Sara sensed Lily’s inner struggle to keep her temper in check. For a moment it seemed she would lose the battle. Sara touched her arm in a silent gesture of support, while Lady Ashby noted the gesture with a mocking gaze. Mastering herself, Lily compressed her lips until they were white. She glanced at Sara. “Shall we go upstairs?” she asked in a voice that shook slightly.
Hastily Sara nodded, and they left Lady Ashby, who wore a calculating smile.
They reached the second landing of the grand staircase before Lily was able to speak. “Nicole is a bastard child, but Derek isn’t the father.”
Sara made a small, consoling sound in her throat. “Lily, there’s no need to tell me—”
“I-I made a mistake, several years ago, before I was married. Alex couldn’t love my daughter any more if she were his own. I don’t care what anyone may say about me, but Nicole is a precious, innocent child. I can’t bear to think of her being punished for my sins. Thank God there are few people who would dare to cast stones. Lady Mountbain has so many children by different fathers that her brood is called the Mountbain Miscellany. And Lady Ashby has enough ex-lovers to form a complete regiment. Damn that woman! I hadn’t intended to tell you, but Joyce is the one who arranged to have Derek attacked in the rookery.”
Sara caught her breath in a mixture of surprise and anger, not only at Joyce but at Derek. How could he have carried on an affair with a woman like that? Well, he and Lady Ashby were two of a kind! This is what it would be like, her mind slyly whispered…always being confronted with evidence of his sins…always having to make excuses for him. Not for the first time Sara wondered what she was doing here. Unhappily she considered telling Lily that she wanted to leave Raiford Park.
“…stay away from Lady Ashby,” Lily was saying. “If she suspects that Derek has feelings for you, she’ll make things very unpleasant.” Mumbling something under her breath, Lily stomped up the stairs at an aggressive pace that Sara labored to follow. “Come with me—I want to show you something.”
They went to the third floor, approaching a set of bright, thickly carpeted rooms that Lily explained were the schoolroom, the nursery, and the bedchambers for the nurse and the two nursery maids. The sound of childish babble and laughter drifted from the nursery. Standing in the doorway, Sara saw two beautiful black-haired children, a girl of eight or nine, and a boy who appeared to be about three. They were sitting on the carpet, surrounded by towers of blocks, games, and books.
“These are my two darlings,” Lily said proudly.
At the sound of her voice, both of them looked up and rushed forward eagerly. “Mama!”
Lily embraced her children and turned them to face Sara. “Nicole, Jamie, this is Miss Fielding. She’s a very nice friend who writes stories.”
Nicole curtseyed neatly and regarded her with interest. “I like to read stories.”
“Me too!” Jamie chimed in, hovering behind his sister’s skirts.
“Jamie can’t read yet,” Nicole said with dignity.
“Yes, I can!” Jamie said, his temper sparking. “I’ll show you!”
“Children,” Lily interceded, forestalling her son’s efforts to fetch a book, “it’s a grand day outside. Come have a romp in the snow with me.”
The nurse wore a disapproving frown. “M’lady, they’ll catch their deaths of cold.”
“Oh, I won’t keep them out long,” Lily said cheerfully.
“You won’t have time to ready yourself for the ball—”
“It never takes me long to change.” Lily grinned at her children. “And besides, playing outside is much more fun than going to a boring old ball.”
Sniffing haughtily, the nurse went to fetch her charges’ coats.
“May I take one of my dolls, Mama?” Nicole asked.
“Certainly, darling.”
Sara had to smile at Nicole’s quaint charm as the girl opened a painted toy cupboard and rummaged through a row of dolls. The child was an excessively ladylike little creature. Lily leaned toward Sara confidentially. “I encourage her to be as wild as she pleases, but she’ll have none of it. A little angel, she is. Completely unlike me.” She laughed quietly. “Wait until you have children, Sara—they’ll probably be perfect hellions!”
“I can’t imagine it,” Sara said, trying to picture herself as a mother. A wistful smile crossed her lips. “I don’t know if I will. Some women aren’t meant to have children.”
“You’re meant to,” Lily replied firmly.
“How do you know?”
“With your patience and kindness, and all the love you have to give…Why, you’ll be the best mother in the world!”
Sara laughed wryly. “Well, now that’s been established, all I need is someone to father them.”
“The ball tonight will be swarming with eligible bachelors. For supper I’ve seated you between two of the most promising ones. Have you brought the blue gown? Good. I expect you’ll have your pick of any man you desire.”
“I haven’t come for husband-hunting—” Sara began anxiously.
“Well, that doesn’t mean you’ll ignore any good prospects that come your way, does it?”
“I suppose not,” Sara murmured, deciding not to leave the weekend party. Now that she was here, she supposed there wasn’t much harm in staying.
Clad in their splendid evening finery, the guests assembled in the drawing room and began the long and complicated procession into the dining hall, an opulent room with a fifty-foot ceiling. With the couples arranged by order of rank, importance, and age, the ladies lightly held the gentlemen’s right arms and promenaded to the two long tables, each of which would accommodate one hundred guests. The tables were laden with innumerable crystal goblets, silver, and fine patterned porcelain.
Seated between two charming young men, Sara found herself enjoying the dinner greatly. The conversation was fascinating, for the table included poets quoting from their latest works and ambassadors telling amusing stories of life abroad. Every few minutes glasses were raised in a round of toasts, praising the host and hostess, the quality of the food, the health of the king, and every other notion that struck the guests as meritable. White-gloved servants moved quietly among the diners, bringing dishes of seasoned patties, tiny soufflés, and crystal plates of bonbons to sample between courses. After the great silver tureens of turtle soup and the plates of salmon were removed, large platters of roast, poultry, and game were brought out. The meal was concluded with iced champagne, pastries, and a luscious selection of fruits.
The cloths were removed from the tables, and the gentlemen leaned back in their chairs to enjoy Lord Raiford’s excellent stock of hock, sherry, and port, and to puff on cigars as they talked of masculine interests such as politics. Meanwhile the ladies retired to separate rooms for more tea and gossip. They would all rejoin in the ballroom an hour or two later, when dinner had settled.
Seated to Alex’s left, Derek nursed a glass of port and listened to the conversation with deceptive laziness. It was not his wont to take an active part in after-dinner arguments, no matter how good-natured they were. Certainly none of the men made the mistake of engaging him in a debate. He was far from a great orator, for he disliked making speeches of any length. But he had a way of cutting to the heart of a matter with a few well-chosen words. “And besides,” one of the men murmured to his neighbor, “I would never be fool enough to debate with a man who knows how much I’m worth.”
“How does he know that?”
“He knows how much everyone is worth, down to the last farthing!”
