A Passionate Performance

by Eileen Putman

  “Your sister freely accepted the conditions of her employment,” Justin said gently, not without sympathy for the boy. “Earlier she was in the company of my aunt and her companion. There was nothing improper about her visit. In London, she was but playing the role she had agreed to perform. No wrong was done to her.”

  “Lord Linton is correct, William.”

  William’s face turned scarlet as he saw his sister standing in the doorway.

  “Do not play the avenging brother, William,” she said. “If there is damage to my reputation, it is my doing for taking to the stage in the first place. You must not hold Lord Linton responsible.”

  “I hold myself responsible,” William said morosely. “I should never have gone away to school and forced you to sell yourself on the stage.”

  “I did not ‘sell’ myself,” Sarah said in exasperation. “What an unflattering notion you have of my character.”

  William’s expression was fierce. “I have the highest estimation of your character,” he declared.

  Then he rounded on Justin. “My sister is an honorable woman, Lord Linton. I would command you never to forget that fact.”

  Touched by the youth’s passionate defense, Justin nodded somberly. “Miss Armistead has my deepest respect.”

  His words seemed to satisfy William, who flung one last fulminating look in his direction and quickly left the room, apparently satisfied that a man on his sickbed was scarcely able to further compromise his sister.

  Sarah stared at Justin in disbelief. “’Deepest respect’? You might have reassured him without telling a bold-faced lie.”

  Justin shook his head. Truth and lies had somehow gotten all mixed up in his mind, for despite all that Sarah was, despite all that he surmised of her past, it stunned him to realize that he had told no more than the truth — she did, in fact, have his respect.

  She had courage, spunk, and compassion, and whether or not she had meant to shoot him, she had not consigned him to the devil but had stayed to nurse him back to health. Most women in her position would have long since vanished, but Sarah had remained to face him and the consequences of her actions. He should despise her for putting a bullet in him, for not following his script, but strangely, his feelings bore no resemblance to hatred.

  There was, he realized, no one he respected more.

  ***

  “I am not an invalid,” he growled. “A ball in the shoulder does not render one incapable of managing the simple task of taking tea.”

  Sarah watched silently as Lord Linton maneuvered the teacup awkwardly to his lips. He had been impossible, a sure sign that he was improving. It had been a day since he had regained his senses, and though she knew his shoulder still pained him, he was determined not to show it. When the tea sloshed onto his sleeve, he let out a curse. Sarah bit her lip to avoid smiling. His thunderous gaze met hers, and she braced herself for a sharp rebuke.

  Instead, he sighed. “I have been insufferable, I suppose.”

  She nodded.

  “It is galling to lie here weak as a babe. I cannot even manage a cup of tea.”

  “Weakness is to be expected,” she replied. “You were six days without food.”

  “And it is seven days past Lady Hogarth’s ball,” came his rejoinder. He struggled to position himself more upright. “The time to confront Lady Greywood is slipping through my fingers. I ought to leave for London tomorrow.”

  Sarah studied her teacup. “You still mean to proceed with your plan? I hoped your injury might have changed your thinking.”

  He made no immediate reply.

  “You very nearly lost your life, my lord,” she said. “Does it not seem wrong to pursue the ruination of a woman who has probably paid for her sins many times over?”

  Scowling, Lord Linton studied her. “Did you shoot me so that I would reconsider my scheme, madam?”

  “No, of course not,” Sarah replied. “It is true that I wished to abandon the plan, my lord, but I did not intend to — ”

  “Why do you never call me Justin?” he interrupted irritably. “It is my given name.”

  Sarah blinked. “You have never given me leave.”

  “Nonsense.” He took a deep breath, and the scowl disappeared. “You gave me leave to use your given name some time ago.”

  “Yes,” she said, “but —”

  “Does it not seem unjust,” he added softly, “that you deny me the privilege of hearing my name on your lips?” His eyes held a searching alertness as he watched her.

