by Cheryl Holt
“Would you excuse me, Ophelia?” she said. “I have some correspondence to write.”
“On what topic?”
“It’s nothing that would concern you.”
“Ah…ah…I might have been too strident about Miss Robertson and those children. I wish you wouldn’t fret over them.”
“I’m not fretting, and I didn’t find you strident at all. In fact, our entire conversation has been extremely enlightening.”
She waved her daughter out, and when Ophelia hesitated, she flashed a severe glower, the one that always pushed Ophelia into obeying. It worked this time too. She skittered away like a frightened rabbit.
* * * *
Ophelia strolled down a deserted path in the park. She’d come in a carriage, then she and her maid had climbed out and told her driver to wait for them while they went for a walk. Once they were out of his sight, and he couldn’t tattle to her mother, she left her maid behind and continued on to her secret spot. She’d snuck off with Judah twice now, and they were due for another rendezvous.
She was determined to chat with him on a sufficient number of occasions so she could decide whether to marry him. She was fond of him, but she certainly wasn’t in love. Still though, as a young girl, she’d hoped to be swept off her feet by Prince Charming. Yet princes were few and far between, and she was a very sensible person.
If she broke down and wed, it would be because she’d been able to negotiate for the precise kind of life she was intent on having. If she was simply going to shackle herself to a husband who would command and boss her, what was the point?
She was living that meager existence with her mother and brother. She couldn’t so much as open a window without seeking their permission.
Judah was the only man she’d ever met—ever—who pictured women differently. He viewed her as smart and perfectly capable of making up her own mind on vital issues.
Up ahead, she saw the secluded bench she’d chosen for their assignation. It was sheltered by several bushes, which was important. She was famous in London, and it would be a disaster to be noticed by an acquaintance, then have it reported to her mother. There would be no way she could explain it.
Judah hadn’t arrived, but she hurried over and seated herself. She felt completely exposed, as if there were spies in the trees. Their relationship required too much stealth, and the furtiveness cast a shadow over their association, but their having to skulk about wasn’t her fault. If Sebastian had behaved like a normal brother, there would be no need for a clandestine tryst.
She was early, so she had a quiet interval to reflect on the discussion with her mother about Miss Robertson and her father’s bastards. She probably shouldn’t have mentioned them, and briefly, she wondered if Gertrude might take action against Miss Robertson that would force them to depart the Haven.
Ophelia didn’t necessarily want to cause trouble for them, but she was simply so upset with Sebastian and had wound up talking out of turn.
Judah was approaching, and as she watched him, she frowned. His face seemed askew, and he was limping, as if he’d been injured. As he neared, she gasped with dismay.
He’d been beaten to a pulp! He looked to be in great pain, as if each breath was torture.
“My goodness, Judah!” she murmured. “What happened?”
“You won’t believe it.”
“Sit down, sit down!”
She scooted over to make room for him, and he eased down next to her, moving slowly as if each little shift was agonizing.
“Who did this to you?” she asked.
He glanced away. “I shouldn’t tell you.”
“No, no, you have to say! Who was it?”
He hemmed and hawed, then admitted, “It was your brother.”
“What?”
“I apologize. You’re so close to him, and I hate to share bad news.”
“Sebastian assaulted you?”
“Yes.”
“But…but…why?”
He clasped hold of her hand and linked their fingers as if they were adolescent sweethearts.
“I went to him and asked to marry you.”
A trill of excitement rushed down her spine. “You didn’t!”
“I realize you wanted me to wait, but I couldn’t bear any delay. I’m quite in love with you, Ophelia.”
“Oh!” She’d never imagined a man declaring himself, and the words were exhilarating.
“Please don’t be angry,” he said.
“I’m not, but why would he attack you?”
“He claimed I couldn’t have you. He claimed he was in charge of you, and he’d never let us wed.”
“He can be so arrogant. I loath that about him.”
“Despite his resistance, I didn’t relent. I tried to flatter him. I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t listen. Finally, I got down on my knees and begged to have you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but he merely laughed and called me hideous names.”
“What sorts of names?”
“They’re too vulgar to repeat, but he boasted that he had to teach me a lesson, that there had to be consequences for my pushing myself into his family when he refused to have me there.”
Her eyes narrowed. “He beat you because you wanted to marry me?”
“Yes, and I’m so sorry.”
“Why would you be sorry?” she asked.
“I can’t see you ever again. And we certainly can’t wed. Not with your brother being so adamantly opposed.” He yanked away, appearing wretched. “I despise him for treating you like this! I wish I had a solution for us, but I’m afraid we have to part. It’s why I’m here—to bid you farewell.”
Ophelia was stunned—and very, very incensed. Sebastian was a bully, just like her father had been a bully. He liked to throw his weight around, liked to remind her that he had complete control of her future.
Would she allow him to have that control?
She’d only ever sought two favors from him in her life: to let her travel to Africa on his next trip and to consider a proposal from Judah. Yet he’d been obnoxious about both requests. Then Judah had tried to persuade him of their interest in marrying, and for his efforts, he’d been brutally battered.
