Lady Sarah's Sinful Desires

by Sophie Barnes

  “About this tall?” Christopher nodded as the man held his hand up to his shoulder level. “Aye. I’d say she stopped here about an hour and a half ago.”

  Christopher allowed a sigh of relief. He was gaining on her, thanks to his lack of a cumbersome carriage. “Give me the fastest horse you’ve got.”

  “Now that might be a bit tricky,” the groomsman said, catching up the reins and leading Christopher’s horse toward the stables. “The carriage her ladyship was riding in took the last of our Thoroughbreds, and the ones they left behind aren’t ready for the road yet.”

  Hell and damnation.

  “What are my options then?”

  Guiding the horse into one of the stalls, the groomsman held a bucket of water up so the animal could drink. “There’s a gelding a few stalls down that the innkeeper uses to plow the vegetable garden out back. A few children from the village also come and ride him on occasion. He’s a fine and gentle horse, but he ain’t fast.”

  “Are you suggesting I borrow him?” Christopher asked as calmly as he could. His previous feeling of victory had been cast from him, replaced by a sense of impending failure.

  “Don’t see what choice you have if you wish to be on your way. The next posting inn’s about twenty miles away. Hopefully you’ll have better luck there.”

  If Christopher took the gelding, it would probably take him twice as long to get there as he’d hoped, but it would take even longer if he didn’t. Dallying certainly wouldn’t hasten his progress, so he accepted the horse he could get, determined to make the best of it.

  After two more stops during the day, they reached Exeter when it was growing dark. “We’d best stop for the night,” the driver said as the footman helped Sarah alight. “Wouldn’t want to risk an accident or, God forbid, being held up by highwaymen.”

  Sarah agreed. “Thank you, Michaels. I’ll see to it that rooms and supper are made available to you.”

  With Lisa by her side, she then entered the timbered building comprising the Hog’s Head Tavern. She had diminished hope for Lord Spencer’s arrival. It didn’t look as though he would be coming after all, for if he were, he would have caught up with her by now, surely. Pushing the melancholy thought from her mind with the knowledge that she had servants to care for, she looked around the establishment.

  The interior was dimly lit, with low ceilings held upright by roughly carved beams, providing both a rustic and intimate atmosphere that Sarah found oddly appealing in its simplicity. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, approaching a slender man with a balding head and graying whiskers who was seated at a table with a tankard of ale and what appeared to be a ledger. “Are you by any chance the innkeeper?”

  Raising his gaze, he examined her for a moment and finally nodded. “That I be.” He closed his book and got to his feet with unhurried movements, his eyes drifting from Sarah to Lisa and back again. “Would you like a room for the night, or just supper? Molly’s got a fine stew boiling in the kitchen.”

  “Actually, I should like two adjoining rooms if at all possible, as well as accommodations for my driver and footman. There are four of us in total, so we’ll require four meals as well. The stew sounds like a fine suggestion.”

  The innkeeper scratched his chin. “Not sure I can manage adjoining rooms, my lady, but I can place you across from each other if that’s acceptable to you.”

  Sarah looked hesitantly at Lisa. Sarah had always enjoyed a private bedchamber, and although she quite liked Lisa, she especially felt the need for privacy now after being cooped up in a carriage all day. “That will be fine, thank you.”

  “As for your driver and footman, I can offer them a room to share above the stables.”

  Again, Sarah agreed.

  “Each room will cost ye a shilling,” the innkeeper said, meandering toward a row of numbered hooks on the wall where a collection of keys was hanging. Snatching two of them, he called for a young woman to show Sarah and Lisa to their rooms. Sarah suspected she might be his daughter.

  “Supper is ready whenever you are, my lady,” the young woman said after showing Sarah up to her room. Her cheeks were round and her smile was welcoming.

  “Thank you,” Sarah said as the door closed. Once alone, she studied her surroundings, deciding that she was extremely pleased with the room she’d been given. It was far more comfortable than she’d imagined it would be. Removing her kidskin gloves, she untied her bonnet and set it on a small round table. Smoothing back a few loose strands of hair, she crossed to the washbasin and poured water into it, reveling in the soothing freshness as she soaked a small cloth, wrung it and placed it against her face.

