by Fiona Miers
Mr. Patrick Millington had spent the previous two weeks courting Sarah and she rather liked him. He was untitled, but wealthy enough due to an inheritance he had recently acquired. He came from a good family, was well educated and loved horses. Although he did talk about himself and his horses a little too often, Sarah didn’t perceive that to be an insurmountable problem. After all, how often would she be conversing with her husband once they were married?
“They are handsome gardens indeed, Miss Collins,” he agreed, looking over his shoulder towards the ballroom. Sarah noticed where Millington’s gaze landed and she stopped. They were much further away from the safety of the ballroom than she had at first realized.
“Oh,” Sarah turned, one hand landing on her throat as she smiled up at the large man next to her. “I didn’t realize we were so far from the house, Mr. Millington. Shall we return?” Sarah smelled the liquor on his breath as he bent his head in her direction and would have gagged if she had not taken a quick step sideways.
“In a moment,” Mr. Millington’s cold hands came up to grip the tops of her bare arms and Sarah winced as the touch turned hard. He twisted them so that he could push Sarah’s back up against a tree, the bark scratchy against her bare skin.
“Ow.” She blinked back hot tears that tingled in her eyes, just as he brought his mouth down on hers.
Sarah’s belly jumped in fear, but she allowed Millington to kiss her. He had such a strong hold on her, fighting him wasn’t really an option. When he forced his slimy tongue into her mouth, she could taste the alcohol and gagged.
That was enough.
He moved one hand to her breast and squeezed roughly, pain shooting through her tender flesh. Sarah forced her head away, dragging air into her starved lungs and pushing against the man that held her.
“Please stop,” she cried. “Let me go.”
“I think I deserve a taste of this body before I decide if we’ll be getting leg shackled, don’t you?” He spoke gruffly, his hot breath putrid against her turned cheek. He was pulling down her bodice with one hand and feeling under her skirt with his other. Cold air froze her nipples and panic forced her heart into a gallop.
“No!” Sarah began struggling in earnest, pushing against his solid chest and trying to drag her dress back up again.
Sarah’s head flew back against the tree as Millington pushed her back with enough force for black spots to form at the edge of her vision. Pain splintered across the back of her head as she heard fabric ripping and cool air brush her breasts.
Sarah let herself go limp against him, closing her eyes against the dulling pain in her head and gathered her strength. When he moved away to fumble with his trousers she raised her hands and leapt forward. She forced her pointed fingers into his eye sockets, scratching at his eyes with as much force as she could manage. She could feel wet skin and blood beneath her nails, but she didn’t stop.
Millington stumbled backwards in pain and Sarah picked up her skirts, heedless of the state of her bodice and ran as fast as she could. Thanking the years she had spent chasing her brothers down cobblestone steps, she made a mad dash for her life. She found a small dark alcove created by a cluster of heavy trees and crouched beneath it, her heaving chest aching in her attempts not to breathe too loudly.
“You bloody little bitch,” came a soft hissing sound from around the corner. Millington walked past the spot where she was hiding, and Sarah held her breath so she wouldn’t be heard. Her lungs burned and she bit her lip, tears stinging her eyes.
Cold air hurt her bare skin, but she didn’t dare move. Thankfully, Millington said a very crude word and moved back towards the house, mumbling to himself. His footsteps became less and less audible, until she couldn’t hear any movement around her.
It was only then, when Sarah was sure that he was gone that she let the tears fall, hot and heavy against her cheeks. She pulled her dress together, feelings of disgust and betrayal foremost in her mind. How could a gentleman do such a thing?
Then the terrifying realization of what would happen if she were seen now. She would be ruined forever. The weight of her family’s future rested on her shoulders, and within weeks of their arrival into London, she had ruined everything. Sarah wrapped her arms about her knees and muffled her cries with her skirts, fearful of being heard.
*****
Once his initial panic had receded, Oliver wandered slowly through the gardens, delaying the inevitable return to the ballroom. He wasn’t in the mood for company anymore and if he was honest with himself, he knew why. Something Charlotte had said had touched a raw nerve inside him. Back when he was just the second son and not the heir, he had happily conversed with gently bred females, knowing their mammas would soon steer their attention to someone older or of a higher rank.
Now it was too late to playfully flirt and get to know someone. He knew why those women wanted him now. He would never be able to find out who wanted him for more than his title. He felt like a prize goose at Christmas time and he could not get away from the hunt fast enough.
Oliver stopped his walking, sure that he had heard a strange noise coming from the tree up ahead of him. Something, or someone, was hiding under or behind a cluster of trees.
“Hello, who’s there?” Oliver called out.
There was a loud gasp and then nothing. There were lamps hanging through out the garden and he could make out a figure in the shadows. He assumed it was a woman hiding there, judging by the little piece of material peeking out from the bush. She seemed to be holding her breath, for now there was no noise coming from behind the bush.
Oliver laughed softly to himself. Maybe an assignation had been organized for this spot? It was certainly far enough away from the house for her and her partner not to be seen.
