by Kruger, Mary
“No.”
“Properly this time, of course. As I think I asked you before.”
“And I believe that subject is closed, miss.”
“Very well. So will you take me driving, instead?”
“Let you handle my prize bays? Never.”
“But you said yourself I drive well.”
“And so you do, but not my bays.”
“You are mean!”
“As I said. I don’t think you’ll have reason to complain.”
No?” She slipped her arms about his neck.
“No. I intend to keep you very happy.”
“How scandalous of you Oliver,” she murmured, just as his lips descended on hers. And then she had no thought, no breath for speech, as he held her tight against him, his hands warm and solid on her back. It was not a gentle kiss, but she did not care. Strange feelings of warmth spread through her limbs, and her mouth opened under his, allowing his tongue entry. Hers answered, tentatively at first and then more boldly, and by the time he at last released her, she was gasping for breath.
“Ah, my sweet Sabrina,” he muttered, his lips briefly leaving hers to explore her throat, and then returning. His hands slid up and down her back in a warm, sensuous caress, and then moved around stroking, kneading, brushing against the sides of her breasts. She shivered in his embrace, mindless, heedless of all else.
Neither heard the knock on the door, but when it suddenly opened and Hastings came in, they sprang apart. “Your Grace—oh, excuse me!” Hastings said, stepping out and closed the door behind him. A few moments later, he knocked again. This time when he came in, Sabrina, her hair mussed, was seated in the armchair, head turned so that she was looking out the window. Oliver was leaning against his desk, his neckcloth slightly askew. “Excuse me, Your Grace.”
“Yes, Hastings?” Oliver said, in a reasonably normal voice. “Is there something you wanted?”
“No, Your Grace. I didn’t expect to find you home.”
Ah, so his plan had worked to some extent. If Sabrina hadn’t come in here, perhaps he would’ve caught the spy. He did not regret their time together, though. Not for a moment. “As you see, Hastings, I am.”
“Will you be staying long, Your Grace?”
“No, I will be leaving shortly. Thank you, Hastings. You may go.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Hastings said, bowing, and left the room.
Oliver glanced over at Sabrina, who still sat with her head averted. He would not blame her if she were upset by this. “Sabrina?” He said, his voice gentle.
The face she turned toward him was laughing. “Oh, dear!” she said, getting up and going back into his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve a feeling I know what they’ll be discussing and the servants’ hall tonight!”
“I fear you’re right.” He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her back and forth, so filled with his feelings for her that he felt he could take on the world. “It is a good thing he didn’t come in a few moments later, though.”
“Why?” Sabrina looked up at him, her eyes innocent, and he cleared his throat. If she didn’t know where they’d been heading, he certainly did. God help him, but he wished they hadn’t been interrupted. He wanted her as he had never wanted another woman, and though he knew he should release her while he still could, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want ever to let her go.
“No reason,” he said, and did pull away, clicking her cheek with his finger. It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. “I’m afraid I must be leaving, infant.”
She pouted. “Must you? Oh it, it wasn’t fear of Hastings to come in, when I never get to see you anymore. Will it be like that when we’re married?”
Oliver paused in the act of picking up his portfolio. It was probably a very good thing that Hastings had come in when he had. He was going to have to be careful, Oliver reflected ruefully, else he would make Sabrina cause for scandal. That would never do. “No, Sabrina. I’ve no intention of living my life for the servants.”
“Good.” She took his arm and walked with him into the hall. “When will you be back?”
“Late, I imagine. You are going out tonight?”
“Yes, to some party or other. I probably won’t see you, then.”
“Soon, Sabrina.” He smiled down at her. “It will all be over soon, and then I promise we’ll take a whole day together.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, as Witherspoon came forward to open the door for him.
“I expect you to.” He smiled, and then was gone.
She was alone again, but somehow it didn’t matter. It had been enough simply to be with him, if only for a few moments. Certainly there’d been no time for her to make her confession, but that, she thought as she sat on the window seat in her room again, was just as well. She was beginning to think that she would never have the chance; time after time she had tried in each time she had failed. She wasn’t sorry. He would surely be angry with her if he knew. He would possibly even break off the engagement, and that she couldn’t bear. No, she thought Oliver would never know. She would see to it.
Time was growing short for Reginald. As the day drew nearer for Sabrina’s marriage, he grew more and more desperate. His creditors, as if knowing that he’d been disinherited, had become more pressing, and there were always, of course, gambling debts, which as a gentleman he must honor. He had botched it this time, he’d reflected sourly, kicking at the fender of his fireplace. He had scared Sabrina away—not that the prospect of allying himself with a bastard thrilled him—and he had managed to get himself cut out of the will. But he was not done yet. Oh, no. There was still something he could try. That money would be his, yet, and Miss Sabrina Carrick would regret the day she had ever come to England.
“This time I’m going to win!” Sabrina shouted, racing past Oliver at a gallop, in Hyde Park. It was early morning, two days later, and the first time they had been able to ride together in much too long.
