Lady of Charade

by St. Clair, Ellie

  He tasted so good, a mixture of brandy and… heat, she thought as a bolt of longing shot through her. She placed her hands on the arms of the chair, her feet on the floor, and without breaking contact with him, she encouraged him to rise from the chair, and he backed her up toward the bed.

  This time, their movements were of two people who were that much more familiar with one another, as their bodies were aware of just how one another yearned to be treated. David had her undressed before she even realized it, and when she shyly attempted to dive beneath the covers, he shook his head, taking seconds to simply stare at her. It felt as though her whole body was on fire beneath his gaze, but she trusted him, allowing him to take his time. As he eyes roamed over her, a slow smile began to spread across his face. If she hadn’t come to know him and his expressions as well as she did, she would have worried for a moment that he was laughing at her, but no—he was smiling in satisfaction.

  “You are perfect,” he said, running a hand over her skin, causing fire to trail in the wake of his fingers.

  “I am far from perfect,” she said with a bit of a self-conscious laugh. “I have scars.”

  “Show me.”

  She sat down on the bed then, pointing to the remnants of what had been a deep gash in her thumb.

  “Here, I sliced through my finger while attempting to cut down a plant. My mother sewed it back together.”

  He took her hand within his, kissing her thumb as though that would complete the healing.

  “Where else?”

  She pointed to her shoulder, where a long pair of lines ran down a few inches.

  “I had an encounter with a bear.”

  “What?” he exclaimed, his shock so acute she had to laugh.

  “She was protecting her cubs,” Sarah said with the shrug of that same shoulder, smiling as she remembered the incident, which seemed to confuse David. “She was injured, her paw caught in a trap. I freed it, and she returned to her cubs nearly immediately, but in the process, she lashed out in her pain and I caught a bit of it.”

  He shuddered, which she understood. Yet somehow she hadn’t been afraid. It was as though she understood where the bear was coming from—the need for protection, the vulnerability it felt, the concern over who Sarah was and what she had been doing.

  “Any others?”

  “Here,” she pointed to her hipbone. “I fell on my own knife.”

  “You what?” he asked with eyes so wide she laughed again.

  “You have lived quite the protected life, David Redmond, have you not?”

  “I’ve spent plenty of time with a sword in my hand,” he defended himself, but then with a look of chagrin, amended his statement. “I have also almost always been covered in full protection during such situations.”

  “Fencing, correct?” she asked, and he nodded.

  “It seems somewhat inconsequential after all that you have faced.”

  At his look of embarrassment, it was her turn to tip her face back up to look at him.

  “Not at all. I was never in any danger. My scars are a result of where I lived, what my day included. You should not be ashamed of not holding any.”

  “Well,” he said, his charming smile returned, “Yours are beautiful.”

  “I would hardly call them such, but they tell a story, if nothing else,” she said with a smile.

  He leaned over her, reaching out to trace the scars on her shoulder with two fingers, then moved to the scar on her thumb, and finally to that over her hip. He followed his fingers with his lips, kissing his way over them, and Sarah nearly arched off the bed toward him.

  He finally returned to her lips, the kiss beginning gently but then gradually building to one of need, demanding more—a demand which she eagerly returned.

  It was as though they had known one another for years instead of just one occurrence, and when he found her, he easily entered her. They moved together as one, and when they each found their release, Sarah could have cried for the perfection that it was.

  Only afterward, when they lay together, did she allow the tears to fall from her eyes, catching them before they hit his chest. She could stay like this, with him, forever, and yet forever was far from a reality for them.

  How she was ever supposed to go back to life as it was before him, she had no idea.

  Chapter Twenty

  Their time at Berkley’s estate passed far too quickly for David’s liking. He was enjoying the brief respite from life within London. It caused him to sorely wish that he had a home of his own to which he could retreat. His father had more than one, of course, but none were truly home for David—just empty estates for David to pace around feeling as though he was imposing.

  If he had the opportunity to take other people to such a home—one person in particular, as it happened—would it make all the difference?

  After his night with Sarah, he had returned to her the next night, and she had been as eager as he was to be with one another once again. David had mixed emotions. She was the type of woman he felt it was wrong to take such actions with unless there was a promise of more between them, and yet he was unsure of how to put into words just what he was feeling—and would she be accepting of him? He hoped so, and he planned to tell her of all that was in his mind and in his heart once they returned to London.

  Once he mounted his horse, Clarence joined him as they began the ride.

  “Enjoy yourself, Redmond?” he asked, the quirk in his eyebrow indicating that he likely knew far more than he would ever put into words.

  David simply nodded. He would not speak of his time with Sarah with anyone else—even a friend as good as Clarence. “I did.”

  “A respite from the city is always welcome. In fact, Elizabeth and I will be leaving for the country for a time. Which makes it all the more imperative that we come to some conclusion regarding Miss Jones’ dilemma. I know my wife is of a mind to resolve what she can for the woman.”

