The Seduction of Sara

  Sara tried to step away, but he held her tight. She frowned up at him. “Release me at once.”

  He didn’t move, just looked at her with a superior expression that made her want to slap him. “We are alone now, Sara. And we both know what you want.”

  “Yes—marriage.”

  He stepped away so quickly that he almost stumbled over the uneven walkway. “You are not serious.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “That’s a pity. As tempting an armful as you are, you have no fortune. I made inquiries; your jointure ends the day you wed.”

  “Then why have you been calling on me?”

  He smiled in a placating manner. “Because, my little pigeon, I was hoping we could…” He trailed a broad finger down her arm.

  Sara jerked away. “I am not a pigeon.” She suddenly realized that she wouldn’t marry this pompous bag of wind for all the freedom in the world. “I would like to return to the ballroom. Now.”

  His brow lowered. “Surely we can come to some sort of an agreement—”

  “Please step aside. I have nothing more to say to you.”

  Hewlette’s jaw hardened, his gaze narrowing. “You little tease,” he hissed.

  “I am not a tease.”

  “Then why have you been dangling yourself before me for the last week like an overripe plum waiting to be plucked?” he demanded.

  Sara sighed her exasperation. “I was not dangling anywhere, and I am getting very cold. Please move aside.”

  For an instant she thought he would comply, but his gaze focused on her. “I think we should stay in the garden a bit longer.”

  “My brother will be looking for me.”

  He leaned so close, his cologne threatened to gag her. “Your brothers are in London.”

  Sara cast a desperate glance at the shrubbery, hoping Anna was nearby for protection. The silence seemed to scream a warning, and her mind quavered on the brink of panic. What if Anna isn’t here? Sara took a quick step backward.

  Hewlette’s hands shot out and he grasped her by the shoulders. “Oh no, you don’t, my dearest Sara. I’ve been waiting for this since Julius died.”

  She stilled. “Julius?”

  “We were friends, though I daresay you never knew it. He was a generous man, and allowed me use of his best hunter and his phaeton. He even let me sample his mistress—a tasty actress with a penchant for riding whips.”

  “I have no wish to discuss my husband with you,” Sara snapped. Damn it, would Julius continue to sully her life even now?

  Hewlette’s large hand slid up her arm. “You always fascinated me, you know. So pristine and pure. You were the one thing he would not share.”

  “Lord Hewlette, that is more than enough. Release me now. I will not—”

  His hot mouth covered hers. Sara couldn’t breathe, and she fought wildly, but Hewlette’s embrace pinioned her arms to her sides.

  Hewlette’s tongue pushed roughly against her clenched lips. Where is Anna? There was only one thing to do. Sara twisted to one side and thrust her knee upward. She caught him in the side of the thigh, completely missing her target. Still, the solid contact made Hewlette yelp, and his grip slackened for a moment.

  That was all Sara needed. She fisted her hand in the manner learned from countless tussles with five bigger, less-than-gentle brothers, and slammed it into his nose. Fate favored her, for the viscount was just reaching out to grab her, his motion propelling him directly into her fist and increasing the force of the contact. To her surprise, he fell like a stone and lay on the pathway, making little mewling sounds like a kitten.

  “A pleasant night for a stroll, isn’t it?” drawled a low voice, so deep and husky, it sent a shiver down Sara’s back.

  Oh God, not him. Not now. But it was. The Earl of Bridgeton stepped from the path and into the shadows of the hedgerow to stand over Hewlette’s prone body. “Tsk, tsk, Hewlette. You really should stay away from the port.”

  “What are you doing here?” Sara demanded, her heart racing.

  “Strolling. I do so love gardens.” Nick sauntered forward, golden and imposing even in the lantern-light. His faintly amused gaze flickered from Sara’s face to where Hewlette struggled to gain his feet. “Lord Hewlette. Strange as it may seem, you are just the man I was looking for.”

  Using a stone bench for support, Hewlette managed to stand upright. “Go to hell, Bridgeton.”

  “But I’ve information to impart. Your mother is searching for you. You had best go to her.”

