Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires

by Sophie Barnes

  “I saw you in Lord Spencer’s company this morning,” Sarah’s stepmother told her later when they were having tea together in the Indian salon. Sarah doubted her stepmother was enjoying it any more than she was, but they’d both agreed that they must remain cordial with each other if they were to prevent gossip.

  “His sisters were there as well,” Sarah said.

  Setting her cup aside, Lady Andover gave her daughter a pointed look. “Are you suggesting that the ladies present held greater appeal than his lordship?”

  “No. He is a striking man, Mama, and I confess that I do enjoy his company immensely. What I meant to imply was that you needn’t concern yourself about my reputation. He and I were not alone.”

  “Not even in the maze?”

  Sarah felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Of course Lady Andover would ask the one question Sarah wished to avoid answering. Steeling herself, she told the truth. “We were separated from the others for a short while. Nothing happened.”

  “And you expect me to believe that, given your history?”

  Anger flared to life within her. “I do, Mama, especially since you know I have never lied to you, though in hindsight, I sometimes wish I had.”

  Lady Andover sat back against her chair and gave Sarah a hard stare. “You have quite the backbone when others are not within earshot.” When Sarah said nothing, her stepmother continued in a steely tone. “Did I not warn you to stay away from the Heartlys? Your future is not with them. It is with Mr. Denison, to whom you should be eternally grateful. You should be spending your days with him instead, unless of course you wish for him to change his mind about you.”

  It was exactly what Sarah wanted. Unfortunately she was well aware that ­people didn’t always get what they wanted and that she wouldn’t either.

  “I’m sure Papa’s business arrangement with Mr. Denison, along with my dowry, are incentive enough for Mr. Denison to make me an offer once our courtship draws to an end.”

  “How vulgar of you to say such a thing.”

  “I don’t see why, when it is obviously true.”

  Lady Andover scoffed. “I’m sure Mr. Denison also appreciates your feminine beauty and realizes that you . . . oh don’t look so horrified, Sarah. A woman’s ability to encourage an amorous response in her husband is a strength. Wield it correctly, and you’ll soon have Mr. Denison dancing to your tune.”

  Sarah shuddered. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more “amorous responses” from Mr. Denison without being violently ill, never mind a lifetime supply of it.

  Her stepmother’s eyes pierced Sarah like needles while her mouth curved in a smirk. “Besides, unlike most young ladies, it’s nothing you haven’t tried before. I’m sure Mr. Denison will be ever so pleased by your experience on your wedding night. Really, Sarah, there’s nothing for you to worry about at all.” Heart bouncing about her chest, Sarah definitely disagreed. “But in order for any of this to transpire and for your sisters, whom I know you love and adore, to have the bright futures they deserve, you must make every effort to encourage Mr. Denison and to stay away from the Heartlys. Especially from Lord Spencer. We simply cannot risk the possibility of him making an offer.”

  Sarah fought not to roll her eyes. “He scarcely knows me, so I find that prospect highly unlikely, especially since he does not wish to marry. He has also been made aware that Mr. Denison is presently courting me and that I intend to accept his eventual proposal, but”—­she held up her hand to stay her stepmother’s words of protest—­“if Lord Spencer decides to ignore all of that and make me an offer, which he won’t, I shall simply decline.”

  Lady Andover nodded. “You’d better, because if you don’t and end up married to a man who’s expecting an innocent on his wedding night, his anger will know no bounds. He will no doubt take vengeance on all of us, including your sisters.”

  Hope seemed to flee before Sarah’s eyes as she said, “For your information, Mr. Denison asked me to help him get his daughters settled. He has set his sights on Lord Spencer, so you needn’t worry, Mama. I will do my duty.”

  “And I shall be keeping an eye on you,” Lady Andover remarked. “Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly,” Sarah ground out. Thank God for Thorncliff’s many distractions and her stepmother’s fondness for piquet. If luck would have it, the countess would be too busy playing cards to bother herself with her stepdaughter’s affairs. Lord knew Sarah could do with the reprieve.

