She enjoyed Jonathon’s company, and while it was unfortunate Olivia could not join them due to her time of rest, Sarah was selfishly glad for it. Having him to herself was a treat. Her sides ached with laughter.
“And what, pray tell, do you have in mind?”
“The truth.” His eyes shifted, his humorous innocence slipping into something far murkier and dangerous.
Her gaze roved over the handsome lines of his face. “You needn’t test me with questions to ask whatever it is you wish to know.”
Roguishness lit his eyes. “Then you concede to the terms of play?”
“You have yet to decide which sort of questions you wish to ask.”
“Historical fact. One wrong answer yields one personal question the recipient must answer truthfully.” He patted her hand still settled on his arm.
“Historical fact happens to be my favorite subject. You aren’t tilting the odds in my favor are you?”
He touched a hand to his chest. “Never.”
“In order to ask, you have to know the answer yourself,” she stipulated. “You cannot simply pose a question and hope I validate the answer for you.”
He peered down at her, his expression one of angelic innocence. “You would think me capable of cheating?”
“Absolutely.”
“Very well, then. Whom did the apostle Paul convert in Athens, who later became the city’s bishop?”
Sarah gave him a smile. “Dionysius the Aeropagite. Honestly, Jonathon, you’ll have to try harder than that if you wish to see me fail.”
“Who said I sought your frustration?” he asked, somewhat aghast.
“Me.” She pressed into his side as she stepped around the edge of a particularly swollen puddle. The wool of both her pelisse and his jacket did little to soften the hard lines of his upper torso. He was solid, and decidedly so.
He held her fast and firm, his arm unmoving as he led her around the soggy ground. “Who was the only Grecian god with a mortal parent?”
She pulled from him, stepping on a spot of dry rock. “Dionysius. That is the second question with a similar answer. I see a commonality, and I’m not certain why it exists.”
Jonathon’s lips twitched. “Then tell me what you suspect.”
“The Dionysius of Greek origin was the patron of arts and the god of fertility and wine,” she said, reciting the words she had long memorized from a book on ancient mythology. “I see a connection between his and my interest in oenology, but not why you persist in pointing it out.”
“Because it amuses me,” he said with a wink.
She rolled her eyes. “Alright then, if we must adhere to the topic selected, it is my turn to ask you a question of specific interest.”
“Please, ask away.” He once again offered his arm.
Sarah took it as she mulled over what precisely to ask him. “Who brought Dionysius back to life after he was torn apart by the Titans?”
“His father Zeus, of course.”
Squeezing his forearm, she did her best to remove all traces of glee from her face and condescension from her voice. “I am afraid not. Rhea, one of the Titans herself, resurrected Dionysius.”
“Then it appears you are owed another question. And this one, to be answered with a personal truth.”
Sarah tugged at the velvet ribbon tied at her neck. “Very well, then. What platform are you supporting that has kept you away from the ballroom these past two years?”
Before coming to rest on her, his gaze darted around the courtyard. “One of particular interest and importance.”
She believed no less. Had he been aware of her lack of dance partners he would have dutifully filled in the void.
He led her to the fence surrounding the enclosed pasture set up for the horses. “On what island was Odysseus held captive?” he asked.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I did, just not to your apparent liking.”
“Jonathon,” she warned.
“The reeducation and reformation of former prostitutes.”
Sarah blinked and peered at his face. His expression bore no hints of humor. In fact, he was sincere. And absolutely serious. “Like the article in The Times?”
“The very same. I am attempting to gain support to open a school for fallen women.”
“To educate them?”
He clasped his hand over hers. “To provide them with alternative opportunities. To offer them a second chance at life. Many turn to the streets as a means of supporting themselves. By educating them in a trade, like dressmaking or millinery, they are allowed to step out of the shadows of their past and into a brighter future.”
She wasn’t certain if it was the acrid smell of smoke wafting from the farrier’s fire, or the chill of the northern breeze biting at her cheeks, but tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, which, of course, could be explained by Jonathon’s selfless pursuit and his dedication to the education of fallen women.
And she thought he’d been lobbying for the rights of land owners.
Sarah glanced away and attempted to blink away the moisture. “Forgive me for initially believing your cause to be less than altruistic.”
He pressed a handkerchief into the palm of her hand. “The school has been a pursuit of mine for the past two years. I’m rather desperate to see its inception, but there is no certainty it will ever be built.”
She lifted her face to his. “Your intentions are commendable.”
“That they may be, but until the school is built, and the women are removed from danger and established in a respectful trade, I am but a man with commendable intentions and nothing to show for them.”
“You are too hard on yourself,” Sarah chided.
“I could say the same for you.”
“Perhaps. But I am deserving of censure. You cannot refute my past sins.”
He pulled the handkerchief from her grasp. “I cannot, but I can forgive them.” With a gentle touch, he dabbed at her tears. She hiccupped as her heart sped at his unexpected tenderness. “As can you.” He paused in his administrations, the soft linen of his handkerchief still against her cheek.
