“SARAH, LET us not join this ride, shall we?" Winston asked, drawing her to one side as they drank tea in the drawing room after luncheon. "I should much prefer a stroll in the hills with you. One disadvantage of a house party like this is that it makes a t?te-a-t?te very difficult to achieve." He smiled his most beguiling smile.
Sarah smiled back into his eyes. "How glad I am that you have suggested it, Win," she said. "I really am not in the mood for viewing farmlands this afternoon."
His eyes strayed to her lips. "A whole afternoon to ourselves," he said. "I can hardly conceive of a greater pleasure."
"Perhaps we are not the only ones to be reluctant to ride," Sarah said, looking brightly around. "Perhaps some of Lady Hannah's cousins would like to accompany us." She smiled at young Christine Tenby, who happened to be looking her way.
"A t?te-a-t?te does not lend itself to an activity involving more than two people," Winston said quietly. "I want you to myself, Sarah. And don't pretend you do not wish to be alone with me, too."
Sarah looked into his eyes. "You know I did not even want the delay of the week here," she said, and watched his eyes stray to her lips again and down to her breasts.
"Sarah, dear," Lady Murdoch called from halfway across the room, "what are you planning to do this afternoon? Bertha and I are going to have a rest and a stroll in the garden. So you really need not feel obliged to stay to keep me company, you know. Not but what I should dislike your company. You know I always enjoy having you near, you being my cousin and all and reminding me of my own youth. But it really would be much better for you to take some exercise. Why do you and Lord Laing not go riding with his grace and the others? I know you do not ride a great deal, but I am sure his grace has some quiet horses in his stables."
"Winston and I are going walking, Cousin Adelaide," Sarah said, looking hopefully around at the gathered group. "We have been told that the view from the hills is well worth seeing."
"What a wonderful idea," Fanny said. "George, the weather is really too good to be riding around looking at fields. Let us walk instead. I for one am determined to, even if no one else will join me."
Captain Penny, Joshua Stonewall, and Samuel Tenby immediately expressed their intention of joining the walk, and Faith Wright and Barbara Tenby quickly joined their voices to the notion.
Cranwell laughed. "I seem to be outnumbered," he said. "But so be it. The farmlands can wait until another day, when the weather may be a little duller. And you have heard quite rightly, Miss Fifield. I may be partial, of course, but I believe the view from the hills to be one of the loveliest in England."
Sarah felt jolted by the unexpected attention and turned away under the pretense of leaving the room to fetch her bonnet. Winston followed her.
"Curses!" he muttered for Sarah's ears only. "Did that tabby have to choose that moment to ask you so publicly what you planned? And does no one have the imagination to realize that a man sometimes wishes to be alone with his betrothed?"
Sarah smiled sympathetically at him and ran up the stairs to her room. Her own powers of seduction sometimes frightened her. All she had had to do was deliberately sit next to Win at luncheon, smile warmly at him, touch his hand briefly when asking him to pass a dish to her, and let her shoulder touch his ever so briefly as he did so. He had been instantly her slave. She had aroused his appetite for her with alarming ease so that now he could scarcely wait to be alone with her.
It was the effect she had set out to achieve, but now she had a panicked sensation of having lit a fire that had spread quickly out of her control. It was all very well to have focused Win's attention on herself and away from Fanny, but it was equally important to her to keep him in suspense, to allow him no gratification of his desires. A solitary walk in the hills with him would be fatal. She would not be able to avoid ravishment. And indeed, it would not even be ravishment. She would be forced by the part she played to affect enthusiasm. Yet once he had had her, he would quite possibly think no more about marriage, despite the formality of their betrothal. She knew rather well how Win's mind worked.
It had been a stroke of good fortune that Lady Murdoch had spoken up when she did and that some of the other guests preferred a walk to the ride that George had suggested.
Almost all the young people gathered in the main hallway within the next twenty minutes. Sarah was surprised to find that Cranwell was there too with Hannah. The latter smiled at her.
"I was looking forward to the ride," she said, "but really I think I would prefer the walk because his grace has said that I may take Argus. A groom is to bring him around to the courtyard."
