Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires

by Sophie Barnes

  “Sarah,” she supplied. “Lord Andover’s eldest.”

  “Ah.” He studied her a moment, deciding that she must be roughly twenty years of age. That meant she would have made her debut years ago, yet he failed to recall ever meeting her before. How curious, considering that her hair was such a pale shade of blonde it bordered on white and was bound to draw attention. Silence drew out between them, and he became acutely aware of just how inappropriately alone they were. Why the devil hadn’t he noticed it sooner? Christ, what a bloody idiot he was for allowing himself to forget how manipulative the fairer sex could be.

  He leaned toward her, perversely pleased by the little gasp of distress she exerted, her eyes darting about as if seeking escape. “How did you find me?” he asked. It had to be his mother. Or perhaps one of his sisters? Somehow one of them must have discovered his hiding place and sent Lady Sarah after him.

  “Wha-­what do you mean?”

  “I think you know,” he told her gruffly. “You. Me. Alone. All we need now are some witnesses and you can look forward to becoming Viscountess Spencer. But just so you know, I will ruin you before I marry you if that is indeed your game.”

  She edged away from him, her breaths coming short and fast while her throat worked at getting her words out. “You’re mad,” she muttered, her hand rising like a shield before her. “Stay back! Don’t you dare come any closer.”

  Studying her, he noted the fear that rose from the depths of her clear blue eyes. Was it genuine? Or just another part of the game she played? Miss Hepplestone had been an exemplary actress, portraying any emotion at will. “You should leave,” he muttered, hating the power Miss Hepplestone still held over him after all these years. She’d made it impossible for him to judge ­people objectively.

  “I cannot,” Lady Sarah said, not budging an inch in spite of her clear apprehension. She crossed her arms and stared back at him with defiance, eventually saying, “I have to find Snowball first.”

  Christopher raised an eyebrow. “Snowball?”

  “Yes, my lord.” When Christopher said nothing further, momentarily distracted by an unexpected curve to her lips, she added, “My pet hamster.”

  His frown deepened. “Pet hamster?”

  Lady Sarah sighed, her posture going from rigid to . . . less rigid. “I am aware that repetition can be useful when acquiring a new skill, my lord, but I fail to understand its purpose at present unless it is to help you with your comprehension?”

  Christopher forced his expression to remain still. By deuce if the chit had not just insulted his intelligence. Again. He should be offended, but to his amazement he found her candor oddly refreshing. It was absurd, except that she appeared to be quite serious as she peered back at him with . . . concern? “I suspect you think me obtuse, my lady.” She didn’t respond in the affirmative, but she didn’t deny the claim either. There was something admirable about that. Christopher straightened himself. “I was merely surprised, that is all. A lady with a pet hamster named Snowball is somewhat unusual, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Her lips parted ever so slightly. For a long moment she remained unmoving, saying nothing, and Christopher wondered briefly if time had perhaps frozen to a halt. “Not to me, it isn’t,” she finally said.

  “No,” he agreed as his gaze swept over her. “I don’t suppose it is.”

  Something flashed behind her eyes. Uncertainty perhaps? She sighed again, this time with very clear frustration. Unfolding her arms, she spread them wide, raised her eyebrows and said, “Well? Are you just going to stand there, or will you help me find him? After all, it is your fault he went missing in the first place.”

  “I don’t see how it can possibly be my fault, since I was fast asleep at the time.”

  “Precisely,” she muttered, turning away from him and peering through the greenery.

  Apparently, she’d decided that he didn’t pose a threat after all, or perhaps finding her blasted hamster was just more important than her own safety. Christopher was damned if he knew. “You’re doing it again,” he said.

  “Doing what?”

  Christ, she could be infuriating.

  “Speaking in ambiguities. And just so you know, I abhor ambiguities.”

  “Then let me be clear,” Lady Sarah said as she moved along the path, her eyes searching the undergrowth. “When I arrived here, I thought the room was empty. But then there was a sudden grunt, which startled me, causing me to drop Snowball.”

