Sleepless at Midnight (28 page)

“A garden by the lake,” she murmured. “That would solve the problem.” After taking a sip of cider, she asked, “What sort of books do you like to read?”

“All sorts. I recently reread Paradise Lost and am mulling over what to start on next. Perhaps you have a recommendation? I understand you’re a member of the Ladies Literary Society of London.”

Sarah nearly spewed a mouthful of cider. After swallowing and coughing several times, she asked,

“How do you know about that?”

“Lady Julianne mentioned it at dinner last night. So tell me, what does a ladies’ literary society do?”

Good heavens. She could feel blotches creeping up her chest. “We, um, choose books to read and then discuss them.”

“What sort of books?”

The blotches reached her neck. Thank goodness she hadn’t removed her bonnet. At least the brim offered her some protection should the blotches creep higher. Returning her attention toward the lake, she said, “Literary works. Would you care for another egg?”

“No, thank you.”

She felt the weight of his stare and kept her own gaze focused straight ahead on the water.

“Where do you suppose Danforth is?” she asked.

“Why are you changing the subject?”

“What subject?”

“The Ladies Literary Society of London.”

“Perhaps you missed the word ‘ladies.’”

“Which would obviously prevent me from being a member, but surely doesn’t prevent you from discussing it with me.”

“Are you a lady?”

“No.”

“Are we in London?”

“No.”

“Do you see any literary tomes upon this blanket?”

“No.”

“I believe that’s enough said.”

“Hmmm. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

She hoisted her chin. “As a member of the Ladies Literary Society of London, I am well acquainted with Hamlet, my lord. Your quote from act two, scene three, however, is in error in this case.”

“Is it? I wonder…”

She applied her attention to her hard-boiled egg, but found it difficult to concentrate knowing he was staring at her.

Then he chuckled. “Ah. I believe I understand. You ladies aren’t reading literary works at all, are you?”

Botheration. The man was too clever by half. Before she could even think of an answer, he continued, “So what are you reading? Something salacious and scandalous, I’ll wager. Something that would send your mamas racing for the hartshorn.”

Adopting her most prim tone, she said, “I’m certain I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come now, Sarah. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“Didn’t we at some point determine that curiosity killed the cat?”

“Yes. And immediately thereafter determined that we weren’t cats.”

Memories flooded her and her heart skipped. Of course. And then he’d kissed her. And she hadn’t been the same since that moment.

“Tell me,” he urged softly.

“I’ve nothing to tell.”

“If you do, I’ll tell you something about me that no one else knows.”

Unable to stop herself, she turned toward him, noting the teasing challenge in his eyes. Warning bells rang in her brain, reminding her that it was that same teasing challenge that had convinced her to allow him to watch her bathe. And look at the havoc that had wreaked. Yes. It was the most unforgettable experience of your life.

True. Which was not good, as she had to forget about it. And thinking about it now, while she was alone with him, was a particularly poor idea.

And while she was sure she could accomplish the task of forgetting about her bath most likely now the dratted man had found another way to tempt her. A way she knew she’d never be able to resist. She moistened her lips. “A secret for a secret?”

His gaze flicked down to her mouth. “Yes. Sounds like a fair trade to me. Would I have your word that what I tell you will not leave this shady spot?”

“Of course.” The words popped out before she could stop them. “Would I have your word?”

He laid his hand over his heart. “On my honor, your secret would be safe with me.”

After a quick mental debate, she decided no harm could come from telling him, especially as he’d given his word. And the prospect of hearing his secret was simply too tantalizing to pass up. There. See? She could do this. Swap silly secrets just as she would with any of her other friends.

“Very well. I admit that the Ladies Literary Society focuses on…less traditional works.”

“Such as?”

“Well, we’ve only recently formed and therefore have thus far only read one book.”

“Which I take it wasn’t authored by Shakespeare.”

“Correct. We read Frankenstein.”

