“Would you please tell me what is going on, my lord?”

At least her voice was cool and steady, despite the feeling that she had wandered into a strange dream where nothing made the least sense.

“It seems we are betrothed, Miss Chandler,” he said. “And in love.”

“In love? What…what sort of ridiculous notion is that?”

Dev folded his arms across his chest. “It was the only thing I could think of to explain last night’s debacle, particularly after my aunt accused you of trying to seduce me.”

“She thought I tried to seduce you?”

“Yes. Ironic, isn’t it? Your family thinks I tried to seduce you and mine is equally convinced you tried to seduce me.”

The Marriage Truce
Ann Elizabeth Cree

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANN ELIZABETH CREE

is married and lives in Boise, Idaho, with her family. She has worked as a nutritionist and an accountant. Her favorite form of daydreaming has always been weaving romantic stories in her head. With the encouragement of a friend, she started putting those stories to paper. In addition to writing and caring for two lively boys, two cats and two dogs, she enjoys gardening, playing the piano and, of course, reading.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter One

D evin St Clair, the fifth Marquis of Huntington, stood at the window of his bedchamber in Henslowe Hall and watched the Earl of Monteville’s carriage come to a halt in the circular drive below. He let the curtain fall and turned, a scowl on his brow. The prospect of the forthcoming ball was about as appealing as a stay in Newgate. Particularly now he knew the party from Monteville House had arrived. He had no desire to spend an evening under the same roof as Sarah Chandler.

‘Dev?’ His younger sister Jessica stood in the doorway. She was dressed for the ball in a pale pink gown, her thick dark hair pulled back in a knot, a few tendrils framing her pretty, delicate face. He felt a little tug at his heart. She looked much too young to be going to her own betrothal ball.

She smiled at him. ‘Are you ready? I thought perhaps you would not mind escorting me down.’

‘Of course not. Although I am surprised Adam is not fighting me for the honour.’ A smile lit his usually cool face. ‘You look lovely, Jess.’

‘And you look extremely dashing.’ She eyed his black coat and black silk breeches. ‘Oh, Dev! I am so glad you are here. I know it cannot be at all easy for you.’

He raised a brow. ‘I will own it was a trifle inconvenient of you to fall in love with the man whose future estate runs with Monteville House, and a cousin of the Chandlers to boot.’

A chagrined expression crossed her face. ‘I tried very hard not to.’

He moved forward and looked into her face. ‘I am only teasing you a little.’ He took her gloved hand in his. ‘Don’t look so worried, Jess. I quite like your young man, and I never would have consented to the match if I didn’t think he would make you happy. And I promise to behave myself.’

She tried to smile. ‘I am hardly worried about that. You have never done anything wrong, no matter what anyone says. It is entirely Lord Thayne’s doing!’ Her hazel eyes clouded with a touch of anger, before filling with concern. ‘It is only—I don’t want you to be hurt again.’

He pressed her hands lightly before releasing them. ‘There is nothing to worry yourself about. It is in the past.’ Which was precisely where he intended to keep all of it, especially the Chandlers. ‘Come, we must go down or Adam will think you’ve changed your mind.’

She gave him another little smile as he held out his arm. She placed her hand lightly on the sleeve of his coat.

But as they descended the winding staircase of Lord Henslowe’s country seat, the sounds of laughter and chatter drifting up from the ballroom below, his mouth curved in a bitter smile. It was going to prove devilishly difficult to keep the Chandlers where he wanted them. He had found it impossible to completely avoid Sarah Chandler a month ago in London, and now she was going to be under his nose again for an entire evening. It should be no problem, he would just make certain to stay on the opposite side of the room.

Sarah Chandler stood in one corner of Lady Henslowe’s ballroom, partially hidden by a Grecian column entwined with ivy and silk flowers, and wished, not for the first time this evening, that she could go home. Pleading a headache and quitting the ball would, however, be all too obvious.

The only redeeming factor was no one had quarrelled, at least publicly. But the air was thick with unspoken tensions. It hardly helped that the ballroom had somehow become divided into two sides which resembled nothing as much as two armies preparing for battle. The Chandler relations stood on one side near the tall double doors leading into the hallway, and the St Clairs on the opposite side near the doors leading to the garden. The rest of the guests chose the other two walls with a few brave souls meandering between the two. The only thing that would make it worse was if her brother, Nicholas, was present. Thank goodness, he was safely in Scotland.

She looked over at the dancers and picked out Adam, her second cousin, gracefully executing the steps of a quadrille with his betrothed. From the way they gazed into each other’s eyes, it was apparent they were deeply in love. How unfortunate that Lady Jessica’s brother undoubtedly detested the Chandlers more than anyone on earth. At least Adam was only a cousin. It would be much worse if Lady Jessica was marrying into Sarah’s own family. But of course, Lord Huntington would probably send his sister to a convent before he would allow such a thing.

She glanced over at the St Clair wall. For once he wasn’t staring at her, thank goodness. He leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, regarding the company with a faintly amused look on his darkly handsome face as if he found the ball a source of sardonic amusement. Of course, he had had a similar expression on his face nearly every time she saw him in London last month, so that was nothing unusual. Certainly the tensions seemed to affect him not at all. But neither had the speculations and stares cast his way in London.

Sarah would have thought him completely indifferent except that once or twice she caught an expression on his face that was oddly vulnerable, despite his cool stance. And then had experienced the most insane desire to approach him. But of course, he would only have walked away from her.

As if sensing her interest, he turned his head and looked at her. His mouth curved in a slow, rather wicked smile that made her feel vulnerable. She flushed and forced her gaze to a spot over his left shoulder, trying to pretend she found something there quite fascinating before looking away. For not the first time, she wondered why Adam must fall in love with Lord Huntington’s sister. She only prayed Huntington wouldn’t feel obligated to visit the Henslowe estate very often.

‘Sarah, are you hiding again?’

Sarah started. Her cousin, Amelia, Lady Marleigh, appeared at her side. She was tall and blonde with a slender graceful figure, and a pair of lively blue eyes. ‘Not that I blame you. ’Tis the most dreadful ball I have ever attended. I’ve never seen a group with such dismal faces.’

‘I know. It’s rather like the air before a thunderstorm. The clouds are gathering and the air is still and sticky and one is just waiting for the storm to break and clear the air.’

‘What do you think the storm will be? A duel, perhaps?’

Sarah made a face. ‘No, please not that! I don’t think I could bear another duel!’

‘Well, perhaps we should go and stand with the St Clairs. That would certainly create a diversion. Perhaps by Lady Beatrice. She looks extremely displeased. Or…’ Amelia’s vivid blue eyes sparkled with sudden mischief. ‘We could have Lord Henslowe present you to Huntington as his next partner.’

‘No, thank you!’ Sarah nearly shuddered at the thought. ‘He’d probably just look at me in his odious way and walk off.’ Or, worse, accept and she’d be forced to spend an entire set with his sardonic gaze and confusing remarks. Such as the time in London when Lady Ralston made the grave error of seating her next to him at dinner. Or the time she’d backed into him at a rout where he’d looked down his arrogant nose at her while she stammered an apology. She still cringed at the memory.

‘Are you certain? He’s been staring at you all evening. Just as he did in London. Even John said something and he is so terribly dense at noticing such things.’ A mischievous smile crossed her face. ‘I sometimes wonder if Lord Huntington has a tendre for you.’

‘That is the most ridiculous notion,’ Sarah snapped. ‘In fact, he quite detests me. Not that I can fault him.’

Amelia rolled her eyes. ‘How perfectly idiotic! I will admit, I find this whole quarrel tedious. Certainly the affair was very dreadful, but it happened nearly two years ago. I can understand why he wants nothing to do with Nicholas, but with you? You had nothing to do with it.’

Sarah looked away. Amelia was wrong, she had everything to do with it. If she hadn’t invited Mary to stay with her, if she hadn’t been so worried about Mama, if she hadn’t been so naïve, perhaps things would have turned out differently. As it was, every time she saw Huntington, she felt the same regret and guilt all over again.

Amelia shut her fan. ‘Well, you would be better off with Huntington than with Cedric Blanton. I fear he’s about to ask you for another dance. If you stand up with him one more time, everyone will consider you practically betrothed.’

‘Oh, dear.’ She turned and saw that Amelia was right, Cedric Blanton was heading in their direction.

A rather florid man in his early thirties, he had recently bought a small estate nearby nearly a year ago. From the first time she met him at a dinner party, he had made his interest in her quite clear. He had even appeared in London when she had been there for a month visiting Amelia and her husband John. She found his conversations annoying. She did her best to avoid him, but tonight had been difficult.

‘Since you cannot bring yourself to snub him, I think you should make your escape,’ Amelia said. ‘Go. I will keep him occupied with my witty conversation.’

Sarah cast her a grateful look and started around the edge of the ballroom. The best route of escape looked to be towards the double French doors leading to the veranda. Unfortunately, it was also the St Clair wall, but perhaps if she hurried past no one would notice her, or at least she wouldn’t notice them. She had just arrived at the enemy wall when a plump elderly woman stepped in front of her.

Sarah side-stepped in order to avoid standing on the lady’s foot. Instead, she landed squarely on a masculine shoe fastened with a shiny buckle. She glanced quickly up at the tall figure standing before her. ‘I beg your…’ The words died on her lips when she saw the man’s face.

Lord Huntington looked as startled as she felt and then his brow shot up in his arrogant fashion. ‘Miss Chandler, I am beginning to think you desire a more intimate acquaintance with me.’

‘You are quite wrong,’ Sarah snapped.

‘Then why do you persist in stepping into me?’

‘I could ask why you persist in standing in my way.’

His gaze roved over her face in a careless fashion that made her flush. ‘Perhaps because I desire a more intimate acquaintance with you.’

He was doing what he always did, making some sort of suggestive remark that erased any sympathy she might have felt, and flustered and irritated her at the same time.

She gave him her most quelling look. ‘I fear you are merely attempting to annoy me, my lord.’

‘Why would I wish to do that?’

‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps you could let me pass.’

‘I could. However, are you certain it is safe?’

