Hardly a Husband

  Anne agreed. "A disappearance into the garden with Lord Shepherdston, two dances, and now two gentlemen fighting over her."

  "They haven't actually danced one entire dance," Gillian corrected, "but now the gossips will have them dancing every dance together."

  "And she's been sitting on the sidelines with her aunt and Lord Mayhew ever since they returned from their tour of the garden," Alyssa said.

  * * * * *

  Lord Garrison caught up with Griff and Colin as they made their way across the room. "What's the matter?" he asked.

  "Dunbridge just slapped Jarrod across the face with his glove," Colin answered in a low voice, mindful of the guests who were ignorant of the drama taking place.

  "And we need to see that those two guests behave themselves," Griff added. "We don't want Anne's party ruined by another scandal or the floors ruined with spilled blood."

  Griff, Richard Garrison, and Colin arrived just as Dunbridge spat out the challenge, "Now, you'll have an appointment with me at the dueling oak at dawn on the morrow."

  Jarrod grabbed hold of Lord Dunbridge's glove and snatched it out of his hand. "I have a full schedule tomorrow," he warned. "I would prefer not to have to fit killing you into it."

  "This is no jesting matter, Lord Shepherdston," Dunbridge cautioned. "I'm not jesting."

  "I've issued a challenge," Dunbridge reminded him. "An honorable gentleman would respond."

  "I have responded by telling you that I've neither the time nor the inclination to meet you at the dueling oak at dawn." Jarrod narrowed his gaze at Dunbridge and spoke in his coldest tone of voice, hoping the fool would take the hint and save his own life. "Dueling is frowned upon. And you haven't enough blood in reserve or internal organs to spare to survive an encounter with me."

  "Pick your seconds," Dunbridge ordered. "For I will be at the oak with mine at dawn on the morrow." He turned on his heel and blanched when he recognized Griffin and Lord Garrison, but managed to recover enough to bow to Sarah and say his farewells. "Until the morrow, my dear. Good night, my lords. Your Grace."

  "Your glove, Lord Dunbridge." Jarrod waved the article beneath the other man's nose. "I doubt Brummell would approve of your leaving one of an expensive matched set behind."

  "Jarrod," Griffin said when Dunbridge made his exit, "we do not need this type of notoriety."

  "I'm aware of that, Your Grace."

  "But we will be honored to stand beside you whatever your intentions."

  Jarrod understood. "Thank you, Your Grace, but I prefer not to discuss dancing and duels in the same breath or to provide this assemblage with more fodder for gossip." A muscle began to tick in Jarrod's clenched jaw as he struggled to keep a rein on his temper. "But I assure you my intentions are honorable, for I intend to dance this dance with Miss Eckersley. And since Her Grace asked me to stand in your stead for the last waltz, I'm going to dance that one with her and then I'm going to be about my business for the evening and let tomorrow resolve itself."

  "Very well," Griffin said. "We'll leave you to it."

  * * * * *

  The crowd was buzzing by the time Jarrod led Sarah onto the dance floor once again. And the buzz of the gossip had an ominous ring to it. The scene that had taken place had been embellished to the point of legend in a matter of minutes. Fanciful new versions of confrontation between Lord Shepherdston and Lord Dunbridge were occurring at an alarming rate and the only constant was the names of the participants. By morning, Sarah's good name and reputation would be reduced to tatters.

  "Oh, Jays, I'm so sorry," Sarah apologized. "This is all my fault."

  "It's Dunbridge's fault," Jarrod told her. "Because he won't take no for an answer."

  "Are you going to accept his challenge?" Sarah asked. "Are you going to meet him at the dueling oak at Wimbledon Downs at dawn?"

  "Unless he withdraws his challenge." He nodded. "And I did everything I could to give that dandified fool a dignified way out. I sincerely hope he takes it because I would like to be in bed by dawn."

  The music began and Jarrod placed his hand on Sarah's waist, took her other hand in his, and stepped into the measure of the dance.

  "I didn't plan to keep you at the party quite that late, Jays."

  Jarrod laughed. "Plans do have a way of changing. Consider mine. I've thought about you all evening," he whispered, leaning close.

