The Seduction of Sara (11 page)

Lady Birlington snorted. “Anna? What kind of a name is that? Sounds like something you'd name a milkmaid.”

“Fortunately for us both, it isn't your name but mine, and therefore it isn't your concern whatsoever,” Anna returned, a decided edge to her voice.

Sara expected Lady Birlington to bridle in anger, but instead a quiver of laughter lit the blue eyes. “Humph. You seem familiar, now that I look at you. Aren't related to Phineas Thraxton, are you?”

“He's my grandfather.”

“A good man, Thraxton. Not the best of blood, but good, hardy English stock.” She turned to Edmund. “You would do well with either Lady Carrington or Miss Thraxton. You have my permission to call on them both.”

“At the same time?” Edmund asked, tugging at his cravat and only succeeding in tightening the knot.

“If you wish.” His aunt cast a narrowed glance at Anna's tall form and nodded her turbaned head. “Your best bet might be the tall one. She's got spirit to her, and her hips look wide enough to bear any number of childr—”

“Thank you, Aunt Maddie,” Edmund inter
rupted in a voice of anguish. He stared stoically ahead, his face so red he appeared in imminent danger of bursting into flames.

Lady Birlington then began to gossip loudly about various persons in the room and Aunt Delphi, though slightly stiff at first, soon added her comments and discovered all sorts of scandalous information. Suddenly Lady Birlington stopped talking, her gaze fixed just past Sara.

Without looking, Sara knew who stood by her chair. The air about her hummed, like a thick swirling mist that only she could feel. Only this mist was hot, heated by a desire that had, over the last three days, grown strong enough to see.

“Lady Carrington,” said a low, seductive voice. “How are you this morning?”

“By God, it
is
Bridgeton!” Lady Birlington exclaimed.

Edmund whirled to look, openly gawking. “But how…you aren't supposed to be…Lud, I hope Alec doesn't find out about this. Or has he unbanished you?”

Sara blinked. Someone had dared to banish the Earl of Bridgeton? Why? And who was Alec? Who possessed the power to change the path of a man like Nicholas Montrose?

Lady Birlington frowned. “Hope you aren't planning on staying, Bridgeton. Your cousin wouldn't like it at all.”

Nick's gaze narrowed, and Sara was aware of a strange tenseness about him, but he merely shrugged. “Then let him tell me that himself.” He
turned to Sara. “Lady Carrington, I came to see if you and Miss Thraxton could join me for a carriage ride this afternoon.”

Having seen the mount he rode in the park, Sara immediately pictured a dashing phaeton and the spirited horses he'd own, and she yearned to agree. But she had Bridgeton's measure and was not about to become another of his conquests. “I'm afraid I have plans this afternoon,” Sara said, keeping her voice as far from enthusiastic as possible.

“Indeed?” he murmured. “What a pity.”

Over his shoulder, Sara caught sight of the comte as he bent his white head in answer to something Lady Phillipson had said. Sara glanced at Delphi and discovered her aunt watching the comte with a sad, yearning expression. In that instant, Sara knew she had to speak with Bridgeton. Only he would know the truth about his friend. “But perhaps I might be able to postpone my plans for a day or so.”

Anna blinked. “Sara, do you think you should—”

“I will come at two,” the earl said. “I believe I know your direction.” He bowed, feathering a kiss over her hand, lifting his eyes to hers as he did so. The stark promise that lit his gaze made her shiver. He released her hand and took his leave of the others, gathered the comte, and left the Pump Room. The sight of the horde of women who stood staring after him like a pack of adoring spaniels made Sara feel slightly ill. She hoped she didn't have such a pathetic glaze to her eyes.

“You know, Bridgeton looks nothing like his father,” Lady Birlington said, her sharp gaze missing
nothing. “Though he was a well-favored man, too. At least he was before his megrims made him so pale.”

“Megrims?” Sara asked.

“Lud, yes,” Lady Birlington said. “Bad ones, too. They got worse once he married that Frenchwoman. She was far too common for him, as anyone could see. But he was besotted and would listen to no one.”

“I'd heard she was prodigiously handsome,” Delphi offered in a soft voice.

“Humph,” Lady Birlington said. “She was more than handsome; couldn't help but stare whenever you saw her. Bridgeton has much the look of her. Unfortunately, he also inherited her tendencies for ruin.”