“Not on Daisy, you won’t,” Oliver called after her, digging his heels into Thunder’s sides. The chestnut sprang ahead as if he had wings. Oliver drew level with Sabrina, head bent low over her horses neck, intent on reaching the distant oak tree first, and for a time the match was even. That Oliver inexorably drew ahead, and the race was his.
“I demand we run it again!” Sabrina called as she reached him “it wasn’t a fair race. I demand—mmph!” Oliver’s hand suddenly curled about her neck and his mouth came down on hers, briefly and hard. When he released her, she stared up at him with wide eyes. “What did you do that for?”
“To keep you quiet,” he said unforgivably. Sabrina tossed her head and turned her horse away, toward home. After a few moments, he followed, grinning. His early morning rides were much more enjoyable these days.
“When you going to let me drive again?” she asked when he drew level with her.
“I told you. Never.”
“Oliver, you are treading a thin line this morning.”
He grinned, looking so boyish that her heart melted and she instantly forgave him everything. “If you keep on scolding, I shall have to resort strong measures to keep you quiet.”
Her eyes suddenly sparkled. “Scold, scold, scold,” she said and was laughing when his lips again descended on hers.
For a few moments they stood with their mounts together, Sabrina’s head resting on his shoulder, until Thunder moved restlessly and they were forced to part. Quite in charity with each other, they headed toward home.
“I suppose I can take you out driving this afternoon,” Oliver said as they walked into the house.
“Oh, Oliver, really?”
“Yes, but not in town. We’ll go north, toward Hampstead Heath. There’ll be little traffic there.
“Then perhaps I should pack a picnic lunch?”
“If it is a good luncheon, I suppose I shall bear up.”
“Poor Oliver. I’m such a burden to you aren’t I?”
“Y
ou, my dear Sabrina, have quite disrupted my life. Good morning, Grandmama.”
“Good morning, Oliver, Sabrina,” Gwendolyn replied, her eyes bright, as they sat at the breakfast table with her. “Did you have a pleasant ride?”
“No. She kept scolding me,” he said, catching Sabrina’s eye, and they smiled.
“I daresay you deserved it,” she said tranquilly.
“I daresay I did,” he replied. “What are those, Grandmama? More invitations?”
“Yes. I do believe we are more popular since we have started refusing so many. Ah, this is curious.”
“What is?”
“A note from Reginald.”
Oliver looked up. “What does he have to say?”
“Let me see. Ah. He is accepting the invitation to the wedding. Now, Oliver, there is no need for you to make that face.”
“No? I would rather not invite him, ma’am.”
“I am no more fond of him than you are, but I do not know what else we can do.”
“Shall I tell you?”
“No. I’ve a feeling your idea is too bloodthirsty for this time of day.”
Sabrina’s head jerked up at that, and he glanced at her. “No, infant, I’m not planning on calling him out,” he said, and rose from the table. “If you ladies will excuse me, I have work to do, if I am to take the afternoon off.”
“Of course,” Gwendolyn said absently. “Now. We really must be getting busy ourselves.”
Sabrina blinked. Gwendolyn was looking at her closely. She wondered why. “Ma’am?” she said.
“Get your head out of the clouds, girl. Dreaming of Oliver?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Huh. It is high time we began to think about flowers, and refreshments for the reception.”
“You are better at planning that than I, ma’am.”
“I quite agree. Heavens, child, what you did with the decorations at your come-out!”
Sabrina smiled. “It worked, did it not? We outfaced the scandal.”
“You were lucky,” she said severely.
“Did you know, Oliver has finally agreed to take me to Vauxhall?” she said, eyes sparkling again. “Properly, this time.”
“It is about time you and he spent some time together.”
“Why, Grandmama, don’t you think it unfashionable in us?”
“No, I do not. Lionel and I had a quite unfashionable marriage, and we were very happy. But, child”—she reached over and laid her hand on Sabrina’s—”if there is something bothering you, it is best to get it out.”
Sabrina glanced at her, startled. “There is nothing,” she said finally, and rose. “Will you excuse me, ma’am?”
“Yes. But if something is wrong, you can tell me.”
“There’s nothing, ma’am,” Sabrina repeated and turned away. If only that were true, she thought, wearily climbing the stairs to her room. But she was not going to think about that today. She had the whole afternoon to look forward to, with Oliver. For the time being, she was safe.
“The trap has been set.” Woodley’s voice was soft as he lowered himself into an armchair at White’s, facing Oliver.
“Has it?” Oliver folded his newspaper. It was late morning. Soon he would make his way homeward, to Sabrina, but for now this was more important. There was no place private enough at the Foreign Office for him and Woodley to talk. Time was getting short. The spy remained at large. “Has the bait been taken?”
Woodley shook his head. “No. And the prey is staying undercover.”
“Damn,” Oliver said without heat. Guthrie, if he were the spy, was being very discreet; no longer was he to be seen with any American, let alone Tenbroeck. “On my end, too.”
Woodley’s eyes met his, and in them were mirrored Oliver’s frustration. “Something will break soon, Bainbridge.”
Oliver put down the newspaper, and rose. If something didn’t happen soon, he was not sanguine as to the consequences. “It had better.”
