Читать книгу Regency Christmas Vows: The Blanchland Secret / The Mistress of Hanover Square - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 9

Sarah slept well that night, but awoke early with thoughts of Blanchland pressing on her mind once again. She was aware that she had as yet made no plans for her journey to her former home, other than a vague decision that she should set off the following day. This was all very fine, but she needed to be better prepared. She could not predict how Sir Ralph Covell would greet the unexpected arrival of his late cousin’s daughter, nor had she decided whether she should take him into her confidence or not. If Churchward’s information had been correct and Olivia had last been seen approaching Blanchland Court, this might prove a very bad idea indeed.

Sarah shivered and burrowed deeper under her blankets for both warmth and comfort. Not for the first time she reflected that she was involving herself in a situation that appeared to have Gothic overtones, but she was a most practical girl and could only believe that there was a perfectly simple explanation for Olivia’s disappearance. No doubt the girl had gone to stay with a relative and forgotten to tell anyone. And the desperate matter on which she required advice would probably prove to be a romance, or, at worst, the need to go out into the world and earn a living as a governess. There was no need for worry.

Sarah threw back the bedcovers and crossed to the window. There had been a hard frost and the winter sun was rising in a pale blue sky. The house was astir with the peculiar excitement that characterised the day of a ball. Sarah had promised to help Amelia with her preparations, but she knew that her cousin would not be rising early and she needed some fresh air.

Amelia kept a small stable in the mews behind the buildings. There were her carriage horses, a gentle white mare that she occasionally rode in the park, and a decidedly more spirited one that Sarah enjoyed putting through its paces. The morning, with its crisp, fresh air, was perfect for a ride.

It seemed that Astra thought so, too, for her ears pricked up as soon as they left the quiet streets behind and reached the springy turf of Lansdown. Sarah enjoyed a fine gallop, leaving the toiling groom far behind, and only as she skirted Greville Baynham’s land did she slow down and allow herself to think about the previous night.

There was no doubt that some kind of peculiar affinity existed between herself and Guy Renshaw, and she knew that if she had any sense she would leave it well alone. Sarah sighed, allowing the horse to pick its own way along the steep path. She could not deny that in some senses Guy was a very eligible parti, so eligible, in fact, that he would look to marry far higher than a penniless companion, no matter how well-connected. In other respects he was utterly ineligible, for his reputation and evident disinclination for settling down rendered him not just unsuitable but positively dangerous. Sarah sighed again. She had had plenty of opportunities to marry in the previous six years, but somehow none of her suitors had quite matched her expectations and she had been too fastidious to marry just for the sake of it. She wondered now whether that had been a mistake. Living with Amelia was enjoyable, but how long would it continue? Besides, she had had the running of Blanchland and missed having her own establishment. Yet it seemed typical that when her inclination had finally settled on a gentleman who more than met her expectations, her choice should be totally inappropriate…

‘Good morning, Miss Sheridan! It is a beautiful morning, is it not?’

Sarah came out of her reverie in time to see the subject of her thoughts let himself through the gate that separated the downs from Chelwood Park. He brought his horse alongside Sarah’s and gave her a smile, his gaze openly appreciating her pink cheeks and bright eyes.

‘That’s a very spirited creature you have there, Miss Sheridan! It would be difficult to tell which of you looks as though they have enjoyed the gallop more!’

He sat his own chestnut hunter with a skill that Sarah did not find at all surprising and the casual elegance of his attire would be enough, she thought, to have all last night’s impressionable debutantes swooning again. This morning, with the breeze ruffling his thick, fair hair and the sun lighting those expressive dark eyes, Lord Renshaw looked utterly devastating.

‘Your cousin does not ride with you?’ he asked, looking down the hill to where the groom was exhorting his labouring horse up the slope. ‘I see that you are alone, to all intents and purposes.’

‘I think not.’ Sarah could not help wondering what intent or purpose he might have in seeking her out alone. She would have to be careful. ‘Amelia does not care for riding, but I brought the groom.’ She gestured down the hill, where Tom was still making heavy weather of getting the old cob to catch up. Guy laughed.

‘So I see—and promptly left him behind again! I did not imagine you to be so keen a rider, Miss Sheridan! You did not mention it as one of your ruling passions last night!’

Sarah cast him a look under her lashes. ‘I grew up in the country, so it can be no great surprise that I ride!’

