Courting A Sinful Stranger: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Emily Honeyfield

  “Champagne, ladies?” asked James, smiling at Sarah and Mary. “I think we have time for one before we must take our seats.”

  Mary nodded. “That would be lovely, James.”

  Her brother drifted away, to procure the drinks. Mary turned to Sarah, watching her carefully.

  “How are you feeling, dearest?” she asked gently. “You are so very quiet. Not your usual self at all.”

  Sarah sighed. “I do apologise, dear Mary. I am not very good company. Perhaps I should not have come out this evening.”

  “Nonsense,” said Mary firmly, taking her arm. “It is quite the best thing to do. Who wants to sit at home? You would only think too much about that Lord Nordarken and feel melancholy. At least here you shall be distracted.”

  Sarah smiled tremulously. “As you like, Mary. But I fear I shall not be able to be distracted.”

  “It is rather a shocking story, is it not,” said Mary, frowning. “I must declare I had never heard a whisper of this old scandal. But then, they all make very sure that young ladies’ ears are not tainted by such things.”

  Sarah’s face hardened. “It is another reason that I am starting to despise being a respectable young lady,” she professed. “Why must they cosset us so, as if we are children? I declare that I am seriously thinking I shall become a bluestocking, Mary.”

  “Sarah!” Mary looked scandalized. “That is going too far!”

  Sarah shrugged. She was in a rebellious mood, to be sure. Her melancholy over Lord Nordarken was changing into waywardness. She was just so tired of all these eternal rules and regulations that governed her life. Why should an old scandal involving her mother effect the course of her own life? It was water under the bridge.

  Suddenly, her heart stopped beating for a moment. Through the crowd of people milling around the foyer, she saw him. The mysterious gentleman. Lord Nordarken. And he was coming directly towards them, his brown eyes shining, in that way she well recognised.

  ***

  “It is him,” she hissed, into Mary’s ear, gripping her arm, “Lord Nordarken. He is coming this way.”

  Mary’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, dear. What shall you do?”

  Sarah shrugged helplessly. She had no idea what she would do. He was unaware that she knew his true identity and would probably seek to continue their game in some way. Her heart started to thump heavily in her chest.

  At that moment, James reappeared, clutching their champagne glasses. He handed them to the ladies. “Do not drink them too quickly,” he said cheerfully. “It took me an age to procure them and I do not wish to stand in line to get anymore…”

  His voice faded away. Lord Nordarken had reached them. James stared at the gentleman as if something offensive had suddenly fallen from the ceiling and landed in front of them.

  “Ladies,” said Lord Nordarken, bowing graciously. “And Sir.” He turned to Sarah, staring down at her with his eyes smouldering like dark coals. “I saw your vision of beauty across the crowded room, madam, and simply had to introduce myself. The Duke of Mystro, at your service.”

  Mary giggled awkwardly, clutching her champagne. James kept staring at him coldly. Sarah cleared her throat. She simply did not know what to say to him.

  James stepped forward. “I would stop the charade, old chap,” he said in a grim voice. “You see, I know very well that you are not the Duke of Mystro. Your name is Lord Nordarken, is it not? We met briefly at a London soiree many years ago.”

  The gentleman balked, his eyes widening. Sarah’s heart hit the ground. Their game was well and truly over.

  “Well…yes,” he admitted, looking a little sheepish. “It is just a lark, old chap. A way to enliven the evening…”

  “Let us speak frankly,” intercepted James, his eyes sharp. “I know very well who you are and the fact you have been pursuing Lady Sarah in a disreputable way. I have told her parents all about you. You do not even have the decency to court her publicly, but in secret, with your identity concealed like some common swindler.”

  Lord Nordarken looked affronted. “Sir, it was never my intention to cause offence…”

  “And yet you have,” said James, looking thunderous. “Lady Sarah is the daughter of an earl, not some floozy from the gutter you can bedazzle with your nonsense.” He took a deep breath. “You are as bad as your father, Nordarken. And that is saying a lot.”

  The gentleman’s face darkened. He looked angry. “Sir, you insult me. My father is an earl himself. His reputation is impeccable.”

  James looked incredulous. “That is a scurrilous lie. I am fully aware of the scandal your father unleashed on the Marbec family two and twenty years ago.” He straightened, staring down his nose at Lord Nordarken. “Lady Sarah’s father, the Earl of Pembleton, will never acknowledge your father again because of it.”