A rather noisy group set off across the Palladian bridge and over the gently sloping ground that led to the hills. The collie, bursting with unleashed energy, raced around them in circles and made frequent rushes on ahead and back again. Sarah, her arm linked through Winston's, soon discovered to her consternation that they were walking with Cranwell and Hannah. He certainly seemed to have recovered from the embarrassment of the morning. He entertained them all with a description of how the landscape had been constructed deliberately to look picturesque.
"It seems so artless," he said, "as if nature has had the good sense to arrange itself to perfection. In fact, every tree and bush on the lower slopes was placed there deliberately."
"Oh, Argus," Hannah cried suddenly. "Do look. The foolish dog has run into the woods and will surely get lost."
She drew her arm free of Cranwell's and ran to the edge of the trees, calling for her dog. He came bounding out and jumped up to put his forepaws on her shoulders and lick her face enthusiastically. She laughed and proceeded to play with the dog, apparently forgetting her companions.
"Lord Laing," Fanny said, abandoning Captain Penny, with whom she had been walking, and laying a hand on Winston's arm, "my favorite view of the house is just above here. It looks just too lovely to be real. Do come and see." She dragged him off, the captain trailing along with them.
Sarah had a feeling of d?ja vu. This had happened before, she could swear. And then she remembered Beechen Cliff in Bath. Just thus she had been left alone with George. She turned away. There were plenty of other people with whom to walk.
"Have we spoiled your afternoon?" he asked quietly. Sarah looked across at him in astonishment. His voice was pleasant and polite.
"Spoiled it?" she asked, frowning. "By no means. I wished to walk."
"But I believe you planned to be with your fiance?" he said inquiringly. "I am afraid that the rest of us imposed our company on you quite shamelessly."
"It really does not matter," she said. "It is better to have company, I think."
He looked at her levelly. "I am glad that you are going to be happy," he said.
Sarah turned fully to him, her arched eyebrows showing her surprise. "Happy?" she repeated.
"Yes," he said. "I am glad that you are to marry your cousin. He seems a sensitive and good-natured man. He will make you a good husband."
Sarah felt the insane desire to laugh. Did he know? Was he taunting her with her own shame? But no. That could not be possible. George was incapable of such biting sarcasm. He was serious. He thought she was fortunate to have found a man willing to overlook her past and offer her respectability. She looked over to the small knoll on which Win stood with Fanny and saw him through George's eyes. Handsome. Always sunny-natured. Friendly. Always willing to talk to anyone and humor everyone. Charming. A good catch for any single lady, even one of unblemished reputation.
"Yes," she said, "I am very fortunate."
Winston turned toward her at that point and waved. He began to walk back to her. Captain Penny bore Fanny on up the slope in the wake of a noisy group of people all walking together.
"Lady Fanny is quite right," Winston said to Cranwell as he came up to them, "The landscaper certainly knew what he was doing here. Are you ready to walk on, Sarah?"
Cranwell touched his hat to her and turned toward Hannah, who was on her knees hugging the panting collie.
"Enough of this," Winston said, looking ahead to the others and back briefly to the two who were still behind. "I have no intention of sharing you any longer, my love. This seems to be a splendid opportunity to lose ourselves."
He turned sharply toward the dense cluster of trees to their right and drew Sarah after him into the cool shade that the thick branches offered. Almost instantly they were enclosed, and outside noises seemed to be hushed.
"I really do not think we ought, Win," Sarah said, looking nervously back over her shoulder. "The others will think we are lost and worry about us."
"Nonsense," he said. "This is not exactly a forest, Sarah. I don't think it would be possible to get lost here even if we tried. Besides, love, it might be enjoyable to lose our sense of direction for a little while at least."
"What will the others think?" she said. "I think we should go back and join them."
"What will they think?" he said, and grinned as he twined an arm around her shoulders. "They will probably think that I want to be alone with my fianc6e for a while and be horribly jealous."
"Just for a few minutes, then," she said uneasily "It is not very proper for us to be alone like this." She was uncomfortably aware of his hip and his thigh moving against hers as they walked.
He stopped entirely and turned her to face him. He was laughing. "Sarah," he said, "you are talking like a prim virgin. Have you forgotten so soon? There was a time when you did not spare a thought for the proprieties. You knew exactly what I wanted and gave it to me. Very sweetly too, I must add. It is not wrong to admit that you want it too, you know. I will not think the less of you. Maybe there are some men who would be repulsed to find that their women were as eager as they, but I am not one of them. I like my women hot and willing."
