Ann Cree – The Marriage Truce (страница 8)

Sarah? Had she heard correctly? She glanced up into his face, but his expression was bland. He escorted her over near the window before she could say a word. He looked down at her. ‘Should we make a stab at some sort of conversation? I’d hate everyone to think we have quarrelled already.’

‘But then we’d have an excuse to break our…our…’

‘I believe the term is betrothal.’ His mouth curved in a humourless smile. ‘No, it would only give Henslowe an excuse to put a bullet through me. Although that might solve your problem.’

His drawling words made her scowl. ‘That is really an extremely stupid remark! I certainly would not consider that a way to solve anything.’

His brow shot up. ‘Wouldn’t you? Should I be flattered?’

‘No, you should not. Besides, Cousin George is a very poor shot. His eyesight is quite dreadful although he would never admit it.’

A hint of amusement crossed his face. ‘I am relieved. However, my dear, I suggest you cease to look at me with such blatant disapproval. I fear no one will ever think you were in the throes of a violent passion for me.’

‘No more than they think the same of you,’ Sarah retorted. ‘If you think I intend to…to cast sheep’s eyes at you while you stare at me in that sardonic fashion, you are quite wrong.’

His eyes glittered. ‘I fear, my lovely Sarah, if I was to truly pretend that I was in love with you, you would run as far and as fast as you could. And I’ve no intention of scaring you away.’

‘Oh.’ She took a step back, suddenly a little frightened. For the first time, the realisation sank in that she would soon be bound to this dangerous stranger.

His brow snapped together. ‘There’s no need to look so fearful. I’ve no intention of abusing you,’ he said coolly.

‘No.’ She shivered and looked away. Most of the guests had arrived and she again experienced the odd sensations of being in a bad dream. She rubbed the back of her neck, which by now ached.

‘What is wrong?’

She looked back at him, startled to see an odd concern in his face. But it vanished so quickly she thought she must be mistaken. Thrown off, she said, ‘I merely have the headache, but it is nothing.’

‘I hope not.’ His eyes roved over her face, a little frown on his brow. ‘Try not to worry too much. I’ll make certain this damnable mess doesn’t hurt you any more than necessary.’

Again he surprised her. She bit her lip. ‘You are very kind, considering this entire affair is all my doing.’

‘Hardly,’ he said curtly.

‘Dinner has just been announced.’ Lord Pennington’s voice broke the odd tension between them. He raised a brow. ‘So perhaps you should cease gazing at each other and join us.’

Sarah blushed and turned away, only to find Amelia regarding her with amusement.

Her grandfather spoke. ‘Perhaps, Lord Huntington, you will escort my granddaughter to dinner.’

‘Of course. Miss Chandler?’ Huntington held out his arm, his voice polite. She lightly placed her hand on his coat sleeve, avoiding his eyes. So, they were back at daggers drawn. At least it felt infinitely safer than his concern.

Dev put down his scarcely touched wineglass. His gaze drifted across the table to where it had been most of the never-ending dinner. On Sarah Chandler.

She was listening to something Adam said, a polite smile on her face, but he suspected from her pallor that her headache had increased. She had barely touched her dinner, mostly pushing the well-prepared food around her plate. He hoped she would make it through the dinner without collapsing.

At least some sort of truce seemed to be in effect. Lady Beatrice sat next to Lord Monteville, whose presence served to keep her more outrageous remarks in check. The rest of the guests were making an effort to carry on conversation and the room hummed with the usual sounds of a normal dinner party, quiet conversation punctuated by laughter, the clink of covers laid and removed. If anyone noticed his terse silence, they gave no sign.

Which he must give Sarah credit for. She seemed determine to carry on some semblance of conversation, showing her innate good manners. And, in spite of his reluctance to admit it, he found her completely lovely. Her auburn hair curled softly around her face in a manner that made her dark eyes more luminous. Her gown, a pale green, clung enticingly to her slender curves. She had matured from the rather uncertain girl she had been at nineteen to a beautiful, composed and extremely desirable woman. The thought was frightening.

As if sensing his regard, she turned to look at him, slight colour rising to her cheeks. Her brown eyes met his and an uncomfortable bolt of awareness shot through him. It was not exactly desire, but something much more disturbing.

