The Seduction of Sara

  Sara promptly stood as well. “I shall accompany you—”

  “Actually,” Henri interrupted, “I must take my leave, so I will be happy to escort your aunt on my way out.”

  Delphi almost shivered at the excitement that trembled through her limbs. “That would be very nice, indeed. If you will excuse us?” Without waiting to see anyone’s reaction, she hurriedly left.

  Anthony immediately stood. “Miss Thraxton, would you like to look out at the garden? There are some particularly lovely flowers I would like to show you.”

  Anna opened her mouth to argue, but Anthony grabbed her arm and unceremoniously pulled her to the window at the far end of the room.

  Sara turned for the door, but Nick stepped forward and cut off her one avenue of escape. She glared at him, then decided not to give him the satisfaction of rattling her. This day was bound to happen, if not here, then in public. It was better to get it over with now. Chin in the air, she resumed her seat and opened her book to a random page, resolutely staring at the blurred picture.

  Nick took a chair across from her, leaning forward so that his knees almost touched hers. “Sara, I’ve been a fool.”

  He certainly wasn’t going to get an argument from her on that score. She kept her gaze fastened on her book.

  He placed his hand on her knee. “I’ve rued my actions every minute I’m awake, every second I’m asleep. Sara, I was stupid to use Lucilla to trick you. I just…I wanted to frighten you away.”

  She jerked her gaze from the book. “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to see me like—” He briefly closed his eyes. “Sara, the headaches—they are just the beginning. Eventually I will not be able to fight the pain, and I will be forced to turn to laudanum, like my mother.

  “You’ve never seen what laudanum can do to a person. At first she only took it to ease the pain. Later, she had to have it. Then there came a time when she ran out. We had no funds, no money at all. The pain was horrendous.”

  Sara’s hands gripped the book harder. “You are not your mother.”

  “No, I’m far, far weaker than she. When she realized there would be no more laudanum, she put a gun in my hand and begged me, on her knees, to end her torment. So I—” He closed his eyes, his face a mask of torment. “I went out and I did what I had to, to procure more. I got her laudanum that day and the next and every day that she asked me to. And the things I did to pay for it—” He looked away.

  Tears welled in Sara’s eyes, and her heart went out to the boy Nick had been, the man he’d been forced to become—all because of one woman’s addiction to poison. “But perhaps there’s another way to combat your headaches, Nick.”

  “It is the only thing that ever helped her,” he said grimly. “And it is what killed her.”

  Sara set her book aside. “Nick, how did Violette die?”

  “She threw herself from the roof of our chateau when I was thirteen.”

  Sara gasped.

  “Her body fell past my window, and I saw her for an instant—” His voice broke, and he swallowed. “She didn’t even leave a note. Nothing.”

  Sara sat in stunned silence.

  “And that is why I didn’t want to have children. I didn’t want my child to be cursed the way my mother and I were.” He looked up at her, his eyes almost black. “Sara, I know about the baby.”

  She froze. How had he found out?

  “I want you back, Sara.”

  “Because of the child?” Her heart contracted.

  “No. I wanted you back before I discovered about the child.” He reached for her hand, but she yanked it away, aware that his touch could undo the tenuous control she had.

  “Sara, I made a terrible mistake. Please forgive me.” Nick held his breath and waited.

  She shook her head. “I’m truly sorry for your pain and fears, Nick. But that doesn’t change the fact that when you faced a problem, you didn’t turn to me. You shut me out, banished me from you and the home we were making. I can’t live that way. I want to be part of a family. And that means facing problems together.”

  “I’ll try to—”

  “You made decisions that affected both of our lives without ever consulting me. And you have treated me so cavalierly that I may never be able to forgive you. Good God, why didn’t you just tell me you thought you might become addicted to laudanum? Am I so insignificant that I did not even deserve that?”

  “Sara, I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you turning away from me.”

  She raised tear-filled eyes to his. “Is that how little you think of me?” she whispered.

