by Ruth Owen
Sabrina laid a comforting hand over his nervous fingers. “Nonsense. I shall always be grateful for your kindness during those first few days. And in any case, you were only following the earl’s instructions when you went to Ireland, were you not? I can hardly fault you for being a dutiful employee.”
The lawyer’s expression broke into a wide smile. “You are a remarkable lady, Miss Winthrope. And, as a dutiful employee of the earl’s. I currently have a much more pleasant obligation to discharge.” He leaned closer, his eyes as round and bright as his surname. “His lordship has instructed me to put a line of credit at your disposal, of a thousand pounds per annum.”
Sabrina stared at the man as if he’d lost his mind. “A thousand…pounds?”
“Per annum,” Mr. Cherry said, bobbing his head in acknowledgment. “The money is at your disposal immediately. The earl stipulated that it should be your money, free and clear, to be used for whatever purpose you wish. He said it was the least he could do after your heroic rescue of his daughter. Is that not generous?”
“Most generous,” she repeated vaguely. Edward had paid her money for saving the life of his daughter. Paid her for rescuing a girl she could not have loved more if she’d been her own true child. Pain knifed through her, a pain that snapped almost at once to white-hot anger. It was base and demeaning—especially after the intimate feelings he’d shared with her in the nursery. But she’d been wrong to imagine his regard. He was the lord of the manor, and she was merely a vassal to be rewarded for her dutiful service. How could he think she would want money for saving Sarah’s life? How could he dare to offer it?”
Her fury rose like the tide. But angry as she was, she had the sense to know that her passion has no place in this elegant gathering. Aristocratic Prudence would not be so bold, and if Rina wanted to convince the guests that she was Trevelyan’s cousin, she would have to let her Murphy temper cool. She rose from her chair and turned to Mr. Cherry, using her fan to conceal her angry blush. “Forgive me, but I feel a bit fatigued. I believe a few minutes alone would do me a world of good.”
A few minutes alone might have, but she wasn’t to have them. As she got up from her chair she was surrounded by a sea of partners, all vying for her company during the next dance.
“ ‘Tis the waltz,” a young man in a bottle green coat informed her. “And I am the finest waltzer in the county.”
“Leave off,” cried the son of the baron she’d danced with earlier. “You can’t dance for toffee. Dance with him, Miss Winthrope, and you’ll have no feet left.”
“Dance with him, and you’ll be black and blue from bumping into other couples,” another man offered. “Please, Miss Winthrope, dance with me.”
The first bars of the waltz music shivered through the air. Rina glanced from face to face, confounded by their persistence. “Good sirs, you do me honor, but I—”
“But you’ll waltz with no one but me,” a deep voice finished.
A strong arm reached out, capturing her waist. Between one heartbeat and the next she found herself swept into the powerful embrace of the Earl of Trevelyan.
Chapter Sixteen
Rina couldn’t breathe. She’d been prepared to face the earl, and even to go so far as to let him take her out during an undemanding dance like the Sir Roger de Coverley. But to be swept into his arms, to feel the warmth of his hand holding her waist with an intimacy that was just shy of a lover’s embrace—it overwhelmed her. Her breath came out in short gasps. He held her as if she were made of the most fragile glass, and when they moved together the thrill made her tremble.
She was no more used to dancing than she was to being in love, and it took every last ounce of her self-discipline to keep her wits about her. With an effort that put her cliff-scaling feats to shame, she stiffened her back and kept her expression rigorously unemotional. She reminded herself that she was furious with him.
“How could you?”
Trevelyan arched a dark brow and looked down at her in puzzlement. “You mean you truly wanted to dance with one of those puppies?”
“No. I mean, I might have. That’s not what I meant.” She shook her head, trying to collect the thoughts that scattered like jackstraws whenever he looked at her. “Mr. Cherry told me about the thousand pounds. It was wrong of you, monstrously wrong. You should not have offered it to me.”
He frowned, his confusion increasing. “You want more?”
“No! I don’t want—” She dropped her voice, realizing that nearby couples were staring. Lord, the man was wood when it comes to understanding. Glaring, she lowered her voice to a clandestine whisper. “I will not accept money for saving a child, especially a child who is as dear to me as Sarah. You were wrong to offer it, and I won’t take it. And I don’t give a fig for what you think.”
The earl’s lips edged up and his eyes sparked with a devilish gleam. “The only thing I think, Miss Winthrope, is that you blush quite charmingly whenever you’re angry.”
Sabrina’s resolve melted. Looking up into the earl’s consuming gaze and feeling his strong, gentle hands guide her body with a skill he’d never learned from dancing, Rina was struck by a sweet, terrifying confusion that coursed through her with every curve and dip of the waltz.
“Nevertheless, I cannot take your money,” she said, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. “I will not be paid for saving Sarah. I did nothing to deserve it. Anyone would have done the same in my place.”
“Not anyone. Just an obstinate woman with far more courage than sense.”
“I am not obstinate.”
