The Winter Wish (4 page)

“One
hour?” Devlin repeated. “Bloody hell, what time is it?”

“Half
past nine, Lord Heathcliff.”

“Half
past nine… You do not say. I had best get dressed then.”

“Indeed.”

Leaning
across the desk to pick up his jacket which he had flung carelessly across the
back of the chair, Devlin tucked it under one arm. He paused at the door. “Oh,
and Reynolds, one last thing.”

Reynolds
waited, salt and pepper eyebrows raised, lips pursed.

“Stop
calling me Lord Heathcliff all the time. It is damn annoying of you.”

Wisely,
the butler waited until Devlin had exited the room to say, “As you wish, Lord
Heathcliff.”

“I
do not know,” Sarah said doubtfully as she swiveled in the full length mirror
to peer at her back. “I feel terribly… exposed.”

“Nonsense.”
Clapping her hands together, Lily studied her friend’s reflection with a
critical eye. What she saw made her grin. For once in her life, she had been
able to talk Sarah into showing off her curvaceous figure. The ball gown, dark
purple as a plum and fitted like a glove, was the perfect match for Sarah’s
blond hair and ivory complexion.

“Who
knew you had such large… ears?” Lily continued, smiling mischievously when
Sarah gasped in dismay and clutched her Viscountobes.

“Do
you think so?”

“Darling,
I was not talking about your ears.” Lily looked pointedly at Sarah’s breasts,
exposed nViscounty to the nipple in the extravagantly low cut gown, and Sarah
flushed and crossed her arms tight against her chest.

“That
is it,” she declared, spinning on her heel and crossing the bedroom to where
her armoire was shoved up against the far wall. “I cannot wear this. I am
changing into the dark green dress and—”

“And
you will attract exactly zero attention,” Lily interrupted, rolling her eyes.
“Do not be a ninny. Besides, we do not have any time. The carriage should be
here by now.”

Visibly
distraught, Sarah returned to the mirror one final time. She did not recognize
the woman staring back at her and she had yet to decide if that was a good
thing or a bad.

This
woman had her eyes lined with kohl and diamonds in her hair. Her lips were red,
her eyes a glittering hazel, and blue sapphires dripped from her ears and
throat. Touching the borrowed necklace, Sarah swallowed audibly. “I do not look
like me,” she whispered.

“That,”
Lily said as she finished clipping on a ruby bracelet that matched the deep red
of her gown to perfection, “is exactly the point. If you do not turn heads
tonight, I fear there is no hope for any of us. Now pick out a cloak and let us
be off.”

The
carriage ride to Almack’s was blissfully short which was fortunate for the air
was bitterly cold and snowflakes had already begun to fall from the night sky.
Hugging their cloaks tight around their exposed shoulders, Sarah and Lily
hurried inside. They gave their names to the announcer at the top of the stairs
and descended slowly into the mayhem of swirling bodies, raised voices, and
half filled champagne glasses.

“Here,”
Lily said as she plucked a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing servant
and held it out to Sarah, “drink this. Quickly, before anyone sees.”

Sarah,
who had never so much as had a sip of port before, eyed the golden bubbles
dubiously. “Champagne?” Her nose wrinkled. “Why would I ever do that?”

“It
will give you confidence,” her friend vowed.

Already
feeling rather reckless given her appearance, Sarah plucked the glass from
Lily’s grasp and downed it in one swallow. “Oh,” she said as it slid pleasantly
down her throat and pooled in her belly, “that was quite nice.”

Lifting
one eyebrow Lily gave her an
I told you so look
and held out another
glass. “One more and we will do the rounds.”

This
time Sarah drank the champagne without question. Her limbs felt surprisingly
light as they began to make their way through the crowd, and she giggled
particularly hard at the sight of Lord Dentham, a man of walrus like proportions,
dancing with Lady Griswold, a woman so thin she would have been all but
invisible had she stepped behind one of the slender white columns that ran the
length of the great ballroom.

When
someone jostled her elbow she turned automatically, and her eyes widened in
surprise when she saw it was a rather handsome blond haired, blue eyed
gentleman. Lily stopped as well, and listened attentively as the man introduced
himself.

“Good
evening,” he said, sinking into a gallant bow that for some reason made Sarah
giggle again. “I am Lord Gibson and who might you lovely flowers be?”

“I
am Lady Kincaid,” Lily said, handling the introductions as she always did, “and
this is my close acquaintance Lady Dawson.”

“Lady
Dawson,” the lord said, savoring the name as if it were a decadent piece of
chocolate. His gaze traveled leisurely from the top of Sarah’s coiffure to the
tips of her dancing slippers, pausing only half a second longer than necessary
on her bosom before sweeping back up to her face. “I am absolutely delighted.
Is this your debut?”

Rather
flustered by the intimate – and by no means subtle – perusal of her body, Sarah
missed the question entirely. “My… my what?” she asked.

“Lady
Dawson has been traveling until recently,” Lily interceded smoothly. “She has
just returned to London.”

It
was not exactly a lie. Sarah
had
been traveling, if one counted the trip
back and forth to her family’s estate in the country. And it was certainly a
better answer than the truth: that this was her seventh season and she had yet
to attract the attention of a single suitor.

“Might
I place my name on your dance card?” Lord Gibson queried with a smile.

Belatedly
Sarah realized he had a mustache that curled over the edge of his top lip and
was waxed at the corners. It was not a bad mustache – she had certainly seen
worse – but she did not find it appealing, and she knew the reason why.

Quite
simply, Devlin did not have a mustache.

And
his was the only name Sarah wanted on her dance card.

