Another critical moment or two passed until Ethan realized that neither Dicken nor Joe were equal to the intruder’s bulk. Whoever was stalking Sadie, it was not a friend.
He slid to the edge of the roof on his stomach, caught the eave as he went over and swung outward to drop with a controlled, bone-jarring force to the cobblestones. In that fraction of a second, Sadie turned to find the source of the noise and the intruder swung a small cudgel.
Sadie crumpled to a shapeless heap. Ethan staggered to his feet, and the intruder dashed for the street with a glance over his shoulder at Ethan.
Bloody hell! Here it was—the first sign that Kilgrew had been right to worry that Whitlock needed guarding. Had Sadie not stumbled into this trap, it would be Whitlock on the cobblestones. This, then, was what he was honor bound to do. Guard Harold Whitlock. He made a mad dash to the street and caught a glance of the intruder disappearing around a corner.
Sarah became aware of the sound of liquid being poured into a glass and the rustle of cloth as someone sat nearby. Then came the realization that she was lying on something wonderfully soft and warm, and that it smelled of Ethan. Lime and expensive soap. She smiled as the picture of Ethan stole into her mind.
“Sadie?” The voice was hushed, tentative.
“Mmm,” she murmured. She stirred and her hand grazed crisp linen sheets. Bed. She was on a bed that smelled of Ethan!
Her eyes flew open and she sat up so quickly her head spun. Dim light from a fireplace flickered unnaturally bright and she winced, closing her eyes and falling back onto the pillows. The mattress beside her dipped with the weight of another person, and a cool hand smoothed the hair back from her forehead.
She sorted through what she’d seen in the scant second her eyes were open. A dark room lit by a fireplace, wood-paneled walls, masculine dark blue draperies and bed hangings, a deep chair drawn close to the bed, and…Ethan Travis.
He had looked tense, his forehead creased with anxiety. Now his hand skimmed over the crown of her head and found a spot exquisitely tender to his touch. “Thank God you turned in time. Do you have a headache?”
She had to think about that for a moment. The sudden light had hurt her eyes but, aside from the tender spot, she could not detect a headache. Cautiously she opened her eyes again. “N-no. I am a little bewildered. I…I was following Mr. Whitlock, and then I heard something—someone—behind me. The rest is a blur. I cannot recall…”
“I did not see him until it was too late to prevent it.”
She pushed herself up again. “Who was it?”
Ethan’s voice dropped to a bone-chilling cold.
“I will find out, and put an end to his interference.”
Sarah did not think he meant to reason with the man. She shivered and rubbed her arms against the imagined cold. She noted that her jacket was thrown over a chair next to the fire and her boots were standing on the hearth to dry.
She stood and stumbled to the window. It was raining still, and the sky was a dark leaden-gray. She glanced around for a clock and found one on the fireplace mantel. Quarter past five o’clock! If she did not hurry, she would meet her brothers as they returned from the night’s entertainments. When she turned back to look at Ethan, he was watching her intently.
“I waited.” His voice was more a question than a reproach.
Her heart did a quick little skip as she looked at him. In shirtsleeves, an open leather vest and dark brown trousers, he was the picture of relaxed masculinity. A shock of chestnut hair fell over his forehead and dark stubble shadowed his cheeks. He was, in that moment, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. And he wanted to know why she had not met him at St. Paul’s. What could she say? That she was afraid she would fall into his arms? That following Harold Whitlock had become less of a threat than the danger of her nights with him? “I was late. I assumed you would have gone on without me, Mr. Travis.”
“Mr. Travis? Are we back to that?” he asked, his voice heavy with angry sarcasm. He stood and poured a glass of wine.
“No,” she said, refusing the glass. “I must go now. I—”
“Do not lie to me, Miss Hunt. I have known you long enough to know that your nights are your own.”
“The night is gone. ’Tis morning.”
He lifted her hand and wrapped it around the glass of wine. “You are not steady, and it is still raining.”