As the gentlemen drank deeper into their cups, the conversation turned to a bill that had recently been dismissed in Parliament. It would have abolished the practice of using climbing boys to clean chimneys. But Lord Lauderson, a fat, long-winded earl who had a habit of turning almost everything into an occasion for jokes and amusement, had made a humorous speech in the House of Lords that had killed the bill. A few of his witticisms were recounted at the table, and many of the men were laughing in appreciation. Proud of his own cleverness, Lauderson beamed until his face turned as pink as a cherub’s. “I say, I was in good form that day,” he said with a chuckle. “Glad to entertain, my good fellows…always glad of it.”
Slowly Derek set down his glass in order to keep it from splintering in his hand. He had supported the bill with as much money and behind-the-scenes manipulation as possible. With all that and Raiford’s support, the bill had been guaranteed to pass—until Lauderson’s facetious speech. All at once Lauderson’s boasting was too much to take.
“I hear you were quite amusing, my lord,” Derek said. His tone was soft, undercutting many of the boisterous jests that were being tossed back and forth. “But I doubt a group of climbing boys would have been as appreciative of your wit as Parliament was.” The table quieted immediately. Many gazes turned to his impassive face. Derek Craven always gave the appearance of never caring about anything…but it seemed that this issue was of more than passing importance to him. More than a few guests recalled the rumors that Craven himself had been a climbing boy. Their smiles faded noticeably.
“It’s clear that your sympathy rests with the boys,” Lauderson commented. “I pity the poor little wretches m’self, but it’s a necessary evil.”
“The work they do could easily be taken care of with long-handled brushes,” Derek said evenly.
“But not as efficiently as the small boys do it. And if the chimneys aren’t properly cleaned, our valuable homes could catch on fire—would you have us put our own lives and property at risk for the sake of a few cockney brats?”
Derek stared at the gleaming mahogany surface of the table. “With that one entertaining speech, my lord, you sentenced thousands of innocent boys to death for years to come. To something worse than death.”
“They are sons of day laborers, Mr. Craven, not sons of the gentry. They will never amount to anything. Why not put them to good use?”
“Craven,” Alex Raiford muttered, fearing that an ugly scene was about to take place.
But Derek lifted his eyes and regarded Lauderson in a cool, almost pleasant manner. “You almost tempt me to give you back a pig of your own sow, my lord.”
“What does that mean?” Lauderson asked, chuckling at the crude cockney expression.
“It means the next time you defeat a bill I’m particular to, using one of your frivolous high-kick speeches, I’ll stuff your gullet full of soot and mortar and shove your fat arse up a chimney. And if you get stuck there, I’ll light straw beneath you, or jab pins into your feet to get you going. And if you complain of burns from a hot flue, or of suffocation, I’ll flay your hide with a leather strap. That’s what a climbing boy goes through every day of his miserable existence, my lord. That’s what the bill would have prevented.” Giving him a chilling glance, Derek stood up and left the dining hall with a measured tread.
Lauderson had turned scarlet during the contemptuous speech. “What gave Craven the idea that his opinion is worth a farthing?” His voice echoed in the deadly quiet of the room. “A man of no blood, no education, and certainly no refinement. He may be the wealthiest bastard in England, but that gives him no right to speak to me in that insolent manner.” He glanced at Alex in rising indignation. “An apology is due me, sir! Since you’re responsible for inviting the man, I’ll accept yours in lieu of his.”
The assemblage froze. Not even a creak of a chair disrupted the silence. Alex’s face was like carved marble as he returned Lauderson’s stare. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he finally said. “The air in here has suddenly turned foul.” He left the table with an expression of distaste, while Lauderson’s eyes bulged.
Alex couldn’t find Derek until the ball had begun. He walked into the ballroom, pausing to observe the orchestra nearly concealed behind huge banks of roses. A row of French crystal chandeliers, each weighing a thousand pounds, shed sparkling light over the gleaming floor and the huge columns of fleur de peche marble. Lily presided over the ball with her usual warmth and grace, effortlessly making everyone feel welcome.
Catching sight of Derek taking a drink from the tray of a passing servant, Alex went to join him. “Craven, about that scene in the dining hall—”
“I hate the upper class,” Derek muttered, and took a large gulp of wine.
“You know we’re not all like Lauderson.”
“You’re right. Some are worse.”
Following Derek’s gaze, Alex saw Lauderson’s bulky form join a group of peers who were all engaged in toadying up to Lord Ashby. A haughty, irascible gentleman of the old school, Lord Ashby was usually making some speech or another. He believed that every word he uttered was like a pearl dropping from his lips. Because of his rank and wealth, the obsequious fools around him would never have dared to contradict that opinion. “Has Lady Ashby approached you yet?” Alex asked.
Derek shook his head. “She won’t.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Because I almost strangled her the last time I saw her.”
Alex looked startled, and then smiled grimly. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.”
Derek continued to stare at Lord Ashby. “Joyce was fifteen when she married that old bastard. Look at him, surrounded by those highborn lickspittles. I can see why Joyce turned out the way she did. Married to him, a girl in her teens would turn into either a trembling rabbit or a monster.”
“You sound as if you have some sympathy for her.”
“No. But I understand her. Life makes people what they are.” A scowl settled between Derek’s dark brows. He gestured to a corner of the room. “If any one of those fine barons or viscounts had been born in the rookery, they wouldn’t have turned out any better than I did. Noble blood counts for nothing.”
Following Derek’s gaze, Alex saw a growing coterie of men around Sara Fielding. Her small but lushly curved body was clad in a blue velvet gown a few shades darker than her eyes. Her hair was pulled into a mass of chestnut curls. She was uncommonly pretty tonight, exuding a shy charm that any man would find irresistible. Alex looked back at Derek’s expressionless face. “If that’s true,” he asked slowly, “then why let one of them have Miss Fielding?”
Derek ignored the question, but Alex persisted. “Would any of them treat her more kindly than you? Take better care of her? Would one of those young fops value her as you would?”
The green eyes glinted coldly. “You of all people know what I am.”
“I know what you were,” Alex replied. “Even five years ago, I would have agreed that you didn’t deserve someone like her. But you’ve changed, Craven. You’ve changed enough. And if she finds something in you that’s worthy of her affection…for God’s sake, don’t argue with a gift that fate has handed you.”
“Oh, very simple,” Derek jeered. “It doesn’t matter that I was born a bastard. She deserves nothing better than a man with a false name, fine clothes, and a sham accent. It’s not important that I have no family and no religion. I don’t believe in sacred causes, or honor, or unselfish motives. I can’t be innocent enough for her. I never was. But why should that matter to her?” His lips pulled into a sneer. “A match between us wouldn’t be a gift of fate, Raiford. It would be a bloody joke.”