  Fleetingly, she thought of her parents and how angry they would be with her for causing them further humiliation—­the embarrassment of having to tell ­people they didn’t know where their daughter was. Either that or they simply wouldn’t care. Perhaps they’d even be relieved to find her gone, happy to be rid of the burden she presented.

  A sigh crept across her lips as she thought of her sisters. She was going to miss them terribly if she didn’t return to Thorncliff. She decided to post a letter to them before continuing her journey tomorrow.

  The decision to do so eased some of her pain, the majority of which was related to Lord Spencer. It seemed increasingly unlikely that he’d come, but even if he did, could she really allow herself to accept his hand in marriage if he proposed? She couldn’t bear the thought of him being constantly aware of how imperfect she was, which she’d no doubt he would be. How could he not, when she’d carelessly squandered the one thing that would bind her to him, and him alone? There was no doubt in her mind that whatever he said, however prepared he was to overlook it, a part of him would always resent her for allowing another man—­worse than that, a man who cared nothing for her—­the right to her virtue.

  As much as she longed for him to come rushing after her, she suddenly wondered about her answer if he proposed. Could she ignore the guilt she would feel in denying him a proper wife? Could she live with the knowledge that she wasn’t quite good enough, and that she never would be?

  Doubt began to settle, increasing as she went downstairs to supper with Lisa. By the time their meal was over and Sarah returned to her room, she knew her worries had been unfounded. Lord Spencer wasn’t going to come, which, as much as it saddened her, also pushed aside the nervousness that had clutched at her stomach the entire day. She no longer had to wonder what to say to him or how to explain her actions. Only one decision remained: whether to go to France or return to Thorncliff.

  Christopher was at his wit’s end and very, very annoyed. An hour and a half after leaving the Blood and Hound, the gelding had gone lame due to a poorly shod shoe. After removing the shoe, Christopher had clutched his clover in his hand and walked the remaining five miles to the next posting inn while the poor horse had limped along beside him.

  “I need to change my horse,” he’d told the groomsman upon his arrival.

  “I can see that,” the groomsman had said, eying the gelding with a pitiful expression. “Luckily we’ve a fast stallion available. I’ll ready him for you straightaway if you like.”

  Finally, a stroke of luck! Christopher’s spirits brightened and his hopes were restored until, halfway between Honiton and Exeter, it started to rain.

  What began as a light drizzle quickly evolved into a steady downpour as clouds drew together, darkening the sky from a dusky indigo to pitch black. Christopher cursed as he pressed onward. When he’d left Thorncliff that morning, the sun had been shining, promising nothing but brilliant weather. He wasn’t prepared for this—­had even forgotten his hat in his haste to be on his way. Now he was caught in the dark, racing along a country road with water pelting in his face, his clothes as wet as they’d been after he’d jumped in the lake to rescue Mr. Denison. Thinking of Sarah, he urged his horse to run faster until, blessedly, a glow emerged in the dista
nce, brightening as he drew closer. He could finally see the faint outline of the inn ahead.

  Feeling victorious, he slowed his horse to a trot and entered the courtyard, where he leapt from the saddle and called for a groom to assist. “Go on inside, my lord,” the man said as Christopher dropped a shilling in his hand.

  Thanking him, Christopher strode toward the front door, his boots sloshing through puddles as he went. Once inside, he wiped the water from his face with the palm of his hand.

  “Welcome, sir,” an older man said by way of greeting. He introduced himself as Mr. Garison, the innkeeper. “Might I offer you a room? I can have a bath brought up and ask one of the maids to see to your clothes—­make sure you get dry and don’t catch a chill.”