“Tendencies?” Sara asked, leaning forward.

“He is on the road to hell, my dear. His mother had a weakness for laudanum. It eventually destroyed her, and I daresay it will destroy him, too.” The old lady cast a shrewd gaze at Sara. “If I were you, I'd stay away from Nicholas Montrose.”

Sara intended to do just that. Once she found out more about the too-charming Comte du Lac, of course.

“I'm sure my niece will have nothing to do with the man if he is so ineligible,” Aunt Delphi said, a slight huff to her voice. “However, you can hardly expect her to avoid him because of some old gossip.”

Lady Birlington poked her cane at her nephew's feet. “Tell Her Grace that my memory is as sharp today as it was forty years ago.”

“Can't do that,” Edmund said. “Wasn't born forty years ago. She'd think I was lying.” Edmund looked at the door where Bridgeton had just disappeared. “Daresay you'll think me silly, but I think that man is dangerous.”

Dangerous
. Sara shivered. Oh yes, he was dangerous. He was dangerous because every time she saw him, her resolution wavered. His very presence put her plan at risk, and she was rapidly crumbling. And now that she was forced to seek him out to discover what she could of the comte, she was in even more danger of losing sight of her goal.

But she had too much at stake to waver. As soon as she arrived home, she would send a note to Sir Bawton. She would not waste another moment's thought on Bridgeton.

S
ara sanded the letter she had just written and held it out to Anna, who quickly scanned the contents.

“Well,” she said after a noticeable pause, “it is certainly direct.”

Sara returned the quill to the holder. “All it says is that I hope I meet him at the Fairfax spectacle. I'm tired of all this dallying about. As soon as it dries, I'll have one of the footmen deliver it.”

Anna obediently waved the missive in the air to dry it quicker. “Sara, are you certain you should pursue this? We know very little about Sir Bawton, and we were so wrong about Viscount Hewlette—”

“Which is why I won't be seeing Sir Bawton alone.
You
will be with me the entire time. Besides,
we know that Sir Bawton is very persuadable, and his family only recently gained acceptance.”

“Grandfather says the family reeks of trade.”

“That's quite a compliment from him,” Sara said.

“True. Still…I don't know about this.”

“Neither do I. But at least I am doing
something
.”

Anna folded the missive and handed it to Sara. “Won't Anthony try to stop you from seeing Sir Bawton?”

“He might, if he thought I was the one wishing to see him. Therefore, I hinted that you had a
tendre
for the man.”

Anna's face pinkened. “Lovely.”

In actual fact, Anthony had reacted rather strangely to the news that Anna had developed an unanswered passion for Sir Bawton. Anthony had first stared, his mouth agape. After a stunned moment, he had broken into loud, guffawing laughter, which had irritated Sara even as it had assured her that he would pay no attention to Sir Bawton when next they met.

“I suppose it doesn't matter,” Anna said finally. “What did Anthony say about our ride with Bridgeton? He seemed livid when he discovered we were going.”

“He thinks Aunt Delphi is accompanying us. I told him that we were all leaving at two, which is true—only Delphi is going to the lending library.”

Anna raised her brows. “Delphi? At a lending library?”

“I was rather surprised myself. But she said she
was going to try and improve the tone of her mind. I'm just glad to see her getting out of the house.”

A soft knock sounded at the door, and the butler entered. “My lady, the Earl of Bridgeton has arrived. I left him in the sitting room.”

A trill of nervous excitement raced through Sara. “Thank you, Jacobs. I will be there immediately.”

The butler bowed again and left.

Anna waited until the door had closed before she said, “I still don't feel right about Sir Bawton. Even Grandfather had little information about him, and you know how he loves a good gossip.”

“That's because there is nothing to impart. Trust me, Anna. This will work out fine.” She went out into the hallway and handed her missive to one of the footmen.

In the sitting room, Nick listened to the low murmur of feminine voices approach the door. He'd been surprised when Sara had agreed to accompany him on his ride, and he fully expected her to greet him with some excuse as to why she could not attend.

The door opened, and she whisked into the room with a brisk, no-nonsense step. She was dressed in a gown of pale pink that made her skin glow. He bowed. “Lady Carrington.”

“Lord Bridgeton.”

Miss Thraxton entered the room after Sara, and Nick bowed again. “Miss Thraxton. And how are you this afternoon?”

“I'm fine, thank you,” Miss Thraxton said.

