Caro’s eyes widened at the double entendre though she stammered, obligingly, “Perhaps, Miss, you would regale the company with Over Yonder Mountain?”
Sarah affected a show of false modesty. “Oh, but you will think my singing very poor after what you have already heard this evening.” With a dazzling smile she took a deep breath so that the swell of her breasts could not fail to be admired above the line of her low cut evening dress. “However, if you insist.” Sarah sank gracefully onto the piano stool and began to sing in tune to the emotional music.
Everything this evening had been play acting. But this, her singing, was real, and her voice was exquisite. She knew men found her attractive, but the many sincere compliments she’d received on her voice were even more gratifying. She adored music. Until now, she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it in this sad, songless house.
Soon Caro, who Sarah knew worked hard to maintain a cynical exterior, was dashing tears away.
The strains of the last chord drifted into nothing but Caro did not applaud; just stared at her governess with wonder while Sarah was filled with a sudden sadness for the home she had left behind, and the lovable, tyrannical father who would probably be out of his mind with grief.
Footsteps sounded from beyond the open French doors that led onto the terrace behind her. Alarmed, Sarah half turned, then rose and stepped out from behind the piano stool.
The footsteps stopped. There was silence. Mr Hawthorne stood on the threshold to the garden, his face blanched by moonlight. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
Sarah’s hand went to her breast, as if to still her thundering heart. Her mouth went dry.
Passionless? Had she once thought this man passionless?
The seconds became an agony of eternity as she waited for him to come to her. She watched the play of emotions roil in the tortured depths of his dark grey eyes. She thought he looked like a man who’d found Nirvana and would risk his life to cross the crocodile-infested raging torrent to lay claim to it.
In three strides he’d closed the distance between them. Then she was in his embrace. Thrown backwards over his arm, helpless and not wanting to be anything else, his mouth came down, swiftly and all-consumingly, upon hers.
She did not struggle. Objection was the last thing on her mind.
Breathing in his familiar smell of sandalwood and leather, she twined her hands behind his neck. She could feel the pounding of his heart beneath his waistcoat of watered silk, his hard chest pressed against her breasts.
It was not a gentle kiss; rather the kiss of a man who fears his chance may not come again and wants to plunder what he can before all is taken away.
Sarah did not need gentleness. With her mind in thrall to her body she surrendered herself wholeheartedly. The redoubling of his passion signalled he’d registered her enthusiasm.
Clearly, he hadn’t registered her true identity.
Sarah wilted with want, bent to his will, consumed by a primal determination to take everything this fascinating man could give her before he realized his mistake.
She’d had many admirers but as a young, unmarried woman she’d been kissed by only one man: her fiancé. This was infinitely more exciting.
She arched her back to achieve a more snug fit, and he responded, skimming his hand the length of her body from cheek to thigh while his other arm bore the full weight of her.
Waves of desire hit her with increasing force, coursed hotly through her veins, and pooled in her lower belly.
She gasped with disappointment when his mouth left hers. Compensation was swift as he thrilled her body with a feathered line of kisses down her throat. He trailed them over her collar bones, tracing the contours of her cleavage before returning once more to plunder her mouth.
She never wanted him to stop. Arching deeper against him, she raked her hands through his hair.
Then Caro screamed.
Chapter Six
SARAH STUMBLED AS she was released, abruptly. Dear Lord, how could they have forgotten the girl? Endeavouring to master her breathing, she stared across the chasm that separated her from Mr Hawthorne. His expression was inscrutable. He ignored his daughter who whimpered from the settee and Sarah wilted inside as she saw the passion drain from his face.
At Caro’s second scream, shock reflected like a flame, quickly extinguished, in his dark eyes. Instead of going to her, he turned on his heel, the doors clicking shut behind him as he disappeared into the moonlit darkness.
“What has father done?” cried Caro, throwing herself at Sarah.
Sarah stumbled backwards and sank upon the piano stool while Caro slid from her shoulder to weep at her feet.
