Instead of feeding Rayne's anger further, however, Sarah inclined her head, attempting to diffuse it. "Hush. I like Lavinia well enough and she makes my brother smile. That is enough for me."
Sarah could tell from the mutinous look in Rayne's eyes he wanted to disagree. She, in turn, wanted to wallop him as she had done when they were both children - for that was precisely how he was behaving. Like a child who had not gotten his way.
"She is not his equal."
"She is a duke's granddaughter." Honestly, Sarah was growing weary of Rayne's behavior. No matter how much she fancied herself in love with him. There was, after all, only so much a woman could take.
"She is not you."
For a moment, Sarah was taken aback. "What is that supposed to mean?" For truly, she had no idea. Was he suddenly brain addled by fever? He did seem a bit warm, but the ballroom was such a crush that they were likely all overly hot.
Rayne said nothing for a long time after that. Instead, he simply twirled them around the floor. Unfortunately, Sarah found she could no longer take pleasure in the waltz as she had earlier. Now, the steps seemed empty, motions to be gone through rather than a chance to create magic.
Finally, he drew in a deep breath. "Do you not wish this was your betrothal ball?" For Rayne desperately wished that it was. A betrothal to him, of course. But that could not be. And the more he thought of Sarah one day having a ball such as this one, smiling up at a man who was not him, the angrier and more foul in temper he became. Especially when Frost was so blasted happy with a woman not fit to braid Sarah's hair.
"Certainly there is a part of me that does wish for something similar for myself," Sarah replied as evenly as she could. Still, her words were strangled, though he didn't know the reason for it. He wished that he did. "But it is not. And I am coming to the conclusion that it might never be."
Rayne froze and nearly caused them both to stumble before he found his footing and resumed dancing again. "Are you retiring from Society? Is that it?"
"I am considering it." He could see a myriad of emotions swimming in Sarah's eyes and he wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and kiss her senseless. To assure her that she could have whatever she desired. Including a betrothal ball - but only if it was to celebrate her betrothal to him and not some other swain. But it was not Rayne's place. And never would be. So instead, he did what she had done so often for him. He listened. And when Sarah spoke, his heart nearly broke for her.
"I am old, Rayne." Her eyes glimmered with what he thought might be unshed tears, though she would never admit to such a weakness. Not his Sarah. "Five and twenty. I shall be six and twenty this fall. There are other young women on the Marriage Mart far more tempting than I. Not to mention far more biddable than I. This is not news to you, I am certain."
Without another word, Rayne grabbed Sarah's hand and yanked her towards the sweeping French doors that led out onto the terrace overlooking the back gardens. She gasped in indignation, but no one heard. In fact, the assembled guests were all now turning to the opposite side of the room where the Duke of Annandell was making some sort of pronouncement regarding his long-lost granddaughter's upcoming nuptials. Likely, no one would even miss them in the crowd.
Skidding to a stop when they reached the privacy of the terrace, Sarah tossed her head defiantly. She was a lady, certainly, but she was also a Tillsbury. She had survived her father. She had more backbone than most people knew. And she refused to be manhandled, even by this man she had known since the cradle. No matter his reasons.
"Rayne! What on Earth is wrong with you?" she demanded as she turned to face him, well aware that her chest was heaving and her breasts threatening to spill out over the scandalously low-cut bodice of her gown. Damn her mother and her insistence that a gown so low would entice men and perhaps garner Sarah a marriage proposal. And damn Madame LaVallier for agreeing to create such a gown, no matter how wonderful the frock had felt on her earlier in the night.
"Damn it all to bloody Hell, Sarah!" Rayne spat as he secured the terrace doors behind him, immediately muting the noise from the ballroom. "There is something wrong with you! What is this talk of retiring from Society all of the sudden? Did Lavinia say something to you? Make you feel bad about yourself? Is it something someone else has done? Me? One of our friends? You family? Tell me and I shall correct the matter at once!"