  Sarah stared at them both, horrified. The air was charged with anger and people around them were starting to notice the exchange, whispering behind their hands as they gazed at the group. She felt her colour deepening with embarrassment.

  “Just leave,” she whispered to Lord Nordarken desperately, “please.”

  He gazed at her sadly. But it seemed he was defeated. He bowed briefly to all of them, before turning on his heel and marching stiffly away through the crowd.

  “Good riddance,” said James coldly. “It is probably a good thing he showed his hand so publicly, Sarah. Now he shall never approach you again.”

  Sarah forced a smile onto her face. There was simply no way she was going to show how she was truly feeling. How crushed she was that she would never see Lord Nordarken again. For she knew that he had been warned off, well and truly. No man would dare to seek her out again after such public censure.

  She gazed nervously at James. It seemed that she had a guard dog on her trail. She had never seen him quite so icily angry before.

  Her heart sank as she thought about what he had said to Lord Nordarken. He had spoken with her parents about the gentleman, without her knowledge, and told them about her secret lover. If they had wanted her safely married before, it would be as nothing to how they would feel about it now. They would tolerate no more of her excuses.

  Had they also intimated to James that they wished him to take her off their hands? She studied him closely. He wasn’t giving anything away through his countenance and he had not mentioned anything about it on the carriage ride here. But then, he had also not mentioned that he had spoken to her parents about Lord Nordarken either.

  The bell rang, signalling that the patrons must take their seats. People started to slowly walk up the stairs to the theatre stalls and boxes.

  Quite abruptly, Mr. Andrews, who they had seen on the street leaving the bawdy house just the other day, stepped into their path, addressing Mary.

  “Lady Mary,” he breathed, his eyes shining, “could I have the pleasure of escorting you into the theatre to your seat?”

  Mary looked quite alarmed. She turned to James, staring at him helplessly.

  “Run along like a good chap,” said James, his voice full of flint, as he gazed at the hapless gentleman. “My sister does not cavort with whoremongers, I will have you know.”

  Mr. Andrews turned beetroot red. He didn’t say a word. He simply melted back into the crowd.

  Sarah stared at Mary. Suddenly, they both burst into astounded, helpless laughter.

  “I declare that I shall make veritable minced meat of any chap this evening,” mused James, holding out his arms to them. “Ladies? Shall we?”

  ***

  They took the seats in their box. Within five minutes the theatre darkened, and the curtains opened. The show was under way.

  Sarah was grateful for it. She could stare at the stage, seemingly absorbed in the show, without anyone bothering her. Her mind was still reeling from what had just happened in the foyer and the thought of having to socialise and talk was simply beyond her.

  Suddenly, she was conscious that eyes were upon her from somewhere in the theatre.
The skin on the back of her neck was prickling.

  Slowly, surreptitiously, she turned her head from the stage to the boxes opposite her. Most of the people within them were staring at the stage, engrossed in the show. But one was gazing straight at her not caring about the show at all.

  Her heart lurched. It was Lord Nordarken. Of course it was.

  He kept gazing at her, his face filled with yearning. She could almost see his brown eyes glimmering with fire in the darkness.

  She was transfixed, unable to pull her eyes away from him. It was as if he was reaching out to her; as if an invisible cord was strung between them and he was tugging at it mercilessly. That cord reached straight to the bottom of her heart.

  It hurt. It hurt a lot.

  Hastily, she tore her gaze away, staring back at the stage with eyes that saw nothing. The players moved like marionettes on strings, mouthing incomprehensible words. She could not understand any of it.

  Desperately, she blinked back tears. All of it was ludicrous. She hardly knew the man, and in the time that she had done, they had never revealed their real names nor talked of themselves. She knew simply nothing about his life, nor did he know anything of hers. She should not be feeling so strongly about the fact she would never talk to him again. It was ridiculous.

  And yet…and yet…he knew her more intimately than anyone ever had.

  Her skin tingled, thinking of the way he had kissed her and touched her. The longing he had awoken in her. She still yearned for him in a bewildering way; she simply did not understand it at all. And it was weighing her down so much she thought she might drown in it.

  A single tear fell down her cheek. Quickly, she wiped it away. It had all been a beautiful interlude. An impossible dream. But like all dreams, one eventually awoke. She must fully awaken to the reality of her life now.

  Chapter 13

  Sarah closed the book with a heavy sigh. She had been trying to read for over half an hour now, but the words swam before her vision. She had just read the same page twice and still had no idea what it said.

