The Seduction of Sarah Marks (5 page)

“Should you need any physicking, I am down the lane.” He nodded to a shaded stone path leading beyond the stables. “I think you’ll find Easton Park a pleasant place.”

She turned to Eastleigh. “Easton Park? Might I guess the direction in which you rode the mule?”

Eastleigh’s cheeks flushed. He raked his fingers through his hair. “Tea time, right-o, Mum?”

Mum took his arm and marched toward the entrance. “’Tis that. Hemphill, see to Miss Marks. I sent notice of your arrival to your siblings and Her Majesty. I told them of my
female
ward you were bringing to me.”

Eastleigh groaned. “You didn’t.”

“Of course I did. I just said so, didn’t I? Would I lie?”

He lifted a brow at his grandmother. “That’s debatable, Mum.”

“I said lie, not fib.”

“Well, whatever it is you do or do not,” Eastleigh said, “they’ll be descending upon Easton Park like locusts soon enough.”

Sarah bit her tongue to keep from smiling. It wouldn’t be proper, after all.

Doctor Hemphill touched the small of her back, and at the same time, motioned for the servants to follow in behind Eastleigh and Mum, leaving the two of them alone.

Sarah turned to regard the doctor and found a deep frown sculpting his brow. Deftly, she eased away from his touch. She knew one thing with certainty now: as innocuous as he appeared, he was a man—and not only did men make her quite uncomfortable, danger lurked in a mere touch. “You have something you wish to say to me, sir?”

“I’d like to remind you that you are not my only patient.”

A cold chill ran down her stiffening spine. “Your meaning?”

“I
mean
Eastleigh has not yet fully recovered from his time at war, as I think he’s made you well aware.”

Anger overpowered her embarrassment at being pulled aside when she’d barely arrived. “If you think I have designs on him, think again, Doctor. I only wish to recover my memory and make my way home.” She lifted her chin. “You don’t care much for me being here, do you?”

“Dear God, that’s not it at all.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think it only fair to inform you that while yours was a knock on the head that broke no flesh, Eastleigh’s condition came out of a war, where not only did he sustain severe wounds to his body, but to his soul as well. Carving out the heart of an enemy, if required, can do terrible things to a person.”

Hemphill’s dark eyes bore into Sarah’s, and a sickening feeling curled in the pit of her stomach. “What are you inferring?”

“He’s been wounded in more ways than you will ever know. Ways even his family is unaware.”

“But you have knowledge of everything, don’t you? Weren’t you on the battlefield with him?”

He nodded, sorrow filling his eyes. “It was two years before he could look in the mirror and identify the image as his own. Perhaps there are things he doesn’t wish to recall. Take care, Miss Marks.”

He turned and motioned to the front entry, this time clasping his hands behind his back and well away from her. “Shall we?”

The entrance into the manse was lined on either side with carved benches in dark wood, candelabras, and one lone set of shining armor in the nook where the stairs made a turn. Sarah dared not ask about the relic since to inquire would be impolite.

Instead of showing her to her room, Mum and Eastleigh led her onto a sunny terrace where a table was set for full tea—sandwiches, delicate platters filled with meats and cheeses, fruits, and carved vegetables. A tiered confectionery held several layers of desserts.

Surely, they didn’t expect her to take tea without offering her a bit of privacy? She desperately needed a privy. “I beg your pardon, Mum, but may I see to freshening up a bit first?”

“Why? You look just fine. Doesn’t she, Hemphill? Not a hair out of place.”

Eastleigh’s lips curled at one corner. He whispered something in his grandmother’s ear.

“Oh, that.” She waved her hand about. “Well, then, why didn’t she say so?”

A female servant stepped forward. “This way, Miss Marks.”

“I’ll show her to her chamber.” Eastleigh offered his arm.

Sarah pretended she hadn’t noticed and walked past him, too embarrassed to make eye contact.

“Nice enough gel,” Mum said in a voice loud enough for anyone within shouting distance to hear. “A couple of weeks around the Malverns ought to loosen that rod up her arse.”

“Sink me,” Eastleigh muttered.

Stunned, Sarah paused. A rod up her nether regions? At that moment, she was certain, quite, quite certain, she had never been around the likes of this grand old lady. From somewhere deep within, a bubble of laughter threatened to surface. With a flip of her head, she tossed her words over her shoulder. “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”

Chapter Six

Mum was about to pour tea. She always poured tea. It was how she held court. Eastleigh raised a brow when a footman rolled in a tea cart laden with an intricately carved silver pot, the spout towering above its round belly like a crow’s nest on a ship.

When Mum told the naughty tale of how a Turkish sheikh had gifted her with the distinctive vessel after she’d given him the night of his life, Sarah blushed until her ears pinked. Eastleigh nearly burst into laughter.

Sarah. Despite wearing the same dress, she appeared fresh as the morning sun, spine straight as a tailor’s chalk line, with not an inch touching the back of the chair. So proper. So lovely. Most likely, she ached for a bath and fresh clothing, but one would never know.