‘No, but you ride very well indeed, which is rare. I’ll allow that it is commonplace enough to meet ladies who can prance about in the park and think that they look most accomplished!’

‘You are very severe this morning, my lord!’ Sarah could not help laughing. ‘I am glad that my own small skill gains your approval rather than your censure!’

Guy smiled lazily. ‘Oh, I am renowned as a hard critic, but I cannot find fault with you, Miss Sheridan!’

Sarah felt herself blushing under his scrutiny. For some perverse reason all she could think of was his threat—or was it a promise?—to kiss her on some future occasion. Would such a manoeuvre be possible on horseback? It was an intriguing thought. It would certainly require considerable skill, but—Sarah suddenly realised that Guy was still watching her, one dark eyebrow raised in teasing enquiry. Afraid that he would read her thoughts again, as he had the previous night, Sarah turned her horse’s head abruptly away and was relieved to see the groom struggling up the last incline to join them on the level summit.

‘There is an exceptional view from up here,’ Guy observed, looking out across the city to the Somerset hills beyond, ‘and a keen breeze. It leaves me sharp set! Will you join us at Chelwood for breakfast, Miss Sheridan?’

Tom the groom, who had been encouraging his exhausted horse, cast Sarah a scandalised glance. She smiled.

‘Thank you, my lord, but I do not think that would be very proper! I fear I must return to Brock Street for my breakfast!’

‘My sensible Miss Sheridan! A bachelor household, even one so unimpeachable as Chelwood, is not an appropriate destination for a single lady!’ Guy’s dark eyes were full of mockery. ‘A pity if you were to starve on your way home as a result!’

‘I must be going, at any rate,’ Sarah said, trying to crush her foolish excitement at his use of the phrase ‘my sensible Miss Sheridan’. She turned Astra’s head towards home. ‘Amelia will need help with all the preparations for her ball tonight. Good day, my lord.’

‘A moment, Miss Sheridan.’ Guy put his hand over hers on the reins. ‘Does Lady Amelia intend to be so fast as to have the waltz this evening?’

Sarah paused. ‘I believe so, my lord.’

Guy let her go and raised his whip in a salute. ‘Then save me a dance, Miss Sheridan!’

Amelia was in great good spirits. Silk drapes in red and blue swathed the walls and pillars of the ballroom, white candles filled the sconces and huge vases overflowing with red roses formed the centrepiece of her decorations.

The roses had arrived in the late afternoon and had caused much excited giggling and shrieking amongst the maids as they had tried to find sufficient receptacles in which to place them all. Several old, chipped vases had been pressed into service for the less prominent of arrangements and a chamber pot had even been proffered, though Sarah had seen Chisholm hastily hide it behind the umbrella stand before Amelia had noticed. There had been no card, which had led to much gossip and speculation, but when the pack of maids had gone and Amelia had swept off to see to the menus, Chisholm had stepped forward with a tiny, delicate posy of pale pink rosebuds with a card tucked inside. There were only two words, written in a strong black hand that Sarah had never seen before, yet instantly recognised: ‘Penance? Renshaw.’

And now Sarah was wearing one of the rosebuds pinned to the bodice of her aquamarine gown and was full of a most heady excitement at the thought of seeing Guy again.

‘Your decorations look very fine and patriotic,’ Sarah said, catching her cousin at a quiet moment between the arrival of two parties of guests. ‘I know you would not give away the secret before, but how have you managed the red, white and blue theme for the menus, Milly?’

‘Oh,’ Amelia laughed, ‘the trout with garlic and tomatoes is red and there is woodcock in a white wine sauce—’

‘And the blue?’

‘Ice cream with bilberries! We call it glace du Napoleon! Cook has been swearing that this is his finest hour!’ Amelia smiled as her gaze rested on the roses. ‘They are magnificent, aren’t they? Are you sure you have no idea of their provenance, Sarah?’

‘Good evening, Lady Amelia. And Miss Sheridan! I am so glad that you decided to attend after all, ma’am!’

Sarah swung round to see Viscount Renshaw bowing punctiliously. She was not sure whether she was glad to see him or not. On the one hand, his arrival was timely in diverting Amelia from her question. On the other, there was a decidedly wicked twinkle in his eye.

Amelia opened her eyes wide. ‘Lord Renshaw! Good evening, sir! But whatever can you mean? Why should Sarah not attend my ball? Sarah, you know you have been promised for tonight this month past!’

