The Seduction of Sarah Marks

He may be her savior.. or what she needs most

England 1857

After a blow to her head, Sarah Marks awakens in a strange bed with a strange man and no memory of how she got there. Her handsome bedmate, Lord Eastleigh, tells her she’s suffering from amnesia and the best course of action is to travel home with him until she recovers her memory.

Lord Eastleigh has his own reasons for helping Sarah and keeping her close. Reasons he cannot tell her. As they struggle to restore her memory, their undeniable, inadvisable attraction grows—until Sarah finally remembers the one thing that could keep them apart forever.

The Seduction of Sarah Marks

a Those Magnificent Malverns novel

Kathleen Bittner Roth

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Kathleen Bittner Roth. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.

Edited by Erin Molta

Cover design by Heidi Stryker

ISBN 978-1-62266-699-7

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition June 2014

To my assistant, Gloria Erickson. You’ve kept the fires burning on my behalf for a long while.

Chapter One

Hampshire, England, 1857

Sarah was in bed with a stranger.

In a room bordering on the objectionable.

She lay on her side, her trembling fingers tucked beneath her cheek. If the galloping of her heart grew any louder, she was certain to awaken whoever
he
was before she could make her escape.

Who was this man?

Where was she?

Her befuddled mind tried to sort things out. Nothing came. Nothing at all.

Why can I not remember?

She had to get out of here, get out the door at least. Door? Where was it? There had to be one, but since she couldn’t locate it by simply moving her eyes, it must be behind her. If only she could manage to slip out of bed without waking him. She moved a bare inch.

He flopped onto his back with a small groan.

Oh, Heaven help me!
She lay rigid for what seemed an eternity. Whoever he was, he appeared to be fully dressed, in clothing befitting a gentleman—at least based on what she could see from the shoulders up, for his shirt was white and he wore a gray pin-striped waistcoat. She was fairly certain she was clothed as well since the blue sleeve on her bent arm looked like a day gown, not a nightrail, but at the moment, she dared not move anything but her eyes.

He shifted again, facing her, and she held her breath until his returned to soft, rhythmic whiffles. She studied his face, so close as to be nearly blurred. Rich brown hair curled over his forehead and around his ears while a fringe of dark lashes lay against chiseled cheeks. An aristocratic, aquiline nose rested above a set of full lips, slightly parted. Still no recognition.

She eased backward again, shifting her weight ever so carefully. Pressing one foot against the cold floor, she slid from the bed and backed away.

A board squeaked, sounding like cannon shot in the quiet room.

His eyes opened.

“Oh!” A quick glance at the door, and she scrambled backward, one hand flailing behind her.

He rose on an elbow. “What are you up to?” Despite the sleep in his voice, authority rumbled through it.

Afraid to take her eyes off him, she felt around for the door’s latch. “Who are you?”

He cocked a brow, and his expression grew quizzical. “Are you quite serious?”

She nodded.

“Last I knew, I was Augustus Malvern, Lord Eastleigh.” Remarkably clear brown eyes studied her. “Door’s locked. Key’s in my pocket.”

“Where am I?” she croaked. “How did I get here?”

He scowled. “At the Golden Hen, near Hampshire. You don’t recall?” When she shook her head, he threw back the covers and stood. His height and the breadth of his shoulders nearly swallowed the small room.

The room swayed—or was it her doing the wavering? She braced her shoulders against the door.

His booted feet pounded the floor, closing the distance between them.
He wore his boots to bed?
He paused before her and canted his head, puzzlement reigning in his regard of her. Reaching to her temple, he gently fingered a bump.

She gasped at both the pain and his touch, and craned her head away from him. Whatever had occurred, she feared him.

“Dear God,” he muttered, and turning on his heel, strode to the window. Flinging the faded curtains aside, he backed off as a cloud of dust motes swirled about. He brushed at his shoulders, stepped again to the window, and clasped his hands behind him.

Despite the grime on the bubble-filled glass, the morning sun, still pink and fresh from its rising, shone through bright and clear. Off to the right, a rooster crowed. Lord Eastleigh turned an ear in that direction. “Let me get this straight. You do not recall where you are, or how you got here?”

“No…no, I do not.” Despite her faltering voice, she stiffened her spine and gathered courage.

“Have no fear, madam. I won’t harm you.” His voice had gentled, and for whatever reason, she wanted to trust his word. “And except for that nasty lump, which I did not inflict, none has come to you.”

When she said nothing in response, he asked, “By any chance, do you know your name?”

She took in a breath and managed a strong voice. “Yes. Sarah Marks.”

He whipped around, a deep frown furrowing his brow.

She touched the nasty bump on her head and hissed. “How…how did I get here?”

“We rode in a hired carriage, which was overtaken by thieves. We walked here—or rather, I carried you a good deal of the way.” His voice softened measurably. “Do you recall any of those events?”

Her mouth formed a silent, “No.”