Alex dropped the argument immediately. “Apparently you know best. Pardon, but I have to go search for my wife, who’s probably fending off her own set of admirers. Unlike you, I have a jealous streak as wide as the Thames.”
“More like the Atlantic,” Derek muttered, watching his friend wander off.
He turned his attention back to Sara and the bucks who hovered around her. “Jealous streak” couldn’t begin to describe how he felt. He despised the men who sought her favor. He wanted to snarl and gnash his teeth at them, and take her far away from their roving hands and leering gazes. But what could he do with her? The idea of making her his paramour was an unthinkable as marrying her. Either way, he would ruin her. The only choice was to stay away, but that seemed as simple a solution as stopping himself from breathing. The physical attraction was powerful, but more irresistible than that was the alarming feeling he had when he was near her…a feeling that came perilously close to happiness. No man on earth was less entitled to that than he was.
He was nowhere in sight, but Sara had the feeling that Craven was watching her. Earlier he had been mingling and exchanging pleasantries with guests. It hadn’t been lost on Sara that women were sending him all manner of signals; flirtatious glances, playful taps on his shoulder with their fans, and in one case the bold, deliberate brush of a thinly covered breast against his arm. Women were fascinated by his mixture of earthiness and elegance. It was as if there was a dark, smoldering fire buried beneath a layer of ice, and each woman hoped to be the one to break through his reserve.
“Miss Fielding,” Viscount Tavisham interrupted her thoughts. He stood an inch too close and stared at her with soulful brown eyes. “Perhaps you would honor me with another waltz?”
Sara smiled at him blankly while she thought of a suitable reply. She had danced with Tavisham twice already; a third time was out of the question. It would be noticed by the guests, and it would lead to improper speculation. Not that she didn’t like the impulsive young rake, but she didn’t wish to encourage his attentions. “I’m afraid the dancing has made me rather fatigued,” she said with an apologetic smile. Actually, it was true. Several waltzes and vigorous quadrilles had made the soles of her feet sore.
“Then we will find a quiet place to sit and talk.” He offered his arm in a courtly gesture. Clearly there was no way to avoid him. Sighing inwardly, Sara accompanied him to the long gallery with its multitude of French doors, and sat on a polished wooden bench with an ornately carved back. “Would you like some punch?” Tavisham offered, and she nodded. “Don’t go anywhere,” he admonished. “Don’t even bat an eye. I’ll return momentarily. And if any man approaches you, tell him you’re spoken for.”
Giving him a mock salute, Sara pretended to freeze in place, and he grinned at her before leaving. Couples promenaded back and forth along the gallery, admiring the view of the terrace and the fountain in the snow-covered garden outside. Toying with the sparkling beadwork on her gown, Sara thought of the last evening she had worn it. A soft smile curved her lips.
He had been carrying her spectacles right next to his heart. A man wouldn’t do something like that unless…
The thought filled her with nervous energy. She stood up, ignoring the protesting twinge of her feet. The garden was visible through the frosted windows, the hedges delicately coated with ice, the shadows cold and quiet. Pale blue moonlight gleamed over the frozen fountain and the bordered walkways. After the crowded, music-filled ballroom, the quiet garden was an inviting sanctuary. Obeying a sudden impulse, Sara slipped to the French doors and turned one of the gilded knobs. She shivered as a winter breeze caressed her bare shoulders, and closed the door behind her.
The garden was like a snow palace. Carefully she made her way along a graveled path, filling her lungs with refreshing air. Lost in her thoughts, she wandered until she heard a sound behind her. It might have been the rustle of another breeze…or her name, whispered in a low voice. Sara turned around, the ice-dusted hem of her skirt whirling and settling at her feet. He had been watching her, she thought, and a winsome smile broke over her face as she looked at the man standing a few yards away.
“Somehow I thought you might follow me,” she said breathlessly. “At least, I hoped you would.”
The stern cast of Derek’s face concealed a torrent of repressed emotion. How could she smile at him like that? He was shaking with cold and heat and need. God, he couldn’t bear the way she looked at him, as if she could see down to the darkest recesses of his soul. She began to approach him. Without meaning to he reached her in three strides and snatched her in his arms. Her joyous laugh tickled his ear as he lifted her off her feet. Urgently his mouth roved across her face with rough kisses that stung her cheek, her chin, her forehead. She caught his lean jaw in her hands to hold him still. The moonlight was captured in her glistening eyes as she stared up at him. “I want to be with you,” she whispered. “No matter what happens.”
No one in his life had ever said such a thing to him. Derek tried to think above the pounding of his heart, but she brought her soft mouth to his, and all reason was lost. Hungrily he bent over her, trying not to hurt her with the force of his kisses, trembling with an emotion as ferocious as it was tender.
Lily’s teeth chattered from the cold as she crept stealthily through the garden and positioned herself behind a frozen tree. Catching sight of Derek and Sara in the distance, locked in a passionate embrace, Lily broke into a wide grin. She had to restrain herself from doing a little victory dance. Rubbing her hands together to warm them, she considered a variety of matchmaking strategies.
“Lily.”
The quiet whisper gave her a start, just before her husband’s arms closed around her. “Why the hell are you out here?” Alex murmured, pulling her back against his tall body.
“You’ve been following me!” Lily exclaimed indignantly, keeping her voice low.
“Yes—and you’ve been following Derek and Miss Fielding.”
“I had to, darling,” she explained innocently. “I’ve been helping them.”
“Oh,” he said sardonically. “At first it appeared as if you were spying on them.” Ignoring her protests, Alex began to drag his wife away from the scene. “I think you’ve ‘helped’ enough, my sweet.”
“Spoilsport,” Lily accused, pulling against his firm grip. “I just want to watch a moment longer—”
“Now. Leave the poor devil alone.”
Determined to have her way, Lily braced her feet against the stone border of a pathway. “Not yet…Alex…oof!” With one easy tug, he had jerked her off balance, causing her to fall against him.
“Watch your step,” he advised mildly, as if the stumble had been her fault.
Her dark eyes met his twinkling gray ones. “You heavy-handed, overbearing tyrant,” she accused, and began to giggle as she pounded his chest.
Grinning, Alex subdued her struggles and kissed her amorously. He stopped only when she was out of breath. “At the moment Derek doesn’t need your help.” His hands wandered boldly over her tulle and satin ball gown. “But I have a problem that needs immediate attention.”
“Oh? What problem is that?”
His lips wandered to her neck. “I’ll have to show you in private.”
“Now?” she asked, scandalized. “Really, Alex, you can’t mean—”
“Now,” he assured her, and capturing her hand in his, began to walk her back to the mansion.
Lily’s fingers laced with his, while her heart beat in anticipation. In spite of his obstinate, overbearing nature, she thought him the most wonderful husband in the world, and was about to tell him so, when suddenly they nearly bumped into the solitary woman who crossed the path before them.