  “A grunt?”

  “Precisely. It was not entirely dissimilar to the sound a pig might make,” she explained, “but now that I’ve discovered you were sleeping in here, I think it’s safe to assume you were . . . snoring.”

  Christopher’s lips twitched. “Lady Sarah, did you just compare me to a pig?” He ought to feel affronted. Instead, he found her strangely amusing. Be careful, an inner voice warned. He stopped the smile that threatened.

  Sarah hesitated, her focus riveted on the undergrowth as she fought the distraction Lord Spencer offered. “I wouldn’t dream of it, my lord.” She was mortified by each word she’d spoken since making his acquaintance. Really, there was no excuse for it—­not even after his unpredictable outburst earlier. To think that he would accuse her of trying to trap him into marriage. What a ridiculous notion. Still, she wasn’t fool enough not to recognize a threat when she saw one. Good heavens, he was a handsome devil, with that penetrating gaze of his and that mouth forever promising to smile without actually doing so. It was maddening. He was maddening. She had to find Snowball so she could escape.

  “I think you did,” he said.

  Sarah blinked. What was he talking about? Rummaging through her brain, she sought the answer, embarrassed all over again the moment she found it. “To be precise,” she said, “I wasn’t comparing you to a pig, my lord. I was merely comparing your snore to a pig’s grunt. There is a difference.”

  “I think you just insulted me again,” he said, sounding pensive.

  Indeed she had, though she was too deep in her own mess by now to right her wrong with a mere apology. Still, she decided to make an attempt at it, since it was clearly the proper thing to do. So she straightened herself and spun toward him, eager to have it over and done with, only to find herself chest to chest with the man. Her breath caught, heat flooding her cheeks as her hands came up of their own volition, grabbing at his shoulders as she tried to steady herself.

  He reached around her, holding her still, and she looked up, her eyes meeting his—­dark and unyielding. She gasped then, realizing her mistake. They were close—­too close—­and she was too aware of him, his heat, his strength, his scent. The man was a threat—­a danger she had to avoid. Experience screamed for her to beware. She decided to listen. “If you’ll please release me,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. He let her go and she took a step back. “That was terribly careless of me, Lord Spencer. Whatever must you think?”

  His mouth was set in a firm line. “That the conservatory appears to be a hazardous place for you, Lady Sarah, considering that I’ve had to rescue you twice already.”

  She wanted to look away, to run, hide and retreat. To think that she had silently referred to him as foolish—­an addlepated dunderhead—­when she herself could hardly be credited with exhibiting much intelligent thought since making his acquaintance. Not that she cared about his opinion. Really, what did it matter if he considered her a clumsy dimwit incapable of keeping her balance? Ignoring the voice that told her it mattered more than she wanted it to, Sarah looked him straight in the eye and said, “Then perhaps you’ll be good enough to help me find my hamster so I may leave?” Inhaling deeply, her nose filling with the scent of wet soil, she quietly added, “Please.”

  “I’d be delighted to,” he said, his expression softening. It even looked as though he just might smile this once. Instead he turned away and disappeared around a corner.


  Recalling her task, Sarah continued along the path she was on, anxious to find Snowball. What on earth had she been thinking, venturing downstairs on her own in a house she didn’t know? And now, here she was, alone with Lord Spencer. It was a situation she of all ­people should have known to avoid. Really, she was far too curious for her own good—­a trait that had led her into trouble on too many occasions.

  Hurrying after Lord Spencer, her slippers tapped bluntly against the tiles as she approached the spot where he now stood. “Shh!” He raised his finger to his lips to underscore the need for silence.