  As tempting as the offer was, Christopher had not traveled all day to the point of near exhaustion so he could waste additional time away from Sarah. He wanted to see her—­needed to do so—­and had no intention of waiting one more second. “In due course,” he said. “First I’d like to know if a lady arrived here earlier by carriage. She’s quite distinctive looking due to her light blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She would have been accompanied by a maid.”

  Mr. Garison’s eyes turned wary. “I cannot confirm or deny that, sir, since I don’t believe in handing out information about ­people to anyone, unless they’ve committed a crime and the constable happens to be inquiring about them.”

  Drawing himself up to his full height, Christopher leveled Mr. Garison with the most quelling look he could muster and said, “I am Viscount Spencer, the Earl of Oakland’s son. The lady I am seeking is the Earl of Andover’s daughter. Lord Andover has charged me with the task of finding her and bringing her home, but if you require further incentive to inform me of her whereabouts, I can promise you that you will be well compensated for your assistance in this matter.”

  Mr. Garison looked neither impressed nor influenced by Christopher’s authoritative tone. “If you think my moral compass can be swayed so easily, think again, my lord.”

  Frustrated, Christopher looked past Mr. Garison at the staircase beyond. He could make a dash for it and proceed to pound on every door upstairs, but the hour was late, and in spite of the sense of urgency that filled him, his manners as a gentleman did not allow for such a selfish course of action. Raking his fingers through his hair, he decided to make another attempt at convincing Mr. Garison to help. “I will confess that I am personally invested in the search for her ladyship.” Mr. Garison’s expression softened a little, urging Christopher to continue. “It’s my intention to ask for her hand in marriage and to tell her that . . . that I’ve been the greatest fool and that I love her.”

  “Now that’s the sort of thing I like to hear, my lord,” Mr. Garison said as he leaned back on his heels. “World’s too full of scoundrels these days. It’s quite refreshing when a romantic comes along.”

  “So you’ll tell me where she is?” Christopher asked hopefully.

  “Aye,” Mr. Garison said, “she’s here all right, but she retired over an hour ago, so if I may make a suggestion, it would be for you to wait until morning before making any attempt at seeing her. In fact, I insist upon it.”

  “Do you have any idea how hellish my day has been?” It was as if Mr. Garison had yanked away the last of Christopher’s enthusiasm for this journey. With little promise of seeing Sarah that evening, something flat, uninspiring and decidedly dull settled within him.

  “Nevertheless, she is a lady, my lord. It would be most uncivilized, ungentlemanly and utterly inappropriate to disturb her now.”

  However much he hated having to do so, Christopher conceded the point. “Perhaps I’ll have that bath you mentioned after all.”

  “A fine idea, my lord,” Mr. Garison said as he snatched a key from a hook on the wall and crossed to the stairs. “Follow me and I’ll show you to your room.”

  Unable to ignore her concerns about Lord Spencer, her parents and the uncertain future looming before her, Sarah found it impossible to sleep. Deciding that cooling the room would probably help, she opened the window to a heavy downpour and remained standing there for a moment, enjoying the feel of a gentle breeze whispering across her skin while water drummed against the roof. Wine. That would make her drowsy. Reaching for her robe, she flung it across her shoulders and tied the sash at her waist, then went to the door. Opening it, she stepped out into the hallway just as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Instinctively, she turned to see the innkeeper approaching and was just about to make her request known to him when she caught a glimpse of the man behind him. Her heart stilled before leaping into a full gallop. He’d come. Lord Spencer had actually come! Unable to speak, her throat unusually dry, she remained completely motionless as his eyes settled upon her with the sort of gravity that sent a rush of nervousness rippling through her.

  “My lady,” Mr. Garison said, arriving before her first. “Is there anything you need?”

  “I . . .” Sarah blinked, heart fluttering in her chest as she looked to Lord Spencer, her cheeks flushing when his lips curved in a mischievous manner suggesting he knew precisely what she needed.

  She cleared her throat, not liking the state of discomfort she was in. After no sign of him bothering to pursue her all day, Lord Spencer’s arrival had taken her completely by surprise. “Some wine,” she managed, deciding the drink would no longer be required merely to induce sleep. She needed it to calm her nerves.