  “As am I.”

  “Very good. Have you told her of our suspicions as of yet?”

  “No,” David shook his head. “She asked that I would keep her informed, and I must admit, I do feel a bit of a bounder not doing so, but what is the use in raising her hopes and expectations if it comes to nothing, and we determine that there is no chance of Torrington being named her father? Besides that, the man has a wife… how do you think he might react to claims of a potential illegitimate daughter? Sarah says that her mother and father were in love, and while I know she believes that to be the case, of course that is the story a mother would tell her child, would she not?”

  “I agree with you,” Clarence said. “Though I did discuss this with Elizabeth, and she is of the opinion that Miss Jones should know all that we do. However, further to our suspicions, I had a discussion with Lord St. Albans.”

  Julia’s father had been among the guests who had joined them for a few days. He was a jovial gentleman, one who had been far more accepting of a son-in-law such as Eddie Francis than most in his position would have been.

  “St. Albans and Torrington are near to the same age,” Clarence continued. “The man also assured me he would keep my inquiries to himself, and I do believe him. There are few that would do so. But I digress. Placing Miss Jones’ age at just around twenty, at the time shortly before her birth, Torrington was not married and was, in fact, living at home with his family and spending much time at their country estate. In all actuality, he could have very well become connected with a woman from the area. St. Albans also recalls a falling out between Torrington and his father around that time, and shortly afterward the man moved to London, where he spent all of his time until the death of his father. One would have to make inquiries around Torrington’s country seat, which is near Salisbury, but it is seemingly far more likely that he could be the man you are looking for.”

  David let out a long, low whistle, startling his horse, who he had to quickly reassure to regain control.

  “Torrington. I wonder what he would
think of learning of a daughter.”

  “I suppose it depends on how close he was with the mother—whether he did actually want to remain with her, or if those are imaginings from a woman attempting to placate her child with a story of love,” Clarence said, a sentiment with which David agreed.

  “I suppose the best thing to do might be to simply talk to Torrington himself,” David said. “He is a reasonable man, and I am sure with a few simple questions I can determine whether or not he is who we would be searching for. Once we are back in London, I will seek him out. And soon, well, soon we will know the truth.”

  The moment he said it, David was actually surprised by the panic that coursed through him at the thought of doing so. He should welcome the idea, for determining the identity of Sarah’s father would bring a resolution to their search, one which had been following her around for far too long now.

  But when her quest was finished, there was a very good chance that she would leave London, leave England, leave—him. He attempted to imagine his life without her now, of going back to nights spent at seedy establishments, with women who meant nothing but company and a warm body. For he realized now why he had lived the way he had—he was seeking companionship, a connection that always remained out of his grasp due to his inability to commit to any one woman.

  How very foolish he had been.

  *

  Despite his confliction, David resolutely walked up the steps of the Earl of Torrington’s London manor that evening. While it was not exactly the hour for social callers, David knew that he couldn’t go to Sarah once more this evening without answers, or a promise of what he had done in order to aid her. The moment they had returned to London, he had only briefly refreshed himself before calling his carriage to be ready for his visit.

  When he knocked on the door of Torrington’s townhouse, the answering butler looked him up and down as though assessing his worthiness for entry.

  “Yes?” The butler asked.

  “I would like to see Lord Torrington, if possible,” David replied. “Please tell him Mr. David Redmond, son of the Earl of Brentford, is calling.”

  The butler allowed him entry but then held up a finger. “One moment, please.”

  David looked around him as he waited for the butler to return. The foyer was opulent, clearly meant to impress those who called upon the Earl and his Countess. David had only met the woman once or twice before, and received the impression that she was quite proud of her station in life.

  As though she was aware of his thoughts, it was the Countess herself who joined him in the foyer a few minutes later. She was a tall woman and had retained her looks over the years. Dressed as though she was entertaining, she looked David up and down much as her butler had done.

  “Mr. Redmond, what a surprise,” she said, her tone making it clear that it was not a pleasant one. “Unfortunately, my husband is not here this evening. Is there anything with which I can assist you?”

  David chuckled within his own mind as he considered what her reaction might be were he to tell her that he was here to ask her husband if he had ever known a woman by the name of Mary Jones, whether he had loved her and potentially could have produced a child with her some twenty years ago.

  Of course, even he would never actually say such a thing, but it was interesting to contemplate.

  “It is no urgent matter,” he said with a smile. “I shall seek out your husband another time.”

  “I believe he can be found this evening at White’s Gentlemen’s Club,” she said, as though she would rather not have an occasion to see David at her door again. “Goodnight, Mr. Redmond.”

  Well, that was easy enough.

  “Goodnight.”

  “Oh,” she said, halting him before he could depart. “I also have heard that congratulations might be in order fairly soon.”

  “Unfortunately, Lady Torrington, I know not what you mean,” David said, wondering if she had mistaken him for his brother.

