The Affectionate Adversary (27 page)

“I am not,” he cried, his dark eyebrows drawing together. “How could you possibly think—”

“I have been wooed with professions of love and passion a hundred times. My beauty has been admired. My praises sung. My accomplishments applauded. Dear sir, your avowals of adoration are nothing new to me.”

“But they are not lost on you entirely. I see what you feel for me, Sarah.”

“You see nothing,” she said. “I have only one desire, and that is to obey God.”

“The God who condemned you to such an unhappy life?”

“He has shown me a path to a new life. I must believe that. It is my only hope. Three years ago, at a time when I felt picked and plucked and torn nearly to pieces by the scavengers, I was sitting one Sunday in church. That is when I heard the lesson of the rich young ruler, as if for the first time. God Himself seemed to speak to me that day. A bright beam of light filled my heart as I finally understood. The enemy was not my father, not my husband, not the shallow admirers who fawned over me. My enemy was my fortune. Wealth prevented me from earthly happiness and would one day bar me from heaven. I knew at once that I must rid myself of my riches—and the sooner the better.”

“And you were about that task when I met you.” Charles lifted her hand again and pressed his lips gently to it. “My dearest lady, how completely I understand your actions.”

“Understand me, yes, but approve?” Sarah tugged her hand away and turned her shoulder to him as she poured out the pain that stormed inside her. “Mary and Prudence insist I am cruel and heartless, giving my money away only to please myself and failing to think of my poor family. They want me to marry Delacroix! And how can I deny them this wish? My motive in giving away the fortune
is
selfish, after all, for I do seek my own happiness!”

“As do we all. Come to me, Sarah,” he said, placing his arm around her shoulders and turning her into his embrace. “Do not weep; I beg you. Believe me when I tell you that I see your heart. I know your desires, and they are good. You are well intentioned in all you do, my darling, beautiful lady.”

Sarah shivered as his warmth enfolded her, his breath heating her bare neck, and the scent of his skin filling her nostrils. As he spoke, his fingers spread wide, covering her back and pressing her closer against his chest. Though she tried to resist him, she could not. Every word he spoke rang true. His every caress drew and opened her to the possibility of love. Like a thirsty child, she slipped her arms around him and clutched his shirt, reveling in the solid mass of sinew, bone, and muscle beneath it as she drank in hope and promise and passion.

“You have provided for your sisters already.” Charles spoke softly against her ear. “They cannot fault you, my love. But you must soften yourself if you wish to remove the barriers you have built so high around your heart. No matter how jealous your sisters may be, they adore you. Can you not see that? And I love you sincerely. I want what is best for you. Above all that I hope and plan for myself, I wish to make you happy. Please believe—”

“Lady Delacroix?”

“Sarah!”

“Oh, heaven help us!”

The cries of shock poured down Sarah’s spine like cold water. Still clinging to Charles, she turned her head to see her two sisters and their host standing inside the garden gate. Delacroix held up a lantern, and the yellow beam that washed down the grassy pathway lighted her transgression for all to see.

  
Thirteen
  

“Oh, Sarah!” Prudence Watson rushed down the path, her arms flung wide. “What has he done to you?”

Charles stood back as the two women embraced. The shock of exposure had rendered him speechless, and he could only watch in dismay as Mary Heathhill now followed her sister’s example in throwing her arms around Sarah. Weeping, crying out as though the world had come to an end, exclaiming in dismay, the three sisters made an indistinguishable rosette of white silks and muslins, pink arms, tearstained cheeks, and flowing hair.

“Locke, what is the meaning of this outrage?” Now Lord Delacroix strode toward the gathering, his boots eating up the length of the grass swath and his shoulders braced as if for battle.

Charles touched the small knife he wore at his waist, reassuring himself that he had some means of defense should the master of the house be inclined to challenge him. He had not intended to compromise the lady. But his love for Sarah had caused him to throw caution to the winds. Never in his life had he heard a more desolate tale, and it was impossible that he would refrain from offering her whatever comfort he could. Certainly, they ought not to have embraced. Even his chaste kisses must be regarded as suspect. But dash it all, his actions were defensible!

Drawing a deep breath, he faced Delacroix. “Sir, my deepest apologies to you for any offense you may have taken.” He made a stiff bow. “I came upon Lady Delacroix in the garden this evening and sought to relieve her suffering. Any indiscretion in the foregoing incident is entirely my own, I assure you.”

“You scoundrel!” Delacroix exploded. “You thief! You were to press
my
case—not your own! We had an agreement, sir. You pledged me your oath.”

“I pledged you nothing,” Charles snarled back. “I did not agree even to come here this weekend. But for Miss Watson’s letter, I should be in London at this very moment.”