Keen interest flared in his eyes. “The Modern Prometheus,” he murmured.

“Have you read it?”

“I have. It’s an interesting choice for your ladies’ group, one which would understandably raise eyebrows, given the grisly nature of the story and the scandalous behavior of the author.”

“Which is precisely why we named ourselves as we did to avoid those raised eyebrows.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’d wager that you had a strong reaction to the book.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you are one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met. I’ve no doubt you’d describe Dr. Frankenstein as a nincompoop. And I easily imagine that the plight of the monster tugged on your soft heart.”

An odd sensation ran through her at his eerily accurate assessment, which, while correct, still sounded somewhat insulting. She raised her chin. “Dr. Frankenstein created a being that he utterly rejected solely because of its appearance. To call him a nincompoop is to actually insult all the other nincompoops. And if feeling sympathy for a poor, abused, unloved creature makes me softhearted, then so be it.”

“It does indeed make you softhearted and I mean that in the most complimentary way. I’ve no doubt that if you’d come across the monster, his entire life would have been different. You’d have accepted him, unconditionally. Helped him. Taken him under your wing and shown him the kindness he so desperately wanted and needed.”

His words stilled her. “How do you know that? Perhaps I would have been horrified by his frightening size and visage.”

“No. You would have taken his ugly, gigantic hand in yours, led him to your garden, where you would have taught him the finer points of tortlingers and straff wort, and conversed with him as if he weren’t different in any way. You would have befriended him and helped him, just as you’ve befriended and helped the Dutton sisters and Martha Browne.”

She blinked and stared. “How do you know about the Duttons and Martha?”

“Your sister spoke of them to Lord Surbrooke, who in turn mentioned them to me. It is very kind of you to help them as you do.”

“They’re my friends. It has nothing to do with kindness.”

“It has everything to do with kindness. With decency and generosity. Loyalty and compassion. You possess all those traits, Sarah.”

“Anyone would do those things ”

“No, they wouldn’t. And they don’t. Some people do, people like you, and we should all be grateful for that. But there is a lot of selfishness in the world. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that your soft heart isn’t a very special and very rare gift.”

Pleased warmth suffused her at his words, and a heated blush rushed into her cheeks. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

He shot her a reproachful look. “I believe we already had a lesson on what to say when one is given a compliment.”

Yes. She remembered. Vividly. It was when they’d had tea on the terrace, and he told her she was a talented artist. She recalled her pleasure at his words. Words spoken before she knew he had to marry within the next few weeks. Marry an heiress. Who would most likely turn out to be Julianne. She swallowed then nodded. “In that case, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She found herself staring at him, trapped by his gaze, unable to look away. Heat suffused her with smothering awareness and an almost painful yearning to touch him. A suffocating desire for him to touch her. And a flood of useless wishes that all revolved around her suddenly turning into an heiress.

Dear God, perhaps she couldn’t do this. Couldn’t be alone with him and pretend she didn’t want and need. Didn’t feel all the desires and emotions storming through her. But since her only alternative was to jump up and run down the path, she forced herself to look at the water. And to say something to dispel the sudden tension she felt. Bending her knees, she wrapped her arms tightly around her calves. “I’ve shared my secret. Now it is your turn.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I promise.” I won’t laugh. I won’t touch. I won’t indulge in useless fantasies of things that can never be.

“Very well. When I was a lad of ten, I dreamed, as I suppose many lads do, of being a pirate. Sailing the mighty seas, captaining my own ship, partaking of swashbuckling sword fights, looting exotic ports of call.”

Surprised and amused, she turned toward him. She wasn’t certain what she’d expected him to say, but certainly she hadn’t anticipated anything so fanciful. “Looting?”

He looked skyward with an expression of pure masculine exasperation. “Of course looting. How else do you think pirates get their booty? I wanted to be a pirate, not a philanthropist.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Naturally. Continue.”