  Oh, God, he was driving her farther and farther away. He desperately wished she’d let him touch her, show her how he felt. But this, trying to express himself while she sat there with hurt and accusation in her eyes—the words froze and tangled. “Sara, you don’t understand—”

  “But I do. You would risk everything on the basis of what might happen. Yes, you have headaches, though Lady Birlington seems to think it was your father who suffered from headaches and not your mother.”

  Nick froze at a sudden thought. Was it possible? If his mother’s only flaw had been laudanum addiction, then he would gladly bear the pain of the headaches. Sudden hope rose in his heart, though he dared not trust it yet.

  “Sara, I pray to God that what Lady Birlington said is true, especially now that you are carrying my child. But you have to understand that I did what I thought was best for us both.”

  “By faking an assignation with Lady Knowles? Brilliant, Bridgeton.” She stood. “Perhaps the next time you decide to rid yourself of a wife, you will have the courage to do it without so much dissembling. Good-bye.”

  She stood, and the movement wafted the faint scent of lavender to him. He closed his eyes, struggling to find the words he needed. None came.

  The sound of the door softly closing ripped through him like the thunder of a cannon. She had left him. And she would never return.

  His heart was beyond pain, his mind numb with the realization that he had finally found love, and he’d killed it. Destroyed it with his senseless fears and his inability to open his heart to the very woman who owned it.

  “Bridgeton?” Greyley murmured from behind him. “She just needs some time.”

  Unable to bear the man’s pity, Nick nodded shortly. Without a word, he turned and left.

  Somehow, he made it back to his carriage. He climbed in and mutely sat there.

  “Are we returning home, my lord?”

  Home? There was no home without Sara. There wasn’t anything without Sara. Nick closed his eyes. “To Hibberton Hall.”

  The footman closed the door and soon the coach was rumbling out of Bath. Nick stared with unseeing eyes at the green rolling hills. Outside all was light and beauty, but in his heart was the empty desolation of aloneness, of being without Sara.

  Heat prickled against his eyes, and he touched his hand to his face, then stared uncomprehendingly at the wetness from his cheek. He loved her. And she could not stand the sight of him.

  His fingers curled into a tight ball. Whether she wanted it or not, Sara was part of his life as he was part of hers. He’d fought for too many years, against too many demons, to sit tamely by for the most important battle of his life.

  A slow calm began to build around his bruised heart. He had won past her defenses once, and he would do so again. Staring blindly out the window of the carriage, he began to plan his attack.

  “Ah, this must be the breakfast room,” Henri said. He patted Delphi’s hand where it lay on his arm. “I suppose I should be going…” He waited expectantly.

  Her fingers tightened on his sleeve and he thought he saw hesitation in her eyes.

  But after a moment, she smiled uncertainly and then stepped away. “Of course you must go.”

  Disappointment raked through him. He’d been foolish to even come here, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of the delectable Delphi. This morning he??
?d found himself outside her house, standing on the stoop. It was a strange thing, this compulsion he had to see her, but he would not renew his offer. If she wanted him, she would have to make the first overture.

  He managed a polite smile. “Good morning, then, Your Grace.”

  Just as he turned away, she said in a breathless voice, “Perhaps you would like to wait for Bridgeton?”

  Henri looked at her. She appeared flushed and uneasy, but because she wanted him to stay or because she didn’t wish to await the outcome of the interview between Nick and Sara alone, he could not say. Still…he shrugged. “But of course.”

  She immediately turned and led the way into the breakfast room.

  He followed her, noting the luxurious appointments of the room. A large but delicate rosewood table filled the center of the room, while a scattering of side tables and buffets filled the walls.

  Delphi gestured to the few dishes remaining on the table. “Lord Greyley must have just finished his breakfast. I will call the servants to clean this up.”

  “They will come in their own time.” Henri feared his nervous companion might flee if she opened the door again. “Just leave it.”

  “Very well.” She took one of the chairs and faced him with a tremulous smile. “Pray have a seat, my lord.”