“Come out, whoever you are,” Oliver called again, feeling slightly mischievous. He would bet that some bored married lady had seen him and jumped behind the bush to preserve her reputation. Maybe he should speak to her, it was probably time he joined the ranks of the ‘titled with mistresses’. He grimaced slightly at the cynical thought. What was a Duke without a mistress?
A woman crawled out beneath the trees and stepped out of the brush, holding together the remains of her torn bodice.
“Please do not hurt me,” the woman whispered, her eyes on the ground.
Oliver was struck speechless, his heart in his throat. It seemed there was no merry wife hiding in the brush, but a fallen angel. Golden ringlets pulled askew and what was once a pale virginal ball gown was now dirty and ripped. Too much of her creamy skin was bared to his gaze for decency but what really caught his eye was the way her cheeks glistened from recently shed tears, and her beautiful pale eyes were bloodshot.
He removed his coat immediately to help her cover herself.
Her eyebrows rose high and her mouth fell open as she took a step back.
“Please no,” she looked positively stricken and began pulling her ruined gown closer around her small body but rather full breasts.
Oliver stopped moving forward and instead just held his jacket out to her like one would to a wounded animal. It was obvious the poor girl had been brutalized. The sick churning in his stomach that had begun at the sight of her intensified as a sense of anger set in. Who would dare touch a creature this beautiful and angelic? She would be lucky to weigh half the weight of a normal man. What chance would she have of defending herself?
“Please take my jacket,” Oliver’s voice cracked like a green boy and he didn’t care. “You must be freezing.”
New tears welled up in the angel’s violet eyes as she reached for his jacket with trembling fingers. Taking it from him, she turned her back to shield herself as she slipped her arms into it.
Oliver gasped at the ugly red scratches marring the perfect skin of her upper back. Either she had been pushed against a tree or the ground. Bloody bastard!
“What happened to you?”
The woman turned around and looked into his eyes. Tears fille
d her eyes to brimming and began to slide down her cheeks. Her face crumbled as she began to sink to her knees.
Oliver rushed forward and reached out for her, wrapping his arms around her small frame and holding her against his body. She gripped his lapels like a child and cried.
Oliver stroked his angel’s soft hair and made soft crooning noises into her ear as she sobbed against his evening suit. He rarely felt needed by anyone, and it gave him a lovely feeling to be able to help someone in such a small but important way.
“It’s all right, you’re safe,” he reassured her, although he had no idea if it was, or if it ever could be again. If she’d been molested, he could not imagine a worse fate for a gently bred woman.
Wiping at her eyes with her hands, the woman straightened up and stepped back from him. She looked like a real mess and he’d never seen anything more beautiful.
He smiled as he handed her his pristine white handkerchief and was rewarded with her smile. The angel dabbed at her face and wiped her nose before taking a few deep breaths to steady herself.
“Thank you so much sir. I need to get out of here before anyone sees me. Can you help me, please?”
“Oh... of... course I can.” Oliver’s mind raced with the logistics of how to get her out of the grounds unseen. Why hadn’t he thought about that before she mentioned it? He should have been the one to offer aid and felt like a cad for being so slow to do so.
“I can’t be seen like this.” Her voice broke on the words and two fresh shimmering tears slipped down her red cheeks. “No one would ever marry me.”
Oliver’s heart all but broke at the pitiful look on her face, for it was indeed true. Her beauty and virginity were the two things that would be her greatest assets on the marriage market. If society regarded her as damaged goods, no one of any consequence would marry her, no matter how beautiful she was.
“I’ll get you out of here. Let’s walk towards the front of the house and you can hide whilst I arrange a carriage.” Oliver put his arm gingerly around the angel, ushering her towards the house.
“I’m Sarah by the way.” She sniffed as she wiped her face again with his now soaked handkerchief.
“Oh ... well...” Oliver stammered again. How did this beauty keep flabbergasting him? He’d never felt so verbally incompetent in his life.
“I think we’re past polite names, do you not? After all, you have probably seen more of me tonight than any one should before marriage.”
Oliver’s mouth dropped open. Her honest and far too accurate assessment of the situation was unsettling. If someone saw them in her current state of ‘dress’ it would be his head on the chopping block, or in the parson’s trap as the case may be.
“I don’t want to get married,” he blurted out, louder than he should have, grabbing her shoulders and planting his feet, stopping her in their rather quick race to the front gate.
Sarah chuckled and turned to look up at him. My God was she beautiful.
“I didn’t mean I wanted to marry you, my lord. I just meant that considering the state you found me in and after all you have done for me tonight, the least I could do was introduce myself as Sarah and not Miss such and such, daughter of such and such.” She sighed loudly and waved her hand in a dismissive way. “I hate all that.”
Oliver smiled despite himself. Was there really a marriageable female in London that didn’t care about connections? He frowned as reality crowded in. He didn’t think she’d feel the same way when she was properly introduced to him.
“I’m Oliver.” He smiled shyly at her, a strange swirling feeling blossoming deep inside him. He’d never been introduced as just ‘Oliver’ in his entire twenty-six years of life. What an odd, exhilarating feeling it was. ‘Oliver’ could be anyone, do anything.
“Oliver,” she repeated his name and the tone of her voice had a slight huskiness that sent a bolt of desire to his groin.