How could she tolerate such an outrage?
“It doesn’t have to be farewell,” she said.
He frowned. “How can there be any other conclusion?”
“There are ways to wed without obtaining my brother’s permission.”
His frown deepened. “I don’t understand.”
“We could elope.”
The words were out of her mouth so quickly she couldn’t bite them down, but she wouldn’t give herself time to contemplate.
An elopement was the most extreme, shameful act a girl could commit—short of finding herself with a babe in her belly and no ring on her finger. But it was the sole option for a female when her relatives didn’t approve of her beau.
“My dearest, Ophelia,” Judah said, “I couldn’t dishonor you so egregiously.”
“I am the one who suggested it, so I don’t believe I’d be dishonored.”
“I had pondered the same alternative myself, but I didn’t dare hope. It never occurred to me that you might be amenable.”
“Before I’d proceed, you’d have to promise to take me to Africa someday. If you swear you will, then my answer is yes. We’ll elope.”
“That’s a problem for us now. Your brother kicked me off the expedition team for my having the gall to ask for your hand.”
“Ooh, I could wring his neck!” She thought for a moment, then said, “You could sign on with another expedition, couldn’t you? Sebastian isn’t the only explorer in the world. We could join someone else.”
“Yes, we could.”
She had a fleeting vision of herself, standing at the front of a canoe and floating down a river, thick jungle on either side. She was scanning the horizon for danger, building her own reputation as a Sinclair.
; Ha! Let Sebastian choke on that!
Her heart pounded with excitement, but with a second emotion she couldn’t identify. If she’d paid too much attention to it, she might have recognized it to be fear, that she realized she shouldn’t be agreeing to this.
She hardly knew Judah. Was it wise to flit off with a fellow who was practically a stranger? Was it wise to enrage her brother and devastate her mother? If Ophelia eloped, Gertrude would never get to host a grand wedding in the cathedral, and she’d blame Ophelia for denying her the chance.
Did she care? Would she regret it later on?
Probably, but she was past the point where she could back down. If she relented, she’d be surrendering power to her brother. She felt as if she was on a cart at the top of a hill, that it was rolling down and picking up speed. She couldn’t stop it and didn’t really want to.
Judah gazed at her and asked, “Will you marry me, Ophelia? Will you elope to Scotland with me and make me happy forever?”
For the briefest instant, she hesitated, aware that she shouldn’t consent, but he seemed so besotted. No gentleman had ever looked at her so fondly.
She opened her mouth, and the comment that emerged was, “Yes, I will marry you, Judah Barnett. When and how will we accomplish it?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sebastian stood at the window of the library at Hero’s Haven. He was staring at the waters of the lake that were shimmering in the trees. The sun was setting, and the colors were particularly brilliant, the greens so green, the blues so blue. The sight was so beautiful it nearly hurt his eyes.
The manor was empty, his men reveling in town. None of them had heard the news about Judah being cut loose or, if they had, they were discussing it amongst themselves. They hadn’t rushed to ask him if the story was true.
There was no predicting what tales Judah might tell, and Sebastian had to be ready to counter them by branding him a traitor and a liar. He could only hope it would never come to that. It wasn’t a fight Judah could win.
Sarah’s cottage was just beyond the lake. He hadn’t seen her in over a week. Throughout the days of the inquest, he’d stayed in the city. There had been a whirl of social activities to keep him busy, but he’d tarried in town for another reason too, that being Sarah and her presence at the estate.
She had a bizarre hold on his affections. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Every minute he was away from her was a minute he wished he was with her instead.
What did it mean?
Women threw themselves at his feet, being eager to garner his attention in whatever manner he would allow, but they’d never enticed him as she had. With how obsessively he was fixated, he was trying to figure out what it indicated.
Was he…he…in love with her? Could that be it? As he had no previous experience with the emotion and wasn’t convinced he believed in it, he couldn’t guess. Besides, how could a man love a woman he’d just met?
If it wasn’t love, he had no idea what was happening, and he had no idea how to quash his swings of sentiment. He’d never suffered heightened feelings over any female, but with Sarah, there was something strange occurring.
Even though it made no sense, he was thrilled to have her in his life, and he was certain if she vanished, he’d regret it forever. It seemed that she’d been given to him for an explicit purpose. Would he muck it up? Would he ignore what Fate had bestowed?
How could he guarantee she never left? Would she agree to be his mistress? He doubted she’d be amenable, but then, she was desperate, so she might accept an arrangement she wouldn’t normally countenance.
If she wouldn’t be his mistress, there was one other way to latch onto her and that was to marry her. Could he actually be considering such an outrageous prospect?
He wasn’t sure. If he wed her, it would drive a permanent wedge into his relationship with his mother and sister. His family—Veronica’s branch of it anyway—would never forgive him. Veronica especially would be incensed, and she’d be entitled to her fury. When that would be the result, could he deliberately create such a rift?