Sarah gave Guy Renshaw a fulminating look. ‘I have no notion what his lordship can mean, Milly!’

‘I beg your pardon.’ Guy gave her a look of limpid innocence. ‘I must have misunderstood you, ma’am. Lady Amelia, do I have your permission to take your cousin off and dance with her?’

Amelia looked speculatively from one to the other. ‘You have my blessing, Lord Renshaw, but whether Sarah will agree is another matter!’

Guy took Sarah’s arm. ‘It is a waltz and you did promise me…’

He appeared to take her acquiescence for granted, steering her towards the dance floor and taking her in his arms in a manner that might be entirely appropriate for the waltz, but nevertheless deprived Sarah momentarily of speech. Their bodies touched for a brief second before he held her a little away from him with impeccable propriety.

Sarah was an accomplished dancer, but she found that waltzing in Guy’s arms was a very different experience from attempting the boulanger with Mr Tilbury. Dancing with Guy was unnerving; the touch of his hands through the silk of her dress felt like a caress. His head was bent close to hers, and when their eyes met she could see the admiration in their depths, the flash of desire that he did not trouble to hide. It disturbed her and stirred something strange and sensual within her. Sarah closed her eyes momentarily, startled by her own feelings.

‘You dance beautifully,’ Guy said, after they had circled the floor a couple of times in silence. ‘I remember that you were musical even as a child. You used to sing and play most prettily.’

‘I do not recall that you were so eager to dance with me in our youth,’ Sarah said, with a slight smile, glad of an innocuous topic of conversation when her thoughts had been anything but innocent. ‘There was one children’s ball at which you spurned me quite ruthlessly, my lord!’

Guy’s arms tightened momentarily. Looking up, she saw a look of brilliant amusement in his eyes and her heart did a little somersault.

‘I had no discernment in my youth,’ he said regretfully, ‘and our parents were forever trying to throw us together. I believe they wished us to make a match of it and naturally enough, I tried to rebel! What boy of sixteen wishes to contemplate matrimony—least of all with a young lady of eleven!’

‘Perhaps they were a little misguided—’

‘Just premature, I believe, Miss Sheridan!’

Sarah was vexed with herself for giving him the chance to flirt with her. Just when she had thought they could talk on uncontroversial subjects, he had turned the topic around! He richly deserved a set-down.

‘More of your nonsense, sir!’ she said crossly. ‘I am no green girl to be taken in by your flattery!’

‘No, indeed,’ Guy agreed amiably, his smile teasing her. ‘I forgot that you had so many years in your dish, Miss Sheridan! My reputation is quite safe with you, is it not?’

Sarah was rendered momentarily speechless by his impudence. Before she could marshal her thoughts to deliver the cutting remark he deserved, the music whirled to a close.

Guy bowed. ‘Perhaps you will spare me another dance later, Miss Sheridan?’

‘I do not think that would be at all respectable, sir!’ Sarah said pertly, unable to resist. ‘As you have just pointed out, you must have a care for your reputation, and two dances could be considered fast!’

She saw him smile and knew he would have replied in kind had Amelia not arrived at that moment, bringing with her a very young man who had a hopeful look in his eye.

‘Lord Renshaw, pray forgive my interruption,’ Amelia began, ‘but Mr Elliston believes that you may have been serving with his elder brother in Portugal, and is most anxious for any news…’

Guy bowed. ‘Of course. You must be Richard Elliston’s brother? I remember him well.’ He gestured to the refreshment room. ‘We could talk over a glass of wine if you wish…’

Young Mr Elliston looked quite overwhelmed at such condescension. Amelia smiled, taking Sarah’s arm and drawing her away.

‘He is very kind. Poor Jack Elliston has been quite worried—the family has had no news for nigh on six months!’ She looked closely at Sarah. ‘Are you quite well, my love? Your colour is very high! I do hope you have not taken a chill!’

‘I do not believe so.’ Sarah was astonished how calm she sounded when inside she felt quite shaken. For all that she had acquitted herself well enough, flirting with Guy Renshaw was an occupation requiring sterner nerves than hers. No doubt the society ladies who indulged in a little intrigue to relieve the boredom of their marriages were well versed in playing such sophisticated games. She was not, having little or no experience of the art of dalliance.

‘Lord Renshaw seems to have been most charming to you,’ Amelia was saying, her voice casual but her gaze alert as she took in Sarah’s becomingly pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. ‘I do believe he is trying to get up a flirtation with you, Sarah!’

