Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires

by Sophie Barnes

  “What will you do?” Chadwick asked Christopher later that evening as they each enjoyed a glass of after-­dinner brandy in the library. They were seated in a secluded corner, while other groups of gentlemen were scattered around the exceedingly long room.

  “I don’t know,” Christopher said. Staring into his tumbler, he suppressed a shudder. The image of Lady Sarah being assaulted by Mr. Denison still shook him. “I didn’t imagine finding a bride when I chose to come here with my family.”

  Chadwick snorted. “No. I don’t suppose you did. But Lady Sarah will make a fine wife for you, Spencer, if you can muster the courage to ask her, that is.”

  Looking up, Christopher met Chadwick’s gaze. “It’s not that simple.”

  “The devil it isn’t.” Chadwick took a sip of his brandy. “If what I said about Harlowe is affecting your decision, I urge you to reconsider. After all, we played cards with Harlowe, caroused with him, invited him into our homes, not one of us aware of his true character. If he was able to fool the lot of us, then it goes without saying that he was capable of charming a young lady.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Chadwick’s comment didn’t make Christopher feel any better. He wished he could tell his friend what the real issue was, but that would be dishonorable, so he glowered instead.

  “Forget Harlowe,” Chadwick said.

  Christopher raised a brow at the impossibility of that request. What he’d started to feel for Sarah was more than just a passing fancy. He’d genuinely liked her, admired her, longed for her company . . . to his consternation, he found that he still did. She had done the honorable thing by telling him the truth and he had understood her reluctance to do so, but he couldn’t seem to forget about Harlowe. The man seemed to be haunting him from beyond the grave in the most disturbing of ways.

  “Think of her character instead. She’s a good person, Spencer, and more than that, she is good for you. Don’t be a fool and pass up this chance at happiness.”

  Christopher considered his friend’s words. Chadwick didn’t know what Sarah had done, and Christopher was unsure of whether or not he was capable of accepting her mistake no matter how much he cared for her. Having thought of little else since the duel against Mr. Denison, Christopher had concluded that the incident was unlikely to harm his own family, now that Mr. Denison had been made aware that Christopher would use his influence to discredit him completely if he chose to spread malicious rumors. “I don’t know . . .”

  “Then perhaps I should make it easier for you by pursuing her myself,” Chadwick said.

  Christopher gripped the armrest and leaned forward, his brandy almost sloshing over the sides of his glass in response to the jerky movement. “You will not.”

  “So you won’t stake your claim to her and you won’t allow another man to do so either? Honestly, Spencer, I think there’s something wrong with your head.”

  “My head is perfectly fine,” Christopher grumbled.

  But he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he was being too hard on Lady Sarah—­that he was allowing the ingrained rules of Society to guide him instead of considering his own opinion on the matter. Was her mistake really so severe that it should alter all his feelings for her? He still trusted her, more so now that she had told him everything. A lesser person would have avoided the truth until he discovered it for himself on their wedding night. Searching his mind, he considered all the other ladies he had ever known. None had affected him as much as Lady Sarah. None had made him as happy. Not even Miss Hepplestone. Dragging in a breath, he met Chadwick’s speculative gaze. “You’re right,” Christopher said.

  “I’m glad you think so,” Chadwick said with a wide grin.

  “I’ll make her an offer tomorrow.”

  But when Christopher arrived at breakfast the following morning, eager to see Lady Sarah again and hoping to suggest they go for a picnic later, she wasn’t there. Disappointed, he decided to wait, which resulted in a lengthy conversation with Lady Duncaster about her travels to India and how she once rode an elephant. “There aren’t many ladies who can make such a claim,” she said proudly. “Society has so many rules, most of which I’ve broken at some point or other. But I have no regrets, Spencer. You see, while all the other matrons here were dutifully doing their embroidery and producing children, I was out in the world, living. I’ll never wonder what might have been, because I always followed my heart, though my parents were scandalized by some of the choices I made.” She shrugged slightly. “Well, my life has been full, and I have known great love and happiness. What more could I possibly ask for?”