“Wait here.” He forced himself to let go of her arms and stepped away from her. He needed to put some distance between them. The last thing he needed to feel for an almost ravished woman was desire.
Oliver left her near a garden gate and went in search of his cloak and servants. After arranging for his carriage to take Sarah home and then come back to get him, he made his way covertly to Charlotte’s side.
It wasn’t the first time Oliver felt blessed to have so many people at his disposal, but tonight he’d used his power to help someone other than himself. Her helplessness brought out his protective instincts. Somehow, this felt deeply satisfying, as if it was for this he existed.
He stepped back into the crowded, loud ballroom and found his hostess as quickly as possible. He pulled Charlotte aside again, ignoring the look of contempt the lady she was speaking to shot in his direction.
“Where have you been? There has been such a commotion.” Charlotte beamed at him, her blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight. Lady Charlotte knew as any good hostess does, that gossip, either good or bad was the only real thing that made any ball memorable.
“Patrick Millington came back to the ballroom half an hour ago with blood dripping from his face. He said he was escorting Miss Collins and made a remark to which she inadvertently took exception and she attacked him. I applaud her really, the man is disgusting, but she shouldn’t have gone quite that far.” Charlotte started to laugh but stopped short when she saw Oliver’s face.
“What’s the matter?”
Oliver ground his teeth together audibly and forced the words out. “I found Sarah in the back gardens.” His hands were clenched into fists at his sides as he realized the attempted seduction of an innocent was going to go completely unreported.
Lady Charlotte gasped and took a small step back, her eyes opening wide in surprise.
“He didn’t just say something that offended her. Her bodice was torn apart and her back was scratched.” Oliver’s chest rose and fell too rapidly as he struggled to control his breathing. “Where is that bastard? I’ll show him what happens to a man who attacks someone half his size.” Oliver turned to move towards the card room, his eyes narrowing to slits.
“You can’t,” Lady Charlotte’s hand grabbed at his forearm and pulled him back around to face her, her grip tight and unforgiving.
“He’s already gone and you know it would ruin Miss Collins if people found out he stole more than a kiss.”
Oliver forced himself to think clearly through the red haze engulfing his common sense. Charlotte was right. She was always right. If he made a scene, then his angel would be ruined and he could not save her from that.
He observed somewhere in his brain that he kept calling her ‘his angel’’, but couldn’t summon the energy to look at the thought properly.
“Fine. You need to tell her mother that she had a sudden headache attack from the cold night air and she needs to be taken home immediately. I’ve had my carriage drive around the side garden to pick her up, and her mother needs to go to her. You need to help her, Charlotte.”
Oliver turned pleading eyes on his old friend, who looked at his with assessing eyes.
“I’ll do everything I can, Oliver,” she reassured him, giving his forearm a squeeze before releasing him.
“Go join my brother in the card room for some time, then go home, please. It sounds like you’ve had an exhausting night.”
“I’m going to see to Sarah first, and then I will. Thank you Lady Charlotte.”
He bowed to his friend and kissed her extended hand.
She curtseyed and moved off to where he assumed Sarah’s mother would be and Oliver stepped out into the garden again.
Sarah was waiting for him exactly where he had left her. She was chewing her bottom lip and pacing up and down, but her face lit up as he approached. That genuine smile hit him low in the belly, forcing the air from his lungs. She accepted his cloak and wrapped it around herself with easy, elegant movements. As soon as she was covered, she handed him back his jacket and he slipped it back on. He was once again prese
ntable, yet the heat from her body that had transferred into the jacket made him uncomfortable. He would be smelling her subtle perfume all night now.
Sarah gestured helplessly to herself and looked up at him with wide, beautiful eyes.
“Oliver what am I going to do about my mother? She’s still inside and I can’t go in...”
Oliver looked her over and grimaced. She was decently covered with his cloak but he knew she couldn’t enter the ballroom with her mussed hair and ball gown covered in a man’s cloak. The scandal would be one for White’s betting hall.
“Lady Charlotte is going to get your mother and she will meet you at the entrance. She will tell them that you have come down with a sudden headache and no one will be the wiser.” Oliver paused. How did one ask about the virtue of a maiden? Did he really have the right to ask? Would she even know what he wanted to know? “Ahh, Sarah, I have to ask, did he... ah...”
“He didn’t force me, if that is what you want to know.” Sarah told him in a quiet voice She dipped her head to avoid his eyes.
“Oh, thank God.”
Sarah’s head shot up with his words and she beamed at him. Her eyes shone and her whole face seemed to grin, not just her lips. Oliver couldn’t believe he had ever seen a smile so wondrous. His knees felt weak and he locked them, hard.
“Oliver, I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, seeing the encounter we’ve had, but... I suppose it’s the only time I’d have the courage any way.” She was biting her lip again and although it was as seductive a move as anything Oliver had ever seen, he was cautious of what she would ask of him.
“Of course, my lady. What is it you wish to know?” Oliver added a formal bow to his question, which seemed to upset her more.
“I... want... oh bother...” Sarah looked from side to side and twisted her hands in front of her.
Oliver attempted a reassuring smile, trying not to imagine what she would ask of him.