The Offer (16 page)

“My grandfather said nothing to me, my lord,” she said, and the fire in her eye, the bit of ire, disconcerted Richard, but not for long.

“You knew I wanted you. Every female I've known has recognized when a man is interested in her in that particular way.”

“Well, I didn't.”

“So, I see the truth now. You spend five days with Phillip Mercerault and you are ready to whistle me down the wind.”

If she'd had the strength, she would have leapt from the bed and pounded him into the carpet. The anger felt good. “My lord, you will listen to me. I'm not the sort of woman who teases a man, who leads him on, and then laughs at him. Now, you have made your gallant offer. I have said no. You are now freed of your obligation to me, if indeed there ever really was an obligation.

“My intention is to first of all visit my grandfather to assure myself that he is well cared for. Then I shall go to London, to my aunt Barresford. You know, of course, that there is no place for me now at Monmouth Abbey.”

And Richard had raged and argued and insulted her, all without really realizing what he was doing.

Sabrina opened her eyes at the sound of Phillip's voice.

“Well, whatever you told Clarendon, it is still his opinion that I'm to be the lucky man. I came here to ensure that was indeed the case.”

She shrugged. It annoyed him, but not all that much.
He wanted to see a reaction, even anger, anything but that flattened look of hers.

“He said you plan to go to your aunt Barresford. Just what makes you think, my dear, that your aunt would joyously welcome an unexpected visit from her niece?”

“I have ten thousand pounds.”

Phillip cocked a brow. “An heiress, in short. As I live and breathe, an heiress. That's excellent. Now everyone will believe that I've married you for your fortune, and your no doubt sizable dowry. Actually I much prefer being thought a fortune hunter rather than a chivalrous fool.”

“I won't wed for the wealth I would bring a gentleman.”

He nodded agreeably. “That's no problem. We will put your fortune in your name or in trust for our children.”

Sabrina stared at him, then opened and shut her mouth. He was building a wall of words, and she was throwing herself impotently against it. She thought she would prefer another interview with Richard Clarendon. At least with him, it had been she who had been the calm, rational one. “Phillip,” she said, in an effort to focus his attention away from his logic, “it appears to me that you're taking your defeat at the wager as a good sportsman should. However, you may be sure that I shan't hold you to it. You may inform Charles and Richard that I can take care of myself without any of your powerful male assistance.”

“What the devil did you just say?” Suddenly he was alert, and she saw it. “What defeat at what wager?” Even as he said the words, he remembered Charles's stupid jest about offering himself as the sacrificial husband. He looked away from her.

She meant her laugh to be filled with wonderful
scorn, but it came out bitter as old coffee. “You can't deny it, can you? You and Charles and the wretched marquess are all eyeing each other like crowing banty roosters, fighting to keep your ridiculous male honor as well as your freedom. Well, I'll tell you, Phillip, I won't have it. I'm not damaged goods and I refuse to shout to the world that I am by marrying any one of you. Now, I'm very tired and have found you a bore. Good night, Phillip. You always know your way about. Surely you can find your way out.”

She turned onto her side, away from him.

Phillip was silent for some moments. She felt the bed give way as he rose.

He said slowly, and she heard the sadness in his voice, “The world is very seldom the way we wish it to be, Sabrina.”

“Then the world must change, and I shall force it to.”

“I see that you must learn for yourself. The world will not change its rules for you, Sabrina. I presume that I will see you in London.”

“Yes,” she said. “But first I am going to visit my grandfather. If he needs me, I shall, of course, do what I must.”

He drew a deep breath. “You've refused to listen to me about anything else, Sabrina, but I ask you to listen to me now. Your grandfather is too ill even to recognize you. There is absolutely nothing you can do to help him.”

She struggled up onto her elbows and turned toward him. “Don't you understand, Phillip? I must be certain that he is being properly taken care of. You don't know Trevor. He has no love for any of us, least of all Grandfather. And only he stands between Trevor and the earldom. All the Eversleigh wealth. I must go.”

The viscount was silent, his gaze fastened on the dark shadows in the corner of the bedchamber. He looked down at her and said abruptly, “Will you trust me to see that the earl is properly cared for and that he is protected from your cousin?”