Like a thunderstorm rolling over the English moors, a gradual darkness deepened his eyes. Sarah stared transfixed at the change, uncertain in its origin, but intrigued by its occurrence. Was this desire as the Indian love book routinely referenced? Or was it something less amorous?
A handsome, altruistic man stood in front of her, inciting thoughts of exotic readings and causing her breath to catch. Her thoughts were beyond scandalous.
Which was the only explanation she could give for unapologetically returning his stare.
…
Jonathon very much wanted to give Sarah a kiss.
Her pink lips were mere inches from his, aching to be taken. His entire body urged him to enact on his fantasy, to place his mouth against hers and taste her innocence. He was only a man, after all. How was he to resist the allurement she wrought upon his carnal-starved body?
By remembering who she was. Sarah was his friend. And she deserved no less than his integrity, despite the fact that her lips held the potential to set his body aflame.
She also deserved the truth, though he was not about to inform her of the selfish motivations spurning him to gather the votes necessary for the completion of a woman’s school. He was quite certain, were she to know of Elizabeth and his shortcomings, Sarah would not be as gracious with her gratitude. So he avoided it entirely by lowering his hand and looking away.
“Ogyogia,” whispered Sarah. He glanced at her and frowned. His confusion must have translated, for she continued, “The island where Odysseus was held captive by Calypso. You asked me a question and I—I thought to give an answer.”
She was right, of course. Her mind was infallible, at least where it concerned the recitation of written knowledge. On matters of emotional interpretation, he was less assured of her experience. Had she sensed his desire? Was that why she sought to distract him
with a return to their game?
Was she attuned to her sensual side? And more importantly, had she felt the attraction simmering between them, or had he merely imagined it?
Or was she as innocent as he believed her to be, and was simply carrying on the course of their conversation?
There was only one way to know. Pulling on the bottom of his jacket, he asked, “How long did Odysseus stay with his island nymph?”
She peered at him, a smile flitting across her lips. “Seven years.”
“Yes,” he conceded, unsurprised by her immediate response. “Do you know how many years the Latin author, Hyginus, believed Odysseus spent on Ogyogia?” he pressed.
The creases on her forehead deepened. “I…I…” Licking her lips she peered up at him, baffled. “I do not.”
A surge of triumph made him damn near giddy.
Forcing his hands to his sides, he cleared his throat. “Hyginus argues for one year.”
Sarah tugged on the ribbon at her neck. “Well. I am now wiser because of your instruction. I am also indebted to you. According to the rules of your game, you are owed a truthful answer of a personal question of your choosing.”
He was. And he had no qualms in exploiting the intended prize of his manipulations. Mindful of her maid, who was blessedly distracted by an affectionate horse, Jonathon took a step toward her and lowered his voice.
“Would you consider kissing me? Here and now?”
The questions were bold, crass, and ungentlemanly at best. Decorum stated Sarah was in no way expected to answer. Quite honestly, he’d be surprised if she did. His devilry had likely caused her embarrassment, if not an awkward discomfort. But damn it all if his curiosity didn’t get the better of him.
The left corner of her mouth twitched as she held his gaze. “That was two questions. I believe the rules state I need answer only one.”
Dear God. Was she flirting with him?
Blood pounded loud and fast in his ears. He took another step toward her, his back to her maid. “I leave you to decide which question you would like to answer.”
Sarah’s gaze flitted to the side, the wind catching at the ribbon knotted attractively at her throat. “Well…I…” She glanced upward as a fat droplet of rain landed on her nose.
Of all the moments for the sky to open, it had to be the one where he stood breathless, awaiting her response.
His day was governed by the Devil.
“Yes and no,” Sarah stated.
“I beg your pardon?”
Another drop splattered onto the scarlet wool of her pelisse. “I’ve given you two responses because I’m feeling generous. It is up to you to decide which response correlates with which question.”
With a quick curtsy and a wave of her hand, she motioned toward her maid and started toward the inn, leaving him standing alone with a smile as wide as his face.
He had not imagined her interest. She wanted to kiss him.
If Jonathon was anything, he was a man who kept his promises—and made certain others did as well.
A kiss from Lady Sarah was in his future. And he was determined to receive it.
Chapter Five
Sarah pinched off a leaf of peppermint and dropped it into a steaming pot of water. The sharp aromatic scent reminded her of Jonathon.
Dear Lord.
She had admitted her attraction. She was a tease. A flirt. And eagerly looking forward to an intimacy she had read about but had never experienced for herself. Despite the uncertainties wrought from her inadequacy, the promise of pleasure far outweighed her fears.
What would it be like to have Jonathon’s full lips pressed against hers in the most intimate of fashions? Would it be similar to The Kama Sutra illustrations she’d pored over, with a man and woman locked in an intimate embrace? Lips smashed against lips? Or would it be an experience entirely different than the pictures depicted, and not so much physical, but an emotional tidal wave of lust and desire?
Her heart thudded in its skeletal enclosure, and were it not for the rain pelting against the window, she was certain Olivia, even from her perch on top of her bed, would have heard it.
“How did you manage the plant, Sarah? I would have put money on your failure to find any herb this late in the season. Let alone the one you needed.”