  Chapter 6

  The following morning, Sarah awoke early. So early, in fact, that it was still dark outside when she rose from her bed, groaning as she considered the day that stretched before her. Mr. Denison was supposed to take her rowing, but the thought of being trapped in a boat with him was extremely unappealing. Perhaps she could feign a megrim, but her stepmother would probably find that suspicious, since Sarah was never ill and had always loved being out on the lake at home.

  Looking out the window, she was tempted with the chance to escape her worries, if only for a moment—­to feel the freedom of being outside as the sun rose over the lake and the birds began to chirp. Picking out a lavender-­colored gown, she got dressed, stepped into her slippers and snuck quietly out of her room.

  Downstairs, Sarah was met by the steady ticking of clocks in various rooms. The house was still sleeping—­not even a servant preparing the dining room for breakfast was to be found. Reaching the French doors leading out onto a patio, Sarah was surprised to find them unlocked. Opening the right side, she stepped nimbly out into the crisp morning air, grateful she’d brought a shawl along to warm her. She pulled it tight across her shoulders as she closed the door behind her and started in the direction of the lake. The darkness had begun to brighten, and by the time she reached the lakeside, the first rays of sunshine shimmered upon the water.

  Drawn to a path leading off to one side, Sarah followed it as it curved away between a copse of trees before leading toward a wide span of dew-­covered grass, crushed beneath the solid weight of gray granite benches. Realizing she might as well have gone barefoot, since her silk slippers were almost soaked through, Sarah considered removing them as she stepped forward, until she realized, quite unexpectedly, that she was not alone. A man stood to the far right of her; he was tall, and cast in relief against the now orange glow of the sky. His back was toward her, but that did not prevent her from determining his identity, though even if she’d been in doubt, her heart rate would have told her he was none other than Lord Spencer.

  Of course it would be him of all ­people, she mused, as she watched him quietly from a distance. Fate did after all have a fondness for mischief. Knowing she ought to resist the temptation of sharing his company in solitude, Sarah turned to leave, but she had scarcely done so when she heard his voice, clear across the distance. “Will you not even greet me?” he asked.

  Her breath hitched, and she was thankful he wasn’t close enough to hear it. Slowly, she turned to find him looking back at her, his face cast in shadow as the sun peeked out from behind the maze on the opposite side of the lake. “Forgive me, my lord, but we are alone, and we really shouldn’t be. It isn’t proper.”

  “Perhaps not, though I daresay none shall be the wiser, since everyone is still abed and will no doubt remain so for the next two hours.” He tilted his head. “What brought you outside so early?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she confessed.

  “I see.” They both remained unmoving, not uttering another word until he finally said, “I really wish you’d make up your mind about staying or leaving. The anticipation is difficult to bear.”

  His stark expression ­coupled with the note of sarcasm made Sarah smile. “As long as you promise to remain on your best behavior, my lord, I daresay I’d like to watch the sunrise from here.”

  “I won’t bite, if that is what you fear.”

  For some peculiar reason, his words evoked a delightfu
l shiver accompanied by a rush of heat in the pit of her belly. Bothered by the silliness of it, Sarah took a fortifying breath and moved toward him with hesitant steps. “Are you usually awake this early?” she asked as she came to stand beside him.

  He nodded. “It’s my favorite time of day—­the birth of a new dawn as light pushes away the darkness and life rises from its slumber.” Turning toward the spectacular radiance of colorful light, he slipped something between his fingers, adjusting it until, with a sharp jerk of his upper body, he tossed it out over the water. The stone skipped numerous times before sinking below the surface, leaving rippling rings in its wake. “Care to try?” he asked as he offered her a perfectly flat stone.

  “I confess I don’t know how,” she said as she stared with longing at his offering.

  “I didn’t ask you if you did. I asked you if you’d like to try.”

