Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires

by Sophie Barnes

  “Shall we compete against each other on the balancing beam?” Lord Spencer asked once the archery tournament had been completed with Lady Duncaster as the winner. For some reason he’d accepted Mr. Denison’s wager and now appeared eager to even the score. “All you have to do is knock me into the water, unless of course I knock you down first.”

  “Sounds like a fine bit of sportsmanship, my lord. I do believe I’d enjoy the chance to prove my stamina.” Taking Sarah’s arm, Mr. Denison started toward the lake with a loud chuckle.

  “I admire your confidence,” Lord Spencer said dryly as he followed behind them.

  So did Sarah. Surely Mr. Denison did not imagine himself capable of beating Lord Spencer? It was certainly possible for a man to be physically fit at the age of five and forty, but one need only take one glance at Mr. Denison to realize he was anything but. His large stomach proved it.

  Arriving at the lakeside, they joined the group of spectators, many of whom were busily placing bets on the two gentlemen who were currently competing. Sarah recognized one of them as the Earl of Montsmouth, because she’d danced with him once, a long time ago.

  Standing on the balance beam that had been linked between two rafts so it could stay afloat out on the lake, Montsmouth held the baton with which he was supposed to topple his opponent into the water.

  “Please put me down for five pounds on the Earl of Chadwick,” Lord Spencer said to the Duke of Pinehurst, who’d taken charge of the betting book. Mr. Denison, of course, immediately made a counter bet of seven pounds on the Earl of Montsmouth.

  Sarah tried hard not to roll her eyes, a chore that was proving increasingly difficult. “Is Lord Chadwick a friend of yours?” she asked Lord Spencer.

  “We studied at Eton together and later at Cambridge, so I’ve known him for many years and consider him the very best of friends. He’s quite fun and much more charming than I. The ladies simply adore him.” Lowering his head, he whispered close to her ear, “Which is why I haven’t introduced you to him yet.”

  “What was that?” Mr. Denison asked while a wave of heat engulfed Sarah’s entire body.

  Leaning forward so he could meet Mr. Denison’s eye, Lord Spencer said, “I was just saying that it will be entertaining to see which one of them gets wet.”

  Mr. Denison grunted. “Chadwick will,” he said.

  Concentrating on the competition, Lord Spencer didn’t respond. For which Sarah was grateful. She wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to stand the competitive remarks between the two of them. Thankfully both would soon be out on the lake and she would be offered a short reprieve.

  She watched as Montsmouth pressed Chadwick backward, convinced that Chadwick would lose his footing and stumble. He didn’t. It was as if the soles of his boots were glued to the beam of wood beneath him. He crouched low and flung his baton sideways, hitting Montsmouth just below the knees and knocking him off balance. A loud splash followed and then an eruption of voices as the crowd cheered the victor.

  “I suppose we’re even now,” Mr. Denison said gruffly. “I won the bet with Lady Duncaster, and you’ve won the one with Lord Chadwick. Shall we see which one of us wins against the other?”

  Sarah considered saying that Lord Spencer hadn’t had much of a choice in the archery contest, but she thought better of it. It would serve no purpose other than to make it look as if she was supporting Lord Spencer, when her loyalty ought to lie with the man she was going to marry. Even if she could barely stand him.

  Lord Spencer and Mr. Denison waited until Chadwick and Montsmouth had been rowed ashore. Congratulating Chadwick on his win, Lord Spencer and Mr. Denison then climbed into the boat and were quickly taken out to the two rafts, where footmen handed them each a baton.

  Sarah could hardly stand to watch. Worst of all, she wanted Lord Spencer to win. “Would you care to place a bet, my lady?” Pinehurst asked.

  “One pound on Mr. Denison,” she told him dutifully. Her parents hadn’t given her the usual allowance before coming to Thorncliff, which, Sarah suspected, was meant to encourage her to find Mr. Denison all the more appealing. She could scarcely afford the one pound, never mind the prospect of losing it, which of course would be inevitable.

  “He does look a bit top-­heavy, don’t you think?”

