It warmed her heart to see the slightly muddled expression on the man’s face. He was socially astute enough to realize he had said something wrong, though he was not entirely certain what.
Annica took a deep breath. “Mr. Whitlock, will you permit me to steal your wife for a few moments? She has admired my maid’s fine handwork, and I have promised to introduce them. We should be no longer than half an hour.”
“Half an hour? Should you be gone from your guests so long, Lady Auberville?” he queried in a petulant tone.
She took Gladys Whitlock by the arm and laughed. “Oh, Mr. Whitlock. I shall not be gone. Once I have introduced her to Mary, I shall excuse myself so that Mary may teach Mrs. Whitlock a fancy lingerie stitch. Unless—would you like to join us, Mr. Whitlock? Are you handy with a needle?”
Sarah held her breath. Annica was taking Gladys to see Araminta. If Mr. Whitlock accepted the invitation—
“Oh, I—I th-think I shall just…” Whitlock stammered. “Yes, I shall claim my dance with Lady Sarah.”
Auberville coughed to cover a laugh. “You go on, my dear,” he said to Annica. “I shall greet the guests until you return.”
With that, Annica led Mrs. Whitlock away in the direction of the staircase, chatting in low, casual tones. Sarah was nearly giddy with the knowledge that mother and daughter would be reunited in a matter of minutes. She prayed for a reel so she would not have to suffer Mr. Whitlock’s hand on her waist.
The strains of a waltz began and Sarah wondered if she was going to have rotten luck all night. First Ethan, and now the waltz. She glanced toward Reggie and James for reassurance, but they were engaged in conversation with Cedric Broxton.
“You are nervous, Lady Sarah,” Whitlock said as he took her hand and led her into the ballroom. “Have you waltzed before?”
He was so deucedly condescending! “Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of times. Why would you think I am nervous?”
He pulled her into the steps, his hand biting into her waist to indicate each turn. “I am mistaken, my lady. But I think I am not mistaken that we have met before.”
Sarah swallowed hard. “I am certain we have not.”
“I know your face. Perhaps we have bumped into one another at another soiree?”
Had she not been as stealthy as she thought? Was there something familiar to him in her shape or bearing? Was there the remotest chance that he would unravel it?
“Hmm. No. I think I would recall such a thing. When Lady Annica and I dropped by for tea last week, Mrs. Whitlock pointed to your portrait in the parlor. I distinctly remember commenting that you looked very distinguished. I assure you, I would have recognized you on sight from that moment forward, sir.”
Her answer flattered him, and he preened. “I would not look so high for recognition, Lady Sarah.”
“Nonsense,” she said. Here was an opportunity too good to waste. “I have not seen you at these affairs before. I wonder why our paths have not crossed erenow?”
“Oh, ah, perhaps we have been at the same affairs, but were not introduced.”
“Perhaps. What affairs do you attend of an evening?”
“I am here and there, Lady Sarah. ’Tis difficult to remember day to day.”
She shrugged at his vague explanation. “And what do you do during the day, sir? Are you a member of parliament?”
“I am assigned to the Foreign Office.”
“How fascinating,” she said, just as if she hadn’t known it. “That must be very interesting. I collect you must be a very important man, Mr. Whitlock. Not just anyone is qualified for that sort of work, are they?”
“No, indeed. Why, we are privy to information that could bring down entire governments.”
There was a frightening thought! But how could she encourage him to discuss his nightly activities? Was there any way to induce him to share his rounds of opium dens, brothels and, more important, the place where he had hidden Benjamin?
The dance ended and she was still in midcurtsy when a hand cupped her elbow and a voice spoke from over her shoulder.
“Lady Sarah,” Cedric Broxton said above the murmur of conversation. “Your brother tells me you have not reserved the next dance. Would you honor me?”
“Oh! But of course, Lord Cedric,” she answered, glad of the opportunity to gather her wits and plan a strategy for questioning Harold Whitlock. Only then did it occur to her that she’d been rude. “Mr. Whitlock, have you met Lord Broxton?”