“But what can you do?”

“Answer me. Will you trust me to see that all is taken care of?”

“I suppose,” she said slowly, too aware of her own helplessness, “that since I trusted you with my life, I can also trust you with his. Thank you, my lord, for all you have done for me.”

“Could you not also trust me with your future?”

“No, my lord. I'm not the kind of person to use another person's honor against him.”

She heard him sigh as he picked up the candle and turned to leave.

“Good-bye, Sabrina.”

He didn't want her reply. No sooner had he spoken than he turned away from her. She saw a dim shaft of light from his candle in the hall before he closed the door behind him.

London Three Weeks Later

 

“Do allow me to congratulate you, Anissa. Your niece is such a charming girl, although I've heard some say that she is a bit arrogant, but arrogance is good, I always say, if, of course, it doesn't go too far. I've also heard it said that she is far too thin as well, what with those bony elbows, but one can certainly overlook that, given her delicious dowry. At least her bosom isn't quite as thin as her elbows, but one will hope that she gains just a bit of flesh while she is with you. Don't you agree?”

Anissa Barresford looked into Lucilla Morton's avid sharp eyes, wanting to smack her, but Lucilla had more money and thus more power, and, of course, they'd been best friends since their youth. Thus she smiled and simply nodded. Her turn would come. “Yes, if you'll recall, Lucilla, I told you that dear Sabrina—did you notice those incredible violet eyes of hers? No other girl has such unusual eyes.” She was also cool and aloof and beautifully dressed.

“So thin she is,” Lucilla said.

Anissa nodded. She could afford to be gracious. “Yes, skinny as a hen's leg—some sort of inflammation of the lung I was told—but she is on the mend
now, at last. That pallor of hers is exactly the style at present, so fortunate, don't you agree?”

“Only if the pallor is from staying indoors, not from illness.”

Anissa raised an eyebrow. Slowly, Lucilla nodded. At that moment her own daughter, Dorinda, now in her second season, was standing next to Sabrina, beneath a potted palm, and the comparison didn't make her happy.

“She's an improvement over Elizabeth.”

Anissa laughed. “Any girl would be an improvement over Elizabeth.”

“I trust Sabrina's character isn't quite so colorless as her sister's?”

“I trust not. She's been with me only a week now.”

Actually, if she hadn't been talking to her best friend, she would have said that Sabrina was so very quiet, so docile, that she really had no idea at all if the girl was a saint or a shrew. Well, she had been very ill.

She said aloud now, “Madame Giselle performed a wonder with Sabrina's blue velvet gown. I'm very fond of the Russian style, though, naturally, I am just a bit too old to wear it comfortably.”

Lucilla looked at her, said not a word. She admired the cut and was too old as well.

Lady Anissa smiled toward her niece who looked perhaps even colder than she had just a moment before, perhaps even more aloof as well. Unfortunately, she also looked as if she were ready to fall asleep as the young Earl of Grammercy led her in a cotillion. Perhaps she should tell Sabrina that just a hint of a smile, just a suspicion of wit, displayed very occasionally, might play to her advantage.

Lady Anissa said now, “I told her she must add pounds for the gown to be truly elegant. But do notice
when she turns. She has a lovely back. Madame Giselle cut the gown lower to draw attention away from her lack of frontal endowments.”

“Her hair is too long,” Lucilla said finally.

“Bosh. Her hair is her secondary asset, after her eyes. Have you ever seen a more beautiful red?”

“It's not modern.”

“The auburn is of course modern.”

“No, the length. I vow that gentlemen aren't supposed to admire all that hair. Short is the style and everyone must applaud it, particularly gentlemen. If they don't, they have no taste.”

“True,” said Lady Anissa. She would have preferred to have Sabrina roundly clipped, but the girl had held firm. She'd never tell Sabrina that she was pleased she had that thick beautiful head of hair, but she was. It would be her own private secret.

Lady Lucilla had fired all her cannon. It was time to get down to business. “You say the girl is an heiress, Anissa?”

“Yes. Ten thousand pounds she's inherited from her mother. As to her dowry, I haven't inquired. Her grandfather is still very ill. Of course, it is bound to be generous.”

