by Amanda Scott
Sarah’s head came up sharply. “A trap!”
“To be sure. I did recognize him, you see. I had a bit more information than you had by then, of course, so it is not entirely wonderful that I knew him. Oakes was already suspicious of Darcy and had been searching for their cache for some time. We thought Beck might lead us to it but lost sight of him briefly in the woods—it was only Oakes and me, for we feared too many would spook him. At any rate, we saw you and Erebus and found the tunnel entrance.” He shook his head. “I must say, that entrance must have been better hidden when we were children, else I cannot imagine how we missed discovering it years ago. At any rate, I was about to make our presence known to you, when you turned back toward the house, so I thought you safe. I had no idea you had opened the stair door.” He glared at her accusingly, and Sarah bit her lower lip but did not take her eyes from his. “Oakes took a moment or two to send Timmy for his Patrol,” he went on, “and then we waited, thinking that Beck would just come out again. But he didn’t, so we went in and soon heard your voice. Perhaps you can imagine my astonishment.” Guiltily, Sarah dropped her eyes again. “I raced across the garden and through Dower House to cut off his escape by that route. We couldn’t burst in from the passage, you know, not having a notion how well-armed the man was. Besides, he might have escaped up the stairs.”
An uncomfortable silence followed his words, but Sarah finally forced herself to speak. “What will you do now, my lord?” It took nearly all her courage to ask. Maybe he would send her away, and she didn’t think she could bear it if he did.
“I have given the matter much thought,” Nicholas said gravely, leaning against the deck, “and I’ve come to the conclusion, my lady, that you simply cannot be trusted to look after yourself sensibly, that it would be dangerous to let you continue as you have before.”
“But surely, the danger is past!” Sarah protested. From the sound of things, he was either going to return her to Hartley House or shut her up in a convent forever.
“There is always danger of one sort or another,” he insisted. “Highwaymen or footpads or mischief of your own brewing. You cannot be trusted to toe the line, Countess. Not without someone to keep a strict eye out for you.”
“But I have Penny!” Sarah cried, “and I will be good, my lord. Please don’t send me away!”
“You would not wish to go?” She shook her head vehemently, tears welling up in her eyes. “Why not, Countess?” he asked gently.
But this she couldn’t tell him. He would only despise her for making such a mockery of her state of mourning. She loved him with all her heart, but he would never accept such flouting of propriety. She remained silent, dropping her gaze.
“You seem much affected, madam. I pray you, do not fear to confide in me.” His voice was very low, the tone nearly caressing. Why was he doing this to her!
“For the love of heaven, Nicky! Stop torturing the poor girl and get on with it!” The admonition started even before her ladyship actually opened the door, and she entered glaring.
“You were eavesdropping!” he accused.
“Well, of course I was. But I did send Colin away,” she added virtuously. “Now, do get to the point, Nicky. Miss Penny and I have been on tenterhooks.”
“And what do you suppose the point to be, madam?” her son inquired softly.
“Marriage,” replied her ladyship flatly. “Hers to you, of course. Don’t be nonsensical.”
Sarah’s gaze flew to Nicholas and encountered a rueful grin. Her heart seemed to be trying to get-out of her chest, and she scarcely dared to breathe. “My lord?”
“She is a curse I bear,” he said, “but it happens she is right. I didn’t know how to ask when it came to the point. Will you have me, Countess? I rather thought at one point last night that my suit might not be refused outright.”
Sarah blushed at the reference. “But what of the proprieties, my lord?”
“Hang the proprieties,” he returned, not taking his eyes from hers. “I got a special license whilst I was in Town. We’ll have that preacher fellow from East End—the one that married you to Darcy. Daresay he’ll do the thing if you don’t dislike the idea too much.”
“But the scandal, sir! My aunt and uncle!”
“Hang the scandal, too,” he replied bluntly. “We shall take a leaf from young Lionel’s book and go to France. Italy, too, and wherever else the fancy takes us. Colin can visit friends or go with us to his parents till school starts again, and by the time we get back, no one will care a straw how or when we tied the knot. Daresay your Miss Penistone won’t mind looking after things here—along with a suitable steward, of course.”
“As to that, your lordship,” spoke up Penny from behind Lady Packwood, “it must depend upon whether Mr. Dasher will be accompanying your lordship. He has, you see, done me the very great honor of asking me to be his wife.”
“I’ll be damned!” chuckled his lordship, while Sarah turned on her companion in astonishment. “He’s a lucky man, Miss Penistone, and I trust he’s aware of the fact. But I think he’d make an excellent steward. I daresay I can find another valet.”
“And another butler!” added her ladyship tartly. “I shan’t inquire about how you managed a special license, Nicky, but does this mean that you intend to travel with us?”
“For a time, perhaps, if you will allow it,” Nicholas replied, still watching his intended. “But Sarah hasn’t answered me.”
“What’s this, then, my sweet? Don’t tell me there’s been more ructions, for I don’t hold with ’em.”
“Oh, my love!” exclaimed Lady Packwood, turning with delight to her spouse. “Nicholas has asked Sarah to marry him.”
“High time for it, too,” retorted Sir Percival. “Prodigious improper for ’em to be livin’ under the same roof without it!”
“Very true,” agreed Sarah, relaxing with a smile and turning a twinkling eye toward Nicholas while Lady Packwood tried to remind her spouse of the existence of Dower House and Miss Penistone. “When it’s put like that, my lord,” Sarah continued, tongue very firmly in cheek, “how can I refuse? The proprieties must be observed.”