Sarah took a glass of wine gratefully from a passing servant and drank half of it straight away before answering. Amelia’s intent look deepened.

‘Sarah! Whatever ails you? Are you sure you are quite well?’

Sarah laughed and pressed her cousin’s hand. ‘I am feeling very well, I thank you. I believe you must put my uncharacteristic behaviour down to Lord Renshaw’s bad influence!’

Amelia’s eyes widened to their furthest extent. ‘Gracious, Sarah, how diverting! Surely you have not been encouraging him?’

‘Not precisely, but…’ Sarah hesitated ‘…I wonder if I have discouraged him sufficiently? He is, as you say, so very charming that it is difficult to resist…’

Amelia began to laugh. ‘I should not worry, Sarah! You are scarcely a hardened flirt and Lord Renshaw is experienced enough to know the difference between a lady of easy virtue and a respectable spinster! I am more concerned that your own heart should remain whole!’

Sarah wrinkled up her nose and reached for her wineglass again. ‘Really, Amelia! Respectable spinster! You make me sound at least sixty and as dull as ditchwater into the bargain!’

‘Better to be respectable than give in to Guy Renshaw’s blandishments,’ Amelia said drily. ‘He has a truly terrible reputation, Sarah! Why, Mrs Bunton tells me—’

‘Thank you,’ Sarah said hastily. ‘I have already heard her on the subject! I am in no real danger, I assure you, either from his lordship or from my own feelings! I know he can have no serious intentions and will not allow him to progress with any dishonourable ones!’

A little frown still marred Amelia’s forehead. ‘That is all very well, but it would not do to like him too much!’

‘I know.’ Sarah felt a little lurch of the heart as she spoke. Amelia had hit upon the very problem, for she was beginning to like Guy Renshaw very much indeed, and against her better judgement.

She let Mr Tilbury carry her off for the cotillion, noting that Amelia still looked concerned. She knew that her cousin had her own best interests at heart. Guy Renshaw could not be seen in the light of a suitable connection for a penniless companion. Her ineligibility could only mean that he could have no serious intentions, and designs of a less respectable nature would have to be ruthlessly crushed.

For a moment, Sarah felt an extraordinary disappointment. Guy’s charm was very potent and Sarah knew that her own inexperience made it difficult for her to treat his admiration lightly. Then there was the peculiar physical attraction he held for her, the like of which she had never even dreamed of, let alone experienced before. For a moment, Sarah let herself imagine being in Guy Renshaw’s embrace, recalling the hard strength of the arms that had held her in the waltz, the ripple of muscles beneath the smooth material of his jacket, the curl of that sensuous mouth…

Suddenly heated, Sarah felt her body diffuse with warmth and the colour flood into her face. It was fortunate that Mr Tilbury was rather unobservant, for it would have been impossible for him to believe that his own conversation could cause his companion to blush so vividly.

Sarah tried to concentrate on his observations on the price of coal, furiously castigating herself for allowing her thoughts to wander in so improper a direction. And this was hardly the first time!

The dance progressed in pedestrian fashion, with none of the zest of the previous waltz.

Guy was nowhere in sight, perhaps still talking with Mr Elliston, but Sarah noted a knot of people set a little back from the dance floor, with Mrs Bunton at its core. Several of the most influential hostesses in Bath had their heads bent close, their hairpieces waggling, their mouths forming shocked and horrified circles. One of them glanced in Sarah’s direction and looked away again hastily. Sarah frowned. Surely her behaviour with Viscount Renshaw had not caused such scandalised debate? One waltz, even with a notorious rake, hardly constituted a social solecism. Besides, Mrs Bunton had been pushing her own daughter in Guy’s direction only the night before.

Mr Tilbury addressed another of his remarks to her and Sarah temporarily forgot the group of gossiping matrons. However, she was reminded again swiftly as the dance drew to an end. As Mr Tilbury escorted her from the floor, Mrs Clarke drew her skirts aside and turned her back in the most pointed of snubs. Sarah stopped in surprise and Mr Tilbury’s face flushed with outrage.

He was about to speak when Mrs Clarke said loudly, ‘What can one expect with such low family connections? There’s bad blood in the Covell family, which no doubt accounts for his cousin throwing her lot in with him! I wonder at Lady Amelia giving countenance to a woman who is clearly lost to all sense of decency!’