  Stifling a grin, Sarah turned her head to find that Lady Fiona had joined her. “I can’t believe you would say such a thing about your own brother.”

  Lady Fiona’s lips twitched. “Don’t be daft. You know perfectly well who I’m talking about.” They watched as the two men stepped out onto the balance beam from either end, moving toward each other with careful steps. “There’s bound to be a very big splash when Mr. Denison falls in and—­”

  The splash came sooner than expected.

  “Oh dear,” Sarah muttered. Dead silence followed a number of gasps, and then, an explosion of uproarious laughter.

  “Oh,” Lady Fiona said, clutching her stomach. She could not control her mirth. Or perhaps she simply didn’t bother trying. “Poor Spencer! To lose an opponent so quickly can’t be very rewarding.”

  Still standing on the balance beam, Lord Spencer bowed to the crowd onshore while Mr. Denison splashed around in the water. Sarah squinted. “Good Lord,” she murmured. “I don’t believe he knows how to swim.”

  Lady Fiona instantly stopped laughing, as did everyone else. Concerned comments wove their way through the crowd. Somebody called for help. Another splash sounded, and Sarah saw that Lord Spencer had dived into the lake and was swimming toward Mr. Denison, who was now spending more and more time below the surface than above it. Reaching him, Lord Spencer grabbed onto Mr. Denison, hauling him upward, but it was clear from Mr. Denison’s frantic movements that he was in a state of panic. Worse than that, it looked as though he was trying to climb onto Lord Spencer, thus pushing Lord Spencer down.

  “Dear Lord, they’re both going to drown at this rate,” someone muttered.

  Sarah’s heart stilled. She could not breathe. If anything happened to Lord Spencer . . . Please, God, let him be all right. The footman with the boat started rowing toward them as Mr. Denison cried for help, splashing frantically while pushing Lord Spencer under. When the footman eventually reached the pair, Lord Spencer was holding the limp body of Mr. Denison in an armlock while treading water.

  “Is he dead?” Fiona asked in a low whisper.

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said. She watched silently as the footman hauled Mr. Denison into the boat, then helped Lord Spencer up into it as well. As soon as he was safely inside, she released a deep, shuddering breath.

  “What happened?” Lady Duncaster asked, arriving at the scene just as the rowboat hit the embankment and men stepped forward to help Lord Spencer and Mr. Denison back onto dry land, laying the latter flat on the ground. Lady Fiona immediately ran forward to fling her arms around her brother, just as Sarah longed to do. She’d never been so relieved before in her life.

  “Apparently he couldn’t swim,” Lord Spencer said, accepting a towel from a nearby footman.

  “Of all the foolish things,” Lady Duncaster said. She leaned over Mr. Denison and peered down at him. “Looks like he’s still breathing.”

  “He ought to be fine once he comes to,” Lord Spencer said.

  “I take it you knocked him unconscious?” Lady Duncaster asked.

  “I had no choice.”

  “Well, I daresay nobody will blame you, given the circumstances,” Lady Duncaster said. Sarah disagreed. She was quite certain Mr. Denison would blame Lord Spencer a great deal.

  Lady Duncaster gestured to a ­couple of footmen. “Would you please ensure that Mr. Denison is carried up to his bedchamber and that he’s given every comfort he requires?”

  “Yes, my lady,” one of the footmen said, immediately seeing to her request with the help of two other footmen.

  “Thank
you,” Sarah said as she approached Lord Spencer. “Had it not been for you, Mr. Denison might not have made it.”

  “I appreciate you saying so, my lady, but the truth of the matter is that anyone would have done the same,” Lord Spencer said. “It was nothing.”

  Sarah disagreed, but she was not about to argue the point in front of all these ­people. Instead she nodded, agreeing to join Lady Fiona for a glass of lemonade on the terrace while Lord Spencer went in search of some dry clothing.

  That evening, after enjoying a lovely piece of music performed by Lady Emily at the pianoforte, Sarah quietly left the music room with the intention of seeking solace in her room. She needed to think—­to untangle all the thoughts and emotions Lord Spencer and Mr. Denison were causing. It was impossible to do so in the company of others without turning into a frustrated mess.