The arm that had been around her shoulders was now twined about her waist and held her fast against him. The other hand pulled loose the strings of her bonnet, tossed it to the ground, and twined into the coils of her hair. He tilted her head to one side and lowered his mouth to hers.
Sarah felt as if she were suffocating. His hands held her completely his prisoner. His open mouth was wet and warm over her own. His quickened breath was hot on her cheek and loud in her ear. His body was pressed to hers, his arousal painfully obvious. She felt the old familiar waves of nausea rising into her nostrils. She fought panic. She started slowly to recite the multiplication tables to herself. She relaxed her body against his. And she became aware of the full horror of what she had deliberately stepped into. She could not struggle. She had freely betrothed herself to him. She was mad! In Bath her plan had seemed so sensible and so noble.
"Ah, Sarah," he said at last, raising his head to look down at her, "you are the hottest little woman that I have ever handled. Let's walk a little farther among the trees and find a soft place to lie down. It is going to be good to have you again after so long."
She shook her head and forced herself to smile. "No, Win," she said. "Please humor me on this. I want our wedding night to be very special. Let us wait. Just one week. Please, Win?" She twined her arms around his neck.
"It will be very special," he said thickly, "I promise you, love. But a good experience in bed does not come from abstinence, you know. It comes from practice. This afternoon we will teach each other again what is pleasing, and on our wedding night everything will be perfect."
She did not have a chance to reply. His lips had found hers again and his tongue was urgently pressing against her teeth and forcing an entrance to her mouth. His hands moved to cup her breasts and to push impatiently first at her shawl, which fell to the ground, and then at the fabric of her dress, which he dragged free of her shoulders. His mouth moved away from hers and trailed kisses along her throat.
Sarah was losing her battle against panic. The multiplication tables were failing her. The product of nine and six would not form itself in her mind. She started to squirm against him, desperate to be free.
"Win," she moaned. "Please, Win."
Her eyes were open. In her effort to get away she turned her head and found herself looking at the Duke of Cranwell, who was standing perhaps twenty feet away. This time her frantic shove at Winston's chest pushed them apart and he too saw Cranwell.
"Your grace," Sarah said foolishly, and realized almost as she said it that both her shoulders were exposed and a good part of her bosom too. She pulled at her dress with frantic fingers.
Cranwell suddenly came to life again. Hannah had appeared behind him. "Get out of here, Hannah," he said sharply. "Go and see if Argus has found his way out."
"Oh," Hannah said, her eyes growing round at the sight of Sarah and Winston, and she turned and disappeared from view.
"My apologies," Cranwell said stiffly, and turned to follow Hannah. "We were in search of that infernal dog."
"No harm done," Winston said cheerfully. "Sarah and I were merely enjoying a moment alone."
Cranwell disappeared without another word while Sarah was still pulling at her dress and brushing leaves and grass from her shawl and bonnet.
"Well," Winston said, "I came closer to committing murder then than I have ever come. What damnable timing. And just when I had you coming h6t all over me, Sarah. I have to agree that it would not be at all seemly to absent ourselves any longer. I am sorry, my love. It seems we will have to wait for another time."
He smiled ruefully at her and reached out to take her hand. Sarah managed somehow to smile back, even to look mildly regretful, she believed. In truth, she did not know how she was to walk back out of the woods. Her legs were trembling so badly that she was afraid they would not support her weight. She had come so close to being taken again. She did not think she could have borne it. Something in her mind would surely have snapped. She would have gone insane.
And yet, she thought, as she placed her hand in Winston's and found that she could just walk after all, she had freely committed herself to giving him the legal and moral right to possess her whenever lie pleased. They were to be married within a week. There would be no more excuses then, no more miraculous rescues.
It was only then, as they emerged into the sunlight again and she was beginning to breathe deep gulps of air in her relief, that Sarah realized the full import of what had just happened. George had seen them there, had seen her disheveled and struggling. Surely he would realize now that Win was not quite the paragon he had thought. And surely he would realize that she really was different now, that she did not encourage advances even from the man she had chosen to marry.
But what did it matter anyway? she thought. It was far too late now to be cultivating his good opinion. It did not matter if he still considered her a loose woman.