“Er, yes,” Cedric said. “Good to see you again, Whitlock.”
“And you, my lord,” Whitlock bowed.
Sarah caught a hint of something veiled in the greeting, but neither of them seemed inclined to comment further. Again, the social niceties fell to her. “I shall look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Whitlock. Please tell your wife that I will see her Thursday next at the Ladies’ Assistance League meeting.”
He bowed and turned toward the buffet. Annica appeared to intercept him, sacrificing herself to keep him occupied and prevent him from going in search of his wife.
Cedric looked mildly annoyed. “Where have you met the likes of Harold Whitlock?”
“Here, Lord Cedric. Nica introduced us a moment ago. We know his wife from the Ladies’ Assistance League.”
“I doubt the Whitlocks are the sort Reggie would want you associating with.”
How had he managed to annoy her so thoroughly and so quickly? “Then Reggie may tell me so.” She snagged a glass of wine from the tray of a passing footman, taking a quick swallow before setting it down on a side table.
He gave her a surprised look. “Have a care, Lady Sarah. That is not very ladylike.”
“Perhaps not, but I need the fortification,” she said.
“Come, now. I am not so bad a dancer as that,” he laughed.
Sarah smiled. It was easy to see why Cedric was so popular when he forgot to be pompous. “Of course not. ’Tis just that it promises to be a long evening, and I am tired already.”
“Would you like to sit this dance out, Lady Sarah?”
“Never! As long as I am dancing, I will not fall asleep.”
“Then I am glad to be of service.” Cedric grinned and offered his arm and led her to the dance floor.
This time the dance was a lively reel, and she did not have to keep up a conversation—just smile each time they met or bowed. The dance ended, and the orchestra took an intermission. Cedric led her toward the sidelines. “I must say that you are looking stunning tonight, my dear. That purplish color becomes you and makes you look quite exotic. Almost…almost sultry,” he murmured thoughtfully. He turned to face her and took her other hand in his. “You quite take my breath away.”
When she tried to free one hand, Cedric looked wounded. “Have I made you uncomfortable, my dear? ’Twas not my intent.”
“I collect that you have paid me a great compliment, my lord, but I did not mean to draw attention to myself. I do not like to feel that people are watching me.”
“It does you credit that you do not recognize how your beauty has made you the North Star to many a compass. I have been meaning to have a talk with you. Shall we adjourn to the gardens, or would you prefer to find a private spot?”
Panic lapped at the edges of Sarah’s reason. She never walked in gardens with men after dark! Not since…Vauxhall. “N-no,” she said, glancing toward the French doors.
Cedric smiled. “Auberville’s library is likely vacant. We can be private there.” His fingers tightened around her hand.
There was something unbearably intimate in his touch and Sarah resisted. “I have forgot myself, Lord Cedric. I promised Lady Annica I would help her with introductions as I know most of her guests. Later, perhaps.”
His voice was a low plea. “I cannot keep trying to catch you between dances, Sarah, or to find you at home. We have matters to settle, and I would see it done tonight.” In a mercurial change of strategy, he flashed her his best boyish grin. “Come. ’Twill not be too painful. If I do it rig
ht, you are certain to enjoy it.” He reached for her hand again.
If she continued to resist they would draw attention. Reggie would not like that. Reggie did not like anything that hinted at a scene. She was trapped!
A burst of male laughter gave her the excuse she needed to delay. She turned around to find the source of the merriment and saw Lord Auberville standing with a group of men, Ethan among them, tossing down the contents of their glasses. Evidently Auberville had made some risqué toast.
She caught Auberville’s attention and sent him a silent plea. He disengaged himself from the circle of men with a few pats on the back and came toward them.
“Ah, Broxton. Here you have claimed the notice of the uncontested beauty of the ball. You will have to share. At least three young bucks have begged introductions. I am afraid I must claim her to do the honors.”
“This is not a good time, Auberville.”
“’Twill have to be,” he insisted.
The two men faced each other, neither giving over the contest of wills. Sarah inched closer to Tristan, making her choice subtly clear.