  “Lady Sarah!”

  Rather than halting and turning toward the voice that had spoken, Sarah quickened her pace, determined to avoid sharing Mr. Denison’s company any further. Since recovering his senses, he’d deliberately sought her out and proceeded to criticize Lord Spencer in every conceivable manner. “He knocked me out,” he’d said, his voice pitching with outrage. “What sort of man does that?”

  “I believe he was trying to save your life,” had been Sarah’s reply, “as proven by the fact that you are still alive.”

  “No thanks to him, I tell you. He was deliberately trying to push me under.”

  “I don’t see why he would have swum to your rescue if that had been the case.”

  “To hasten my demise of course! Had that footman not pulled me from the water when he did, I’m convinced I would have drowned. I owe that fine young chap a debt of gratitude.”

  Sarah had stared at Mr. Denison in utter dismay. Of course it was natural for him to be in a state of shock after what had happened, but was he mad? “Are you suggesting that Lord Spencer tried to kill you?” she’d asked very carefully.

  “I’m not saying he was, but I’m not saying he wasn’t, either. He clearly doesn’t like me or my daughters.” His eyes had narrowed. “Though he certainly seems to have a fine interest in you.”

  “You’re quite mistaken,” Sarah had said, not liking the angry look in Mr. Denison’s eyes.

  “I think not,” he’d said. “In fact, I’m beginning to suspect that he might be planning to steal you away from me, but I won’t allow it, I tell you. In fact, I forbid you from having anything further to do with him.”

  “You . . . you can’t do that.”

  “Really?” He’d leaned close to her, his lips almost touching the lobe of her ear. “Then perhaps I’ll just discourage his interest by telling him about your past, shall I?”

  “You can’t do that either.” Her hands had trembled, not so much from fear as from anger. “If word gets out, the deal will be off. Papa will withdraw his offer.”

  “Are you so certain about that? The way I see it, Lord Andover will be especially glad to be rid of you if anyone discovers how willing you are to lift your skirts.”

  The insult had burned, but she had held her head high and said, “You may threaten me all you like, sir, but I would urge you to consider that treating the woman you’ll be spending the rest of your life with unkindly might not be the wisest decision.”

  Turning, she’d walked away from him, deaf to whatever else he’d said.

  Rounding a corner now, she glanced around in desperation. Another hallway intersected the one she was in. Making a sharp turn, she raced toward the first available door on her right and flung it open, closing it softly behind her as she entered the dimly lit room that would be her salvation.

  “What a pleasant surprise.”

  Catching her breath, she spun toward the deep masculine rumble and quickly located Lord Spencer. He was leaning over a table, hands pressed into the surface to support his weight. A stray lock of hair fell across his brow, the corner of his mouth dimpling as he looked back at Sarah. It was clear that he’d been studying a large piece of paper that lay spread out before him, until she’d disturbed his privacy.

  “Please forgive the intrusion,” she said, immediately cringing in response to the breathiness of her voice. She sounded as though she was foolishly fawning over him, which perhaps she was, a little bit. It was difficult not to when the man had chosen to remove his jacket, provoking an image of careless abandon that did something wicked to her insides. Her heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said, straightening. He studied her a moment. “Are you hiding from someone?”

  “Of course not.”

  The door opened behind her and Sarah whirled aside, her back pressing up against the wall as the door hid her from view. “Lord Spencer,” Mr. Denison said. He paused, and Sarah imagined him glancing around the room. “Sorry to bother you, but I was looking for Lady Sarah. Have you seen her?”

  “Not since dinner.”

  Another pause followed. Sarah’s heart raced with the dread of potential discovery. “Well,” Mr. Denison said, “I’ll bid you good night then.”

  “Good night, Mr. Denison,” Lord Spencer said.

  The door swung shut, leaving Sarah face-­to-­face with Lord Spencer. Crossing his arms, he raised an eyebrow.

