The Seduction of Sara (9 page)

“And now?”

“Now I must find someone else. My brothers have decided it is time I wed, and since they control my fortune—” She shrugged. “I want my freedom, but the man my brothers would choose for me will be as staid and controlling as they are. Therefore, I want a husband who will not interfere with my pleasures any more than I intend on interfering with his.”

“You want someone who will marry you, and then leave you be?”

“Yes.” She paused, marshaling her arguments to persuade him. “Would you be interested in—”

“No.”

He hadn't even hesitated. Sara refused to look away, locking her gaze with his. “You are rebuilding Hibberton Hall. Surely you—”

“I just want to live in peace.”

“I would leave you in peace. I don't even wish to live under the same roof.”

His mouth quirked into a smile. “Then what would be the point of marrying at all?”

“You would have access to my name. The St. Johns are accepted everywhere.”

Nick pushed himself from the tree, the shadows flickering across his face. “Under normal circumstances, I might well be tempted.”

Sara took an eager step forward, but he held up a hand. “Unfortunately, I have no wish to marry. Not now, not ever.”

“But I
must
marry.”

He regarded her for a silent moment. “Perhaps you can convince your brothers that you are willing to go along with their scheme.”

“What would that accomplish?”

“They would leave you alone if they thought you had capitulated. It might give you more time.”

“Time? For what?”

His wicked smile was her answer. Sara's disappointment was so keen it was like the cut of a knife. “I've misjudged you,” she said bitterly. “I thought you were…oh, I suppose it doesn't matter.”

“Doesn't it?” he asked, taking the remaining two steps that brought him to her. “I am not the kind of man you would ever wish to marry, Sara. But if you decide you are interested in a more casual arrangement…” He lifted her face with a warm hand, cupping her cheek in an intimate gesture.

Her breath hung in her throat as the moonlight gilded the sensual line of his mouth. She couldn't move away, caught in the slow heat of the moment. Caught in the feel of his bare hand on her skin. Caught in the swift pounding of her own heart. Without thought to anything, Sara lifted her face to his.

His lips came to softly cover hers, his breath mingling with hers in a slow, sweet dance. Sara's resistance melted before the heady onslaught, her body
tingling with swirling emotion as he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth over hers, parting her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth, eager to get closer, to absorb his warmth, to taste his passion.

Thoughts swirled to a halt as Sara lost herself in the kiss. Her body tightened, and for the first time in her life, she yearned for a man other than Julius.

Nick broke the kiss and lifted his mouth until it was a scant breath from hers. “We really are at opposing ends of the spectrum, aren't we?” he murmured, his thumb brushing across her cheek. “I wish for a mistress, not a wife. You wish to be a wife, not a mistress.”

He wanted her. Desired her just as she desired him. Some secret part of Sara leapt at his words and she craved his touch even as she admitted that he was right. They were at cross-purposes. He was not the man she was searching for. With the greatest reluctance, she forced her stiff legs to move her away from him, away from the tantalizing scent of male temptation, away from the raw heat that simmered in his gaze.

His hands dropped to his side. “I want you, Sara. And you want me. I can tell.”

Despite her determination otherwise, she swayed toward him. She knew from the way he moved, from the fascinating line of his mouth, from the lithe way he walked, that he would be an exhilarating lover—passionate and erotic beyond her dreams. But a few moments of physical pleasure would not gain her what she desired—a complaisant husband who would keep her troublesome
brothers at bay. “Thank you for your offer, my lord, but I must decline.”

To her surprise, he smiled—a masculine, knowing smile, as if he knew her better than she knew herself. “We shall see, my lady.”

Anger stiffened her wavering resolve. Damn the man for thinking he knew her at all. “It was just a kiss, Bridgeton. Surely it wasn't your first.” Sara had the felicity of seeing his smile fade as she turned on her heel and walked away.

There! She had put the arrogant earl in his place. But the taste of triumph eluded her. He had read her all too easily, and it irked her. No matter how tempting he might be, the Earl of Bridgeton was to be avoided at all costs. Her head held high, she marched back to the terrace, achingly aware that it was the last thing she wanted to do.