“I realized that it unfortunately would be a number of years before I was old enough to be a pirate, but being not only determined but also impatient, I decided to be the pirate of Langston Manor, and that this lake,” he extended his arm to encompass the water, “would be my mighty sea.

“I named myself Blackguard and spent that entire summer secretly building a pirate ship. I kept it hidden in that thicket.” He nodded his chin toward an overgrown area near a copse of elms.

“How large was this fine ship?” Sarah asked.

“Not much bigger than I was. I suppose some would have called it a rowboat, but only someone completely lacking in imagination.”

She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from smiling. “I see. Did you finish the boat?”

“Ship,” he corrected in a very serious voice. “Yes, I did. I even carved a mermaid figure for the prow. She didn’t look much like a mermaid I wasn’t much of a carver and I accidentally hacked off her tail. And her head. But what was left of her proudly rode on the bow.”

He turned to gaze upon the water. After stretching out his legs, he leaned back on his forearms and continued, “On the day of the maiden voyage, I dressed in my finest pirate wear and launched Blackguard’s Booty. Seeing her bob on the surface was my finest hour. The culmination of months of planning and secret work. I’d rowed nearly to the center of the mighty sea when my fine ship suddenly sprung a leak. Being a good captain, I’d come prepared for just such an emergency in the form of a bucket. I began bailing, but seconds later Blackguard’s Booty sprung another leak. Then another. And another.”

He turned back to her. “I can tell by your expression that you have an idea where this story is headed.”

She had to fight to maintain a straight face. “To the bottom of the lake?”

He blew out a long sigh. “I’m afraid you’re correct. In spite of my valiant bailing efforts, it quickly became apparent that the battle was lost. Therefore I stood, saluted, and like generations of pirate captains before me, went down with my ship.”

“Very brave and noble of you,” she said in her most grave tone.

He shrugged. “It was the least I could do.”

“So Blackguard’s Booty…?”

“Remains at the bottom of the lake. Along with my spectacles, which I lost somewhere between leaks ten and eleven. My father was none too pleased when I arrived home with my finest breeches and jacket ruined and my glasses gone.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I’d suffered a mishap at the lake. Which was perfectly true.”

“You didn’t tell him of this boyhood desire to loot and swashbuckle?”

“I’ve never told anyone.” He shot her a frown. “You’ll recall your promise not to laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” she said, trying her best not to. “Although I must admit it’s difficult when I can so vividly picture you standing in your leaky rowboat, saluting, with ever-rising water lapping around your waist.”

“Ship,” he corrected with an injured sniff.

“Clearly you changed your mind about becoming a pirate.”

“Which is good. Turns out I wasn’t much of a pirate. Or a boatbuilder.”

“’Tis fortunate you knew how to swim.”

“Yes. But other than that, the entire episode was a total failure.”

“Oh, but it wasn’t. Just because your boat didn’t prove seaworthy doesn’t take away from your success.”

“Success?” He chuckled. “Madame, you clearly missed the part of the story where I went down with my ship.”

“I did nothing of the sort. Your success was in your determination to build a boat. Your perseverance in completing it. Most people wouldn’t have even attempted such a project, let alone seen it to fruition. And the crowning achievement of your success was your final noble gesture of seeing it through to the end.”

He nodded slowly, then said, “As captain of the ill-fated Blackguard’s Booty, I thank you for your kind words. If only you’d been around twenty years ago, my pride might have recovered more quickly.”

“I doubt it. Twenty years ago I would have laughed myself into a seizure at the sight of Blackguard going down with his rowboat.” She grinned, then in her best underwater imitation, added, “Glub glub glub.”

His lips twitched, but then he quickly narrowed his eyes. “You’re laughing.”

“I’m not. I’m smiling.”

He smiled back, a slow smile that reached all the way to his eyes and stole her breath. Filled her once again with the overwhelming awareness of him that she’d managed to push aside during his tale. “We’re now even,” he said.