Ethan clenched his jaw to hold back the explicit words struggling for expression. He glanced to the side and found Sarah standing perhaps ten feet away as if she had halted in midstride on her way to the corridor. Her head was tilted slightly to one side, and he wondered how much of the conversation she had heard.
Though she thought him a thief and a purveyor of stolen goods, he did not want her to witness a scene that was certain to lower him even further in her esteem. He wanted this meeting over before she could witness more. “Do not push me, Collin,” he said between gritted teeth. “I had my invitation from Auberville. I do not need your permission to be here.”
“You might consider Amelia,” his brother snarled.
Ethan turned to Amelia and studied her sweetly bewildered expression. “Am I an embarrassment to you, Lady Amelia?”
“Ethan.” She expelled in a sigh. “I wish it were not so, but your reputation is such that…”
Her voice trailed off and he glanced to the side to see if Sarah was still listening. She had pivoted on one heel and taken another step toward the corridor when Amelia followed the direction of his gaze and straightened. She evidently saw in Sarah a way to diffuse the inevitable fight between him and Collin, because she called out to her. “Lady Sarah! Oh, I was so hoping to run into you tonight.”
Sarah’s back stiffened. She halted and turned slowly back to them. An odd little smile curved her lips as she affected surprise to see them. “Lady Amelia, what a surprise.”
Ethan tried not to groan. Here was Sarah’s chance for revenge for his earlier taunt. On her way to join them, she stopped a passing footman, lifted a glass of wine—her fourth—downed it in two gulps, and placed the empty glass back on the tray. He suspected he was in for a rough ride.
“Lady Sarah, how glad I am to find you. I promised to introduce my husband when next we met, and here we are.”
Innocently Sarah looked down at herself, then let her gaze sweep Lady Amelia. “Why yes, so we are.” She waited, but Amelia did not detect the sarcasm.
Ethan glanced again at Amelia with detached interest. She was as stunning as ever. She was everything he remembered and had longed for. She was the walking symbol of what his life had been and what he hoped to reclaim. Now, standing next to Sarah Hunter, she quite literally paled to insignificance.
After the requisite introductions and pleasantries, Sarah turned to arch an eyebrow at his brother. “Travis? Travis is the family name? Why, that would make you cousins—or would it be brothers?”
“Brothers,” Lord Linsday acknowledged.
“We have not seen Ethan for quite some time, Lady Sarah,” Amelia explained. “As you know, we have just come to London.”
“How happy to renew family ties.” She smiled and a devilish gleam lit her eyes. “I should have guessed something of the sort from our previous conversation, Lady Amelia.” She turned to Ethan. “I have heard that you are quite skilled at the waltz, Lord Ethan. Is that not correct, Lady Amelia?”
Amelia’s complexion deepened to a tone near that of a pomegranate. “I believe I may have said—”
Collin glared at his wife and Ethan found some satisfaction in that. He wondered if Sarah had deliberately set them at odds. He would have to remember to thank her.
“Then you have met Mr. Travis?” Collin asked Sarah, purposely slighting Ethan the courtesy title. He was on the verge of denying an acquaintance for Sarah’s sake when she answered for them both.
“Oh my, yes. Lord Ethan is quite a wit. Or is he a wag? I vow, there are some days I cannot decide. He sets me on a roll with the greatest ease, and I quite literally squirm with anticipation of his next jest.”
Ah yes, Sarah was going to have her revenge. He accepted her offered hand and bowed over it, prepared to endure whatever little justice she decided to mete out. “Lady Sarah, how nice to see you again so soon.”
“Ethan?” Lady Amelia asked, her blue eyes blinking in disbelief. “A wag? Why I cannot conceive—”
“Oh, conceive, Lady Amelia,” Sarah urged. “Lord Ethan is quite beyond amusing.”
Ethan laughed outright. He had to admire Sarah’s flawless skill in delivering insults with a smile—so adept that she’d managed to insult both him and Amelia in one thrust, and even more so because one of them did not realize it.
