by Tracy Fobes
“I was just beginning to show Sarah how to sing scales and arpeggios.”
“Scales and arpeggios. What a nuisance,” Lady Helmsgate pronounced. A mocking light in her blue eyes, she led Colin over to the harp. “Why don’t I play, and you sing, as an example to Sarah?” She sat down before the golden instrument.
“As you wish.” Colin thought for a moment, then met Sarah’s gaze from across the room. He began to sing in a deep baritone, “Black is the color of my true love’s hair. Her lips are like some roses fair.”
Scowling, Lady Helmsgate began to run her fingers over the strings of the harp, the matching notes falling reluctantly from the instrument.
“She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands, I love the ground whereon she stands,” he sang, holding Sarah’s attention, not letting her go. “I love my love, and this she knows. I love the ground whereon she goes. I hope the day it will surely come, when she and I may be as one.”
Her expression sour, Lady Helmsgate strummed a flourish of notes, as though she wished to drown out or delay permanently the second chorus. Lord Nicholson, for his part, was watching Sarah closely, obviously gauging her reaction. Nicholson gave no reaction to what he saw, but just as Colin prepared to sing the next line, the young buck cut in and effectively silenced Colin.
“Black is the color of my true love’s hair.” Nicholson’s voice firm and strong, he leaned close to Sarah and looked at her with a puppy’s eyes. “Her lips are like some roses fair. She has the sweetest smile and gentlest hands, I love the ground whereon she stands.” When he finished, he plucked her hand from her lap and pressed a kiss against her palm.
Jealousy flared in Colin’s gut. He waited for Sarah to tell the upstart to go to hell.
Rather, she smiled prettily at him. “Very fine, Lord Nicholson.”
“And you too, Cawdor,” Lady Helmsgate added. “Your voice is true.”
Lord Nicholson smiled and bowed. Colin simply grunted.
“What else would you like to sing, Cawdor?” Lady Helmsgate pressed.
“Nothing.” Arms crossed over his chest, he retreated to the back of the room. He wasn’t about to compete with the likes of Nicholson for Sarah’s attention.
“How about you, Lady Sarah? Do you wish to sing?” Lady Helmsgate asked sweetly.
Sarah shook her head no.
“I understand from the duke that you play the flute. Would you care to try now?”
Before she could answer, Nicholson bent down on one knee. A silly grin curved his lips. “Please, my lady, play for me. I long to hear your music.”
She tightened her hands around her shawl. “I don’t play very well.”
Colin realized she’d had little chance to fix her bodice. Dismayed, he quickly scanned the room, looking for something to divert Nicholson and Lady Helmsgate, in order to give Sarah a moment of privacy. A furtive movement by the window caught his attention. He looked closer and detected a tiny gray body. A mouse. Perhaps even the same one who came to greet Sarah on the day she arrived at Inveraray.
“I believe we have a visitor,” he informed them casually.
“A visitor? Who?” Lady Helmsgate asked, looking at the study door.
“A mouse. Over there, in the corner.” He pointed the mouse out.
Lady Helmsgate grimaced. “A mouse! What a diseased little creature.” Abandoning the harp, she stood up and moved as far away from the mouse as possible. “Cawdor, please dispose of it.”
Colin nodded at Lord Nicholson. “Will you give me a hand, Nicholson?”
Appearing equally disconcerted, the other man stood and joined Colin by the window. All attention was now focused on the mouse. “Circle around to the left,” Colin directed. “I’ll go to the right.”
Together, the two men came at the mouse from different ends, but the creature was far too wily for them. It crept into a barely discernable hole in the baseboard.
“It got away,” Lord Nicholson pronounced with a droop to his mouth. He returned to Sarah’s side.
Colin noted that Sarah’s bodice was now fixed and her shawl lay casually around her shoulders. Good girl, he thought.
“I don’t feel like playing anymore,” Lady Helsmgate announced. “Can we not amuse ourselves in some other way, before it’s time to dress for dinner?”
“What would you like to do, my lady?” Lord Nicholson asked, his eyes intense and unblinking on Sarah’s face.
