The Seduction of Sara (12 page)

Holding that thought firmly in place, he turned back to his phaeton and came to an abrupt halt.

“I suppose I should ask your name before I kill you,” Sara's brother said, his smile far from pleasant.

Nick knew very little about the Earl of Greyley, only that the man was massive in size and overly assiduous in protecting his sister.

“That would be the polite thing to do,” Nick agreed, wondering how much the man had actually seen. If he'd seen Nick holding Sara, they would not be talking now. “It would also be polite to explain exactly
why
you intend to kill me.”

“I know who you are, Bridgeton. Leave my sister alone.”

“I merely took her for a drive,” he said in a bored tone. “My groom was present the whole time.”

The earl cast a glance at Nick's groom, who stood staring stoically ahead. “Your groom can go to hell. He's in your employ. That makes him an untrustworthy chaperone.”

“It is conventional to—”

“I don't give a damn about convention,” Greyley snapped. “The next time you see my sister, do yourself a favor and stay away. She is not the type of woman to associate with a man like you. Surely you have realized that by now.”

Nick did realize it, and he knew it was madness
to pursue her. But she was just too damned tempting. He managed a shrug. “I don't answer to you, Greyley. Not now. Not ever.”

“Don't press me, Bridgeton,” the earl growled.

“And don't press
me
, Greyley. You have as much to lose as I. More, in fact.”

For one glorious instant, Nick thought he would have the fight he was yearning for. It would cool his ardor and allow him to vent some of the heat that boiled through his veins. But the sound of an approaching carriage made them both look up to see Lady Langtry's landau.

Cursing, Greyley turned back to him. “Don't let me find you sniffing around my sister again.” With that, he went into the house.

 

Of all the events held each year at the imposing estates outside of Bath, the Fairfax spectacle was considered the grandest of them all. Invitations for the indoor picnic, followed by a stroll through the lit gardens to view breathtaking fireworks, were highly prized and freely given. It was said that old man Fairfax had made his fortune in trade and was therefore more open-minded about mixing his company.

Nick had planned on approaching Lord Fairfax directly to secure an invitation, but it turned out there was no need. He received the coveted card in the first round issued, which filled him with satisfaction.

That night, attired in a black coat and a blue waistcoat, his cravat a wondrously tied French concoction adorned with a flashing sapphire, Nick ar
rived at the Fairfax estate just in time to see the first colored explosion dance across the sky. Bright red ashes drifted to the ground as a collective gasp rose from the crowd, followed by an appreciative sprinkling of applause. Though the evening was cold, a series of large fires and the continuous flow of Lord Fairfax's special rum punch warmed the guests.

Nick had more exciting games in mind this evening. He strolled across the lawn, his hands loosely clasped behind him, searching for a small, heart-shaped face and a cloud of black hair.

After thirty minutes, he stopped. Where in the hell was she? As if answering his thoughts, Sara's brother came into view. But the Earl of Greyley was not enjoying the spectacle, either; like Nick, he was walking through the crowds, scanning every face.

Nick stood for a moment. Greyley was now coming closer, barely waiting until he was in front of Nick before saying through his teeth, “Where's Sara?”

“I am not her keeper, Greyley.” He paused, then added silkily, “However much I might wish otherwise.”

The earl's nostrils flared. “I will find her, and when I do, she had best not be with you.” With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

Nick watched him go. Sara's brother might think Nick was the only wolf hot on his sister's trail, but he knew otherwise. He strode back toward the house, noticing Miss Thraxton, who was apparently caught in conversation with Edmund Valmont.

Anna's gaze kept slipping toward the low shrub
bery that marked off a small maze. Nick cursed silently as he crossed to the curved shrubbery that marked the entryway to the maze. With his superior height he could see over the top edge of the brush, but the warm glow of the Japanese lanterns obscured his vision, casting shadows in some places instead of lighting them. Up above, the moon played hide-and-seek behind pale wisps of clouds. With the flashes of color from the fireworks and the gently bobbing lanterns, the maze was the perfect place for a clandestine meeting.

