Nerves danced along the surface of her skin and she pulled back. Her breath hitched and she swallowed convulsively before she managed to find words. And then she remembered her scandalous display for the two men and was suddenly grateful the village was as crowded as it was. No one had seen them—no one who recognized them, at least.
“This place is a marvel,” she said and cleared her throat again. Her voice sounded breathless and she found trouble controlling it; it must be the cold, or at least she hoped they would think so. Sarina gazed around the vendors and the people, the bright white of snow making everything crisp and clean.
“Is it not?” she went on, certain they could hear the pounding of her heart and know the strange things they both did to her. “I hear there’s a merchant who sells a delicious mulled wine at the end of the fair.”
“We should investigate,” Prescott said with a sinful grin. She’d seen that grin before, but it hadn’t affected her the way it now did. Sarina didn’t understand it as she struggled to catch her breath.
“I should find Maryanne and Henrietta,” she insisted. The words came out weak and breathless.
Fear gripped her. Not of scandal, not of losing her cousins in the crowd, not even of being alone with Prescott and Liam. Fear of the strange heat pooling through her, of the quickening of her blood, of the thumping of her heart.
Could she tell them? Would she lose them as friends when she did?
“We have half-masks,” Prescott insisted and held out his arm. “No one will know we snuck away.”
“They’ll be occupied for hours yet.” Liam fell in beside her and held out his arm as well. Sarina wound her hand through both men’s arms and wondered when she’d tossed all propriety to the four winds.
Sarina watched Liam and even now didn’t know how he’d managed to wind his way beneath her skin. In fact, he was usually quiet and observant. But it was that very quality that drew her in, that made her feel as if they shared secrets.
Liam smiled at her, one that made her feel very unladylike feelings—an illicit promise. His smile, all that promise and heat, conjured a desire within Sarina that she found nearly impossible to ignore; it was a need that begged to be assuaged by his hands and body and mouth.
Prescott elicited those same feelings, made her feel things far beyond her control. A control she prided herself on, but control she no longer commanded when it came to him. To either man.
He made her laugh with his witty conversation, but the way he looked at her, even as he made her laugh, had her flushing with the promise in his gaze. The potential was there of dark pleasures Sarina didn’t understand but wanted to. Oh, she wanted to know what he felt like against her, how he tasted.
Turning her head from both men, she tried to rein in her wild thoughts and focus on the fair once more.
The sun had set now, but the streets were brightly lit. Every streetlamp boasted a bright flame; every merchant’s stall held glittering candlelight. Torches burned at equal intervals, and Sarina felt as if she’d been transported into another era. Her fingers flexed on each man’s arms, on the solid muscle beneath her gloved fingertips, and that frighteningly hot flush of something raced through her.
She swallowed and tried to hold her half-mask over her face. Mayhap she should have dressed as yet another white queen, her gown blending in with the dozens of others in the fair. But she’d wanted to stand out; despite her words to the contrary, she’d wanted to impress both of them.
Her behavior bordered on scandalous with these two; either she found them or they found her. But they were always together in whatever setting they happened to find themselves in.
They were drawn together, as bees to nectar. Irresistible and natural.
The three of them walked down the lane to the stall selling mulled wine. The air smelled of pines and food with an underlying scent of cold, and she breathed in deeply, but the crisp air did little to dispel her heated thoughts. Careful to keep her mask firmly in place, Sarina sat at one of the many outdoor tables along the frozen Thames.
The wind brushed her cheeks and she smiled, bringing the hot mug of wine to her lips. Amazingly, they sat on the actual river, a feat Sarina doubted she’d ever experience again. She fully intended to enjoy it, this winter marvel.
“I’m glad you both came to the masquerade,” she said as they joined her. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually be here tonight, as we hadn’t made plans in London.”
She looked from one to the other, brown eyes piercing her, holding her in place. Only to see Liam’s bright blue eyes looking at her the same way. Her breath caught and she took a hurried sip of wine, but it did little to ease her sudden breathlessness.
