Blanchland Secret Read online

  Amelia’s eyes widened to their furthest extent. ‘Gracious, Sarah, how diverting! Surely you have not been encouraging him?’

  ‘Not precisely, but…’ Sarah hesitated ‘…I wonder if I have discouraged him sufficiently? He is, as you say, so very charming that it is difficult to resist…’

  Amelia began to laugh. ‘I should not worry, Sarah! You are scarcely a hardened flirt and Lord Renshaw is experienced enough to know the difference between a lady of easy virtue and a respectable spinster! I am more concerned that your own heart should remain whole!’

  Sarah wrinkled up her nose and reached for her wineglass again. ‘Really, Amelia! Respectable spinster! You make me sound at least sixty and as dull as ditchwater into the bargain!’

  ‘Better to be respectable than give in to Guy Renshaw’s blandishments,’ Amelia said drily. ‘He has a truly terrible reputation, Sarah! Why, Mrs Bunton tells me—’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sarah said hastily. ‘I have already heard her on the subject! I am in no real danger, I assure you, either from his lordship or from my own feelings! I know he can have no serious intentions and will not allow him to progress with any dishonourable ones!’

  A little frown still marred Amelia’s forehead. ‘That is all very well, but it would not do to like him too much!’

  ‘I know.’ Sarah felt a little lurch of the heart as she spoke. Amelia had hit upon the very problem, for she was beginning to like Guy Renshaw very much indeed, and against her better judgement.

  She let Mr Tilbury carry her off for the cotillion, noting that Amelia still looked concerned. She knew that her cousin had her own best interests at heart. Guy Renshaw could not be seen in the light of a suitable connection for a penniless companion. Her ineligibility could only mean that he could have no serious intentions, and designs of a less respectable nature would have to be ruthlessly crushed.

  For a moment, Sarah felt an extraordinary disappointment. Guy’s charm was very potent and Sarah knew that her own inexperience made it difficult for her to treat his admiration lightly. Then there was the peculiar physical attraction he held for her, the like of which she had never even dreamed of, let alone experienced before. For a moment, Sarah let herself imagine being in Guy Renshaw’s embrace, recalling the hard strength of the arms that had held her in the waltz, the ripple of muscles beneath the smooth material of his jacket, the curl of that sensuous mouth…

  Suddenly heated, Sarah felt her body diffuse with warmth and the colour flood into her face. It was fortunate that Mr Tilbury was rather unobservant, for it would have been impossible for him to believe that his own conversation could cause his companion to blush so vividly.

  Sarah tried to concentrate on his observations on the price of coal, furiously castigating herself for allowing her thoughts to wander in so improper a direction. And this was hardly the first time!

  The dance progressed in pedestrian fashion, with none of the zest of the previous waltz.

  Guy was nowhere in sight, perhaps still talking with Mr Elliston, but Sarah noted a knot of people set a little back from the dance floor, with Mrs Bunton at its core. Several of the most influential hostesses in Bath had their heads bent close, their hairpieces waggling, their mouths forming shocked and horrified circles. One of them glanced in Sarah’s direction and looked away again hastily. Sarah frowned. Surely her behaviour with Viscount Renshaw had not caused such scandalised debate? One waltz, even with a notorious rake, hardly constituted a social solecism. Besides, Mrs Bunton had been pushing her own daughter in Guy’s direction only the night before.

  Mr Tilbury addressed another of his remarks to her and Sarah temporarily forgot the group of gossiping matrons. However, she was reminded again swiftly as the dance drew to an end. As Mr Tilbury escorted her from the floor, Mrs Clarke drew her skirts aside and turned her back in the most pointed of snubs. Sarah stopped in surprise and Mr Tilbury’s face flushed with outrage.

  He was about to speak when Mrs Clarke said loudly, ‘What can one expect with such low family connections? There’s bad blood in the Covell family, which no doubt accounts for his cousin throwing her lot in with him! I wonder at Lady Amelia giving countenance to a woman who is clearly lost to all sense of decency!’