“As well you should be! Sir, you are no longer welcome on my property.”

“I am more than happy to depart this place.” He glanced at Sarah, who was wedged tightly between her sisters. “Lady Delacroix, please forgive me any injury I have caused you. Mrs. Heathhill, Miss Watson, my apologies for your present distress. Excuse me.”

Another brief bow and he made for the gate. But Delacroix started after him. “And how is this travesty to be explained to the general public, Locke? I ought to have you bound in chains and locked away forever! You are a cad to prey upon the lady in such a way!”

“You, sir, are the cad.” Charles turned on his heel and jabbed a finger at the man. “My intentions toward Lady Delacroix are honorable. Can you say the same?”

“I am not the one who has just exposed her to such an infamous seduction! At all times I have behaved as a gentleman toward Lady Delacroix. But you—”

“I sought to comfort her in her distress—nothing more.”

“You are the cause of her distress, sir!”

“No more than you. But what would you know of that, for all your attentions toward her have but one aim—the acquisition of her fortune.”

“And your aims are more principled?”

“Infinitely. I seek only her happiness.”

“But you came to Bamberfield at my request, did you not? Miss Watson’s letter was written under my direction. Can you deny you knew that? Of course not, for you are too well aware that her sisters and I stand in agreement regarding Lady Delacroix’s future. Both Mrs. Heathhill and Miss Watson share with me the goal of settling her into the security of home and family. Only you, sir—in whom we held such hope—have proven faithless. Your single duty was to urge her toward that happy future.”

“Toward you and your own happy future, do you mean?”

Delacroix lowered his voice and turned his back on the ladies. “Indeed, and you would have been well compensated for your services. But you could not accept the portion due you, for you had in mind to claim the whole treasure! You want her for yourself—vain, proud man. You have nothing. You are no one. Yet you presume to everything! And seeing, as you surely do, that your suit is worthless, you attempt to seduce her. Seduce and ravish her in my garden!”

“Upon my word, you are rash,” Charles growled. “I have neither seduced nor ravished any woman, nor should I undertake such reprehensible behavior. I am a gentleman, sir. My honor and reputation remain untarnished. The scene you witnessed may be easily explained. Lady Delacroix was in distress, and I asked after her emotional state. That is all. Your accusations are unfounded, and they serve you ill.”

Fearful that Delacroix might try to draw Sarah into the argument, Charles strode toward the gate again. He could hear the man following, but he would not stop. In truth, Charles knew he had placed Sarah in a difficult position, and he was at fault. He had no defense for his behavior other than his love for her—and such justification would hardly stand with a man like Delacroix.

“Do you turn your back on me, sir?”

Charles kept walking. “You dismissed me from your house some time ago.”

“Make certain you are not seen near the premises again.” As they halted in the shadow of the arbor that arched over the gate, Delacroix dropped his voice to a whisper. “Does the lady love you, sir? Tell me the truth at once.”

Biting off his retort that it was none of the man’s business, Charles gritted his teeth. “She does not,” he said finally.

“And you acknowledge that such a union may never be?”

“You know it cannot. Why do you hold the slightest doubt? Sir, you may speak to Sir Alexander on my account, if you will. He will vouch for my character and reputation. I cannot make her love me, nor would I compromise her in any way. The lady and I were friends once, and I believe we are still. What you witnessed was nothing more than an expression of that companionable affection, for she is most aware of her position … and of mine.”

“I see. And what is her regard for me?”

“You were not the subject of our discussion.”

“Should she contact you in the future, sir, you must swear to convey to me the content of any conversation. You owe me that much.”

“I owe you nothing, Delacroix.”

“I could have you locked up.”

“And destroy the lady’s reputation along with my own? I think not.” Charles wrapped a hand around the cool iron of the garden gate. “Have no fear, sir. Your chances of winning her hand are as good as any man’s. Maybe better. You hold her sisters in your palm already. Perhaps the three of you will win her fortune after all.”

“If God is willing. But we have yet one obstacle in our path.” Delacroix crossed his arms and let out a breath. “The lady clearly prefers your companionship above that of any other man. Why, I cannot say, for you are as small and unimportant as a louse.”

“One louse in a man’s hair can cause a great deal of woe, sir.” Charles tipped his head in farewell as he stepped out of the garden. “And now, I wish you good evening, Lord Delacroix. May your itch be of short duration—though lice, I am told, can be abominably difficult to eradicate.”

“Delacroix instructed you to write to Mr. Locke?” Sarah exclaimed, hearing her own voice close to hysteria. “He actually gave you the words to say? Oh, Pru, how could you conspire with that man in such a way? Do you care for me so little?”