“Are we to assume you still enjoy our company, Miss Hunt?” Prescott asked, his tone harsher than she expected. His dark eyes bored pointedly into her, and Sarina stilled at the anger in those brown depths.
His intensity frightened her, frightened and yet still drew her in. His question caught her off guard, but she found she couldn’t look away from his gaze. She saw more than anger there; Sarina knew him well, or liked to think so. Tonight, she noticed a hurt in him she hadn’t expected.
“Of course!” she said, surprised. Then, defensive, she demanded, “Why would you even ask such a question?”
“Then please explain the rumors we hear,” Liam said flatly. Her gaze swung to his piercing blue one as the other man leaned across the small, round table. “The rumors of Lord Strathmore?”
She licked her lips, her mulled wine suddenly bitter on her tongue. Liam’s gaze dipped to her mouth then back to her eyes. The fierceness in his face didn’t lessen. “My understanding,” he said harshly, “is that Strathmore is courting you.”
“Maryanne has arranged our meeting here at the festival,” Sarina said. Her voice sounded too low, too soft for it to be as forceful as she’d intended. “Tomorrow for luncheon.”
“And do you have any intentions of allowing such a thing?” Prescott demanded. His voice was low and even as it rolled over her.
Sarina looked between them, their penetrating gazes, the intensity on their faces. They were clearly upset, and she knew they had a right to be. Prescott looked angrily down at her from where he stood across the table. Liam looked betrayed, his blue gaze narrowed in question.
Her fingers flexed over the rapidly cooling mug of mulled wine, but she didn’t set it down. She hadn’t intended to tell them her decision, or about Strathmore, until the end of the fair. Gossip, however, ran through the ton like fire; her personal decision had become public knowledge before she’d had the chance to tell the two men she cared for more than anything.
“It’s time I consider my future,” she said carefully, her voice cool.
“Your future,” Liam said in a tone that brooked no argument, “belongs with one of us.”
The tone of his voice did things to her that Sarina knew no proper lady should ever feel. She licked her lips, watched his gaze follow the movement, and cleared her throat.
“We’ve had this discussion.” She’d tried for a firm tone, but knew she’d only partially managed it.
Prescott leaned over the table, uncaring about his wine or the other people at the fair. Propriety had gone, vanished the instant she’d seen them on the street. “There have been enough games, Sarina.”
Her name rolled off his tongue, harsh and serious. Neither used her proper name in public, always very careful to keep to the conventions of polite society. The fact they no longer seemed a part of polite society at that moment made her flush.
“You cannot deny the bonds we share,” Prescott added.
“No.” She licked her lips again. “I can’t deny it. And I have not denied it, but I share…” Her voice trailed off and she took a deep breath. This was far too important for her to suddenly become a weakling now. “I share affection for both of you. You’ve asked me to choose.” She looked from Prescott to Liam then back again. “I cannot.”
Liam’s blue gaze snapped but his voic
e remained low. “You’d walk away from both of us? Walk away instead of letting one of us have you?”
Nerves danced along her skin, and for a heartbeat she wondered what it’d feel like to be taken by them, either of them—both of them. Heat flared along her nerves, alluring and oh so tempting. Then the cold of reality suddenly settled in her belly.
“It’s for the best,” she insisted. Sarina set her mug on the table and reached for Liam’s hand. “If I chose you, there’d be a rift.”
She released his hand and looked to Prescott. “And if I chose you, it’d be the same.”
“Our friendship can survive it,” Prescott insisted.
“Could it truly?” she demanded, harsher than she’d intended. “If I chose Liam, how would you feel? Toward me and him?”
He didn’t need to answer, she saw the jealousy flash in his gaze, felt the heat of it across the table. Sarina nodded and forced a small, sad smile. “Or if I married you, do you not see how it would poison things with Liam?”
