The Seduction of Sarah Marks (10 page)

Time. She needed time.

“Jonathan,” she called out on her approach to the smithy, desperately in need of diversion.

The burly man set the glowing metal he’d been working on into the fire. A wide grin split his round face in two. “Miss Lilith. A right pleasure to see you.” He looked beyond her, suddenly appearing nervous, his smile evaporating. “Did yer father send you?”

“No horses today, I’m afraid. I was out for a stroll and heard your hammering, so I thought to stop by. What an unseasonably warm day, isn’t it? You shouldn’t be working in the hot sun.”

Jonathan withdrew the piece of metal from the fire and went back to bending it into shape, saying nothing.

“Jonathan?”

“Miss Lilith, I’m right busy.” He glanced up, but he must have noticed how she stared at him with her jaw dropped, because he quickly returned to his task, the blush to his cheeks deepening.

Good heavens, he was avoiding her
.
She cleared her throat. “How long since I last brought the horses? Any idea? I must keep track, or my father will have my neck.”

Jonathan’s face turned an even deeper red. He pounded harder on the hot metal. “Miss Lilith, yer father came by the other day and told me I wasn’t to speak to you. Not even a hello. I’ve gone against him, and if I say anything more…”

He paused, the mallet in his hand resting on the hot piece of iron, pleading in his eyes. “Miss Lilith, I need my work. If yer father won’t have nuthin’ further to do with me, like he says, if’n I speak to you, well, I won’t have no work once word gets around.”

She let go his name with a whoosh. “Jonathan!”

“Please, Miss Lilith.”

She lifted her hand and backed away. “Don’t beg, Jonathan. Whatever you do in life, never beg.”

She turned and ran away from the edge of the village, past the church, to the house and beyond, to the stream where over the years, she’d routinely watered her father’s horses. She bent over and gulped in air, perspiration running down her face, her spine, and everywhere in between.

Swim, that’s what she would do. Something her father had forbidden because she was a female. Like riding a horse. And dancing. Well, mayhap she didn’t care much about riding a horse, but swim she would. A new strength blossomed in her. She was a married woman; she could do as she pleased—until she located her husband, at least. But no longer would her father be judge or jailer.

She couldn’t shed her clothing fast enough. Maybe she’d dance a little jig in the water while she was at it. Stripped to her chemise, she waded into the cool stream and closed her eyes, marveling at the calming effect the pure water flowing around her legs had on her. Deeper she went until she stood waist high. Minnows darted about, and in the shadows of the great willow tree, she spied a good-sized fish. She did not know she’d be able to see the bottom out here. Next, she’d try fishing, another act her father deemed for men alone. She took in a big gulp of a breath, bent at the knees and submerged herself. She came up sputtering and laughing.

And then she sobered at the sound of her father’s harsh voice, at the sound of a whip snapping in the air, and at the sound of a series of grunts as Jonathan dashed past her and disappeared from sight. They had both followed her?

“Lilith, damn your whoring soul. Get out of there this minute!”

Neck-deep, she turned to face her father. No more. He no longer held any power over her. “Go away. I’m having a swim.”

The whip cracked through the air over her head, its tip barely missing her face. “Father!”

When he raised the whip again, she held her breath and dipped beneath the surface once more. The next thing she knew, he was dragging her out of the water, her chemise wet and clinging to her like a second skin.

“You filthy harlot.” The whip cracked across her wet back. Hot pain set her on fire. She fell to the ground, writhing in agony, unable to swallow her screams.

“Malcolm, no!” It was her mother doing the begging.

The whip cracked again.

Another scream tore from Lilith’s throat.

“Cease your bloody cruelty!” Doctor Hemphill bellowed as he ran to her.

Something greater than calm suddenly pervaded Lilith. It was as though angels had swooped down and took her pain, held her father at bay while she turned, as if in slow motion, and grabbed the tip of the whip. Hand over hand, she worked her way up the leather cord until her grip rested a hand’s breadth from his.

“Never again,” she swore softly. “Never, ever again, will you treat me so cruelly, as you have done on so many occasions.”

Hemphill’s hand settled on the whip between them. “She’s right. Never again.”

He stood between them, but suddenly, another image flashed before her. The face of her husband overlaid that of her father’s.

She blinked.

Memories of the man she married tumbled into her head like a kaleidoscope set in motion. No! How could she have married
him
? But in her heart, she knew that what her mind revealed was the truth. She dropped her hand from the whip and stepped away, leaving it to Hemphill and her father.

Hot fear gave way to cold anger. She turned to mother. “I remember everything now.” Collecting her clothing, she covered herself as best she could and headed toward the house. “And I intend to kill him.”

Her mother lurched forward. “You’ll hang.”

“Then so be it,” Lilith called over her shoulder. “I’ve nothing left to lose.”