  Years of habit caused Sarah to recoil at the honeyed phrases that were the tools of theater Lotharios — and practiced rakes. But this was different. He was different, somehow.

  “What are you about, my lord?” she demanded suspiciously.

  His wistful smile nearly took her breath away. “I do not know,” he acknowledged. “But you are correct about one thing.”

  “What is that?”

  “Being wounded does seem to have altered my mind,” he said in a bemused tone. “I seem to have traveled a great distance from Lady Hogarth’s ballroom.”

  “From London to Lintonwood cannot be above thirty miles.”

  He shook his head. “It feels like ten thousand.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Young Lord Armistead had a wretched sense of duty, Justin thought glumly. Cook’s picnic luncheon included ample food for three, but Justin had hoped that William would find it more entertaining to remain behind and prevail upon Anh to pull out his divining rods. The desire to protect his sister’s honor proved the stronger call, however, which is why the three of them were sitting so cozily on a flannel-topped horsehair blanket this fine afternoon.

  With William shadowing them like a watchful puppy, finding a moment alone with Sarah had proven nearly impossible — to Justin’s great frustration, for nothing preoccupied him more these days.

  He had misjudged Sarah’s character, that much was painfully clear. What else had he been wrong about? He yearned to find out, but not in William’s presence.

  “I have been poring over some of the magic books in your library, Lord Linton,” the youth said, making an earnest attempt at conversation despite his host’s glowering countenance. “They are exceedingly fascinating.”

  Justin toyed with a colorful rock that had caught his eye next to the blanket they had placed at the meadow’s edge.

  Sarah smiled. “They are indeed, William. I thought at first Lord Linton must be some sort of sorcerer, so filled were his shelves with mysterious lore and strange spells.”

  “Have you ever tried any of the spells, sir?” William asked.

  Justin rubbed his aching shoulder, still covered by a deuced uncomfortable bandage under his shirt. The only spell he wished to try at the moment was one to make an interfering young chaperon disappear.

  That thought gave him a sudden idea. Carefully, he pocketed the small rock.

  “I have had some success with Mr. Magnus’s invisibility charm,” he said idly.

  William’s eyes grew wide. “Invisibility? Surely that is a lot of poppycock.” He schooled his voice to a worldly tone. “I know of nothing that would make a man disappear.”

  Justin pulled the rock from his pocket. “Ophethalminus,” he said gravely.

  William stared at the stone.

  “When wrapped in bay leaves,” Justin explained with the air of one disclosing a carefully guarded secret, “it is widely rumored to possess the qualities to make someone invisible. Constantinus, the Roman emperor, swore by its powers.”

  “Truly?” William asked dubiously, in awe despite himself.

  Justin hid a smile of satisfaction. The youth was too old for fairy tales, but still enough of a lad to be captivated by a bit of magic. Some of us, he thought ruefully, never outgrow that.

  “So I understand,” Justin said in a casual tone. “Do you wish to try it?” He handed William the stone. “There is a cove of bay trees just beyond the second turn in the stream.”

  William held t
he rock as if it were a rare treasure. “I suppose it is a silly notion. Still...” His voice trailed off, and he looked somewhat abashed.

  “You need feel no embarrassment,” Justin said smoothly. “One never knows how things will turn out. Experimentation is the tool of great minds.”

  “Beyond the second turn, you say?”

  Justin nodded, and in the next moment he was alone on the blanket with Sarah. He tried not to stare at her, but in that he failed utterly. Indeed, his eyes would not look elsewhere.

  She wore a sprigged muslin frock that seemed perfectly at home on a picnic blanket. Most ladies of his acquaintance would cavil at sitting on the ground, even ground covered by a blanket, but she appeared to give it no thought whatsoever.

  “That was poorly done, my lord.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

  “William needs to spend more time in his own company,” he said.

  “He has decided that his duty is to protect me, and he takes it very seriously.” Sarah sighed. “Poor William. It is harsh to have to grow up so soon.”