  Sarah paused, her gaze dropping to the same bit of plant-­filled dirt he was looking at. She spotted a streak of fuzzy white fur. Snowball. Holding her breath, Sarah watched as the viscount crouched down slowly, the fabric of his breeches tightening across his thighs as he did so. A shiver spread across Sarah’s back. She ought to look away, but it was impossible with her eyes already roaming to the wide sweep of Lord Spencer’s shoulders, the tousled coffee-­colored hair in need of combing, hands large enough to encompass her own and legs she’d made a stoic attempt to ignore, but couldn’t.

  And then, like a wolf on the prowl, he lurched forward, hands swooping down on their prey as he tried to grab Snowball. “Damn!” The expletive was swiftly followed by “I beg your pardon, but that’s one swift creature you’ve got there, my lady.” Instead of a hamster, Lord Spencer was holding a lump of dirt, which he quickly discarded before shooting to his feet and darting along the path, clearly giving chase.

  Sarah rushed after him, almost skidding sideways as the path curved to the right. She nearly collided with Lord Spencer when he came to an abrupt halt. “Blast,” he muttered. “I think I lost him.”

  Sarah studied the ground on both sides of the path, her eyes seeking white amidst the green, or even the slightest movement that would give her a hint of Snowball’s presence. “You almost had him before, but then . . .” What was she doing? Was she seriously going to criticize his efforts, when he had agreed to help her?

  “Then what?” he asked, hands on hips as he turned a pair of narrowed eyes on her.

  “Nothing,” Sarah said. Blast her quick tongue. She should learn to keep her thoughts to herself. “Let’s keep looking, shall we?”

  “Not until you tell me what you were about to say.”

  Lord, the man was stubborn. “I already told you it was nothing.”

  He leaned toward her, crowding her with his much larger size. “I think you were about to tell me it’s my fault your hamster ran off again.”

  “You obviously frightened him,” Sarah said. She was tempted to say, again but thought better of it. Already she didn’t like the way Lord Spencer was looking at her—­as if he was considering marching her back to her parents and asking them to keep her under lock and key.

  “As it happens, I am perfectly content with returning to the comfortable chair I was occupying before you woke me,” he said as he started moving away.

  Sarah couldn’t blame him. In the space of half an hour she’d been less than polite toward him, all because he made her feel uncomfortable. But that wasn’t his fault. It was hers. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He stopped. Turned. One eyebrow rose slowly as he regarded her with his dark eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  Apparently he wasn’t going to make this easy for her. Very well then, she deserved it. Straightening her back, she forced herself to remain unaffected by his handsomeness, focusing on a spot beyond his left shoulder. “You were just trying to help, my lord. It was unfair of me to blame you for your lack of success.” Her eyes shot to his face. Oh dear. He was going to think she was mocking him now.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Apology accepted,” he said, “even though I suspect it sounded better in your head than it did once you spoke it out loud.”

  “Quite.” Sarah dropped her gaze to the floor, hating how stupid he made her feel—­especially since she’d always prided herself on her smart rejoinders. She caught a flickering movement out of the corner of her eye. There, peeking between some fern leaves, nose twitching as he scouted the area, was Snowball.

  “Don’t move,” she whispered. Cautiously, she then eased her hand forward, hoping to coax her little pet from his hiding place. To her frustration, he started backing away from her, forcing her to lean forward even further, until, sensing she would lose her balance, she brought down a hand to steady herself, her fingers pressing through wet soil just as a fern leaf brushed against her cheek.

  Patience fled and so did Snowball as soon as Sarah attempted to snatch him. A moment later, she heard Lord Spencer muttering something from behind her. It was then that she became acutely aware of her unladylike position. Fighting the wave of embarrassment that threatened to overwhelm her, she applied her driest tone and said, “Perhaps when you have finished judging me (she could just imagine him rolling his eyes), you’ll be good enough to help me up?”