“Call me Sarah,” she told him, her voice soft. “I cannot stand the formality of ‘my lady.’ ”
Colin saw a flicker of conjecture spark in the younger man’s eyes, and knew in that moment that Lord Nicholson had set his sights on Sarah . . . and her fortune.
“Of course, Sarah,” the buck replied. “And you must call me Robin.”
A spring in her step, Lady Helmsgate joined them, and linked their arms through hers. “Oh, this is a capital development. Can we not all be on first-name basis?”
Clearly swept away by the other two, Sarah agreed. When Lady Helmsgate approached Colin and tried to convince him to join along, he shrugged. “If you like.”
Then Lady Helmsgate reminded them that the duke’s grand card party was only a week away, and suggested a game of commerce so that they all might practice, forcing Colin to retrieve a pack of cards. When Lady Helmsgate discovered that Sarah hadn’t the slightest idea how to play any card games, she squealed in mock horror and left it to Lord Nicholson to teach her. She then retired to the back of the room with Colin.
“You’re being very unsocial, Cawdor,” she murmured, standing so close to him that her skirts brushed against his leg. “Are you not happy to see me?”
“Why are you here?”
She lifted one delicate eyebrow. “To befriend the poor, unfortunate girl whom you would have deprived of a fortune, had she not been found.”
Not liking the blond woman’s tone, he faced her fully, turning his back on Lord Nicholson and Sarah for the moment. “I’ve heard about the letters you sent her. That wasn’t very nice of you, Amelia.”
“Oh, so she told you about them? I asked her to keep my confidence. She is evidently untrustworthy.”
“She told me nothing.”
“Then how do you know my letters were about you?”
“The duke revealed your identity.”
“He does have a way of spoiling one’s fun with his righteousness.”
Colin’s tone was cold. “Sarah didn’t know me before I arrived at Inveraray, and was not privy to society’s poisonous gossip. She knew nothing of my character. But when your letters arrived, suddenly I found her regarding me with bewilderment, unable to reconcile my good behavior with my dastardly reputation. I should have guessed that you were behind the letters, Amelia. You’re the only woman I know capable of such a contemptible act.”
“Oh, pshaw.” Her gaze flickered over his shoulder, then settled back upon him. When she spoke, her voice was deceptively sweet. “I know why you’ve come to Inveraray, Cawdor. You think you’re going to win our dear Lady Sarah over, and regain your inheritance. I only hope Lord Nicholson doesn’t make a muddle of your plans. He’s quite determined to have her too, you know. Just as he had Lady Rowlandson.”
Lady Rowlandson . . . Colin’s eyes widened. Without warning, he remembered where he’d heard the other man’s name mentioned before. Two years before, White’s had been abuzz with a wager placed between Lord Nicholson and several of his cronies. Lord Nicholson had bet a single gold sovereign that within a month, he would topple Lady Rowlandson, who practically had one foot in a nunnery, into his bed and would procure a letter from her to prove it.
He’d won the wager, much to the amusement of his cronies.
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you seek to destroy Sarah?”
“No, just to marry her off. So your attention returns to me.”
“Bloody hell! Amelia, you and I are ill suited. A few months’ reflection has convinced me of this.”
Her voice became an impassioned whisper.
“How could you run off to this . . . this farm girl and leave me alone, in London? Didn’t the times we were together mean anything to you?”
“You’re a beautiful woman. I enjoyed your kisses and your company. Nevertheless, we both need to move on.”
“But you wanted me once. You loved me once.” She clutched his arm. “Your poems tell me so.”
He frowned. “I never loved you.”
“Do you love her?”
Colin stared at Lady Helmsgate. The woman was a termagant, a shrew. He had to get rid of her. But he didn’t want to send her after Sarah with claws unsheathed. “Of course not. Don’t be silly. I have no intention of marrying the duke’s daughter. She’s a country bumpkin, for God’s sake. Turn your claws elsewhere.”
Her eyes wide, Lady Helmsgate looked over his shoulder again. “Oh, my dear,” she murmured, her look of horror manufactured and barely masking the satisfaction in her eyes. “Lady Sarah, I didn’t see you standing there.”
