Sabrina

by Kruger, Mary

  He reached out to stroke her cheek. “But you aren’t, my dear. You know that, do you not?”

  “Yes, Oliver.” She didn’t fight the impulse to lean her head against his hand. For today, she would forget all her problems, all the things she would have to tell him, and concentrate on the moment. All too soon, she would likely be alone again.

  “Sabrina.” Something in his voice made her look up. His eyes on her were intent and warm, almost frighteningly so, and yet she had no desire to turn away. With her fingertips, she reached up to trace the line of his brows. he caught her hand in his to bring it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss into the palm. She shivered as the tip of his tongue flicked against her skin, and her eyes closed, halfway. As if in a dream she watched him coming closer, and when his arms went about her, pulling her against him, she offered no resistance, instead looping her own arms around his neck. His lips came down on hers, warm, firm, demanding, and as her own opened, she felt herself sliding into a warm world of love.

  They separated briefly, gazing at each other for what seemed an eternity, until they both succumbed to the inevitability of it and he drew close again. There was no need to turn away for fear someone might see; no fear of the future, no thought of the past. There was only now, and if the spark of desire, carefully banked within them, was threatening to grow into a blaze, somehow that was all right. She pressed close to him, wanting only to be closer, and when his hands began to quest over her body, she shifted to give them access to her breasts, now cupped in his hand. Her body was tingling, burning with a liquid fire that made her feel curiously languid and weak, and yet alive, so alive. “Oh, Oliver,” she murmured.

  He went very still, and then sat up, raking his hands through his hair. Oh, God, he wanted her, more than he could remember wanting anything in his life. Not here, though, and not like this.

  “Oliver?” she said, her voice questioning now.

  He looked down at her. She was leaning up on her elbows. She looked very vulnerable, and very young.

  “Ah, my dear.” He reached out to touch her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Do you know where this is heading?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not here. It’s not the best thing for you.”

  “Do you fear it will ruin my reputation, then?”

  “No, but I care about your feelings.”

  “Oh, Oliver—“

  “I would not see you hurt, Sabrina.”

  “I wouldn’t be. I trust you.”

  “I’m not sure I deserve that.”

  She sat up and leaned her head against his shoulder. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

  “Kind!” He let out a bark of laughter. “Not in the beginning.”

  “Well, no. But for a very long time.”

  “It’s not kindness I feel toward you now.” He looked down at her. “Have you any idea how beautiful you are?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. He thought her beautiful, and she was glad that she was, for him. “I’m—not.”

  “Oh, but you are. I particularly like your hair.”

  “I thought you hated it.”

  “I hated the thought of other men seeing it.”

  “Then I shall wear it loose only for you.”

  “I want you.” His voice was abrupt. “But when the time is right. When we’re married and in our bed. Not out in the open, on the ground.”

  “Oh.” His words conjured up such a vision of delight that she shivered in anticipation.

  “You’re cold,” he said, instantly concerned.

  “No, I—”

  “I should have realized.” He moved away, leaving her feeling bereft without him, and then pushed away the remains of the meal, and settled his coat on her shoulders. She felt cradled in warmth, though she wasn’t cold. Not really. His love, and his tenderness in his care of her, warmed her to her would.

  He gathered her close again, and they stayed there for a very long time, lost in their thoughts. Eventually he lifted the small hand that lay on his chest, looked at it with wonder, and then raised it to his lips. “It’s getting late, dearling. Timely with thinking about leaving.”

  “Must we?” she asked, without moving. “I don’t want ever to leave here.”

  “I’m afraid we must. For one thing, we’ve no food left.”

  She laughed. “Must you be so odiously practical?”

  “One of us must.” He kissed her for head and then sat up. “There are drawbacks to the world we live in.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said, serious now. “We cannot live for ourselves.”

  He held out his hand. “We’ll find a way, I promise you. Now, get up, woman. You cannot lie about all day.”