  She gazed around the library at Pembleton Hall. It was one of her favourite places in the world. As a child she had sometimes hidden in here, away from her nanny and governess, sitting beneath tables absorbed in the atlas. And she still loved it fervently. It was one of the few places where she could be totally alone and yet in company. The books were like her friends.

  She bit her lip, thinking about the tumultuous evening at the theatre - the public exposure of Lord Nordarken. After the show ended, he had slipped away from his box and she had not seen him in the foyer afterwards. She wasn’t surprised. He was obviously mortified over what had happened. He had probably left the district that very evening – hightailed it back to London as if the devil himself was on his tail.

  She would never see him again. Their little game was well and truly finished.

  There was a knock at the library door. She jumped, placing the book on a side table.

  “Come in,” she called.

  The door opened. James was standing there, staring at her hesitantly. She smothered her instinctive surprise. She didn’t think that James had ever sought her out before without Mary by his side.

  “James,” she said, standing up, smoothing out the creases of her gown with her hands. “What are you doing here? Is Mary with you?”

  He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

  “I have left Mary at home,” he said, clearing his throat. “I need to talk to you alone, Sarah. I have your parents’ permission to do so.”

  Sarah’s heart sank. There could be only one reason James wished to speak to her alone. Her parents had made good on their threat and persuaded him to marry her.

  James Marcus, the Earl of Tolmere, was about to propose.

  Her eyes filled with tears of pure frustration. It wasn’t as though she didn’t like James. She liked him very much indeed. She just didn’t want to spend the rest of her life with him as his wife. And she really couldn’t fathom that James truly wanted her in that role, either.

  He approached her slowly. She didn’t think she had ever seen him looking so awkward. He sighed, taking her hand. His own was cold. Her heart lurched, thinking of the heat in Lord Nordarken’s hands as they had roamed over her body.

  “I believe you know why I am here, Sarah,” he said, “you have always been a bright girl. Able to put two and two together.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to become my wife.”

  She stepped back, dropping his hand. “James, please do not do this,” she whispered in anguish. “I know that it is only because my parents have appealed to you. You do not want me as your wife. I am sure of it.”

  He sighed again. “It is true they approached me on the matter,” he said slowly. “I have never thought of you that way at all, Sarah.” He hesitated. “But then, I have never thought of any woman in that way.”

  “James, stop…”

  “I have my own reasons for being a bachelor,” he continued hastily. “Reasons that do not concern you. I have never desired a wife for those reasons.” He paused. “But Lord and Lady Pembleton have made me realise that I am not getting any younger and that my dear late father would desire me to have an heir. He cared fiercely for our ancestral home, and would want it to remain in the direct line.”

  Sarah was silent. She had never really imagined what it would be like to be proposed to, but she thought if she had, she wouldn’t have imagined anything like this.

  “I care for you, Sarah,” he said, trying to smile. “You know that, do you not? You have always been like a second little sister to me. And your parents are concerned for you. They need to have you settled for their own reasons. And I am more than happy to accommodate them. I believe we could be tolerably happy together.”

  “Tolerably happy?” Sarah repeated, unable to keep the scorn out of her voice. “You speak as if we are talking about going to a garden party together.” She took a deep, ragged breath. “This is marriage, James! It cannot be undone! It is the most serious undertaking two people can take in life. We would be bound forever!”

  James smiled weakly. “Yes, I am very well aware of the commitment.” He paused, frowning. “Many people go into it without romance or love attached, Sarah. It is a practical partnership. And they can be happy together regardless.” He paused. “A companionship borne of mutual respect. I do respect you, and believe we could be well matched.”

  Sarah turned away from him, trying to hide her tears. It was all so bloodless and pragmatic. A business arrangement. Nothing more and nothing less.

  She turned back to him, his eyes glittering.

  “Have you never known love?” she whispered furiously. “Have you never known passion? How can you be so…so…calculating about it?”

  James blinked rapidly. “I have known both, Sarah. But unfortunately for me, I can never have either in the formal binds of marriage.”

  She gazed at him, mystified. “What do you mean? Why couldn’t you marry a woman that you love or at least feel passion for?”

  His lips tightened. “I cannot elaborate. And it is irrelevant.” He straightened, gazing at her steadily. “I know that you are still infatuated with the rake Nordarken, but you shall forget about him in time, Sarah. He never tried to publicly court you, anyway. And you could never marry him even if he had.”

  Sarah sighed heavily. “Are you referring to the old scandal between Mama and the Earl of Halwell?” She frowned, “I do not see that it is insurmountable. Why, it happened so very long ago…”