Collin scowled. “Mr. Travis is my brother, Lady Sarah. We know him better than you and therefore we must warn you that—”
Without missing a beat, Sarah bestowed an angelic smile on his brother and interrupted. “Better, Lord Linsday? Or merely longer?”
Collin flushed. Amelia stared in horror.
Had it been anyone else standing there risking their reputation to defend him, Ethan might have laughed, but he could not permit Sarah to face social ruin because of a misdirected desire to make him squirm. A strategic retreat was in order. “If you will excuse me,” he said with a slight bow, “I believe I have another engagement.”
“For shame! Have you forgotten your promise of a waltz?”
Sarah grinned hugely and Ethan felt the cold to the bone. She’d thrown down the figurative gauntlet. He had thrust the introduction from Auberville on her, and she had riposted with a waltz. It was bad enough for a paragon like Sarah to have a public acquaintance with a man of his dishonored past, but quite another to allow society to witness a closer relationship as evidenced by a dance—and not just any dance—a waltz!
He was confounded. He could not call her a liar, but neither could he risk the scandal in picking up the gauntlet. “I would not want to disappoint, Lady Sarah, but—”
“Good,” she said, parrying his excuse. “I believe a waltz is next on the program.” She offered her hand.
Outmaneuvered, Ethan was trapped. A rebuff would make her look a fool. Acceptance would risk her reputation and standing in society. He was still trying to decide which of the two evils to choose when Sarah went one taunt too far.
“Come now, Lord Ethan. Surely you would not leave me jilted. Shall I be forever deprived of divine waltzing?”
He narrowed his eyes, seized her hand and nearly dragged her to the dance floor without giving her the chance to deliver another insult in her goodbyes to his brother.
The orchestra began the smooth strains of a waltz and he turned to face her on the perimeter. “This is your last chance, Sadie. Curb your recklessness before it is too late.”
She tilted her chin upward like a soldier marching into battle, glanced slowly, deliberately, right and left to be certain they were being noted, and then gave him a little nod that said she was ready. She took one step closer to fit within the circle of his arms and placed her left hand on his shoulder.
He nearly groaned. He was truly damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t. There was no saving Sarah now.
Ethan’s right hand at the small of her back burned through the light silk of her gown, and with the slightest pressure of his fingers, he guided her into the measure. Sarah followed his lead, feeling almost as if she were a part of him. He began slowly, increasing his step until he reached the limit of hers. The same grace and assurance she had admired in his breathtaking balance on rooftops was evidenced in the dance, and the world created by the circle of his arms was so intimate that the rest of the room seemed to fade away.
Gentle pressure from his fingers guided her, and her hand in his looked insignificant and fragile. But most disturbing of all was his mere presence—his size, his warmth, the faint clean scent of lime, and the intensity of his hazel eyes. Everything combined to remind her of their night in the Black Dog Inn. She knew what those hands could do. She yearned for him to pull her the remaining inches that would land her against his chest and allow her to feel the warmth and intimacy of his entire body.
She looked up at him as he guided her into another turn. “Lady Amelia did not lie. You do waltz divinely.”
“She actually said that?”
“Yes, but there was something in the way she said the word that made me wonder if she m
eant ‘waltz,’ or was speaking of something else entirely. How much waltzing did you and your sister-in-law do?”
He laughed at her outrageous interpretation. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
“I have, indeed.” She tilted her head and smiled in a relaxed friendliness. “And I’m feeling simply wonderful. Denounce me on the spot, and I would not care in the least.”
“More recklessness, Lady Sarah? Have you not learned your lesson?”
“I most seriously doubt it, my lord,” she said agreeably.
“Then you are foolhardy. This dance is little more than social suicide. Whatever possessed you to—”
She could not have him taking responsibility for her decisions. “You overestimate your consequence, Lord Ethan. My reputation will survive the dance. ’Tis when you expose me to my brothers after you are done making me squirm that will finish me. Aside from that, I overheard a part of your conversation.” He winced and she shook her head. “I was not eavesdropping, Lord Ethan. I was on my way to…repair myself when your brother’s voice stopped me. His demand that you leave made me angry, and I decided that those provincial little nobodies would not speak for London society. And anyway, he put me in mind me of all the ‘P’ words. I do not like the ‘P’ words.”