Lady Ashby whipped around and eyed them both like a baleful cat. From the seething anger on her face, Lily guessed that she had also followed Derek, and had seen him kissing Sara Fielding. “Lady Ashby,” Lily said sweetly. “Rather a cool night for a stroll, isn’t it?”
“It’s a relief from all the mismatched clutter inside,” Joyce replied.
Lily, whose taste in decorating was universally praised as being the epitome of elegance, took offense at hearing her home described as a “mismatched clutter.” “Now see here—” she began, and winced as Alex’s grip became painful.
“Sheathe your claws, ladies.” Alex pinned Joyce with an autocratic stare. “My wife and I would be delighted to accompany you back to the ball, Lady Ashby.”
“I don’t wish—” Joyce objected, but was presented with Alex’s rock-solid arm.
“I insist,” he said, ignoring his wife’s glare. It was clear that given the choice, the two women would much rather sneak back to the garden and spy on the embracing couple. In that moment Alex almost pitied Derek Craven, who was apparently neck-deep in trouble. On the other hand, Craven had brought it all on himself. Alex smothered a wry laugh as he was reminded of a quote he had once read…“These impossible women! How they do get around us!”
Too absorbed in each other to notice anything around them, Derek and Sara wound together, exchanging kisses of greedy violence, until the heat of desire was stoked to a sweltering blaze. Derek’s feet spread to contain her body more closely within his embrace. His lips forged a path down her exposed throat. “Oh…” The catch of sound came from her throat as she felt the hot swipe of his tongue on her skin. Derek bent his knees and pulled her high against him, and breathed deeply in the perfumed vale where her breasts were pushed together.
Suddenly he lifted his head and buried his lips in the mass of her curls. “No,” he said, his voice muffled. His large body was still except for the rhythmic force of his breathing. Somehow it seemed as if he were waiting for her to convince him of something he wanted very badly to believe.
Honesty was too much a part of Sara’s nature for her to keep her feelings hidden. Although it might result in disaster, she had no choice but to lay her heart before him. “I need you,” she said, combing her fingers through his black hair.
“You don’t even know me.”
She turned her face and pressed her lips to the thin, healed-over scar, lingering in the space between his thick brows. “I know that you care for me.”
Derek did not pull away from her tender ministrations, but his tone was savage. “Not enough, or I wouldn’t be here with you. I wish to hell I had the decency to leave you alone.”
“I’ve been alone for far too long,” she said passionately. “There’s no one for me; not Perry, not any of the men in the village, or anyone inside that ballroom. No one but you.”
“If you’d seen anything of the world, you’d know there’s a hell of a lot more to choose from than Perry Kingswood and me. Thousands of ordinary, honorable men who would fall to their knees in gratitude for a woman like you.”
“I don’t want anyone honorable. I want you.”
She felt him smile unwillingly against her ear. “Sweet angel,” he whispered. “You can do far better than me.”
“I don’t agree.” Ignoring his attempt to ease her away, she snuggled under his chin.
Reluctantly Derek folded her against his warm body. “You’re getting cold. I’ll take you inside.”
“I’m not cold.” Sara had no intention of going anywhere. She had dreamed of this moment for too many nights.
Derek glanced over her head at the light coming from the ballroom. “You should be in there dancing with Harry Marshall…or Lord Banks.”
She frowned at the mention of the two callow youths. “Is that what you think I deserve? You would pair me with some shallow, conceited dandy and claim that I’ve made a splendid match? Well, I’m beginning to think it’s a convenient excuse, this notion of yours that I’m too good for you! Perhaps the truth is that I’m lacking something. You must think I wouldn’t satisfy your needs, or—”
“No,” Derek said swiftly.
“I suppose you would rather be consorting with all those married women who keep whispering in your ear and making eyes at you, and touching you with their fans—”
“Sara—”
“Writers are very observant, perceptive people, and I can tell exactly which women you’ve consorted with, just by watching—”
Derek smothered her tirade with his mouth. When she was quiet, he lifted his head. “None of them mattered to me,” he said roughly. “There were no promises, no obligations on either side. I felt nothing for them.” He looked away from her and swore, aware of the futility of trying to explain it to her. But she had to understand, so that she would have no illusions about him. He forced himself to go on. “Some of them claimed to love me. As soon as they said it, I left without looking back.”
“Why?”
“There’s no place in my life for that. I don’t want it. I have no use for it.”
Sara stared at his averted face. In spite of his un-emotional tone, she sensed the tumult inside him. He was lying to himself. He needed to be loved more than any person she had ever met. “Then what do you want?” she asked softly.
He shook his head without answering. But Sara knew. He wanted to be safe. If he were rich and powerful enough, he would never be hurt, lonely, or abandoned. He would never have to trust anyone. She continued to stroke his hair, playing lightly with the thick raven locks. “Take a chance on me,” she urged. “Do you really have so much to lose?”
He gave a harsh laugh and loosened his arms to release her. “More than you know.”
Clinging to him desperately, Sara kept her mouth at his ear. “Listen to me.” All she could do was play her last card. Her voice trembled with emotion. “You can’t change the truth. You can act as though you’re deaf and blind, you can walk away from me forever, but the truth will still be there, and you can’t make it go away. I love you.” She felt an involuntary tremor run through him. “I love you,” she repeated. “Don’t lie to either of us by pretending you’re leaving for my good. All you’ll do is deny us both a chance at happiness. I’ll long for you every day and night, but at least my conscience will be clear. I haven’t held anything back from you, out of fear or pride or stubbornness.” She felt the incredible tautness of his muscles, as if he were carved from marble. “For once have the strength not to walk away,” she whispered. “Stay with me. Let me love you, Derek.”
He stood there frozen in defeat, with all the warmth and promise of her in his arms…and he couldn’t allow himself to take what she offered. He’d never felt so worthless, so much a fraud. Perhaps for a day, a week, he could be what she wanted. But no longer than that. He had sold his honor, his conscience, his body, anything he could use to escape the lot he’d been given in life. And now, with all his great fortune, he couldn’t buy back what he’d sacrificed. Were he capable of tears, he would have shed them. Instead he felt numbing coldness spread through his body, filling up the region where his heart should have been.
It wasn’t difficult to walk away from her. It was appallingly easy.
Sara made an inarticulate sound as he extricated himself from her embrace. He left her as he had left the others, without looking back.
Somehow Sara made her way to the ballroom, too dazed to think about what would happen next. Derek was not there. The elegant clamor of the ball made it easy for her to maintain an appearance. She danced several times with different partners, pasting a shallow smile on her face. She made conversation in a light voice that sounded odd to her own ears. Evidently her pain wasn’t visible, for no one appeared to notice that something was wrong.