  She blushed. "Why, thank you, Lord Shepherdston, I've thought about you all evening, too."

  The electricity between them was palpable.

  "I was afraid my behavior earlier this evening had frightened you away."

  "Were you?" Sarah asked. "Or were you simply hoping that was the case? Because you no doubt know that your behavior earlier this evening has whetted my appetite for more."

  Her admission surprised him. "Has it?"

  "You know it has." She met his gaze. "What about you?"

  "What about me?"

  "You've been quite busy tonight. I saw you dancing with Gillian. Has this evening whetted your appetite for me?"

  "You know it has," he said huskily.

  "Then take me home with you," Sarah suggested.

  "I can't," he said. "That's where the change of plans comes in. You see, I had planned to take you and your aunt home at the conclusion of tonight's entertainment. But I've a meeting that requires my urgent attention, so I've asked Lord Rob to do it."

  "And I was hoping that you… " She looked down at their feet.

  "That I…" he encouraged softly.

  "Might continue my lessons when you took me home."

  "Oh?" He arched an eyebrow in the gesture that Sarah loved. "And what did you intend that we do with Aunt Etta while we were at lessons?"

  "I had hoped that you would ask Lord Rob to see her home in his vehicle and that we could follow in yours."

  "You've given this a great deal of thought, haven't you?"

  "What else have I had to think about?" she asked. "I've been sitting here on the sidelines all evening watching you dance with other women."

  Jarrod frowned. "I danced with Gillian McElreath so that Colin and Griffin could talk business in private." It wasn't a lie. He had done that. But he'd also danced with Gillian so that she could brief him on the business he needed to know.

  "You danced with Gillian so she wouldn't overhear what Lord Grantham and His Grace were discussing."

  "Sarah! You wound me with your accusations," he teased.

  "I know you, Jarrod," she said. "When we were growing up you and your friends were always whispering and keeping secrets amongst yourselves."

  He didn't recall Sarah ever being around when his friends were visiting him at Shepherdston Hall. "How do you know what we did?" he asked. "You were never around when Grantham and Abernathy visited me at Shepherdston Hall." Because he hadn't allowed her to tag along when his male friends were around.

  "You didn't invite me to keep you company when they were around, so I spied on you every chance I got."

  Her confession stunned him. "You spied on us?"

  Sarah smiled a knowing smile. "Of course."

  "How long?"

  "Whenever I could slip away from the rectory," she answered. "And I would stay as long as I could. Usually until Aunt Etta called me to supper."

  "No." Jarrod shook his head. "I mean, how long? How many years?"

  "For always."

  "Recently?" Jarrod asked. "Or just when we were children?"

  "You haven't been to Shepherdston Hall recently," she reminded him. "You've stayed in London. There used to be a flurry of activity around it, with riders going in and out, but that was only when you, or Lord Grantham, were in residence," she said. "There hasn't been as much activity lately, but I suppose that's because there hasn't been anyone in residence at the hall since Lord and Lady Grantham honeymooned there."

  "You didn't!"

  "Of course not," she protested. "I would never spy on a honeymooning couple." Unless it was Jarrod and a bride other than me! "I heard someone
was staying at the hall and I asked Papa who it was. He told me it was your friend Lord Grantham and his bride." She smiled up at him. "It was nice of you to lend Grantham your house for a honeymoon. I always imagined it would be a nice place for one." Smiling, Sarah closed her eyes and allowed herself to dream once again as Jarrod whirled her around the ballroom.

  "Really?" He arched his eyebrow once again.

  "Yes."

  "I suppose you could ask Lady Grantham if that is the case," Jarrod ventured.

  "I suppose I could ask her," she said, opening her eyes to look at him. "But that won't be nearly as fun as marrying you and finding out for myself."

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Six

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  As true as I live.

  — Thomas Middleton, 1580-1627

  He looked stunned. Trapped like a fox in the hole. Terrified that his life was about to come to an end.

  "I thought you didn't want to marry. I thought you had your heart set on being a courtesan." Jarrod pinned her with a look.

  "Why?" she asked, finally understanding what Aunt Etta had been trying to tell her about the anguish of loving someone who didn't love you in return. "Are you about to take me up on the offer?"