  “I look a sight,” she said ruefully. Her gown was sadly crumpled and her hair was hopelessly mussed, but most telling of all was the glow on her face, the glow of a woman who has been well loved. “I suppose that a drive through the Park is out of the question.”

  “With the way you look? I would say so.”

  “Fie on you, sir! What of your own appearance?”

  Oliver glanced down and noted that his own clothes were crumpled. “Look what you did to my neckcloth,” he said, and she gurgled with laughter.

  “Aspiring to the dandy set now, Oliver?”

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, hard. “This seems to be the only way to keep you quiet,” he said, when she had stared up at him wordlessly for several moments.

  “Then I must continue talking.” He promptly kissed her again. “We will never get home at this rate,” she said, sometime later, and, with great reluctance, he released her. They separated, he to see to the horses, she packing up assorted dishes and cutlery. Eventually, everything was packed and ready to go, and they stood together looking around the glade, loath to leave.

  “We’ll come back,” Oliver said finally.

  She raised her eyebrow, in imitation of him. “And then?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “We must bring another lunch. “Man does not live on love alone,” she said virtuously, goading him to give her a playful swat on her posterior as she climbed into the curricle. “Are you going to be an abusive husband?”

  “I shall beat you every day,” he assured her, and then gave lie to his words by sweeping her close and kissing her yet again. They rode home in a haze of love and happiness, with Oliver giving a very good demonstration of how to drive with one hand. Once they had reached town, they reluctantly parted, and Oliver set a meandering course for home that avoided most of the spots frequented by the ton. He didn’t give a fig about his own reputation, but he cared a great deal about hers. The last thing he wanted was for her to be hurt because of his feelings for her. She was too precious to him.

  Neither of them particularly wished to attend Lady Jersey’s soirée that evening, though it was much too late to cry off. Gwendolyn, having made the rare decision to attend a social event in the evening, chided and chivvied them both until finally they arrived at Osterley, the Jerseys’ mansion on the outskirts of town. Both were too well bred to give any overt signs of their feelings, but were instead veritable pattern cards of behavior. Sabrina had never been so vivacious, Oliver so approachable, and their intense awareness of each other shall only in the way Oliver would occasionally touch her arm, or the way their eyes would seek each other out, or the way they smiled, for no apparent reason. It was obvious to everyone that they were deeply in love, and across the room two people watched with chagrin.

  “I thought you were going to take him away from her,” Reginald hissed.

  “I can do nothing so long as he’s absorbed with that little tart. Why haven’t you done something about her?” Moira retorted. “The wedding is getting close.”

  Reginald’s lips tightened. “What do you plan to do? Surely he can still be trapped by your wiles, Moira.”

  Moira frowned, recollected herself, and smoothed her face. Frowning, after all, caused wrinkles. The truth, if Moira admitted it to herself
, was that she knew she’d lost Oliver. No Oh, she had tried. She had used all her wiles, all her considerable seductive powers, and they had availed her nothing. He had eyes only for Sabrina. She’d lost. That didn’t mean she was giving up easily. If she could serve her rival a bad turn, then she would. “Perhaps, if I had a chance at him, without that little tart around.”

  “Perhaps we can do something about that, Moira,” he said, and bent to whisper in her ear.

  Sabrina was standing with a group of admirers when Moira approached her. Oliver had not been far from her side all evening, but just now he was absorbed in a discussion with Lord Harland. Moira had chosen her time well. “Miss Carrick?” she said, and Sabrina turned.

  “Lady Marshfield,” she answered, not bothering to hide her surprise at being approached by her rival. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “As it happens, if you could give me a moment of your time? I would like to speak with you.”

  “We are among friends.”

  “This is strictly between us,” Moira said, sending the young men a dazzling smile. “I’m sure your admirers will excuse you for a moment? Really, you are a most lucky girl, Miss Carrick, to have such gallant admirers.” She took Sabrina’s arm, and Sabrina didn’t resist. Reluctant though she was to be alone with Moira, it was preferable to hearing whatever she had to say in front of others. There were too many interested witnesses. Besides, she had to admit to a great curiosity.