But then Lady Raiford appeared. The expression on Lily’s face changed from a smile to an uncertain frown as she approached. “Sara?” she asked quietly. “What happened?”
Sara was quiet, while panic assailed her. Any hint of sympathy would push her over the edge. She would have to leave the ball immediately, or she would burst into tears. “Oh, I’ve had a lovely time,” she said rapidly. “I just have a touch of the headache. It’s rather late—I’m not used to such hours. Perhaps I should retire.”
Lily made a motion to touch her, then withdrew her hand. The velvety eyes filled with sympathy. “Would you like to talk?”
Sara shook her head. “Thank you, but I’m very tired.”
While the two women conversed, Lady Ashby watched them from across the room. She had secluded herself in a corner with Lord Granville, one of many admirers who had unsuccessfully sought her favors for years. The hope of gaining access to her bed kept him coming back time after time, but she had always disdained him. In spite of his reputed virility and his fleshy handsomeness, he’d never had anything she wanted. Until now.
She smiled into his narrow blue eyes. “Granville, do you see that woman standing next to Lily Raiford?”
Indifferently Granville glanced away from her, his gaze alighting on the pair. “Ah, the delightful Miss Fielding,” he commented. “Yes, indeed.” Contemplating Sara’s bountiful charms, he moistened his lips with a thick tongue. “A pretty little bonbon.” He looked back at Joyce, savoring her golden beauty, displayed in a diaphanous lavender gown. “However, I prefer a woman of worldliness and experience—who could satisfy a man of my varied tastes.”
“Indeed.” Joyce’s lovely face took on a hard cast. “We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we, Granville? Perhaps it’s time we made our friendship more intimate.”
A flush of sexual greed worked up from his throat. “Perhaps it is,” he breathed, stepping closer to her.
Delicately she propped her fan against his chest, keeping him at bay. “But first I would ask a favor of you.”
“A favor,” he repeated warily.
“You’ll find it quite pleasant, I assure you.” Joyce’s lips curved in a malicious smile. “When that ‘pretty little bonbon’ as you call her, retires for the evening, I want you to go up to her room and…” Standing on her toes, Joyce whispered her plan to him, while his flush grew deeper. “Consider her a morsel to whet your appetite,” Joyce finished, “before you enjoy the main course later tonight. First Miss Fielding…then me.”
Granville shook his head with momentary dismay. “But there’s a rumor,” he protested. “They say that Derek Craven is enamored of her.”
“She won’t tell him. She won’t tell anyone. She’ll be too ashamed.”
Contemplating the proposition, Granville finally nodded with a chortle of lecherous delight. “All right. As long as you tell me why you want this favor. Has it something to do with your former liaison with Craven?”
Joyce’s chin dipped in a small nod. “I’m going toruin everything he values,” she murmured. “If he is attracted by innocence, I’ll see that it’s debauched. If any woman is fool enough to care for him, I’ll ruin her. I won’t let him have anything…unless he crawls on his knees to beg me for it.”
Granville stared at her in fascination. “What an extraordinary creature you are. A tigress. You swear by all that’s sacred to you that you’ll yield yourself to me tonight?”
“I hold nothing sacred,” Joyce smiled thinly. “But I’ll yield to you tonight, Granville…after you’ve finished with Miss Fielding.”
Gently repelling Lily’s attempts to talk to her, Sara bade her good night and slipped from the ballroom. She went upstairs alone. The music and laughter from the ballroom faded with each step, until she reached the silence of her room. Declining to ring for a chambermaid, Sara managed to struggle from her gown unaided. She left the rich heap of beaded velvet on the floor, along with her white lawn underclothes. It seemed too much of an effort to pick the garments up. After donning her nightgown, she sat down on the edge of the bed and allowed herself to think for the first time since Derek had left her alone in the garden.
“He was never mine to lose,” she said aloud. She wondered if there was anything she could have done differently, any more she could have said. No…she didn’t have reason for regret. It had not been wrong to love him, nor had it been wrong to tell him so. A sophisticated woman might have played her hand more cleverly, but Sara knew little about games. It was best to be open and giving…and if her love wasn’t returned, at least she couldn’t be faulted for cowardice.
Kneeling by the bed, she folded her hands and closed her eyes tightly. “Dear Lord,” she said in a strangled whisper. “I can bear it for a while…but please don’t let it hurt forever.” She was motionless for a long time, while her mind swam with painful thoughts. In the welter of her emotions, there was a trace of pity for Derek Craven. For an instant tonight, quick as a lightning flash, he had been tempted to take the risk of loving someone. Somehow she doubted that he would ever come that close again.
And me? she wondered wearily, extinguishing the lamp and crawling into bed. I’ll just muddle through all of this, and carry on. And someday, with the grace of God…I might be strong enough to love someone else.
For a while Derek lingered in the billiards room with a glass of brandy, only half-listening to the languid conversations of the men who had retreated there for a gentlemanly smoke. The cloying atmosphere made him feel like a caged tiger. He left silently, taking the brandy with him. As he wandered around the first floor of the mansion, Derek saw a flash of white on the grand staircase. Welcoming any distraction over the prospect of returning to the ballroom, he went to investigate. Halfway up the stairs he saw Nicole in her white ruffled nightgown, her long hair a mass of tangles. She huddled by the banister in an effort to conceal herself. Upon seeing him, she held a finger to her lips in a gesture to keep quiet. Casually Derek made his way up the stairs and sat next to her. He rested his arms on his bent knees. “What are you doing out of bed at this hour?”
“I’m sneaking downstairs to look at all the pretty gowns,” Nicole informed him in a whisper. “Don’t tell Mama.”
“I won’t, as long as you go back upstairs to your room.”
“After I see what the ball looks like.”
He shook his head firmly. “Little girls shouldn’t roam through the house in their nightgowns.”
“Why?” Nicole looked down at herself, tucking her bare feet beneath the hem of the garment “It covers everything. See?”
“It isn’t proper.” Derek resisted the urge to smile grimly as he heard himself delivering a statement on propriety.
“Mama doesn’t have to be proper.”
“Neither will you, when you’re older.”
“But Uncle Derek…” Nicole pleaded, and then sighed heavily as she saw his brows lower threateningly. “All right, I’ll go back upstairs. But someday I’m going to have a ball gown of silver and gold…and I’ll stay up and dance all night!”
Derek looked down at her small face. Nicole’s features were slightly more exotic than her mother’s. With her lustrous black eyes and striking dark brows, she had the promise of stunning beauty. “That day isn’t long coming,” he said. “Someday you’ll have every man in London begging to marry you.”
“Oh, I don’t want to marry anybody,” she said earnestly. “All I want is my own stable full of horses.”
