Saving Sarah

by Gail Ranstrom

  “Thank you, dearling, but you will be too busy taking care of your husband and children. I am pleased that you would sacrifice so much for me, though.”

  “’Tis no sacrifice, Reggie.”

  His smile faded and he came around the desk to kneel by her chair and take her hand earnestly. “I’ve said it before, but it is important to me to know that you believe it. Your rowdy brothers and I love you. We have always wanted what is best for you. I am not anxious to lose you, but I know that a family of your own will complete you. Trust me in this, dearling.”

  Trust me in this…. The very words Ethan had said to her last night. And look how that had turned out.

  Well, the time had come for Reggie to know the truth. It was time to trust him. “Reggie, were you aware that, several years ago, Richard Farmingdale paid me court?”

  “Farmingdale? Faugh! The man was a villain. Had I known, Sadie, I’d have put a stop to it. Did Father know?”

  “No. You see, the rituals and manners of society were all so new to me that I did not know what to expect. I thought he might be serious, but I could not be certain, and—”

  “He broke your heart,” Reggie finished with a nod. “Which explains why you have been so reticent. My dear Sadie, your heart will heal. Farmingdale was not worthy of it, and Father would never have approved such an unworthy match in any case.”

  Sarah shook her head emphatically. “He did not break my heart, Reggie. He broke my—”

  “Here you are,” Charles said as he entered the library.

  He spotted the heap of flowers and the tin of sweets on Reggie’s desk. “Ordering flowers for the gala tomorrow? Good to see you have it under control, Sarah.” He opened the tin and removed a praline. “What time do you want us in line to receive guests?”

  Sarah looked from Charles to Reggie and back again. She could not tell them both. Not now. Not like this. She stood and headed for the door. “Eight o’clock.”

  “Sarah,” Reggie called after her. “I noted your waltz with Lord Ethan Travis last night. Please do not encourage his interest. I do not think he is the man for you.”

  She could not agree more.

  Somewhere in the distance a church bell rang twice. Ethan pulled the curtain aside and glanced out at the darkened street. Where was Sarah? She had promised to meet him tonight, but she hadn’t been at St. Paul’s and she hadn’t come here. He poured a glass of claret and took it back to his chair.

  His blood thickened as he thought of the previous night. He had struggled with his conscience before he’d made love to Sarah. He was well aware that such an action would change their lives forever—Sarah’s not for the better. But her softly voiced plea had so surprised and enchanted him that he could not have resisted even if the house had caught fire. Finally he’d made love to her because she wanted him—despite his reputation, his dishonor, his relentless taunting when he’d found out she had deceived him—she’d wanted him. Ethan Travis. Not the fops who surrounded her at galas and balls. Not idle rich gentlemen with sterling reputations like—

  Cedric Broxton. And yes, to his shame, he’d made love to her in part because he couldn’t bear the thought that Broxton was literally being “groomed” for the task. The mere thought had eaten at his vitals every second until, scarcely twenty-four hours ago, she had looked at him with her heart in her eyes and said that she had hoped he might not care that she wasn’t whole. That he might want her anyway.

  Ethan laughed, the sound echoing in the empty parlor. Want her anyway? Not much. Just with a wildfire in his veins that threatened to burn out of control every time she looked at him. Just with the same single-minded purpose that had kept him awake every night since meeting her. And he fully intended to marry her at the first opportunity.

  The fly in the ointment was the chaos in Ethan’s personal life. The timing could not be worse.

  With the luxury of time, he would court and cajole her, woo and win her. She deserved that much. But, in view of last night, Sarah required immediate attention. He could not have her roaming the midnight streets in search of adventure, nor could he expose her to the risk of an early pregnancy.

  He glanced at the side table next to his chair where a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and string rested. The light, almost liquid, silk of Sarah’s gown, petticoat and shawl had folded around her coronet into a parcel no thicker than an inch or two. If she was not able to come tonight, he would seek her out tomorrow at her brother’s gala. And then he would settle matters with Lockwood.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sarah stared down at her green satin slippers and noticed the slightest hint of a scuff. The reception line was growing shorter, and Cedric was waiting to claim her first dance.