  What indeed?

  “You make a fine point,” he told her as he met her steady gaze. “In fact, I’ve recently arrived at a similar conclusion—­that living a happy life is of greater importance than constantly seeking to please others.”

  Lady Duncaster’s smile was knowing, leaving Christopher with the distinct impression that she saw things others did not. He doubted anything escaped her. “So you will also follow your heart?” she asked.

  “Edward the Fourth did when he married that impoverished widow in secret, and he was a king, whose choice of bride would have had a political impact on the entire country. Why, then, shouldn’t I marry the lady of my choosing?”

  “I can’t imagine,” Lady Duncaster said.

  Christopher nodded. “Then that is what I shall do.”

  “I’m very happy to hear it.”

  Finishing the remainder of his tea, Christopher rose. “Thank you,” he said, offering her a respectful bow.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Christopher prepared to turn away when Lady Duncaster halted him by saying, “If I may, I would like to suggest you make haste, Lord Spencer.”

  The back of his neck prickled. His heart stilled. “Any particular reason I ought to know about?”

  “Lord Spencer!”

  Drawn by the sound of his name being called, he looked toward the door to find Lady Andover hastening toward him. She was red-­faced and breathless.

  What now?

  “Thank goodness I found you,” Lady Andover wheezed.

  “My lady?” Christopher’s brows knit together with uncertainty.

  “At first I thought she might have eloped, considering Mr. Denison’s departure this morning.”

  “What?” Christopher’s heart slammed against his chest. Surely she couldn’t be speaking of Lady Sarah. Not now, when he’d finally realized he wanted her no matter what—­that he couldn’t live without her. It would be too tragic for words. Bracing himself, he said, “Who are you referring to, Lady Andover?”

  “To Sarah, of course,” she practically shrieked, confirming Christopher’s worst fears.

  “I have since been assured by the groomsmen and servants that Mr. Denison was alone when he departed,” Lady Andover said. She drew a shuddering breath.

  “Calm yourself,” Christopher told her. He felt only mildly placated by the knowledge that Lady Sarah had not left Thorncliff with Mr. Denison. In spite of his impatience to know what had happened, he pulled out a chair for Lady Andover and asked her to sit. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” he suggested.

  Nodding, she dabbed her handkerchief against her forehead. Christopher gritted his teeth. “This morning, after dressing, I went to check on her to ensure she hadn’t caught some nasty ailment that might prove harmful to the rest of us. As you know, my lord, she wasn’t feeling well last night. When I thought about it, I realized she’d been a bit odd since the day before last.”

  “Your attention to your daughter’s state of being is admirable,” Lady Duncaster said dryly.

  Christopher felt like applauding the comment, while Lady Andover herself seemed quite oblivious to the sarcastic criticism that had just been directed at her.

  She nodded. “But when I arrived at her bedchamber, I discovered that Sarah was
nowhere to be found. Nowhere, I tell you! Her sisters claim they haven’t seen her since last night, so I can only assume that she must have snuck out while they were sleeping, leaving behind an empty glass case filled with straw and twigs—­most peculiar that—­and most of her clothing.” There was a very distinctive clip to her tone that sounded entirely too accusatory for Christopher’s liking. He steeled himself. “Now, I don’t care what silly notion has gotten into her head this time, but I will not allow her to do something rash that might potentially embarrass our family. Please, Lord Spencer, you must help me find her!”

  “Of course,” he said, even as his mind reeled with the news that Lady Sarah had run off and what that might mean for their future.

  He fought for control. Calm yourself.

  “Did she leave any hint of where she was going?” he asked.

  “Not much,” Lady Andover admitted, “but there was a note on her escritoire addressed to you.”