Cedric stepped forward again, reaching to take her hand, a look of grim determination hardening his boyish features. There was going to be an unpleasant confrontation.
“I see you have finally caught her attention, Auberville,” a familiar voice came from behind them.
“Lady Sarah, here is someone I would like you to meet,” Lord Auberville said.
Her heart sank and her stomach twisted in a knot. Ethan. She was about to be exposed right there in Auberville’s ballroom. Reggie’s disappointment, Cedric’s shock, Auberville’s scorn, all loomed on the horizon. Life, as she knew it, was over. She composed herself and turned to face her Waterloo.
“Have a care, Auberville,” Cedric said. “There are some scoundrels a lady should not have acquaintance with.”
“I quite agree,” Auberville said. “But I gather Hunter has already introduced you.”
The barb took a moment to find its mark. When it finally registered, Cedric released her and lowered his voice to a deadly growl. “Hunter will hear about this.”
Sarah watched in dismay as Cedric stormed away. She took one deep breath and turned back to her rescuers, straightening the little puff sleeve of her gown while she composed herself.
Auberville’s voice gentled as he said, “Lady Sarah Hunter, may I present Lord Ethan Travis?”
Her head snapped up to meet Ethan’s eyes. “Lord? Lord Ethan Travis?”
“Merely a courtesy title, Lady Sarah,” he said smoothly. “My older brother is the heir to the Linsday lands and title.”
Sarah frowned. So that was his connection to Lord Linsday and the lovely Amelia! Linsday was his brother, and Amelia was his sister-in-law. And they had…waltzed. “V-very nice to meet you, Lord Ethan,” she said and offered her hand.
He accepted, lifting it to his lips. “My pleasure,” he murmured into her palm. “Believe me.”
It occurred to Sarah that Ethan had not been in the least surprised by her title. She glanced sideways at Auberville to see if he understood the implications of their exchange. If he did, he was not inclined to mention it.
“Will you excuse me,” he asked with a crooked grin. “I see Annica is embroiled in conversation with Lord North. I should extricate her before she says something unforgivably honest.”
“Of course,” Ethan nodded. “I shall escort Lady Sarah to the punch bowl.”
Auberville halted and turned back with another smile. “It is good to see you back in society, Ethan.”
“Yes, Ethan,” Sarah mocked in a whisper as they strolled toward the long sideboard that held hors d’oeuvres and a bubbling citrus punch over sliced fruit. “So good to see you back. And how long have you been gone from society, prithee?”
His low laugh sent a little thrill up her spine. “A few years. Since before I…went abroad.”
“You knew,” she accused in an undertone. “How long have you known? What game were you playing?”
“Hold up, Sadie Hunt. Think before you speak. Who was playing with whom?”
“You—”
“I? No, Lady Sarah. I have not deceived you in anything important. I have never pretended to be other than I am.”
“The Demon of Alsatia?” she scoffed. “I thought you were some disreputable merchant eking out a living in stolen goods.”
“Precisely.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “But you knew who I was and did not tell me.”
“I thought I was being a gentleman by allowing you your little subterfuge. If you choose to be an adventuress, who am I to say you nay?”
“When did you find out?”
“I followed you home after you were hit over the head.”
Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “All this time…you’ve been toying with me. I thought—”
“What did you think?”
I thought you liked me. I thought you enjoyed my company. “I thought you wanted to help me.”
He held a crystal cup beneath the punch waterfall and offered it to her with a slight smile. “And so I did. But who is the injured party here, Sadie? You have played me for a fool since we met. You told one lie after another, and tricked me into playing whatever game is afoot without teaching me the rules.” His expression did not change, but his voice lowered dangerously. “You will tell me what your game is, Lady Sarah Hunter. Just why the hell are you prowling the streets of London, tempting disaster, playing at ‘following,’ keeping company with street urchins and Bow Street runners?”
“I…I—”
“Do you know how close I came to relieving you of your maidenhead? Were you laughing at me when I offered to buy your services and make you my mistress? Did you think you could tempt and tease me with impunity? Do you know nothing of the nature of men? You are lucky that you are not ruined.”