Sarah had to fight not to slap some sense into him, even though her palms itched with the desire to do just that. "No! Lavinia has nothing to do with my decision. It has been coming for some time now. The brutal truth is, I am growing old, Rayne! Even when I was young, no man wanted me. Now that I am no longer in my first blush of youth, who will likely step up to claim my hand? No one. That is who. I am not wallowing in self-pity, despite what you might think. I am being practical. Frost and I have an understanding, and he will not force me to wed if I don't wish. And, at the moment, that is my wish." She paused, frowning as she noticed that he was still extremely angry. "Where is this coming from all of the sudden? What has changed between us?"
You, he wanted to bellow at the top of his lungs. You have changed. You are shutting me out. And even though I cannot have you, to lose what we do have would crush me.
However that was not his place and never would be. Frost would kill him if he even thought for one moment that Rayne was having lustful thoughts about Sarah. Pistols at dawn would be a blessing. Knowing Frost, he would likely strangle Rayne barehanded if he knew.
He lied through his teeth and prayed she did not notice. "Nothing. It is nothing. We are as we always were."
Except that they weren't and likely never would be again. Because he could not have her. And if he could not have her, he was afraid that soon he would do something both stupid and foolish. Like kiss her. Or bed her. And damn the consequences. It was part of the reason why he was leaving England after Twelfth Night. He would remove himself from the path of temptation and pray that it helped. Even though he sincerely doubted it.
Weary now, Sarah rubbed at her eyes, feeling far older than she ever had before. This was not how she wanted her time with Rayne to end. In fact, she never wanted it to end. But it would. Soon. So perhaps she could offer him something that might ease his mind. Or not. It depended on how he interpreted her words.
It also depended on what in the bloody Hell was wrong with him in the first place.
"Fine. You wish to know what is wrong with me, Rayne? Then I shall tell you." Sarah poked him in the chest to drive her point home. He winced a bit. Good. He should.
"Over the last few days, I have indulged in many moments of self-pity." Even now, Sarah was embarrassed to admit such a thing, but she would if it would calm Rayne down. "Far more than I should have or is likely healthy for me. Because I know better. I am not so shallow or foolish or stupid. And I am tried of it. I am also embarrassed by my actions for I know that I am blessed when others, like Lavinia, have suffered far more than I ever have. And I felt ashamed of myself. There. Are you satisfied now?" She crossed her arms over her chest for good measure.
"Ah..." Rayne didn't know what to say, but Sarah rushed on before he could even think of the correct words to utter.
"You were correct in your assumptions earlier. There is a part of me that longs for a ball such as this one in my honor. However, it has been made clear repeatedly over the last several weeks that such an event is unlikely to happen. I am finally being honest with myself and it hurts a bit more than I imagined it might. This is all on me. It has nothing to do with anyone else." She smiled a bit, once more trying to ease the mood. "Not even you, Rayne, though I am uncertain as to whether or not you ego can handle such an admission."
Except that in truth, her feelings had everything to do with Rayne. It had for a very long time. But Rayne didn't view their relationship as Sarah did, and no matter how much attention he paid her in public, he likely never would. Not when there were women like his former mistress, one Miss Marietta Crestwood, who had far few morals and far more expe
rience than Sarah could ever dream of. Not to mention a stunning beauty that Sarah could never hope to attain either.
"Sarah, I..." Whatever Rayne meant to say died in his throat as he stood there looking at her as if she had grown a second head. For all the good it would have done her. If she had done something so scandalous, then perhaps he would have noticed that she was more than just his best friend's sister. He might notice that she was a lovely, vivacious woman that would be all that he asked. If only he would ask.
Tired now, Sarah held up her hands in front of her as a gesture of surrender. "Enough, Rayne. I am tired. Bone weary, in fact. I am all things to all people these days and I find that there is not enough of me to go around any longer. I am also tried of trying to obtain something I do not want, namely a husband, merely to please someone else. Specifically, my mother." She waved a hand in the general direction of the mews. "I also find that I am not fit company this evening. I am sorry. Go. The night is still young and you can yet enjoy yourself. If anyone asks after you, I will make your apologies. I know there are other ladies out there who would welcome your company."
