She clenched her teeth. The trill of excitement that had warmed her at his forbidden proposition proved that Bridgeton had his own charm, a subtle, heady draw, and she had to be very wary in her dealings with him. She had watched her husband flitter through a succession of mistresses and had no intention of becoming one herself.
Sara’s foot reached the terrace step, and Anna jumped from her seat as if released by an invisible hand. She rushed forward, her gaze flickering over Sara’s shoulder into the darkness of the garden. “He’s gone.”
Sara slumped in relief, and managed to make the last few steps to the bench before she sank gratefully on the hard, cool surface.
Anna joined her. “I vow, I’ve never been so shocked in all my life as when he grabbed me through the branches! What did he say to you? I tried so hard to hear, but the music from the ballroom was too loud.”
If the truth were told, some of what had occurred this evening was Anna’s fault. Sara turned to her friend. “Where were you?”
Anna blinked. “Here. On this bench. After the earl—”
“No,” Sara said grimly. “Earlier. When I came outside with Viscount Hewlette.”
“Your brother caught me just before I reached the terrace doors.”
“What did Anthony say?”
“He was determined to find you. I told him you were in an antechamber pinning a torn flounce and that you would be back shortly, but he didn’t believe me.” Anna’s eyes sparkled dangerously. “He suggested I was lying.”
“You were.”
“Yes, but he didn’t know that. It’s rude to accuse someone when you’ve no proof. I was tempted to slap him.”
Sara, perceiving how tightly Anna’s hands were curled into fists, rather thought Anthony would have gotten more than a slap. “How did you get away?”
“Your aunt returned from the cardroom. When he turned to greet her, I slipped out the terrace doors. Tell me, Sara; are all of your brothers so overbearing?”
“Yes.”
Anna muttered something under her breath. “I’m sorry I was late in arriving. I truly thought you would be safe with Hewlette. He seems so dull.”
“It took him less than ten seconds to pounce on me. It was like trying to fight off a cat with forty paws.”
“Hewlette has been nothing but a disappointment.” Anna leaned forward. “But Bridgeton? How did he come to be involved?”
“He was wandering down the path and stumbled upon us just as I disengaged Lord Hewlette.”
“I can’t imagine a man like Bridgeton walking the gardens alone.” Anna tilted her head to one side. “My grandfather heard that Lady Knowles knew the earl when she was on the Continent. Perhaps he was going to meet her.”
That would be just like the man, to proposition her on his way to another assignation. Worse, Sara couldn’t think of a woman she disliked more than Lady Knowles. Lucilla Kettering had been hunting married men with the voraciousness of a hungry lioness since the first day she’d set foot out of the schoolroom. She’d met and married old Lord Knowles in a whirlwind courtship that left His Lordship in such a fevered state that he’d keeled over a scant month after the nuptials. Naturally he’d left his considerable fortune to his unblushing bride, who had done her best to run through it in record time.
Sara had many reasons not to like Lucilla Kettering, the least of them being the fact that Julius had once been her paramour. But then, there were few ladies of loose virtue whom Julius had missed.
Forcing a smile, she stood, shivering slightly in the cold. “We should return to the ballroom.”
“I’m surprised your brother isn’t already out here,” Anna said as she joined her.
“So am I.” Sara opened the door to the ballroom and stepped inside. A swelter of heat and noise immediately engulfed them.
Anna’s attention riveted on the other side of the room. “I spoke too soon—here’s Lord Adonis now. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go see if my grandfather is ready to leave. I’ve no wish to face your brother a second time this evening.”
Sara didn’t feel like facing Anthony for even a first time. “Anna, thank you for your assistance. I’ll call on you tomorrow.”
“Fine, provided you don’t bring him,” Anna responded, jerking her head toward Anthony, who was a scant two steps away and heard every word. Flashing a smile at Sara, Anna slipped into the crowd.
Anthony stopped long enough to glower at the departing woman. “That woman is a menace.”
“She’s a good friend.”
Obviously unimpressed, Anthony turned his glare to Sara. “Where in the hell have you been?”