“Except for your ankle,” Sara said.

Nick looked at Miss Thraxton's foot where it peeped out from beneath her skirts.

“Oh, yes,” she said, her face reddening. “I fell on the steps, and I'm afraid I won't be able to accompany you on your ride through the park.”

“I certainly hope you brought a groom with you,” Sara said, sending him a blinding smile.

Nick suddenly had the feeling he'd been lured into a lion's den. The redoubtable Lady Carrington wanted something—he was sure of it. But what? Bowing, he said, “Of course I brought a groom. The proprieties are an important part of life.”

She looked as if she'd like to disagree with him, but then thought better of it. Amused, he bid good day to Miss Thraxton and escorted Sara to his waiting phaeton. His hand closed about her arm as he assisted her into the seat, and a startling jolt of heat flashed through him. Damn, but he was hot for this woman. He had to take a slow breath before he climbed into the seat beside her.

Nick took the reins from his groom and glanced down at his companion, who sat straight in her seat, her feet planted side by side, her hands neatly clasped in her lap. Nick thought that perhaps women on their way to the guillotine had worn just such an expression—a mixture of tension and resignation, as if she'd agreed to some dire, horrible duty and just wanted it to be over.

With a startled gasp, Sara slid across the seat until her thigh rested solidly against his. Scrambling madly, she scooted away, but not before Nick had felt the shape of her thigh against his. Stifling a
smile, he took the next corner even more sharply, but this time Lady Carrington was prepared. She gripped the edge of the seat tightly, her face frozen into a grimace at the effort.

Nick chuckled to himself and won a sharp glare for his efforts. “There are seven corners on the way to the park. I counted.”

She was silent for a long while. Nick took two more corners, letting the phaeton sway only the tiniest bit, just enough to remind her of what he could do, if he was of a mind.

Finally, she drew a slow breath between her teeth, and said, “What a lovely phaeton.” She showed her teeth in what he suspected was supposed to resemble a smile.

“That was very well done,” he said approvingly. “Have you ever considered a career onstage? I don't think Keane could have managed quite so well.” He feathered his way through the next corner, careful not to make so much as a fold of her gown tremble. She noticed the difference, for she frowned up at him.

Nick was assailed with the sudden desire to kiss her frown away. “Sara, I know you did not come for a ride merely to admire my phaeton. What exactly do you want?”

“I wish to ask you about the comte.”

Nick raised his brows. “Henri? What of him?”

“Is he a true comte?”

“In France, there are no false comtes.” Since the revolution there were a surprising number of never-before-heard-of ducs, comtes, and other
quasi-noblemen that had miraculously appeared overnight. If nothing else, the revolution had managed to thicken the blood of the aristocracy with good, healthy common stock.

Sara shook her head. “That isn't an answer. I want to know if his title and position are legitimate.”

“Why?”

“Because my aunt—” Sara glanced up at him, then away, her lashes shadowing her eyes. “I was just wondering.”

So the indomitable Henri was making progress with his duchess, was he? Nick considered what he actually knew about his friend and realized that it wasn't much. “I don't know Henri's history.”

She tilted her head to one side, the wide ribbons of her bonnet framing her face. “But…he travels with you. He is even staying at Hibberton Hall.”

“Yes, but that doesn't mean that we've discussed his title.” Of course, Nick had his suspicions. But it would be rude to ask and, frankly, he didn't really care. Titles were nothing. They came to one only because of the unfortunate circumstances of one's birth.

Lady Carrington appeared less than enamored with his lack of interest in the comte's credentials. “What
do
you and the comte discuss?”

“Horses. Cards.” He slid a glance at his companion. “Women.”

She colored adorably, scooting away, though the narrow seat did not give her much reprieve. “Where in France is the comte from?”

Nick considered this for a moment. “Paris, I would imagine.”

“Imagine? Don't you
know
?”

“The subject has never come up.”

“I cannot believe this! You would let a complete stranger live with you, travel to England with you, all without even asking him the most basic questions? How long have you known the comte?”

“Three years.”

Her mouth dropped open and she seemed unable to say a word. Nick wondered what she would do if he kissed her, then and there, slipping his tongue between her lips and tasting her deeply, completely. The thought made him harden immediately and it wasn't until he'd turned the last two corners to the park that his ardor cooled. He found a wide path in the park and let the horses fall into a slower pace before turning his attention back to Sara. “For a certain price, I might be willing to discover all you wish to know about the comte.”