Prescott didn’t look at his friend, but she saw the knowledge in his eyes. Sarina nodded and stood.
She’d been a fool to want them here when she so obviously couldn’t have them—either of them. It was impossible to choose, which was why she hadn’t. Why she’d declined to do so.
A decision she hadn’t taken lightly, a decision she’d wrestled with for months. And one she’d taken too long with, to all their determents.
She was a fool to want one final moment with them, the both of them, but the temptation had been too great, the thrill of simply being with them too enticing. Nothing had been settled between them; she felt it as they both rose and stood on either side of her. Sarina didn’t know how to settle it.
Except to walk away from them both.
Chapter Three
“It’s not for you to decide what will poison things,” Prescott stated.
He rounded the table, seeming not to care they stood in the center of a thriving winter’s fair. His hands slipped beneath her cloak and wrapped around her arms, holding her a breath from him. Prescott utterly commanded her attention.
Sarina looked up into his darkening brown eyes and struggled to breathe. Through her gown she felt the heat of his hands, felt that heat pool low in her belly and prayed he didn’t notice how he affected her. How her wanton body betrayed her whenever she was with him, both him and Liam.
Sarina’s breath caught, and the mask slipped. Liam stood on the other side of her, his strong presence pulling her just as much. A small part of her mind tried, and failed, to warn her about onlookers and the scandalous tableau they made. She tried to grasp onto that voice, but found she didn’t care; all she felt were Prescott’s hands, all she saw was his eyes, all she sensed was Liam’s body almost, almost pressed intimately behind hers.
She needed to pull back, physically and emotionally, from these two tempting men. Needed to protect herself from the hurt looming just over the horizon. Sarina scrambled to do that, to gather her willpower to her and avoid the temptation of both Prescott and Liam, to tell them her decision was final and there’d be no further discussion.
But caught between them, her all-too-tempting men, she struggled, forgot her promises and vows to herself.
She wanted them both. Loved them both. And she couldn’t deny that to herself. That was why she refused to commit to only one, why she’d put off such a painful choice for as long as she could. Now, Sarina realized the error of that; she’d only fallen further for each man and had already put a hole in their friendship. She wanted both Liam and Prescott and didn’t know how to admit to such a shameful attraction.
“We’ll make peace with whatever it is,” Prescott continued. His fingers curled over her arm, a sensual caress.
Sarina felt the walls around her heart weaken, begin to crack with the temptation they presented. “No,” she whispered before she’d realized she’d meant to. She took a deep breath, smelled the crisp air, mulled wine, the heady scents of Prescott and Liam. “Because I cannot choose.”
Her voice broke and she knew her torment clearly showed on her face. But she hadn’t the energy to mask her indecision or her attraction to both of them. Not anymore. It physically hurt too much to continue to do so.
“Perhaps you don’t have to.”
Her gaze jerked around to Liam. She blinked up at him, certain she’d heard him wrong. But the calmness with which he watched her told her she had not, and Sarina scrambled for something to say.
Not choose?
Of course she had to choose—choose either Prescott or Liam. And she couldn’t. Her heart couldn’t choose. In these last months, Sarina admitted she loved them both and had no way to separate those feelings.
When she’d made her decision to move on to Lord Strathmore, she had thought that part of her life in the past. Once again, she’d been a fool. Sarina should have known neither Liam nor Prescott would have been forgotten so easily.
She stepped away, out of Prescott’s touch, away from Liam’s commanding presence. Her only thought was to move away from them, away from their temptation, and she desperately needed a breath of fresh air to organize what few thoughts she had left. She had to protect her heart and though she’d looked forward to seeing them at the fair, Sarina now realized how foolish that had been.
A piercing scream among the din of fair noise startled her from her thoughts.
Beside her, she felt each man; they didn’t touch her, but stayed close by her side. She looked up and down the street, trying to discern the origin of the scream. Was it part of the masquerade? A play in the center of the street? She smiled at that and took a step forward, away from the small table and the two men next to her. Nothing the Duke of Halstow did surprised her.
