Sara cast a glance at Aunt Delphi’s elderly groom. Hopkins gazed at Nick with a frowning stare, as if trying to place him. Sara bit her lip and wished there were some way she could get rid of the groom and his minion.
Hewlette nudged his horse forward. “Bridgeton, I had heard you were back in England.”
“Did you?” the earl asked, looking less than interested. “How nice.” The subtlest hint of a threat threaded through the words and Sara shivered. There was something almost hypnotic about his voice, something dangerous and dark, yet seductive.
“It appears the gentlemen know each other,” Anna said brightly.
Hewlette managed a tight, superior smile. “Actually, no. Lord Bridgeton and I do not travel in the same circles.”
Sara ground her teeth. The imbecile. Of course they didn’t travel in the same circles. She could hardly imagine a man like Bridgeton enjoying a discussion on the values of fertilizer application.
Bridgeton merely appeared amused. Indeed, he flicked a faintly contemptuous glance at Hewlette before saying, “Then I daresay you aren’t familiar with Lord Wilkins. When I was in Rome, I was the guest of the consulate.”
Hewlette reddened. “Naturally I know Lord Wilkins. I didn’t stay with him, of course—”
“Of course,” murmured Bridgeton. He smiled at Sara. “Lady Carrington, may I say how lovely you appear this morning.”
Sara managed to say with tolerable composure, “Thank you, my lord. May I compliment you on your horse? He is lovely.” She patted her own mount’s neck. “Unlike poor Petunia. She cannot walk for ten minutes without needing a good nap.”
Bridgeton leaned over and rubbed a gloved hand along her horse’s side. Sara watched as his hand moved breathtakingly near her knee before he straightened.
“She’s not worthy of you.” He met Sara’s gaze so directly that she blushed. “And it appears she is forming a splint. If you find yourself without a mount, I would be pleased to lend you one from my stable—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Hewlette almost glared. “I have several mounts in my stables that would be more than adequate for a gentlewoman of Lady Carrington’s standing.”
“I’m sure you do,” Bridgeton said. “But I wasn’t offering her an ‘adequate’ mount. Lady Carrington can handle a much livelier horse—one that won’t bore her to death.”
Sara knew he wasn’t speaking about horses. She also knew that it was pure folly to assume that his interest in her was anything other than prurient in nature. Still, some part of her responded to the thought of riding a horse like his, of flying through the park, leaping over the hedgerows and letting chance take her where it would.
Bridgeton’s smile deepened and warmed. “Yes,” he murmured, as if hearing her thoughts, “a handsome black gelding with a lilting gait. One to match the color of your hair.”
The picture made her smile and a spark shimmered between them. It was as if he knew her and her impulses, her desire to taste freedom and to live life minute by minute.
Anna cleared her throat loudly. “Dear me! Look at the time. Sara, aren’t we supposed to meet your aunt at ten?”
Lord Hewlette inched his mount forward until his horse was between Sara’s and the earl’s. “Lady Carrington, I would be glad to escort you home. I would like to have a word with your aunt.” He spoke in a loud, proprietary manner, sending a warning glance at the earl.
Bridgeton still ignored the man. He touched the brim of his hat to Sara and Anna. “Lady Carrington, Miss Thraxton, perchance you will be at the Kirkwood rout tomorrow evening?”
Sara nodded. “I believe so.”
“Excellent,” said the earl, his voice deepening to a deadly purr. “I look forward to seeing you there.” He cast a glance at the viscount. “By the way, Hewlette, Lord Edgerwood mentioned you might be of a mind to sell a certain set of bays.”
Hewlette’s eyes brightened. “Indeed I am. Are you looking for a pair?”
“I ordered a phaeton. In fact, I’m off to look at Oglethorpe’s knockoffs in an hour.”
The viscount stiffened, his broad face darkening with concern. “I fear you may be disappointed; Oglethorpe’s grays aren’t nearly so well matched. Don’t make up your mind until you’ve seen my pair. Perhaps tomorrow—”
“I must purchase a matched pair this morning,” the earl said softly.
Hewlette’s mouth dropped open. “This morning?”