  Shock rendered Sarah temporarily speechless. All around her she could see the looks of speculation and hear the chatter of rumour and gossip. She looked about desperately for Amelia, but her cousin was across the room, talking to Greville Baynham. There was no help closer at hand. Mr Tilbury was opening and closing his mouth like a stranded fish, his own expression one of painful embarrassment. Everyone else merely watched to see what would happen next.

  Murmuring an incoherent apology to Mr Tilbury, Sarah hurried from the ballroom, almost ran up the stairs and instinctively sought shelter in her own room. Once there, she closed the door softly and leant back against it with her eyes closed. Mrs Clarke’s sharply cruel words echoed in her mind: ‘Lost to all sense of decency…’

  There could be no mistake. Somehow, word of her intention to visit Blanchland had leaked out, been seized upon by eager gossips, and passed around the ballroom. Sarah felt outraged and humiliated. How dared they speak of her like that, make her the butt of their slander, rip her reputation to shreds in her very presence? She had seen them all, some condemning her already, others merely excited by scandal, but all watching her reactions for their own entertainment. Sarah had heard of times when the collective disapproval of Bath society had ruined someone’s reputation, or left them a social outcast. It was just that she had never been on the receiving end before.

  And why should she hide away here as though she had something to be ashamed of? Eyes flashing, Sarah flung open the door, ready to do battle in the ballroom. She would show Mrs Clarke and Mrs Bunton and all the other quizzes that she did not give a rush for their disapproval! She would not let them judge her and run away from them…

  Sarah closed the door behind her and walked towards the stairs, still burning with outraged anger. She did not see the figure on the shadowed landing until it moved, and then she spun round with a gasp of alarm.

  ‘Lord Renshaw! Good gracious, you gave me fright! Whatever are you doing up here, sir?’

  ‘I wanted to speak to you, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said, coming forward into the circle of light cast by the single candelabra. ‘I heard you come running up here and thought it best, perhaps, that we did not have an audience for our conversation.’

  Sarah looked at him in puzzlement. There was something curious in his tone, some element that she could not define but that made her uncomfortable. It was impossible to decipher his expression in the flickering candlelight.

  ‘I do not understand you, sir,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Surely it would be better to return to the ballroom—’

  ‘Very well, if you are determined to face the extraordinary rumours that are circulating there,’ Guy said coolly. ‘Perhaps we could invite the whole of Bath society to join the conversation since they are taking such a close interest in your affairs!’

  Sarah let out her breath in a long sigh. ‘Oh, so you have heard—’

  ‘I have! I could scarce believe it! Either you are seriously lacking in judgement, Miss Sheridan, or you are not the woman I thought you!’

  Sarah stared at him, her temper soaring dangerously. She had been expecting him to sympathise with her in the face of the small-minded and malicious scandal-mongers, and to find herself condemned unheard was adding insult to injury.

  ‘Oh really, my lord!’ she burst out. ‘It is the outside of enough to have to put up with the ill-informed gossip of spiteful matrons without such as yourself picking pieces in my good character as well!’

  ‘Indeed?’ Guy stepped closer to her, his physical presence completely overwhelming her. Now that he was so near, Sarah could sense the slow burn of his anger, though she still did not understand its cause. ‘At the least you do not pretend ignorance! Are you telling me that the rumours are untrue, Miss Sheridan?’

 
Sarah hesitated for a fatal second, trapped by her own honesty. ‘Yes! No! At least…I do intend to visit Blanchland, but it is not as you imagine…’

  Guy brought his hand down on the banisters with a force that seemed to make the delicate ironwork shiver. ‘Surely it can be no surprise that your apparent desire to spend the winter in a house of ill repute should set the town by the ears, Miss Sheridan! Good God, Blanchland is a place where no woman of respectability should dream of setting foot! You will not have a shred of reputation left to you!’

  Sarah glared at him. ‘I can scarce believe that you are giving credence to chance-heard rumours, my lord! I should have thought better of you! You have not even paused to request an explanation!’

  Guy had turned away, his face tight and angry, but now he swung back towards her.