  "I distinctly remember you telling me that I would make a good lover, but that I was hardly husband material."

  "I lied," Sarah said simply.

  "Why?"

  "Because I love you, Jarrod."

  He froze. "You say you love me, yet you admit to lying to me?"

  "Yes," she said. "And I would do it again if I had to in order to give you what you want."

  He frowned. "I don't understand."

  "No, you don't," she answered. "And the sad part of it is that you may never understand. Loving isn't all taking, Jarrod. Sometimes it's giving."

  "I gave," he protested. "In Eleanor's Folly, I didn't just take, I gave."

  "Yes," she agreed, smiling at the memory. "You gave me incredible pleasure and you allowed me to give you pleasure. And I will always be grateful to you for teaching me about desire. But you did that with your body, Jarrod. Not with your heart."

  "I don't know how to do anything with my heart," Jarrod told her. "Except protect it."

  "Then you should understand that that's what I tried to do," she told him. "Whenever I dreamed of you, I always dreamed that when you saw me all grown up, you'd look at me and fall on your knees and ask me to marry you. But you made no secret of the fact that you don't want a wife, so I tried to become your lover. When that didn't work, I tried to convince you that I would rather be someone else's lover."

  "Why?"

  "To make you jealous," she admitted. "To make you admit that you love me a little. But you weren't jealous. And you don't love me — even a little — and I can't pretend anymore."

  "Sarah…"

  "I look at you and I see the man I love and you look at me and see a nuisance. I love you, but my love causes you aggravation and frustration. And love isn't supposed to cause aggravation and frustration." She looked up at him and there were tears in her eyes when she spoke. "It isn't supposed to be a thorn in your side. Or an itch you can't be rid of. It's supposed to be something you cherish. Something you are glad to have. You're a proud man, Lord Shepherdston. A fine, honorable man. A man any woman would be proud to call her own. But I have pride, too. I've loved you since I was a little girl. I've tried to be a part of your life and to prove to you that I could be trusted with your heart by keeping your secret. I knew about your league and I never breathed a word of it because I knew that keeping it secret was important to you. And keeping each other's secrets and overlooking each other's faults is what love and friendship is all about. But you haven't learned that yet." She stopped to draw a shaky breath. "I've loved you nearly all my life and I just realized that I was wrong."

  "What do you mean you were wrong?" he asked.

  "When I said you were a very attractive man and that I had no doubt you'd be an excellent lover, but you were hardly what one would want in a husband, I thought I was lying because I only said it to prick your pride and make you think. I said it to make you look at me with new eyes and see that you were exactly the right husband material for me because I loved you. Because I believed we were made for each other. But I was wrong. We weren't made for each other." She gave a sad little laugh. "I've been fighting what you've been trying to tell me all along."

  The last strains of the waltz died away and Sarah stopped dancing.

  "And what was that?" he asked, suddenly, terribly afraid that she had finally seen the real man, instead of the man she wanted him to be. Terribly afraid that she had finally seen the truth.

  "That I shouldn't want a man who thinks my love is an aggravation, a nuisance, and a bother. Because the truth is that you are hardly husband material. I thought I was lying, but I was speaking the truth. I grew up knowing I wasn't beautiful and that I hadn't a title or a great fortune, and I've spent my life striving to be good enough for you. But the truth, Lord Shepherdston, is that you aren't nearly good enough for me."

  * * * * *

  Sarah cried the whole way home. She didn't make a sound as she rode in the coach beside Aunt Etta and opposite Lord Mayhew, but she couldn't stop crying.

  Once again, she'd made a cake of herself over Jarrod Shepherdston. And everything had been going so well until she'd slipped and told him how much she wanted to marry him. Everything had been going so well until she'd seen the look on his face.

  She had come so close to having her dream and she had ruined it with the truth.

  "Sarah," Aunt Etta said gently, "don't cry, my dear, he'll come around."

  "No, he won't." She cried harder. "Not after tonight, not after what I said."

  "What did you say, my dear, that was so terrible?" Lord Mayhew asked.

  "I told him I loved him."