“Is some theatric happening?” Sarina was grateful for the distraction, for the momentary respite from this conversation.
Before she could spot what caused the scream, before she could even ask, she felt their hands pulling her. Confused, Sarina looked up at Liam for a moment and then turned back to the village, curious as to what Liam saw.
When she caught the sight, she froze.
Enormous tendrils of flames roared on either side of the street. What was she seeing?
Fire jumped onto a stall and consumed it instantly in a column of red-hot wood. The golden flames leaped from wagon to cart and licked up the sides of every shop and building she saw. It was swift, like an animal pouncing on its prey, a dance of mesmerizing display as it turned everything it touched to black ash. Ash that covered in a sickening display over white snow.
Screams rose from behind the flames and Sarina stared, unable to move at the horrific image before her.
Hands gripped her and yanked her away. Sarina stumbled and tugged away from the men, desperate to find her family, heat flaming her cheeks, scorching her.
“My cousins!” she screamed. “I must find them!”
Prescott and Liam caught her, pulled her back, away from the fire even now dancing closer. The fire raced through the town with all the speed of the wind. Her eyes followed the flame as it wound around the wine stall. Bottles burst and spilled onto the frozen Thames from the heat and flames. The liquid led the fire to the wooden tables and chairs near them.
“Henrietta! Maryanne!” she shrieked over the terror gripping the village. Panicked, agonizing screams for help burned through her as surely as the fire did to those poor souls.
“We cannot get to them from here. We must move!” Liam shouted and all but picked her up. Prescott flanked her other side, moving them all away.
Sarina tried to struggle, tried to find her cousins, but they kept running, pulling her further up the snowy hills behind the buildings and away from the consuming flames. She struggled against Liam’s arm, tight around her middle. Icy tendrils of fear slid through her veins. Frantic, she looked for her cousins, the white of Maryanne’s gown, the green of Henrietta’s.
All she saw was the thick smoke above the flames. Strangers running through the
village.
“This way!” Prescott yelled, his voice hard and commanding, as he signaled for those struggling by the Thames to follow.
She stumbled next to him, desperate to find her family, but unable to ignore the primal pounding of survival.
Finally they reached a clear vantage point on one of the hills. Sarina moved away from Liam and Prescott toward the descending curve of the hill just behind one of the burning buildings. As she stood up there, she saw the village in full; the heat of the flames reached up and almost touched them. Prescott took hold of her waist as Liam came up on her other side.
“It’s like hell,” Sarina muttered.
“You don’t need to see this,” Prescott stated. Liam’s hand clenched on her elbow, but she shook her head.
“I need to find them.” Sarina’s eyes darted along the throng of people crowding outside the inn, moving toward the carriage house.
There were several people who broke through the crowd and ran away from the fires up the cobblestoned streets. Others pulled on the large carriage house doors or ran inside buildings not yet engulfed.
She saw the long red cloak of a woman at the back of the throng. The woman screamed in terror and struggled to untie the cloak. She closed her eyes against the image but quickly reopened them to see the woman drop the burning material into the snow before continuing to run away.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Sarina continued to search for her cousins. Her eyes jumped from one unfamiliar costume to another, desperation squeezing her heart. She took a step to the side, frantic for a better view, for a glimpse of her family.
Prescott held her firm. “Sarina,” he started.
Sarina ignored him and continued her search. She placed her hand on his chest and gasped. “There! That’s them! Oh God, that’s them.”
They moved for their carriage; Sarina saw the line of prancing horses and screaming drivers as everyone tried to race from the flames. Over the impossible screech of fire, the cacophony of wails and smoke that moved with the wind, thick and black then wispy and gray, Sarina saw Henrietta and Maryanne, and their husbands. The small group had moved to the rear of the carriage house, not with the mass of people blocking the front doors.
Lady's Temptations: A Winter's Regency Menage Page 2