  “I thought we might go into the book-room,” Moira said. “We shall be private there.” Sabrina nodded, wondering what in the world Moira could have to say to her. “Here we are.” Moira opened the door leading off the corridor and led the way into a room lighted dimly by a single lamp.

  “What is it you wish to say to me, Lady Marshfield?” Sabrina asked

  “Good evening, Cousin,” came a voice behind her, and Reginald stepped from the shadows near the doorway.

  Sometime later, Oliver’s eyes scanned the ballroom, looking in vain for Sabrina. Though he had felt it prudent to be discreet, she had rarely been out of his sight all evening. Now, though, she had been gone for some time, and that worried him. He was about to go in search of her when a hand came down on his shoulder.

  “They you are, Bainbridge,” Lord Woodley said, and Oliver turned. “Been looking for you all evening.”

  “Has something happened?” Oliver asked sharply.

  “Yes. Can’t talk here, though. Need a private place.”

  Oliver frowned. In spite of his involvement with government affairs, just now his mind, his very senses, were filled with Sabrina. She was far more important to him. “There,” he said, pointing to the alcove formed by a recessed window. “We shall be private there.”

  Woodley looked dubious, but it was true that the alcove provided adequate shelter. With the thick velvet drapes and the combined din of orchestra and people talking, no one would be able to overhear their conversation.

  “Fine.” Woodley nodded, and the two men casually edged over to the alcove. No one marked their progress. “Just heard about this a little while ago,” Woodley said in a low voice. “Thought you’d want to know as soon as possible.”

  “What is it?” Oliver’s voice was equally low.

  “Looks like our quarry has finally made his move.”

  “What?” Oliver said in normal tones, sounding suddenly loud. “When? How?”

  “Just heard from our sources at the American legation. Seems arrest orders are going out for certain man in America. Men who are supposed be spies.”

  Coldness clutched at all of his heart and began to spread. “The names?”

  “Oh, the right names.” Woodley grinned. “And we even know who brought the list. Looks like we’ve got him, old chap.”

  “Yes,” Oliver said his voice remote. His attention was no longer on Woodley, but on the girl who had just come back into the ballroom, her cheeks becomingly flushed. The girl he had loved and trusted, the girl who had had access to his study. The only person in his house he knew had seen that list of spies. Sabrina.

  Chapter 30

  In the book-room, Sabrina spun around and looked from Moira to Reginald, awareness dawning. “It was a trick, wasn’t it?” she said accusingly. “You never had anything to say to me. It was a trick!”

  “My dear, don’t get yourself into such a pelter,” Moira said, her smile falsely sweet. “Mr. Hailey merely secured my help in finding some time alone with you.”

  “I will not give Oliver up,” Sabrina said. The certain knowledge that Oliver loved her filled her veins and imbued her with courage. “Certainly not to you.”

  Moira gave a tinkling, artificial laugh. “Oh, my dear, you are such a child! How long do you think you’ll keep him amused? Oh, no, he’ll come back to me.”

  “Enough of this,” Reginald said. “You two can argue later. For now, I wish to speak to my cousin alone. Lady Marshfield, thank you for your help.”

  Moira dropped an ironic curtsy and went out the door, closing it behind her. Reginald’s hand clamped down upon Sabrina’s arm as she started to follow. “Let me go, Reginald,” she said. “We’ve nothing to say to each other.”

  “On the contrary, Cousin. We’ve a good deal to say to each other,” he said, thrusting her roughly into a chair. “Now, my girl, we’ll have an end to this. You will do what I ask, or God help you, I will go out there and expose you.”

  Sabrina yawned. It was all so tiresomely familiar, and no longer effective. Of what importance was her background, compared to what she had done since? “Your threats don’t frighten me, Reginald. Particularly since Bainbridge knows everything.”

  “Don’t try to gull me. If he knew he would have turned you out by now.”