“Fixing my gown. Would you like to see where I pinned it?”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t press me, Sara. Aunt Delphi has a headache and wishes to go home.”
Sara caught sight of her aunt just beyond Anthony. The older woman appeared flustered. Her thin mouth was clamped tightly closed, her hands nervously worrying the edge of her shawl, her gaze flittering about the room in a distracted manner. Sara walked past her brother and placed her hand over her aunt’s. “Oh, dear! I’m so sorry you are in-disposed. Shall we go?”
A look of gratitude crossed Delphi’s face. “Yes, please.”
They took their leave of their hosts and were soon safely ensconced in their carriage. If Sara had hoped for a reprieve, she was mistaken. Anthony barely waited for the footman to close the door before he sent her a piercing glance. “It was far too cold to take a turn on the terrace.”
Sara thought briefly of denying her whereabouts, but decided against it. Anthony was no one’s fool. “It was cold, but not unbearably so,” she said. Especially not with the Earl of Bridgeton’s mouth covering hers. What a pity she would not be experiencing any more embraces from the man. “Where is Marcus?”
“Attending to business. He invested in a shipping venture and the fleet just returned.”
Marcus had a score of minions who scurried every time he sneezed, and it was highly unlikely that he would dash down to the docks to count his new funds personally. No, Sara knew her brothers well, and they were notorious for using a deck of cards to settle every argument. “Lost the draw, did you?” she asked without sympathy.
An answering glimmer lit Anthony’s brown eyes. “Yes, but Marcus cheated. I caught him dealing from the bottom of the deck.”
“If you caught him, then why isn’t he here now?”
Anthony gave a reluctant grin. Sara was too intelligent by far. “Because I was cheating, too, and he knew it.” However, they had both been attempting to lose. Sara was their only sister and as such, she held a special place in their hearts. Especially for Anthony. Of all his half siblings, he understood Sara better than the others.
She didn’t appear at all appreciative of his sacrifice. She fixed a glum glare on him, and said, “I am not made of porcelain, Anthony. Nor do I need to be wrapped in wool and placed in a box for safekeeping. I don’t like boxes; I never have.”
Anthony regarded his sister through narrowed eyes. Something had occurred this evening, something important. Sara almost shimmered with it. Her skin was flushed, her eyes luminescent even in the dim light cast from the street. The only thing that reassured him was the way her mouth was set in such a thin line. Whatever had happened, she wasn’t happy with the outcome.
She sighed now, and leaned her head against the squabs, regarding him through her lashes. “I don’t want to argue, Anthony. I’m tired.”
“I can tell,” he said dryly.
A slight quiver touched her lips. “But I’m still glad to see you.”
He lifted his brows in polite disbelief. “Are you?”
“Of course. Now you can go home first thing in the morning and report to Marcus that I am safely tucked away and bored to death. Buried alive, just as he planned.”
“That’s not what we wanted, Sara. All we ask is that you give yourself a chance to find happiness. And that does not include taking long, unescorted walks in the garden.”
To be honest, Sara’s redheaded friend worried Anthony more than anything else. Tall, statuesque, with flashing gray eyes framed by thick black lashes, Anna Thraxton was far too attractive to supervise anyone, not least his headstrong sister. And the fact that she’d lied to him about Sara’s whereabouts, smiling so sweetly that he’d almost believed her, made him even more irritated. “That hoyden is not a suitable companion. She’s barely more than a child herself.”
Sara raised her brows. “She’s twenty-four and a perfectly acceptable companion.”
“Miss Thraxton is untruthful, obstinate, and wrong,” he stated with certainty.
“Wrong? About what?”
Anthony shifted in his seat. “About everything,” he said finally. Before Sara could respond to his weak rejoinder, he turned to Aunt Delphi. “Are you aware of the type of literature Miss Thraxton’s grandfather ascribes to?”
“Oh. Uhm, yes,” Aunt Delphi said in an uncertain voice, her fingers toying with the fringes of her shawl. “Something to do with taxation. And trade, I think.”