Shock rendered Sarah temporarily speechless. All around her she could see the looks of speculation and hear the chatter of rumour and gossip. She looked about desperately for Amelia, but her cousin was across the room, talking to Greville Baynham. There was no help closer at hand. Mr Tilbury was opening and closing his mouth like a stranded fish, his own expression one of painful embarrassment. Everyone else merely watched to see what would happen next.

Murmuring an incoherent apology to Mr Tilbury, Sarah hurried from the ballroom, almost ran up the stairs and instinctively sought shelter in her own room. Once there, she closed the door softly and leant back against it with her eyes closed. Mrs Clarke’s sharply cruel words echoed in her mind: ‘Lost to all sense of decency…’

There could be no mistake. Somehow, word of her intention to visit Blanchland had leaked out, been seized upon by eager gossips, and passed around the ballroom. Sarah felt outraged and humiliated. How dared they speak of her like that, make her the butt of their slander, rip her reputation to shreds in her very presence? She had seen them all, some condemning her already, others merely excited by scandal, but all watching her reactions for their own entertainment. Sarah had heard of times when the collective disapproval of Bath society had ruined someone’s reputation, or left them a social outcast. It was just that she had never been on the receiving end before.

And why should she hide away here as though she had something to be ashamed of? Eyes flashing, Sarah flung open the door, ready to do battle in the ballroom. She would show Mrs Clarke and Mrs Bunton and all the other quizzes that she did not give a rush for their disapproval! She would not let them judge her and run away from them…

Sarah closed the door behind her and walked towards the stairs, still burning with outraged anger. She did not see the figure on the shadowed landing until it moved, and then she spun round with a gasp of alarm.

‘Lord Renshaw! Good gracious, you gave me fright! Whatever are you doing up here, sir?’

‘I wanted to speak to you, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said, coming forward into the circle of light cast by the single candelabra. ‘I heard you come running up here and thought it best, perhaps, that we did not have an audience for our conversation.’

Sarah looked at him in puzzlement. There was something curious in his tone, some element that she could not define but that made her uncomfortable. It was impossible to decipher his expression in the flickering candlelight.

‘I do not understand you, sir,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Surely it would be better to return to the ballroom—’

‘Very well, if you are determined to face the extraordinary rumours that are circulating there,’ Guy said coolly. ‘Perhaps we could invite the whole of Bath society to join the conversation since they are taking such a close interest in your affairs!’

Sarah let out her breath in a long sigh. ‘Oh, so you have heard—’

‘I have! I could scarce believe it! Either you are seriously lacking in judgement, Miss Sheridan, or you are not the woman I thought you!’

Sarah stared at him, her temper soaring dangerously. She had been expecting him to sympathise with her in the face of the small-minded and malicious scandal-mongers, and to find herself condemned unheard was adding insult to injury.

‘Oh really, my lord!’ she burst out. ‘It is the outside of enough to have to put up with the ill-informed gossip of spiteful matrons without such as yourself picking pieces in my good character as well!’

‘Indeed?’ Guy stepped closer to her, his physical presence completely overwhelming her. Now that he was so near, Sarah could sense the slow burn of his anger, though she still did not understand its cause. ‘At the least you do not pretend ignorance! Are you telling me that the rumours are untrue, Miss Sheridan?’

Sarah hesitated for a fatal second, trapped by her own honesty. ‘Yes! No! At least…I do intend to visit Blanchland, but it is not as you imagine…’

Guy brought his hand down on the banisters with a force that seemed to make the delicate ironwork shiver. ‘Surely it can be no surprise that your apparent desire to spend the winter in a house of ill repute should set the town by the ears, Miss Sheridan! Good God, Blanchland is a place where no woman of respectability should dream of setting foot! You will not have a shred of reputation left to you!’

Sarah glared at him. ‘I can scarce believe that you are giving credence to chance-heard rumours, my lord! I should have thought better of you! You have not even paused to request an explanation!’

Guy had turned away, his face tight and angry, but now he swung back towards her.

‘There can be no reasonable explanation! At least,’ he corrected himself punctiliously, ‘the best construction I can put on your conduct is that you lack any sense of proper behaviour and the worst—’ his dark eyes narrowed murderously ‘—is that you are accustomed to the sort of society and pursuits that Blanchland has to offer! Neither is an adequate excuse!’