Chapter 29
That afternoon Oliver’s curricle, harnessed to the magnificently matched bays that had cost him a small fortune, was brought around, and a hamper of gigantic proportions was loaded into it. “Planning to feed an army, Sabrina?” he asked mildly.
“You did specify a good luncheon, sir,” she said. She was looking particularly charming today, in a gown he had never seen before. Of palest pink, it was very simply cut, with high waist, slim skirt, and short puffed sleeves. The neckline was low, but not immodestly so, and a ribbon of cherry red satin was tied just below her breasts. Pink slippers peeped out from under her skirts, and a cameo mounted on black velvet ribbon was fastened about her throat. A zephyr shawl and a charming bonnet of chip straw completed the outfit. To Oliver, there was only one thing wrong. She was wearing her hair up, as he had so often requested. He wondered what had ever made him so pea-brained as to wish such a thing.
“Will you be warm enough?” was all he said as they drove off.
“Certainly. It’s a very warm day. Almost like summer. Do you have summer in England, sir?”
“Often.”
“Strange. I thought perhaps that was another thing the mother country was lacking.”
“Other things being?”
“Billy Thatcher,” she said promptly, having learned that he didn’t like the knowledge that she had once been attracted to another man, no matter how long ago it may have been.
“Sabrina—”
“Oh, dear, are you going to threaten to beat me again? It is growing tiresome, Oliver. You never do it.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“May I drive?”
“No,” he said repressively, and then spoiled the effect by adding, “not in town. I don’t know what I’m about,” he went on, rumbling, “letting a woman drive my price bays.”
“They don’t mind. May I now?”
“Oh, here. Perhaps it will keep you quiet.” He handed her the ribbons, since they’d passed the outskirts of town, and then settled back to watch her. She required very little guidance from him, but instead handled the ribbons with a light touch. That had surprised him at first, until he’d realized it was a heritage from her father. Other things about her had also proven to be a surprise. Not least was the pleasure he took in her company. It scared him a little, because he had never felt quite this way before, and he wasn’t sure how to handle himself. Too often, when he was alone with her, he wanted nothing more but to catch her up in his arms and kiss the breath out of her, holding her until he found some surcease from his worries. Too often, all he wished was to make love to her. Perhaps a picnic in the country, with no one else around, was not such a good idea.
He moved uneasily in his seat. “Perhaps we should turn back,” he said.
“But we’re barely out of town,” Sabrina protested. “Just a bit longer? Please?”
“Oh, very well,” he said, and caught her up in his arms. He couldn’t help it. How could he resist kissing someone who looked at him in just that way?
Sabrina emerged from the embrace pink and breathless. It was quite disconcerting, the way he would swoop down on her with no warning. Disconcerting and pleasant, too. She decided that she very much like being kissed, at least by him. She was beginning to look forward impatiently to their marriage, when such kisses would surely be less random.
“We should rest the horses,” he said, after a time. “Let me have them.”
Sabrina handed him the ribbons. Oliver turned down a narrow track, leading toward a grove The trees, in full leaf arching overhead, plunging them into a shadowy, intimate world. The lane widened abruptly, coming to an end in a glade bordered by a small stream. Sunlight filtered through in a dappled pattern, the brook chuckled noisily on its way, and the scent was earthy and intoxicating. Sabrina took a deep breath as she climbed down, assisted by Oliver.
“This is lovely,” she said. “How do you know of it?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t, but it seemed a likely place to stop. ‘Tis rat
her exposed on the heath.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, rather breezy.”
“Oh,” she said. She’d thought he’d meant there’d be no privacy.
“And we’d be in view for anyone to see. Now, do you take care of the food while I see to the horses.”
“Very well.”
By the time the bays had been rubbed down and watered, Sabrina had laid out their repast on a large, thick rug. In the world of the ton, picnic lunches were usually served by servants upon splendidly set tables, sometimes under awnings, sometimes not. Usually they were not much different than meals taken indoors, but, as he rinsed his hands in the brook and then came over, Oliver decided he much preferred this. There were good thick slices of ham and slabs of cold chicken, along with freshly baked bread and yellow cheese, with a strawberry tart the desert and champagne to drink. He eyed that last speculatively. “Champagne? Wherever did you get that?”
“I bribed Hastings.”
He spluttered and set his goblet down. “Hastings cannot be bought.”
“Not true.”
“Well? What did you say to convince him?”
“That would be telling,” she said virtuously.
“I must have a word with him,” he murmured. “And the strawberry tart. Did you leave any food in the house?”
“Of course. Really, the amount of food you aristocrats consume! It is a wonder you are not all fat.”
“You disapprove of aristocrats, then?”
“Oh, no. I like knowing that I’ll always have enough to eat.”
Oliver looked startled. It had never occurred to him that her early life might have included physical hardship. “Was it so very bad then, Sabrina?”
“At home? Oh, no, I never went hungry. What I meant was—what I think I meant was that I could never rely on Papa. I never knew what he would do, and in the end he bore me out.” She fiddled with her goblet. “Until I found his letters, I thought I was quite alone in the world.”