  Swaying dangerously, Hewlette cautiously felt his nose before glaring at Bridgeton. “My mother is in London.”

  “All the better,” the earl said in a silky voice.

  The young lord reddened. “Damn you, Bridgeton! This is a private affair.”

  Nick regarded the viscount’s face with a considering frown. “Whatever happened to your nose? It is turning the color of a plum.”

  “Nothing. I fell, that’s all.” Hewlette cast a sullen glare at the earl.

  “Lady Carrington’s aunt is looking for her. It is time she returned to the ballroom.”

  “I suppose her aunt sent you to rescue her?” the viscount said, his mouth twisted with rage. “I can’t imagine such a thing.”

  The earl shrugged, his broad shoulders never making even a crease in the fine coat. “I’m in an odd mood this evening…almost quixotic. Like a knight in a fairy tale.”

  “Perhaps something you ate has disagreed with you,” Sara said, feeling ill-used. “I’m sure it will pass.”

  The earl’s gaze rested on her for a moment, an amused curve to his lips. “I’m sure it will. But until then, I am at its mercy.”

  Despite Sara’s annoyance, she had to admit that the earl at least appeared heroic, his tall, lithe form making Hewlette appear short and stocky. And the viscount’s florid waistcoat and exaggerated cravat were garish in the face of the earl’s quiet elegance.

  Oblivious to the fact that he was far outclassed, Hewlette sneered. “Tell the truth, Bridgeton. You have your eyes on her yourself.”

  The earl turned a considering look at Sara. “No, I have never been in the nursery line.”

  Sara gasped. “Nursery? I’ll have you know I am twenty-one years of age and perfectly able to—” At the flare of amusement in Bridgeton’s gaze, she swallowed the rest of her protest, seething.

  Bridgeton chuckled. “I stand corrected. The lady is indeed old enough to have an affaire de coeur. That is very useful information, indeed.”

  What was it about this man that made her flare up like dry kindling? Whatever it was, it unnerved her and sent her stomach spiraling into a thousand knots.

  Hewlette gave an ugly laugh. “I have to agree with you, Bridgeton; she’s an exciting bundle.” His gaze narrowed speculatively. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in settling this as gentlemen? A turn of the cards, perhaps?”

  Sara balled her hand back into a fist. “My lord Hewlette,” she said in her frostiest voice, “I am not a ‘bundle,’ and I am not about to allow you to wager me in a game of cards.”

  “Don’t play the innocent with me,” Hewlette snarled, gingerly touching his nose again. “You were the one who invited me to the garden, weren’t you?”

  “Only because I wished to ask you to—” She stopped, remembering Bridgeton’s presence. “I only wished to ask you a simple question. Nothing more.”

  Nick raised his brows. What was the delectable Sara up to now? Well, it was time the troublesome Hewlette made his way home. “Viscount Hewlette, I hate to be rude, but Lady Carrington has other plans this evening.”

  Hewlette’s mouth twisted into a bitter scowl. “I understand perfectly.”

  “I doubt it,” Nick said, “but it doesn’t matter. You will not, I think, be mentioning this evening’s encounter to anyone.”

  The viscount drew himself upright, his nose already faintly purple. “If you were not so damned proficient at dueling, Bridgeton, I would call you out for your impertinence.” br />
  “But I am damned proficient at it,” Nick said softly. “And you would do well to remember that fact as you take your leave of the lady.”

  There was nothing more to be done, and Hewlette knew it. Stiff with anger, he bowed to Sara. “Lady Carrington, I look forward to speaking with you at a more convenient time.” He tossed a glare to Nick, turned on his heel, and marched stiffly across the terrace and into the ballroom.

  Smiling faintly, Nick turned to the damsel he had just rescued.

  She met his gaze with a look of blazing contempt. “You, sir, are not needed here.”

  “Wasn’t I? I rather flatter myself that I was right where I needed to be. Hewlette is not a man of honor.”

  “And you are?”

  He couldn’t help himself. A slight smile curved his mouth. “No. Although you must admit that my presence was convenient.”