‘Now what do you mean?’

His smile was most annoying. ‘This appears to be the St Clair side of the room. Perhaps you should retrace your steps and take the, er…safer route. Not to mention that our host seems to disapprove of your conversing with me.’

She glanced around and saw that Lord Henslowe was indeed watching them with his most thunderous look. She turned away, feeling even more impatient. ‘This is the most ridiculous…. really, there is no reason why anyone shouldn’t take whichever side of the room they want. Or speak with whomever they choose.’

His brow rose again. ‘Does that mean you are here because you wish to talk to me?’

‘No! Must you…’ Over his shoulder she saw Cedric had broken away from Amelia and was peering around the room. He caught sight of her and started in her direction. ‘Please excuse me, I cannot stand here trading nonsense with you.’

Huntington still watched her in that lazy way that made her want to hit him. ‘Then perhaps you would consider continuing the, er, nonsense while we danced.’

Her mouth fell open and hot colour rushed to her cheeks. ‘I…I pray you will not tease me in such a fashion.’ She backed away. ‘I…I really must find my…my grandfather.’ She dashed away towards the open doors leading to the veranda and had no idea whether it was Huntington or Blanton that she wanted to escape most.

Dev watched Sarah Chandler brush through the double doors that opened on the veranda. She was looking for Lord Monteville in the garden? She would do better to try the card room.

He frowned. What the hell came over him every time he saw her? He had no idea why he wanted to tease her out of the wary disapproval with which she regarded him. Or bring a blush to her lovely cheeks. If he had an ounce of sense, he’d stay out of her way. Certainly, from the horrified look on her face when he suggested she dance with him, she fervently wished he would.

‘At daggers drawn again, I see. Now, what devilish thing did you say to Miss Chandler to cause her to run off?’ His cousin Lord Jeremy Pennington, appeared at his side.

Dev quirked a brow. ‘I merely asked her to stand up with me.’

‘Not quite the usual reaction to such a request from you. Not that I blame her. You seem determined to needle her.’

‘I cannot help it if she regards me as the devil incarnate.’

Jeremy glanced at him. ‘She has nothing to do with her brother’s sins.’

‘No.’

‘I don’t suppose you would consider some sort of reconciliation? It’s bound to make things a trifle awkward now with Jessica and Adam.’

Dev shrugged. ‘Even if I should wish that, I doubt if Miss Chandler would agree.’

Jeremy looked at him, a little smile at his lips. ‘I was not speaking particularly of Miss Chandler.’

Dev frowned, and then his attention was caught by Cedric Blanton who stood at the doors leading to the garden. He seemed to be looking at something outside. And Dev had a good idea what it was. His fawning after Sarah Chandler in London had been obvious to any fool. It made Dev exceedingly uneasy, particularly after a houseparty Dev had attended last summer where Blanton had also been a guest. Blanton had pursued the Duke of Wrexton’s daughter in the same fashion. Like Sarah, Lady Alethea had attempted to avoid the man as much as possible. She’d been successful until the picnic two days before they were to leave. And then Dev had caught Blanton almost ravishing the girl near a thicket of bushes by the lake. Dev had stopped him, barely restraining himself from mowing the man down. Only the knowledge of the certain scandal and insult to Lady Alethea’s name that would be the certain result kept him from doing so. Instead, he’d threatened to ruin Blanton if a word of it leaked out.

The music had stopped and a footman appeared to announce the supper. Jeremy glanced at him. ‘Coming? Aunt Beatrice has commanded that I escort her. I’ve no desire for a scold if I don’t appear on time.’

‘Not yet.’ He shifted his attention back to Blanton, who still stood in the doorway.

Jeremy gave him a curious look. ‘Later, then.’

Dev watched Blanton disappear through the French doors. He frowned. Was Sarah Chandler still foolish enough to be outside? A quick search of the guests milling towards the doors and out of the ballroom revealed no sign of a slight figure with a crown of rich auburn hair in a cream-coloured gown. And surely he’d have noticed if she had come back in.

He stalked towards the terrace doors, wondering what sort of a fool he was about to become. If she were there, she would probably stare at him with her calm, collected look as if he was partially invisible.

The garden was cool and dark. A veil of wispy clouds covered the moon. He walked to the edge of the terrace and looked down into the garden. At first he saw nothing, then he heard voices coming from the shrubbery. He moved down the steps with a light tread. He rounded the edge of the circle of shrubs, just in time to see a woman struggling in Blanton’s arms. She suddenly yanked away and Blanton grabbed for her. There was an ominous sound of ripped fabric. And Dev caught a glimpse of Sarah Chandler’s frightened face.

‘Let me go!’

‘No, my dear, I must speak to you,’ Blanton said smoothly.

Without a second thought, Dev stepped forward. ‘I suggest you do as the lady asks.’

The two froze. Blanton’s head whipped around and he stared at Dev, his eyes unfocused. Then he glared, hatred shooting across his face. ‘What do you mean by interrupting a private conversation, my lord?’

Dev regarded him coolly. ‘If you wish to hold a private conversation, I suggest you find somewhere less public than this. Particularly during a ball.’ His eyes briefly swept over Sarah. She stared at him, her arms crossed over her breast, trying to hide the damage to her bodice. She looked dismayed, shocked and completely miserable. He fought to keep his fury at bay. ‘Although the lady does not appear to particularly enjoy your conversation.’

Blanton took a step towards him, his chin trembling with anger. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘It should be obvious. Miss Chandler wished to go and you attempted to detain her by force,’ he said indifferently.

Blanton tugged at his stock. ‘It was hardly by force. And she is my fiancée.’

Sarah gasped. ‘I am not!’

Blanton turned to her. ‘But you will have to marry me. It will hardly do to have it spread about that we were alone together and you were allowing my embrace. Your reputation will be ruined.’

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘Such lengths are unnecessary.’ Dev folded his arms across his chest, regarding Blanton with contempt. ‘I’ve no intention of mentioning this particular conversation.’

‘I have no reason to trust your word.’ Blanton looked as if he held a trump card. ‘You detest the Chandlers. What better method of revenging yourself than by destroying Miss Chandler’s reputation? It would bring disgrace down upon her entire family.’

‘You are mistaken. I would no more enact revenge by ruining a lady’s reputation than I would force her into marriage by the same means.’ Dev took a step towards him. ‘So, unless you wish to meet me tomorrow, I suggest you keep such speculations to yourself.’

Blanton stiffened, fury distorting his features. Dev took another step in his direction and Blanton tugged at his cravat, backing away, and then scurried off.

Dev watched his portly figure retreat through the ballroom doors. Then he looked over at Sarah. She stood motionless as if she’d gone into shock. ‘Are you all right?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

He found himself half-wanting to shake her and half-wanting to take her into his arms, and erase the misery and shame from her face. The unexpected thought made him scowl. ‘What the devil were you doing out here with Blanton?’

‘I…I wasn’t out here with him. That is, I was here alone and he…he followed me.’

‘I don’t suppose it occurred to you that wandering around in dark gardens alone is not only improper, but highly dangerous? Unless, of course, you wish to encourage behaviour such as Blanton’s.’

That seemed to jolt her out of her trance. ‘I most certainly do not! And I was not wandering around—I…I was merely standing here.’ Her voice quivered and she suddenly looked utterly defeated. ‘I…I know it was quite improper to come here, but I…I wanted to escape for a few minutes and it was nice to be alone and I did not want to go in and suddenly he…he appeared…’

She looked away from him for a moment as if trying to collect herself. When she spoke, her voice was calm. ‘So, I suppose it was my fault. If you will excuse me, my lord, and thank you for…for rescuing me.’ She started to move past him, still clutching her bodice.

‘Wait.’

She glanced up at him, a question in her dark eyes.

He frowned. ‘How bad is the tear?’

‘Not very bad. A small rip in the lace, I think. Nothing that cannot be mended with a needle and thread.’

‘You cannot go into the ballroom with a rip in your bodice.’

‘I have little choice. At least everyone has gone into supper.’

‘We can only hope,’ he said drily. His glance fell to the small brooch she wore. ‘Your brooch. Can you use that to repair the tear?’

She looked down also. ‘Perhaps. I…I think so.’ She fumbled with the clasp, but her fingers were trembling and he realised that, despite her collected manner, she was very badly shaken.

‘I’ll do it.’ He stepped forward. She went very still as his fingers brushed her breast. His fingers suddenly seemed as clumsy as hers and he was finding it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. Her scent was soft and sweet and feminine and the fact she seemed to be trying very hard not to breathe was making his own breath come far too fast.

‘My lord, I…I think I should go in.’ Her voice was faint.

He scowled. ‘In a moment.’ He’d just about extricated the pin from the soft silky fabric of her dress when he heard a screech from behind them.

And then, ‘Oh, my! Oh, my goodness!’

He spun around, the brooch in his hand. Lady Henslowe stood behind them, a hand clasped to her breast. Even in the faint moonlight, he could see her eyes were wide with shock. And with her was Lord Henslowe, a murderous look on his normally placid face.

‘Damnation.’ He was beginning to think fate fully intended to make him pay for every one of his numerous sins.

Chapter Two

N ever, even if she lived to be a hundred and one, would Sarah forget the shocked expressions on the faces of Lord and Lady Henslowe. She closed her eyes and prayed she could vanish. Or die on the spot.

But she did not. She opened her eyes to find Lord Henslowe advancing on Huntington. He fixed him with an icy stare. ‘I trust this means there is to be a betrothal, my lord.’

‘Yes,’ Huntington said coolly.

‘No,’ Sarah replied at the same time.

‘But, my dear, you cannot allow such…such liberties and not marry him!’ Lady Henslowe exclaimed. ‘And, oh my! Your gown!’

Henslowe’s gaze swung to Sarah’s torn bodice. He stared and then glowered at Huntington. ‘So this is how you repay my hospitality! By attacking my guests! It is too late to forbid the marriage between my son and your sister but, damn you, you will not set foot in this house again!’ He advanced on Huntington as if he meant to thrash him.

Huntington seemed to be frozen to the spot. Sarah ran forward and caught Henslowe’s hand. ‘No! Stop it! He…he did nothing wrong! He is not responsible for this!’