S
ara swept to the terrace with as much dignity as her shaking knees would allow. Bridgeton was a cold-hearted rakehell, about as caring as a coiled snake. She'd thrown herself on his mercy, explained her desperate circumstances, and instead of assisting her as he could so easily have done, he'd used the opportunity to suggest a mere affair.

She clenched her teeth. The trill of excitement that had warmed her at his forbidden proposition proved that Bridgeton had his own charm, a subtle, heady draw, and she had to be very wary in her dealings with him. She had watched her husband flitter through a succession of mistresses and had no intention of becoming one herself.

Sara's foot reached the terrace step, and Anna
jumped from her seat as if released by an invisible hand. She rushed forward, her gaze flickering over Sara's shoulder into the darkness of the garden. “He's gone.”

Sara slumped in relief, and managed to make the last few steps to the bench before she sank gratefully on the hard, cool surface.

Anna joined her. “I vow, I've never been so shocked in all my life as when he grabbed me through the branches! What did he say to you? I tried so hard to hear, but the music from the ballroom was too loud.”

If the truth were told, some of what had occurred this evening was Anna's fault. Sara turned to her friend. “Where were you?”

Anna blinked. “Here. On this bench. After the earl—”

“No,” Sara said grimly. “Earlier. When I came outside with Viscount Hewlette.”

“Your brother caught me just before I reached the terrace doors.”

“What did Anthony say?”

“He was determined to find you. I told him you were in an antechamber pinning a torn flounce and that you would be back shortly, but he didn't believe me.” Anna's eyes sparkled dangerously. “He suggested I was lying.”

“You were.”

“Yes, but he didn't know that. It's rude to accuse someone when you've no proof. I was tempted to slap him.”

Sara, perceiving how tightly Anna's hands were
curled into fists, rather thought Anthony would have gotten more than a slap. “How did you get away?”

“Your aunt returned from the cardroom. When he turned to greet her, I slipped out the terrace doors. Tell me, Sara; are all of your brothers so overbearing?”

“Yes.”

Anna muttered something under her breath. “I'm sorry I was late in arriving. I truly thought you would be safe with Hewlette. He seems so dull.”

“It took him less than ten seconds to pounce on me. It was like trying to fight off a cat with forty paws.”

“Hewlette has been nothing but a disappointment.” Anna leaned forward. “But Bridgeton? How did he come to be involved?”

“He was wandering down the path and stumbled upon us just as I disengaged Lord Hewlette.”

“I can't imagine a man like Bridgeton walking the gardens alone.” Anna tilted her head to one side. “My grandfather heard that Lady Knowles knew the earl when she was on the Continent. Perhaps he was going to meet her.”

That would be just like the man, to proposition her on his way to another assignation. Worse, Sara couldn't think of a woman she disliked more than Lady Knowles. Lucilla Kettering had been hunting married men with the voraciousness of a hungry lioness since the first day she'd set foot out of the schoolroom. She'd met and married old Lord Knowles in a whirlwind courtship that left His
Lordship in such a fevered state that he'd keeled over a scant month after the nuptials. Naturally he'd left his considerable fortune to his unblushing bride, who had done her best to run through it in record time.

Sara had many reasons not to like Lucilla Kettering, the least of them being the fact that Julius had once been her paramour. But then, there were few ladies of loose virtue whom Julius had missed.

Forcing a smile, she stood, shivering slightly in the cold. “We should return to the ballroom.”

“I'm surprised your brother isn't already out here,” Anna said as she joined her.

“So am I.” Sara opened the door to the ballroom and stepped inside. A swelter of heat and noise immediately engulfed them.

Anna's attention riveted on the other side of the room. “I spoke too soon—here's Lord Adonis now. If you don't mind, I think I'll go see if my grandfather is ready to leave. I've no wish to face your brother a second time this evening.”

Sara didn't feel like facing Anthony for even a first time. “Anna, thank you for your assistance. I'll call on you tomorrow.”

“Fine, provided you don't bring
him
,” Anna responded, jerking her head toward Anthony, who was a scant two steps away and heard every word. Flashing a smile at Sara, Anna slipped into the crowd.

