Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires

by Sophie Barnes

  “Of course not,” Lady Oakland said. To Sarah she added, “It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Lady Sarah, and since we’ll be here the entire summer, I’m sure we’ll have another opportunity to talk later.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Sarah told her politely.

  “I’m sure she’ll look forward to it,” Lady Andover remarked, her smile particularly bright as she pulled Sarah away with her. After a few paces, she whispered, “Don’t lose focus, Sarah. It is widely known that Lord and Lady Andover are actively encouraging their son to marry. It would be a travesty if they were to pin their hopes on you. Have a care and stay away from them.”

  There was no opportunity for Sarah to comment on that remark, since they came within hearing of Mr. Denison and Sarah’s father, who were busily conversing with two young ladies of a similar age to Sarah.

  “How radiant you look,” Mr. Denison said, not bothering to hide his interest while his eyes took her in. Sarah shuddered. “If I may, I’d like to introduce you to my daughters.”

  Forcing a smile, Sarah greeted Miss Victoria Denison and Miss Diana Denison, noting that they were not the prettiest women in the world. “A pleasure,” she said, even though it did not look as though they reciprocated the sentiment. Sarah couldn’t blame them.

  A gong sounded, announcing that it was time for the guests to move to the dining room. Inside, a table long enough to seat a hundred was dressed in white tablecloths and peach-­colored floral arrangements. Discovering there were place cards, Sarah drew a breath. It would take forever for everyone to find their seats.

  Following her family, she glanced down at the individual cards, reading the names as she passed and wondering at how many she didn’t know. It was shocking to think that a mere two years could result in such ignorance of the British peerage.

  “I do hope I’ll be seated next to you,” Mr. Denison whispered behind her.

  She politely nodded, continuing along until her mother found her seat, then her father’s, then her sister Juliet’s, who’d been placed between her father and a young gentleman no more than seventeen years of age. Alice was seated on the other side of this gentleman and possibly next to his father, while Sarah still hadn’t found her spot.

  “Dash it all,” she heard Mr. Denison say. “I’m here.”

  “Enjoy your meal,” Sarah told him, not waiting for his reply as she crossed to the opposite side of the table. She was free—­for now. Finally, she spotted her name, elegantly curling its way along a piece of paper.

  “Allow me to assist.”

  There was no need for Sarah to look at the man who’d just spoken in order to recognize that voice: rich and warm, with a hint of tension. Darting a look in her stepmother’s direction, Sarah was met with a stern look of disapproval, as if it was somehow Sarah’s fault that she’d been seated next to Lord Spencer. “Thank you,” she said, “but I can manage.”

  “I insist,” he muttered, his hands already pulling her chair away from the table so she could take her seat.

  The words brushed against the nape of her neck, producing a shiver. Stiffening, Sarah swallowed as she fought to maintain her composure. She would resist him.

  “Thank you,” she said as she claimed her seat and waited for him to sit down next to her, his leg briefly brushing hers as he did so. The touch sent a tremor racing along her every nerve. “I was actually hoping for a chance to speak with you,” she confessed, pleased that her voice sounded normal.

  “Oh?”

  “After our encounter earlier,” she whispered while the gentleman to the other side of her conversed with the lady to his right, “I just . . . well, I wanted to apologize for creating a situation that could have been devastating to us both. It wasn’t intentional. That is to say, I’m not trying to trap you.”

  “No?”

  Allowing herself to look his way, Sarah saw that his face was turned toward her and that he was studying her closely.

  “Truly, you have no cause for alarm,” she assured him, “though I realize it may not appear that way after your mother’s recent effort to pair us off and Lady Fiona’s blatant insinuation, but I promise you that neither was speaking on my behalf.”

  “And why should I believe you?” he asked, his eyes searching her for she knew not what. “I know nothing about you other than that you have a peculiar fondness for rodents.”

  “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather have a puppy or a kitten?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I’m not allowed any pets. My stepmother’s allergic.”

  Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You sneaky little minx,” he muttered.

  Sarah shrugged. “Snowball doesn’t bother anyone as long as I keep him in my room. Besides, he makes me happy.”

  Lord Spencer snorted. “Happiness is fleeting and highly overrated.”

  Sarah stared at him while a footman leaned over, filling her glass with wine. “I don’t understand you, my lord. You’re both young and handsome.” When he raised an eyebrow, she said, “There’s little point in denying the obvious. You’re also in possession of a title—­one that’s probably attached to a nice piece of property, so unless you’ve gambled away your fortune, you should be quite well off.”

  “An astute observation for a woman who claims to have no interest in me.”

  “My lord, I’m beginning to think you’re too arrogant for your own good.” She winced. “Forgive me. I should not have said that. I merely meant to point out that you have little to complain about, especially when you also have a large family that clearly cares about you.”

  “Oh?”

  “They wouldn’t be so concerned with helping you pick a bride otherwise. I trust you are free to pick any lady of your choosing as long as she is agreeable and accepts your offer?”

  “Yes,” he murmured, staring at the tablecloth. “Except I have no intention to marry.”

  “Not ever? Surely you must do so eventually, considering your position.”