Fighting the panic trying to take root again, she perused the room. A dingy space, this. One window, an iron bed with a small, raw-wood table alongside, a few hooks on the wall—one holding a man’s dark jacket and what looked to be a white cravat draped over its shoulder. A robin’s egg blue cape hung over the back of the single chair in the room. A matching hat rested on its seat, while black kid gloves were stacked beside the bonnet. Tucked neatly beneath was a pair of black walking boots. Everything appeared well-made. The dress she wore matched the blue-sprigged muslin lining the cloak.

His scowl faded. “You suffered a blow when you stepped between me and the thieves—”

“Good heavens, why would I have done such a foolish thing?” She fingered her wound again.

“Folly, I would suspect.” He lifted a brow. “Or perhaps you are so adamant regarding right and wrong, you could not stand to see someone’s life threatened?”

She stared boldly at him while she fought to keep her chin from trembling. “I do not have the slightest idea how I would react, sir. In fact, I do not know if I am adamant about much of anything at all.” Oh, her heart wouldn’t hold out much longer—neither would her knees. “Please, sir. What can you tell me about me?”

Closing the distance between them, he reached out and swept back a tendril of hair that had caught at one corner of her mouth, grazing her cheek with his thumb as he went.

Lord, his touch was gentle, soothing in fact. And his scent. So clean. But an odd tremble moved through her. Any desire to lean into his hand dissipated. Instead, she stiffened and stepped away, her heartbeat kicking up. Something told her that it was not just this man, but all men she feared. Could that be why she’d left her home? “Please, do not touch me.”

“Beg your pardon. I’m not much good at this sort of thing. Not that I’ve ever been in such an odd predicament before.” The crease between his eyes deepened. “As I said, I mean you no harm. You are obviously suffering amnesia from the knock on your head.”

“Me? Amnesia?” Dear blessed Mary!

He nodded. “You seemed in possession of all your faculties when you nodded off for the night, but now—” He shrugged a shoulder and made his way back to the window. “You’re likely feeling as though pieces of your mind have been scattered to the four winds, but I caution you not to panic or things could very well worsen.”

“How could you possibly know how I might feel?” Her words sounded like ice cracking.

He glanced over his shoulder, perused the length of her with those fathomless brown eyes, and turned back to the window. “I suffered from amnesia following an injury in the Crimean War, so I recognize the same in you. My own experience taught me to tread lightly while recovering, so as not to suffer setbacks. Or worse, lose the past entirely. There are chunks of my memory still missing.”

Her mind a blank, Sarah nonetheless managed to maintain her dignity. “Tell me whatever you know. How we came to be traveling together. Where I am from.”

She studied him for a moment and then said, “How did a man such as you, a lord, come to be traveling on a public coach?”

He turned and leaned a shoulder against the window’s sash, making it impossible for her to see him clearly with the halo of sunlight surrounding him. “I rode in a hired coach because I was on my way to a ship for…ah…an extended holiday on the Continent.”

“How did I come to be in the same conveyance? Was I on my way to the sea as well?”

“You were traveling by way of one of those over-crowded public coaches. You, and what I assumed was your companion, were bemoaning the dire conditions, and since we were headed in the same direction, I offered both of you my carriage. While you were an innocent, I’m afraid the other woman was not. She used being amidst your proper company to soundly dupe me.”

“Was she the thief who injured me?”

He shook his head. “Her thieving friends lay in wait down the road a measure. Suffice it to say, you and I lost everything, including the hired carriage since the coachman teamed up with the filthy lot. He exchanged transportation for a cut of the bounty, the blackguard.”

Her teeth slid over her bottom lip. “Did we turn back to the coaching stop from whence we came, or did we travel forward? Was where we came from my home?”

“Insightful questions.” Eastleigh sketched a slight bow in deference, his curly locks tumbling over his forehead. “I overheard you tell the other woman that the stop where we encountered one another was your third, but you did not disclose to her your starting point.” He scoured the small room with disapproving eyes. “And as for this rather questionable inn, we were nearer here than turning back.”

“Then what?” She brushed her hands down her hips in an attempt to cease their quaking.

He eyed her movement. “Then we stumbled in here after dark. With a crowded inn, we were fortunate to capture the only room available.” He looked around the sparsely furnished space with a look of distaste. “You are known below as Lady Eastleigh, by the by.”

She glanced at the bed and her lips pursed. “You should have slept on the floor.”

“Bloody hell on the hard floor!” He winced. “Beg pardon, a slip of the tongue.”

Her hand crept to her throat. “But we are perfect strangers.”

He paused as if in thought while regarding her through narrowed eyes. “You were not opposed to sharing a bed in order to get the rest we needed. We were both fully clothed, and it’s not as if such an undertaking is an uncommon practice.” He raked his hair back from his brow and heaved a sigh. “God knows if I’ll be able to hire something out of here today that will give either of us a modicum of comfort. We have a long road ahead, so I thank you for not insisting I take to the floor.”

“To where do you intend this carriage take us?” Renewed panic hammered her heart in her chest.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “To my home in Kent.”

She gasped and fought to regain her composure. Perhaps parts of her memory had been misplaced, but her instincts told her that traveling alone with a man to his residence was highly inappropriate. “I could not go there with you, sir. It isn’t done.”

His regard of her intensified until her skin felt seared. “Then tell me, madam,” he said in little more than a murmur, “where else am I to take you?”