Anthony stopped long enough to glower at the departing woman. “That woman is a menace.”

“She's a good friend.”

Obviously unimpressed, Anthony turned his glare to Sara. “Where in the hell have you been?”

“Fixing my gown. Would you like to see where I pinned it?”

His jaw tightened. “Don't press me, Sara. Aunt Delphi has a headache and wishes to go home.”

Sara caught sight of her aunt just beyond Anthony. The older woman appeared flustered. Her thin mouth was clamped tightly closed, her hands nervously worrying the edge of her shawl, her gaze flittering about the room in a distracted manner. Sara walked past her brother and placed her hand over her aunt's. “Oh, dear! I'm so sorry you are in-disposed. Shall we go?”

A look of gratitude crossed Delphi's face. “Yes, please.”

They took their leave of their hosts and were soon safely ensconced in their carriage. If Sara had hoped for a reprieve, she was mistaken. Anthony barely waited for the footman to close the door before he sent her a piercing glance. “It was far too cold to take a turn on the terrace.”

Sara thought briefly of denying her whereabouts, but decided against it. Anthony was no one's fool. “It was cold, but not unbearably so,” she said. Especially not with the Earl of Bridgeton's mouth covering hers. What a pity she would not be experiencing any more embraces from the man. “Where is Marcus?”

“Attending to business. He invested in a shipping venture and the fleet just returned.”

Marcus had a score of minions who scurried every time he sneezed, and it was highly unlikely
that he would dash down to the docks to count his new funds personally. No, Sara knew her brothers well, and they were notorious for using a deck of cards to settle every argument. “Lost the draw, did you?” she asked without sympathy.

An answering glimmer lit Anthony's brown eyes. “Yes, but Marcus cheated. I caught him dealing from the bottom of the deck.”

“If you caught him, then why isn't
he
here now?”

Anthony gave a reluctant grin. Sara was too intelligent by far. “Because I was cheating, too, and he knew it.” However, they had both been attempting to lose. Sara was their only sister and as such, she held a special place in their hearts. Especially for Anthony. Of all his half siblings, he understood Sara better than the others.

She didn't appear at all appreciative of his sacrifice. She fixed a glum glare on him, and said, “I am not made of porcelain, Anthony. Nor do I need to be wrapped in wool and placed in a box for safekeeping. I don't like boxes; I never have.”

Anthony regarded his sister through narrowed eyes. Something had occurred this evening, something important. Sara almost shimmered with it. Her skin was flushed, her eyes luminescent even in the dim light cast from the street. The only thing that reassured him was the way her mouth was set in such a thin line. Whatever had happened, she wasn't happy with the outcome.

She sighed now, and leaned her head against the squabs, regarding him through her lashes. “I don't want to argue, Anthony. I'm tired.”

“I can tell,” he said dryly.

A slight quiver touched her lips. “But I'm still glad to see you.”

He lifted his brows in polite disbelief. “Are you?”

“Of course. Now you can go home first thing in the morning and report to Marcus that I am safely tucked away and bored to death. Buried alive, just as he planned.”

“That's not what we wanted, Sara. All we ask is that you give yourself a chance to find happiness. And that does not include taking long, unescorted walks in the garden.”

Aunt Delphi cleared her throat. “Sara had an escort. Miss Thraxton was with her, so they were perfectly in the bounds of propriety.”

To be honest, Sara's redheaded friend worried Anthony more than anything else. Tall, statuesque, with flashing gray eyes framed by thick black lashes, Anna Thraxton was far too attractive to supervise anyone, not least his headstrong sister. And the fact that she'd lied to him about Sara's whereabouts, smiling so sweetly that he'd almost believed her, made him even more irritated. “That hoyden is not a suitable companion. She's barely more than a child herself.”

Sara raised her brows. “She's twenty-four and a perfectly acceptable companion.”

“Miss Thraxton is untruthful, obstinate, and
wrong
,” he stated with certainty.

“Wrong? About what?”