And oh, the embarrassment. To have been seen thus by him! By George Montagu, always so correct, so much the gentleman. Even if the scene had proved to him that she was no longer a woman of low morals, she would have preferred him not to see it. And Hannah, too. She would give anything in the world to slip away from Montagu Hall and never see either of them ever again.
"It looks as if the crowd has grown tired of climbing," Winston said. "They are on their way back already. We might as well turn around and head back to the house. Another time perhaps we will have better fortune." He linked her arm through his and squeezed her hand.
Sarah kept her eyes on the ground. She did not look around for Cranwell or Hannah. She hoped they were not close. She allowed Winston to lead her back down the hill toward the bridge and the house.
The Duke of Cranwell was having trouble with his neckcloth again. He was not even trying to create some lavish style of knot and folds, he thought irritably. Why was -it that he could not produce even a simple, tidy effect without ruining every starched neckcloth he laid his hands on? His eyes met those of Peters in the mirror. The valet was brushing an already immaculate velvet evening coat, a pained look on his face.
"All right," Cranwell said, smiling reluctantly, "you need not say anything, or look anything, Peters. You may have your heart's desire and come and help me."
He turned away from the mirror and stood still, chin up, while Peters worked one of his miracles with what Cranwell considered to be almost insolent speed. He turned to examine the effect in the mirror.
"Hm!" he said. "It is a pity I am not on my way to court or at least to a formal ball. It is a masterpiece. Come. Help me on with my coat or you will never be satisfied that my shirt is not wrinkled beneath it."
Finally he was ready to go down for dinner. Peters had been dismissed. But he was early. There was no need to put in an appearance just yet. He wandered to the long window across which the brocaded curtains had not yet been drawn. It was only early dusk. He loved the view from his window, across the sloping lawn to the south of the house and eventually to trees and fields stretching to the distance. But his eyes did not really see the view this evening.
It had been a busy day. He felt a little guilty about the morning. He never had finished the guided tour of the state rooms that he had promised. Not that anyone had complained. They all seemed to have enjoyed looking at the bedrooms, the dining room, and the library without his guidance. Then there had been the afternoon walk, after which his attention had been claimed first of all by Lady Cavendish and Lady Murdoch, who had wished merely to talk with him. Then he had been summoned by his bailiff, who had come to the house on some emergency business. He had been escaping to his room when Uncle Justin, Cousin Herbert, and Allan Wright had invited him to play billiards.
He had had no time to himself until now, though he should not complain. His houseguests appeared to be enjoying themselves and finding a variety of activities with which to amuse themselves. It was just that he was so unused to company, he supposed. He normally spent so much time alone, no one but himself to please, that he found it difficult to be constantly sociable and constantly called upon to entertain or be entertained.
Of course, it was not just that which was making him feel unusually weary and depressed. He just could not shake from his mind the events of the afternoon. He had finally decided only that morning that he must put past impressions of Sarah behind him and treat her with a greater respect. He had been convinced at last that she was not as she used to be. He had been not at all reluctant to change his plans for the afternoon and join the others with her and Bowen on their walk. He had even looked forward to seeing her reaction to the view from the hills. And he had made an effort to walk with her and her fianc6 in order to try to show both of them that he bore no grudges, that he did not resent their presence as guests in his house. When he had been unexpectedly left alone with Sarah for a few minutes, he had tried to speak pleasantly to her.
For the space of a few minutes he had felt pleased with himself. He could put behind him the embarrassment he had felt in her presence ever since he had first set eyes on her again in the Pump Room at Bath. He could even forgive her for not keeping her promise to take herself out of his life with his money.
God, if he had just not gone chasing into the woods after that infernal dog! It was pointless anyway. The collie never disappeared from Hannah's side for long. All they had needed to do was to stroll on slowly and wait for it to come dashing out from among the trees again.
He did not know quite what had come over him when he saw them there. They had apparently not heard him approach. He could quite easily have turned.and left. Instead, he had stood there stupidly watching until Sarah had spotted him. And then there had been all the embarrassment of knowing himself discovered, of witnessing their confusion.
His mind just had not worked rationally for the space of a few minutes. His first reaction, he remembered now, when he saw them together, was to rush across the distance that lay between him and them, tear them apart, 'and pound Bowen to a pulp. How dared the man maul his wife in such a manner! had been his thought. He had wanted to kill.
