Chapter Four

      Sara’s smile was wicked as she watched his face. ‘My sleeve. The current fashion for long sleeves on evening gowns makes life so much simpler. I am carrying two blades and three hairpins which are not really hairpins at all. And the cord threaded through my reticule is the perfect length for a garrotte. There are other things in my repertoire, but I shall keep them to myself in case I should need them.’

      ‘Who the blazes taught you to use a knife?’ And a garrotte? The dangerously intimate pressure eased and when he risked another downward glance the blade had vanished.

      ‘My mother. At her uncle’s court she and the other ladies were taught to fight. If an enemy had penetrated into the fort then they would have defended themselves and died rather than be captured and dishonoured. Their honour was in their own hands, you see.’ She smiled, the moonlight throwing mysterious shadows across her face. ‘My father and my brother added to my education, even though they are both European enough to want to fight the duels themselves on my behalf.’

      ‘So I should hope.’

      ‘Don’t be so stuffy, my lord.’

      Stuffy! His father’s infidelities had hurt his mother deeply, not that she ever gave any obvious sign of even knowing about them. As a youth Lucian had watched and listened and, he supposed, he had judged his father. A gentleman behaved in a certain way—or, rather, he must be seen to behave that way. Appearances were all. But to Lucian that seemed like hypocrisy and he vowed he would not behave that way. Not only did one not hurt women, but one protected them, with one’s life if necessary.

      But to label him as stuffy because of that was the outside of enough. The music had begun again. Lucian was aware of movement along the terrace, then he sensed they were alone. A rapid glance confirmed it. ‘You think me stuffy?’ he demanded.

      She nodded, so close that the movement brought her upswept hair close to his face. Sandalwood, pepper, warm woman...

      Lucian bent his head and kissed her. He lifted his hands away from the balustrade so that she could slide sideways if she wished, then closed his eyes and sank into the sensual, dangerous taste of her. Her hands, innocent of any weapon, settled on his shoulders and he let his own close around her waist, feeling the delicious swell of her hips, resisting the urge to lift his hands to her breasts.

      She had been a married woman, one who had enjoyed fully the sensual pleasures of the marriage bed—that was very apparent in the frank way she kissed him back, the sinuous glide of her tongue into his mouth, the way her body moulded itself to his. To kiss her, to hold her, was every bit as inflammatory as the fantasies he had been trying to push away since he had first set eyes on her. And now he wanted more. He wanted all of her, naked, in his arms, in his bed.

      * * *

      Lucian’s kiss was every bit as delicious as she had been dreaming about, his hands on her body as strong. The subtle vibration running through his muscles told her how hard the effort to restrain himself was and that was reassuring. She had not misread this man after all. He wanted her, but he would ask for what he wanted and take no for an answer, she thought.

      But the indulgence of a kiss was one thing, allowing him to assume her intentions went any further, as far as her desires, was quite another. It took an effort that surprised her to push Lucian away, her lips clinging for one last moment of contact.

      His hands dropped from her waist and he stepped back, his face impossible to read in the poor light. ‘I apologise.’

      ‘Why?’ She felt genuine surprise. ‘If I had objected, you would have been in no doubt. I wanted you to kiss me.’

      ‘Why?’ he echoed her, standing very still. Sara realised that the lamplight fell full on her face and he was studying her expression intently.

      ‘Because you are an attractive man, because I miss being kissed and because I was curious.’

      ‘And is your curiosity satisfied now?’ Lucian’s voice was very dry.

      ‘Perfectly, thank you.’

      He moved slightly and the light caught the lower part of his face, betraying just the glimmer of a smile, a sensual curve of those lips that had been so skilful, caressing hers. ‘And?’

      ‘And nothing more. I know why you are here under an assumed name and I know what it is like to kiss you.’

      ‘You know why? How can you?’ Every ounce of sensuality had vanished from his voice. Sara found she was glad of the support of the cold stone at her back.

      ‘Because Dot knows what it is to lose a baby.’

      The hiss of his indrawn breath was audible even over the sound of the waves sucking at the shingle on the beach below.

      ‘Neither of us would dream of betraying her secret and I do not think anyone else would realise unless they knew how sad and fragile she is.’ When Lucian said nothing she risked putting her hand on his forearm. ‘Marguerite is lucky to have your support.’

      He shrugged. ‘I feel helpless. I do not know how to help her, to reach her. She rejects everything I try.’

      ‘You have to give her time, she is mourning.’ In the ballroom there was applause as another set drew to a close. ‘We cannot talk out here for much longer or it will be noticed. Tomorrow the shop is closed for the morning, come then. I would like to help Marguerite if I can. A loving brother is a wonderful thing, but I suspect she needs a woman to talk to.’

      Lucian put his hand over hers as it rested against his arm. ‘What happened just now—’

      ‘Was a moment that will not be repeated? Of course it will not. I told you I was curious, not that I expected an affaire and, besides, you do not want a woman with whom you are having an irregular relationship anywhere near your sister, do you?’

      His cool silence said it all. Where had all that tingling warmth gone to? Sara took back her hand, gathered up her skirts and moved towards a side door. ‘I will go to the ladies’ retiring room, it would be more discreet if we do not return together.’

      And so much for your assumption that you were sophisticated enough to deal with any gentleman who crossed your path, she scolded herself. No wonder he had become cool. She had sent messages that she was available and then backed away. He must think she was an outrageous flirt or a horrid tease and either possibility made her feel hot with an embarrassment she hadn’t felt for years.

      The room set aside for ladies to repair their complexions and hair, and to have drooping hems and split seams attended to, was mercifully empty, except for the maid on duty. She stood up when Sara entered, bobbed a curtsy and then waited in the background while she sat at a dressing table and made a pretence of fussing with her hair.

      What did you expect? she scolded herself. Sinking with embarrassment was not going to help matters, she needed to understand herself. She had wanted a moment of madness, the touch of a man’s mouth on hers, the affirmation that she was not rushing towards a sexless middle age, she supposed, and Lucian had assumed she expected more, probably a full-blown affair, she guessed.

      Perhaps that is what I really want. She hadn’t expected to miss sex. It had been lovely with Michael, of course. She had loved him and he had been tender and careful. Perhaps, thinking about it in retrospect, a little too respectful. All the whispers, the gossip from other women, portrayed sex as exciting, thrilling, sublime. Her experience had been that it was pleasant, and occasionally exciting, and the intimacy and trust had certainly brought her and Michael closer together. But sublime and thrilling? That kiss just now had been thrilling, it had made her toes curl, but perhaps that was simply because it was not a married kiss but a shocking one.

      The Marquess of Cannock was a physically attractive man who apparently found her attractive, too, which was, in itself, arousing. But he was precisely the kind of man she had avoided marrying, the sort