  “I had the pleasure of tea with your mother a few days ago, and she told me that an announcement regarding your nuptials with Lady Georgina, daughter of Lord Buckworth, were likely very soon forthcoming.”

  David could only stare at the woman in shock. He had been quite clear with his parents that he had no wish to marry Lady Georgina, let alone court the idea. He had meant to speak with Lady Georgina himself to express this to her, but with everything he had been focused on in regard to Sarah and his visit to the country, it had completely left his mind.

  “My mother is mistaken, Lady Torrington,” he said, forcing a smile to his face so that she wouldn’t see his anger. “I am sorry to have disturbed you this evening.”

  And with that, he left the manor, knowing as he did so that he had likely provided Lady Torrington with a most interesting piece of news to share with her friends. Never mind the matter. He would prefer that over allowing such a lie to continue.

  Entering White’s Gentlemen’s Club was more like coming home than returning to the manor in which he had been raised. There was something comforting about the solid building on the corner of Bond and St. James Street, with its nondescript white exterior and the rich, warm interior.

  The doorman greeted him by name, and David asked after Lord Torrington and whether he was within. The man shook his head, telling him that no, the Lord had been here but had quickly left with a few other gentlemen. David exhaled sharply, frustrated by his lack of progress in his search for the man. Why was everything such a struggle for him? He often wished life would come more easily, as it seemed to do for Clarence or even his own brother.

  He was about to walk into the room when another gentleman passing by tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Did you say you were looking for Torrington?”

  “I am, yes.”

  “He left to The Red Lion. You could likely find him there.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  The Red Lion. Why did Torrington have to choose what had been one of David’s favorite haunts? Never before would he think that a woman could potentially change his perspective, but he was shocked to find that he had no desire to visit the gaming hell once more.

  Except that was where he would find Torrington, so there he would go.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Mr. Redmond!”

  David lifted a hand in greeting when Billy saw him from across the room. The man looked to be in good spirits, and David cut through the crowd to greet him.

  “How is your babe?” he asked, and Billy’s grin stretched even wider.

  “Very well. Thank you again for your assistance.”

  “There is not much to thank me for,” he said. “Miss Jones is the one who made it possible.”

  “That she did,” Billy agreed, then paused for a moment in his work. “This is a rather impudent question, Mr. Redmond, but… is she your woman, Miss Jones?”

  David had no idea how to answer that. Every part of him wanted to yell out that yes, of course she was! But he had made no declaration of such to her—yet—and he wasn’t sure how it would help matters to say such a thing.

  “I, ah… why do you ask?”

  “Well, I have a friend who has seen her in the marketplace and has been asking about her. We weren’t sure, however, where she stood. Is she to be yours? She’s not from around these parts, as most of us are, so we weren’t entirely sure of her station, either. What do you think, Mr. Redmond? Would she be amenable?”

  David’s body felt as though it was burning at the thought of another man interested in Sarah, of the idea of her entertaining thoughts for anyone but him. But he couldn’t very well say that to Billy. The man was only trying to be helpful, and as he continued to look at him earnestly, David knew he must provide an answer.

  “I think that’s best a question for Miss Jones,” he finally said quietly. “We are… friends, at the moment anyway.”

  Billy nodded, though he looked at David discerningly. “Very well, Mr. Redmond.”

  “Say,
Billy, do you happen to know the Earl of Torrington?”

  “I know who he is,” Billy said, throwing the rag with which he had been drying a glass over his shoulder. “He’s over there, across the room.”

  “Thank you very much,” David said, rapping his knuckles once on the table in front of him before rising to find the Earl.

  “Torrington,” David greeted him, and the man looked up from his card game to determine who had been calling to him. “How do you do?”

  “Just fine, but give me a moment to finish this hand,” Torrington said, and David nodded. He was well aware that despite his father being an earl, he was below Torrington’s station and had no right to request anything of him. Just a conversation, he reminded himself, though he was becoming slightly worried at what the man’s reaction might be to his potential news.

  David took a seat nearby, impatiently tapping his fingers upon the table in front of him—a motion which did not go unnoticed by Torrington, who looked up at him now and then with some exasperation. Finally, his hand finished, though it was quite obviously not the outcome he had been anticipating by the way he flung the cards down upon the table. David swallowed. This conversation likely would have been more palatable were the Earl in a better mood.

  The man sat down at the table across from him.

  “What is it, Redmond?” he asked as he lifted a hand in the air to signal one of the barmaids for a drink. “Are you here to plan more liaisons with young ladies in my study?”

  Ah, yes. David had forgotten about that.

  “I apologize for that once more, Lord Torrington. But I actually have a rather… strange question for you,” David began. “You grew up in the Salisbury area of England, did you not?”

  “For the most part,” Torrington said, his voice on edge as he was obviously wary of the line of questioning David had embarked upon.

  “At what age did you leave there for London?”

  “It is still my home.”

  “Yes,” David was blundering this. He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “When you were younger, however, was there a time when you left home for London?”