That sobered her. She was ruined, though he could have no way of knowing that. “I never laughed at you, Ethan. And I know more than I care to about the nature of men.”
He filled his own cup from the fountain and raised it to her. “To lies, and the freedom they give us to live our fantasies. One wonders, Lady Sarah—what fantasies could lead you into London slums in the middle of the night?”
Fie—he was right! When he hadn’t known she was Lady Sarah Hunter, she’d had the freedom to be anything she wanted, to do what was forbidden for a woman of her station, to give rein to her hidden passions. Shame filled her.
“ You are angry at me?” he asked. He gave a mirthless laugh, as brittle as ice. “Try to imagine what I felt when I realized who you were, and how you’d been using me in a selfish pursuit of excitement or adventure. It wasn’t a game to me, Lady Sarah. There was risk involved. If you wanted excitement, I could have provided you with all you could possibly want.”
“Expose me, then! Take your ‘pound of flesh.’ You have earned it.” She swallowed her punch in two gulps, wishing it were wine or some other alcohol.
He gave her a smooth smile that was somehow threatening. “I will, Sadie, but not yet. I intend to make you squirm.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ethan watched the little harridan walk away, the luscious plum silk gown clinging to the sway of her hips, her dark hair falling in ringlets from a coronet of amethysts. She was disturbingly beautiful, and far too vulnerable. He cursed under his breath when he realized how intensely he wanted her.
Harold Whitlock was making his way toward her again, and he gritted his teeth. Ethan recognized that he was nearly wild with jealousy. That scum was not fit to touch the hem of her gown. Almost as soon as she saw him, she flirted and cajoled Whitlock onto the dance floor. By the time she turned loose of him, he was looking like a moon-faced lad. Then she turned her formidable charms on Cedric Broxton.
Broxton was the bitterest pill to swallow. Watching her laugh at Broxton’s jokes, respond to his teasing, allow him to touch her, had threatened his reason, particularly when he’d learned that L
ockwood had selected Broxton for Sarah. He’d been on the verge of doing some serious damage to Broxton’s face when Auberville had interceded.
He supposed there would be no more midnight meetings with Sadie on the porch at St. Paul’s. He would miss her, but he would accomplish more without her. He’d made no progress in finding Whitlock’s blackmail evidence, probably because Sarah had proved too much of a distraction. Peters was growing tired of covering for him, and Rob was just growing impatient.
He took up a position near an entry to the corridor for the next half hour and watched Sarah down another glass of wine—her third—when he saw his brother and sister-in-law. He had been skirting them all night, but now they were making a straight line for him. Something was afoot, and he knew he wouldn’t like it by the grim expressions on their faces.
“You have God’s own nerve to show up here,” Collin said.
“Collin, hush,” Amelia pleaded. She turned her chinablue eyes to Ethan, but the pleading look that used to win her way was strangely ineffective. “Ethan, please do not cause a scene. We are new to London. I could not bear it if we were made a subject of gossip.”
Ethan struggled to maintain a neutral expression. “I’ve done nothing to cause a scene, Amelia,” he said.
“ Lady Linsday, to you, Ethan,” Collin insisted.
Ethan realized that it chafed Collin’s pride to know that Amelia had first loved Ethan. “ Lady Linsday,” he repeated, allowing his gaze to sweep Amelia’s form in an intimate study he knew would enrage Collin.
His brother rose to the bait. His voice climbed in both tone and intensity. “Your insolence astounds me, Ethan. You will show my wife the respect she deserves.”
“Or what, Collin? You will disown me? Disinherit me? Denounce me? Hmm. Too late.”
“Why you—”
“But, as it happens, I meant no disrespect to Lady Amelia. Indeed, I applaud her choice and allow that it was the correct one. God knows I could never have given her what you have.”
Collin’s mouth moved as if he were trying to frame a reply to a remark he did not fully understand. “Just…just the same, you would do everyone a favor if you would leave quietly.”
Saving Sarah Page 17