Derek smiled slightly. “I’m going to remind you of that when you’re eighteen.”
“Maybe I’ll marry you,” she said with a childish giggle.
“That’s very kind of you, sweet.” He rumpled her hair. “But you’ll want to marry someone your own age, not some old cheeser.”
A new voice interrupted from the foot of the stairs. “He’s right,” Lady Ashby said silkily. “I was forced to marry an old man—and look what became of me.”
Nicole’s smile vanished. With a child’s natural perceptiveness, she sensed the corruption beneath Joyce’s beautiful exterior. Warily she inched closer to Derek as Joyce ascended the steps in fluid, graceful movements. Pausing before them, Joyce regarded the little girl with distaste. “Run along, child. I want to talk with Mr. Craven alone.”
Hesitantly Nicole glanced at Derek. He leaned over and whispered to her. “Back to bed, miss.”
As soon as the child was gone, all warmth faded from Derek’s face. Raising his brandy glass, he downed the last of the warm amber liquid. He remained sitting, affecting no pretense of courtesy.
“Why the somber face?” Joyce purred. “Thinking about your tender scene in the garden with Sara Fielding?” She smiled as his gaze shot to hers. “Yes, darling, I’m fully aware of your preoccupation with that modest country violet—and so is everyone else. It’s provided a fair amount of amusement for all of us. Derek Craven falling for a timid little nobody. You should have told me you liked your women to play innocent—I could have obliged you.” Sinuously she draped herself against the balustrade and smiled at him.
Derek watched her, tempted either to shove her down the stairs or to tell her to go to hell…but something stopped him. He didn’t like the smug look on her face. Something was very wrong. Patiently he waited while she continued her speech. His hard green eyes didn’t move from hers.
“How does it feel to make love to a woman like that, darling? She can’t be very satisfying to a man of your robust appetite. I can’t imagine she would know the first thing about pleasing you.” Joyce sighed thoughtfully. “Men are such fools. I daresay you fancy yourself in love with her. Need I remind you that you’re not capable of love? You’re nothing but a great, lusty animal…and I wouldn’t have you any other way.” She pursed her red lips provocatively. “Leave the sentiments and the romantic foolishness to other men. What you have is much better than a heart…a nice, big cock. That’s all you’ve got to offer your country bumpkin. She probably doesn’t know enough to appreciate it…although now…at least she’ll have a basis for comparison.” She waited with a feline smile for her last words to register.
Comparison? Slowly Derek stood up, staring at her intently. A jolt of anxiety caused his heart to pump unpleasantly hard. His voice was scratchy. “What have you done, Joyce?”
“I’ve done her a favor, actually. I’ve enlisted someone to help her learn more about men. As we speak, she’s in her room ‘taking a flier’ as you cockneys put it, with our virile Lord Granville. Not so innocent anymore.”
The brandy snifter dropped from Derek’s hand and rolled, unbroken, down the thickly carpeted stairs. “Jesus,” he whispered, turning to lunge up the steps. He took them three at a time, while Joyce called after him.
“Don’t bother to charge to her rescue, my poor gallant. It’s too late.” She began to laugh wildly. “By now the deed is already done.”
At first Sara’s dazed mind could only recognize it as a nightmare. It couldn’t be real. She had been awakened by a huge hand clapped over her mouth. The bloated, ruddy face of a stranger was barely visible in the darkness. The weight of his body dropped over her as he joined her on the bed. She went rigid with terror and tried to scream, but all sound was smothered by his pawlike hand. His heavy bulk crushed her down, flattening her breasts painfully and forcing the air from her lungs.
“Quiet, quiet,” he grunted, eagerly raking up her gown. “Lovely creature. I watched you tonight…those magnificent breasts swelling out of your gown. Don’t struggle. I’m the best cocksman in London. Relax, you’ll enjoy it. You’ll see.”
Frantically she tried to bite and claw him, but nothing could stop his heavy thighs pushing between hers. The pungent sweat-and-perfume odor of his skin filled her nostrils, while groping hands searched over her half-clad body. Choking on her own smothered cries, Sara felt herself sinking in a dark, airless void.
Suddenly the punishing hand left her mouth, and the massive weight was lifted from her. She was finally able to scream with bloodcurdling force. Scrambling off the bed, she ran without direction until she found herself cowering in a corner. There was a terrifying snarling noise in the room, as if a wild beast had been let loose. Blinking rapidly, she tried to understand what was happening. Her hand flew to her mouth, holding in another scream.
Two men rolled over and over across the floor, crashing into the washstand. The porcelain pitcher and basin fell and shattered. Growling murderously, Derek drove his fists into Granville’s face. With a howl of pain, Granville managed to throw him off. Derek rolled easily and came to his feet.
Granville struggled up and stared at him in horror. “Good God, man, let’s discuss this like civilized beings!”
Derek’s teeth gleamed in the dim room, his lips twisting in a demonic sneer. “After I take your head off and pull your guts out through your neck.”
Granville whimpered in fear as Derek came after him again, slamming him to the floor. Brutal fists descended on him relentlessly, until Granville got in a blow of his own and gained another second’s respite. He raised a hand to his own face, discovering it was streaming with blood. “My nose is broken!” he cried in panic, crawling backward to the door as Derek stalked him mercilessly.
To Granville’s relief, a house steward appeared, staring into the room with alarm and bewilderment. “Please,” Granville sobbed, clutching at the servant’s ankle, “keep him away from me! He’s trying to kill me—”
“You won’t be that lucky,” Derek interrupted, snatching up a shard of broken pottery and advancing on him.
Bravely the house steward placed himself between Derek and his intended victim. “Mr. Craven,” the servant quavered, staring at the enraged giant before him, “you must wait until—”
“Get out of my way.”
Conscious of the blubbering aristocrat seeking his protection, the servant didn’t move. “No, sir,” he said unsteadily.
More servants and several guests began to appear, all crowding to see what the commotion was about. Derek pinned Granville with a bloodthirsty stare. “The next time I see you—and the coldhearted bitch who sent you—I’ll kill you both. Tell her that.”
Granville shrank back in fear. “There are witnesses who will testify as to your threats—”
Derek slammed the door, closeting himself alone in the room with Sara. He dropped the piece of broken pottery and turned to her, swiping his heavy black hair out of his eyes. She clutched the thin gown around herself as if it would protect her. Her face was blank, as if she didn’t recognize him. When he saw that her entire body was trembling, he went to her and scooped her up in his arms.
Silently he carried her to the bed and sat down with her in his lap. She was still against his broad chest, her arms gripped around his neck, her head wedged against his shoulder. They both breathed in hard spurts, one from fear, one from rage. As his anger diminished, Derek became aware of the multitude of voices gathering outside the door. No one dared come in. God only knew what they thought was going on in there. It would be better if he relinquished Sara to someone else’s care.