  “Ah, so kind of you to have me, my dear,” Lord Nigel Dunsmore said, claiming her attention.

  Sarah glanced up and smiled. He was looking tired tonight, and his lips had a bluish tinge. “Your Grace,” she said, and curtsied. “How could we ever forget you? I vow, we’d have rescheduled if you had sent your regrets.” She really must remember to tell Nigel how very dear he was to her.

  “Sweet girl.” He squeezed her hand warmly. “I looked for you before I left the Aubervilles’ the other night. Wanted to say goodbye, but you’d gone on. I’d like to talk to you tonight. Save me a dance? Early, if you please.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Sarah said. She would request a slow, stately dance from the orchestra. If Nigel wanted to speak with her, he must have a reason.

  “You look enchanting this evening, m’dear. No longer a girl, but a woman in full. Your papa would have been proud.”

  Sarah looked down at herself. Her white underdress was of silk, and the overdress that fell only as far as her knees was of a fine white lawn with a green embroidered border.

  Madame Marie had assured her it was in the very height of fashion. Could Lord Nigel be referring to the low cut of her décolletage? Or, good heavens, was there something about her that betrayed that she now a woman of “experience?”

  Next in line came Lord and Lady Carter. They exchanged pleasantries and Sarah was feeling almost relaxed when an uneasy feeling made the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. The faint scent of lime tickled her nose and her heartbeat sped.

  When she turned and found Ethan Travis standing there, she was not surprised. Although she had suspected he would come, she could not catch her breath, and hysteria seemed mere seconds away. Would he expose her? Confront her? Ask her why she had not come for her things yesterday?

  “Ah, Lord Ethan,” Reggie said. “Glad you could make it. I wasn’t sure you’d remember the invitation.”

  Ethan gave a polite bow in acknowledgement. “I never forget the things I want to do,” he said with a pointed look in Sarah’s direction.

  “I believe you have met my sister?”

  Ethan’s hazel eyes flashed at her, his emotions visibly deepening. “Met? Has Sarah not—”

  “A-at the Aubervilles’, night before last,” Sarah filled in before he could betray them.

  “Ah, yes. Aubervilles’,” Ethan repeated. He accepted her offered hand, bowed over it and turned the palm up to kiss her wrist where her pulse beat close to the surface.

  The heat of his lips and the memory of what that mouth could do nearly caused her knees to buckle. Time stopped for one breathless moment as Ethan straightened and his gaze met hers. There was an angry challenge there and she knew he would demand answers when he found her alone.

  Reggie had not seen Ethan’s gesture and was saying something about hunting in Scotland by the time she regained her senses. She reclaimed her hand, resisting the impulse to clasp it behind her so he could not unnerve her like that again.

  When Reggie was finished with his story, Ethan turned to her and bowed again. “Lady Sarah, I shall see you again this evening. You will save me a waltz?”

  “I…I may have promised all my dances, Lord Ethan.”

  Ethan stared at her a long moment, and a hard look settled o
ver his features. “Yes, well, one of those would be mine. If I recall correctly, you promised me a waltz.”

  “When did she promise you a waltz?” Reggie asked, looking as if he had missed something.

  “Night before last,” Ethan murmured. “At the Aubervilles’. Just after our last…waltz.”

  Sarah felt heat suffuse her cheeks. Ethan was not referring to a dance. “I…I had forgot,” she faltered.

  Reggie studied her closely, and she knew he suspected that there was more to Ethan’s conversation than was apparent.

  “I can see that I credited myself with more importance than I deserve,” Ethan said. He clenched his jaw and a muscle jumped along his cheek. Sarah recognized it as an angry response.

  “I did not mean to give offense, Lord Ethan, but the duties of a hostess are very demanding, and—”

  Reggie furrowed his brows again. “’Tis just a dance, Sarah.”