“Exactly what I thought myself,” agreed his lordship, ringing for his butler. “Dasher, show Mr. Stanley in.”
“Nicholas!”
He chuckled. “Well, I didn’t want to give you time to change your mind. First page from Lionel’s book, second from Sir Percy’s.”
The little minister entered a few moments later. When he saw Sarah, he very politely asked if he might just have a moment to scan the license once more. The opportunity was granted and a moment later, just as politely, he agreed to proceed. Colin was called to bear witness, and even Erebus was allowed to plop himself down upon the hearthstones to observe the ceremony during which Sarah ceased to be a dowager and became, once again, Countess of Moreland. Little Mr. Stanley happily agreed to stay to dinner, but despite the happy occasion, the gentlemen did not linger over their port, and he was speedily sent on his way. Lady Packwood pointedly announced, when Sir Percival and Nicholas entered the library, that it had been a very long day, and before Sarah could think ‘pig’s whisper,’ she was alone with her new husband in his bedchamber. She moved quite naturally into his arms.
“Happy, sweetheart?”
“Very, my lord.” He guided her toward the large, velvet-draped bed, but at the bedside, involuntarily, Sarah hesitated. “I think you should know, sir, that despite my previous marriage …”
“I know, little Countess, and I shall be gentle. I expected that, after your previous experiences, you might be a bit frightened at first.” He drew her closer then began with practiced fingers to remove her dress.
“I … I’m not afraid, sir,” Sarah muttered. “Not with you.” The sensations caused by his fingers touching her bare skin made her tremble. Her dress was soon off, and she stood before him in her lacy shift. Nicholas removed his coat and began to undo his shirt. “How … how did you manage the license, my lord?”
It seemed a silly question, but the other matter was even more difficult than she had thought it might be, and she had to speak. One couldn’t just stand there and watch him undress.
“It required the devil of a lot of fast talking,” he said, amused. “I had to see the archbishop himself, but I convinced him that, while grounds for annulment existed, it would be a good deal less complicated and less time-consuming all round to allow the license.”
“Annulment!”
“Your marriage to Darcy was never consummated, sweetheart. By law, that is grounds for annulment.”
“But how did you know?”
“I suspected the night he was murdered. You were so positive you were not pregnant, and there was something in your expression that led me to think it was not for the usual reason. Then, that day in the woods when I kissed you, I was sure. Your reaction was too much that of outraged virginity.”
Sarah stared at his bare chest. “’Tis true enough, my lord, and I know not what is expected of me.”
“I’ll teach you, sweetheart. And my name is Nicholas. I’ve heard you use it twice, and I’ve a strong desire to hear it again.” She blushed delightfully. “Come, my lady. You have promised obedience, have you not?”
“Yes, m … Nicholas,” she replied shyly.
“Very good. Now get into bed, where I shall be pleased to commence your lessons.”
Again, she obeyed him, finding that it was becoming easier all the time. Her shift soon came off as he slowly but confidently began to introduce her to delights she had never before imagined. Her senses seemed to reach greater heights with each new caress. She had never dreamed her body held such secrets. But Nicholas, with gentle skill, guided her to a release of passion so intense that it amazed them both. And When they had reached the peak and descended once again, he held her gently in his arms.
“You are so beautiful, little Countess, and I love you so very much. I suppose I have done since the moment I first laid eyes upon you, surrounded by all those drooling young sycophants.”
“But you were always so critical!”
“Didn’t want you getting a big head and spoiling all that perfection.” Sarah wrinkled her nose at him. “All right, I suppose it began as a way to make you notice me amongst the crowd.”
“I did. I thought you perfectly odious.”
“No doubt. But imagine my consternation when I left Town for a mere fortnight and returned to find you had eloped with the deplorable Darcy!”
“But I didn’t!”
Nicholas hugged her. “I know, but it made me mad as fire nonetheless, and then, after the murder you seemed more unattainable than ever. The damned proprieties! I’d been preaching them at you so long that I’d come to let them rule the roost. I nearly went mad.” She chuckled, and he lifted himself onto an elbow to look down at her, grinning. “Do you know, Countess, I don’t believe you’ve said yet that you love me. I’m quite certain—have been since last night—that you do, but I should like to hear the words upon your lips.”
Sarah looked up at him, her whole face glowing. “Oh, Nicholas, of course I love you.” Then her eyes sparkled mischief, and she added, “I don’t know how I should get on without you, my love.”
His own eyes danced. “’Tis far better that I teach you more about how to get on with me, my sweet.”
Outside, on the landing, the big black dog, forgotten for once by everyone, thumped his tail in approval of the sudden burst of laughter issuing from the bridal chamber. He would ask no awkward questions, however, and hopefully anyone else chancing to overhear such merriment would be tactful enough not to mention it.
About the Author
A fourth-generation Californian of Scottish descent, Amanda Scott is the author of more than fifty romantic novels, many of which appeared on the USA Today bestseller list. Her Scottish heritage and love of history (she received undergraduate and graduate degrees in history at Mills College and California State University, San Jose, respectively) inspired her to write historical fiction. Credited by Library Journal with starting the Scottish romance subgenre, Scott has also won acclaim for her sparkling Regency romances. She is the recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award (for Lord Abberley’s Nemesis, 1986) and the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. She lives in central California with her husband.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1983 by Lynne Scott-Drennan
Cover design by Mimi Bark
978-1-4804-1572-0
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