“The phaeton will be delivered to Hibberton Hall by noon. I wish to have the horses by then.”
Bridgeton glanced past Hewlette to Sara. “But you have plans this morning, so I will just call on Oglethorpe and hope—”
“No, no! I can visit Lady Langtry another time.” He turned to Sara and offered an apologetic grimace. “You will make my apologies to your aunt, won’t you?”
Sara managed a stiff smile. “Of course.”
Hewlette took Sara’s gloved hand and pressed his lips to her fingers, sending her a look fraught with meaning. “In the meantime, I hope to see you at the rout. May I have the honor of the first dance?”
Over Hewlette’s shoulder, the earl watched, his gaze thick with mockery. Sara suddenly had the feeling that he was laughing at her. She jerked her chin in the air. “Only one dance, Lord Hewlette? I was hoping for two.”
The viscount’s gaze flared with warmth, and he tightened his hold on her hand. “The first two, my lady.” With an air of reluctance, he turned his horse to the earl. “Well, sir? Shall we go?”
Bridgeton didn’t grace Sara with another glance. Instead, he pulled his horse beside Hewlette’s and, together, they rode down the path.
“Well!” Anna said. “I have now seen a master at work.”
“Who? Hewlette? I would hardly call him a master.”
“Not Hewlette. Bridgeton, of course. He came, sized up the competition, tossed out one tiny lure, and cleared the field without firing a shot. He is a very dangerous man.”
Sara thought so, too. Her heart beat far too quickly whenever he was about. “I’m sure he is just being polite.”
“Hmm. I think he’s irked you rejected him at the Jeffries ball, and he’s decided to have you.”
“I didn’t reject him, he rejected me. I asked him to go out on the terrace, and he flatly refused. And then he looked at me as if—” Sara swallowed. As if he wanted to bed me, right there on the floor of the Jeffries ballroom. And Sara hadn’t been shocked; she’d been excited beyond belief.
“As if?” Anna asked, looking far too interested.
“As if nothing,” Sara muttered. She turned her horse toward the path. “Come on. Aunt Delphi will be waiting.”
Anna wisely held her tongue and turned her mount beside Sara’s. Out of the corner of her eye, Sara watched the earl’s broad back as he cantered across the park, turning the heads of more than one woman as he went. Hewlette struggled to keep up with him; it was almost laughable the way the stout viscount bumped along on his mount behind the earl’s lithe figure.
Sara sniffed. It was true that Hewlette appeared at a distinct disadvantage beside Bridgeton, but what man would not? In a way, Bridgeton was exactly like Julius—he depended far too much on his charm and wit. Well, she would not be fooled by such shallow intrigue. Pasting a smile on her face, she entertained Anna with every naughty bit of gossip she could think of, all the while praying that this odd attraction for the earl would disappear as quickly as it had occurred.
Chapter 5
The heavy clock in the hallway outside the Kirkwoods’ grand salon chimed, the sound mingling with the swirl of music and the noisy discord of a hundred voices.
“Midnight,” Sara muttered. And still the Earl of Bridgeton had yet to walk through the door. Not that she’d been looking for him; her attention was solely for Viscount Hewlette, who was also mysteriously missing.
“I cannot believe Hewlette has not yet appeared,” Anna said, echoing Sara’s thoughts. “He is usually quite prompt.”
“He said he was coming,” Sa
ra said absently. “Of course, I—damn!” Her gaze fixed on the receiving line, her heart sinking.
Anna tried to peer around the feathered headdress of a stout matron in green satin. “What is it? Has he come?”
“No. It’s my brother.”
The stout matron moved, exposing Anthony at the head of the receiving line, his massive frame dressed in a black coat, his cravat impeccably arranged about his neck, his breeches stretched over his strong thighs.
“Sweet saints,” Anna said in a faded voice, “that’s your brother? Which one is he—Adonis?”
“Anthony is my half brother,” Sara answered shortly, stepping behind a clock. She should have known he would come, since Marcus could not. She grabbed Anna’s arm and yanked that bemused maiden to her side. “We don’t have any more time. Now that Anthony is here, I won’t have the freedom to sneeze, much less convince someone to marry me.”