Sarah seldom lost her temper. The even tenor of life in Amelia’s household was hardly ever ruffled by upset or disturbance, but now she found herself furiously angry. Guy’s stubborn refusal to see anything but the worst in her was as distressing as it was infuriating. The situation was further exacerbated by the fact that she could not understand why he was so angry. Worst of all was a shaming desire to cry, as she realised that, despite the brevity of their acquaintance, his good opinion was something that she valued deeply. She swallowed hard and made a conscious effort to whip up her anger as a defence against the hurt she was feeling.

‘That is enough, sir! I do not wish to hear you slander my reputation! And as for your playing of the moral arbiter, it is rich beyond belief! You are the greatest hypocrite I have ever come across!’

Sarah made to walk past Guy and seek the sanctuary of her room again, all thoughts of returning to the ballroom forgotten. She was shaking with anger and mortification. She had no clear idea of how such a confrontation could have occurred, nor did she wish to prolong it. For Guy to take her to task in such a way was not the conduct of a gentleman, but deeper than that, more hurtful, was his evident contempt and unjust condemnation.

Guy shifted slightly, but he did not move to let her past. There was something wholly unyielding about his stance, as though he had no intention of letting her go easily. For a long moment their eyes met in angry conflict, then Guy stepped forward and trapped Sarah between his body and the balcony rail.

He bent his head and brought his mouth down on hers in a kiss that was searching and utterly ruthless. Disbelief and fury welled up in Sarah. She pummelled his chest hard with her clenched fists, but he only tightened his grip on her, rendering her protests useless.

‘I am living up to my reputation now, Miss Sheridan,’ he said, raising his lips an inch from hers. ‘I suggest that you start to do the same!’

His mouth returned to hers with a fierce demand. A shocking excitement swept through Sarah, setting her trembling in his arms. She could smell the faint, crisp scent of his lemon cologne, taste the sweetness of wine as his lips parted and moved over her own, lightly one moment, deepening again the next, but always in inexorable control. The merciless hands holding her hard against him did not relent for a moment.

Sarah gave up the struggle. She had no strength left to resist him, no will to do so. Despite the calculated nature of his embrace, to be kissed by him was such exquisite pleasure that she never wanted it to end. Her fingers uncurled against his chest and she slid her arms up about his neck. One of Guy’s hands slipped down her back and over her hip, drawing her against the hardness of his body. He slid his other hand under the hair at the nape of her neck, his caress on the tender skin there causing Sarah to shiver. She made a small, inarticulate sound of surrender, pressing closer, completely abandoned to the kiss.

Something had changed, although Sarah was too adrift to realise what it was. Guy’s cruel grip had eased and the touch of his lips, his hands, became gentle, exploring mutual pleasure rather than administering punishment. The aquamarine dress was slipping off Sarah’s shoulders and the lace fichu tumbled to the floor. She felt the featherlight touch of Guy’s fingers graze her collarbone before his lips left hers to trace a downward path from the line of her throat over the exposed curve of her breast. His breathing was as ragged as her own now. Sarah arched against him, weak with desire, stunned by her reaction to him.

His mouth returned to hers roughly, plundering its softness. He held her face still with one hand, upturned and open to his, his fingers tangled in her hair. His other hand gently brushed aside the silk of the dress and bared Sarah’s heated skin to his touch. The deep, sweet invasion of her mouth went on and on. The pins tumbled from Sarah’s hair and fell with a soft tinkle on to the marble floor of the hall below. She did not notice; did not notice as her hair fell from its carefully arranged curls to swirl about her bare shoulders, did not notice as her bodice slipped to her waist, leaving her half-naked in Guy’s arms, did not notice as a door below opened abruptly and people spilled out into the hall.

‘Oh!’ There was a squeal from one of the women. ‘I almost stepped on a pin!’

Sarah heard the voices, but could make no sense of them through the desire that clouded her mind. It seemed, however, that Guy retained just enough presence of mind to drag her back from the balcony and into the shadows before the assembled company turned as one to gaze up into the darkness of the upper hall.

‘I say! Whatever is going on? Is there anybody up there?’

There was a giggle from one of the women, a guffaw, hastily repressed, from one of the men, and some murmured words and laughter before they all drifted off into the cardroom. Then there was silence.