Henslowe shook off her hand. ‘You are defending this rogue?’ he demanded. ‘The devil! Has he seduced you already?’

‘No, of course not,’ Sarah said.

‘But, my dear, how did your gown become torn? And why are you in the garden and with him?’ Lady Henslowe asked. Her gaze was fixed on Sarah’s bodice with horrid fascination.

‘I…I went to the garden for a few minutes…I wished to be alone and then…’

Huntington’s cool voice cut in. ‘This is neither the time nor the place for this conversation. Miss Chandler is shaking. I suggest, Lady Henslowe, that you take her in and see she has some brandy.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Lady Henslowe bustled to Sarah’s side. ‘My dear, such a shock…you must come with me.’

‘I don’t want brandy,’ Sarah said.

‘You will remain with me, Huntington,’ Henslowe said, ignoring Sarah. ‘No use thinking you’re going to run off until this affair is settled.’

‘I wouldn’t think of it,’ Huntington drawled. His arms were crossed and his eyes held the faintly amused indifference Sarah was so accustomed to.

Sarah felt wretched. ‘Please, you must listen. Lord Huntington did not do this. You see, I was…’

‘Go in, Miss Chandler.’ Huntington’s eyes held a warning which Sarah completely planned to ignore.

‘No! Not until I explain the matter.’

The indifference left Huntington’s face. If anything, he looked as if he wanted to strangle her. ‘There is, Miss Chandler, nothing to explain. Lady Henslowe will take you in.’

Lady Henslowe tugged on her arm. ‘Come, my dear. You cannot stand here with your gown in such repair! Oh, Sarah, how could you do this? Whatever will Monteville say?’

Sarah stared at her. ‘Oh, no! Not Grandfather! You cannot tell him about this. He…he will probably murder me!’

‘My dear child, I hope I have done nothing to put such fear in you.’

Lady Henslowe stiffened and made a little moaning sound. Sarah froze, her gaze going to the man who had silently appeared behind them. For the second time that night, she wished she might vanish from the face of the earth.

The Earl of Monteville’s cool, impersonal gaze travelled over the group for a moment. It was only when his gaze fell to Sarah’s bodice that it hardened. He looked at Huntington. ‘I trust there is an explanation for why my granddaughter should be standing in a darkened garden with a rather large tear in her gown.’

Huntington’s own gaze was equally hard and direct. ‘I believe, my lord, we had best meet in private.’ He did not look at Sarah.

Sarah shook off Lady Henslowe’s arm. ‘No, there is no need, I can explain…Lord Huntington has done nothing…he only wished to help me!’

‘The rogue tried to seduce her!’ Henslowe said.

‘It is not true!’ Sarah glared at him. His mouth fell open.

The look Lord Monteville turned on her was not unkind. ‘My dear child, it is best that you go in. You are undoubtedly cold. Penelope can take you in and find your shawl.’

‘Oh…oh, yes!’ Lady Henslowe, who had been watching in stunned silence, sprang to life. ‘My dear, come with me.’

Sarah allowed Lady Henslowe to take her arm without protest. It was no use arguing with her grandfather. She had seen that look too many times to know that any sort of resistance was in vain. She only prayed that he would talk Huntington out of the ridiculous notion he must marry her.

Dev stepped past Monteville into Henslowe’s private study. A candle on the massive mahogany desk cast a dim light in the dark panelled room. Monteville closed the door and moved to the sideboard. He poured two glasses of brandy and held one out to Dev. ‘I believe this might be in order.’

Dev accepted the glass. Apparently Monteville had no intention of calling him out, at least not yet. Despite the Earl’s age, he was reputed to be a master with a sword. Although Dev possessed no mean skills in that regard, he had no desire to duel with a man several decades his senior. He took a neat shot of the liquor, its warmth burning down his throat, then turned his gaze on the Earl.

Monteville watched him without touching his own drink. Although in his mid sixties, he was still a formidable presence with a lean, upright figure and a pair of piercing grey eyes. Now they were fixed on Dev. ‘So, Lord Huntington, perhaps you will explain the little drama in the garden and Lord Henslowe’s rather confused desire to either evict you from his house or run you through.’

Dev set his glass down and looked directly at Monteville. ‘He believes I tried to ravish or seduce your granddaughter. I am not certain he’s yet decided which.’

‘And did you?’

Dev scowled. ‘No.’

‘Then perhaps you will enlighten me as to what did happen.’ He looked merely curious, a sign Dev found more disconcerting than all of Henslowe’s blustering.

‘Lord and Lady Henslowe found us alone in the garden,’ Dev said.

Monteville raised a brow. ‘And was that all? Although secreted alone in a dark garden is somewhat improper, I cannot quite fathom how the position could be described as damnably compromising. I would imagine a man with your intelligence could come up with a plausible explanation for your, er, situation.’

‘My hand was at her breast,’ Dev said bluntly.

Monteville’s brow shot up further. ‘Ah, I can see that might present a more delicate dilemma. I trust you had a reason for doing so?’

‘I was attempting to remove a brooch. She needed it to repair a tear in her bodice.’ He would not have been surprised if Monteville demanded satisfaction. Even to his own ears the explanation sounded feeble.

‘And precisely how did that tear come to be in her bodice?’

He had no intention of revealing Blanton’s role. ‘I haven’t the damnedest idea. I did not do it if that is what you wish to know. I have every intention of marrying her,’ he added stiffly.

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve no desire to be held responsible for seducing your granddaughter.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘There’s enough tension already between our families—it would probably make the Battle of Waterloo look like a tea party.’ He fixed Monteville with a hard look. ‘Nor do I intend to let my damnable sins interfere with my sister’s happiness. Henslowe has not only made it clear I’m not welcome here, but he would stop the marriage if he could.’

Monteville moved towards the sideboard and set down his glass and picked up the decanter. ‘More, my lord?’

‘No.’

He set the decanter down. ‘I am still at a loss to know exactly why you were in the garden with Sarah?’

‘I saw her quit the ballroom, and when it was time to go into supper, she still had not returned. I decided to look for her.’ He undoubtedly sounded like a complete fool or a liar.

‘I see.’ Monteville looked at him. ‘Tell me, my lord, do you hold any fondness at all for my granddaughter?’

Dev nearly staggered back. It was the last question he’d expected from the man. ‘I hardly know her.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I fear our relationship could best be characterised as an armed truce.’

‘Quite understandable under the circumstances,’ Monteville said. He looked at Dev carefully. ‘You see, I have had a rather interesting evening. Shortly before I joined your little party in the garden, another gentleman, who, er, claimed he had also been alone with my granddaughter, accosted me, saying they had been interrupted by a witness who would have no scruples in spreading the tale about that he’d seen my granddaughter and this gentleman locked in an embrace. Under the circumstances, the gentleman seemed to feel I was obligated to give my consent to a match between himself and my granddaughter.’

Cold fury rose in Dev. ‘You may rest assured that his witness would sooner sell his soul to the devil than spread such tales about. Nor was the embrace willing, at least not on your granddaughter’s part.’

‘I thought not,’ Monteville said. He continued to regard Dev with his bland gaze. ‘I am concerned for her happiness. I would not want her marriage to you, for instance, to be a notch better than a marriage to this other gentleman.’

Dev had the sudden image of her struggling in Blanton’s embrace. He took a step towards Monteville. ‘If you want her happiness, then keep her away from Blanton. I wouldn’t allow a dog in his care, much less a woman. He would make her miserable. At least, I would not—’ He realised Monteville was regarding him oddly. It would not do to let anything but cool logic show. He frowned. ‘I will not make her unhappy,’ he added stiffly.

‘I trust not,’ Monteville said. ‘She has a kind and generous heart. I would not want that changed.’ His eyes had lost their bland indifference and Dev suddenly knew why Monteville could be such a formidable enemy.

‘No.’ Dev understood. He would not hesitate to strangle any man that dared to hurt his sister Jessica.

‘Good,’ Monteville said softly. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘It is late. I suggest we continue this conversation in the morning. By the way, did you give my granddaughter any indication of your intentions?’

‘Yes. She was not pleased.’ An understatement. She had looked as if he’d said he was going to imprison her.

Monteville’s mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile. ‘I imagine not. You will need to pay your addresses in the more conventional manner. You will call tomorrow.’ He moved towards the door, indicating the conversation was finished. He paused and looked back at Dev. ‘And if you are wondering where you are to sleep tonight, I can assure you Lord Henslowe will be quite amenable to having you remain under his roof.’ He departed, silently closing the door behind him.

Dev stared after him, wondering if he’d lost his mind. Had Monteville just commanded him to properly offer Sarah Chandler marriage? He’d hardly known what to expect when he’d entered the study with the man—Monteville calling him a libertine and a liar, perhaps even a threat to his life…but never such ready acquiescence.

He knew the Chandlers had no more love for him than he had for them. No matter that it had been Nicholas who had been his wife’s lover, the Chandlers had blamed him as well. Rumours had circulated that it was Dev’s own cold treatment of Mary that had driven her into Nicholas’s arms.

And then there was the duel between himself and Nicholas. He smiled grimly. There had nearly been another duel tonight. From the look on Henslowe’s face, he had no doubt it was still a possibility.

He stalked to the sideboard and picked up the decanter. What the devil had he done? He should have followed his instincts and stayed away from Sarah Chandler. But if he hadn’t—Blanton might be the man who was calling on Sarah tomorrow. He set the decanter down, the thought making another shot of brandy unpalatable.

Chapter Three

S arah attempted to force a piece of toast down her throat and finally gave up. She fell back against her pillows. Morning sunlight streamed across the patterned green quilt covering her bed. Usually on such lovely days she looked forward to spending a few happy hours painting or drawing in the magnificent gardens surrounding Monteville House.

But not today. She wanted nothing more than to crawl back under her covers. Or wish herself back to yesterday, when the sky had been leaden and grey, a day when it had still been possible to plead a headache and forgo the Henslowe ball. No matter that it would have upset Lady Henslowe and insulted the St Clairs. At least she wouldn’t be awaking today with the events of last night fresh in her memory like a bad dream.