“And the viscount isn’t the kind of man you can goad into action.”
“If he’s not ready to make a proposal, then I shall just have to propose to him,” Sara said resolutely. She had no choice now. A slight stir at the door made her peer around the edge of the clock. “There’s Viscount Hewlette! I can’t speak with him in the ballroom, not with Anthony lurking about. Maybe I can get him to take a turn with me on the terrace.”
“In this cold?”
“I wouldn’t care if it was snowing; I must speak with him tonight!”
Anna sighed. “I don’t like this at all.”
“We have no choice. Look, Anthony is going into the ballroom now. I’ll ask Hewlette to walk outside with me. So long as you are with me, no one should pay much attention.”
“Very well,” Anna said, her voice heavy with doubt. She turned her clear, gray eyes on Sara. “What will you do if he refuses to marry you?”
Sara swallowed. She’d already thought of that, for no matter how marked Hewlette’s attentions were, he was reticent on the topic of marriage. Her stomach tensed, and she hoped with all her heart that the viscount listened to her proposal. “We’ll think about that later.”
Hopefully it would not be an issue. Hewlette stood talking to their host, no doubt discussing his rousing triumphs on the hunting field last season. Strangely, she found her gaze drifting past him to the foyer. Bridgeton had specifically asked her if she would be present, and she thought he’d have arrived by—Heavens, what was wrong with her?
Here she was, on the verge of attempting to secure the viscount’s suit, and all she could do was think of the earl, damn his black soul. She didn’t want to admit how much time she’d spent imagining all the witty things she should have said when he’d accosted them in the park.
Well, it didn’t matter. She didn’t have time for games now. Sara waited until Anthony had stopped well inside the ballroom to talk to an acquaintance before she whisked herself across the doorway toward Viscount Hewlette.
He drew himself up as soon as he saw her, his expression brightening. “Lady Carrington! I apologize for coming so late, but I was detained and—”
“Oh, it is of no consequence.” She laid her hand on his arm and leaned toward him, looking at him through her lashes. “But now that you are here, I wonder if I might secure your assistance.”
“You have but to ask,” he said with ponderous gallantry.
Sara suppressed a grimace with difficulty. “I am afraid that I have become separated from my friend, Miss Thraxton. I wondered if you would help me look for her.”
“Have you tried the refreshment room?”
“Oh, I’m certain she’s not there. I rather think she went out on the terrace.”
An arrested expression touched his face. “The terrace?”
Sara laid her hand on his. “I believe I saw her walk out just a few moments ago.”
“My dear Sara,” Hewlette said, his voice deepening, his gaze narrowing on her face. “I had no idea that you were…By all means, let us take a turn on the terrace.”
It was like holding bacon in front of a hound. She took a step toward the wide doors that led outside, but halted when she realized that Anna really had disappeared from sight. Perhaps she had already gone outside.
Hewlette’s hand on the small of her back propelled her gently toward the terrace. He pushed the curtains from the doorway. “After you, my dear.”
Just as she crossed the threshold, she cast one last glance behind her. But it wasn’t toward her brother or in search of Anna, but rather toward the entryway. It was several minutes after midnight and still the Earl of Bridgeton had not come. Banishing a strange sense of disappointment, Sara placed her hand on the viscount’s arm and stepped onto the terrace.
At exactly ten minutes past twelve, Nick walked into the Kirkwood ballroom.
The comte followed a desultory pace or two behind, resplendent in a mauve waistcoat adorned with silver trim. He handed his multicaped cloak to a footman and took a deep, exhilarating breath. “Do you smell that, mon ami? It is the scent of the chase, the heady fragrance of l’amour.”
Nick made no comment. Since last night, he’d been plagued with one of his headaches. Though it wasn’t nearly as bad as previous ones, it was severe enough that he’d considered not attending this evening. After all, his absence would only make the lovely Lady Carrington wonder about him even more. The only problem was, he’d thought of little else but her since his ride in the park.
The comte sighed his satisfaction and rocked back on his heels. “All of Bath has come out tonight.”