Nick walked quickly through the maze, stopping to listen every now and then. Finally, the low murmur of voices sounded just ahead. Nick stopped and tilted his head, trying to decide if one of the voices belonged to Sara, when a sudden shriek rent the air.

Nick's jaw tightened. Good God, had he been mistaken about the man's character? Of all the men in Bath, Sara should be safe with Sir Bawton. Nick ran down the pathway toward the sound, arriving at the center of the maze just in time to hear a loud splash.

Sara turned a white face to his. She stood on the edge of a small fishpond, trying desperately to pull something from the depths. “Oh, thank God!” she cried. “Help me get him out before he drowns!”

Nick was beside her in an instant, strangely gratified by her reaction. “What's happened?”

“It is Sir Bawton. He fell into the water, and I cannot get him out.”

Nick looked down into the pond. A delicate-
looking fop reclined amongst the reeds, his body half-submerged in the green, slimy depths, his face nearly covered by a lily pad. To all intents and purposes, he looked dead. Had Sara not caught the fool's arm, he could have indeed drowned.

“Bloody hell,” Nick said as he unceremoniously grabbed the man by his wide lapels and lifted him to a sitting position, disturbing a huge frog that hopped out of the way. “What did you hit him with?”

“Don't be idiotic,” she snapped. “The fool fainted.”

Nick paused in hoisting Bawton out of the water. Even in the glow of the moon, he could tell that Sara's cheeks were brightly colored. “Fainted?”

“Yes. When I tried to kiss him.”

Nick's lips twitched. He hauled Sir Bawton's limp form onto the ground, trailing water across the stones as he went. Then Nick straightened and looked at Sara. “You had better tell me everything.”

“I tried to kiss him and he reeled backward, stumbled against the wall, and fell. I think he hit his head when he landed, for he hasn't moved since.”

“I see,” Nick managed in a fairly normal voice.

Sara sent him a fulminating glare. “If you continue to grin at me in that odious fashion, I shall hit
you
. With a rock, if I can find one.”

“I won't even smile,” he promised, managing to control the impulse by noticing how fetching his companion appeared this evening. Attired in a gown of white silk that attempted to hide her abundant charms behind a high neckline and a loosely fitted skirt, and with a blue pelisse buttoned se
curely about her throat, she looked far too respectable to be caught in the garden with a man like him. “May I ask you why you attempted to kiss poor Sir Bawton?”

“Because he would not kiss me,” she replied stiffly.

Nick looked down to where Sir Bawton's heavy lace ruffles lay in sodden piles about his hands and throat. “I don't suppose he would.”

“It wasn't my fault; I did everything just right.”

“Just what is ‘everything'?”

She sighed loudly, then counted off on her fingers. “I smiled too much, leaned too close, and—” She bit her lip, her glance slipping away.

He raised his brows. “And?”

“Oh, very well. I even brushed my breasts against his sleeve. And all he did was back away and start stammering.”

Nick had an immediate image of the feel of her breath along
his
cheek, the softness of her breasts as they pressed against
his
arm. He had to fight a sudden urge to loosen his cravat.

Sir Bawton stirred, moaning quietly.

“He must get up.” Sara nudged him with the toe of her shoe. “Sir Bawton!” she called. “Pray rise. It is getting late.” Nothing happened, and she made a noise of disgust. “What will I do now?”

Nick shrugged. “Start screaming. Your brother is bound to come running, then you can tell him that Sir Bawton waylaid you in the garden and tried to have his evil way with you. You would be ruined and on your way to the altar, just as you wish.”

Sara plopped her hands on her hips, her reticule swinging from one wrist, and glared up at Nick. “It is one thing to embrace a man in a garden and quite another to have him almost kill himself in an attempt to get away. I won't have it said that I am desperate.”

Sir Francis moaned louder and covered his eyes with one hand. “What happened?” he mumbled in a thin, lispy voice. “Was I attacked?”

Nick rubbed a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide his grin. “You fell in the fishpond. Just rest a moment, and you'll feel better.”

Sara blew out her breath in a disgusted sigh. “Who knew he was such a ninny?”