  A measure of discomfort filled his voice as he said, “Of course. My apologies,” and then she felt his hands on both sides of her waist, gripping her firmly as he gently pulled her back to solid ground. It was a quick endeavor really, and quite efficient, since she was now safely out of the dirt. His hands didn’t linger upon her either—­indeed, there was nothing in the effort that could be construed as inappropriate in any way—­and yet, Sarah could still feel the heat of him upon her after he’d let her go. His touch . . . it had somehow curled its way beneath her skin, warming her insides—­an odd sensation, considering his ability to vex her. It had to be his handsomeness, she decided. Against her better judgment, she looked up, her eyes settling on the soft curve of his mouth—­a mouth that threatened to smile, even though it resisted—­and she inadvertently wondered what it might be like to place a kiss there.

  She jerked away from him. Where on earth had that thought come from? She didn’t even like this man! Not particularly.

  “Are you all right?” Lord Spencer asked.

  “Yes,” Sarah replied, hating the high pitch of her voice. “Thank you. I um . . . I think he went that way.” With a sniff intended to hide her discomfort, Sarah pushed past Lord Spencer and went after Snowball, pretending all the while that her heart was completely immune to the viscount’s presence.

  “You must be terrified,” Sarah whispered moments later when she discovered Snowball in a gap at the base of a fountain. “Come on,” she added, hoping her voice would soothe the anxious creature. How awful it must be for him to be chased through a veritable jungle by two stomping giants. Sticking her fingers inside the hole, Sarah coaxed him out toward her, murmuring words of reassurance until she finally managed to scoop him up in both hands while gently stroking his head with her thumb. “Shh . . . it’s all right. You’re safe now.” Remembering she was not alone, Sarah turned to Lord Spencer, her eyes meeting his as she smiled and said, “My lord, we’ve finally got him!”

  Lord Spencer tilted his head and peered down at the subject of their discussion. “We? To be fair, you’re the one who caught him.”

  Determined to part with Lord Spencer on good terms, Sarah shook her head. “It was a joint effort.” She hesitated a moment before reaching her cupped hands toward him. “Would you like to hold him?”

  Lord Spencer eyed her offering with clear apprehension. “I don’t think . . .” He straightened, his features hardening as he looked in the direction of the door.

  Sarah stilled. Voices were approaching.

  Clutching Snowball against her chest, Sarah looked to Lord Spencer, who appeared to be equally aware of their problem, his eyes as dark as when he’d accused Sarah of trying to trap him.

  His eyebrows drew together. “Hide yourself,” he said, his expression both rigid and cold. “I’ll divert their attention. You can come out and leave as soon as we’re gone.” And then he strode away along the path without another word, leaving Sarah behind with an un
expected pain in her chest.

  Chapter 3

  Two hours later, Sarah was summoned to a small parlor by her father. A footman showed her in, and as she stepped inside, she realized that her father was not alone. He was accompanied by a man who looked to be of similar age to her father, with a figure that showed a great fondness for food.

  Caught off guard, Sarah dipped into a curtsy as the door closed behind her.

  “My dear,” her father said, his voice more loving than it had been these past two years, “I’m so glad you could join us.” She rose, straightening her spine. The man with her father . . . it couldn’t be . . . please don’t let it be . . . “Why don’t you have a seat on the sofa beside Mr. Denison so you can become better acquainted?”

  Oh dear God, it was.

  The man she was meant to marry was as old as her father, making him a good thirty years her senior. His head was balding too, whatever hair that remained there as gray as ash from a burned-­out fire. Meeting his gaze, she was instantly struck by the look of pleasure shining in his eyes. She forced a smile, even as her stomach contracted at the thought of what was in store for her.

  “I must say I am delighted to finally meet you,” Mr. Denison said as she stepped toward the vacant spot on the sofa.

  “Likewise,” she said as he bowed toward her. She cast a hesitant look in her father’s direction. Noting the beaming smile upon his face, she knew it would not go well for her if she complained about this match. Reluctantly, she took her seat, with Mr. Denison beside her.

  “I understand from your father that your journey to Thorncliff went well?” Mr. Denison inquired.