  He obediently took the one across from hers in an effort not to startle her, and waited.

  “It is…quite cold this week, is it not?”

  “Oh, very,” he agreed pleasantly.

  She swallowed, her fingers nervously folding and unfolding a pleat in her skirt. “A pity it might rain.”

  “Indeed.”

  She dropped her gaze and stared at the carpet.

  Silence filled the room and Henri became aware of how loudly the clock ticked on the sideboard. After a long moment, he noticed the Morning Post sitting by the forgotten dishes. He gestured toward the paper. “If you don’t mind?”

  Coloring, she shook her head and Henri thankfully retreated behind the paper.

  Delphi stared at the back of the Morning Post. It was a hopeless passion, and she knew it. He was a counterfeit count, completely penniless, and far too handsome.

  But some small spark of her soul yearned for a change, screamed that it was time she found some happiness before it was too late. If she wanted life, then she was going to have to force herself to embrace it.

  Delphi looked at the newspaper wall, and whispered, “Let not love drop from thy lips.”

  The Morning Post remained firmly in place.

  Delphi closed her eyes. What was she doing? He would just laugh at her, tell her she’d had her opportunity and had frittered it away. She opened her eyes. But what if he didn’t? What if he swept her into his arms and made mad, passionate love to her? After a long moment, she said in a slightly louder voice, “Hear me, oh love. Teach mine heart to despair not.”

  The Morning Post trembled slightly, and Henri murmured something vague.

  Delphi stiffened. Here she was, baring her soul and Henri didn’t even have the politeness to respond. She stood.

  Henri looked around the edge of the paper. “Is something wrong?”

  Delphi looked into his bright blue eyes and froze. After a moment, she shook her head dumbly. He gave her a quick, impersonal smile, then disappeared behind the paper once more.

  She closed her eyes. Oh, God, give me strength. A faint trembling shook Delphi’s knees, excitement warming her from the toes, up her calves, to her thighs. She gasped and pressed her hands together and clasped them to her breast. “Oh lustful knave, tease me unto death, I care not.”

  Henri’s astonished gaze appeared over the top edge of the paper. “Pardon?”

  Delphi wondered how his voice would sound when raised in passion. Her heart hammering an erratic rhythm, she leaned forward against the breakfast table. She felt powerful, alive, and amazingly fierce. “From thy honeyed mouth, sweetness drips.”

  Slowly, ever so slowly, Henri dropped the Morning Post to the ground. “Delphi, what—”

  She flattened her hands on the table and leaned even closer to Henri—her love, her life. “Betwixt us lies a river of passion. Come drown with me, beloved! Be one with me.”

  He stood, his face bright with hope. “Delphi…do you know what you are saying?”

  How could he look at her and not know? Delphi swept the remaining china aside with a magnificent sweep of her arm. “Come, my love! Let us lie among the gentle breezes and part the waves with our passion.” Without a thought, she lay on the table, rolled to her side, and held her arms out toward him.

  Silence filled the room, broken only by her own fast breathing. The table was cool and hard beneath her, and one of her shoulders seemed to have landed on a plate. But Delphi ignored it all. She held out her arms and waited.

  Henri cleared his throat. “I…ah, Delphi?”

  His tentative voice sent her confidence crashing to the ground. What was she doing? Oh, God, I am such a fool. He doesn’t want me, and here I lie… She’d allowed her passion to overcome her judgment, and she had just made the biggest mistake of her life. Face burning, Delphi pushed herself from the table and stood. “Oh, dear,” she said, her face so hot she wondered that it didn’t burst into flames.

  She couldn’t bear to look at Henri, couldn’t bear to see his embarrassment. Her whole body seemed to shrink in humiliation and a tear gathered in her eye, quickly followed by another.

  “Ah, my sweet Delphinea,” Henri said. “You have butter.”

  She had…what? She looked at him.

  He gestured to her shoulder. “You’ve butter on your dress.”