He tore his gaze away, only to meet his cousin’s amused eyes. He took a sip of wine, wondering what the devil was wrong with him.

He set his wineglass down with unnecessary force. A few drops sprayed out.

‘My lord, I can certainly understand why your preoccupation with my cousin might cause you to forget your manners, but I must draw the line at being drenched with wine.’

He turned to Lady Marleigh, who was seated next to him. ‘I beg your pardon.’

A little smile touched her lips. ‘Sarah is quite lovely, isn’t she? I cannot blame you for wanting to marry her.’

His brow shot up. ‘I take it that means you approve?’

‘Not quite,’ she said carefully.

‘And what are your reservations?’ He leaned back a little, watching her.

Her blue eyes were direct. ‘She has the kindest heart of anyone I know. I hope you will remember that.’

Monteville had said much the same thing. As had Mary. He smiled sardonically. ‘And you fear I intend to trample it.’

‘Not intentionally. But your reputation does concern me.’ All archness had left her manner.

‘Ah, I see you’ve heard the rumours. Set your mind at rest. I do not intend to lock your cousin away or beat her so she finds it necessary to run fleeing from my house.’

‘I was not speaking of your first wife, but of your other liaisons.’

‘You are blunt, Lady Marleigh.’ His fingers closed around his wineglass. ‘I will be blunt in return. There are no other liaisons at the moment. Nor am I contemplating one. Amazingly enough, you see, I believe in fidelity in marriage.’

Her brow arched in surprise as she searched his face. For the first time an actual smile lit her countenance. ‘Very good, my lord. I think there might be hope for you and for Sarah after all.’

This time it was his turn to feel surprise. Before he could speak, Monteville stood.

The Earl waited until everyone had quieted down. ‘As most of you know, we are gathered here for a most important occasion, to announce an alliance, an alliance that I hope will serve to eradicate the unfortunate fissure between the Chandlers and the St Clairs.’ He paused for a moment, a rare smile touching his lips. ‘I am most pleased, then, to inform you that there is to be a marriage between Devin St Clair, the Marquis of Huntington, and my granddaughter, Miss Sarah Chandler.’

There were a few exclamations of surprise. And then the dining room doors were flung open behind Monteville. He turned. A man swept into the room with firm, purposeful strides and then stopped. In the silence that followed, Sarah’s faint, ‘Oh, no!’ was audible.

And then Dev’s own blood ran cold.

Nicholas Chandler, Viscount Thayne, stood in the doorway, drops of rain glistening on his golden brown hair. His cool gaze surveyed the room and then fell on Dev. Surprise flicked in his eyes, before they hardened. ‘How very interesting. Pray, Lord Huntington, whatever has induced you to step foot in my family home?’

Dev rose, the anger he’d thought long dead sparking to life. He smiled coldly. ‘A very happy occasion. I am glad you have arrived in time to celebrate.’ He looked at the nearby footman. ‘A glass of wine for Lord Thayne.’

The footman stepped forward and quickly proffered a glass. Thayne took it, his eyes never leaving Dev’s face. Dev raised his glass. ‘Shall we have a toast, gentlemen?’ The others, who’d sat in stunned silence, hastily stood. Dev looked at Thayne, a devilish smile curving his lips. ‘A toast to my upcoming marriage to Lord Thayne’s sister, Sarah Chandler.’

He raised the glass to his lips, downing the contents in a single swallow accompanied by a chorus of well wishes. The satisfaction of watching the colour leave Thayne’s face was worth a thousand such announcements. Until he saw Sarah.

Her face had gone completely white, as if someone had just dealt her a death blow. The quick rush of heady pleasure evaporated and he wondered what the devil he had just done to her.

It wasn’t until the guests had left and Sarah had finally escaped up the stairs that Nicholas cornered her. She was just about to enter her bedchamber when he appeared at her side.

‘Sarah, what the devil do you think you’re doing?’

‘Going to bed,’ she snapped. The rest of the evening had been a disaster, which had left her head hurting worse than ever. Nicholas’s presence had cast a pall over everyone and the company had quickly divided into two opposing camps. Angry and hurt, Sarah had made no effort to speak to Huntington and instead had aligned herself firmly on the Chandler side. She cared little what anyone thought.