By the time she’d packed her meager things and collected Daisy, Doctor Hemphill had the carriage pulled around to the front. “I’m going along.”

She shook her head. Bitterness, frigid as the North Sea, flowed through her veins. “I’ll see to this alone. And I’ll not have you with me, Doctor Hemphill, so find another way home on your own. Your methods for recovery do not suit me.”

“Try and stop me,” he replied.

Her mother stepped out the front door with a carpet bag in hand, her face still pale as bleached linen. “I’m going along, as well.”

Before Lilith could speak, her mother scurried to the carriage and handed her bag to Hemphill. With a scowl, she climbed into the conveyance and peered out at Lilith. “I intend to be present when you face your husband.”

Lilith glanced from her mother, sitting rigid in the carriage, to Doctor Hemphill, who held his hand extended to her. She lifted her chin and let the sound of her words fracture the air like cracking ice. “Then don’t either one of you speak to me, for I shall not utter a word to you.”

…

True to her word, they rode the distance in silence, along a familiar road. Angry to the core, Lilith would see to a divorce if she hadn’t the nerve to kill her husband. And if a divorce wasn’t possible, she would leave for the Americas. She’d make a good governess.

It was storming when they drove up the drive she’d come to know well. How could all of this have escaped her? How could her disloyal memory have played so many tricks on her?

The carriage pulled to a halt. Not waiting for Doctor Hemphill to help her down, she swung the door open, deposited Daisy onto the ground, and stomped past the footman and into the house, not caring that she was dripping wet and soaking the carpet. She knew right where she’d find her husband this time of day.

She marched to the library and flung the door wide. He sat behind his desk, a startled look on his face.

“Eastleigh, you beast!”

He stood, the shock on his face disintegrating. He squared his shoulders, and a corner of his mouth tipped up. “Welcome home, Lady Eastleigh.”

Chapter Eleven

A bloody miracle if Eastleigh’s frozen smile didn’t shatter. How the hell was he supposed to handle this so Lilith wouldn’t relapse or lose her memory altogether? And why had she called him a beast?

Hemphill stepped through the doorway.

Eastleigh heaved a sigh of relief and rubbed at the muscles pinching the back of his neck.

A woman sidled in alongside the doctor and stood in a corner of the room. Lilith’s mother? She had to be for the uncanny resemblance. Bloody brilliant. As if he hadn’t enough to deal with.

His forced smile faded. “Where do we go from here, Hemphill?”

“I suggest we all sit,” the doctor responded. “Forgive my brief introductions—Mrs. Stokes, meet Lord Eastleigh, and vice versa.”

Hemphill offered one of the two chairs in front of the desk to Mrs. Stokes and held out the other for Lilith. When she stepped away, he said, “That would include you, as well, Lady Eastleigh.”

Her chin rose and her arms swept around her waist. She paced in front of the window. “I prefer to stand.”

Hemphill scowled. “I asked you to sit directly across from your husband for a reason, Lady—”

“Do
not
call me that.” Lilith stalked to the chair and sat, shooting Eastleigh a glance so hateful he mentally winced. The doctor carried a chair from beside a reading table and situated himself between the two women.

Mrs. Stokes leaned forward, and looking past Hemphill, regarded her daughter. “You were part and parcel of this foolhardy marriage.” She waved her hand about. “Or arrangement. Or whatever you wish to call this absurd folly. So unless Lord Eastleigh has abused you to within an inch of your life, such as your father was prone to do—”

Eastleigh’s blood went cold. “Are you saying my wife was ill-treated by her father? A vicar?”
Devil take it, I’ll call the man out!

Mrs. Stokes’ spine stiffened in the same manner he’d seen Lilith do a hundred times. “Spare the rod, spoil the child was her father’s dictum.”

Lilith laughed. Such a cold, humorless sound, that. “Oh, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

Those were the very words she’d used in response to Mum’s idea that she loosen up a bit. He thought them clever back then. Good God, what a dour family she hailed from—a complete contradiction to his own.

A tight band settled about Eastleigh’s head. Not another one of those headaches. Not now. Damn it, he’d run his life with great proficiency before going off to war, and as a military officer, he’d commanded his troops with the same organized expertise. But since sustaining his injuries, about the only thing he’d taken charge of was marrying a woman he’d not met in the flesh until their wedding day. Now look at the wretched mess he’d cooked up. Well, things were about to change.

Again, her mother leaned past the doctor and addressed her daughter. “Oh, do behave, Lilith. The journey here was tedious enough without you acting as if the world has wronged you when you were the one who initiated the goings-on. So please, a little decorum, if you will.”

Puzzlement swept over Lilith’s countenance. “Me? Doing the initiating?”

Eastleigh’s heart stalled. Oh, hell, she didn’t remember everything after all, such as Hemphill indicated in the note he’d sent ahead. He shot a worried glance at the doctor.