Reality hit Sarah like a tidal wave. How could she be standing here in the candlelight, her clothing all awry, having allowed this man the most appalling liberties imaginable? Only seconds before he had questioned her virtue, and now she had comprehensively proved his point! She was trembling, her whole body shaking not with passion but with the enormity of what she had done. Where would it have ended? With her naked on the landing in full view of Amelia’s guests? Her cheeks burned as she realised that she had been so lost in desire that she had not even thought of whom might see her. How could this have happened? She had always found Guy Renshaw attractive, but their verbal sparring had given her no clue to the shocking physical awareness that would flare between them. Why, when she had made to leave him on the landing she had not even liked him any more! And yet…

Sarah pulled her dress up over her shoulders and bent to pick up the discarded scrap of white lace. The point of a fichu, she remembered her mama telling her years before, was to preserve a lady’s modesty. Well, she had no need of that! Her own behaviour had proved as much! And worse, memory stirred to remind her just how much she had enjoyed it, how she had ached for Guy’s kisses, the touch of his hands on her body…How was it possible to dislike someone and want them at the same time? The thought made her despair.

More distressing still was the look of stony contempt on Guy’s face. Whatever emotions had shaken her, they had evidently left him singularly unmoved. He still had hold of her wrist, but Sarah wrenched it from his grasp and walked past him to the door of her bedroom, her head held high and the effect ruined by the knowledge that his gaze had taken in the decadent effect of her plunging neckline. Her heart sank as Guy followed her into the room. All she wanted to do now was recover from her humiliation in private.

‘You will oblige me by leaving me alone now, sir.’ Sarah knew she had not achieved the icy tone she sought and could hardly bear to raise her eyes to his.

‘A moment.’ Guy’s searing gaze swept over the dishevelled curls about Sarah’s shoulders and lingered on the shadowy cleft between her breasts. ‘You’re good, I’ll say that for you! Just enough untutored innocence mixed with passion!’ He gave a cynical laugh. ‘Good enough to leave me in some doubt! Anyway, I came to make you an offer—one that you may look kindly upon after your performance just now. I wish to spare you the trouble of looking for a protector at Blanchland. I am rich enough for any taste and I’m sure I can satisfy you! What do you say?’

The colour drained from Sarah’s face. This was the final insult. She had refuted his accusations only to fall into his arms and apparently prove herself experienced. Was carte blanche the logical outcome? She supposed that might be so. Could she blame him for thinking of her as he did? Perhaps not, and yet she had hoped he would know her better than that. She had cherished secret dreams that had been far removed from this tawdry reality. She could scarcely believe that everything good and pure and sweet between them had been ground into the dust.

‘Get out of my room!’ It felt to Sarah that she must have shouted, but her words came out as a whisper. Guy’s expression was blank for a moment, then he turned on his heel and the slam of the door echoed through the entire house.

‘Sarah?’ Amelia’s tap on the door was almost silent and her cousin barely heard her whisper. ‘Sarah, are you there?’

As Sarah struggled to sit up, Amelia turned the knob and stepped into the darkened bedroom. The lamp was turned down low, but there was enough light to see Sarah’s stricken face and Amelia hurried forward in obvious alarm.

‘Sarah! Whatever has happened?’

Sarah raised a face so blotchy and tear-stained that it was almost unrecognisable. A few minutes before she would have sworn she had no more tears left, but now she burst into tears all over again.

‘Oh, Milly!’

Amelia sensibly did not press for an explanation, but gathered her cousin into her arms without a word. Eventually Sarah’s sobs subsided a little again and she looked up.

‘Has he gone?’

‘He? Who?’

‘Lord…Lord Renshaw…’

Several things became clear to Amelia at the same time. ‘Yes, he left about an hour ago. I did not see him, but Grev said that he had gone. Was he with you before that, Sarah?’

A nod of the head was her only reply. Amelia’s thoughtful gaze took in her cousin’s tumbled hair and the blue dress that was lacking a piece of material it had certainly started off with. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Here? He was with you here?’

Sarah nodded again.

Amelia glanced from her cousin to the bed. Try as she might, she could not keep the horror out of her voice. ‘Oh, Sarah, surely he did not make love to you—?’

Sarah made a noise that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. ‘No, it is not as bad as that!’ She pushed the damp hair back from her face. ‘Not quite, but nearly…’ Slowly the story of the encounter came out, with Amelia sitting quite still and quiet as she listened.

‘I felt so dreadful,’ Sarah ended bitterly. ‘I had told him that he had misjudged me, and then I behaved like the veriest trollop! Is it any wonder that he treated me like one? When he said—’ She broke off on a sob, swallowed and started again, ‘He made it all sound so sordid, Amelia, and that is exactly how it was!’