Forcing a smile, she smoothed back the hairs that had worked loose from the pins on her swift return to the inn. “Your confidence in my abilities is truly astounding. Although, I confess, I did not find it alone.”
“I am glad Jane was able to assist you.”
“Oh, she was quite helpful, though it was not she who came upon the last of the peppermint, but your brother.”
“Jonathon? I did not think he was familiar with the herb.”
“Truly?” Sarah asked, surprised. “He smells of peppermint. His soap is scented with its oils.”
Olivia’s brows lifted. “I had not noticed.”
She cleared her throat. “Yes…well, he found a spot of it under the leaves and along the courtyard where the innkeeper’s daughter suggested we might find some. In a moment or two, you should benefit from our search.”
“I hope you are right,” Olivia grumbled. “The pains this month are worse than the last. I fear they are increasing in intensity.”
“Then be glad for the tea. And thankful you are not in the throes of childbirth, for I hear the pains from it are far worse than those felt by you today.”
“If that is true, I am rather thankful for father’s reluctance to see me married. He continually threatens to send me to a convent on the Continent. Perhaps I shall indulge the man and accept his offer.”
Sarah poured the tea and spooned a bit of sugar into it. “A life without men does not suit you.”
“No, I suppose not,” she said with a sigh. “With a father and four brothers, I’m afraid I’ve grown rather attached to the male sex.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of your flirtations. How would you turn heads if you were amongst those who did not appreciate your vanity?”
Olivia laughed. “Should I join the order, I will have to take vows to vanquish my pride. Much as Jonathon has done in his pursuit of votes.”
Her hand faltered, near spilling the cup full of tea. She turned to peer at her friend. “Jonathon has taken vows? I did not think he wished to belong to any religious order.”
“Oh, he doesn’t. But he does wish to garner votes amongst the stodgy, conservative Tories, as well as the more liberal ones like the Prime Minister. A Tory is a Tory after all. And they have their standards. I know for a fact he has abstained from all the pleasures Town affords, in an effort to gain their support and show the benefits of social reform.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Unlike the rest of my brothers.”
Holding the teacup precariously in her hand, Sarah made her way to the bed. “Dear heavens. You make bold assertions. I’m certain your brothers, should they take part in these pleasures you speak of, do so with faith in your discretion.”
She was not naive enough to believe Olivia’s healthy, virile brothers did not entertain themselves with carnal pursuits. However, she was thankful and very glad to hear Jonathon did not accompany them.
“I only divulge as much to you,” Olivia assured. “One must have someone to relieve them of their secrets.” She smiled as she took hold of the tea.
Someone was needed to listen to another’s inner confidences, Sarah supposed. But she could hardly confess the anxiety and excitement wrought by the anticipation of a kiss shared with Olivia’s brother. Those secrets were best left unspoken.
Her cheeks warming, she sought to steer the conversation toward something less…affectionate, but no less revealing. “Why would Jonathon seek the favor of the Tories? Other than the fact they are the majority and their votes are required to pass most legislation?”
“Surely you know. An article was written about it in The Times. The piece on social reform and the reeducation of fallen women. I heard you tel
l Jonathon you were reading about it in the carriage.”
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I wake easily,” Olivia said with a small shrug.
Goodness. It was no wonder she was so well informed. She was an actress. And a good one at that. Sarah had no doubts her friend had been awake the majority of the ride.
Olivia sipped and continued. “A few more votes and Jonathon and father will have their school for penitents.”
“And how is it that I did not know any of this before reading about it in The Times?”
“You would have voiced your opinion on the advantages of female education and left me to stare at the wall in boredom.”
Olivia was right. On all points. And it irritated Sarah to know she would have been a poor friend, even if she did have quality arguments to justify her position.
“I take your silence as verification of my assertion.” Olivia had taken on a concerning pallor. Perhaps the pains were worse than she touted. “I wish for you to dine with Jonathon tonight and allow me to rest.”
A flutter of excitement rose within Sarah’s chest. The idea of dining alone with him was thrilling. She longed to ask him more about this reformation platform and his stance on politics, as Olivia had chided. But was her friend testing her loyalties? “I don’t mind dining in. The conversation is quite stimulating.”
“Yes, but I am no longer for it. Go converse with Jonathon. Ask him your questions. And be ready to divulge anything of interest. Outside of politics, of course. I promise you will miss nothing here other than the occasional yawn.”
“That is not true. You snore.”
Olivia reached for a pillow as Sarah scrambled off the bed and toward the door.
Stepping into the hall, she turned, her hand on the latch. “If you need anything, I will be in the public rooms.” The soft thud of the pillow sounded against the wood as she closed the door.
…
Jonathon threw back another swallow of brandy, his gaze on the assortment of patrons and loiterers waiting out the worst of the storm in the inn’s crowded, public front rooms. The thick curtain of rain beating against the building’s fogged windows had successfully diminished visibility, preventing the safe passage of all modes of transportation. As such, travelers jostled for a dry spot in the inn’s interior.
The Gentleman's Promise (Daughters of Amhurst) Page 5