“Sir Thraxton is within a hound’s breath of being an anarchist. Were he more successful, he’d be swinging from Tyburn, a branded traitor.”
“I don’t know about anarchy,” Aunt Delphi said, “but Thraxton is well known to Wellington, and that counts for a great deal. As for Anna, I’ve never seen her behave in any but the most circumspect manner.”
Anthony opened his mouth to reply, but Sara interceded, sending him an annoyed glance. “Aunt Delphi, how was the ball? Did you win at cards?”
“No.” Her fingers were tangled in her shawl, but she made no move to free them, her gaze drifting to the window. “I lost.”
Sara frowned. “I’ve never seen you so upset over a card game. Did anything else happen?”
Delphi attempted to collect herself with an obvious effort. “I had a lovely time. Didn’t you, dear?” She immediately began to chatter with an air of forced gaiety.
They finally arrived home, and Anthony stalked off to the library while Delphi and Sara retired to their bedchambers. Splendidly free from the presence of females, he dropped into a wide leather chair. His coat was gone, tossed over a chair by the door, his waistcoat loosened, his cravat hung open about his neck. He stretched his legs before him and reflected on the evening’s events.
Something was definitely afoot. Sara had been far too secretive, and her prolonged absence from the ballroom was a particularly ominous sign. Sighing, he rested his head against the high back of the chair and stared at the ornate plaster ceiling.
From the day Sara had been born, she had been his special charge. Though his stepfather had always treated Anthony as if he were his own son, Anthony was always aware that he was different from his half brothers. The knowledge hadn’t made him lonely or discontent; it had merely given him the confidence to pursue his own road, wherever it might lead.
Anthony had remained aloof until the day he was called into his mother’s room some ten years later to meet his newest sibling—Saraphina Elisia St. John—the first girl born into the St. John family in three generations. Anthony, already embarrassingly aware of how much larger he was than any of his brothers, had felt like a giant when his father handed him the tiny baby.
Eyes wide, he’d stared down at the small, heart-shaped face and the smile that danced in her blue eyes. He’d been so afraid of hurting her that he’d held his breath the entire time she’d lain in his arms. But she hadn’t been hurt. Instead, she’d reached up and stuck a small finger in his nose, squealing loudly.
From that day on, Anthony had been Sara’s self-appointed champion. He loved her fiercely and protected her against the overexuberance of her other brothers. When Brand helped Sara up into a tree and promptly forgot her during an especially engrossing game of pirate ship, it was Anthony who heard her cries and rescued her. When Chase tested the safety of jumping from the loft into a stack of hay by throwing one of Sara’s precious dolls over the railing and then giving her a push when she leaned over to see where it had landed, Anthony was the one who swooped her out of midair, saving her neck and then thrashing Chase soundly to prevent it from happening again.
Now Anthony was protecting his high-spirited sister from herself.
Anthony rubbed a hand over his face, then reached for the port. He should have never allowed Sara to wed Julius Lawrence. He’d been against the match from the beginning, but Sara had been so in love that he’d let his better judgment be swayed by her pleas. Anthony’s jaw tensed at the memory of how Sara had changed during that endless year, how the laughter that had once danced in her eyes had slowly faded to nothingness.
Never again, he vowed silently. Never again would a worthless whoreson destroy his sister’s happiness. They had all hoped that coming to Bath would give Sara time to reestablish herself, some room to recover her dignity. But it appeared that she was still determined to fling her life away, helped by a tall, auburn-haired beauty who deserved a thrashing in her own right. If anything happened to Sara, Anthony would know where to lay some of the blame. Miss Anna Thraxton had best beware.
Tossing back the last of his port, he climbed to his feet. In the morning, he would send a missive to Marcus, mentioning his suspicions and hoping against hope that he was wrong.
Upstairs, Sara barely waited for her night rail to settle over her shoulders before she dismissed the maid, grabbed her robe, and padded across the hallway to Aunt Delphi’s room.