Lady Henslowe’s expression of horrified shock, Lord Henslowe’s threats, her grandfather’s cool, impersonal assessment. And, worse of all, the cold look on Huntington’s face.

Even Blanton’s declaration of love and his repugnant kiss had dimmed compared to the subsequent events. She’d had no chance to speak to her grandfather. Lady Henslowe had led her to a small private saloon and bustled off to find a servant. And then her aunt, Lady Omberley, had appeared, Amelia in her wake. The worried look on their faces had been almost too much to bear. Lady Omberley had insisted that Sarah must leave immediately and had routed John, Amelia’s husband, from his card game to escort them home. His face was grim, although he said nothing. In fact, none of them had said a thing and instead treated her with a solicitude which was more frightening than if they had scolded her.

It wasn’t until Sarah was in bed that Amelia finally spoke. She still had that careful concerned look on her face, as if Sarah was some sort of porcelain figure that might break any moment. ‘Sarah, are you all right? I do not wish to overset you, but what did happen? Mama and I had just finished supper when Cousin Penelope sent for us. She was quite hysterical and moaning about vipers in her bosom and said we must go to you right away as Lord Huntington had tried to seduce you! And then Grandfather sent word we should bring you home.’ Her face momentarily lost its worried look, and she suddenly looked fierce. ‘And if Huntington has harmed you, I vow I will call him out myself!’

‘No, he…he did nothing wrong.’ Except come to her rescue. She took a deep breath. ‘He was trying to help me. When Lord and Lady Henslowe found us he was trying to remove my brooch. I…I wished to use it to pin my bodice. It had a tear.’

‘Yes, my dear,’ Amelia said in patient tones. ‘But, Sarah, how did it come to be torn? And why ever were you in the garden with Huntington?’

‘I wasn’t. I went out by myself and then Cedric Blanton came. He started saying the most ridiculous things about how I was a vision of loveliness in the moonlight and when I said I must go in, he…he grabbed my wrist.’ She bit her lip and looked away, ashamed at the memory. ‘And then he…he kissed me.’

‘Oh, Sarah, how awful!’

It had been. Blanton had had a most peculiar look in his eye, almost as if he’d enjoyed her struggles. She had felt a clutch of fear that he meant to ravish her. And then Huntington had stepped in. She had felt such relief until she realised how the situation must look to him and then she had felt nothing but shame.

‘Sarah?’

She forced her mind back to Amelia. ‘He wouldn’t let me go and when I tried to break away, he…he tore my gown. And then Lord Huntington came. Mr Blanton said I was his fiancée because Lord Huntington would undoubtedly tell everyone I was ruined out of revenge. Lord Huntington became very angry and said he would not, and finally Mr Blanton left. And Lord Huntington thought I could use my brooch to repair my tear and he tried to help me remove it. That was when Lord and Lady Henslowe came.’

‘Oh, Sarah!’ Amelia repeated. She looked stunned. ‘When I suggested we create a diversion, I hardly expected this!’

‘No.’ Sarah hugged her knees. She shuddered. ‘It was horrible. Lord Henslowe said that Lord Huntington would never set foot in his house again. That was after he demanded to know if there would be a betrothal.’

‘And what did Huntington say?’

Sarah flushed. ‘He said there would be. But, of course, there will not be.’

‘But, Sarah, I do not think you will have a choice! When this gets about…’

‘But why must it? Only Lord and Lady Henslowe know and you and Aunt and Grandfather, of course. But no one else need know and once I explain it to Grandfather…’

‘Oh, Sarah, I fear it is far too late! Cousin Penelope has already told Serena and, although she means well, she can never keep a secret!’

‘Oh, no,’ Sarah said faintly. It might as well be announced in front of the entire neighbourhood. Lady Henslowe’s only daughter was kind-hearted in her own way, but she was an incessant talker and could never keep a confidence. And, unfortunately, Lady Henslowe always told her daughter everything. Sarah had realised that there was no hope of keeping anything secret.

Even now, in the sanctuary of her bedchamber, she felt the same helplessness. And worse, she had no idea what Huntington had said to her grandfather. The thought had kept her awake much of the night. She only prayed he had not felt obligated to offer marriage again. In fact, she could think of no conceivable reason why he’d taken the blame for a situation which was none of his doing. Despite the rumours that he had driven his wife into the arms of another man, he had every reason to desire revenge upon her family.

But his behaviour last night had been that of a gentleman.

Her only hope was that her grandfather would see there was no need for an offer after he understood Huntington was innocent of all wrong. Her grandfather had a strong sense of justice. Surely holding Huntington responsible for any of last night’s disaster was anything but just?

Which was why she must speak to him as soon as possible. She had already learned from the maid that Lord Monteville had gone out for his customary morning walk. Surely he would be back by now. As soon as she dressed she would go to his study. Her stomach churned at the thought. He had never been anything but kind to her in the three years she had lived with him since her mother’s death, but she still found him intimidating. He did not tolerate fools or foolish behaviour. And her behaviour last night had been nothing but foolish.

She had just put her nearly untouched tray aside and climbed out of bed when the door opened. Amelia peered around the corner. She looked fresh and pretty in a dress of pink sprigged muslin. She came into the room and looked at Sarah, her face worried.

‘Sarah? Are you well?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘You look terribly pale.’

‘I am just rather tired.’

Amelia looked sympathetic. ‘I daresay you did not sleep well.’

‘Not particularly.’ Sarah managed a wan smile. ‘But I’ve had worse nights.’ Not many, however. ‘I thought I would see Grandfather.’

‘That is what I came to tell you. He wants to see you as soon as you are presentable. And, Sarah, Lady Beatrice is here.’ She knotted her hands together and looked as if she was about to deliver news of a death. ‘With Lord Huntington.’

Sarah stood outside her grandfather’s study and took a deep breath. It was all she could do to keep from turning tail and scrambling back to her room. But that would be of little use. She had to face him some time, unless she planned to disappear forever. She only prayed Lord Huntington and his formidable aunt, Lady Beatrice, were not with him.

She stepped inside and her stomach leaped to her throat. Heaven had not seen fit to answer in a favourable fashion. Her grandfather stood near his desk with Lady Beatrice seated in a wing chair in front of it. And Huntington stood near the mantelpiece. His cool, unfathomable gaze met hers before she tore her eyes away.

She looked at her grandfather and forced herself to speak. ‘You wished to see me, sir?’

‘Yes. However, you may come forward, my dear. I assure you none of us will bite.’ There was nothing in his face that indicated any sort of disgust of her.

‘No, sir.’ She moved across the room, taking care not to glance Huntington’s way, although every nerve in her body tingled with awareness of him.

She stopped tentatively in front of the cherrywood desk. Lady Beatrice rose. ‘Miss Chandler, I trust you are well.’ It was more of a statement than a question.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Sarah replied. She managed to meet Lady Beatrice’s sharp blue eyes. ‘And you, my lady?’

‘Well enough.’ She looked at Sarah closely. She was a large, imposing woman with a forthright manner and a reputation for outspokenness. ‘I will be much better as soon as this affair is settled. I wish, however, that you and my nephew had chosen a more suitable time to discover your mutual affection for one another.’

Sarah started. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Lord Monteville moved forward in a leisurely way. ‘I imagine it came as a shock to both of them to discover the feelings they had tried to keep suppressed were reciprocated. I believe they can be forgiven for their lapse in discretion.’ He looked at Lady Beatrice. ‘I am certain many of us have had a similar experience.’

Lady Beatrice actually looked taken aback. ‘I assure you I never have,’ she snapped.

‘No?’ Monteville turned his gaze to Sarah. ‘My dear, Lord Huntington is here to properly pay his addresses. I hope you will not let the unfortunate circumstances of the past influence your answer. I have given my consent to the match and I have hopes it may serve to heal the breach between the families.’

Sarah stared at him, wondering if she had taken leave of her senses. Whatever were they talking about? Mutual affection? Between her and Lord Huntington? She realised he was waiting for her to say something. ‘You…you have given your consent?’

‘Yes.’ There was the slightest warning in his cool eyes.

She stepped back. ‘Oh, dear.’

It was obviously not the correct answer. Lady Beatrice’s sharp, suspicious gaze swung to Sarah’s face. ‘You are not pleased?’

‘She is just shocked. As I was.’ Huntington had stepped to Sarah’s side. ‘We had never expected that Lord Monteville or you would consent to the match so readily.’ His hand came to rest on Sarah’s shoulder, his fingers exerting a slight pressure as if he warning her to say nothing. ‘I would like to speak to Miss Chandler alone.’

‘Very wise,’ Monteville said. ‘Come, Lady Beatrice, we will repair to the drawing room. Perhaps some refreshment would be in order.’ He moved towards the door and held it open. Lady Beatrice had no option but to follow. However, when she reached the doorway, she paused and looked back.

‘I trust there will be no repeat of last night. I should not want to find you have been engaging in such indecorous liberties again before you are properly wed.’ She stared at Sarah as if she suspected Sarah would throw herself at Huntington’s person as soon as the door was closed.

‘Miss Chandler will be quite safe,’ Huntington said drily. ‘I generally do not ravish ladies before dinner.’

Lady Beatrice frowned at him. ‘This is not the time for levity.’ She followed Monteville out, leaving the door open.

Huntington moved to the door and shut it firmly, then leaned against it as if he thought Sarah planned to escape. His handsome face had that unsmiling, remote expression she was so accustomed to; if it weren’t for the slightly dark shadows under his eye, as if he’d slept no better than herself, she would have thought he was completely unaffected.

Sarah finally spoke. ‘Would you please tell me what is going on, my lord?’ At least her voice was cool and steady, despite the feeling she had wandered into a strange dream where nothing made the least sense.

‘It seems we are betrothed, Miss Chandler,’ he said, his voice equally cool. ‘And in love.’

She stared at him. ‘In love? What…what sort of ridiculous notion is that?’

He folded his arms across his chest. ‘It was the only thing I could think of to explain last night’s débâcle, particularly after my aunt accused you of trying to seduce me.’