  “Don’t be so certain of that, Mr. Hailey,” Sabrina said, a small smile playing about her lips. After this afternoon, she felt certain that Oliver would take that particular truth well, when she finally did tell him. She rose. “Now, you will excuse me—”

  “Oh, no, Sabrina,” he said, reaching past her and placing his hand flat against the door. “You see, Bainbridge may know, but the rest of the ton doesn’t.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sabrina said, turning from the doorway. “Do you think I care a fig for what the ton things?”

  “Yes, Sabrina, I do. And I wonder what they would think if they knew about your association with Pieter Tenbroeck.”

  Sabrina went cold. He didn’t know anything. He couldn’t. But she wasn’t about to give herself away, as she had at Vauxhall. “I don’t know what you think you have to tell, or what you’ll gain by it.”

  “Why, you, Sabrina. Or, at least, your fortune. Much as it pains me to marry a bastard, I really can see no other way.”

  She let out a laugh, genuinely amused. “Oh, really, Reginald! Give it up!”

  “Never. You owe me, Sabrina.” His smile was icy. “You see, because of you I have been disinherited. You will have to pay for that.”

  “Nonsense,” she said calmly. “I assure you your threats don’t bother me in the least. Go and say what you wish, Reginald. “

  “Oh, really?” he sneered. “And I you ready to answer for the consequences? How do you think your precious Grandmama will take the news?”

  “Heavens, she knew before Oliver did! I had to confide in someone, after you got it out of me at Vauxhall. She’s taken it well, hasn’t she?” she taunted. “You’ve lost, Reginald. Do you worst, and it will avail you nothing. Oliver will stand by me.”

  “You little bitch,” he growled, and she jumped out of harm’s way.

  “You’ve no hold on me,” she told him from the doorway. “You never did. You’ve lost, Reginald.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he snarled to the closed door, after she had left. “We shall just see.”

  Sabrina nearly ran down the corridor, toward the crowded ballroom and safety, but after a moment she recollected herself. Slowing her pace, she took a deep breath and smoothed her skirts. Distressed though she was,
it would not do to let any clue as to what had happened show on her face. Her cheeks still felt warm, but, satisfied that that was the only outward sign of her agitation, she slipped back inside, a smile pasted to her lips as she searched for Oliver. It wasn’t difficult to find him. He was standing just outside a window embrasure, and his gaze drew her is like a magnet. His eyes were cold and hard, and as she met them, her smile briefly faltered.

  “Oh, dear!” Moira exclaimed, and Oliver, who had not been aware of her presence beside him, started.

  “I beg your pardon?” he said.

  “Oh, dear, your little ward, and your cousin.”

  Puzzled, Oliver turned back to where Sabrina, his beautiful, treacherous love, stood near the door, and saw that Reginald, looking smugly content, had just followed her into the ballroom. “What the devil are you talking about, Moira?”

  “Nothing Oliver!” she said hastily. “I’m sure it was only a cousinly kiss. Oh, dear, I shouldn’t have said that!”

  Oliver looked down at her blankly, and then turned on his heel. “Excuse me,” he said abruptly, pushing his way through the crowd. His progress was impeded by friends and acquaintances, but he hardly seemed aware of them, so intent was his gaze on the girl in silvery-white satin, the one wearing the Bainbridge jewels, the girl he would have made his bride. “Yes, good evening,” he said in reply to someone who greeted him and, reaching out, caught Sabrina’s elbow in his hand. “And where have you been?”

  Sabrina risked a glance up at him and then looked away, frightened by the implacable anger in his eyes. “With Reginald. You’re hurting me!” she gasped, as his hand suddenly tightened. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t avoid it—”

  “You will make your excuses,” he interrupted in a low voice. Several people glanced at them, amused; his head was bent to hers, and they meeting looked for all the world like a tete a tete. “You will tell Grandmama and Lady Jersey you have the headache and that I will see you home. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Oliver,” she said in a subdued voice. What kind of poison had Lady Marshfield and whispering in his ear? she wondered as she hurried away. Whatever it was, it had made him angrier than she had ever seen him, and that did not bode well for her.