  “I did not stand in need of any assistance.” She glanced toward the bushes beside them, where a sudden rustle announced the arrival of a visitor.

  Nick followed her gaze and discovered a blue feather sticking up from behind a tangle of leaves. A swell of irritation gripped him. Instead of rescuing a demure innocent from Hewlette’s evil clutches, it appeared he had instead rescued Hewlette from a marriage trap the size of France.

  For some reason, the fact that Sara looked so angelic, so innocent, annoyed him further. He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her against him.

  She lifted a shocked face to his, her soft lips parted, her eyes shimmering in the uncertain light. “Unhand me!”

  “Tell your titian-haired shadow to come out now.”

  “But I—”

  His grip tightened until she gasped for breath. Her slight form was melded to his length, her breasts pressed against his lapels, her feet scarcely touching the ground. “I—I cannot speak…if you hold me…so tightly.”

  He loosened his grip just enough for her to catch her breath. “Call her.”

  “No.”

  Scowling, Nick released her, then turned to the shrubbery.

  Ignoring the damage to his coat and gloves, he plunged his hands through the branches. A terrified squeak met his actions, and he smiled grimly when his fingers closed around a feminine arm. Without ceremony, he dragged her through the bushes and stood her before him.

  “Let me go,” Miss Thraxton protested, struggling mightily.

  “And have you run into the ballroom, screeching at the top of your voice that your friend is being ravished in the garden?”

  “Leave her be,” Sara said from his side.

  “Do you see the bench by the terrace door?” Nick asked the troublesome Miss Thraxton.

  She nodded mutely, her eyes appearing ready to pop out of her face.

  “Lady Carrington and I need a few moments of private conversation, but I have no wish to see her good name discredited. Therefore, instead of behaving like an idiot and helping your friend to ruin, you will play the part of chaperone.”

  Her mouth opened and closed, but she was bereft of speech.

  Nick controlled his impatience. This was why he eschewed innocents and imbeciles. He took the redhead’s elbow and led her down the path and up the terrace stairs to the stone bench, walking so swiftly she nearly had to run to keep up. He dropped her onto the bench’s cold surface, her skirts billowing about her. “I am glad to see that we are in agreement. Now stay here. At no time are you to leave this bench, or I will see to it that you are very, very sorry.”

  Her gaze fixed on his face, she nodded in mute agreement. Nick suppressed an exasperated sigh as he turned to where Lady Carrington awaited him.

  She stood in the pathway, arms crossed over her modest white gown to ward off the cold air, her round chin firmly in the air, the very picture of youthful indignation. “That was uncalled for.”

  “That was necessary to preserve your good name.” Nick leaned against a tree and crossed his own arms, watching her grimly. “You are a fool if you thought to trap a man like Hewlette into marriage.”

  Sara thought she was more of a fool to be in the garden with a man who looked like a gilded devil. “If you are about to give me a lecture on the horrors of marriage, pray spare your breath. I know more about them than I wish to.”

  A flicker of amusement softened Nick’s scowl. “All marriages are miserable, sweet. It is the nature of the beast.” His gaze traveled over her, resting on her breasts and hips as if he could see through the material of her gown. “If you don’t wish to marry, then what do you want?”

  She wanted him. The thought came to her so suddenly that she caught her breath. She wanted to touch his face and smooth away the hint of aloofness that marred his handsomeness. She wanted to curl into his arms and feel the strength of him. But that was not to be. She wasn’t interested in an affair; she wanted marriage.

  But perhaps…She eyed Bridgeton carefully. He was a man of the world. She would simply explain her circumstances and ask for his assistance. “Despite my dislike of marriage, I must have a husband.”

  “And you chose Hewlette?”

  There was a hint of sneer in his satin-smooth voice and her anger flared. “He seemed an excellent choice until this evening.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I must find someone else. My brothers have decided it is time I wed, and since they control my fortune—” She shrugged. “I want my freedom, but the man my brothers would choose for me will be as staid and controlling as they are. Therefore, I want a husband who will not interfere with my pleasures any more than I intend on interfering with his.”

  “You want someone who will marry you, and then leave you be?”