“Indeed,” Nick agreed, searching the room for signs of his quarry. “A plaguey nuisance it is, too.”
“That is your headache speaking.” The comte’s bright gaze narrowed. “Ah, there is my delicate Delphi. No, do not look her way! Tonight, I pretend I do not see her, and she must watch me flirt with every woman present.”
“Uncertainty keeps them panting.”
“Exactemente!” The comte waggled his brows, then turned to a lady in blue silk and asked her to dance, his French accent more pronounced than ever.
Nick barely noticed Henri’s disappearance; he was too busy searching for Sara. It took him only a few moments to realize that she was nowhere in sight. Clenching his teeth against the sparkle of pain behind his eyes, he set out to find her. Almost immediately he realized the grim truth—she wasn’t here. Disappointment gnawed at his temper and as he left the ballroom he wanted to ram his fist into someone’s face.
He didn’t even bother to tell Henri that he was leaving, but that was nothing new. He’d send a coach later, though he doubted the comte would leave anytime soon. Henri enjoyed functions like these, while Nick detested them.
He stood in the front hall, away from the racket of the ballroom, and pressed a hand to his right eye where the throbbing had increased to a near-frantic tempo. The evening had been a complete waste, and he had the sneaking suspicion that he’d been made a fool of. Damn the heat, damn the crowded room, and damn Lady Carrington.
He spun on his heel and had just reached the front door when a light hand touched his sleeve. He turned immediately, disappointment weighing his brow when he met Lady Knowles’s gaze.
“Nick,” Lucilla purred, slipping her fingers inside his sleeve, her mouth soft with invitation. “I was afraid you were not coming.”
“As you can see, your fears were unfounded.” He looked impatiently toward the door. “But I fear I cannot stay.”
“No?” She brushed her breasts along his sleeve, tightening her hold on his arm. “Perhaps I should leave with you. We could…relive old times.”
Nick looked down at Lucilla. He’d forgotten how persistent she was, how possessive. He placed his hand over hers and freed his arm. “I think you have made a mistake, Lucilla.”
The pleasant expression on her face froze. “What do you mean?”
“Only that I am not interested in pursuing this relationship.”
She looked at him for a long, cold moment, her face hardening. “You have settled on someone else.
”
“No. I have merely realized we would not suit. Meanwhile—”
“Nick!” Henri said, entering the corridor and crossing to his side. “Have you seen Lady Carrington? Her aunt is looking for her everywhere.”
Lucilla flicked a frigid gaze at Nick. “Sara Lawrence? Surely not.”
He smoothed his cuff where Lucilla’s clinging grasp had creased the fabric. “Pardon me, Lucilla. I must assist Henri in his search.”
Lucilla’s hands had curled into claws, and a feral gleam entered her gaze, a certain smudge of self-satisfaction. “My dearest Nick, I don’t believe I have ever seen you like this before.”
He merely raised his brows, his temper sharpening. “And what way is that?”
Lucilla’s smile widened, as unpleasant as it was vicious. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you as a cuckolded lover.”
The comte muttered a curse as a red haze settled over Nick’s eyes. He grabbed Lucilla’s arm and yanked her against him. “Explain yourself.”
Lucilla’s nostrils flared, triumph glittering in her eyes. “Sara Lawrence is on the terrace with Viscount Hewlette. I saw them leave a few minutes ago.”
Nick spun on his heel and swiftly made his way through the ballroom. He ignored the smiles sent his way, the outstretched hands and curious gazes.
Whether she knew it or not, Sara Lawrence was his, and she had no right to be alone in the garden with another man.
Chapter 6
Sara allowed the viscount to lead her a short distance down one of the dimly lit paths before coming to a halt. Where was Anna? Sara cleared her throat nervously. “Viscount Hewlette, I have a question I must ask you.”
He placed his hand over hers. “Ask anything, dearest Sara.”
She freed her hand, noting the dampness of his palm. “I know this is rather forward of me, but I…I…” Oh, fudge. This is harder than I imagined. She shivered in the cold.
Hewlette immediately pulled her against him. “Let me keep you warm.”
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