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Earls had the right to their pride, she thought. Who could blame them? They grew up believing privileges were theirs by right. “Very well, my lord.” Even though her voice sounded even, calling him that made her body stir. “May I offer you tea?”
“Thank you, Lady Wilkins, but I believe I should be on my way.” Or else, I might throw you on my shoulders and take you somewhere quiet. Very quiet. “Have a good day.” His piercing dark eyes looked directly at hers, a world of communication there. He bowed, turned and left the library, without being shown out.
His piercing eyes made her skin prickle. The first time she was bowed to by him and it felt weird. She may have completed her education in a school for ladies. She may have been varnished with refined manners, but she felt that underneath, still Sarah Barrow.
She had been through so much these last years though. In her emotional memory, there were pain, sorrow and loss. As soon as she could of working again, she left her aunt’s cottage and came back to London to find a job. She had got a job as a housekeeper at widower Alfred Wilkins household. Her love of books made Sir Wilkins notice her. From there, a comfortable friendship developed.
Alfred Wilkins had made his fortune from scratches. A former dockworker, his ability with numbers and money made him one of the most successful bankers in England. He had lost his only son in the Crimean War, to which he had lent a generous amount of his bank’s assets. Because of his support to the war, he received the knighthood.
By the time Sarah came to work in his household, he appeared already a frail, lonely man. After a couple of months, he proposed her marriage on a friendship basis. He claimed that he had no one to leave his fortune to and no noble woman would marry him due to his health condition.
Sarah accepted after much insistence. She would not have accepted it if it had not been a platonic agreement, though. The mere thought of any other man touching her, but him, made her queasy. Of course, she did not go into this marriage blindfolded. She had a clear idea of the benefits it would bring her.
She well had needed them. If nothing, now she could afford to offer her aunt a more comfortable life. Her aunt, who did so much for her, being there when Sarah most needed her.
So Sir Alfred taught her all there could be to know about banking and finance, preparing her to take over when he had been gone. An avid student, all the meanders of the City fascinated her. She grew to respect him dearly and taking care of his fortune became a way of cherishing his memory. Recently, she decided to set aside a part of the bank’s profits to open and maintain a house for single pregnant women. The personal fulfilment she got from it, worth the effort.
He would have her. All for himself. He would keep her. Forever. He would marry her. Soon. Takes what it takes. Hugh planned as the carriage clattered on the cobblestones towards the Hawkmore town house. These last two years had been pure catastrophe. He was not about to let it continue. Especially now.
She had spoiled him for other women. Thoroughly. He tried, hard, to keep female company. The simple thought of touching someone else disgusting, let alone the real thing. Therefore, his loneliness of a cruel kind. Because he could not even derive momentary relief. The other women did not appeal to him. Not in the least. He still needed an heir. He still had not re-married. But now he would!
After Sarah left him, he had not touched Adelaide either. He had been too hurt for that. And then she got sick. Suffering had made her less frivolous, so they talked freely. She had sounded like she understood him, his feelings and his reasons. He apologized for his mistakes, but stated that he felt no regrets. She felt sorry for them both, for not matching in anyway; and said he would be free to find a more suitable woman. For him, there remained no suitable woman, unless she would be the most unsuitable.
CHAPTER 11
Throngs of people passed by her as Sarah entered
Marchioness of Sheffield’s ballroom. She had decided to come and have a good time, besides rekindling acquaintances. She had received an invitation, since everybody that was anybody would be there. Except for Lord Hawkmore, as she had it checked. Aware that she was not invited for her mere Lady’s title. Her invitations due to the money she possessed. Gold diggers swarmed around her, as well as the impoverished noblesse. She had no plans of marrying ever again, so it did not matter for her.
She did not use to attend many social functions; they were not her cup of tea. However, in her business it became important to go around a bit. Therefore, she chose the most important events to go to. If she could choose, she would pick a book from her library and spend the evening on her favourite armchair. Nevertheless, there she stood complimenting the marchioness.
She took a punch from a tray and walked towards the music. She never danced, although she learned and liked it. The few times she tried, her partners behaved disrespectfully, until she started declining invitations. She enjoyed the music, though. The orchestra prepared for a waltz.
“Would you concede the privilege of this dance, my lady?” The smooth grave voice made an electric current go down her spine. She looked at him wide-eyed.
Sarah stood so absorbed by the music she had not noticed the commotion that swirled at his entrance. He would become popular those days. Gossip went that he took no mistresses, no lovers and frequented no indiscrete houses. The obvious conclusion, that the loss of his wife too unbearable for him, personifying him as the utter romantic hero. He left a dreamy look in the debutantes’ eyes in his wake.
So, his theory proved right, Hugh thought, smugly. He had been intrigued by the fact that he had never met her in any social occasion. He started suspecting it, as she avoided exactly the ones he confirmed. Somehow, she got the information. He sent a formal declining to this one and showed up unexpectedly, braking the protocol. He wanted to see her again and nothing would stand in his way.
She would dismantle if she danced with him. To be held by him for a full waltz? No way! She looked around. All eyes on them. Neither of them danced in balls. If she refused, it would be the night’s scandal. So she picked her skirts and petticoats, curtsied and put her gloved hand on his.
Stepping in the dance floor felt like being transported to a world of theirs alone. His arms surrounded her narrow waist, tighter than appropriate. Forced to lift her chin high, his eyes were on hers. Piercing, mesmeric. Unable to deviate hers, her lips parted, her heart thudded, cheeks flushed.
Petite Sarah again in his arms. She fitted his body perfectly. He came home again. No matter the anger that he felt, no matter how lost he had been, no matter the doubts. Enfolded by him at that very moment, parted lips inviting, all that mattered.
As they whirled about, Sarah’s head spun, her body all alert. Music disappeared, the crowd disappeared, the world all in his arms. His gloved thumb roamed on her waist, a tiny spark igniting all of her. She felt as if she evanesced.
The waltz ceased at last. Sarah felt at her wit’s end. She curtsied. He bowed and they parted. Sarah walked blindly out of the dance floor. She needed to find a quiet place before she collapsed.
Hugh felt lightheaded too, but he kept an eye on her. The marchioness being Lord Ashton’s mother, his best friend; and he had played all his childhood in that house. He knew it as the palm of his hand; nooks and corners that no one suspected. He would use them now.
Sarah almost burst into an empty room, faintly lit by a crescent moon. She closed the door and leaned on it, sighing.
“Running away again, Sarah?” His ironic grave voice sounded in the dark, coming from the back.
She startled. She turned to leave.
“Why, Sarah?”