13
S arah stood frozen in place, the coldness in Colin’s voice convincing her that he thought of her as an embarrassment and an easy mark to satisfy his lust on. Wounded and aching, she focused on Lady Helmsgate. The other woman’s thin smile pierced her heart like an icicle.
“Do you want to join us in commerce?” Sarah asked lamely, then turned around and fled the room.
Through a corridor and up the staircase she ran, and when she reached her bedchamber, she yanked the door open, entered, and slammed it behind her. Then she threw herself on the bed and surrendered to great, heaving sobs. How dare he speak of her in such a hateful manner! He hadn’t a heart, but instead a cold, unyielding block of marble in his chest.
And what a fool she was to have trusted him even an inch. Lady Helmsgate was right. He satiated himself on only the safest victims — women — and then discarded them when he became bored. Her ability to talk to animals had obviously been a novelty to him, securing his interest long enough to make a pursuit of her worthwhile. And when he was done with her? Why, he’d leave her bleeding and broken, and traipse on back to London.
She shoved a fist against her mouth to muffle her sobs and jumped off the bed. Some hard, hurtful instinct reminded her that this afternoon, she’d been intent on seducing him, not the other way around. She was the one who’d run her bare foot along his leg. Her own desire for him, and the knowledge that he wanted her, too, had made her bold. But she’d forgotten that he was here at Inveraray helping her because the duke had demanded he come, not because he’d wanted to. And when the duke released him, he would go.
Three sharp knocks sounded at the door. “Sarah, open the door. It’s me. Colin.”
She froze, her heart beating frantically.
“Please,” he said, when she didn’t respond. “Open it.”
“Leave me alone, Colin.”
“I won’t leave until I’ve spoken to you.”
He didn’t sound like he was going to go away. She’d evidently have to face him. She ran to the looking glass and assessed her condition. It wasn’t too obvious she’d been crying. She hadn’t been at it long enough to make her eyes swollen. She grabbed a piece of linen from a dresser and scrubbed at the tracks that her tears had left on her cheeks.
The doorknob turned. He entered. “Are you all right?”
Nearly strangling on the anger and sense of betrayal that choked her, she tightened her lips and glared at him. Suddenly she didn’t want him to know how much he’d hurt her. She wouldn’t allow him that satisfaction.
A second passed, and then in a hard little voice she said, “I’m fully recovered, my lord. In fact, I was just going to return to the drawing room and rejoin Lord Nicholson.”
He looked at her oddly. “When you ran from the drawing room, I thought you might have misread my comments to Lady Helmsgate. Concern for you brought me to your door —”
“Playing the gentleman, are you? How unusual a role it must be for you.”
He held a hand out to her. “I didn’t mean what I said, Sarah.”
She stepped away. “Then why did you say it?”
“I wanted to turn Lady Helmsgate’s attention from you. She can be quite vicious.”
Grimly she held on to her simmering temper. “You mean you didn’t want me to come between your flirtation with her for a second time.”
“I want nothing to do with that woman.”
“Just as you want nothing to do with me, outside of the duke’s instructions to ‘polish’ me.”
He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles. “God, what a coil I’ve made of things. Can you forgive me, Sarah, for my idiocy?”
“You need no forgiveness, my lord. You’ve made it clear from the very beginning that your relationship with me has always been less than desirable, and that I could expect nothing from you.”
“You’re wrong.”
“No, I’m not,” she spat. “Or have you changed your mind about risking the duke’s disfavor for me?”
“It’s you I’m trying to protect,” he snarled back. “You’re making it a very difficult task.”
Outraged that he would try to lay the blame at her door, she brushed passed him, wondering wretch-edly how an afternoon that had started out so promising had ended so dismally. Her head held high, she reentered the drawing room and found only Lord Nicholson within. He rushed to her side as soon as she entered and clasped one of her hands between his two.
“Dear Sarah, tell me that you’ve dismissed Lord Cawdor’s comments as those of an irredeemable rake,” he exclaimed. “Know that I have nothing but the utmost respect for you.”