Lady Lucilla looked fondly toward her younger son, Edward, who was currently wasting his time dancing with that plump girl of Blanche Halford's. When the dance was over, she would pull him aside and tell him how to gain his fortune and suffer no pain in the process.

Anissa Barresford was patting a crimped gray curl just in front of her ear when she stopped mid-pat and stared. “What is the meaning of this? Good heavens, I can't believe this.”

Lady Lucilla followed Anissa's pointed finger to the drawing room door. There stood Viscount Derencourt
in the doorway, looking indolently about the crowded room. He was immaculate, elegant, and slothful-looking as a lizard.

Lucilla said, “What is Phillip Mercerault doing here? I specifically asked Jane if he would be here, thinking of my dear Dorinda, and she just shook her head sadly. She said he never comes to small dancing parties such as this. In addition, it's January. What is he even doing in town? To be sure, Jane did send him an invitation, but still it is an unexpected treat.”

Lady Lucilla suddenly recalled her dearest daughter, whose future husband—if she had anything to say about it—was just standing there, all lazy and loose and lonely. She hurried to her daughter as Jane Balfour recalled her duties as hostess and nearly ran to the viscount, who smiled charmingly down at her.

Anissa Barresford thought Viscount Derencourt was about the most delicious man to come along in many a long year. Lucilla was mad if she believed Phillip Mercerault would ever give Dorinda a second glance. But Sabrina now, she was different. Why shouldn't he have Sabrina? Now that could prove interesting. She sank back deep in her chair and began plotting.

The cotillion drew to a close. She watched Sabrina curtsy to the young earl, dismiss him with a wave of her hand, and come back to her.

“You should have let him bring you back, Sabrina. It isn't done for a girl to just skip away from her escort like that.”

“Yes, ma'am. I forgot.” Sabrina sat down beside her. She was tired and hot and wanted to sleep for a year. She wondered how much longer it would be before her body didn't betray her, before she was completely well again.

“You do dance passably. That is something.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“You may call me Aunt. Also, I believe you should strive for just a bit of animation in your voice, not a great amount, naturally, but a bit. If I didn't see you talking, I would think you were dead. Yes, you must strive for a whisper of vigor. To be sure, gentlemen have no admiration for a girl who can be heard talking and laughing across a room, but still, they are put off by ladies who have nothing at all to say. Try to squeeze at least one compliment out to each gentleman you dance with. Sometimes it is difficult, since many gentlemen are so sadly deficient, but I have faith you will manage it.”

“I will, Aunt. I'm sorry, but I'm so very tired.”

Anissa looked at her closely. There were circles beneath those extraordinary eyes of hers. That wouldn't do at all. Nothing must detract from those eyes. “We will leave in a half an hour. Then you will sleep for as long as you like.”

Sabrina wanted to tell her formidable aunt that she was more than just physically tired. She thought she could probably sleep for a week but her spirit would still be flattened. She forced a smile. Her aunt seemed pleased. “Yes,” she said. “I just need to rest.”

Anissa leaned close. “I would never wish you to be a flirt, child, but remember that this is your first appearance in London. Perhaps you could make just a small push—once you're not so tired—to be more charming.” She paused a moment, remembering that she had spoken similar words to Sabrina's snippy sister, Elizabeth. Not, of course, that it had done any good at all. An entire season she had squired Elizabeth about, and all for naught. She sighed. “It was the longest season I've ever lived through,” she said aloud. “Elizabeth simply didn't gain any ground, but that's neither here nor there now, thank the good
Lord. I had quite given up when I heard from your grandfather that she'd married your cousin. You know I imagine it was a bribe. Not that it matters now, of course. She is the future Countess of Monmouth. She is well set. Now we must see to you, Sabrina.”

Anissa saw Jane Balfour leading Viscount Derencourt over to Dorinda Morton, Lucilla, like a dog, trailing after them. Her chin quivered. She would bide her time. She sent Sabrina after a cup of punch.

When Sabrina returned to her aunt, she heard Jane Balfour's voice from behind her. “Sabrina, allow me to introduce Viscount Derencourt. Phillip, you are acquainted with Lady Barresford naturally. This is her niece, Sabrina Eversleigh. Lady Sabrina.”