Yet that had been only his. first flash reaction. Almost as soon he was feeling a blinding rage against her. She was standing pressed against Bowen, arched backward, her head thrown back in an ecstasy of desire. Her dress was off both shoulders and halfway down her breasts, and she was writhing against her lover, begging him with every movement of her body to lay her down and possess her. And she was begging him in words, too, calling his name and pleading with him.
She had been behaving like a whore!
If he had arrived even one minute later, how would he have found them? The thought did not bear contemplating. And not just he. Hannah had been not far behind him. She had not seen them actually embrace, but it must have been glaringly obvious to her what had been going on. Both were still looking flushed and disheveled. Neither of them had talked about it after he had rejoined her on the open hillside. He had not even apologized for the harsh way in which he had told her to get away from there.
Sarah. Cranwell turned away from the window and crossed the room to the empty fireplace. He leaned one arm on the high mantelpiece and gazed into the empty grate. He had loved her once. He wanted so much to believe her changed. Yet she had not changed at all. It was true that Bowen was her fiance. He supposed that made some difference. But it argued a dreadful lack of restraint in her to embrace him with such abandon just a scant few feet from the path along which several of her fellow guests were walking. They could at least have waited until they were quite alone together.
He did not think he blamed Bowen in any way. Sarah was an extremely lovely and desirable woman. He doubted if any man could resist her for long if she set out deliberately to seduce him. And who could have resisted the performance she was putting on among the trees? Her fiance would have had to be made of stone.
He was not quite sure how he should act. It had been a private moment he had broken in upon, after all, even if the choice of location was indiscreet. He supposed he must continue to treat her with the courtesy due to a guest. He must, though, be very careful to guard his heart against her. She had been insinuating herself into his good graces again, and he had not realized what was happening. He must never forget what she was. Perhaps her life for the previous four years had been exemplary. Yet it seemed that once back in society again she was unable to resist the temptation to enslave every mate with whom she came in contact. Stonewall was almost making a fool of himself over her, and one or two of the younger cousins were eyeing her appreciatively.
Sarah was sitting on a wooden chest at the foot of Lady Murdoch's bed. Lady Murdoch was standing in front of her, a hand on her shoulder. Sarah was crying.
"So there," she said between painful sobs. "Now you know everything, and I cannot say I am sorry. I am so tired of lies and deceit."
"There, there, dear," Lady Murdoch said soothingly, patting the shoulder beneath her hand.
"I shall leave immediately," Sarah said, "as soon as I have pulled myself together. I shall leave the house tomorrow and you need never see me again. I shall trust you to explain to his grace."
"There, there," Lady Murdoch repeated. "Dry your eyes now, dear, or you will be in no fit state to appear downstairs. There is some water on the washstand. Come and splash some on your face. It is cold and will take your breath away and will not feel at all comfortable. But it will be worth the discomfort, dear, just to take the redness from your eyes. You would not wish anyone to know that you have been weeping, for then there would be any number of awkward questions."
"Oh, please, ma'am," Sarah said, "do not be kind to me. Indeed I shall go to my room and send word that I shall not be down to dinner. I shall pack my bags."
"Sarah, dear," said Lady Murdoch, an unusual firmness in her tone, "you must go and wash your face immediately and then come and sit down at the fire. We will talk. There is a little time yet before we must go downstairs, and I see that you are dressed already."
"Yes," Sarah said, "I dressed for dinner, and it was only then that I knew that I could go on like this no longer. I am sorry, indeed I am, for deceiving you so."
"Pooh!" Lady Murdoch said, crossing heavily to one of the chairs set close to the fire and gesturing Sarah yet again toward the washstand. "I am not so easily deceived, my dear. Of course I knew about your marriage and divorce. Stories like that do not miss many ears, you know, and I discovered who you were too. I thought your uncle's name was Bowen and I remembered that yours was Sarah. It did not take me long to find out that you were the abandoned bride."
"You knew all the time?" Sarah asked, aghast.
"When I saw your advertisement in the newspaper under your own name," Lady Murdoch continued, "I am afraid an old woman's curiosity got the better of me, dear. I had to go and see what you were like. And I loved you after only five minutes in that little cottage of yours. I knew right then that you could not possibly be the girl that gossip had made you out to be. Sometimes I sense these things. I started to blame your former husband, though I had never met him."