  "That's good," Lord Mayhew said. "Everything is going to be all right. I promise. The boy will come around. He's stubborn, but he's not stupid."

  Sarah looked up and gave Lord Mayhew a tremulous smile. "He may come around," she whispered. "But will I still want him when he does?" That was the question that frightened her so. She had loved him all her life, and now, she was afraid it had all been for naught.

  "I don't think you have to worry," Lord Mayhew soothed. "For I don't think there's an inconstant bone in your body."

  * * * * *

  Jarrod was in a rare high fit of temper by the time he arrived at Colin and Gillian's home at 21 Park Lane. How dare Sarah do this to him? How dare she fill his head with all this nonsense about him never growing up? He'd become the marquess at six and ten. He'd shouldered the weight and the responsibility of running a large estate and managing several households and dozens of employees. Who did she think she was to tell him he wasn't good enough for her? He was the fifth Marquess of Shepherdston.

  If she expected him to chase her, she was in for a surprise. He'd had women chasing him since he was two and ten years old, for God's sake! He didn't need to chase anyone.

  But every time he closed his eyes he saw Sarah. Sarah laughing. Sarah smiling. Sarah confessing her love for him. Sarah crying. Sarah walking away.

  His temper suddenly dissolved and disbelief set in. After all the years of following him around like a puppy wherever he went, after spying on him and trying her damnedest to seduce him, Sarah had walked away without a backward glance.

  And although he'd had every opportunity, Jarrod hadn't been able to find the words to ask her to stay.

  And although he'd given that arrogant damned dandy that started this mess a way out of it, Dunbridge had given no sign of withdrawing and that meant that in a few short hours, Jarrod would have to meet him at the dueling oak in order to save his honor and Sarah's reputation. The reputation he'd put at risk with his own carelessness. Jarrod didn't know if he ought to shoot Lord Dunbridge or allow the fool to shoot him.

  How could he have been so foolish? How could he have allowed his l
ife to become so chaotic in one day? When all he'd had to do to prevent it was offer to marry her when she'd showed up on his door.

  So, why hadn't he?

  Because he'd been afraid. Afraid that once she really knew him, once she married him, she wouldn't love him anymore.

  Jarrod took off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair before ringing the bell. Blister it! But he'd never dreamed he would turn out to be such a coward. He'd never been afraid to risk anything before; but then, he had never risked his heart.

  Now he was haunted by the possibility that he had killed her love. Jarrod didn't think he could endure another round of Sarah's rejection. But how could he endure losing her?

  For the first time in his adult life, Jarrod couldn't think what to do. Jarrod Shepherdston, the man they'd called Merlin because he could conjure up a solution to anything, was lost. And all because Sarah had walked away.

  All because he had been too afraid to take what she offered.

  All because he had thrown her love back in her face.

  "Good evening, Lord Shepherdston," Britton, Colin and Gillian's butler, greeted as he opened the front door wide for Jarrod to enter. "Won't you come in?"

  "Is it still evening, Britton?" Jarrod asked.

  "No, sir, I believe you're correct," Britton replied. "It is after midnight. Allow me to take your hat and gloves, sir." The butler practically had to pry Jarrod's fingers from around the crushed silk brim of his top hat, but he managed to finally take it. "Lord and Lady Grantham are awaiting you in the study. His Grace has yet to arrive."

  Jarrod wasn't surprised. After Sarah left him, Jarrod had stood in for Griffin and danced the last waltz with Alyssa, then gone in search of Lord Rob only to find that his uncle had left the party and was escorting the ladies back to their hotel. Griffin and Alyssa had still been saying their good-byes when Jarrod had left.

  As he followed Britton from the front door to the study, Jarrod noticed, for the first time, that Colin's house was filled with vases of artistically arranged fresh flowers and bowls of dried flower petals and leaves that gave the rooms a nice fragrance. He never had fresh flowers in his house, or bowls of dried ones, and his shirts and linen never smelled as nice as Griff's or Colin's. And whenever Henderson or Pomfrey brought coffee or tea, they never brought along little sandwiches or biscuits or cakes, the way Britton — and Keswick and Mason, Griffin's butlers — always did.