“Sarah,
dear,” Lily said in a strained voice that was at odds with her beaming smile,
“Lord Gibson is awaiting your reply.” She lowered her tone and simultaneously
raised one hand, feigning a delicate cough while she hissed, “Surely you have
heard of Lord Gibson, the
Marquess
of Faraday! If you do not dance with
him I shall. Now bat your eyelashes, stick out your chest, and say yes!”

“Yes,”
Sarah said obediently. She blinked a few times, but it made her feel dizzy, and
when she attempted to inexpertly push her chest out something popped in her back.
Thankfully the Marquess did not seem to notice and, taking her dance booklet,
he signed his name with gusto beneath the fourth dance.

“Until
we meet again,” he said with great dramatic flair, bowing so low that Sarah was
quite impressed he did not tip over before he disappeared into the crowd.

“What
was that?” Lily cried the moment Lord Gibson was out of sight. Grabbing Sarah’s
wrist, she stalked past the refreshment tables filled with various pastries,
cuts of bread, and colorful fruit to the corner of the ballroom where a handful
of fellow wallflowers obligingly turned their heads.

“Have
you gone mad?” Sarah asked, yanking her arm free once they were partially
obscured behind a towering ivory pillar. The swift walk away from the dance
floor had cleared her head immensely, but it had not given her an answer as to
why Lily’s expressive violet eyes were glittering with annoyance. The
brunette’s anger did not come as a complete surprise – she was forever getting
herself worked up over this and that – although this time Sarah did not have
the vaguest clue as to what had caused her temper to flare. 

“You
hesitated,” Lily accused in a hushed tone. Crossing her arms tight across her
chest, she tossed back her head and scowled. “When Lord Gibson asked you to
dance, you hesitated. Why, Sarah? Any other woman would jump at the opportunity
and you had to be talked into it! If this is about Lord Heath—”

“This
is not about
him
,” Sarah hissed. “And do keep your voice down!” Quickly
looking around to ascertain if they had been overhead, she relaxed marginally
when she saw the small crowd of wallflowers were more interested in gushing
over the arrival of a handsome Earl than what she and Lily were arguing about.

“You
promised
,” Lily said emphatically. “You gave me your word you would not
think of him anymore after the sleigh ride debacle.”

With
an unhappy sigh Sarah clasped her hands together and looked down, unable to
meet Lily’s judgmental gaze. “I know I did,” she whispered. “But I cannot seem
to help myself.”

“You
said he was rude to you,” Lily reminded her. “You said he did not even wish you
a good day! Is that the kind of man you want to be in love with? No,” she said,
answering her own question before Sarah could get a word in edgewise. “He is
quite nice to look at, I will give him that. And wealthy, although I know that
does not matter to you. But his
demeanor
matters, Sarah. The way he
treats
you matters. And, to be quite honest, he barely knows you are alive.”

Sarah
flinched from the harsh truth of Lily’s words. She knew the point could have
been made with more finesse, but then such was not Lily’s way. Her friend said
what she meant and meant what she said. It was a rare quality and one that
Sarah constantly tried to emulate. Around Lily, of course, she was able to
speak her mind without stuttering over every other word. But with anyone else –
even her own family – she could not help but stammer and blush and forget
everything she truly wanted to say. Devlin had certainly been no exception.

“You
are right,” she said softly, even though the admission cost her. “I need to
forget him.”

“Perhaps
you should hold that thought,” Lily said, her eyes widening as she gazed over
Sarah’s right shoulder.

“What?”
Certain she had misunderstood her friend, Sarah’s brow furrowed in bewilderment.
“Why?”

“Because
Lord Heathcliff has just entered the ballroom… And he is looking right at you!”

CHAPTER FIVE

Sarah’s
heart pounded. Lily had not lied. Devlin was, in fact, cutting a swath through
the dancers and it appeared as if… but no, he could not be… except that he was.
He
was
walking straight towards her. Hope, delicate as a bird’s wing,
fluttered faintly inside of her chest, only to plummet a few seconds later when
she realized why the Viscount would be approaching them.

“He
must want to dance with you again,” she said, doing her best to summon a note
of excitement in her tone when she wanted nothing more than to bury her head in
her hands and cry. She had managed to sit idly by and watch her dearest friend
in the arms of the man she loved once, but she knew she would not be able to do
it again. Gathering her skirts she began to turn away, but Lily’s hand on her
arm stopped her.

“You
ninny,” the brunette said under her breath. “He does not want to dance with me.
He is looking at
you
. Now wipe that dumbfounded look off your face and
smile! There you go. Very good. I will be right over there if you—”

“Wait,”
Sarah interrupted with a gasp. Panic stricken, she clung fast to Lily’s wrist.
“You cannot leave me.”

“Would
you have him dance with us both?” Lily gave an amused shake of her head. “You
will be fine. Obviously you must have made an impression on him if he is
purposefully seeking you out. Just do not stutter. Or be too quiet. Or talk too
much.”

Sarah’s
throat tightened. “Lily, I—”

“And
whatever you do,” her friend continued cheerfully, as if she did not notice
that all of the blood had drained from Sarah’s face and she was beginning to
tremble, “do not step on his feet. Best of luck to you, dear!” she called over
her shoulder as she hurried off in a swirl of ruby red skirts, leaving Sarah
with nothing more than her worried thoughts as she waited for Devlin to reach
her.

She
studied him under her lashes while he approached with all the stealthy grace of
a panther. There was something dangerous about him. Something dark. Something
that struck a chord deep inside of Sarah, a chord that reverberated through her
entire body, thrumming like a finely tuned bow.

When
he finally halted directly in front of her they stared at each other for
several long, drawn out moments. She noted his chin and jaw line boasted a
shadow of hair, as if he had not had time to shave before attending the ball.
He observed the long curl that had come loose from her coiffure and dangled
down the side of her neck, clinging to her skin like a sinuous serpent wound
around a willow.