  Accepting the paper Lady Andover handed him, Christopher paused before unfolding the missive. He studied the elegant S that curled flamboyantly as part of his name. The message was brief, no more than a ­couple of sentences, really, saying simply,

  During our brief acquaintance, you have become my dearest friend, which is why it pains me to know how grievously I have wronged you. Hopefully, you will one day find it in your heart to forgive me. Please know that I wish you every possible happiness and that I will forever cherish the time we shared together at Thorncliff.

  Yours always,

  Sarah

  Christopher stared down at the piece of paper in his hand. Dearest friend . . . forgive me . . . yours always. Uncertain of his feelings and of what to do with them, he’d pushed her away, hurt her, yet her kindness flowed through the black ink.

  He hadn’t given her any reason to think they stood a chance anymore, had scarcely spoken to her at all for the past ­couple of days. When he had, he’d been curt and distant with her. Last night, when she’d needed comfort the most, he’d turned away from her, fearing that he would expose her to the overpowering rage that Mr. Denison’s attack had evoked in him. And now she was gone, convinced no doubt that he hated her.

  “Do you have any idea where she might be?” Christopher asked bluntly.

  Lady Andover shook her head. “None at all. Indeed, I cannot imagine what might have gotten into that silly head of hers this time.”

  Squaring his shoulders, he stared down at his future mother-­in-­law. He didn’t care for her in the least. “You have a dislikeable tendency to think the worst of your daughter, Lady Andover, offering her no support at all. Your constant berating of her, your unwillingness to forgive . . . it’s been extremely painful for her. She knows she made a mistake, and I do believe she’s likely to regret it for the rest of her life. The least you can do, as her mother, is to offer her some measure of comfort to help ease her suffering, but for some unfathomable reason, you cannot bring yourself to do so. Why, even now you insist on being critical of her.”

  “Lord Spencer,” Lady Andover blustered. “You go too far!”

  “On the contrary, I fear I don’t go far enough,” he muttered.

  “Enough!” Turning, Christopher met the glowering gaze of Lord Andover, who’d joined them inconspicuously. “I will not tolerate such a tone, Lord Spencer. Especially not when you’re addressing my wife.”

  “I shall address her with politeness as soon as she agrees to treat Lady Sarah with civility and respect,” Christopher snapped, his patience running thin due to the ugly company he was presently keeping.

  “Respect?” Lord Andover snorted. “I hardly think—­”

  “Choose your words wisely, my lord,” Christopher said as he narrowed his eyes on Lady Sarah’s father, “lest you give me no choice but to call you out—­a notion that grows more appealing by the second.”

  Lady Andover gasped, while Lord Andover grew visibly pale. He tilted his head in acquiescence. “Forgive me, Lord Spencer. It is clear that my wife and I have overstepped our bounds.” Christopher doubted the words were sincere, but for Lady Sarah’s sake he said, “I suggest you consider what you’re going to tell your daughter when you see her again. The last thing she expects from you is understanding or acceptance.”

  “As to her whereabouts,” Lady Duncaster said, drawing Christopher’s attention, “you might want to try the road to Plymouth.”

  “Plymouth?” Christopher’s eyes narrowed as he recalled Lady Duncaster’s words from earlier. I would like to suggest you make haste. “You knew she left and failed to tell me?”

  “Highly inconsiderate of you not to inform me of her absence immediately,” Lord Andover said.

  Ignoring the earl, Lady Duncaster focused on Christopher. Again, she looked as though she was peeling away his outer layers until she stared straight at his soul. He flinched marginally in response to the direct scrutiny. “What sort of hero would you be if you were in constant need of guidance, acting only when others instructed you to do so?”

  “You wished for me to decide whether or not to go after her on my own?”

  “This is preposterous,” Lord Andover said.

  Lady Duncaster tilted her head. “She left because she couldn’t bear the thought of staying and because she wanted an opportunity to decide her own fate. In so doing, she has also given you a choice, my lord. You can either let her go, or you can chase after her. As it is, she doesn’t think you’ll make the effort.”