‘She thought I tried to seduce you?’ Had she even heard correctly? The sensation that she was in a bizarre dream only increased.

‘Yes.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? Your family thinks I tried to seduce you and mine is equally convinced you tried to seduce me.’

‘How…how odd.’

His brow shot up. ‘That is one way of putting it.’ He uncrossed his arms and moved from the door, coming to stand on the other side of the wing chair from Sarah. ‘I decided the best way to defuse the mounting storm was to confess we have been harbouring a secret but hopeless passion for each other and finally last night in Henslowe’s garden our finer feelings overcame our reservations. Unfortunately, my aunt insisted on accompanying me over here. Thank God, your grandfather asked no questions and went along with the scheme.’ His gaze swept over her face. ‘And you did not swoon or run shrieking from the room. I must compliment you, Miss Chandler.’

‘I never do those things.’ She suddenly felt rather breathless, for he had never said anything remotely complimentary to her before. Unbidden, the memory of his dark head bent towards her, his hand fumbling with the pin at her breast, sprang to her mind and she felt almost shaky.

She forced her gaze away. ‘So…so how long must we pretend to be betrothed, my lord?’

‘Pretend?’ His sharp tone made her look back at him. His eyes bored into hers. ‘My dear, there is no pretence. We are betrothed and we will be married as soon as I procure the special licence.’

‘No!’ She jumped back. ‘That is, I…I don’t want to marry you.’

His eyes cooled. ‘You don’t have a choice. We don’t have a choice. Not after last night. You, my dear, are ruined.’

‘I…I really don’t care about that.’ She would just go live with Great-aunt Charlotte in Northumberland, who was always hinting she wanted a companion. Anything would be better than marriage to a man who detested her.

‘But I do.’ His expression was grim. ‘I’ve no intention of living with that on my conscience. I’ve enough scandal attached to my name as it is, without it being said I attempted to seduce you for some sort of revenge.’

‘But, surely no one would think that.’

‘They already do,’ he said shortly.

‘But how can they? It is so terribly unfair and so…so wrong!’ Sarah wrung her hands together, completely distressed. ‘What did you say to Grandfather? Surely, if they knew the truth, that it was Mr Blanton…’ The dark look he turned on her nearly made her quail.

‘What truth? That you went to the garden and Blanton accosted you? My dear, they will wonder what sort of young woman you are if it comes out you were compromised by not one, but two men in one evening. They will think I was coward enough to cast the blame on Blanton. Then there is my sister. I will not have her hurt by this. And she would be.’

Sarah stared at him as she remembered Lord Henslowe’s words. And in her mind, she saw Jessica and Adam dancing, the obvious happiness in their faces. Would such a thing really affect them?

He read her mind. ‘Yes, my dear Miss Chandler, she would be hurt. Her in-laws might tolerate her, but she would not be accepted. It is not a pleasant situation. You see, my mother was never accepted by my father’s family. She was Irish and they thought he had married beneath him.’ He was silent for a moment, a bitter twist to his mouth, before focusing back on Sarah. ‘So, we will be married.’

‘I am so sorry, my lord,’ Sarah whispered. She turned and walked to the window, not wanting him to see the sudden tears that pricked her eyes. Through the window she could see the gardener trimming the hedge. The ordinary, familiar sight suddenly seemed to belong to another world.

She started when Huntington spoke.

‘It won’t be quite as bad as a death sentence.’

She turned and looked at him, taken aback to find him standing behind her. ‘What won’t be?’

‘Marriage to me.’

He was too close. She forced herself to speak lightly even though she wanted to cry. ‘Then only as bad as imprisonment in Newgate, my lord?’

‘No. I have no intention of being your gaoler. Our dealings together will be minimal. Only as necessary to quell the gossip.’ His eyes rested on her face. ‘Nor will I expect you to share my bed,’ he said indifferently.

Colour mounted to her cheeks and she turned away. ‘I see.’ Such a thing had never even occurred to her. She could not even feel relieved, only confused.

He still stood next to her. She forced herself to look at him. He was watching her, a slight frown on his face, almost as if he was concerned about her. ‘Are you well?’

The thought he might actually care was so unexpected she found herself saying, ‘Yes. I…I promise I will not go into a decline, my lord.’

‘I hope not,’ he said softly. He stared at her, and she felt her heart begin to hammer in a most uncomfortable fashion. He suddenly backed up a few paces as if he wanted to put distance between them and went to stand near the mantelpiece. ‘There is one more thing, Miss Chandler.’ His drawl had returned.

‘What?’

‘We had best behave as if we are in love with each other.’ He folded his arms across his chest again.

‘As you are now?’ Sarah retorted, stung by his retreat into his usual indifferent shell. Anger had begun to fill the void she’d felt earlier.

‘I beg your pardon?’

The startled look on his face was most gratifying. Sarah stared pointedly at him. ‘You are standing across the room from me and staring in that…that odious way. And besides that, my lord, I have never accepted your offer. In fact, you have never made me an offer.’

He uncrossed his arms and straightened. ‘Exactly what do you want?’

‘Since you have no particular sentiments for me, I don’t expect you to declare any fond feelings, but you could at least ask me, instead of assuming I would be delighted to marry you.’

‘Believe me, that assumption never crossed my mind.’ His gaze swept over her face. Then, without warning, he stepped forward and came to stand in front of her. He caught her hands, faint amusement in his expression. ‘My lovely Miss Chandler, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

‘I am not your lovely Miss Chandler,’ she said crossly. Why must he always sound as if he was mocking everything? ‘No?’

‘Most certainly not.’ She stared into his eyes with the vague realisation they were not brown at all but a deep mossy green.

‘You’ve not answered my question,’ he said softly. His fingers tightened on hers.

‘What?’ she blinked. ‘I…I suppose so.’

He continued to look into her face, his expression slowly changing. Her heart was beating too fast again. ‘Not exactly an unqualified yes, Miss Chandler.’ His voice held an odd huskiness.

‘Well, no…’

‘You have had more than enough time to settle this!’ Lady Beatrice’s voice cut through the air.

Huntington dropped her hands as if he’d been burned. He backed away and retreated towards the door. ‘Yes, the matter is settled.’

‘Good.’ She strode into the room, followed by Lady Omberley. ‘Helen quite agrees that the marriage will take place as soon as possible. However, an announcement must be made straight away.’

‘At dinner tonight,’ Lady Omberley added. ‘Since most of the families are still here for Lady Jessica’s betrothal.’ She smiled, but it looked more than a little strained. ‘The dinner will be here.’

‘Although I would have preferred it at Ravensheed,’ Lady Beatrice said. ‘It might have been possible if you had behaved in a more decorous manner.’ Her eyes fell on Sarah, and Sarah had the uncomfortable feeling Lady Beatrice held her completely responsible for last night’s disaster.

Which of course she was. She had managed not only to ruin her own life, but Lord Huntington’s as well.

Chapter Four

D ev followed Lady Beatrice into the cool hallway of Henslowe Hall. His hopes of escaping to the stables were quickly dashed when Lord Henslowe popped out of his study just as they passed the door. He fixed Dev with the same suspicious stare he’d had since last night.

‘So, my lord, I trust you’ve settled the matter.’

‘Yes.’ Dev had no intention of elaborating further. His patience at being treated like a pariah was evaporating. He started to move past Henslowe, who stepped in his way.

‘There will be a wedding, my lord?’ It was almost a snarl.

Lady Beatrice, who was halfway up the staircase, suddenly turned around. She gave Henslowe one of her most quelling looks. ‘I hope you are not accusing my nephew of dishonourably compromising Miss Chandler. He is, of course, to marry her. However, may I point out, her own behaviour is hardly above reproach.’

Henslowe swung his bushy-eyed stare to Lady Beatrice. ‘May I inquire exactly what you mean by that, madam?’

‘I mean…’

‘I fear my aunt is rather shocked by the fact that once Miss Chandler and I discovered our—er—feelings were mutual, we could no longer resist the temptation to express those feelings in a more bold manner.’ He was rapidly becoming an adept liar as well as a diplomat.

At least this round appeared to be diffused. Lord Henslowe looked taken aback. ‘Er, I see.’

Dev smiled coolly. ‘Yes. If you will excuse me, then, I must take my aunt to her bedchamber. She is rather fatigued after the morning’s events.’

‘Er, of course,’ Henslowe said. He backed into his study.

‘Fatigued? I most certainly am not!’ Lady Beatrice snapped. ‘And this nonsense about expressing your—’

‘But you are.’ He mounted the steps and took her arm before she could say anything else. He finally managed to get her safely to her bedchamber and then retreated to his own.

The quiet was welcome. He walked to the window and looked out at the rolling park spread before him. In the distance he could make out the grey roof of Monteville House.

What the devil had happened? He rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to ease the knot he could feel forming. The last place on earth he’d ever expected to set foot in was Monteville House.

But it was no more bizarre than contemplating marriage to Sarah Chandler.

He had first seen her at the ball celebrating his betrothal to Mary. Mary had spoken of her dearest friend many times before, but he’d hardly been prepared for a pair of expressive brown eyes in a heart-shaped face and a smile that lit her face from within. He’d taken her hand, and a jolt of recognition shot through him, almost as if she was the woman he had been waiting for. The sensation had scared him and set his carefully ordered world reeling.

Up until that moment, he had accepted his betrothal to Lady Mary Coleridge as a matter of course. Beautiful, cool and reserved, Mary had seemed to expect no more from marriage than he did. Nor did she appear affected by his less than pristine past. Or the fact that he’d scandalised most of society by a rash affair with one of the most dashing and notorious widows in London.

He had avoided Sarah Chandler as much as possible at the ball and the picnic the following day. He had been relieved when she’d left. Her own hesitant friendliness towards him had quickly turned to puzzlement at his brusque manner, and finally to cool politeness. The next time he expected to see her was after he was safely wed to Mary.

The last thing he had anticipated was that his cool, proper wife would run away a fortnight after their wedding. And that he would find her three weeks later with another man, a man who happened to be Sarah’s brother.