Colin entered a moment later. His face hardened when he saw her hand clutched within Lord Nicholson’s.
“Had I not the notion that I’d be abusing my host’s gracious invitation to visit, I’d call you out, Cawdor,” the younger man informed him, his lip curling. “As it is, I’ll ask that you keep your tawdry opinions about Sarah to yourself.”
His back stiff, Colin looked Nicholson straight in the eye. “My opinions about Sarah are anything but tawdry. But you’re another matter. Have a care, Nicholson. If you hurt her, I’ll be the one calling you out.”
Her throat aching with unshed tears, Sarah thought back to the happy moments between she and Colin, the laughter they’d shared and the desire that had nearly seared them both to the core. How had it come to this?
She finally understood that Lady Helmsgate had, from the start, tried to draw a wedge between her and Colin. Unfortunately, the woman had succeeded admirably. Any feelings of friendship she might have once possessed for Lady Helmsgate turned to extreme dislike. She rued the day the blond woman had sent her the first letter.
It wasn’t until much later, when Sarah sat upon her bed in her nightgown, that she remembered the pieces of parchment she’d snatched earlier from the writing desk in the drawing room. While watching Colin labor over his “correspondence,” she’d been afire with curiosity, for she could see from his furrowed brow and frequently mouthed curses how much writing these letters had pained him. After all that work, he’d ended up crumpling them together, clearly planning to throw them into the garbage.
And so, when the opportunity had presented itself, she’d taken the wadded-up papers and shoved them into her reticule. She remembered how Colin had almost caught her and her heart had responded with a mighty thump. If he had caught her, she would have been hard-pressed to offer an excuse. She knew she was being nosy and prying into affairs that were none of her concern.
Guiltily she hurried over to her reticule and pried open the strings holding the top closed. She had to know what he’d been writing. Drawing a candlestick close, she yanked the papers from her reticule, sat down, and spread them out on her lap.
What she read made her throat tighten with wonder:
I love, I love thee, kitten,
It is all I can say,
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day.
She pressed her fingers against her lips, shocked. Colin wrote poetry! She never would have believed it if he had told her. Her gaze focused on the word kitten. Could the poem be about her? Could he possibly love her?
Trembling, she shuffled the next poem onto the top of the pile:
One face looks up from every page
From snowy cloud or tranquil sea;
One face that can all woes assuage,
Dearer than all the world to me.
The eyes are violet, the brow is fair,
Her hair is black and glossy curl’d . . .
Quickly she scanned through the rest. All of them seemed written about her. Had she misunderstood what Colin had said to Lady Helmsgate earlier? No, she’d heard his words correctly. There could be no mistake. Then why had he written these poems about her? Continued perplexity was her only answer. The puzzle remained on her mind throughout the week and into the next.
She hadn’t a moment of privacy with Colin over the days leading up to the card party. Both Lord Nicholson and Lady Helmsgate adroitly managed to keep her apart from Colin, and she couldn’t find the right moment to ask him about his poetry. Similarly, even if he’d wanted to protest his innocence regarding his relationship with Lady Helmsgate again, he hadn’t the chance.
In fact, over the last few days he did little other than stare moodily out the window. Sarah knew from the duke that Colin had been staying up late drinking, and more than one night he’d gone into the town of Inveraray. She consoled herself with the thought that at least he wasn’t spending every evening in that blonde’s bed.
And while she sat there wondering where Colin was and what he was doing, Lord Nicholson stayed at her side, entertaining her with nonsense and teaching her the dances sometimes performed at an informal affair like the card party the duke had organized. His behavior exceeded that of a perfect suitor’s, and yet Sarah felt nothing for him beyond annoyance at his relentless pursuit of her.
On the morning before the card party, she went to the stables to visit Sionnach. She’d been visiting him at least once a day, to keep him company and insure that the grooms took good care of him. True to his word, the duke had indeed made the little fox a priority, giving him a large barn all to himself and regularly serving him — of all things — chicken cooked by the duke’s French chef. This morning, however, as she lifted the latch on the door to his barn and entered the dim and straw-filled interior, a sense of foreboding gave her pause.