She was relieved that she'd already handed her aunt her cup of punch. If she'd still held it, she would have dropped it, splashing it all over her beautiful velvet gown. She knew she'd see him in London, he'd told her that. But it was too soon. She hadn't had the time to gain distance from her feelings for him, or to school herself in how she must behave toward him. She slowly forced her eyes to his face.

He wasn't dressed at all like the man who'd taken care of her for five days. Of course, she wasn't dressed like that girl, either. She watched him bow over her aunt's hand, exquisitely polite. “Lady Barresford. A pleasure to see you again, Sabrina.” The gentleness of his voice nearly undid her. She'd never heard that gentle voice during their time when she'd been so very ill. She nodded dumbly, unable to speak.

“What is this, my lord? Why, I had no idea you were acquainted with my niece.” What was going on here? Sabrina had suddenly turned into a stick—thin, mute, and stiff.

“We met only briefly, my lady,” Phillip said, forcing himself to look away from Sabrina to her aunt, an
ambitious old biddy he'd always avoided in the past. “It was a Christmas party at Moreland.”

“Ah, that is Charles Askbridge's country seat,” Lady Barresford said. “And Charles's dear sister, Margaret, married Sir Hugh Drakemore. I was pleased to hear of it since Margaret has always been on the short side and her mother despaired of finding her an agreeable husband. How does she like marriage, my lord?”

Phillip thought of the glowing smile on Margaret's face when Hugh, a man Phillip had sworn would go to his grave a bachelor, had arrived at Moreland but one day before Christmas. He saw Hugh swing her up in his arms, laughing, kissing her. “I'd say she's tolerably happy with the institution, ma'am.” The small orchestra at the far end of the drawing room struck up a lively country dance.

“Would you care to dance with me, Sabrina?”

“Yes, my lord.” She didn't look at him, just placed her hand on his arm. “Is that all right, Aunt?”

“Yes, do enjoy yourself, child.” As the viscount walked away with Sabrina at his side, Lady Barresford felt a stab of apprehension. The viscount, although a charming, handsome young man, and quite wealthy, was known as a slippery fish that no one had ever managed to net. Later, she must tell Sabrina that he'd never marry her. He was still too young to worry about begetting an heir, though it was well known that gentlemen could pass to the hereafter at any age. Only they never seemed to realize how very fragile they really were. A wife was the best thing to keep a man firmly planted above ground and not beneath it.

Yes, she would speak to Sabrina. There was no use in having her waste her time. Also, it was doubtful Sabrina had ever before met a man like Phillip Mercerault. Still, she did appear to know him well enough
for him to address her by her first name. This was interesting.

Phillip was saying softly not an inch above Sabrina's ear, just before he bowed in the dance, “It's a pity you can't waltz yet.”

“But I can waltz. Grandfather hired a dancing master for Elizabeth and me, just before her marriage.” But she hadn't danced since she'd been here in London.

“That isn't what I meant,” he said, looking down into her eyes. “You must have permission to waltz here in London.”

“From whom?”

“From the patronesses at Almack's. Has your aunt gained admittance for you?”

“I don't know. She hasn't said.” She couldn't look away from him. Here she was fully dressed, looked quite as well as she could look, and she was with Phillip. He turned to face her at the edge of the dance floor. She couldn't help herself. She swallowed, leaning toward him. He let her nearly touch his chest, then he pulled her back. “I cannot, Sabrina, as much as I want to, I cannot.”

She stared up at him, not understanding. She felt an almost physical pain. It boggled her mind. She hadn't expected this. She didn't understand it. Where were these odd feelings coming from? “Why?”

They were close, much too close. She was wearing all those damned clothes. Not that she didn't look wonderful, because she did. The problem was he remembered her naked, every white inch of her. Then he heard her one spoken word. “A man doesn't just succumb to any lady, for fear she'll compromise him. But I don't mind telling you, it's a close thing. You'd best not tease me.”

“I don't know anything about teasing.”

He sighed. “No, of course you don't. Now, I asked you to dance because I want to speak to you.”