The Marriage Truce. Ann Elizabeth Cree
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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