His rough, rumbling chuckle rolled through her like thunder. She nearly missed her step. “You are obstinate. And stubborn. And contrary—”
“We can end this dance anytime, my lord,” she commented dryly.
With a slight turn of his hand he swept her into a dizzying turn, the smooth, silken move at odds with the raw hunger in his gaze. “Not until I have told you how much what you’ve done has meant to me—not just for Sarah, but for Grandmother, and Amy, and even for Ravenshold. You’ve brought life back into our home…and to me.”
This time Rina did miss a step. His voice poured through her like warm, red wine, drowning her in hopeless dreams. “Thank you, my lord, but I believe you have mistaken gratitude for…for a much stronger emotion.”
He said nothing, but his hand slipped down from her waist. In a moment his hold was demurely back in place—an observer would have barely noticed the swift, subtle movement.
It made Sabrina gasp aloud.
“I am grateful,” he murmured. “But it is not gratitude I ‘m feeling now. It wasn’t gratitude I felt in the nursery this afternoon, or the other night in my room, when we—”
“Ho, Trevelyan!”
Startled, Sabrina jerked back. Blushing with both embarrassment and arousal, she watched as a loud, large man partnered with an equally large lady in ostrich feathers sidled next to them.
“Trevelyan, heard about St. Petroc. Good show, old man!”
“ ‘Twas nothing, Fergus,” Edward growled, trying to steer away from the couple.
“Nonsense. Talk of the town,” Fergus replied, blithely following after the earl. “And I’ll wager that this is the little lady who pulled your daughter from the jaws of death. Hildy, this is the girl they are all talking of.”
“Pleased to meet you, dearie,” the woman said, bobbing her head pleasantly. “You must come to tea.”
“Not tea, Hildy. Supper! Next week. Bot of ya.”
“Fine. Anything. Good-bye.” Taking a titan step, Edward swirled Rina away before Fergus and his wife knew what happened.
“Friends of yours?” Sabrina asked with an impish smile.
“Hardly. The only things Fergus speaks of are hounds and horses. But I’d have agreed to have dinner with the devil himself to get rid of him.” He gazed down at Rina, his sensual mouth pulling up in a grin that turned her blood to hot honey. “Now, as I was saying—”
“Lord Trevelyan
,” a raucous voice intruded.
Edward cringed. “The devil with this,” he growled. “We cannot talk with all these people around us. I must speak with you. Alone.”
There were a hundred reasons why Sabrina shouldn’t see the earl alone. At the moment, she couldn’t think of a single one. “When?”
“When the guests go into supper, meet me in the garden. At midnight.”
Midnight. At midnight Quinn would be waiting for her at the front gate with a pair of fast horses. She could not meet the earl in the garden even if she wanted to. And she admitted that a part of her wanted to very much. ” ‘Tis madness. We cannot meet. It would be…most improper.”
The earl glanced down at her, his eyes shining with devilment. “Yes, it would be improper. But you’ve never struck me as the proper type.” He leaned closer, his warm breath caressing her as he added, “Neither am I.”
The warmth inside her blossomed into a raging furnace. He was right. Sabrina Murphy, gambler’s daughter, was not a proper lady, and the more time she spent in his arms, the less proper she felt. But at that moment she wasn’t Sabrina Murphy. She was Prudence Winthrope, a missionary-raised heiress, who would not think of making a midnight assignation with a man of the earl’s reputation.
Sabrina had a role to play out, a job to accomplish. And loving the Earl of Trevelyan definitely was not part of it.
The music stopped. The other couples moved off the floor, but Edward made no move to release her. He stood in the middle of the dance floor, gazing down at her with the same intensity she’d felt on the cliffs. She saw the edge of doubt in his eyes, the vulnerability that drew her to him more than all his wealth and power. “Will you be there?”
Sabrina wanted to. Prudence didn’t dare. The woman who was both of them opened her mouth to answer, unsure of what that answer would be. “I—”
“Edward! Would you monopolize the poor girl all evening?”
Only one person had a voice of such supreme authority. Sabrina spun around, and saw Lady Penelope striding towards them through the crowd, her silver-topped cane clicking against the flagstones. She wore a high-necked gown of cream lace, and her censuring expression made her look like an avenging angel. But it was neither her dress nor her expression that drew Rina’s gaze. It was her necklace.
The Dutchman.
In Rina’s wildest dreams she could never have imagined anything so beautiful. A waterfall of diamonds poured around the dowager’s throat, each stone gleaming with its own fiery life. It was a masterpiece, something forged of dreams and fire, and Sabrina was enough of her father’s daughter to want to make those dreams her own. For the first time she understood her father’s fascination with gambling, his constant pursuit of the big score that would give him enough money to last a lifetime. She could almost imagine Daniel Murphy standing at her shoulder now, whispering in her ear. Our ship’s come in, Rina-lass. Finally, our ship’s come in.
The dowager laid a hand on Rina’s arm, startling her out of her imaginings. “Come, my dear. I’ve a hundred guests to show you off to. You can converse with kin in the morning.”