Undoubtedly, Sarah held him responsible for Mary’s death as did a good half of society. Rumours had been rampant that he’d done away with Mary until she was found. And then the gossip had turned to speculations on what he must have done to his wife to cause her to flee his house so soon after her marriage.

They were only wrong in the details. For he had, without doubt, driven Mary to her death.

And now he was about to again undertake marriage with a woman who did not want him. Except this time, he planned to stay as far away from his wife as possible.

‘Dev?’

He swung around to find his sister had quietly entered the room. ‘You are not out riding with the others?’ he asked.

‘No.’ She came towards him. ‘How could I until I knew what had happened? Besides, I was worried about you.’

He gave her a slanted half-smile. ‘There is no need.’ He moved away from the window and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘All is well.’

‘So, you are to marry Miss Chandler?’

‘Yes, and I fear I will beat you to the altar,’ he said lightly. ‘I hope you do not mind.’

‘Mind?’ To his surprise, her face lit up and she dashed forward, and threw her arms around his neck. He staggered back a little at the impact. She pulled away. ‘Never! You don’t know how much I feared leaving you alone. Now, you won’t be.’

‘You approve?’ he asked stupidly.

‘Oh, yes! I have always like Miss Chandler, she has such a nice face, but I did not wish to say anything because you always look so cross when you see her. And then I had wondered if perhaps you had a tendre for her, but did not wish anyone to know because of her brother! And then to find it is true after all! And even more astonishing, that she is in love with you!’

‘Certainly it is,’ he said faintly.

‘Adam says that she has a very kind heart, so I know you will be safe with her.’

‘Safe?’ He was losing track of the conversation. ‘Wouldn’t it be more proper to worry more about Miss Chandler’s person in my safekeeping?’

Jessica smiled. ‘Oh, no. Because I know you will take care of her, just as you have cared for me. No, it is you I fear for. I never want you to hurt so much again. And I do not think Miss Chandler will hurt you at all.’

Amelia touched Sarah’s arm. ‘Come, we cannot stay in your bedchamber forever.’ She ran a critical eye over Sarah’s person. She had helped Sarah dress, pulling out one gown after another before deciding on the pomona green silk. It had a round, low-cut bodice, the hem trimmed with rows of matching ribbon. ‘You look very lovely. Lord Huntington will be enchanted.’

‘I really don’t want him to be enchanted.’ Sarah snatched up her gloves from the dressing table. What she really wanted was for him to go away and leave her in peace.

Amelia arched a brow. ‘My dear, you need to look a bit more enthusiastic if you’re to convince everyone you’ve conceived a mad passion for his lordship.’

Sarah scowled. ‘That was his idea, not mine.’ As the dinner approached she had found herself in more and more of a horrid mood. The last thing she felt like doing was pretending to be in love with Lord Huntington. She could feel the beginning of a headache and her stomach was churning. At this point she would be quite fortunate if she made it through dinner without being sick.

‘Yes, you have made that very clear. But you will need to do better than that. Such a sour look will hardly persuade anyone you’re in ecstasy over finding your hidden love reciprocated.’

‘I would prefer that it had remained hidden,’ Sarah snapped. She heaved a sigh. ‘I am sorry, Amelia. I have a slight headache and I wish I was anywhere but here.’

‘I quite understand.’ Amelia picked up a fan from Sarah’s dressing table and pressed it into her hand. ‘But we do need to put in an appearance or everyone will think you decided to escape through the window.’

‘I still might,’ Sarah said. She trailed Amelia down the staircase, wishing it truly were possible to run away. She had finally decided to lie down before dressing for dinner. It had not helped; instead of resting, her mind had replayed the events over and over. She had tried to tell herself that she should be noble and accept marriage to Lord Huntington to save his reputation as well as to ensure his sister’s happiness. But instead she felt resentful and trapped. And, underneath, more than a little despairing.

And the headache gnawing at the back of her neck hardly helped.

He was the first person she noticed when she entered the drawing room. He stood near the window engaged in conversation with Adam, Lady Jessica, and her grandfather. He looked elegantly masculine. His tight pantaloons fitted over well-muscled legs and he wore a bottle green coat moulded to broad shoulders which obviously had no need of artificial aids.

He looked over when she entered with Amelia. His cool eyes met hers and she felt her heart slam alarmingly against her ribs. Worse, the room fell silent and everyone else turned to look at her as well. She wondered how she was ever to make it through the evening.

Lady Omberley bustled over, her expression relieved. ‘My dear, we had quite wondered where you’d gone to. That is, we had hoped nothing was amiss.’

‘Sarah couldn’t find her fan,’ Amelia said brightly.

‘Oh? If that was all… Come—’ Lady Omberley took Sarah’s arm in a firm grip ‘—we must greet Lord Huntington. But first, here is Lady Beatrice and I believe you have met Lord Pennington.’

‘Yes, how do you do?’ Sarah managed to smile although she feared it was probably strained.

‘Well enough,’ Lady Beatrice snapped. She wore a remarkable gown of purple satin trimmed with lace and silk flowers, a matching turban on her head. The effect with her broad, double-chinned face was quite intimidating.

Lady Omberley gave her a wary look, then her face brightened. ‘I see the Misses Waverly have arrived. If you will excuse me, I must greet them.’ She hurried off, leaving Sarah to cast about in her mind for something to say.

Lord Pennington smiled. He was tall and lean with light brown hair and a pair of humorous grey eyes. ‘Congratulations, Miss Chandler. It is quite amazing. Only last night I suggested to Dev that he might consider repairing relations between himself and your family. However, I will confess I hardly expected he would take it to such lengths.’

‘Nor did I,’ Lady Beatrice said, giving Sarah a suspicious look as if she still suspected Sarah had managed to bring Huntington to heel by less-than-honest methods.

‘Take what to such lengths?’ Huntington materialised at Sarah’s side.

‘Your method of effecting a reconciliation between the two families,’ Lord Pennington said.

‘So far I can’t see it has had much effect,’ Huntington said drily. His fingers closed lightly around Sarah’s arm. ‘If you will pardon me, I would like to speak with Sarah alone.’

Sarah? Had she heard correctly? She glanced up into his face, but his expression was bland. He escorted her over near the window before she could say a word. He looked down at her. ‘Should we make a stab at some sort of conversation? I’d hate everyone to think we have quarrelled already.’

‘But then we’d have an excuse to break our…our…’

‘I believe the term is betrothal.’ His mouth curved in a humourless smile. ‘No, it would only give Henslowe an excuse to put a bullet through me. Although that might solve your problem.’

His drawling words made her scowl. ‘That is really an extremely stupid remark! I certainly would not consider that a way to solve anything.’

His brow shot up. ‘Wouldn’t you? Should I be flattered?’

‘No, you should not. Besides, Cousin George is a very poor shot. His eyesight is quite dreadful although he would never admit it.’

A hint of amusement crossed his face. ‘I am relieved. However, my dear, I suggest you cease to look at me with such blatant disapproval. I fear no one will ever think you were in the throes of a violent passion for me.’

‘No more than they think the same of you,’ Sarah retorted. ‘If you think I intend to…to cast sheep’s eyes at you while you stare at me in that sardonic fashion, you are quite wrong.’

His eyes glittered. ‘I fear, my lovely Sarah, if I was to truly pretend that I was in love with you, you would run as far and as fast as you could. And I’ve no intention of scaring you away.’

‘Oh.’ She took a step back, suddenly a little frightened. For the first time, the realisation sank in that she would soon be bound to this dangerous stranger.

His brow snapped together. ‘There’s no need to look so fearful. I’ve no intention of abusing you,’ he said coolly.

‘No.’ She shivered and looked away. Most of the guests had arrived and she again experienced the odd sensations of being in a bad dream. She rubbed the back of her neck, which by now ached.

‘What is wrong?’

She looked back at him, startled to see an odd concern in his face. But it vanished so quickly she thought she must be mistaken. Thrown off, she said, ‘I merely have the headache, but it is nothing.’

‘I hope not.’ His eyes roved over her face, a little frown on his brow. ‘Try not to worry too much. I’ll make certain this damnable mess doesn’t hurt you any more than necessary.’

Again he surprised her. She bit her lip. ‘You are very kind, considering this entire affair is all my doing.’

‘Hardly,’ he said curtly.

‘Dinner has just been announced.’ Lord Pennington’s voice broke the odd tension between them. He raised a brow. ‘So perhaps you should cease gazing at each other and join us.’

Sarah blushed and turned away, only to find Amelia regarding her with amusement.

Her grandfather spoke. ‘Perhaps, Lord Huntington, you will escort my granddaughter to dinner.’

‘Of course. Miss Chandler?’ Huntington held out his arm, his voice polite. She lightly placed her hand on his coat sleeve, avoiding his eyes. So, they were back at daggers drawn. At least it felt infinitely safer than his concern.

Dev put down his scarcely touched wineglass. His gaze drifted across the table to where it had been most of the never-ending dinner. On Sarah Chandler.

She was listening to something Adam said, a polite smile on her face, but he suspected from her pallor that her headache had increased. She had barely touched her dinner, mostly pushing the well-prepared food around her plate. He hoped she would make it through the dinner without collapsing.

At least some sort of truce seemed to be in effect. Lady Beatrice sat next to Lord Monteville, whose presence served to keep her more outrageous remarks in check. The rest of the guests were making an effort to carry on conversation and the room hummed with the usual sounds of a normal dinner party, quiet conversation punctuated by laughter, the clink of covers laid and removed. If anyone noticed his terse silence, they gave no sign.

Which he must give Sarah credit for. She seemed determine to carry on some semblance of conversation, showing her innate good manners. And, in spite of his reluctance to admit it, he found her completely lovely. Her auburn hair curled softly around her face in a manner that made her dark eyes more luminous. Her gown, a pale green, clung enticingly to her slender curves. She had matured from the rather uncertain girl she had been at nineteen to a beautiful, composed and extremely desirable woman. The thought was frightening.

As if sensing his regard, she turned to look at him, slight colour rising to her cheeks. Her brown eyes met his and an uncomfortable bolt of awareness shot through him. It was not exactly desire, but something much more disturbing.