  “If and when I do shall be my own affair, Lady Sarah, nobody else’s.”

  She bit her lip, suppressing the urge to hit him. A punch straight to the shoulder—­that ought to convey her annoyance with him. “Your freedom to choose is enviable, my lord, and yet you bemoan it when you should consider yourself lucky instead. Not everyone has your advantage.”

  Lord Spencer nodded. “True. But did you ever consider that being one of the most eligible bachelors in England can come with its own set of problems? ­People aren’t always what they seem, Lady Sarah. Most will pretend to be something they’re not in order to charm you.”

  “So you’re the suspicious sort?”

  “I prefer to think of myself as cautious.”

  “Or perhaps you’re just afraid of letting down your guard.”

  His features tightened, his eyes turning to flint, until Sarah felt like squirming. She should not have said that either.

  “Lady Sarah,” he spoke between clenched teeth, “are you deliberately trying to provoke me?”

  Determined not to let her discomfort show, Sarah said, “Not at all, my lord. I was merely making an observation. Unfortunately I have a tendency to speak before I think.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. She detected the hint of a smile. Her muscles relaxed.

  “So I’ve noticed,” he said.

  Reaching for her glass, Sarah took a sip of her wine. She shouldn’t be encouraging this conversation. In fact, she ought to be closing herself off from any possible connection with him, but there was something about him—­something she wasn’t quite able to resist. “I’ve never been known for my good judgment,” she admitted. Not the sort of thing you told a man you might be interested in. But she wasn’t interested in him of course. She couldn’t be. She was going to marry Mr. Denison.

  Lord Spencer’s expression br
ightened, though he still refused to allow an actual smile. “I’m beginning to suspect that today was not the first time you found yourself crawling around on the floor.”

  “A useful exercise when you’re looking for something you’ve dropped.”

  “I agree.”

  “You do?”

  “Does that surprise you?” He took a sip of his wine.

  Was he joking?

  “Of course!”

  He chuckled, a rich rumble that captured her awareness. “Just because I disagree with your execution doesn’t mean I necessarily disagree with the practicality of it.” He slanted a look in her direction. “Your maid will have some difficult dirt stains to deal with.”

  Sarah scrunched her nose. “I confess I wasn’t thinking of her.” She should have done so though—­she should have crouched rather than knelt. Instead, she’d given Hester more work. Guilt took hold of her conscience.

  A lull arose in the conversation as footmen arrived with the first course—­plates of salmon mousse garnished with dill and caviar, which were placed before each guest. “It appears our hostess has excellent taste in food,” Sarah said, hoping to change the subject. Her gaze drifted toward the elderly woman who sat at the head of the table, her gloved hands bedecked by jewel-­encrusted bracelets. Sarah had never seen anyone quite like her, for she appeared as though from a different age, her hair set in a style belonging to the previous century. It was most unusual, though in a fascinating sort of way. It made Sarah look forward to making the lady’s acquaintance.

  “Lady Duncaster is meticulous when it comes to entertaining—­especially since everyone here has paid a hefty price in order to attend. I’m sure she wishes to ensure we’re all afforded an experience that will live long in our memories,” Lord Spencer said, drawing Sarah’s attention back to him.

  “I find it surprising that a lady of her stature would open her home like this to strangers—­and accept payment for it, no less.” Scooping a bit of mousse onto her spoon, Sarah took a bite, almost sagging at the exquisite taste and creamy smoothness.

  “From what I gather, her ladyship has always had an eccentric streak, with more of a nonchalant attitude as far as Society is concerned.” Lord Spencer took a bite of his food, pausing momentarily before adding, “Running a place like this is costly. With no children or grandchildren, I daresay it must be terribly lonely as well. There’s no doubt in my mind that turning Thorncliff into a guesthouse is serving more than one purpose, and if you ask me, I admire her all the more for not minding if the ton approves of her choice or not.”

  Sarah nodded her agreement. She’d heard of cases where peers had fallen into terrible debt. God forbid if an earl should make a living at anything other than running his estate or gambling. The fact that it was more acceptable for a peer to increase his wealth at the cost of another’s misfortune rather than do an honest day’s work went beyond Sarah’s level of comprehension, but then again, there was very little about the ton that made sense to her. “I must admit that Thorncliff is more extravagant than any other place I’ve ever visited,” she said. “From what I’ve seen since my arrival earlier today, it will take the duration of my stay to explore it.” She took another bite of her food. Heavens, this tasted divine.

  “It was founded during the twelfth century by a knight named William Holden. After Holden’s ser­vice in the Crusades, King Richard the First rewarded him with land, and William began work on what would eventually become Thorncliff Manor,” Lord Spencer told her. “Since then, each generation has expanded on it, molding it into the estate it is today.”

  Sarah couldn’t help but be impressed. “How do you know all of this?”

  Lord Spencer shrugged. “I have a particular interest in the history of English castles. They intrigue me.”

  Their plates were whisked away and a new course was set before them; glazed duck accompanied by an arrangement of fruits and vegetables.

  “Has that always been the case?” Sarah asked.

  Lord Spencer stilled. “Why do you ask?”