  For two years her true nature had been boxed away and labeled Unsuitable. She took the stone from his hand. “I’d love to,” she said.

  “In that case, let me show you how.” His hand was upon her wrist, pulling her toward him before she could voice a protest as he tried to position her correctly. “Turn sideways, like this.”

  Sarah’s heart slammed against her chest as she struggled for breath, not to mention some measure of calm. With her back toward Lord Spencer’s chest and his hand upon hers while he tried to place the stone correctly between her fingers, she could feel the heat radiating off of him and penetrating her skin. Dear God, she could not think straight when he was so close.

  Yesterday, distraught by Mr. Denison’s unsavory advances, she’d confided in Lord Spencer as much as she’d dared, which had not been much. Even so, she’d left his company feeling as if a thread had been spun between them, perhaps because he’d refrained from pressing her for answers. Instead, she’d been free to divulge as much as she’d wished and he’d respected her refusal to tell him more, just as she had respected his.

  “That’s it. I think you’ve got it,” he murmured, his breath tickling the side of her neck and teasing her senses. “You’re going to turn away from the lake and then back toward it in a fluid but rapid motion, like this.” And then, before she managed to quell her ragged nerves, he guided her through the motion until the stone slipped from between her fingers and flew through the air, skimming the water in a ­couple of leaps.

  “I did it!” Thrilled by the results of her effort and the fact that she’d actually managed to skip a stone on her first attempt, even if Lord Spencer should really be the one to take the credit, Sarah whirled around, eager to share her victory with him, and almost lost her footing in the process.

  Lord Spencer grinned, his smile wide as he caught her about the waist. “Easy does it! You wouldn’t want to fall in and get wet.”

  Sarah stared at him—­at the unhindered amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes and at the dimples forming at the corners of his mouth. Truly, the man was likely capable of converting nuns with that smile. It ought to be illegal. “Certainly not,” she said, intensely aware of his unexpected closeness, the sturdy feel of his hand as he shifted it to her lower back, the fresh scent of soap suggesting he’d recently bathed. Perhaps last night before bed?

  “You really ought to stop doing this, my lady.” His eyes sparkled as he spoke. Gone was the guarded expression she’d grown accustomed to.

  Sarah sagged, feeling weightless. A woman could easily lose herself in those eyes. “Doing what?” she asked, her voice sounding breathless.

  “Falling into the arms of unsuspecting gentlemen. They might get the wrong idea.”

  Pulling her upward, Lord Spencer narrowed the distance between them, and as Sarah gazed back at his handsome face, more particularly at the delicious curve of his mouth, she couldn’t help but wonder if he might kiss her. Indeed, she secretly hoped he would, even though she knew she shouldn’t. Longed for it, in fact, as the air grew heavy with intimacy . . . expectancy . . . desire. Or at least that was how she perceived it. As it turned out, he had only been trying to set her back on her feet so she wouldn’t fall over again like the dim-­witted female she was. It was clear that Lord Spencer’s handsomeness was confusing her senses.

  “Right you are,” she said, hoping her embarrassment wasn’t too obvious and that she hadn’t looked as though she’d been begging for kisses as he’d held her in his arms. Lord, she’d never outlive the humiliation!

  Crouching down, Lord Spencer sought out two more stones, rose to his feet and sent them flying across the water in quick succession while Sarah stared in amazement. “You must have had a lot of practice doing that,” she said after counting well over ten skips.

  Lord Spencer chuckled. “I confess I find the exercise soothing. My grandfather taught me how to do it when I was little, and I’ve been doing it ever since—­always trying to beat my own record.”

  “And what’s that?” Sarah asked curiously.

  “Twenty-­five.”

  Sarah shook her head in wonder. “And I only managed a measly two.”

  “For which you should be very proud,” Lord Spencer assured her. “It took me several attempts before I could skip a stone even once, but Grandpapa insisted I should keep at it. He told me there’s no reward to be had without effort and that the best things in life are worth struggling for.”

  “He sounds like a very wise man.”