He didn’t realize she was crying until her wet cheek brushed his neck. No sobs, just quiet tears that slipped down her face and broke his heart. Slowly he un-clenched his hands and caressed her loose hair and her back. “Did he hurt you?” he finally brought himself to ask.
She knew what he meant. “No,” she said in a watery voice. “You arrived in time. How did you know? How—”
“Later.” At the moment he couldn’t bring himself to explain that she had been assaulted because of him.
Sara relaxed against him with a ragged sigh, her tears drying. It was impossible to believe that the same man who had attacked Lord Granville so brutally could hold her with such tenderness. She had never felt so safe, cradled against his broad chest, feeling his breath filter through her hair. One of his hands was splayed over her side, his thumb resting against the curve of her breast. It was wrong for him to hold her so intimately, for her to allow it, but she couldn’t bring herself to deny him. His head moved, and his mouth brushed hers in a gentle kiss. Closing her eyes, Sara felt his lips touch her delicate eyelids, her wet lashes.
A decisive rap on the door heralded Lady Raiford’s entrance. She slipped inside and turned to admonish the cluster of people around the portal. “Go on, all of you,” she said pertly. “Everything’s all right now. I wish everyone would go downstairs and try to refrain from gossiping about things that are not their concern.” Firmly she closed the door and stared at the pair on the bed. “Damnation,” she muttered, coming over to light the bedside lamp.
Aware of the scandalous appearance of the situation, Sara tried to crawl from Derek’s lap. He deposited her beneath the covers, tucked her in carefully, and sat on the bed beside her.
Lily’s gaze moved from Sara’s distraught face to Derek’s impassive one. “That filthy goat Granville,” she muttered. “I’ve always known he was a lecherous bastard, but that he would dare attack a guest under my roof…Well, Alex is booting him off the estate right now, and after I’m through, Granville won’t be received by anyone in the ton. Here, I thought this might help.” She handed a glass of whiskey to Derek. “Between the two of you, I can’t decide who needs it more.”
He gave it to Sara, who sniffed cautiously and shook her head.
“No—”
“Drink some for me,” he insisted gently.
She tried a small swallow and coughed as it burned her throat. “Ugh.” She made a face at the vile taste. Gingerly she took another sip, and then another.
Derek pushed the whiskey back as she tried to give it to him. “Keep sipping.”
Lily pulled a chair to the bed and sat down. Removing the jeweled bandeau from her forehead, she rubbed her temples distractedly. Catching Sara’s worried glance, she produced a wry smile. “Well, now you’ve had your first scandal. Don’t worry, Derek and I are old hands at this sort of thing. We’ll take care of everything.”
Sara nodded uncertainly, lifting the glass to her lips. The more she drank, the easier it was to swallow, until she felt unsteady and very warm, as if heat were radiating from her bones. At first she thought she would never sleep again, but soon the frenzied thoughts in her mind were replaced by exhaustion. Derek and Lily began to talk idly, making noncommittal remarks about the ball, the guests, even the weather.
Derek softened his voice as he watched the whiskey taking effect. Gradually Sara’s eyes closed, and she gave a small yawn. Her breathing became even and deep. She looked like a child nestled beneath the covers, her hair rippling over the pillow, her long lashes fanning her cheeks. Assured that she was asleep, Derek stroked the palm of her hand with his fingertip, marveling at the softness of her skin.
Lily watched him with a trace of amazement. “You do love her. Until this moment I never really thought it could happen to you.”
He was silent, unable to admit the truth.
Lily spoke again. “She’s in serious trouble, Derek.”
“No, I got here in time. He didn’t hurt her.”
Although Lily’s voice was low, it didn’t alter her intensity. “Think, Derek. It doesn’t matter if Granville actually raped her or not. No one will have her now. No one will believe she hasn’t been ruined. The rumors will follow her back to the village. People will gossip and torment her for the rest of her life. Mothers will keep their children away from her ‘corrupting influence’—she’ll be a pariah. You have no idea how backward these people are. I grew up in the country, I know what it’s like. If some man does condescend to marry her, he’ll consider her secondhand goods. She’ll have to be grateful the rest of her life, and endure whatever kind of treatment he decides to mete out. God, if only I hadn’t invited her here!”
“If only,” he agreed coldly.
“Well, how was I to know Granville would take it in his head to do something like this?”
Derek swallowed hard, dropping his accusing stare. He looked at the slumbering innocent beside him, and fingered a silken lock of hair. “Tell me what’s to be done now.”
“To make Sara respectable again?” Lily shrugged helplessly. ‘‘We find someone for her to marry. The sooner the better.” She gave him a sarcastic glance. ‘‘Any candidates in mind?”
Sara awakened early, staring blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling. It took several minutes for her to recall where she was. Rubbing her eyes, she groaned miserably. Her temples throbbed with a sharp ache. She felt more than a little queasy. Carefully she crept out of bed and fumbled for her gray gown. When she was fully dressed, her hair tied back at the nape of her neck, she rang for a maid. Françoise appeared, wearing an expression so sympathetic that it was clear she knew about the previous evening.
Pale and controlled, Sara smiled at her briefly. ‘‘Françoise, I need your help to pack my belongings.” She gestured to her clothes. ‘‘I’m going home as soon as possible.”
The maid began to chatter, gesturing to the door and mentioning Lady Raiford’s name.
‘‘The countess wishes me to see her?” Sara asked, puzzled.
Françoise made a careful effort to speak in English. ‘‘If you please, mademoiselle…”
‘‘Certainly,” Sara said, although she had no desire to talk with Lily or anyone else this morning. She would rather slink away and try to forget that she had ever come to Raiford Park.
The house was quiet as Sara followed Françoise to the east wing, where the Raifords’ private suites were located. At nine o’clock, it was too early for most of the guests to have risen. Only the servants were up and about, dusting, emptying slops, carrying armloads of kindling, cleaning grates, and lighting fires.
Françoise led her to a small sitting room decorated in shades of white and powder-blue, filled with elegant furniture of Sheraton design. Giving her an encouraging smile, the maid left. Sara entered the empty room and wandered to the half-moon table against the wall. The table bore a display of carved jade, ivory, and lapis animals. Picking up a tiny jade elephant, Sara examined it carefully. She started as she heard Derek Craven’s voice behind her.
“How are you this morning?”
Setting down the carved piece, Sara turned slowly. “I-I was expecting Lily.”
Derek looked as if he hadn’t slept at all. Sara doubted he had even changed his clothes, which were rumpled and wrinkled. His black hair was completely disheveled, as if he had raked his hands through it a hundred times during the night. “As matters stand, Lily can’t do much to help you. But I can.”