In truth, her knees were a little wobbly. She took the glass and knelt by the hearth. “I do not mean to seem ungrateful, Mr. Travis, but I am feeling somewhat awkward at the moment. I have never been in a man’s bedchamber before.”
“Only rented rooms and whatever private spots are convenient at the moment? Alleys? Stables? Back rooms?”
Sarah turned to face him, momentarily stunned by his bald accusation. Dear Lord! She’d forgotten her guise and nearly given herself away! “Yes,” she covered. “I…I am not the sort of girl one takes home, am I?”
The anger seemed to drain out of him. “And yet here you are,” he said, coming toward her.
“Y-yes. Here I am.”
“In my home.”
His home. The thought unsettled her when she realized she must be in his bedchamber. “I shall try to behave myself,” she said, taking a nervous swallow of her wine. A small droplet clung to her lower lip.
He knelt beside her and smiled. “Allow me to assist you.” Leaning forward, he kissed her, paying extraordinary attention to the little droplet. “I swear ’tis sweeter from your lips than from any decanter, Miss Hunt,” he murmured.
She could not catch the little moan that escaped her, and when he pressed her back on the deep rug she did not have the will to resist. He cupped the back of her head in his palm to cushion her bump, exquisitely gentle as always.
“Will you yield?” he asked, trailing kisses from a point behind her ear to the hollow of her throat.
Would she yield? Oh, how sweet the thought! But she could not. Dawn was within a heartbeat. She had to go. To her horror, she realized that she did not even know how far she was from Hunter Hall! “I…I must go,” she insisted again, pressing halfheartedly against his chest.
“Not yet, Sadie,” he whispered tantalizingly in her ear.
The unshaven stubble of his beard abraded her cheek. Oh, what a dark and murky heart she had, obscuring both reason and good sense, leaving only desire in its wake. She wanted to stay. She wanted to yield as she’d done the night before. God help her, she wanted…him!
“I want—” she began. But she could not say it. She was too afraid of what those words would bring. She could not change the pattern of her life on nothing more substantial than the sound of Ethan’s voice or the promise of unknown pleasure.
He must have sensed her hesitation because he began to tell her what he wanted. “I want you naked in my bed, your arms out to welcome me.” He nibbled one earlobe. “I want you writhing in ecstasy beneath me. I want to hear your soft voice calling my name, begging for more.” His voice, a hot whisper, vibrated along her nerves and awakened the same sweet ache in her middle that she’d felt last night. “I want to be deep inside you, feeling you close around me, quivering with the sweetness of your release.” One hand traced a light, teasing line across her breast and her nipple firmed in response.
Sudden panic set in. Fear that had nothing to do with reason brought her upright, tugging the gap of her shirt closed. “No! No, I cannot. I must go. It will be light soon.”
He sat up and watched her put her clothing to rights. “I wish to God I knew what terror dawn holds for you, Sadie. Stay. Be my mistress. If you will not, then be my cook or my housekeeper. I will keep you safe from whatever threatens you. I care about you, little Miss Hunt.”
Fighting tears, she staggered to her feet. Why was she so afraid? Ethan would not hurt her. Not deliberately. She was as certain of that as she was that the sun would rise, but her fears controlled her, not reason. Those fears were her dearest allies now, more comfortable and safe than the unknown risk of lo
ving. “I…I cannot explain, Ethan. I simply cannot.”
He stood and went to the window as if searching for the intrusive dawn. Her sense of loss was overwhelming, and she was nearly sobbing by the time she pulled her boots on and shrugged into the woolen jacket.
“Ethan,” she began.
“No explanations necessary, Sadie,” he said, turning to her, his face a calm mask and an air of firm resolve surrounding him like a cloak.
There was nothing she could say—no way to make up to him for her inability to overcome her own fears, her own inadequacy. The least she could do was set his mind at ease on one point. “It is not you, Ethan,” she said before slipping through his bedroom door.
From his vantage behind the carriage house, Ethan watched Sadie climb a rose trellis rising from the garden to the full height of the four-story chimney. At the second floor, she stepped onto a ledge and inched toward an open window.