She was glad to see her aunt was alone and already dressed for bed, sitting at a dressing table where she was absently brushing her hair. Sara didn’t wait another minute. She pulled up a low stool, then reached out and clasped Delphi’s hand in her own. “What has upset you?”
A quaver passed over Delphi’s face, but she quickly suppressed it. “I’m fine, Sara. Really.”
“Fudge,” Sara said. “If you aren’t upset, then why is your robe inside out?”
Delphi blinked down at her arms, where the seams of her cuffs lay revealed. “Oh, dear. I didn’t even notice.” She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry if I seem out of sorts.”
“Nonsense. I’m out of sorts all the time; why should you be any different?”
A smile quivered on Delphi’s lips. “I suppose that’s true.” She looked down at her dressing table and absently fingered the handle of her silver brush.
Sara waited patiently, noting the play of emotions on the older woman’s face. Finally, Delphi looked up, a blaze of such anger in her brown eyes that Sara was stunned.
“I was treated most rudely this evening.”
“In the cardroom?”
“Yes. By a man.” She almost spat the words.
“Heavens! What happened? Did he accuse you of cheating?”
Delphi looked down at the brush. “No.”
“Did he say something unpleasant to you?”
“No.” Delphi’s mouth quivered before she burst out, “He didn’t say anything at all. That is the problem.”
Heavens. This was far more serious than Sara had realized. She racked her brain to think of any man who had paid particular attention to Delphi and could think of several. After all, Delphi possessed a considerable fortune and was still an attractive woman. “Tell me more about this man.”
A slow blush climbed Delphi’s cheeks. With her blond hair in a braid over one shoulder, the silver barely visible, she looked much younger than her age and as vulnerable as a newborn. “He is no one. I mean, he is French and he is a comte, or at least he said he was.”
Ah, the Comte du Lac—Bridgeton’s companion. He had accompanied them on several of their morning rides and was quite a charming man—almost too charming. Sara shook her head at her own blindness. She’d been so engrossed in her own affairs that she hadn’t noticed Delphi’s growing infatuation.
Delphi bit her lip. “Sara, I asked Lady D
upree about the comte, and you know how she has those connections at the embassy. She’s never heard of him and she quite thought he might be an imposter. Since the war, there are a number of people who claim to be titled though they are not.”
Sara could hardly contain her outrage. Of course Bridgeton’s companion was an imposter. And Sara would bet that Bridgeton knew it and thought it amusing to spring the false comte onto unsuspecting Bath society. “You should stay away from him.”
“But I cannot help but think that Henri must be in horrible straits to undertake such a deception.” Delphi grabbed Sara’s hands. “What if he is a fugitive? What if his true title made him a wanted man? You know how things were in France, it is possible he is just afraid to tell people who he really is.”
“Yes, and he may be the kind of man who makes his way through life preying on the souls of lonely women, gaining their confidence and then stealing their money. Aunt Delphi, you must have a care.”
Delphi’s shoulders straightend, and, to Sara’s surprise, she turned back to her dressing table, and said stiffly, “You don’t know the comte like I do, Sara. He would never do such a thing.”
Sara was almost speechless. Shy and retiring, Delphi always agreed rather than argue, no matter what her opinion. Perhaps it was a good thing Anthony had come to Bath after all. “Delphi, tell me more about Henri. Perhaps I am being judgmental.”
“Oh, he is a true gentleman, Sara. At least he was until—” Tears filled Delphi’s eyes.
“What?” Sara asked, leaning forward, full of indignation for her gentle aunt.
Delphi gulped back a sob. “Oh, Sara, he spent the entire evening talking to Lady Prudhomme and Mrs. Walton, and never once did he even look in my direction!”
Sara impulsively hugged her aunt. “That was certainly rude, but surely it isn’t cause for shedding tears.”
Delphi pulled away, finding a handkerchief and mopping her eyes. “No, no. It isn’t. It’s just that I met Henri and I thought—Oh, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I was wrong. I see it all now.” She gave a nervous laugh. “He will never speak to me again. I daresay it was just my imagination that he even fancied me.”
The Seduction of Sara Page 9