  Lord Spencer nodded. “I was very fond of him, perhaps because he always had time to spare for me. He taught me how to whistle with a blade of grass as well—­not the sort of thing you might expect from an earl. But he was not the haughty sort, and neither was my grandmother. I believe my family has benefitted greatly from it and that it’s provided us with a closeness many families of the ton lack.”

  Sarah envied that. She’d never felt particularly close to her parents, and now . . . now she felt as if a vast chasm lay between them. And although she loved Alice and Juliet dearly, her need to protect them from the truth meant denying herself and them the sort of closeness sisters ought to share. Speaking of Lord Spencer’s grandfather, she realized how much she missed her own—­a serious man who’d always saved a few smiles just for her. “My favorite childhood memory is flying a kite with my grandpapa when he and Grandmamma took me out for a picnic one summer. The air was warm with a gentle breeze, and I remember the sound of bees buzzing about the wildflowers while we enjoyed our lunch on a large blanket.”

  “Your sisters weren’t with you?” Lord Spencer asked.

  “They were too young at the time, so I suppose they must have remained home with Lady Andover and Papa—­or with their nanny.” Staring across the lake, Sarah welcomed the memory. “We had pancakes for dessert that day, with strawberry jam. Grandmamma and I went for a walk and picked a large bouquet of flowers while she talked about the birds we spotted. She knew everything there was to know about birds—­that was her passion. Later, while she took a rest, Grandpapa surprised me with a kite he’d ordered from London. It was so beautiful—­bright red with elegant long ribbons.”

  “Do you still have it?”

  “No. I’m not sure what happened to it.”

  “Your sisters never got a chance to try it?”

  Sarah shook her head with regret. “Grandpapa died the following year, and Papa never took the time. He’s always been very busy.”

  Lord Spencer tilted his head a little, the smile he’d given her earlier nothing more than a memory. “I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t refer to Lady Andover as ‘Mama.’ Is she not your real mother?”

  “You’ve clearly forgotten your Debrett’s,” Sarah said as she pulled her shawl up over the curve of her shoulder, cocooning herself in its warmth.

  He tossed another stone out over the lake. “I can tell you the names of everyone currently married and who their heirs are, but when it comes to daughters and previous husbands or wives, I confess I have a tendency
to forget.”

  “Unless you’re interested in their family history because they happen to own a fascinating castle.”

  Sticking his hands in his pockets, he nodded. “There is that.”

  Sarah took a deep breath. “My mother left when I was a baby. According to Papa, she offered no explanation. One day she was just gone, and although he searched for her, there was no news of her whereabouts until she showed up in the Rhône four years later.”

  “A harsh truth to have to tell a child,” Lord Spencer muttered.

  “He didn’t have to,” Sarah said. “In fact, I know he planned to protect me from it, but I overheard him discussing the facts with Lady Andover while they were courting. He specifically requested that she treat me well—­that I was not to suffer from any feeling of rejection the truth might cause.”

  “And did Lady Andover live up to her responsibility?”

  “I believe she tried, or that she would have done had I not known the truth.” Sarah hesitated. She’d already told Lord Spencer more than she’d ever shared with her friends. Was it wise to continue?

  “What do you mean?”

  Tempted to share her innermost feelings, Sarah said, “I was hurt by all the lies that she and Papa told me. When I eventually confronted them, they said they’d acted in my best interest, but I disagreed. Since then I’ve given them both more trouble than they bargained for, I think, always trying to escape them by seeking refuge on the roof or in my den in the woods.”

  “You had a den in the woods?” He sounded pleasantly surprised.

  “Of course,” she said, enjoying his reaction.

  “So did I.” He glanced down at her. “But mine was more of a fort. My brother and I . . .” He paused, inhaling deeply as he looked away. There was a moment’s hesitation before he said, “We played some wonderful games there as children, fighting off our invading sisters with wooden swords and projectiles—­pig bladders filled with water or mud.”