  “I’ll send someone up with it as soon as I’ve shown his lordship to his room,” Mr. Garison said, his expression hard as he continued down the hall with the request that Lord Spencer follow him.

  Moving past her, Lord Spencer allowed his hand to brush against hers as he whispered, “Wait for me.”

  A cacophony of nerves erupted in the pit of her belly, spearing her with heat and leaving her quite breathless as she watched him go. It had taken him but a split second to undo her completely, her legs trembling as she pushed the door to her room open behind her and fled, his words echoing in her mind. Wait for me. Her heart thumped wildly as she leaned back against the wall and took a steadying breath. All day, in spite of her doubt, she’d hoped he cared enough for her to give chase, but now that he had, she felt an overwhelming degree of apprehension over being alone with him, speaking to him and explaining her actions. And then there was the issue of whether or not she could actually allow herself to accept an offer from him in the event that he made one.

  A knock at the door startled Sarah out of her reverie. “Who is it?” she asked, her voice sounding weak to her own ears.

  “Your wine, my lady.”

  Sarah breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door, welcoming the maid and accepting with much relief the jug she brought. Alone again, she wasted no time in pouring herself a large glass, which was emptied completely, along with an additional one, by the time Lord Spencer scratched at the door.

  Seated by the open window and soothed by her drink, Sarah called for him to enter, but as the door eased open and he came into view, her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. She swallowed hard as she took him in—­his large frame clad in a white linen shirt that had not been tucked into his fawn-­colored trousers. His hair was damp and his feet were bare, which appealed to her in the strangest of ways.

  He closed the door gently behind him, and for the longest, most unbearable moment, he just stood there, watching her with an infuriatingly serious expression. He raised an eyebrow, and she lost her patience. “My lord,” she said, bursting with the need to release all the thoughts that had churned around her head all day, “if you’ve come on behalf of my parents to fetch me back to Thorncliff, you’ll have to gag and bind me, for I shall not go of my own free will.”

  “As alluring as that image is, I did not come on your parents’ behalf, though they did ask me to find you. Rest assured, however, that I am here for my own . . . personal reasons.”

 
The way he said personal practically curled her toes. “I am honored,” she said, setting her glass aside on a table. “When I left Thorncliff, I’d hoped you would decide to choose me in spite of my shortcomings, that you would return my affection unconditionally and stop me from leaving. But I’ve had an entire day since then to consider our situation, and I’ve come to the realization that I cannot ask you to deny yourself the opportunity to marry the sort of woman you deserve.” It pained her to say this, but she had to, for his sake. “Realistically, my lord, you deserve better than me—­a woman whom you can gaze at fondly for the rest of your life without hating her for denying you her most precious gift.”

  “You think too little of yourself, Sarah,” Spencer told her, his gaze softening as his shoulders relaxed. “And don’t forget, I’ve had an entire day to consider my future with you at my side. It’s what I want, if you’ll have me.”

  “Make no mistake that this is my fondest wish, but I would urge you to reconsider,” she told him defiantly. “You think too much of me if you imagine I’d make you a good wife.”

  Pushing himself away from the door, Spencer closed the distance between them. “I beg to differ,” he said as he raised his hand to brush his knuckles against her cheek. Instinctively, she leaned into the caress. “You forget I’ve had some experience with the marriage mart and that the only woman I found there to catch my interest was an imposter, so please don’t think I haven’t thought this through, because as a man once fooled, I’ve become very determined to find a bride on my own terms.”

  “But I’m not an innocent.” Bitterly, she forced the truth upon him. “You cannot possibly ignore that.”

  A tentative smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll admit that I didn’t think myself capable of accepting it. Indeed, I thought the worst of you after you told me, and I blamed you for denying us the happiness that should have been ours if Harlowe hadn’t charmed you.”

  Her chest squeezed as uneasiness rolled through her. If he wasn’t here because of her parents or because he wanted her, then . . . “Why did you come?”