  “Yes.” She paused, marshaling her arguments to persuade him. “Would you be interested in—”

  “No.”

  He hadn’t even hesitated. Sara refused to look away, locking her gaze with his. “You are rebuilding Hibberton Hall. Surely you—”

  “I just want to live in peace.”

  “I would leave you in peace. I don’t even wish to live under the same roof.”

  His mouth quirked into a smile. “Then what would be the point of marrying at all?”

  “You would have access to my name. The St. Johns are accepted everywhere.”

  Nick pushed himself from the tree, the shadows flickering across his face. “Under normal circumstances, I might well be tempted.”

  Sara took an eager step forward, but he held up a hand. “Unfortunately, I have no wish to marry. Not now, not ever.”

  “But I must marry.”

  He regarded her for a silent moment. “Perhaps you can convince your brothers that you are willing to go along with their scheme.”

  “What would that accomplish?”

  “They would leave you alone if they thought you had capitulated. It might give you more time.”

  “Time? For what?”

  His wicked smile was her answer. Sara’s disappointment was so keen it was like the cut of a knife. “I’ve misjudged you,” she said bitterly. “I thought you were…oh, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t it?” he asked, taking the remaining two steps that brought him to her. “I am not the kind of man you would ever wish to marry, Sara. But if you decide you are interested in a more casual arrangement…” He lifted her face with a warm hand, cupping her cheek in an intimate gesture.

  Her breath hung in her throat as the moonlight gilded the sensual line of his mouth. She couldn’t move away, caught in the slow heat of the moment. Caught in the feel of his bare hand on her skin. Caught in the swift pounding of her own heart. Without thought to anything, Sara lifted her face to his.

  His lips came to softly cover hers, his breath mingling with hers in a slow, sweet dance. Sara’s resistance melted before the heady onslaught, her body tingling with swirling emotion as he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth over hers, parting her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth, eager to get closer, to absorb his warmth, to taste his passion.

  Thoughts swirled to
a halt as Sara lost herself in the kiss. Her body tightened, and for the first time in her life, she yearned for a man other than Julius.

  Nick broke the kiss and lifted his mouth until it was a scant breath from hers. “We really are at opposing ends of the spectrum, aren’t we?” he murmured, his thumb brushing across her cheek. “I wish for a mistress, not a wife. You wish to be a wife, not a mistress.”

  He wanted her. Desired her just as she desired him. Some secret part of Sara leapt at his words and she craved his touch even as she admitted that he was right. They were at cross-purposes. He was not the man she was searching for. With the greatest reluctance, she forced her stiff legs to move her away from him, away from the tantalizing scent of male temptation, away from the raw heat that simmered in his gaze.

  His hands dropped to his side. “I want you, Sara. And you want me. I can tell.”

  Despite her determination otherwise, she swayed toward him. She knew from the way he moved, from the fascinating line of his mouth, from the lithe way he walked, that he would be an exhilarating lover—passionate and erotic beyond her dreams. But a few moments of physical pleasure would not gain her what she desired—a complaisant husband who would keep her troublesome brothers at bay. “Thank you for your offer, my lord, but I must decline.”

  To her surprise, he smiled—a masculine, knowing smile, as if he knew her better than she knew herself. “We shall see, my lady.”

  Anger stiffened her wavering resolve. Damn the man for thinking he knew her at all. “It was just a kiss, Bridgeton. Surely it wasn’t your first.” Sara had the felicity of seeing his smile fade as she turned on her heel and walked away.

  There! She had put the arrogant earl in his place. But the taste of triumph eluded her. He had read her all too easily, and it irked her. No matter how tempting he might be, the Earl of Bridgeton was to be avoided at all costs. Her head held high, she marched back to the terrace, achingly aware that it was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Chapter 7

  Sara swept to the terrace with as much dignity as her shaking knees would allow. Bridgeton was a cold-hearted rakehell, about as caring as a coiled snake. She’d thrown herself on his mercy, explained her desperate circumstances, and instead of assisting her as he could so easily have done, he’d used the opportunity to suggest a mere affair.