‘You must not blame yourself,’ Amelia said carefully, after a moment. ‘I knew that you were more than a little in love with him, whatever you said before! Lord Renshaw had no right to speak to you as he did and, despite his reputation, I had not really thought that he would—’ She broke off. ‘Truly, the man is unforgivable!’ She passed her cousin another handkerchief and patted her hand encouragingly.

Sarah blew her nose hard. ‘Oh, dear, this is a terrible! To offer me carte blanche—’

‘A poor reflection on Lord Renshaw rather than on yourself, my love!’ Amelia said stringently. ‘Pray put him from your mind. I doubt we shall see him again!’

Sarah thought that this was probably true. The idea gave her so much pain that she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from crying again. Yet if it was distressing to think of never seeing Guy again, it upset Sarah even more to think of the opinion of her that he would carry away.

‘Will you still go to Blanchland, Sarah?’ Amelia was asking carefully. ‘Unfortunately, it is true that everyone is talking about it. I swear I told no one, but I wonder if the servants overheard—’

‘Probably,’ Sarah said tiredly. She got up and moved to turn up the lamp. ‘Let people talk! I still intend to go tomorrow!’

‘Sarah!’ Amelia seemed uncertain whether to be glad or sorry that her cousin’s familiar determination was reappearing. ‘You cannot! Oh, surely you must see that it is impossible now! If you stay here and we put it about that it was all nothing but malicious gossip, the outcry will soon die down—’

‘You mistake, Amelia.’ Sarah was already pulling a couple of canvas bags from the cupboards, her actions showing a feverish energy. ‘I intend to go, now more than ever! I will not have the likes of Guy Renshaw standing in judgement on me!’

Sarah rose early after a night with almost no sleep at all. Amelia had left her with a kiss after spending a fruitless half hour trying to persuade her cousin to change her mind. The more Sarah thought about it, the more her conviction grew. The misery she had felt at Guy Renshaw’s stark contempt was hardening into anger now, humiliation turning into a burning fury. She was angry with herself for falling into his arms and confirming his opinion of her, but she was even more angry that he should ever have doubted her virtue. In the dark shadows of the night she had painfully admitted to herself just how much she had liked him. So much had been built upon so little: the roses, a couple of conversations, one waltz. And now she would have to learn to forget him.

With a heavy heart, Sarah dragged her bags to the bedroom door. If she was lucky, she could avoid Amelia, who always got up late on the morning after a ball. She could not bear another scene. She would take a hack down to the Angel and get the coach to the Old Down Inn and from there…

Sarah went out onto the landing, intending to tiptoe downstairs and find herself some breakfast before she left. She averted her gaze from the spot at the top of the stairs where she and Guy had had their encounter the previous night.

Far from being quiet, the house seemed very noisy. The shutters were flung back and servants were scurrying about in a frenzy. As she descended the stairs Sarah could see two large trunks, neatly bound with red rope, standing by the front door. Chisholm, looking as harassed as Sarah had ever seen him, was taking down what seemed like an endless list of instructions from his employer. Sarah stared in disbelief.

‘…and cancel my attendance at Mrs Chartley’s breakfast, if you please, and the card party at Colonel Waring’s and any other invitations I have forgotten!’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘And make sure that any invitations from Mrs Bunton and Mrs Clarke are returned unopened—’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Amelia, looking fresh and radiant in a coffee-brown travelling dress and matching hat, turned to see her cousin watching her in amazement from the top of the stairs.

‘There you are, Sarah! At last! Hurry and take some breakfast! Oh, and Chisholm—’ her voice hardened ‘—if Sir Greville Baynham calls, pray tell him that I have left town and that his friends are not welcome in my house again—’

‘Oh, Milly, you cannot do that! It is not Greville’s fault!’ Sarah recovered the use of her voice and hurried down to her cousin’s side.

‘No matter!’ Amelia’s chin was set defiantly. ‘Sir Greville is to blame for having such poor taste in his friends! Now, are you almost ready, my love?’

Sarah watched bemusedly as two footmen threw open the main door and staggered out to the carriage under the huge weight of Amelia’s baggages.

‘Yes, but…what…?’

‘I knew that I could not persuade you to change your mind,’ Amelia said, seizing her arm and steering her towards the breakfast parlour, ‘so I have changed mine! Dearest Sarah! I am coming with you!’