  “Sometimes events force responsibilities on us. William is not too young to handle them. You must let him be the man he is becoming.”

  She studied him. “You were young when your father was killed. That must have been very hard.”

  “Hard enough.” Justin made a dismissive gesture. “I do not wish to discuss it.”

  Damnation. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. But she did not seem offended, only tilted her head slightly, as if in puzzlement. He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “I would like to ask you something.”

  “Yes?” Her voice sound rich and soft, almost like velvet.

  Justin shifted awkwardly on the blanket, suddenly feeling like the merest youth himself. “I wish that we might be better, er, acquaintances.”

  She looked puzzled. “I do not understand.”

  “Friends,” he bit out. “Perhaps we might be friends.”

  She frowned. “Are we not already friends, my lord? If not true friends, then certainly we are well-acquainted with one another — ”

  “Is my given name repulsive to you?” he demanded as a wave of impatience gripped him. “Can you not say it?”

  She flushed. “Justin, then, if you insist.”

  Never had his name sounded so pleasing to his ears. Justin knew he would have to hear it a few thousand times before he could decide what about her saying it made it so special. But that was for later. William would be back at any moment — doubtless as visible as before.

  The wound had indeed addled his wits, he reflected, but befuddlement was a rather pleasurable state that seemed to generate a desperate need to look into those green eyes and touch the woman who possessed them.

  Justin reached for her hand. But he fumbled the effort — leaned over too far and would have lost his balance had he not braced himself at the last moment, which made his shoulder hurt like the devil and left her hand utterly untouched. He stifled a grimace, and felt like a clumsy oaf.

  She eyed him curiously, then looked away.

  Damnation. What was wrong with him?

  “I do not suppose I could persuade you to find me the heart of a turtle bird and encase it in a wolf’s skin,” Justin muttered darkly.

  Sarah laughed, and he marveled at the musical sound. “Is that for another of Mr. Magnus’s spells?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “And what is this cure for?”

  Desire. Obsession — obsessive desire, he mentally corrected. Was that the illness that afflicted him? Good God.

  “It is to help one’s concentration,” he lied.

  “I do not believe I need help concentrating,” she said with a smile. “But perhaps I misunderstand. Which of us do you intend to benefit by such a spell?”

  What a ridiculous conversation, Justin thought darkly. He was making a mull of it. Hell and damnation.

  This time, when he reached for her, he did not fumble. His hand closed firmly over hers, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. She flushed, but did not draw away.

  A thrill rippled through him, as if he had never touched a woman before, as if he were but a green youth. Amazed, he stared at her. This small physical connection with her was riveting, exhilarating. And yet, not enough. Not nearly enough.

  Justin felt like a man about to jump off a cliff blindfolded. He did not want to frighten her. For a purported rake, he felt woefully at sea.

  “I am the one in need of help,” he murmured. “But not from Magnus.”

  Closing the space between them, he brought their lips together. Her mouth opened slightly in surprise.

  He was scarcely less surprised. For this kiss was very different from the others. Ages had come and gone since his passions had run amok upon the occasion of that first kiss in his library. Eternity had passed since he had put himself through the torture of those spurious kisses for the benefit of the servants in Brook Street. A lifetime had fled since he had too briefly lain with her in that florid bedchamber.

  His shoulder ached from the effort of supporting his weight on one arm as he kissed her. No matter. Her lips, her smile, her eyes — they had called him from the precarious precipice on which he had been perched for most of his adult life. She had summoned him from the void in which his soul had lost its way.

  Sarah.

  Like the sun banishing night’s chill, she was a ray of sunlight in the shadows of his heart.

  Like delicate buds, her lips blossomed under his. He tried to bring her closer and was rewarded when her pliant body pressed against his chest. He felt the pounding of her heart, the answering echo of his own.

  Dare he hope that she, too, sensed this inexorable force pulling them into a place he had never dreamed existed? A place that none of his travels in Asia or congress with the mystical and mysterious had shown him?