Grinning, he asked, “‘P’ words?”
“You know, presumptuous, pretentious, pompous, priggish—”
“Pretty,” he countered.
“Parsimonious, penurious, petty, promiscuous,” she continued, just warming to the challenge.
“Passionate.” He chuckled. “Priceless.”
She blinked, finally understanding that he was describing her. “Yes. Well. I did not like that he was treating you with such disrespect.”
A shadow passed over his face and his smile faded. He frowned as he asked, “If you fear that I am going to expose you, why did you intercede on my behalf?”
Because she could not bear to see him hurt? Because she wanted to be certain that society understood that Lord Ethan Travis was acceptable? How could she say that? She opted for truth of another sort. “Because I wanted to waltz. Just once, to…waltz.”
He lowered his voice. “I’ve seen you waltz before, Sarah.”
“Not with you, Ethan. I hear ’tis different with you.”
“I can bloody well guarantee it is different with me. My God, is there no end to your recklessness? Do you have any idea how close I am to living up to my reputation? And do not affect the wounded look. Try to remember that I am the injured party.”
Sarah shrugged. “That is open to argument, Lord Ethan.”
The waltz ended and he stopped abruptly, causing her to cling to him for support. “I’ve had enough of your taunting for one night. Shall I see you back to your friends, Lady Sarah, or shall I just prop you in a corner with another glass of wine?”
She lifted the little train of her gown and turned her back on him with a look that could wither flowers. “I shall see to myself, as I always have. Thank you.”
For the next hour, she caught glimpses of him in the crowds. She was like a hare with hounds at her heels, watching left and right for Cedric, Reggie, Harold Whitlock, Lord Auberville and Ethan.
The prospect of another encounter with Ethan sent her heart racing. Their waltz had been more devastating than she had wanted him to know, and she was wholly ashamed of the intensity of her desire. God help her, she needed to escape any proximity to Ethan at all.
Most unsettling of all, she would have to formulate a new plan for finding the children. She could no longer count on Ethan’s help. His tightly contained anger was not likely to fade soon. But, oh, how she would miss those wildly exciting nights of breathtaking leaps from roof to roof, anticipating Ethan’s smile, his touch.
All she wanted tonight was to escape to the quiet solitude of her own bedchamber, sit in her warm bed with a cup of tea and try to sort through her confusion. She felt inexplicably wounded, and needed time to regain her balance and heal. She found a temporary respite by slipping into the library and using Annica’s desk to send messages to Mr. Renquist and Dicken to go on without her.
When Mr. Whitlock made his excuses and departed, Ethan followed suit. She took comfort from the happy radiance on Gladys’s face. The reunion with Araminta, at least, had gone well. She began to breathe a little easier until she noticed Cedric circling like a vulture over dead meat. Just as he appeared ready to approach, Lady Jane Perrin intercepted him. Sarah made a mental note to thank Jane later.
Pleading a headache, she said her goodbyes to Lady Annica, called for the Lockwood coach, and went to join the queue of departing guests. The effects of the wine had worn off, leaving her slightly embarrassed by her behavior with Ethan but not in the least embarrassed by her anger over Linsday’s treatment of him. Her sense of fairness recognized her part in the failure.
Her behavior had been reckless. And she had been unfair to embroil him in her scheme to follow Mr. Whitlock and find the children. She had told one lie after another, tricked him into helping her and teased him mercilessly. Yes, she had taken advantage of him and put him at risk. If he had been harmed, it would have been her fault. Her conscience would never let her rest until she made amends.
Chapter Fifteen
What a colossal waste of time. Whitlock had actually gone home with his wife. Ethan waited outside nearly an hour, but the man had not reappeared for his nightly round of drinking, gambling and whoring. Peters, looking disgusted, volunteered to stay, allowing Ethan to make an early night of it.