  Her heart sank. How would she ever be able to keep a polite smile in place as she danced and told Ethan that she never wanted to see him again? She would have to find a way. “I shall look for an opportunity, Lord Ethan.”

  “I am at your disposal.”

  Yet another reminder of…no, she couldn’t think of that. She had to cut him from her life.

  Ethan shot her a look that said he was not finished with her, bowed again and moved on to greet her other brothers.

  Playing Reggie’s hostess was an exercise in diplomacy and management. One moment she was charming a sulking guest or smoothing over an argument that threatened to come to blows, and the next she was visiting the kitchen to leave instructions for more punch or to replenish the buffet. And all the while, she kept an eye on Ethan. He was watching her, waiting to find her alone for a few moments. She had a bad moment when, seeing him in deep conversation with Lord Auberville, she recalled telling him to ask Auberville for the details of the attack on her. Well, that was of little consequence now.

  She was on her way to the kitchen with instructions when Reggie intercepted her. He linked his arm through hers and led her toward the ballroom.

  “Come with me, Sadie. ’Tis time to address our guests and thank them for coming.”

  Something secret in his smile made her uncomfortable. Fighting the instinct to break away and run, she followed Reggie’s lead. When they reached the dais, Reggie nodded to the musicians and they played a small crescendo.

  The guests halted their conversation in midsentence and turned to give them their attention. Sarah’s heart raced and her feeling of alarm deepened. Something was afoot. She caught Lord Nigel’s glance and he shrugged in helplessness.

  “Dear friends,” Reggie began. “I would like to thank you all for coming tonight. And now that our official mourning is at an end, it is fitting that we begin anew by sharing good news with you. I have accepted an offer for my much-loved sister—”

  Sarah grew dizzy with shock. She looked up at Reggie’s handsome face, unable to close her slack jaw. She began a protest, but Reggie put his arm around her in a gesture of filial devotion and continued in a carrying voice.

  “—to wed Lord Cedric Broxton.”

  Even when Cedric stepped onto the dais to join them, she could not comprehend the words. He took a position beside her and lifted her hand to his lips in a gesture she suspected was calculated to please the crowd. She gritted her teeth to keep from snatching her hand away.

  Annica and Grace were glancing between Sarah and Cedric with astonishment. Auberville appeared dismayed. Ethan’s eyes narrowed and his jaw set in a hard line. James and Andrew wore silly smiles and Charles winked at her.

  Married? Married! Her stomach turned and she slipped her hand from Cedric’s the moment his grip loosened. Trying her best to hide her astonishment, she whispered up to Reggie, “I must see you in the library at once.”

  “Dearling, this is not a good time.”

  “It had better be, Reggie, because if I do not talk to you at once, I am apt to make a scene by refusing Cedric publicly.”

  “Sarah, we are out of mourning, and ’tis time for you to get on with your life.” The applause had died down and Reggie returned to his address. “Thank you once again, and please join us in our celebration.”

  Footmen, who had obviously known about this announcement before she had, came forward bearing trays laden with glasses of champagne. Outraged at her brother’s ploy, Sarah nodded to the crowd and stepped down from the dais. Looking neither right nor left, she made straight for the library.

  She heard a multitude of footsteps behind her, but she did not look back until she was safely inside the library and had poured herself a large unladylike glass of brandy from the decanter on Reggie’s desk. They were all there—Reggie, Charles, Andrew, James—and Cedric.

  Looking at Cedric, she pointed to the door. “Out.”

  “I have a right—”

  She shook her head. “This is between me and my brothers. I will talk to you later, Lord Cedric. But for now—out.”

  Her brother nodded and Cedric departed on cue. Reggie turned back to her and folded his arms across his chest. “You had your chance to choose, Sarah. You cannot say I did not give you ample time and opportunity.”

  “I do not know how, Reggie, but you will undo this at once. You cannot force me to stand before a minister and say words I shall never utter.”

  “I cannot ‘undo’ this. Cedric would look a fool, and you would look a jilt. You would make the Hunters a laughingstock.”

  “I am sorry, but that is your fault.”