Sadie had been in such a desperate rush on her way home that she had not bothered to look over her shoulder—not that she would have seen him if she had. He had been very careful about that. Not even the slightest twinge of guilt at his tactic bothered him. He had known for some time that Sadie Hunt was not what she seemed. It simply hadn’t mattered before tonight. Now, with her between him and Whitlock, it mattered.
The sound of hooves clattering on the cobblestones as they turned off the street and proceeded down the mews propelled her through the window with barely a glance over her shoulder. The coach drew up at the carriage house behind the mansion and two men stepped out, leaving their driver to stable the horses.
He edged along the opposite side of a boxwood hedge in an effort to hear their conversation.
“Did you see that, Reggie?” the younger of the two said. “I swear I saw someone going in Sarah’s window.”
Ethan glanced back up at the window. All that remained of Sadie’s assent was a lace curtain billowing in the window.
“Absurd,” the other man said. “’Twas just that lace folderol. She always sleeps with her window open. Likes the fresh air, she says. Helps her headaches, poor dear.”
“Must she leave it open so wide? There’s a chill in the air. She’ll catch her death.”
“I shall speak to her about it, Charlie, but I do not expect our sister to change her ways. You know how delicate her health is, and we have all spoilt her rather badly.”
The younger man chortled. “I do not envy you trying to find a man she’ll wed. And I shall miss her once she’s wed and gone. She brings a certain grace and refinement to our lives that will be lacking without the presence of a woman.”
The eldest nodded. “I’ve solved the first problem, Charlie. We shall host a fete at which we shall have a little surprise for our Sarah.” The conversation grew faint as they made their way to the terrace doors.
Ethan frowned, gazing again at the second-story window with a sinking feeling. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as facts began to fall into place.
Sadie—a pet name for Sarah. Lockwood’s fondness for Sadie at the Carter soiree. Sadie’s slip of the name “Reggie.”
Sadie, then, must be Lady Sarah Hunter, the most elusive of the haute ton’s favored few. The eagerly pursued and never-caught heiress. Indeed, she was the possessor of one of the most blameless, pristine reputations in England. And only he knew that she was not all that she seemed.
What was her game? The night prowling, the courting of danger, the inexplicable appearances and disappearances? Despite her recklessness, he was certain she had a purpose. But what was that purpose, and what could possibly drive her to take such extraordinary risks?
Using him had not been too difficult a task. He’d been too willing to act the fool. The way she dressed and acted, the way she refused his offer to buy her services. It was clear now that Sadie Hunt could not be a prostitute. Not in this life or any other. Christ! Why hadn’t he seen it before? But, innocent or not, she had wanted him in that room above the Black Dog Tavern. There could be no mistake about that, at least.
He quickly squelched a flash of guilt at having handled a noble-born woman as he’d handled her. After all was said and done, she had used him. A sharp stab of betrayal ran through him, then the cynicism of experience took hold. Well, why not use him? Hadn’t Kilgrew? Hadn’t his brother?
Hadn’t Amelia?
He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed as the fragile threads of newborn hope frayed and snapped. It is not you, Ethan. Was it not, indeed? If not him, then who?
Oh, yes. It was him. And he would find a fitting way to make Lady Sarah Hunter pay.
Chapter Eleven
Sarah hurried down the wide staircase to the first floor as the tall grandfather clock struck nine times. Her brothers were rarely awake this early, but the message brought by Sylvie had sounded urgent. Reggie must see her at once.
She said a quick prayer that he and Charles had not caught sight of her diving into her bedroom window. Last night had been too close a call. She would have to make a concerted effort to be home no later than half past four in the future.
And now she had another worry. Ethan’s house was just around the corner from the Aubervilles and scarcely five blocks from Hunter Hall. When had he become a neighbor? It had to be a recent development since she had managed to avoid encountering him during the day. Or had he been near to her all along, merely in the background? The thought that he was more a part of her circle than she had suspected unsettled her.