Sara was perplexed. “I don’t need anyone’s help. I’m leaving this morning, and…What’s that in your hand?” She stared at the piece of paper he held, covered with his heavy black scrawl.
“A list.” Suddenly businesslike, Derek walked toward her and pushed the display of carved figures aside. He flattened the paper on the table, motioning for her to look at it. “These are the twenty most eligible bachelors in England, listed in order of preference. If none of them are to your liking, we’ll expand the list, although these are the most appropriate in age and character—”
“What?” Sara stared at him incredulously. “You’re trying to marry me off now?” A sputter of dazed laughter escaped her. “Why on earth would any of these men offer for me?”
“Pick a name. I’ll get him for you.”
“How?”
“There’s not a man in England who doesn’t owe me one favor or another.”
“Mr. Craven, there’s no need for this…this absurdity—”
“You don’t have a choice,” he said brusquely.
“Yes, I do! I can choose not to marry anyone, and return to Greenwood Corners where I belong.” Sara backed away as he tried to give her the list. “I won’t look at any names. I don’t know any of those men. I don’t want to marry some stranger just for the sake of propriety. My reputation doesn’t mean that much to me…or to anyone else, really.”
“News of this will reach the village. You know the things they’ll say about you.”
“I don’t care what they say. I’ll know the truth, and that will sustain me.”
“Even when your precious Kingswood looks down his nose at you for being a ruined woman?”
That caused Sara to flinch, the image of Perry and his mother treating her with contemptuous pity under the guise of Christian virtue…but she nodded resolutely. “I’ll bear any burden the Lord sees fit to give me. I’m stronger than you think, Mr. Craven.”
“You don’t have to be strong. Take someone’s name. Let him be your shield. Any one of the men on this list has the means to support you and your parents in luxury.”
“I don’t care about luxury. I can still afford my principles. I won’t be bartered off to some unwilling suitor merely to save my name.”
“No one can afford principles all the time.”
She became even calmer in the face of his growing impatience. “I can. And I could never marry someone I didn’t love.”
Derek ground his teeth together. “Everyone else does!”
“I’m not like everyone else.”
Biting back an unflattering reply, Derek struggled for self-control. “Would you at least look at this?” he asked through his teeth.
She went to him and glanced at the neatly written list, discovering that Lord Tavisham’s name was at the top. “ ‘Viscount’ is spelled with an ‘s,’ ” she murmured.
An impatient scowl crossed his face. “What do you think of him? You danced together last night.”
“I rather liked him, but…are you certain he’s the most eligible bachelor in England? I find that hard to believe.”
“Tavisham’s young, titled, intelligent, kindhearted—and he has a yearly income that makes even my fingers itch. He’s the best catch I’ve ever seen.” Derek pasted a fake, unnatural smile on his face. “I think he likes books too. I heard him talking about Shakespeare once. You’d like to marry someone who reads, wouldn’t you? And he’s handsome. Tall…blue eyes…no pockmarks…”
“His hair is thin.”
Derek looked offended, his coaxing panther-grin disappearing. “He has a high forehead. It’s a sign of nobility.”
“If you’re so enthralled with him, you marry him.” Sara walked away to the window, turning her back to him.
Abandoning all attempts at diplomacy, Derek followed her with the paper clutched in his hand. “Pick one or I’ll cram this down your throat!”
She was unfazed by his fury. “Mr. Craven,” she said with great care, “you’re very kind to take such an interest in my welfare. But it’s better that I remain a spinster. I will never find a husband who wouldn’t resent my writing. No matter how well-intentioned he was in the beginning, he would be frustrated by my habit of abandoning my wifely duties in order to work on my novels—”
“He’ll learn to live with it.”
“What if he doesn’t? What if he forbids me to write ever again? Unfortunately, Mr. Craven, a wife is at the mercy of her husband’s whims in such matters. How can you suggest I should entrust my life and my happiness to a stranger who may not treat me with respect?”
“He’ll treat you like a queen,” Derek said grimly. “Or he’ll answer to me.”
Sara gave him a chiding glance. “I’m not so naive as that, Mr. Craven. You would be powerless to do anything for me, once I belonged to another man.”
Derek felt his color rising. “Anything’s better than letting you go back to that stinking hole of a village to live alone and be scorned by everyone.”
“How do you plan to stop me?” she asked gently.
“I’ll…” Derek halted, his mouth open. Physical harm, blackmail, and financial ruin, his stock-in-trade threats, weren’t options in this case. She had no gambling debts, no scandalous past, nothing he could use against her. And she wasn’t susceptible to bribery in any form. Restlessly he considered possibilities. “I’ll close down your publisher,” he finally said.
She infuriated him by smiling. “I don’t write for the sake of being published, Mr. Craven. I write because I love the act of putting words on paper. If I can’t earn money by selling novels, I’ll do odd jobs in the village, and merely write for my own pleasure.” Faced with his glowering silence, Sara felt her temporary amusement fade away. She looked into his bright green eyes, understanding the reason for his discomfort. He was determined to find another man to take care of her, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her for himself. “I appreciate your concern, but there’s no reason for you to worry. You mustn’t feel responsible for me. None of this was your fault.”
Derek turned pale, as if she’d slapped him instead of thanking him. A mist of sweat appeared on his forehead. “Last night was my fault,” he said hoarsely. “I once had an affair with Lady Ashby. Granville attacked you because she asked him to, out of a desire to spite me.”
Sara’s face turned blank. It took a good half-minute for her to form a reply. “I see,” she murmured. “Well…that confirms everything I’ve heard about Lady Ashby. And although you should have had more sense than to conduct an affair with a woman like that, the blame belongs with her—not you.” She shrugged and smiled faintly. “Besides, you stopped Lord Granville in time. I’ll always be grateful for that.”
Derek hated her for being so sweetly forgiving. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Damn you, what do you want from me?”
“I told you last night.”
The mist on his forehead turned to fine droplets, while Derek’s pulse drove hard and fast. He’d thought nothing would ever bring him to this. What if he did manage to walk away once more? It seemed he would just come back again.
Sara’s gaze was riveted on him, while she waited for what seemed to be endless minutes. She was afraid to speak, her entire body tense with anticipation. All at once he crossed the distance between them and took her in his arms, holding her against his pounding heart. His voice was low and steady as he spoke just above her ear. “Marry me, Sara.”
“Are you sure?” she whispered. “You won’t take it back?”
It was strange, but with the words said, he felt powerfully relieved, as if some eternally divergent part of himself had just settled into place. “You said you wanted this,” he muttered, “even knowing the worst about me. Let it be on your head, then.”
Sara nuzzled into the warm side of his neck. “Yes, Mr. Craven,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you.”