"Oh, no," Sarah said, her voice muffled by the towel with which she was dabbing at her dripping face. "No, George was never to blame for anything. He was the one who was wronged."
"Oh yes, I know," Lady Murdoch said. "Soon after I was presented to him in Bath I knew that he was neither an untruthful man nor a vindictive one. I must confess the mystery intrigued me, dear. I have watched you both ever since and have grown only more and more puzzled. If you were to ask me, I should say that you must have suited admirably. Now, of course, I understand perfectly."
She glared severely as Sarah came and sat in the chair opposite hers.
"But why, Sarah dear, did you not tell me sooner about Lord Laing? That part of your story I still find hard to believe. I have never been so taken in in my life. I thought him the most charming man I had met in a long time, and he is nothing but a blackmailer, a seducer, and a rake. I never would have suspected. And how you could have come to engage yourself to him, dear, I cannot understand."
"I was trying to explain when I lost control a few minutes ago," Sarah said. "It was the only way I could think of to take him away and keep him from other innocent girls. I was mortally afraid that he was going to pay his addresses to Lady Fanny, and I had reason to believe that she would look on him favorably. I know that he is very handsome and very attractive to most women. I tried and tried to think of another solution, but nothing would serve. I was counting on some other solution to occur to me before the wedding day."
"But, dear," Lady Murdoch said, "there is a very obvious way of avoiding what you set yourself to do. All you have to do is tell his grace the truth. Indeed, I cannot for the life of me understand why you did not do so when you were married to him. Why would you wish to protect such a scoundrel and make the whole of your life a misery as a result?"
"Is that what I have been doing?" Sarah asked, frowning. "Yes, I suppose I have been protecting Win. I think originally I did it because his disgrace would have hurt my aunt and uncle dreadfully. They were very kind to me after Papa died, and I could not repay their love by getting Win into trouble. They doted on him so. And Uncle Randolph was so sick for years. And I hated the thought of the truth about Graham coming out, even though he was dead already."
"Yes, Sarah," Lady Murdoch said, "it is just like you to behave so selflessly. Though as to that, I don't know, dear. It seems to me that you have made his grace suffer greatly by your silence."
"Oh, have I?" Sarah asked, stricken. "But I did not mean to. I felt so guilty for having married him under false pretenses that I could think only of releasing him so that he might forget me and be happy again. Did I do wrong?"
Lady Murdoch shook her head and smiled reassuringly. "No, dear," she said, "but I really think the truth must come out now. You cannot sacrifice the whole of your life for the sake of some notion of honor. I would never allow it."
"Oh, I know," Sarah wailed. "I realized that this afternoon, Cousin Adelaide. I could not do it. I just could not." She shuddered. "It was horrible. Horrible! I would rather die than have him touch me again. I did not know what to do. And then when I was ready for dinner, yet it seemed far too early to go downstairs, I knew that I had to confide in someone. I thought of you."
"And glad I am of it," Lady Murdoch said, and Sarah was surprised to see that there were tears in her eyes. "That means that you really do think of me as some sort of mother to you. That has been my dearest wish."
"What am I to do?" Sarah asked.
Lady Murdoch thought a minute. “I think his grace must know," she said. "However, perhaps it would not be the best idea to tell him immediately. He would be burdened with a nasty situation, and this is after all a special week for him, with his dear Hannah here and many of their relatives. I think we must wait, dear, until the last day. We must tell him then so that he will know how to act in the event that that viper comes after his sister. In the meantime, we must see to it that you are not alone with Lord Laing. I shall be a rigorous chaperone."
"It really is time to go down for dinner," Sarah said. "Do my eyes look very red?"
"You look pretty as a picture-as always," Lady Murdoch said. "Oh, I shall find it extremely difficult to he civil to that young man."
"Cousin Adelaide," Sarah said as that lady hoisted herself to her feet with one hand splayed firmly on each arm of the chair, "how can I ever thank you? I never knew my mother, but I am sure I could not have loved her more than I do you."
Lady Murdoch hid emotion in gruffness. She caught Sarah's arm and leaned heavily on it. "Come along, Sarah," she said. "We are going to make that man sorry he was ever born."