Then there were Noah and Petunia to dump into the mix. If he formed a connection with Sarah, they would have to be included. It would thrust them under his mother’s nose, and it would kill her with humiliation.
Was Sarah worth it? Was any female worth that sort of incessant trouble?
There were reasons a man’s parents picked his bride. If a bachelor got a wild notion in his head, they stepped in and focused him on an appropriate match, which Sarah definitely wasn’t.
He couldn’t stand it. He had to see her. He’d been telling himself to avoid her, but why erect absurd barriers that wasted precious time they could spend together? He couldn’t predict how the future would unfold, but for now, she was just across the park.
He downed the last of his whiskey and put the glass on his desk, and he’d turned to leave when the butler knocked and said, “You have a visitor.”
Sebastian grimaced. Who would pop in as the sun was setting? “Who is it?”
“The woman who’s residing in the valet’s cottage? Miss Robertson? She was informed that you were home, and she’s wondering if she could have a word.”
Sebastian could barely conceal his wave of gladness.
Servants were the worst gossips in the world. They all knew she was on the property, and they’d be frantically debating over why he’d permitted it, but it wouldn’t do to have them realize he was absolutely besotted.
“I’m not busy,” he casually said. “Show her in.”
The butler departed, and Sebastian dawdled behind the desk, struggling to tamp down the stupid grin stealing over his face, but he couldn’t manage it. He was so happy!
He heard her coming, she and the butler chatting amiably, then the man peeked in again and announced her. She waltzed in, bold as brass, and the butler closed the door, obviously recognizing they should be left alone.
Sebastian vividly recalled how angry he’d been the day she’d arrived at the Haven, and it was interesting how a few weeks could change a fellow’s path.
“Hello, Miss Robertson.”
“Hello, Mr. Sinclair. The servants mentioned you were back, and I thought I ought to check on how you’re faring.”
“I was in a bad mood, but suddenly, things are looking much brighter.”
He walked over to her, clasped her hand, and dragged her to the door. He opened it and peered out, finding the hall empty. She frowned and nearly inquired as to his intentions, but he held a finger to his lips, indicating she should be silent.
He whisked her out of the room, down the hall, and over to the rear stairs. They practically ran up to the third floor, and they reached his grand suite at the end without encountering a single soul.
Once they were sequestered inside, he fell on her like a feral beast, the embrace so fraught with passion and yearning that he was bewildered. He felt like a drowning man who’d been thrown a rope, a starving man who’d been seated at a banquet, a nomad wandering in the desert who’d stumbled on an oasis.
“What are we doing?” she asked between breathless kisses.
“I shouldn’t have to explain it to you.”
“I can’t be up here in your bedchamber.”
“You already are.”
“What if someone sees us?”
“No one will, but if they do, I don’t care.”
He blazed a trail down her neck, to her bosom, to nibble at her nape, and she moaned with pleasure.
“I was just coming to the cottage,” he said, “but you found me first.”
“I couldn’t keep waiting for you to climb in my window.”
“You’re such an impatient wench. I’m not sure I approve.”
“The instant you returned, I expected you to slither over. What was taking you so long?”
“I was trying to avoid you,” he said.
“Why, you deranged fool?”
“Because I’m terrified of you.”
“Terrifie
d, hm? I like the sound of that.”
Usually, he’d have been aghast to have her appear uninvited. A sensible girl would have tarried in her own home until he, the man in the relationship, deigned to stroll in. Not her though. After meeting her, after developing such a ridiculous obsession, how could a silly, boring debutante ever appeal?
He was doomed. No doubt about it. She’d ruined him for every other female in the kingdom.
Without asking her opinion, he scooped her into his arms and marched through the sitting room and into the bedroom. The entire time, he was kissing her, and it dawned on him that he’d never be able to rid himself of her. She was simply an addiction he couldn’t shake.
He tumbled them onto his bed and rolled them so she was on her back, and he could stretch out atop her. The embrace grew more heated, more extreme, until he felt that he might burst from how exciting it was.
He forced himself to slow down, to gradually draw away.
Outside, the gloaming was settling in. It was that lovely period between evening and night when it was quiet and peaceful, but there was sufficient light to see her beautiful blond hair, her striking blue eyes. The shadows cast her skin in an odd silver color, so she looked magical, like a fairy.
“I can’t believe you’re in my bed,” he said like an idiot.
“I can’t believe it either. I’m positive I’m dreaming, and when I wake up—if I’m still in it—I’ll be horrified.”
“In my view, you’ve finally ended up right where you belong.”
“In my view, you are unhinged.”
“Very likely so,” he concurred, “but if I am, it’s your fault. You’ve pitched my world into chaos, and naught will ever be the same.”
He kissed her again, more tenderly, then he shifted off her and onto his side. She shifted too so they were nose to nose.
“I missed you,” he told her.
“I missed you too—every second—and it’s so disgusting for me to admit it.”
“What will become of us?”
“I have a few ideas.”
“I have a few too,” he said, “and I plan to share all of them with you.”
“Should I be delighted or alarmed?”