Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow. Anne O'Brien
Читать онлайн книгу.
At last he heard her light footsteps in the hall and emerged to meet her, all suave elegance and composure. No one would ever question his assurance. Still in her outdoor wear, she was in process of removing her beribboned and flowered straw bonnet. The soft light through the tall windows touched her hair with pale gold. She turned to him with a quick smile.
‘Joshua.’ Her eyes picked up colour in the sunbeams. ‘I did not know that you were home.’ Her impromptu greeting and genuine warmth filled his veins with a sudden heat.
‘I was waiting for you, lady.’
She blushed deliciously. Made no attempt to walk away, as the old Sarah might have done.
‘Sarah. Have you a moment?’
‘Of course.’
She must have no notion of how uncertain he felt, nor would she. He would carry it off with his habitual confidence as if the outcome of the next few moments were of no real importance to him, when they concerned him very much. He opened the door into the withdrawing room, a deliberate choice, being less formal and business-like than the library. It was important to keep her at her ease, unaware.
Waiting by the window as she laid aside her gloves and her parasol, he stood and watched, then without a word he handed her an envelope. Thick. Official, with her name on the outer cover.
‘What is it?’ Her brows rose in typical and instant suspicion, her eyes flying to his face.
He shook his head and smiled. ‘Open it.’ He would not say more.
‘A gift?’
‘Not really. More in the way of a security.’ He refused to be defensive, but saw the little line grow between her brows.
‘You should not, Joshua. You have given me so much. You do not need to give me more.’ But she still opened it with a very feminine curiosity.
‘I know.’ He watched her. ‘But I thought that perhaps this was necessary for you. You will understand.’
She raised her brows at his enigmatic words, but he would say no more until she had seen for herself. So Sarah extracted a sheaf of pages. Her eyes ran down one, then the next, widened with shock. Then she began to read again, colour fluctuating in her cheeks, lips parted in amazement.
‘Joshua… ‘ At first she could not find the words.
‘Sarah!’ He allowed himself a smile.
‘You cannot do this. You must not.’
‘Of course I can. It is my right and my pleasure. You are my wife.’ Perhaps for the first time, the force of the words struck home. You are my wife and I alone am responsible for your happiness and your safety. Your peace of mind.
‘Joshua… it is too much.’
‘It pleases me. You must allow me to be pleased.’
‘But a house! My very own house… ‘
She sank to the seat beside her as if her legs had not the strength to hold her.
‘It is for yourself and John. Whatever happens in the future, you will have your own home in your own name, independent of the estate. To live in or to sell, as you see fit.’
Sarah promptly shocked both of them by abandoning the document in her lap and covering her face with her hands.
‘Oh, Sarah.’ He sighed. What did he have to do to bring her troubled soul some degree of happiness and contentment? ‘It is not worth your tears. I had hoped that it would please you and give you some security.’
Your future will no longer be entirely dependent on me.
But he could not say that, could not even admit it to himself, when his impulse was to tighten the bonds rather than loosen them.
But his instinct at this moment was to take her into his arms and dry her tears with his lips. To tell her again that she need not fear the future, or his reputation, or the terrible scandal that hedged them in—whatever it was that robbed her of comfort. He wanted her to smile at him again as she had when she had walked into the hall, a smile of sheer delight. But he held back from her, aware of his own vulnerability for perhaps the first time. If she refused this gift, it would be like a slap in the face. He did not wish to contemplate that. She might fear her dependence on him. But he was beginning to realise that his happiness was fast becoming dependent on her. And he dare not approach her, for fear that she reject him as well as his gift.
‘Sarah. Please do not cry.’ He raked his fingers through his hair in a typically Faringdon gesture. ‘I did this to make you happy, not to deluge you in grief. You can refuse it if you wish. But, indeed, I hope that you will not.’
‘Yes… no! I know why you have done it. I am so overcome.’ She looked up, a wavering smile on her lips, her lashes spangled with tears as she wiped them away her hands.
What an amazing man. He had given her a house of her own. Her own house—her mind repeated it again and again. A little town house in one of the streets off the Park. Bought by him in her name. Not part of the Faringdon estate. With the tip of one finger she traced where her name was written on the deed of ownership, breathless with astonishment that he should do this for her, aware of her innermost fears. How could she not weep? She had never experienced such generosity in the whole of her life. Such willingness to give her her freedom if she wished to take it. Making himself vulnerable to her own choice.
He had put her future here into her own hands. What did he deserve from her? It was time that she grew up, that she stepped outside her fears and foolish insecurities.
So Sarah rose to her feet, pressing the document to her heart for a moment before laying it aside on the table. Wiped the tears from her cheeks with the heel of her hand. Then walked toward him quite deliberately. Stood before him. Watched the uncertainty on his face. Raised her hands, again quite deliberately with no tremor, to frame his face, aware of the flash of surprise in his eyes as she did so. Then placed her lips on his. Very gently, the merest breath.
‘Thank you, Joshua. What a marvellous gift. How could I ask for better? I could not possibly refuse it.’ She kissed him again, astonished anew at her courage in making so personal a gesture. In the cold light of day. In the withdrawing room.
The tension eased from his face, the harsh lines softened. His smile reflected hers. It was all the encouragement she needed. She kissed him one more.
‘Sarah.’ His voice was low, a little rough with emotion. ‘Do you realise that you have kissed me three times of your own volition?’
‘I know.’ Her smile deepened. ‘And I can make it four.’
And she did.
Later Joshua was free to heave a sigh of relief that his plan had come to a satisfactory fulfilment. Whatever happened in the future, Sarah would have her own home, over and above the settlement made for her in the legal jointure at the time of their marriage. Because it had to be faced. Sarah was unaware of the dangers, and it was his intention that she remain so, but dangers there undoubtedly were. If Wycliffe was talking of assassinations, political murder… Joshua thought about his last visit to Paris, his expression grim. It had ended in his ignominious sprawl over a balustrade with immediate pain and inconvenience, but no lasting damage. It could have ended quite differently if his assailant had been intent on taking his life. He had been careless, thoughtless of his safety. Next time—if there was to be a next time—he would be prepared against so overt an attack, but he might not be so fortunate in the outcome. It was the price he might be called upon to pay, becoming involved with those who would destroy the peace and stability of Europe. He had always accepted that. If death awaited him in the sumptuous rooms and clipped gardens of Paris and the Tuileries, so be it. But Sarah would not suffer. A grim tension settled about his mouth.
And Sarah must not know.
Chapter Nine