He tore his gaze away, only to meet his cousin’s amused eyes. He took a sip of wine, wondering what the devil was wrong with him.

He set his wineglass down with unnecessary force. A few drops sprayed out.

‘My lord, I can certainly understand why your preoccupation with my cousin might cause you to forget your manners, but I must draw the line at being drenched with wine.’

He turned to Lady Marleigh, who was seated next to him. ‘I beg your pardon.’

A little smile touched her lips. ‘Sarah is quite lovely, isn’t she? I cannot blame you for wanting to marry her.’

His brow shot up. ‘I take it that means you approve?’

‘Not quite,’ she said carefully.

‘And what are your reservations?’ He leaned back a little, watching her.

Her blue eyes were direct. ‘She has the kindest heart of anyone I know. I hope you will remember that.’

Monteville had said much the same thing. As had Mary. He smiled sardonically. ‘And you fear I intend to trample it.’

‘Not intentionally. But your reputation does concern me.’ All archness had left her manner.

‘Ah, I see you’ve heard the rumours. Set your mind at rest. I do not intend to lock your cousin away or beat her so she finds it necessary to run fleeing from my house.’

‘I was not speaking of your first wife, but of your other liaisons.’

‘You are blunt, Lady Marleigh.’ His fingers closed around his wineglass. ‘I will be blunt in return. There are no other liaisons at the moment. Nor am I contemplating one. Amazingly enough, you see, I believe in fidelity in marriage.’

Her brow arched in surprise as she searched his face. For the first time an actual smile lit her countenance. ‘Very good, my lord. I think there might be hope for you and for Sarah after all.’

This time it was his turn to feel surprise. Before he could speak, Monteville stood.

The Earl waited until everyone had quieted down. ‘As most of you know, we are gathered here for a most important occasion, to announce an alliance, an alliance that I hope will serve to eradicate the unfortunate fissure between the Chandlers and the St Clairs.’ He paused for a moment, a rare smile touching his lips. ‘I am most pleased, then, to inform you that there is to be a marriage between Devin St Clair, the Marquis of Huntington, and my granddaughter, Miss Sarah Chandler.’

There were a few exclamations of surprise. And then the dining room doors were flung open behind Monteville. He turned. A man swept into the room with firm, purposeful strides and then stopped. In the silence that followed, Sarah’s faint, ‘Oh, no!’ was audible.

And then Dev’s own blood ran cold.

Nicholas Chandler, Viscount Thayne, stood in the doorway, drops of rain glistening on his golden brown hair. His cool gaze surveyed the room and then fell on Dev. Surprise flicked in his eyes, before they hardened. ‘How very interesting. Pray, Lord Huntington, whatever has induced you to step foot in my family home?’

Dev rose, the anger he’d thought long dead sparking to life. He smiled coldly. ‘A very happy occasion. I am glad you have arrived in time to celebrate.’ He looked at the nearby footman. ‘A glass of wine for Lord Thayne.’

The footman stepped forward and quickly proffered a glass. Thayne took it, his eyes never leaving Dev’s face. Dev raised his glass. ‘Shall we have a toast, gentlemen?’ The others, who’d sat in stunned silence, hastily stood. Dev looked at Thayne, a devilish smile curving his lips. ‘A toast to my upcoming marriage to Lord Thayne’s sister, Sarah Chandler.’

He raised the glass to his lips, downing the contents in a single swallow accompanied by a chorus of well wishes. The satisfaction of watching the colour leave Thayne’s face was worth a thousand such announcements. Until he saw Sarah.

Her face had gone completely white, as if someone had just dealt her a death blow. The quick rush of heady pleasure evaporated and he wondered what the devil he had just done to her.

It wasn’t until the guests had left and Sarah had finally escaped up the stairs that Nicholas cornered her. She was just about to enter her bedchamber when he appeared at her side.

‘Sarah, what the devil do you think you’re doing?’

‘Going to bed,’ she snapped. The rest of the evening had been a disaster, which had left her head hurting worse than ever. Nicholas’s presence had cast a pall over everyone and the company had quickly divided into two opposing camps. Angry and hurt, Sarah had made no effort to speak to Huntington and instead had aligned herself firmly on the Chandler side. She cared little what anyone thought.

‘Not that.’ He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘I don’t know what the devil has happened, but you can’t marry Huntington.’

‘I am.’

‘Why? Damn it, Sarah, it is more than apparent he only wants you out of revenge. He looked as if he’d just swallowed a cream pot when he announced you were to be wed.’

Sarah tried not to flinch. The memory still burned. ‘None the less, we are to be wed. There is no choice.’

‘Why?’ His brows snapped together. ‘What did he do to you?’

‘Nothing at all.’ She opened her door. ‘If you will excuse me, I am extremely tired.’

‘Not until you tell me why.’ He had that stubborn look on his face, which meant he planned to persist until she was forced to answer. ‘You can’t fob me off, Sarah.’

She sighed and rubbed her temple. ‘If you must know, Lord and Lady Henslowe found us together in their garden last night. I had gone out to be alone for a moment. And then I saw my gown had a tear in the bodice. My…my brooch had torn the cloth and Lord Huntington tried to help me repair it. If we do not marry, I will be ruined.’

Nicholas’s fist tightened. ‘I will call him out,’ he said softly.

‘No! Please, Nicholas! It was not his doing. And I couldn’t bear another scandal! Or more pain! Do you understand?’

He stared at her in disbelief and then gave a short laugh. ‘Much more than you think. He purposely tried to compromise you.’

He was always so stubborn, particularly when it came to someone he disliked as intensely as he did Lord Huntington. ‘No, he did not. I told you, it happened even before he came. He saw me leave the ballroom and wanted to assure himself of my safety.’ It was no use trying to pretend they had met in a lovers’ tryst. Nicholas, like her grandfather, had the disconcerting habit of ferreting out lies. So she might as well give him as much of the truth as she could without revealing Blanton’s role.

‘Assure himself of your safety? I find that impossible to swallow. Why should he care what happens to any of us?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sarah whispered. His behaviour last night and even up to Nicholas’s arrival had seemed to indicate some concern for her. But after tonight, she could only think it had been false.

Nicholas’s expression hardened. ‘Neither do I. But if he hurts you, he’ll have me to answer to.’

Chapter Five

S arah sat cross-legged on the grass next to the lake and looked down at her sketch. She frowned. No matter how she tried, her pencil refused to cooperate and produce the soft, graceful curves which were needed to convey the peaceful scene before her. Instead, the quick, angry strokes made the lovely swans look as if they were gathering for an attack.

She threw down her pencil and glared at the water. Usually she loved coming to sit next to the small lake in the park behind Monteville House. Today, she felt extremely out of sorts. No, she was furious. Furious at Nicholas for showing up in his brash arrogant way, furious at Huntington for making it clear he regarded their marriage as a way to avenge himself on Nicholas and, most of all, furious at herself for caring a whit.

She hugged her knees to her chest. She had left the house as early as possible, wanting to escape before anyone, especially Nicholas, was up. The conversation still left a bitter taste in her mouth. Not only because Nicholas might be right about Huntington’s motives, but because she feared the marriage would drive a greater wedge between herself and her brother. She had always loved her charming, sometimes irresponsible brother, but she had not been able to accept his running off with another man’s wife, no matter what the circumstances were. She had tried her best to understand and forgive him since Mary’s death in a remote Yorkshire inn had nearly destroyed him.

She had never thought her rakish brother would fall so deeply in love. Or that raven-haired Mary with her cool, untouchable beauty would return his love with an equal passion. Mary had seemed to accept her family’s wishes that she marry Devin St Clair, then Lord Warwick, without a qualm. She’d once told Sarah that a marriage of convenience suited her very well for falling in love seemed such an uncomfortable business. She had dismissed all Sarah’s arguments for a love match as hopelessly romantic.

And then Sarah had met Mary’s handsome, charming fiancé with his rather wicked smile and wondered if he would be willing to let Mary remain detached after all.

In the end it was not Mary’s husband but Sarah’s brother who had fanned her passion to life. And if Sarah had not invited Mary to stay at Meade Cottage, Mary might still be alive.

She shivered a little as a cool gust of wind brushed her arms. She’d scarcely noticed the ominous grey clouds gathering overhead. Reluctantly, Sarah gathered her sketchbook and pencils and stood.

‘Miss Chandler.’

She whirled around, nearly dropping her notebook. Cedric Blanton stood behind her. She felt a sudden lurch of fear, even though it was broad daylight. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘I must speak to you.’

‘I would rather not. I must go in.’ She turned and started to walk down the gravel path.

To her dismay, he caught up to her and fell into stride beside her. ‘You cannot marry Lord Huntington.’

She kept her eyes fixed on the path and increased her pace. ‘That is none of your concern.’

‘But it is. You were with me first. If he hadn’t interfered, you would be betrothed to me.’

‘That is ridiculous. If you hadn’t behaved so…so ungentlemanly then I would have no need to marry anyone.’

‘You would do better to marry me.’

‘It is too late. I am to marry Lord Huntington in a few days.’ Thank goodness the house was only a short distance away.

‘We could elope.’

‘No!’ This time she stopped and stared at him. ‘I could never do that.’

His mouth tightened. ‘You will be sorry if you marry him. As will he.’

Was he threatening her? But she could not tell from the expression in his pale blue eyes. A drop of rain recalled her to the fact she was about to be caught in a rainstorm. ‘I…I must go in.’

‘What the hell are you doing with my fiancée?’

Huntington’s icy voice cut through the air like a whip. Somehow, he’d managed to come up behind them, the wind obscuring his approach. He was dressed in a dark coat and breeches, the wind ruffling his dark hair, his expression grim, like some sort of avenging angel. Sarah resisted the urge to cower.

Blanton looked at him, unruffled. ‘I was merely offering Miss Chandler my services if she should need me.’

Huntington took a step forward, his face full of icy contempt. ‘I will see you to the devil before she needs your services.’

Blanton’s smile faltered and then returned. ‘I hope not, my lord.’ He looked over at Sarah, his eyes filled with a cold fury that made her shudder. ‘Goodbye, Miss Chandler.’ He turned and walked away.