By morning she would be far from Ravenshold, with Quinn by her side and a stolen necklace in her saddlebag. She swallowed the lump in her throat, knowing that Lady Penelope’s interruption was probably the luckiest thing that could have happened to her. There could be nothing between her and Edward. She was foolish to even entertain the thought. Sensibly squaring her shoulders, she turned back to the earl. “Thank you for the dance, my lord.”
He said nothing, made no move toward her. Yet she could sense the emptiness inside him, the return of the hard remoteness that made him unapproachable as the cliffs by the sea. In a way she couldn’t explain, she could feel him closing himself off, hiding his heart behind the stern, forbidding facade. How long would it be before anyone took the trouble to look behind the facade, to see the special, caring man underneath? How many empty, loveless years stretched before him…and before her?
She looked up. The mouth that had grinned down at her so wickedly only minutes before was now set in a harsh, ruthless line. By morning he would despise her, along with everyone else in Ravenshold. But at least she could give him tonight.
She leaned closer, as if to thank him once again for the dance, and whispered a single word before darting off to follow the dowager through the crowd.
“Midnight.”
Sabrina quickly thought better of her decision to meet Edward in the garden. Before the next hour was out she’d sensibly surmised that it would be far better for everyone if she did not keep the appointment. She was, after all, planning to steal one of his family’s most prized heirlooms. And even if she weren’t, there was the little matter of Edward’s “understanding” with Lady Rumley to contend with. It was ridiculous to even contemplate the idea of meeting him. And yet, as the hour approached, she found herself stealing away from the hall, and taking quick, urgent steps down the stone path that led to the Ravenshold gardens.
The blustery day had settled into a rare soft night. Clouds slid like silk across the moon, its fickle light silvering the vines and flowers like the paintbrush of a changeable fairy. The sweet, heavy fragrance of roses and hyacinths hung in the air, while a nearby fountain whispered like a magic spell in the silence. And running through it all was the low, distant thunder of waves washing against the stone cliffs, the never-ending pounding that had become as much a part of her as her own heartbeat.
She slowed and walked between the stone lions that guarded the entrance to the gardens. He had not yet arrived. Unnerved by the mysterious spell of the garden, she was tempted to return to the manor house and forget the whole business. But that would only make matters worse. She’d promised the earl she would be here—foolishly, perhaps, but there it was. If she didn’t appear, he was likely to turn the whole household upside-down looking for her. And that would make stealing up to Lady Penelope’s bedchamber about as easy to conceal as week-old fish heads.
Not an hour past, Sabrina slipped two drops of laudanum into the dowager’s punch—not enough to harm the older woman, but enough to ensure that she’d sleep like a babe when Rina crept into her room and nipped the necklace off the dressing table. It was a simple plan, and it was humming along like clockwork. All she had to do was keep her wits about her, and not let her feelings for Edward overwhelm her common sense.
A distant sound shook her from her disturbing thoughts. She looked up. “Edward?”
But it wasn’t the earl. Indeed, she wasn’t even sure if she’d heard anyone at all. The garden was full of rustling leaves and the scamperings of squirrels and rabbits. A cloud had drifted across the face of the moon, casting the hedges and vines into tortured shapes and shadows. She looked toward the far end of the garden, to where well-tended plants left off and the wild edge of the sea began.
The mist was just beginning to rise, and in the fickle light the gossamer strands seemed to gather and curl into something like a shape. Sabrina told herself it was pure fancy, yet as she peered at the twisting, silver threads of mist she couldn’t help remembering what Mrs. Cherry had told her during their trip to Ravenshold, about the ghost of the Countess of Trevelyan who walked the cliffs.
The ephemeral shape was already breaking apart. It was fancy, sure—still, Sabrina felt a heavy sadness weigh on her heart. If her spirit does walk the cliffs, it must be so dreadfully lonely. Almost unconsciously, she reached out toward the distant, dissolving shape. “Isabel?”
The sharp pounding of boots on stone jarred Rina back to reality. She whirled around toward the house and saw the dark but very real shadow of the Earl of Trevelyan heading into the garden. He stormed past the stone lions with all the bluster and rage of a Nor’easter. “Damn Fergus. Kept questioning me about horse liniment. Couldn’t shake him until I promised to send over a while bloody barrel—”
Both his words and his steps came to an abrupt halt as he saw her. On the other side of the stone lion, he was a good two yards away. Yet his dark
gaze caught and held her with a strength not even his arms could match, driving the thoughts from her mind, and the air from her lungs.
“God in heaven, you’re even more beautiful in the moonlight.”
His low, rough words turned her knees to water. She reached out, gripping the paw of the statue for support. “I…believe you are a bit drunk, my lord,” she replied, fighting to keep her voice level. “I am not beautiful.”
“I haven’t had a drop, Miss Winthrope,” he replied, flashing her his devilish grin. “And I can assure you from my vast and decidedly jaded past experience that you are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known.”
Rina swallowed. His smile was a weapon, and he wielded it like a master. I shouldn’t have come. I was mad to think I could be near him and feel nothing. “I…can’t stay. You have guests. And…there’s Lady Rumley to consider.”