“I daresay that was part of his charm,” Nick murmured. She turned a dark glance on him, and he raised his hands. “You were the one looking for a complaisant husband.”

“I still am,” she said, lifting her chin. “But Anthony has scared off every man worth speaking to. Sir Bawton was the only hope I had left.”

Nick looked down at the dandy, whose color was returning to normal. Other than a huge knot on his forehead, the man did not seem the worse for his misadventure. A firework burst almost directly above them, the bright yellow light sparking off Sir Bawton's silver-laced waistcoat, which was an extravagant creation of rose, mauve, and silver. His shoulders were puffed out with buckram wadding, his coat was adorned with a series of preposterous buttons, and his stockings sported ridiculous red tassels.

Nick said, “I'm sure Sir Bawton is quite aware of your brother, though not in the manner you would imagine.”

Her brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“Perhaps we should continue this conversation on our way back. Bawton can find his way home on his own.” Nick leaned over the dandy and said loudly, “Pardon me, Bawton. Do you wish me to send someone for you?”

“No, no,” Sir Bawton muttered. He rolled to his side, then staggered to his feet, where he stood swaying. “Gad, was I set upon by footpads?”

Nick raised his brows. “Don't you remember what happened?”

The foppish lord began to shake his head, then moaned and pressed his fingers against his temples. “I don't remember anything.”

“Well then, you slipped on the path, hit your head on the wall of the pond, and then fell into the water. Lady Carrington found you and called for help.”

“Thank God she came along when she did.” Bawton looked down at his clothes and shuddered. “Lud help me! I can't let anyone see me like this. I shall leave from the garden.”

“Excellent. I will have your carriage brought around to meet you there.”

Thanking Nick profusely, Sir Bawton staggered off, his hand on his head.

Nick watched the man until he was out of sight before he turned back to Sara. “Tell me, sweet. Have you ever seen Sir Bawton in the company of a woman?”

“Of course I have. He dances with nearly every
one. Anna says he is the most graceful man she knows.”

“Exactly my point.”

A frown puckered Sara's brow. “What do you mean?”

“Has he ever courted anyone?”

“No. Aunt Delphi says he is a confirmed bachelor. He is a little silly and too aware of his own looks to pay attention to anyone else, but I vow, I never thought he would scream in such a way and then faint.”

Nick took her hand in his, curving his fingers about her wrist. “Sara, Sir Bawton is not…er, how shall I put this? He is not fond of women.”

She stilled, looking up at Nick with a wide, un-blinking gaze. “He's not?”

“No. In fact, he prefers the company of men. Very pretty men, in fact.”

Overhead, a loud round of bright green sparkles exploded into the night. Sara yanked her hand free from Nick's. “You are teasing me.”

“I would never tease about something as serious as a man who has forgotten that he is a man.”

Sara stared at Nick. He wasn't smiling, not even a little. In fact, there was only a rueful certainty to his expression. Dear God, he was telling the truth. Never had Sara felt like such a fool. She pressed her fingers to her temples. “That's why he…and then I…oh, dear!”

Nick shrugged. “A simple mistake, and fortunately Sir Bawton cannot even remember what occurred.”

She closed her eyes. “I am so embarrassed.”

“Don't be. Return to the lawn and find Miss Thraxton. Your brother is looking for you and is likely to show at any moment.”

“And you?”

Nick's lips twisted in a bitter smile. “I'm sure your brother has already discovered that I'm missing as well. I'll follow the hapless Sir Bawton and leave through the garden.”

Gratitude overwhelmed her and she took a step forward. “Nick, I—”

He placed the tips of his fingers over her lips. In the distance, she could hear the murmur of voices on the path. “You had better go,” he said in a low voice.

But she didn't want to go. She wanted to stay where she was, a fingertip away from Nick. The warmth of his fingers against her lips sent flashes of excitement through her body, to her breasts, and much lower.

Sara closed her eyes and leaned forward, capturing his wrist to place a single kiss in his palm. The gesture was meant to be one of gratitude for his help, but the second her lips touched his skin, it became something else.