  The question surprised her. “Because I’m interested.”

  He looked at her for a moment as if deciding whether or not to believe her. Absurd. Why on earth would she lie about something like that?

  Picking up his cutlery, he went to work on his duck. “When I was ten, my family and I visited Brighton. On our way back to London, we passed Bodiam Castle. It was as if it had been conjured from my imagination—­the perfect setting for all the stories I’d read about knights. As soon as I returned home I made a sketch of it, and then a model—­the first of many.”

  “And did you ever manage to visit Bodiam Castle properly so you could explore it?” She took a bite of her food, her eyes straying across the table as she did so. Mr. Denison was watching her with a frown. So was her stepmother, she noted. Sarah chose to ignore both of them in favor of enjoying her evening. She glanced at Lord Spencer. Who would have thought that she would find him entertaining, considering his penchant for cutting remarks and quelling frowns? He was much too serious.

  “Unfortunately, I did.”

  “Unfortunately?”

  His eyes seemed to darken. “It was a great disappointment, as is often the case when one’s expectations have risen to unreasonable heights.”

  “I see,” Sarah said, for it was the only response she could think to make. Nobody was this caustic by nature. Something must have happened to him to make him so cynical. Sarah couldn’t stop herself from wondering what it might have been. “Will you be staying long at Thorncliff?” she found herself asking, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She’d met him in the conservatory and had been placed beside him during dinner. It had to stop there.

  “The entire summer,” he said. “And you?”

  “Until my engagement is announced, I’d imagine.” She would not allow him to think she had any interest in him, when she didn’t. No matter how handsome he might be. She’d known handsome once, and the encounter had ruined her.

  “Ah.” He raised an eyebrow. “Then you really aren’t trying to trap me?”

  “You still suspect I might be?” She narrowed her gaze on him. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those men who thinks himself so desirable that a woman would find it near impossible to resist his charms. That she would go to great lengths in order to get herself married to him against his own will.”

  He reached for his wine. “Of course not.”

  She continued to stare at him while he placed the glass to his lips and drank. “Good Lord,” she uttered. “You are!”

  “And what if I am?” he said, leaning closer so only she could hear. “Is it so difficult for you to imagine that I am coveted? That young ladies aspire to marry me if for no other reason than to please their overeager mamas?”

  “Your arrogance is unbecoming,” she said, even though she knew he spoke the truth. A man with his features and in possession of both title and wealth would never be unpopular. Quite the opposite.

  “A matter of opinion,” he stated. There was a pause, and then, “Allow me to ask you this: if I had compared your eyes to summer skies when first we met, would you have been flattered? Or would you have wondered about my motives?”

  Sarah forced herself to breathe, no matter how difficult the effort seemed. A coincidence. That was all it was. Lord Spencer couldn’t possibly know that those exact words, among many others, had compelled her to toss away her innocence two years earlier. She told him the truth when she answered. “I would have thought you the worst possible scoundrel.”

  “And so you should have if I had indeed said such a thing. Not doing so would be extremely naïve.”

  Heat rose to her cheeks as she averted her gaze, concentrating on the plate of fruit that had been placed before her. Continuing her conversation with Lord Spencer would prove to be not only pointless but also painful. He was unmovable in his convi
ctions as well as a constant reminder of how utterly stupid she’d once been. But she’d been given a chance to put all of that behind her. And so she would, with Mr. Denison by her side. In exchange, she would trade in all the silly dreams she’d ever had of marrying for love.

  Chapter 4

  He’d upset Lady Sarah, Christopher realized as the meal drew to an end, but as usual, he’d been unable to halt the bitter words from escaping his mouth, for they reflected the way he felt—­a wariness of any young lady who showed an interest in him.

  Then again, it had been five years since Miss Hepplestone had disappeared from his life forever. How much longer was he going to put off doing his duty because of the apprehension she’d instilled in him? Forever seemed like a feasible time frame.

  Rising, he offered Lady Sarah his hand, assisting her until they stood across from each other. “It was a pleasure,” he said politely. His mother had made a great effort turning him into a gentleman. It was about time he started acting like one. “Perhaps I’ll see you again soon.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, not meeting his gaze, though she did manage a weak smile as she took her leave of him. And then she was gone, leaving Christopher in the company of the other gentlemen with whom he was meant to enjoy the obligatory after-­dinner drink. Crossing to where his father was sitting, Christopher took the vacant seat beside him and attempted to concentrate on the conversation he was having with some of his acquaintances, Mr. Hewitt and the Duke of Pinehurst, about horses. “I’ve an urge to buy myself a new stallion,” Lord Oakland was saying, “and since my wife’s birthday is approaching, I’m considering getting her a new mare as well. Don’t suppose you’d happen to know of anyone who’s selling prime stock at the moment?”

  “I’d try Mr. Frick if I were you,” Mr. Hewitt said. “He’s quite the expert on horses—­always has a ­couple of fine ones up for auction at Tattersalls. Few years back, he began crossbreeding his best Thoroughbred with an Arabian he acquired on the Continent, producing spectacular foals—­expensive, mind you, but well worth it if you’re looking to please your wife.”