The servant lined the cups in front of Mum and then set two small pots beside her. Mum poured, and then gripped the handles of the small pots and regarded Sarah. “Milk or gin, dear?”

Sarah blinked, wide-eyed, at Eastleigh.

He chuckled. “And you thought the question would be one lump or two?”

It wasn’t anything he could name, but something spirited washed over Sarah’s countenance. Her chin lifted. “Gin, please.”

Hemphill jerked. “Easy, Mum.”

She waved him off with flippant fingers, poured a good dollop of gin into her own cup, and splashed a bit into Sarah’s. She lifted the matching sugar bowl. “You’ll need three lumps, dear. Two for the cup, one for the cheek.”

Sarah deposited two lumps into her gin-laden tea and held the other aloft with the silver pincers. “For the cheek?”

“It’s the Russian way,” Mum replied. “Works as well with gin as vodka. What have you, gentlemen?”

Sarah took the sugar cube in her fingers, turned it about like a single die, then tucked it inside her cheek.

“Small sips, madam,” Eastleigh said, certain this was a first for her.

She gave off a little shiver as the liquid coursed down her throat. “Gads.” A pause, and then another sip.

Mum beamed. Hemphill studied Sarah. And as for Eastleigh himself? Well, he might well be in love. Could one fall in love in a mere three days? Or was it merely lust? Of course, it was lust. He desired her—no doubt—and not in a room three doors from his, but in his bed, both of them naked, their mouths all over one another. He’d take the starch right out of her spine in a matter of minutes. Heat rolled through his groin. He set his serviette across his lap and silently thanked Mum for the overblown tablecloths she insisted upon.

Who would have thought his life would take such a turn? He could have scoured the Continent from Saint Petersburg to Rome and never found anyone who heightened his senses the way this woman did. Despite her prim ways, he was certain there was undiscovered passion running through her. And just look how Mum took to her.

But there was the bloody amnesia. What would come of that? Or her, once she regained her memory? She could be gone in a flash. It didn’t matter that he stirred something in her—and he well knew he did, no sense playing games about that. He’d had three days to do nothing but sit in the damn carriage and stare at that sultry mouth of hers or watch her rein in emotions running rampant across her countenance every time he’d caught her studying him.

“Ahem,” Hemphill coughed into his closed fist. “As I was saying, Eastleigh—”

He cocked a brow. “Yes?” Deuces take it, how long had his thoughts drifted?

“I was instructing Miss Marks on the significance of keeping a journal during her recovery. Since you kept one, are there any insights you’d care to convey?”

Eastleigh bunched the serviette over his fading erection and cleared his throat. “I cannot stress enough the importance of following that particular directive, madam…”

“Sarah. You may call me Sarah while in private.”

Sarah Marks. He still couldn’t get used to the name. “Patterns began to appear in my journal, and reading through them triggered recollections. My dreams were also helpful. They revealed things about myself and helped me recover pieces of my mind and string them together in a proper order. But don’t force anything—your memories will surface of their own accord.”

“At least until the cherries ripen,” Mum put in.

He turned to his grandmother. “The cherries?”

Mum ignored him and gave Sarah’s hand a squeeze. “I make the best cherry cordial, dear. And then there’s apple season. I do a very nice cider. If your memory returns before then, perhaps you can fib that it hasn’t. I’d hate to have you leave before winter sets in.”

Hemphill rolled his eyes. “It’s only May, Mum.”

“That, too.” Mum’s face lit. “A right good spring we’re having, isn’t it? Did I tell you about my affairs in the desert, dear?”

Eastleigh shook his head, warning Sarah not to ask.

A wisp of a smile danced across her precious lips. “Please, do go on.”

“Then let the cards fall where they may,” he muttered.

Mum wiggled in her chair with her eyes mere slits from her grand smile. “Well, Lady Hester Stanhope and I…you do know of Lady Hester Stanhope?”

Sarah shook her head. “At least, I don’t recall.”

“Oh, my, you do have amnesia, don’t you? More tea?”

“With cream this time, please.”

“Lady Stanhope was my dear friend. She’s dead now. Toes tipped up in a monastery out in the high desert. Two lumps, dear. You don’t need the other in your cheek.” Mum plopped the sugar into Sarah’s cup.

“The gel was awarded a grand pension—which she flagrantly enjoyed. We were both deplorably bored with our stiff lives, she no longer involved in politics, and I with a passel of brats and a husband as bland as morning porridge, so we took off for parts unknown.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “Oh, my, you left your family?”

Mum shrugged. “What was I to do with nannies about, sit and watch the grass grow?” Her eyes squeezed shut again with that infectious smile that brought roses to her cheeks.

Eastleigh chuckled. “Might I remind you, Mum, your first husband had passed away—before you had any children—prior to you sailing off with Lady Hester.”

Mum regarded him with a brief quizzical look. “The nerve of him dying so young.” She turned to Sarah. “Well, anyway, off we went by sea, eventually heading for Constantinople, but we never made it after our ship crashed on the rocks in Rhodes.”