“So wicked! Terrible! Mother’s spirit must’ve been in that dress and bewitched him. Poor Miss Morecroft!” Her muffled voice came in choking gasps.
Still dazed, Sarah realised the need to make Roland appear blameless in his daughter’s eyes.
“Perfectly understandable,” she said with a briskness she was far from feeling. “I had no right to deceive him like that.”
She patted Caro’s head, then, seeing the concern still in the girl’s raised eyes, reassured her, “Have no fears on my account. I didn’t find it horrible.”
“Roland!” Cecily’s voice drifted, disembodied, from the depths of the house.
Roland gripped the door handle of the library to steady himself, closed his eyes to ward off the memory of what had just happened, and waited for Cecily.
“Roland, there you are. Have you seen Caro? Ellen says she’s not in bed yet. I was just about to retire when I thought I heard her scream!”
Cecily stood at the top of the stairs. The pins and hair pads had been removed and her hair hung lankly and unflatteringly down the sides of her anxious, drawn face.
“I saw her just now.”
Turning his back on her, Roland slipped into the library and closed the door firmly behind him. His first priority was to pour himself a fortifying brandy. It was easier said than done. He was shaking so badly he had to steady himself against the mantelpiece as he removed the glass stopper.
Closing his eyes, he took a long swallow of the amber liquid, hoping to burn away all traces of Miss Morecroft’s kisses. Kisses, which lingered like rose petals upon his lips.
* * *
Sarah was still trembling as she sat on the edge of her bed and peeled off her stockings. Ellen had unbuttoned the tiny row of pearl buttons at the back of her dress, but now she was alone.
Haunted by the look in her employer’s eye as he’d stood in a shaft of moonlight and gazed at her, believing her to be his dead wife come to life.
She touched her lips. They still burned. The hunger in his eyes was branded on her mind. No one had ever looked at her with such longing and ardour.
She didn’t know what to make of him. Nor did she know what to make of her own tumultuous heart. Would she feel the same if just anyone kissed her?
She feared not.
Drawing in a ragged breath, she contemplated the difficulties. Mr Hawthorne had kissed her while conjuring up his dead wife. A great deal of delicacy would be required on her part to counter his mortification upon seeing her again.
And if that that was how Venetia had been revered by her husband, Sarah had her work cut out to compete. For compete she must. The feelings he’d whipped up could not be discarded lightly.
She blew out her candle and climbed into bed.
It would be a long night.
“Dancing!” Caro blanched. “I already know how to dance.”
Sarah cocked her eyebrow. “But not to waltz. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a debutante who doesn’t waltz in this day and age. Excuses like that are the preserve of dried-out spinsters, like me.” Sarah held out her hand to Caro. “Come, Lady Charlotte has brought her three nieces to visit. They’re in the drawing room and anxious to meet you.”
Reluctantly, Caro followed Sarah downstairs.
Sarah entered the room with a smile. “Lady Cha
rlotte, this is just what Caro needs: company, and a spur to learning her dance steps. We are short of gentlemen, however my Mama used to employ a broomstick on occasion when teaching us, and I’m sure there is very little difference.”
Lady Charlotte waved an imperious hand from her seat by the fire. “This is young Georgiana and her older sister Philly who will be coming out with Caro next year. I have the dubious pleasure of playing duenna to the young ladies while their mother is indisposed. It hasn’t taken me long to discover that young ladies need a great deal of amusement.” She looked as if she were already fatigued by her duties.
“My, and don’t I know it,” exclaimed Cecily, catching her last words as she entered the room. “Certainly, useful recreation is to be recommended, and dancing, while some might reckon it distinctly un-useful, is an indispensible accomplishment.” She directed a pointed look at Caro as she seated herself upon the piano stool. “I shall accompany but first we must find Cosmo. Yes! And Mr Hawthorne too for it is intolerable to have no gentlemen with whom to practice when there are two perfectly able-bodied ones in this very house. Mabel,” she said to the parlour maid who had just answered her summons, “fetch Master Cosmo and Mr Hawthorne. Tell them to present themselves in the drawing room at their earliest convenience. Also, find Dorrington to arrange for their dancing shoes to be brought down.”