  Christopher’s throat tightened. “Where does she intend to go?”

  “Does it really matter?” Lady Duncaster asked.

  No. It didn’t.

  “I cannot believe this,” Lady Andover said.

  “Your collaboration in her flight is most disappointing,” Lord Andover agreed. “Sarah was supposed to go to Cape Town as soon—­”

  “Cape Town?” Shocked, Christopher almost spat the words. “You want to be rid of your daughter so badly that you would send her halfway across the world? What sort of parents are you?” He composed himself. “Forget I asked that question, for indeed I already know the answer, as regrettable as that is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I intend to fetch Lady Sarah so I can ask her to be my wife.” He then strode off, not granting the Andovers a chance to say anything more. Lord help him, he was furious!

  Chapter 19

  With the twenty pounds Lady Andover had kindly given her tucked away in her reticule, Sarah leaned back against the squabs of the carriage as she tumbled along the country road toward Plymouth. Lisa, the maid Lady Duncaster had insisted Sarah take along with her, sat opposite, her hands busy with a bit of mending she’d brought with her. It was almost two hours since Sarah had left Thorncliff behind, so she supposed it was possible that Spencer and her parents had discovered her absence by now. There was no question in her mind that her parents would be furious with her again, but this seemed insignificant compared with her concern over how Lord Spencer might react. Would he realize he couldn’t live without her and come after her as Lady Duncaster envisioned, or would he choose to let her go? She wanted to believe in him, but she couldn’t help the all-­consuming doubt that filled her, strengthened by his cold distance from her for the last ­couple of days.

  Lacing her fingers together in her lap, she closed her eyes and dreamed of him. God, how she loved him: his kindness, loyalty, sense of honor and ability to make her laugh. It broke her heart to run away like this, but it was the only thing she could think of that offered them both a choice, for although she’d told Lady Duncaster that she was grateful for her offer, Sarah wasn’t entirely sure she wished to accept it. If Lord Spencer failed to be the hero she needed him to be, returning to Thorncliff would be both painful and shameful. She wasn’t sure her pride would allow it, which was why she still toyed with the idea of journeying to France—­if she could somehow convince the captain to veer from Lady Duncaster’s orders. Yet another difficult
task.

  The carriage slowed, then came to a halt. “First stop of the day, my lady,” said the footman who’d ridden in front with the driver. He opened the door, reached out his gloved hand to help Sarah alight, then offered Lisa his assistance as well.

  “We’ll change the horses,” the driver said. “Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. Fifteen at most.”

  “Thank you, Michaels. We’ll use the time to stretch our legs,” Sarah said as she looked around. A narrow path led past the inn toward a small brook. “Shall we take a walk, Lisa?”

  “Certainly, my lady, though I would advise you to make use of the inn’s facilities first, since you may not get another chance before luncheon.”

  Agreeing, they sought out the privy, which, to Sarah’s relief, turned out to be cleaner than she would have expected. When they were done, they walked down to the brook, where Sarah, spotting a flat stone upon the embankment, picked it up and flicked it into the water.

  “I wouldn’t have thought you could skip stones, my lady,” Lisa said, sounding thoroughly impressed.

  Sarah’s chest tightened. “I only learned to recently. Lord Spencer taught me one day by the lake at Thorncliff.”

  “I think he’s a fine gentleman,” Lisa said as they turned back toward the awaiting carriage. “Very unpretentious, from what I’ve gathered.”

  A smile tugged at Sarah’s mouth as she recalled him sinking onto his knees in a field of clover and racing across the lawn with her at dawn. “Yes. I suppose he is.” Whatever else happened, she would always remember him fondly.

  Christopher arrived at the Blood and Hound at ten o’ clock with a horse in desperate need of rest. “Did a fair-­haired lady pass by here this morning?” he asked the groomsman as he dismounted.