"I won't be dismissed so easily, my lady." Rayne did not like this side of Sarah. He preferred her strong and independent, and inside he railed at those who would crush her spirit. Reaching out, he stroked her hand lightly. He had only meant to comfort her, but she yanked her hand away as if she had been scalded.
"Stop that." Her words were icy now and so unlike the Sarah he knew. Her face, so open only moments before, was now closed and for a moment, Rayne wondered if it was possible that she felt even a tiny fraction of interest for him. For her mood had changed the moment that he had touched her. That could not be a coincidence. In his experience, it was typically the first sign of unspoken attraction.
"Stop what?" he teased, hoping to coax a smile from her as he took her hand once more, determined to discover if she felt the least little bit of something for him. "All the women I know like this very much."
That had clearly been the wrong thing to say for she stiffened immediately and yanked her hand away, this time stepping back and out of his reach. Damn it. He had moved too fast. However he also noticed the increased pace of her breathing. So she did feel something for him. No matter what she said. Or rather, didn't say.
"I am not all women. Nor am I some plaything for your amusement." Her tone was deadly icy now, but he ignored it, the night and the possibility that she might care for him a little making him reckless.
"I only meant..." he began but she cut him off with a slash of her hand.
"I know what you meant." Her emerald eyes all but glowed in the dim light. "And it hurts to know that you think me no better than one of your trollops. I am sorry if I bruised your ego by not melting into your arms the way other women do but that is not me, Rayne. Nor will it ever be. I thought you knew me better than that!"
"I do know you better than that." This was what he got for trying to act on his cursed emotions. For trying to see if she cared. "But bruised my ego? It would take far more than a cutting word from you, my lady, as I have heard that sharp tongue of yours often enough over the years, though usually directed elsewhere!"
Sarah had been upset before, but now she was working up to a fine fury. Rayne had no idea how this situation had escalated so quickly, but it had and he was now regretting ever playing with fire. He knew better. In the end, he was always burned.
In fact, Sarah looked as if she would prefer to murder him at the moment rather than kiss him. That was not the outcome he had been hoping for, certainly. "Me? This is not my fault! If you cannot discern between a lady and one of your mistresses, that is not on me! Then again, you have so many women at your disposal that I am surprised that you have time for me at all. In fact, I wonder if you have a little book of some sort to keep all of your trollops and lightskirts from getting mixed up with one another!"
It was a low blow and Sarah knew it, but she was hurt and angry. Hurt because that simple touch from him was a glimpse of something she could never have, and angry because Rayne could not see what was right in front of his face. Then again, with so many woman about, it was little wonder.
"You know nothing of my life these days," he shot back. "The women I choose to keep company with are my business and no one else's. Many of them are ladies."
And many, like Miss Crestwood who had accosted Sarah over Rayne's attentions a few days prior, were not.
"And many of them are whores," Sarah hissed nastily in return, her face burning with humiliation. She had never thought she would be speaking to Rayne in this manner. Ever. However her single-minded goal was to hurt him as much as he had hurt her. "In fact, if you were ever presented with a proper lady, I suspect you would not have the faintest idea what to do with her."
Something flared deep within his amber eyes then. "Oh, I think I would. I think I would indeed." There was a silken quality to his voice just then and before Sarah could react, Rayne reached out and snagged her arm again, this time yanking her hard against his body. "In fact, I guarantee it."
Then, before Sarah could so much as form another reply, Rayne's lips came crashing down on hers, hard and demanding, and yet somehow sensual and coaxing at the same time.
And in that moment as Sarah twinned her arms around Rayne's neck and moved closer so that he could deepen the kiss - and so that she could kiss him back - a small voice in the back of her mind screamed that she had just become the latest victim of the Earl of Heartbreak. She also discovered that she did not care.
Chapter Two
Early July 1820
Hallowby Grange
Oxfordshire
Glorious sunshine streaming in through the windows from outside, Sarah sat at her grandmother's old escritoire in one of Hallowby Grange's numerous parlors, tapping her quill lightly on the highly polished wooden surface. Beside her, a cup of tea cooled and a small plate of biscuits sat uneaten. Requesting the tea tray, which had been delivered nearly a quarter hour ago, had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she found that she was no longer hungry. Instead, her mind drifted here and there, replaying the events of the past several weeks. Or rather, the events that weren't.