Mention of Mr Hawthorne made Sarah’s heartbeat do a little dance while heat rose in her cheeks. She pushed Caro into the centre of the room.
“What a treat to have an impromptu dancing lesson, Miss Hawthorne,” said Philly, dimpling as she smoothed her sprigged muslin skirts over her ample hips. Her round, ruddy face was flushed with pleasure. “Aunt Charlotte is sponsoring me for the season, you know. She says you’re not fond of dancing, but surely it is an accomplishment a girl cannot do without.”
“That and never revealing when she feels at a disadvantage,” came Lady Charlotte’s stentorian tones.
Well, no one was going to know the extent to which the governess felt at a disadvantage, thought Sarah, as the door opened and Mr Hawthorne strode into the room.
It was immediately clear that Mabel had not elaborated on the nature of the summons for it was Mr Hawthorne who looked at a complete disadvantage, greeted as he was by a room full of expectant ladies and his sister-in-law jumping up from the piano stool saying, “How very good of you to come so quickly, Mr Hawthorne. The young ladies are eager to be put through their paces. We are having a dancing lesson, don’t you know.”
Sarah felt a wave of sympathy as his dancing shoes were thrust in front of him.
“I fear, Cecily,” he said, looking pained and studiously ignoring Sarah, “that I am not going to satisfy your demands for excellence. Surely the young ladies have been doing country dances since they could walk?”
“Oh, not country dances, Roland. No, we mean to perfect the waltz.”
His eyes widened, but Sarah was able to say, soothingly, “Here comes Cosmo. Perhaps he would prefer to take a turn with one of the young ladies.”
“A waltz.” Cosmo beamed at the unexpected but obviously welcome sight of such a large female contingent. “Why, I should love to render my assistance. Who shall go first? I should hate to set the cat amongst the pigeons by favouring one pretty girl above the other.”
Clearly gratified by their blushes and giggles, Cosmo glanced up as he changed his shoes. “Miss Morecroft, I daresay waltzing does not fall within the curriculum of most governesses, but since you are a breed apart, is it too much to wonder if you felt up to partnering me?”
“With pleasure.” Sarah felt no embarrassment as she stepped forward and placed one hand upon his shoulder while he clasped the other and rested his hand upon the small of her back.
“Ready?” asked Mrs Hawthorne, and began to play.
However Cosmo proved no very great proponent of the dance and was soon relegated to the sidelines by his critical aunt.
“You’re all over the place, Cosmo, and half the time upon poor Miss Morecroft’s foot. Roland, you’re an excellent dancer. Step up and take his place.”
Sarah turned, smiling slightly, in time to see Mr Hawthorne’s dismay, quickly masked by a look of cool indifference.
But while her own heart was being exercised somewhat more than usual, and not just by the energy required in twirling around a room, she managed, to her surprise, a smile that was not at all tremulous.
“Shall we show the young ladies how it’s done, sir?” she said clearly and for the benefit of all, smiling over her shoulder at Caro, for she wanted to reassure the girl she did not consider herself in the evil clutches of some shameless villain.
He could not look at her. “Yes, of course.” Fortunately, his dancing was not as stilted as his manner. Roland was, as Mrs Hawthorne claimed, an excellent dancer. Sarah felt herself perfectly matched, light on her feet and expertly led as they twirled around the room.
She adored dancing, and it had been a long time. Trapped in his arms, feeling the heat of his body and moving in time to the music was joy to her senses but after a few moments, she acknowledged Mr Hawthorne’s grim expression. Clearly, he had not lost himself in the dance as she had. Her pleasure drained away. Pique turned to indignation. She pushed it back down, murmuring, when they were in the farthest corner of the drawing room, “I fear you are angry with me, sir.”
He jerked his head up to look her in the eye for the first time. “Angry with you? Obviously Caro put you up to it. The charade, I mean. Giving you Venetia’s dress to wear. No, my behaviour last night was reprehensible.”