“Oh,” Sarah jumped. “How dreadful.”

“Not at all. We lost every stitch of clothing and had to borrow the Turks’. That’s when we discovered how we loved the way they dressed—the men, that is. Lady Hester never wore anything but robes, turbans, and slippers thereafter. We tramped about in the desert for several years, slept in the tents of Bedouin sheikhs, traipsed through Turkish palaces, visited a Pasha or three, and learned to smoke water pipes. As for what happened within the tents, well, that remains private, if you will.”

The color ran high in Sarah’s cheeks.

Mum turned to Eastleigh. “I do believe I’ve shocked the gel.”

“And I do believe you intended to,” he responded in a monotone.

Despite the blush to her cheeks, Sarah boldly regarded him. “Lady Hester Stanhope and Mum running around the desert in men’s clothing?
Humph
. They would not have survived a day.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ve seen the letters from Lady Hester. Perhaps you’d like to study them since your…ah…interest is duly piqued?”

She said nothing while those plump lips of hers parted. Whatever was passing through her mind—or body—he’d bet it had to do with him. Damn if his own body didn’t respond the only way it knew how—flaming and stupidly.

Hemphill leaned forward. “I do believe Miss Marks is fatigued, Mum. She’s endured a long trip and shouldn’t be overtaxed. She needs the privacy of her chambers for the rest of the evening, including dinner served in her room. Agreed, Miss Marks?”

Sarah looked down at her clothing and frowned.

“Not to worry,” Mum said. “Augie’s youngest sister grew so rapidly over the winter, she left some of her wardrobe behind. We’ll send a lady’s maid handy with a needle to your room should anything require adjusting.”

“Augie?” Sarah’s lips pursed as if to fight a smile.

Eastleigh rolled his eyes.

“Why, yes, Prince Augustus here,” Mum said. “But I’ve called him Augie since he was in leading strings.”

Augie.
Damn if he didn’t detest that name. “Which is precisely why I think of myself as Eastleigh, and nothing else.”

Sarah mouthed the words “Prince Augustus” with quivering lips. “Of course, he’d be a prince since you are the Queen Mother.”

“Indeed,” Mum responded. “And tomorrow we shall begin your lessons in properly greeting the queen. Since I sent word of Augie’s homecoming, the entourage is sure to arrive soon.”

Eastleigh grunted. “Like locusts.”

Mum rose and turned to Sarah. “Come, dear, let me see you to your rooms. But first you might like to view…”

Eastleigh stepped around the table. “No, Mum. Miss Marks can peruse your collections later. At the moment, she requires rest.”

Disappointment ruffled Mum’s countenance, and she appeared confused for a moment. But then her eyes cleared. “Yes, yes, you only arrived today, didn’t you? Well, gel, tomorrow we shall begin anew. So very much to do.” She wandered off.

Hemphill stepped between Eastleigh and Sarah. “A word, Eastleigh. Miss Marks, the servant here will see you to your chamber.” He turned on his heel. Once out the door, he veered left.

Eastleigh cocked a brow. “The library, is it? Must be serious.” He turned to Sarah, who’d grown pale.

He resisted the urge to take her in his arms. “You’re safe here.” God, he wanted to kiss her. “Rest well.”

She gave a little nod. “Everything is so strange when one has no recollections.”

Those sorrowful blue eyes nearly undid him. “Imagine what it was like for me to return home and feel the same way about my family who knew and loved me—all strangers.”

“You’ll see to sending off inquiries on my behalf?”

He nodded. “First thing in the morning.”

She backed away. “Thank you. You’ve been more than kind.”

He regarded the gentle sway of her hips as she departed, and then he strode into the library and closed the door.

“Don’t touch her, Eastleigh.” Hemphill’s face was a stern mask, his bushy brows drawn together. “Do not so much as take her by the elbow to escort her anywhere. Not until she has her memory back, at least.” He picked up a book and leafed through it.

Fury shot through Eastleigh, along with a good dose of guilt. “Look here. I have no intention of doing anything unseemly.”

“Come, now.” Hemphill tossed the book back on the table with a thud. “I see the way you look at her—any blind fool can see right through you.”

“I can’t help it if I am attracted to—”

“Have you forgotten what we are dealing with here?” Hemphill’s voice rose to a shout. “One wrong move could erase her memory forever, damn it. We need to do all we can to see she recovers and remembers her life.”

Eastleigh shoved his hand through his hair. “Perhaps never remembering is not such a bloody bad idea.”

“You can’t mean that.” Hemphill’s tone softened. “For God’s sake, think what it’s been like for you. Look at the setback you had when you ran into your cousin come home from the war.”

A muscle in Eastleigh’s jaw twitched. “We’ll never settle our differences.”

“You will, in due time. For now, you have a woman above stairs who has no idea who she is, where she came from, or anything beyond the past few days. Until her full memory returns—until she can think freely and without constraint—leave her the hell alone!”