The Marriage Truce. Ann Elizabeth Cree
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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