.”
Ethan knew better than to reassure her. His words would ring false, and there was no reasoning with fear. He appealed to her instead with logic. “Is it better to mete out your time in tiny increments to avoid commitment? Would you rather sell yourself by the minute or hour? Think, Sadie. One man instead of many. A certain financial security?”
Tears filled her eyes and she pulled away from him, just as she had pulled away from Cedric Broxton. “I must not lose myself, Mr. Travis. I cannot give myself up to a man. I cannot…surrender.”
Ethan dropped his hands to his side. He had never come so close to begging in his entire life. Nor would he again. Of course, she would not want him. Of course, she would not want to depend upon a man who had the reputation of being ruthless and dangerous. She’d be a fool to trust him. And whatever else Sadie Hunt was, she was not a fool.
Still there was someone who was an even greater threat to Sadie. “Stay clear of Broxton, Miss Hunt. He is not to be trusted.”
Ethan had never liked the man, never trusted him. Broxton had been one of the men who had led the gossip accusing Ethan of treason after the bombardment of Algiers. He’d also seen how Broxton’s easy charm could turn to lethal rage in the space of a second. He’d watched Broxton in the heat of battle. The man was an ice-cold killer, preferring slaughter to taking prisoners. They’d had more than one fight over it. Add to that his conduct in a brothel, and Ethan’s blood ran cold. Even Kilgrew, their commander, had not been able to stop his nephew. But not Sadie. Pray not Sadie.
Saving Sarah Page 7