Sarah forced herself to look at Huntington. His face looked as stormy as the sky. She shivered. ‘I was just about to return to the house.’ She started to move, only to find him blocking her way.

‘What were you doing with him?’ he demanded.

His arrogant tone, along with the implication that she had actually sought Blanton’s company, set her back up. She lifted her chin. ‘I was not with him.’

‘Then he was an apparition?’

‘Of course not. I only meant…’ Several large drops of rain hit her squarely on the forehead. They were swiftly followed by several more. ‘This is not the time to engage in idiotic conversation, my lord. We are about to become extremely wet.’

He glanced up at the sky. ‘You are right.’

‘There is a small temple over there,’ Sarah said. He looked up in the direction she indicated, then grabbed her hand and started hauling her towards the summerhouse. By now, the rain was coming faster and faster.

The skies burst open just as they stumbled up the steps of the small Grecian temple. Rain dripped from Huntington’s hair and he looked as if someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head. Sarah had no doubt she looked every bit as bad. She shivered a little in her thin muslin gown.

He brushed the water from his coat, then shrugged out of it. He held it out to her. ‘Put this around your shoulders.’

She shook her head. ‘’Tis very kind of you to offer, but…’

He scowled, and stalked to her side. ‘You’re shivering. Don’t argue.’ He draped it around her shoulders, the warmth from his body penetrating her skin.

‘But won’t you be cold?’ She glanced over at him and then quickly away, the sight of his broad shoulders under the fine linen of his shirt making her uncomfortable.

‘My waistcoat is enough. I generally tend to be warm.’

‘Do you? I am always cold.’

‘I am glad we have that settled. Why don’t you sit down, Miss Chandler?’

She was about to argue and changed her mind. She sat down on the small stone bench near the wall and pulled his coat more tightly about her.

He had retreated to the other side of the building and leaned against a column, arms folded across his chest, his booted legs crossed as well. ‘What did Blanton want?’

‘Nothing, really.’ How many times had she said those words in the past few days?

‘I find that difficult to believe.’

She sighed. He had that implacable expression she was beginning to dread. She wrapped his coat more firmly about her shoulders. ‘Must we discuss this? It matters little.’

He scowled. ‘But it does. You are betrothed to me.’

‘That does not mean I must answer to you in every matter.’

‘It does in this matter. Stay away from him.’

His tone indicated the matter was closed. ‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Nor are you to go anywhere on the grounds without a footman.’

‘No, my lord.’

He shot her a suspicious glance. His scowl deepened. ‘There is one more thing.’

‘Yes, my lord?’

‘Will you cease to address me as “my lord”?’ he snapped.

‘Very well, sir.’

The next thing she knew he had stalked over to stand in front of her. She resisted the urge to cower and merely looked at him, her hands clasped in her lap.

‘Perhaps, Miss Chandler, you could tell me what the devil is going on,’ he said.

‘With what?’

‘I am very close to strangling you,’ he said softly.

‘I see.’

‘And the prospect does not frighten you?’

‘No. I suppose it might save quite a bit of trouble in the long run,’ she said complacently.

He suddenly laughed. ‘Hardly. I would have murder added to my long list of sins.’ He paced away from her. The rain was starting to ease up. He turned and looked back at her. ‘Can we try for some sort of civility? I know I’ve a damnable temper and I’ve been told more than once I’m dictatorial, but there’s no need for you to defer to me like some sort of lackey. I’d rather you argue with me than persist in those blasted “yes, my lord, no, my lords”.’

She sighed. ‘I fear I was rather angry with you. And when I do disagree, you immediately ply me with a thousand questions.’

‘I apologise.’ He ran a hand through his dark hair. ‘But I don’t want you out walking alone. I don’t trust Blanton.’

‘I am certain there is nothing to worry about,’ she said with more confidence than she felt, remembering Blanton’s words. But surely there was nothing Blanton could do.

He raised a brow. ‘On this point, I don’t want you to argue. I am responsible for you.’

‘But we aren’t married yet. And even when we are…’

‘Sarah.’ His voice held a warning.

‘Yes, my lord.’

He suddenly grinned, the harshness leaving his face. ‘I’ve changed my mind. You may defer to me after all, particularly in this instance. Although you will eventually need to address me by my given name.’

She stared at him, her breath caught in her throat, hardly hearing his words. She’d never really seen him smile before, never seen his face light up without a hint of its usual cynicism. He looked almost boyish and immensely attractive. A peculiar warmth centred in her stomach.

‘Sarah?’

She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Do you always disappear into such trances?’

‘No.’ She flushed and rose, her knees shaky. ‘The rain has stopped. Perhaps we should return to the house.’ She removed the coat from her shoulders, the loss of its warmth making her feel almost bereft. ‘Thank you for your coat.’ She held it out to him.

‘You may wear it until we reach the house.’

‘Th…thank you.’ Whatever was wrong with her? There was no reason for her to stammer like a school-girl just because he had smiled in such a way. It was unlikely to happen again. In fact, she hoped it would not, it was too unsettling.

She started to move past him, only to find him blocking her way as he had earlier. He took the coat from her hands and draped it around her shoulders again. ‘It will hardly do you any good if you carry it.’

‘No.’ She gave him a swift smile, moved away as quickly as possible and descended the two steps leading from the temple. She stumbled a little in her haste.

He was instantly at her side, his hand cupping her elbow, steadying her. His touch burned her skin and she jerked away.

‘Now what the devil is wrong?’ he demanded.

‘N…nothing.’

‘You are acting as if I’m about to ravish you. If you recall, my dear, I told you I had no intention of forcing you to my bed.’

Her face heated even more. ‘It is not that.’ How could she explain that his touch completely unnerved her, made her heart beat too fast, her stomach tighten and disoriented her thinking, shattering her usual cool composure.

‘Then what is it?’ he asked impatiently.

She held her sketchbook tightly against her chest. ‘I am rather tired. Perhaps we should go in.’

‘Very well,’ he said coolly. He fell into step beside her.

They said nothing as they made their way to the house. He had retreated into a cool shell and Sarah’s mind had gone completely blank.

They finally reached the steps leading to the back terrace. Sarah removed his coat from her shoulders and gave it to him. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘Of course.’ He looked down at her, his expression impenetrable. ‘I came to tell you I am leaving today to procure the marriage licence. I will see you tomorrow. The wedding will take place the day after.’

She bit her lip, her stomach hollow. ‘Is this really necessary?’

‘Yes.’ His eyes were cool. ‘And don’t even think of trying to escape me.’

‘Most certainly not, my lord,’ she said coldly. The sudden flash of anger in his eye was quite satisfying.

But when he turned on his heel and strode off, her brief spurt of victory was replaced by despair. In two days, she was to be married to a man who did not want her and she had no idea how she would ever bear it.

Cedric Blanton crumbled the not-quite-polite request for settlement of his account at Stultz’s. He tossed it in the fireplace and flung himself down in the chair behind his expensive mahogany desk. Not even the sight of the ornate snuffbox he’d paid a small fortune for calmed his fury.

If it weren’t for Huntington’s interference, he could send off the announcement of his betrothal to Sarah Chandler, the Earl of Monteville’s granddaughter. Instead of sending him increasingly less courteous demands for payment, his creditors would fling open their doors and beg for his patronage.

Instead Huntington himself was to have the prize.

How could his plans have gone so far awry? He’d meticulously thought it out. He would persuade Sarah to accompany him to Henslowe’s study. And then a carefully worded note to Lady Henslowe, saying that Sarah needed help, would bring her to the study just as Sarah succumbed to his kisses. Lady Henslowe with her rigid morality would see to it that Sarah would become engaged as quickly as possible.

He hadn’t quite worked out the excuse to lure Sarah to the study, but had no doubt he’d come up with one. Ladies, particularly when someone was in distress, were likely to forget about propriety in order to render service. But when Sarah left the ballroom alone, he realised an excuse was not needed. His opportunity had been handed to him.

But his nemesis had interfered again. Just as he had a year ago when Cedric had nearly compromised the rather stupid Lady Alethea, the Duke of Wrexton’s daughter. Her frightened screams had brought Huntington to her aid.

Huntington had listened to him in his cool, arrogant manner as Cedric explained why he must marry the chit. And then Huntington had threatened to ruin him if a word of it ever leaked.

Cedric had no doubt that Huntington would do so. Just as he had no doubt Huntington had had him blackballed from Whites’ when old Stanton had sponsored him for membership.

Even now he was filled with a helpless burning fury.

He stared out the window at the lush green lawn spread before him. This was what he had wanted, had been born for, a country estate, fine food and furnishings, the best tailors and bootmakers. If his mother hadn’t been so stupidly proud, he could have been the heir to Baron Ruckston’s riches, mixing with the best society, welcomed into the best circles. Instead, his mother had refused to agree to his uncle’s terms that she was to never see her son again once Cedric became his heir. And so Cedric remained a poor clergyman’s son raised with five whining sisters while he watched an insipid cousin take his rightful place. And Cedric was forced to scheme, gamble, scrape and bow, and steal when necessary, for everything he had.

His mouth curled. He had no intention of allowing Huntington to interfere any more. Nor would Huntington have everything handed to him. It was time to upset Huntington’s plans.

And Sarah Chandler’s. Her rejection of him still rankled. He’d cultivated her acquaintance, flattered and cajoled her and then she dropped him for a bigger prize. Perhaps the prize would not be hers after all.

He smiled. Sometimes his less-than-desirable acquaintances could prove quite useful. And the wedding was the day after tomorrow. There was still time.

Dev returned from London in the early afternoon of the following day. Most of the house party had gone off on a picnic and Henslowe was closeted with his agent, which suited him. He had no desire to speak with anyone, not even Jessica.

Not that he’d had a problem procuring the licence. He yanked off his leather gloves and tossed them on the dressing table. No, the damnable document was safe in his pocket. The document he’d never intended to see his name on again.

He dropped his coat on the bed and paced to the window. The sun shone brightly, the hills rolling away. In the distance he caught a glimpse of Monteville House. His stomach lurched with a nervousness he had not felt for an age.

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