He hadn't called upon her. Not once. Not even so much as a note.
Not one word. Not one...whatever.
And Sarah was furious. He had embarrassed her. He had hurt her. But most of all, he hadn't even bothered to tell her where he was going. Or even that he was gone.
She would flay the man alive if she could.
No, scratch that. She would challenge him to a duel - which she would win handily. If she was able to do such a thing, of course.
If she ever saw him again, which at this point didn't seem likely.
After that magical, wonderful, soul-stirring kiss at the ball, Rayne hadn't so much as sent a two-line missive to Sarah. Instead, he had simply vanished as if he hadn't just irrevocably changed the boundaries of their friendship in ways that could not be undone.
Oh, she hadn't expected a drawing room full of flowers, certainly, or for him to take her driving in the park, or nonsense like that. After all, theirs was not that sort of a relationship - if it could be said that they had any sort of relationship at all beyond friendship. Until that kiss. Until Rayne had changed everything and upended her world in an instant. Making Sarah feel... Well, at this point, she had no idea how she felt towards the man.
Other than angry. And perhaps a bit disappointed. Oh, and extremely confused as well, though that was nothing new. For much of her life, dealing with Rayne had frequently left her confused. Even after all of this time, Sarah had no reason to believe that he returned her feelings, other than her own foolish dreams of course, but she had. Now, after that kiss, that precious dream was shattered beyond repair, and she had no one but herself to blame.
However, Sarah still felt as if she had every right to be angry that he hadn't even given her so much as a by your leave, especially after being almost attached to her hip since he had returned fro
m the Continent a few months before. The kiss aside, they were still friends - or had been. If he was going to disappear on her, she felt that he owed her at least a note.
Sarah and Rayne had known each other the better part of their lives so a short note explaining that he was dashing off on earldom business - especially as he had been her escort for the final part of the season and had abruptly and rather publicly abandoned her - would have been more than reasonable. Even if he didn't care for her beyond anything more than friendship.
She also felt that a note would have been appropriate since Frost, in his haste to wed Lavinia, had dashed off for Scotland the day after the betrothal ball and left Rayne informally in charge of the Chillton household - which most certainly included Sarah whether the earl liked it or not. Given all of that, it would have been reasonable to send 'round a note that offered some explanation for his disappearance. At least in her opinion, anyway.
Rayne, however, clearly hadn't seen the situation in that manner. Instead, the very afternoon following the kiss, he had departed for Fieldown, his country seat, leaving behind scads of upset young ladies who had missed their chance to snare the elusive earl in the parson's mousetrap. This time, however, for the first time in her life, Sarah had been among those women.
Oh, she hadn't expected Rayne to propose marriage or any nonsense such as that, but she had expected at least a word or two from him - out of politeness if nothing more.
If not for the mention of his whereabouts several weeks later in the Town Tattler, Sarah wouldn't have known where he was. Not even Rayne's mother knew where her son was. That was truly odd and unlike him, for given the emphasis Rayne placed on family above all else, he never went anywhere long term without informing his mother Ophelia, the current Countess of Raynecourt, before he departed.
Actually, Sarah had assumed that he had gone running back to the bed of his last mistress, Miss Crestwood, even though Rayne hadn't officially been her protector for a year or so. It would have been fitting for him to have done so, at least in Sarah's mind, since clearly the kiss of an innocent virgin was so distasteful to him that he needed to cleanse his palate with the kiss of a more experienced whore - at least according to the rumors in the gossip sheets. Then again, Rayne had mentioned to Sarah several times in the last few months or so how utterly annoying and completely disgusting he now found his former mistress. In fact, he had openly wondered what he had seen in Miss Crestwood at all. So Sarah wondered how true the reports of him being seen cavorting with whores truly were.
The Earl of Heartbreak Page 3