  “You will marry Cedric. It is an excellent match, and I vouch that he is fond of you.”

  Sarah gulped half the brandy in her glass to the shocked expressions on her brothers’ faces. She knew she was going to need the fortification. “Sit down. All of you.”

  Reggie remained standing, but Charles, James and Andrew all found seats in a grouping of chairs around the fireplace. She looked at their faces, so handsome, so dear, and…and so confused. Oh, if only she didn’t have to do this.

  But there was no hope for it now. The fat was in the fire. On the verge of tears, she began pacing as she talked. “Do you recall, several years ago, when Richard Farmingdale was paying me more than the usual amount of attention? Well, one night in the autumn, when we all went to Vauxhall Gardens for the entertainments, Mr. Farmingdale prevailed upon me to stroll with him down one of the darkened paths.”

  “Ah!” Charles said. “I recall. That was the night we looked all over for you until we got the note from Lady Annica saying that you were staying with her.”

  Her chin began to tremble and she struggled to control her voice. “Yes. That was the night.”

  James frowned. “We feared there was some chicanery afoot.”

  She sighed. “There’s an interesting word for it.”

  “An interesting word for what, Sarah?” Charles asked.

  Slow tears trickled down her cheeks. She finished the brandy and set the glass down on Reggie’s desk with a bang. “Rape,” she pronounced, and then felt oddly relieved, as if a great burden had been lifted from her. She went to look out the window, unable to face her brothers.

  “Richard Farmingdale and three other men raped me that night. When they were finished, they discarded me in the mews behind Annica’s house. Her driver found me when he was bringing her carriage around back. He brought Nica and she helped me to her room, took care of me and swore she’d keep my secret.”

  She had expected an angry outcry, denial, denunciations, exclamations, gasps—anything but the heavy silence that followed. The warmth of a hand on her shoulder nearly caused her knees to buckle, and when Reggie turned her to enfold her in his arms, she let her tears flow freely.

  Reggie gave her his handkerchief. “Why did you not tell us, Sadie? Why have you carried this secret alone for so long?”

  “I…was afraid you would think it was my fault. That I invited it by walking down that path with Mr. Farming-dale.”

  “No!” The cry was a sing
le word from all her brothers.

  “And I was afraid you’d seek to avenge me, and that you would come to injury on my account,” she finished.

  “Oh, Sarah.” Charles shook his head. “We know you better. It could never be your fault.” He led her to a chair while Reggie poured her another glass of brandy.

  James handed her his handkerchief as he knelt beside her. “’Twill come a’right, Sarah. You’ve told us now, and we shall take care of it.”

  Andrew, expressionless, but with eyes as cold as ice, asked, “Who else, Sarah? I know Farmingdale is dead, but who else was involved? There are three more, and we shall draw straws for the honor of disemboweling them.”

  “Thank you, Andrew, for not disappointing me. But I fear I left none for you.”

  “What?” her brothers said in one voice.

  She held up one hand, palm outward to quiet them. “Later. For now, we must deal with this mess.”

  “If they’re all dead, Cedric needn’t know,” Charles began. “You could still marry.”

  “He may not care,” James chimed in.

  “I could never deceive him. Nor could I…bear to have him…that is—”

  “Never mind,” Reggie comforted her. “I shall speak with Cedric and tell him that you—”

  “No! I do not want him to know.”

  “—have convinced me of the unsuitability of the match. We shall concoct some likely story to whisper about. Perhaps we shall say we could not reach agreement as to the settlements.”

  “Thank you, Reggie.” She blew her nose and heaved a sigh.

  “Be kind and respectful to Cedric in the meantime. Allow society to think you are fond of him, and perhaps even honored by his offer. That will go a long way in soothing his pride.”

  “How long will this draw on, Reggie?”

  “A week. No longer than two. We must give society enough time to believe that we have been haggling the details.”

  She nodded. The delay was a small enough price to pay for her freedom. She sniffled again and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Could you make my apologies to our guests, Reggie? I am completely overset by events.”