“So it would seem,” Hemphill responded, reading Eastleigh’s thoughts. “Tell us what you recollect, Lilith.”

“I recall…” Her chin quivered. “I recall that he is my
husband,
and he has treated me in a beastly manner.” She issued the word husband, as if it were poison to be spat out, rose from her chair, and moved to stand in front of the window.

A bone-chilling jolt ran through Eastleigh. He settled hard eyes on her and returned the disrespect. “How so,
wife
?”

Doctor Hemphill raised a hand to intervene. “Tell us what makes you call your husband a beast.”

A flush crawled up her neck and swept over her face. Clasping her hands so tight the knuckles turned white, she lifted her chin and turned her face toward the window, leaving only her profile visible. “He knows very well of what I speak.”

The burgeoning ache drumming through Eastleigh’s head sent a thread of alarm weaving through him. Bloody hell. The discomfort had all the markings of what had confined him for several days after Lilith had hied off to Aylesham. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if doing so might head off the pain. Suddenly weary, he struggled for his voice. “I wouldn’t knowingly hurt you for the world, Lilith, so tell me—what have I done?”

Hemphill scowled. “You all right, Eastleigh? Not another one of those headaches coming on?”

A sudden realization struck him as to what Lilith could be referring. He regarded Hemphill and Mrs. Stokes. “Might Lilith and I have a moment to ourselves?”

The crease deepened in the doctor’s brow, but then it was as if a shaft of understanding shot through his eyes. He stood. “If you insist, but I’ll be right outside the door. Do you require your powders?”

Eastleigh waved him off. “Have them ready in my chambers.”

Hemphill escorted Mrs. Stokes from the library. He paused at the threshold and glanced over his shoulder. “In the meantime, tread lightly, Eastleigh. For both your sakes.”

Tread lightly? God forbid, he didn’t want to lose Lilith. Even with her so obviously upset and presently acting cold as an ice queen, he knew for certain she was what he wanted in a wife. He’d caught glimpses of her tender side, of the passion that simmered beneath the surface. And there was her intellect. He’d seen promise in her—in them as a couple. By now, he doubted he’d be much good without her. “Lilith, when I’d healed enough from my war injuries to take a wife…”

He pinched the cords on the back of his neck again, the headache worsening. “That didn’t come out precisely as I meant. What I am trying to say is that not only did I need to marry, I
desired
a wife. But I wanted to find the right one.”

He paused. If he was going to take charge, he may as well go all the way. He took in a deep breath and spilled out the rest. “I had grown quite lonely living here with only Mum, Hemphill, and the servants for company. The occasional visits from my family were not enough. Then my father fell ill, which left him bound to his home. I was given fair warning his days were numbered, which meant that at any time, I could inherit his title and all the responsibilities that went with it.”

Spots danced before his eyes, and the light filtering through the windows hurt like the devil. But he was nearly finished with what he had to say, so he plodded on. “Despite my not being completely healed, my family churned out a constant dialogue that I seek a wife. Not only did I despise the thought of them interfering in something so important, I could not have withstood tramping about London as if in pursuit of my next horse. The din of the town alone would have done me in, not to mention the shallow women I would’ve had to wade through.

“I’ve changed a great deal since the war—since my injuries. Where once my trips to London were long and wicked celebrations, I can no longer abide anything of the sort. Truth be known, my boisterous family is about all I can tolerate. Even then, when they come to call, I need to disappear on occasion just to set my inner world to rights.”

She turned. Those cornflower blue eyes settled on him, and his heart stumbled in his chest. Dare he say it? “I wanted more than a mere marriage of convenience, Lilith. I wanted someone who could live quietly in the countryside alongside me, someone educated enough to hold engaging conversations in the dead of winter, someone who shared a love of the outdoors, and resonated to the idea of rearing a family together—come what may. I desired someone…”

Oh, his head. He blinked, trying to ease the pain and obliterate the flashes of hideous scenes of war the headache had begun to spew forth. He ran a hand down his right leg, the injury a lesser pain now that the torture in his skull had taken over. Odd how that worked.

Her brows furrowed. “Are you ill?”

“My injuries produce a kind of megrim under tremendous stress. But we need to ignore my situation and get more important things settled.” He took in another slow breath, part for courage and part in a futile attempt to ease the increasing ache. He was going to risk telling all, without Hemphill present. “I secured the services of a certain Mrs. Hazelthorpe.”

At the mention of the woman, something odd flashed through Lilith’s eyes.

He leaned forward. “Do you recognize the name?”

“Yes, but I cannot recall how I know of her.” She tightened her arms around her waist and rubbed at them as if chilled.

“I procured her services in order to help me locate a woman such as the one I described. Mrs. Hazelthorpe runs a particular kind of confidential service. A matrimonial match-making service, to be exact.”