  ‘There can be no reasonable explanation! At least,’ he corrected himself punctiliously, ‘the best construction I can put on your conduct is that you lack any sense of proper behaviour and the worst—’ his dark eyes narrowed murderously ‘—is that you are accustomed to the sort of society and pursuits that Blanchland has to offer! Neither is an adequate excuse!’

  Sarah seldom lost her temper. The even tenor of life in Amelia’s household was hardly ever ruffled by upset or disturbance, but now she found herself furiously angry. Guy’s stubborn refusal to see anything but the worst in her was as distressing as it was infuriating. The situation was further exacerbated by the fact that she could not understand why he was so angry. Worst of all was a shaming desire to cry, as she realised that, despite the brevity of their acquaintance, his good opinion was something that she valued deeply. She swallowed hard and made a conscious effort to whip up her anger as a defence against the hurt she was feeling.

  ‘That is enough, sir! I do not wish to hear you slander my reputation! And as for your playing of the moral arbiter, it is rich beyond belief! You are the greatest hypocrite I have ever come across!’

  Sarah made to walk past Guy and seek the sanctuary of her room again, all thoughts of returning to the ballroom forgotten. She was shaking with anger and mortification. She had no clear idea of how such a confrontation could have occurred, nor did she wish to prolong it. For Guy to take her to task in such a way was not the conduct of a gentleman, but deeper than that, more hurtful, was his evident contempt and unjust condemnation.

  Guy shifted slightly, but he did not move to let her past. There was something wholly unyielding about his stance, as though he had no intention of letting her go easily. For a long moment their eyes met in angry conflict, then Guy stepped forward and trapped Sarah between his body and the balcony rail.

  He bent his head and brought his mouth down on hers in a kiss that was searching and utterly ruthless. Disbelief and fury welled up in Sarah. She pummelled his chest hard with her clenched fists, but he only tightened his grip on her, rendering her protests useless.

  ‘I am living up to my reputation now, Miss Sheridan,’ he said, raising his lips an inch from hers. ‘I suggest that you start to do the same!’

  His mouth returned to hers with a fierce demand. A shocking excitement swept through Sarah, setting her trembling in his arms. She could smell the faint, crisp scent of his lemon cologne, taste the sweetness of wine as his lips parted and moved over her own, lightly one moment, deepening again the next, but always in inexorable control. The merciless hands holding her hard against him did not relent for a moment.

  Sarah gave up the struggle. She had no strength left to resist him, no will to do so. Despite the calculated nature of his embrace, to be kissed by him was such exquisite pleasure that she never wanted it to end. Her fingers uncurled against his chest and she slid her arms up about his neck. One of Guy’s hands slipped down her back and over her hip, drawing her against the hardness of his body. He slid his other hand under the hair at the nape of her neck, his caress on the tender skin there causing Sarah to shiver. She made a small, inarticulate sound of surrender, pressing closer, completely abandoned to the kiss.

  Something had changed, although Sarah was too adrift to realise what it was. Guy’s cruel grip had eased and the touch of his lips, his hands, became gentle, exploring mutual pleasure rather than administering punishment. The aquamarine dress was slipping off Sarah’s shoulders and the lace fichu tumbled to the floor. She felt the featherlight touch of Guy’s fingers graze her collarbone before his lips left hers to trace a downward path from the line of her throat over the exposed curve of her breast. His breathing was as ragged as her own now. Sarah arched against him, weak with desire, stunned by her reaction to him.

  His mouth returned to hers roughly, plundering its softness. He held her face still with one hand, upturned and open to his, his fingers tangled in her hair. His other hand gently brushed aside the silk of the dress and bared Sarah’s heated skin to his touch. The deep, sweet invasion of her mouth went on and on. The pins tumbled from Sarah’s hair and fell with a soft tinkle on to the marble floor of the hall below. She did not notice; did not notice as her hair fell from its carefully arranged curls to swirl about her bare shoulders, did not notice as her bodice slipped to her waist, leaving her half-naked in Guy’s arms, did not notice as a door below opened abruptly and people spilled out into the hall.

  ‘Oh!’ There was a squeal from one of the women. ‘I almost stepped on a pin!’