  “Very well,” Sarah muttered. “I wasn’t completely honest when I told you I wasn’t hiding.”

  “Hiding from the man you plan to marry is not very promising.” He tilted his head. “Did he say something to upset you?”

  “No.” She shook her head, hoping to dispel such an idea and the catastrophe it might lead to. Diverting attention away from herself, she asked, “Are you feeling all right after what happened earlier?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

  Crossing the floor, she glanced down at the table before him. “Is that a plan of Thorncliff?”

  His eyes narrowed. He was still for a moment, then finally relaxed his posture. He nodded. “Lady Duncaster was kind enough to let me borrow it.” He gestured toward a large piece of velum containing a partial drawing. “I’m trying to copy it, since it will make it easier for me to complete my model later.”

  “An ingenious method for maintaining the correct proportions.” She leaned forward, studying the plan. “I’m guessing we must be here, in this room?”

  “Correct.” His voice sounded slightly raspy as he placed his finger against the velum and outlined a section of the house. “Here is what remains of the original structure—­the part built by William Holden. It contains the armory, the interior courtyard that once provided the main entrance, and the ballroom, which originally served as the great hall.”

  “I wouldn’t have realized unless you told me,” Sarah said. She’d seen the ballroom, the floors made from polished white marble, the bottom part of the pale blue walls trimmed with moldings, the top part filled with mirrors.

  “It’s been remodeled many times throughout the ages, most recently by Lady Duncaster and, before her, by the late earl’s father, who favored rococo.” Moving his hand, he pointed to another portion of the plan. “During the fourteenth century, the kitchen was moved to its current location and this staircase was added. It’s since been masked by a cabinet to prevent anyone from making note of it. Apparently the first Duchess of Duncaster considered it a blight upon her fragile senses to view a staircase used predominantly by servants.”

  Sarah couldn’t help but laugh. “She must have found life very difficult if the mere sight of a staircase was capable of distressing her.”

  “From what I gather, she was very high in the instep. She loved the grandeur of Thorncliff but hated being surrounded by servants. She was the sort of lady who expected all the work to be carried out without her having to witness it.”

  “A difficult task, I’d imagine, considering the size of this place and the number of servants requ
ired.”

  “I agree,” Lord Spencer said. Stepping away from the table, he crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a measure of brandy. “May I offer you some port, or perhaps some sherry?”

  Sarah longed to accept his offer, but she’d made a promise to Chloe and . . . “I should probably leave,” she said, eying the closed door. “Our being alone like this is not the least bit proper.”

  “And yet it seems to be turning into a common occurrence.” He gestured toward the carafes before him. “I repeat. Port or sherry?”

  It was tempting. Too tempting. “Perhaps a small sherry. But then I really must go.”

  The edge of his mouth tilted. “I take it you’ve chosen to reclaim your adventurous spirit?” Turning away, he poured her a glass.

  His voice swept through her, warming her senses. “Since that particular conversation, I’ve made some considerations and have decided that I do not wish to lose any more of myself.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it.” Crossing to where she stood, he gave her her glass. “I simply fail to understand how you hope to accomplish such a feat by marrying a man you do not like.”

  Sarah promptly choked on the small sip she’d taken. “Forgive me,” she said, accepting the handkerchief he offered and dabbing at the liquid now staining her bodice.

  He said nothing, and when she raised her gaze, she found him looking at her intently. Heated, she took a deliberate step back. “I like him well enough,” she lied, determined not to embrace the undeniable attraction unfolding between herself and Lord Spencer.

  Disappointment filled his eyes. “I suppose that’s why you hid from him, because your fondness for him was too much to bear? Come now, Lady Sarah. Why are you lying to me?” He took a step toward her, setting his glass on the table as he did so.

  Sarah retreated once more. If only she’d left when she’d had the chance, she would not be having this impossible conversation. “Because I enjoy the liberty of our discussions and do not wish to darken them with thoughts of an unavoidable future. When I am with you, I . . .” The words caught in her throat. She’d said too much. Far too much.