Turning right off the foyer, she headed for the library—Reggie’s private sanctum. Her heart grew cold when another possibility occurred to her. Had one of her brothers indulged their quick tempers and got in an ill-advised duel at dawn? She could not bear to think of one of them hurt. She paused with her hand lifted to knock on the library door.
“Come in, Sarah,” Reggie called, as if he could see through doors. His voice was tired.
“Reggie, dearling,” she said as she swung the door open, “is something amiss?”
He was sitting at his desk, a sheaf of papers in front of him, and he looked as if he hadn’t yet been to bed. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. Please, please God, do not let it be one of my brothers.
“Sit down, Sadie.” Reggie gestured at a stiff little chair in front of his desk.
Sadie. He hadn’t called her that in years. Not since she was twelve and skinned her knee jumping from a swing. She perched on the edge of the chair, braced for bad news. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “Say it quickly, Reggie.”
He shrugged, dropped his pen on a stack of papers and leaned back in his chair. “I need your help with a fete.”
She blinked. “Fete? This is about a fete?”
“What else?” he asked.
She giggled with relief. “What else, indeed?”
“Father has been gone a year now, and ’tis time we began paying back our invitations. Society has been quite patient with the Hunters. I would not have them thinking us shirkers.”
“Of course not,” she agreed. “How can I help?”
“You will be my hostess,” he announced, just as if he were bestowing some great honor.
“I have little experience in that, Reggie. I only served once for Papa before he—”
“I know, sweetling, but Lady Auberville will help you once her party is over.”
Sarah recalled that the Auberville grand ball was barely five days away. The real problem was her search for Benjamin, and her social obligations. “Nica is always helpful,” she hedged, trying to organize her mind. “What sort of fete, Reggie? Shall we start small with an intimate dinner party?”
“Not a crush, m’dear, but larger than a dinner party. Perhaps a buffet? An orchestra for dancing. I should think…what, two hundred and fifty?”
“Two hundred and fifty?” She gulped. “I…suppose we could open the summerhouse in the gardens and string lanterns. That, in addition to the dining room, ballroom—”
“Yes, yes. I shall leav
e that all to you,” Reggie interrupted. “How soon can you make the arrangements?”
“A month would allow sufficient time—”
“Sooner.”
She frowned at the urgency in his voice. “How much sooner, Reggie? There are things I simply cannot rush. Arranging for an orchestra, ordering invitations, flowers, wine and food, hiring additional staff—”
Her brother’s handsome face wrinkled in disgust. “S’blood,” he murmured. “I had no idea. If we simplified, could we move the date up?”
“My goodness! You are anxious. Is there a reason? Mayhap a female reason? Are you set to court, Reggie?” she teased.
He flushed and changed the subject. “Have you thought ’pon what we discussed? You know that Cedric—”
“No,” she hedged. “And I shan’t have time if we’re to have a fete. One thing at a time, Reggie. Which is most important at the moment?”
He sat forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Our social responsibilities. I dislike owing invitations to half the ton.”
“Well then, give me a week and we shall do this up red! ’Tis short notice, but I’ve no doubt we shall draw a crowd.”
“I’m counting upon that,” Reggie murmured under his breath.
The shop bell above the door rang as Sarah let herself into Madame Marie’s exclusive dress shop. A seamstress came from a back room and dropped a little curtsy. “Good afternoon, Lady Sarah. Lady Annica is with Madame.”
Sarah followed the girl to a large fitting room. Annica was just redressing as Sarah opened the door and stepped in. “I am so glad you’ve arrived,” Annica said. “Charity and Grace are due soon, and I feared you’d miss your appointment.”
“Oui,” Madame said. “Your gown for Lady Auberville’s ball is ’anging behind the screen. ’Urry, milady, before the others arrive, eh? Shall I send for the ’elp?”
“No, Madame. I can manage,” Sarah said, tossing her reticule and bonnet aside. She disliked having strangers see her naked, nor did she want unfamiliar hands touching her. She supposed that was just one more way in which the attack, that single event, influenced her everyday decisions. It was her fear again. The bloody stupid fear that controlled her life!
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