Anthony shifted in his seat. “About everything,” he said finally. Before Sara could respond to his
weak rejoinder, he turned to Aunt Delphi. “Are you aware of the type of literature Miss Thraxton's grandfather ascribes to?”

“Oh. Uhm, yes,” Aunt Delphi said in an uncertain voice, her fingers toying with the fringes of her shawl. “Something to do with taxation. And trade, I think.”

“Sir Thraxton is within a hound's breath of being an anarchist. Were he more successful, he'd be swinging from Tyburn, a branded traitor.”

“I don't know about anarchy,” Aunt Delphi said, “but Thraxton is well known to Wellington, and that counts for a great deal. As for Anna, I've never seen her behave in any but the most circumspect manner.”

Anthony opened his mouth to reply, but Sara interceded, sending him an annoyed glance. “Aunt Delphi, how was the ball? Did you win at cards?”

“No.” Her fingers were tangled in her shawl, but she made no move to free them, her gaze drifting to the window. “I lost.”

Sara frowned. “I've never seen you so upset over a card game. Did anything else happen?”

Delphi attempted to collect herself with an obvious effort. “I had a lovely time. Didn't you, dear?” She immediately began to chatter with an air of forced gaiety.

They finally arrived home, and Anthony stalked off to the library while Delphi and Sara retired to their bedchambers. Splendidly free from the presence of females, he dropped into a wide leather chair. His coat was gone, tossed over a chair by the
door, his waistcoat loosened, his cravat hung open about his neck. He stretched his legs before him and reflected on the evening's events.

Something was definitely afoot. Sara had been far too secretive, and her prolonged absence from the ballroom was a particularly ominous sign. Sighing, he rested his head against the high back of the chair and stared at the ornate plaster ceiling.

From the day Sara had been born, she had been his special charge. Though his stepfather had always treated Anthony as if he were his own son, Anthony was always aware that he was different from his half brothers. The knowledge hadn't made him lonely or discontent; it had merely given him the confidence to pursue his own road, wherever it might lead.

Anthony had remained aloof until the day he was called into his mother's room some ten years later to meet his newest sibling—Saraphina Elisia St. John—the first girl born into the St. John family in three generations. Anthony, already embarrassingly aware of how much larger he was than any of his brothers, had felt like a giant when his father handed him the tiny baby.

Eyes wide, he'd stared down at the small, heart-shaped face and the smile that danced in her blue eyes. He'd been so afraid of hurting her that he'd held his breath the entire time she'd lain in his arms. But she hadn't been hurt. Instead, she'd reached up and stuck a small finger in his nose, squealing loudly.

From that day on, Anthony had been Sara's self-
appointed champion. He loved her fiercely and protected her against the overexuberance of her other brothers. When Brand helped Sara up into a tree and promptly forgot her during an especially engrossing game of pirate ship, it was Anthony who heard her cries and rescued her. When Chase tested the safety of jumping from the loft into a stack of hay by throwing one of Sara's precious dolls over the railing and then giving her a push when she leaned over to see where it had landed, Anthony was the one who swooped her out of midair, saving her neck and then thrashing Chase soundly to prevent it from happening again.

Now Anthony was protecting his high-spirited sister from herself.

Anthony rubbed a hand over his face, then reached for the port. He should have never allowed Sara to wed Julius Lawrence. He'd been against the match from the beginning, but Sara had been so in love that he'd let his better judgment be swayed by her pleas. Anthony's jaw tensed at the memory of how Sara had changed during that endless year, how the laughter that had once danced in her eyes had slowly faded to nothingness.

Never again
, he vowed silently. Never again would a worthless whoreson destroy his sister's happiness. They had all hoped that coming to Bath would give Sara time to reestablish herself, some room to recover her dignity. But it appeared that she was still determined to fling her life away, helped by a tall, auburn-haired beauty who deserved a thrashing in her own right. If anything happened to
Sara, Anthony would know where to lay some of the blame. Miss Anna Thraxton had best beware.

Tossing back the last of his port, he climbed to his feet. In the morning, he would send a missive to Marcus, mentioning his suspicions and hoping against hope that he was wrong.