As he unlocked his front door, he wondered briefly what it would be like to be Auberville, with a lovely, loyal wife, a gracious home, an heir and the promise of yet more to come. Surely that must be heaven and, sadly, he would never achieve it. But, for one brief moment as he danced with Sarah Hunter this evening, it had not seemed so impossible.
By waltzing with him, she had been protecting him, showing the ton that she found him acceptable. And she had demonstrated clearly where her loyalties lay. When was the last time anyone had put their reputation on the line for him? Sarah had more courage than half the ton, more than his own brother. She could not know how grim the consequences could be for such a grand gesture. He had no doubt her brothers would chastise her tomorrow over the breakfast table. But that was typical of Sarah—rash and impetuous. And he was nonetheless grateful.
Some of the women that he’d been with were, like Amelia, beautiful, witty and charming. Lord knows some were practiced and expert in the arts of making love. But they were not what he wanted. He wanted…what? Love? Loyalty? Honesty? Yes, he wanted all the things his money could not buy. He wanted Sarah.
When Ethan pushed his door open, Wiley set up a deafening noise as he ran upstairs from the kitchen to the foyer, slipping on the planks as he rounded the corner of the landing. A light from that direction told him that Mrs. Grant had not yet departed for home. He offered up a quick prayer that she had not cooked him dinner.
When Wiley saw Ethan, he stopped barking and wagged his tail so hard that he knocked the umbrella stand over. “Here now, precious,” Mrs. Grant called. “What’s the fuss?”
“It’s me, Mrs. Grant,” he said, dropping his coat and key on the mahogany side table and retrieving his mail from the silver tray. He looked through the envelopes until he came to one that bore only his name in a graceful script but no address. It must have been personally delivered. He dropped the other envelopes back on the tray and headed for the kitchen, Wiley at his heels. The dog pushed his head beneath Ethan’s hand, begging a pat.
“’Tis late, Mrs. Grant. What kept you?” he called ahead.
“I’ve been havin’ a fine visit with yer little friend, Mr. Travis. We didn’t expect ye home so soon.”
“My little—” He entered the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. There, in a chair at the polished wooden table, sat Lady Sarah. She watched him with a hint of…fear? Surprise? What the hell was she doing here anyway?
Warmth filled him at the sight o
f her. Despite her gown and the amethyst coronet, she looked at home in his kitchen. This, then, was the way Auberville felt when he came home.
She stood and smoothed her gown in a nervous gesture. “I expected you to be out, Mr. Travis. I came to leave you a note, but Mrs. Grant found me at the door as she was leaving and insisted I come in for a cup of tea.”
“Aye.” Mrs. Grant nodded. She took the kettle from the hearth and got another cup from the cupboard. “You so seldom have company, sir, that I knew you wouldn’t want me to let this one get away.” She chuckled at her own joke.
He looked down at the envelope in his hand. So, it was Sarah’s handwriting. Mrs. Grant was right. It would never do to let her get away. “Thank you for your diligence, Mrs. Grant,” he said with a little bow in her direction.
She beamed. “He’s a real gentleman, this one,” she said to Sarah. “I’ve worked for all sorts, but Mr. Travis is tops.”
“Indeed,” Sarah said, her expression undecipherable.
Mrs. Grant put the cup on the table and poured a dark tea into it.
He sat and placed the envelope beside the cup. He kept his gaze fastened on Sarah, afraid she might disappear if he turned his back. At his gesture, she sat down again.
The housekeeper picked up her own cup and put it in the basin. “I’ll just clean these things up in the morning, sir. Can I get you anything else before I leave? There’s some stew left. Miss Hunt said it was very tasty.”
“Did she, now?” He smiled, knowing that for a blatant lie.
“Aye. Says as how she’d have had more but dined earlier. Says they have the same recipe in her family, but they use more salt and herbs instead of spices. Gave me her recipe, she did.”
Sarah met his gaze and gave a little shrug. “My brothers prefer salty to sweet. I thought Mrs. Grant might like to try that variation.”
Ethan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, feasting on Sarah rather than on an insubstantial stew. “Thank you, Mrs. Grant, but I ate whilst I was out.”
Saving Sarah Page 18