“I’m afraid it was entirely my idea. But if you’re not angry with me, perhaps you could look a little less like you are-?” Sarah paused as he raised her a little off the ground to compensate for dancing her too close to a potted palm. He was not just adept on his feet. It was a relief to surrender herself to his skill on the dance floor knowing she could say anything, it appeared, without risk of being tripped up over the rug. His scowl was unsettling but it was his nature and Sarah was determined to reduce the frequency of such signs of unhappiness. When the time was right. For now, his obvious discomfiture gave her the advantage. “At least for the benefit of the others. And for my reputation,” she suggested, mildly.
“Forgive me. My manners have deserted me. I’d also understand completely, Miss Morecroft, if you wished to give notice and leave Larchfield directly.”
“My notice?” Sarah gasped. Such a thought could not have been further from her thoughts.
His eyes narrowed as if he suspected the turmoil in her heart. “It would be entirely appropriate for you to wish to hand in your notice,” he said, carefully, as he set their course for their audience. “As your employer I have behaved unacceptably.”
Without giving her a chance to reply he deposited her amidst the others. “And that, Caro, is how your mother and I used to dance when the waltz was still considered quite daring.” He smiled at her. “I am sadly rusty, but Miss Morecroft has shown how it can be performed with skill and elegance. Come Caro,” he invited. “It would be kinder to all if you tread first upon your father’s feet before you are let loose to injure other innocent parties.”
Sarah’s thoughts were in such disorder it was a relief to have half an hour to herself before putting the children to bed. Snatching her shawl from the hook on her bedroom door she made for the ornamental lake.
Would Mr Hawthorne really let her go so easily when she knew he reciprocated her feelings? Dismay replaced her confidence as she wondered if he considered she were the one to have exhibited a certain laxness by not pulling out of his embrace earlier. Surely not? He’d made it clear he regarded himself entirely at fault. He’d also made it clear, whether he later chose to refute it or not, that he found her entirely irresistible.
Yet he’d offered to let her go, as if he cared neither way.
She would not go. She’d been at Larchfield nearly three weeks but her task was not finished. Caro’s birthday was coming up and Sarah nee
ded to see her through it. After that it would be time to leave. But she’d return …
And she’d return as Lady Sarah Miles, Mr Hawthorne’s equal, with a thoroughly convincing reason for having done what she’d done.
“Miss Morecroft.”
She turned, her heart lurching at the familiar voice.
Burnished by the setting sun, Mr Hawthorne looked like a mythical creature emerged from the waters of the lake. But though Sarah managed a smile of polite enquiry, he exhibited no answering pleasure.
“My apologies for my behaviour in the drawing room this morning,” he began. He ran one finger inside his cravat, as if it were tied too tightly. “It was unpardonable that the apology should have been prompted by you when I had every intention of offering my sincerest regrets, in person.”
“I had no right to wear your wife’s dress,” said Sarah, lightly, trying to make it easier for him.
“You must not think that I-”
“Oh, it has occasioned no alarm or dread on my part, sir.” Sarah wished his brooding look really did inspire the pique she now strove for, rather than making her want to kiss and stroke the lines of strain away from his face. She went on in the same unconcerned tone, “For I cannot for one moment think that it was desire for a mere governess which prompted your uncharacteristic behaviour.”
Frowning, he advanced a few feet. “The ‘mere governess’ as you term yourself, should feel properly protected. Do not imagine I am in the habit of preying on the vulnerable members of my household.”
Her heart thundered but her voice was soft. “Let us walk,” she suggested, stepping onto the worn path that led towards the wood. He hesitated, then fell into step beside her.
“You are very like your father, Miss Morecroft,” he observed. “You have his fearless spirit.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Our golden youth?” His tone was ironic. “I’ll happily recount those halcyon days if you promise not to press me further, Miss Morecroft. Godby was closer to me than my own brother. But boys become young men, and life becomes complicated.”
Lady Sarah's Redemption Page 6