She stiffened. “I will not pay you to spy for me.”

“I wasn't going to spy. I was going to ask him.”

“Won't he think it strange, after you've known him for so long?” Sara's brow creased, then she suddenly brightened. “What if you got him drunk? I daresay he would tell you everything then.”

Nick could have told her that getting Henri drunk was nearly impossible. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully. “It's possible, I suppose.”

“Then you'll do it?”

“For a price.”

She bit her lip and looked away. Nick noted the edge of her even, white teeth as they worried her plump lower lip.

She looked back at him, her lashes so long they tangled in the corners. “What is your price?”

“A dance.”

Her face fell, though she quickly recovered.

“I'm surprised you didn't demand more,” she said coolly. “Like a kiss.”

“When you kiss me, it will be because you want to and not because I tricked you into it.”

She sniffed. “That is the only way you'll get another kiss from me.”

Nick leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Forget the comte. There are other ways I can help you, Sara.”

She regarded him suspiciously. “How?”

“I've been thinking of your plan to find a husband. Without funds…” He shrugged.

Her color rose. “I've plenty to offer without a large dowry.”

“If you had time, I'm sure you could bring any man you chose to heel. But as you pointed out to me in the garden, time is the one thing you don't have.”

“What do you suggest?”

“If you wish to catch a man, you must learn to appeal to him on all levels. I can teach you all you need to know.”

“I'm sure you can. Fortunately, I am not so desperate as that. Not yet, anyway.”

He regarded her narrowly. “You have already found another victim.”

“I prefer the term ‘prospect,'” she said haughtily.

Damn it, how was he going to seduce her if she
was chasing men so determinedly? Nick set his jaw. “Who is it?”

“Sir Bawton,” Sara said, trying not to look directly into the earl's eyes. The darkest of blue, they appeared almost black and as fathomless as the night. She had to bite back a sigh.

“Sir Bawton. Where do I know that name? Is he—Oh, yes.” A slow smile touched his mouth. “Just when do you plan on making your proposition?”

Sara didn't like the look on the earl's face. It reminded her far too much of Anthony's expression when she'd told him about Anna's supposed fascination for Bawton. “I will be seeing him tomorrow,” she said suspiciously. “Why?”

“I just wondered when the, er, festivities were scheduled.”

Sara had to bite back a scowl. “I think it is time I returned home. My brother is due shortly, and it wouldn't do for him to see me out with you.”

“Of course.” He turned the horses toward the gate without demur.

That irritated Sara all the more. How could the man go from relentless pursuit to silent mockery in the next instant? And he'd been far too quick to agree to take her home.

The rest of the ride was silent. He pulled the phaeton up to the front steps and climbed down, reaching up to assist her.

Sara put her hand in his, determined to show him that she was completely unaffected by him. She was doing an excellent job of looking bored when the earl slipped a hard arm about her waist and hauled
her against him. Standing against the carriage, they were sheltered from prying eyes, his body pressed to hers in a most intimate fashion. With his hips against hers, Sara could feel his manhood straining against the fabric of his breeches. Her breath trembled to a halt, and she looked up at him, instantly lost in the depth of his gaze.

With a sharp sigh, he set her on her feet and stepped away. Sara was glad to know he was as affected as she; his breath was harsh as he adjusted his cravat.

“Think about what I said, Sara. I can teach you many, many things.” He took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

It was just a polite gesture, but there was something so sensual about the way he looked at her through his lashes, something hotly possessive in the way he traced his lips across the back of her hand. It made her think of silk sheets and glistening bare skin, of entwined passion and mind-numbing pleasure.

But it was not to be. She'd been at the mercy of one rake and she'd be damned if she fell under the spell of another. Already she was too fraught with desire for the earl, too eager and too fascinated.

Forcing her traitorous body to obey, she stepped away from Bridgeton. “Thank you for your offer, but I'm certain it will not be necessary.” She managed a brilliant smile. “Thank you for the lovely drive in the park. Perhaps we can do it again someday.”

With that, she turned and walked into the house, wishing she felt as nonchalant as she had sounded.

Nick watched her until the door closed behind her. He ached for her. It was a new and unpleasant experience, to yearn for a woman in such a way. But perhaps it would make the final moment of surrender all the sweeter.