  Sarah heard the voices, but could make no sense of them through the desire that clouded her mind. It seemed, however, that Guy retained just enough presence of mind to drag her back from the balcony and into the shadows before the assembled company turned as one to gaze up into the darkness of the upper hall.

  ‘I say! Whatever is going on? Is there anybody up there?’

  There was a giggle from one of the women, a guffaw, hastily repressed, from one of the men, and some murmured words and laughter before they all drifted off into the cardroom. Then there was silence.

  Reality hit Sarah like a tidal wave. How could she be standing here in the candlelight, her clothing all awry, having allowed this man the most appalling liberties imaginable? Only seconds before he had questioned her virtue, and now she had comprehensively proved his point! She was trembling, her whole body shaking not with passion but with the enormity of what she had done. Where would it have ended? With her naked on the landing in full view of Amelia’s guests? Her cheeks burned as she realised that she had been so lost in desire that she had not even thought of whom might see her. How could this have happened? She had always found Guy Renshaw attractive, but their verbal sparring had given her no clue to the shocking physical awareness that would flare between them. Why, when she had made to leave him on the landing she had not even liked him any more! And yet…

  Sarah pulled her dress up over her shoulders and bent to pick up the discarded scrap of white lace. The point of a fichu, she remembered her mama telling her years before, was to preserve a lady’s modesty. Well, she had no need of that! Her own behaviour had proved as much! And worse, memory stirred to remind her just how much she had enjoyed it, how she had ached for Guy’s kisses, the touch of his hands on her body…How was it possible to dislike someone and want them at the same time? The thought made her despair.

  More distressing still was the look of stony contempt on Guy’s face. Whatever emotions had shaken her, they had evidently left him singularly unmoved. He still had hold of her wrist, but Sarah wrenched it from his grasp and walked past him to the door of her bedroom, her head held high and the effect ruined by the knowledge that his gaze had taken in the decadent effect of her plunging neckline. Her heart sank as Guy followed her into the room. All she wanted to do now was recover from her humiliation in private.

  ‘You will oblige me by leaving me alone now, sir.’ Sarah knew she had not achieved the icy tone she sought and could hardly bear to raise her eyes to his.

  ‘A moment.’ Guy’s searing gaze swept over the dishevelled curls about Sarah’s shoulders and lingered on the shadowy cleft between her breasts. ‘You’re good, I’ll say that f
or you! Just enough untutored innocence mixed with passion!’ He gave a cynical laugh. ‘Good enough to leave me in some doubt! Anyway, I came to make you an offer—one that you may look kindly upon after your performance just now. I wish to spare you the trouble of looking for a protector at Blanchland. I am rich enough for any taste and I’m sure I can satisfy you! What do you say?’

  The colour drained from Sarah’s face. This was the final insult. She had refuted his accusations only to fall into his arms and apparently prove herself experienced. Was carte blanche the logical outcome? She supposed that might be so. Could she blame him for thinking of her as he did? Perhaps not, and yet she had hoped he would know her better than that. She had cherished secret dreams that had been far removed from this tawdry reality. She could scarcely believe that everything good and pure and sweet between them had been ground into the dust.

  ‘Get out of my room!’ It felt to Sarah that she must have shouted, but her words came out as a whisper. Guy’s expression was blank for a moment, then he turned on his heel and the slam of the door echoed through the entire house.

  ‘Sarah?’ Amelia’s tap on the door was almost silent and her cousin barely heard her whisper. ‘Sarah, are you there?’

  As Sarah struggled to sit up, Amelia turned the knob and stepped into the darkened bedroom. The lamp was turned down low, but there was enough light to see Sarah’s stricken face and Amelia hurried forward in obvious alarm.

  ‘Sarah! Whatever has happened?’

  Sarah raised a face so blotchy and tear-stained that it was almost unrecognisable. A few minutes before she would have sworn she had no more tears left, but now she burst into tears all over again.

  ‘Oh, Milly!’

  Amelia sensibly did not press for an explanation, but gathered her cousin into her arms without a word. Eventually Sarah’s sobs subsided a little again and she looked up.

  ‘Has he gone?’

  ‘He? Who?’

  ‘Lord…Lord Renshaw…’