  She glanced down where a smear of butter marred the white muslin. Suddenly the tears could not be contained. She’d made the most wretched fool of herself, and Henri would never want to speak with her again. She turned and ran for the door.

  “No.”

  She froze in place, her hand on the knob.

  “You love me.” He said it in a voice of wonder, as if he couldn’t believe his fortune.

  Breathless hope held her in its grip. “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

  “My sweet, shy Delphi,” he said, his voice closer. His fingers slipped along the edge of her collar. “You have utterly ruined your dress. I’m afraid it must come off.”

  She turned slowly to face him. “You want me to take off my dress,” she repeated stupidly.

  “More than anything in the world.” He pulled a jeweled pin from her hair and tossed it aside.

  Her hair falling about her face, Delphi now swiftly tugged at her laces. With the comte’s help, her dress was soon removed. He kissed each bit of her skin as it was exposed, making her a mass of tingles.

  Before Delphi knew what had happened, he carried her to the table and set her on the edge. She wrapped her arms and legs about him and kissed him deeply. It was as if a well of passion had suddenly burst forth, and Delphi could not contain it.

  He moaned against her mouth, then placed his foot on a chair and joined her on the table, struggling to undo his breeches as he did so.

  Crack. Henri froze. Crack. Crack. The table shook and then, with a final creak, collapsed onto the floor. Spoons and forks clattered, dishes bounced into the air, and chairs went toppling.

  The door to the breakfast room flew open and Anthony stood in the doorway, Anna peering over his shoulder. Shock and disbelief warred on their faces. From where she lay amid the china and splintered wood, Delphi buried her face in Henri’s neck and burst into laughter.

  Chapter 23

  It began with a letter. Addressed to Lady Bridgeton in a strong, simple script, it arrived shortly before breakfast the next morning.

  Sara’s heart pounded on seeing the footman’s livery, recognizing him as one of Wiggs’s underlings. For one mad moment, she stared at the missive, the vellum crisp beneath her fingers, and wondered if she should open it. But her good sense returned. There was nothing more to say. Nick had lied to her and left her alone, just like Julius.
/>
  She was weary and stretched, too tired to deal with such painful emotions. It was strange, but she could not remember ever feeling this way about Julius. But then that was because she didn’t love him like—She caught the thought before she could finish it. Love was the last thing she should feel for Nicholas Montrose. She handed the letter back to the footman and ordered him to return it to Hibberton Hall, unanswered and unopened.

  Nick arrived shortly afterward. Sara had been on her way to her room when she heard his voice in the front hall. Reacting instinctively, she’d crouched on the landing, peeking over the banister. His face set in determined lines and looking devastatingly handsome, he listened impatiently to the butler’s explanation that no one was home before saying in a loud voice, “Inform Lady Bridgeton that I will return.” With that, he’d replaced his hat and left.

  Sara had closed her eyes and inhaled to see if the scent of his cologne lingered in the foyer. If she sat still enough, she thought she could detect just a trace. Finally, she’d shaken herself off and retired to her room.

  An hour later, she heard a solid knock on the front door. She tiptoed down the hallway and peeked down the stairs. The footman from Hibberton Hall had returned, this time with an armful of flowers. The arrangement was so large that it barely fit through the door, the exotic scent filling the entire house. Sara stared at the flowers, aware of a strange well of disappointment. She waited until the footman had left before she raced down the steps, gathered the flowers from the astounded butler, marched into the street, and threw the entire arrangement in front of the carriage. The shocked footman watched as the wind had lifted the flowers and scattered them far and wide, a white note fluttering free and tumbling down the street. Dusting her hands, Sara returned to the house, slamming the door behind her.

  But the image of that note stayed with her, and she began to envision what words it had held. Was it a letter of abject apology? An impassioned plea for forgiveness? Sara couldn’t see Nick writing such things, but still…she almost wished she’d read it.

  To ease her mind, she went in search of Aunt Delphi. She found her aunt sitting in the breakfast room, tracing her hands over the rosewood table. Sara frowned. “Is it still broken?”