The Marriage Truce. Ann Cree Elizabeth
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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.