Another flash of awareness settled in those blue eyes.

“You had retained the woman’s services, as well,” he said. “In fact, your letter of request, complete with a detailed description of yourself and your preference in a husband, landed on her desk a week before mine.”

She paled. “And this woman thought us a good match?”

He nodded. “To use her words, she pronounced us
evenly yoked
. There was no one in your village or surroundings who suited you, and your father had grown quite adamant that you marry someone of his choosing. You and I corresponded for several months through this woman’s service. Our communication was rather awkward at first, but as time passed, a friendship grew.”

He offered a slight shrug. “At least, I construed it as amicable. We found we had similar roots, and at least in the missives, we seemed to have comparable likes and dislikes. Since your father is the third son of an earl and your mother the daughter of a viscount, I thought it a boon to find someone who, when the time came, could also meet the demands of an earl’s wife, yet still prefer quiet, country living.”

He reached into a drawer, pulled out a stack of letters bound by a neat ribbon, and shoved them her way. “I saved everything you sent me.”

Then he removed a miniature of her and slid it across the desk. “You sent me this, as well.”

She moved to the chair in front of him and sat. Ignoring the letters, she picked up the small, hand-painted portrait and studied it for a while. “But despite the fact I am of age, my father didn’t approve of what I had decided. So before he could intervene and beat me bloody, I lit out on my own without an escort, leaving a note behind. Thus, I married a man I had never laid eyes on until the day of my wedding. Do I have this right?”

Eastleigh gave her a faint smile. “Dire as it sounds, at least you now recollect. Knowing your parents were against the marriage, and you were of age, we agreed to meet in the small village of Marsham, where I’d prearranged for the vicar to marry us. We spent our first wedded night in a decent inn there. The next morning, we headed toward the sea where a ship awaited to take us to the Continent for an extended tour. That’s when we were waylaid by thieves.”

She sat quietly, staring at the miniature with no expression. An odd fear seeped through the pain he struggled against. He set an elbow on the chair’s arm and ran a thumb back and forth over his chipped tooth. “Might I add, the portrait doesn’t do you justice?”

When she failed to respond, he regarded her for a long moment. If only she could cast off that mantle of ice she encased herself in, he could show her so much of what she had missed in life. “Even without your memory and in your fragile state, I thought we had become friends of late, if nothing else, so I held out hope.”

She set the miniature down and placed her hands flat upon the desk, fingers splayed. “I…I wear no ring.”

The familiar roar in his ears was beginning to take hold. It seemed he needed his powders after all—or next would come the shouts and screams inside his head, the bloody battle scenes playing out after that. But he couldn’t break away just yet or he might never have another chance at reconciliation. “I planned to take you to a jeweler in Paris and have one designed. I wanted you to wear a ring like none other.”

She glanced up, her eyes round. “You wore your boots to bed. On our wedding night?”

He shook his head and felt everything inside rattle. “As I said, we were at a decent inn our first night.” He swiped at the perspiration now beading his brow. “We were set upon the next day and robbed. I carried you most of the way to the flea-bit inn where you slept the night through, only to awaken the next morning recalling nothing. That was when I slept with my boots on and the key in my pocket in case we were set upon again.”

“You lied to me, Eastleigh. All this time, you lied to me.”

“Think back, Lilith. I
never
lied to you. I was only very careful to leave things out because I thought it best to have a doctor direct your course of treatment. If you recall, I refused to call you Sarah Marks, even when you demanded I do so. Instead, I referred to you as madam. I nearly slipped up a few times. I was desperate to see you home so that I could gain Hemphill’s expertise.”

He was going to lose her, he could feel it coming. His brain knocked against the inside of his head, triggering flashes of light that nearly blinded him.

“Why didn’t you correct me when I told you my name was Sarah Marks?”

He shifted in his seat and bent his head from side to side, trying to ease the wretched pulling of his neck muscles. Little good that did. “There was the worst of it, Lilith. When you gave me the name Sarah Marks, I grew sick at heart and nearly panicked. I knew I had to keep you calm or you could have been in great danger. Drat it all, when I was first injured, my brain couldn’t manage to dredge up my own name for a full year. Whenever anyone would ask, I’d spit out the damnedest monikers. On several occasions, I even claimed the name of my horse as my Christian name, but never was I able to conjure up my own.”

“Who knows about us? Is your family aware of the particulars? Is Mum?”

He started to shake his head, but the pain stopped him. He had to squint in order to see her clearly now. He set his fingers to his temple and pressed as inconspicuously as possible. “Only Doctor Hemphill knew you were my wife, and he was adamant no one else be informed lest they slip and harm you with no malice intended. For obvious reasons, I couldn’t risk Mum knowing. I did send a missive off to your parents as soon as we arrived here explaining everything, but I told them to stay put under doctor’s orders.”