  Sarah was the most exotic mystery of all. Justin wanted to discover all of her secrets. He wrapped her tightly in his arms, though his shoulder rebelled mightily.

  “Justin,” she murmured against his mouth.

  Again, that magical thrill at hearing his name on her lips. He stroked the back of her neck and ran his hands through the silky mass of her hair. His shoulder protested. He ignored it, but couldn’t stifle a shudder of pain.

  Suddenly, she pulled away. “You will do more harm to your shoulder.” Her eyes filled with concern.

  “Say you will be mine,” he growled. “Say it, Sarah.”

  Her eyes widened. They were soft like velvet, he thought. Sparkling like emeralds. Jewels without price. Rare, like —

  “Lord Linton?” called a voice. “I cannot get the hang of it. I found the trees and wrapped the stone in bay leaves, but nothing happened.”

  With supreme effort, Justin turned. “Perhaps,” he said in a pained tone, “I forgot to provide you with the magic chant.”

  “Is it in Mr. Magnus’s book?” William asked, charging into the clearing.

  At that moment, Justin’s ill-used shoulder finally gave way, and he toppled backward onto the blanket. Sarah gasped. In an instant, William was there.

  “Here you go, old man,” William said, putting an arm around Justin and pulling him upright, careful to avoid further pressure on his shoulder.

  The pain under Justin’s bandage was agonizing. Doubtless he had opened the wound anew. The worse injury was to his pride, however. It was damned lowering to depend on a barely fledged lad for one’s equilibrium.

  “Thank you,” Justin said, trying to keep resentment from his voice.

  “My fault,” William said gallantly. “I should never have left you alone.”

  Justin sighed. “Apparently not.”

  ***

  Across the dining room table, Sarah found herself staring at Justin in wonder. This afternoon, during their picnic, she had glimpsed — what? Almost, she would have said, a future. For the two of them.

  There was a new vulnerability in his eyes that made her heart turn somersaults. She did
not delude herself into thinking that Justin loved her. Yet his injury had softened him, somehow, and given her hope that he would yet reject the bleakness in his soul.

  For the first time, Sarah wondered whether her fate might truly be entwined with his — not just for the purpose of his plan, but perhaps... beyond. The possibility was frightening. Thrilling. Like stepping onstage for the first time.

  A clamoring from elsewhere in the house shook her from her reverie. Anh suddenly appeared in the dining room and said something in low tones to Justin, then quickly left the room. Soon they heard a loud voice in the foyer. Justin rose and moved toward the commotion.

  Sarah followed, but pulled up short as she saw the figure of sartorial elegance in a parrot yellow waistcoat studying Anh disdainfully through a quizzing glass.

  “I expect you can do better, man, than to leave me standing here these many minutes,” he drawled, his mouth scarcely visible over the excessive high folds of his cravat. His excessively high hat was adorned with one supremely striking ostrich feather.

  Anh bowed. “My apologies, Mr. Trent.”

  “‘Viscount Linton,’ if you please,” Harry said haughtily. “I am your new master, and you had best be quicker off the mark if you wish your employment to continue.”

  The butler merely eyed him impassively.

  “I think you will find that Anh prefers to move at his own pace,” Justin offered.

  Harry whirled. “Justin!” he gasped in astonishment. “But — you are supposed to be dead!”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” Justin’s gaze narrowed. “Not to mention your tailor. I see you have already commissioned a new wardrobe based on your anticipated wealth.”

  Harry blinked rapidly, as if to assure himself that the sudden appearance of his cousin was but an illusion. “I do not understand.” Then he spotted Sarah, and his face broke into an expression of relief.

  “Sarah! I have searched everywhere for you! Now that I have come into the title, Aunt Agatha has summoned me to Cheshire. Naturally, she wishes to see my ‘wife’ again, so I, ah, thought you might consider...” He broke off. “I suppose that will not be necessary now that Justin is still with us.”