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‘My mother? The dowager?’ He laughed. ‘She doesn’t much care what I do.’
She had her schemes, of course. Like marrying him off to continue the inglorious Astill name, to do his duty like some stud bull. That would never happen.
‘Will I meet her?’
‘No. Come autumn she takes to the villa in Spain and winters there with some of her friends. By the time she comes back, no doubt you’ll be settled elsewhere and sick of me. I’ll be a distant memory.’
A pretty pink colour flushed across her skin. Maybe not so distant a memory, then. He liked that. He liked it too much.
‘And what about your sister?’
‘Perhaps at the upcoming charity polo match. She occasionally attends.’ Except of late she’d missed so much. He suspected her husband refused to allow her to be seen in public unless she was accompanying him. Sometimes she called, made excuses, her voice tired, distant. A little slurred...
‘She has such a talent for design and decorating. Astill Hall’s interior is beautiful.’
It was one of the few things Vic’s husband had allowed her to do. A job where he thought she wouldn’t embarrass herself, something to occupy her so he could pursue his career and other...interests. But Lance hadn’t cared, so long as it kept the man away from his sister.
‘Victoria has a flair for two things. Interior design and saving abandoned creatures.’
Her husband didn’t admire either talent.
‘Your sister sounds interesting. I think I’d like her.’
Once, perhaps. Now... Vic’s hidden talent was hurting herself, and those who tried to love her. He didn’t understand how Sara could remain so seemingly untainted by all the ugly behaviour she’d been subjected to. How could someone still contain all the wonder and hope she appeared to have? Her fiancé, a philanderer and then dead before the wedding. Her parents, still trying to sell her off to the highest bidder to maintain the power and position they felt slipping through their bony fingers.
‘Well, I’m done on my side.’ She huffed out a breath, blowing a stray curl from her face. ‘There wasn’t much here. Except...’
The way those words drifted off, making him wait. Making him ask. He smiled. She was playing him at his own game. ‘What have you found?’
‘All I have is this.’ She wandered over to a chest of drawers and rubbed her nose, pulling up an old shoe box. Inside was the flotsam and jetsam of a child’s collection—old doll’s house furniture, smooth river pebbles and figurines which Sara picked through.
‘These—a collection of farm animals.’ She lined them up on the top of a chest. They were hardstone, with glittering gem-like eyes. Then she looked up at him again with all that hope. His heart stuttered with excitement because she knew what she’d found and so did he, as much as he could tell from the cursory glance.
‘What do you think they are?’ she asked.
He smiled. ‘Youknowwhat they are.’
‘Fabergé?’
He lifted one; it was cool in his hand. Still in good condition, considering children had played with them. Beautiful. Collectible. Valuable. ‘I think you might be right. Congratulations, Lady Sara. If the family’s keen to sell, these will be your first commission.’
She stood in front of him, her lips parted, glorious curls framing her face. Looking at him as if he held the answer to every question she’d ever care to ask. She made him feel like King of the world with that expression. Right then, he craved to be the answer to all things for her. In an alternative universe where whatever she wanted and needed he alone would provide.
When had he ever felt this way? Perhaps never. He cherished every moment of the gift she gave him—the belief he could offer something of value. She reached up and pushed some strands of hair from her cheek. A smear of dust was left behind by her fingers.
‘You have a mark.’ He pointed. Sara rubbed in the general area but missed the smudge marring her face.
‘Let me,’ he murmured. Lance smoothed his thumb over the spot. Her skin was silky and warm under his fingers.
‘All gone now,’ he said, about to remove his hand, which had lingered too long. Except she leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting shut in a long, slow blink. He froze, cupping her cheek. They were close, the warmth of their bodies mingling, curling through him. He dropped his head as she seemed to move up onto her toes. It would be one kiss. Celebrating her find. Surely that wasn’t too much?
He leaned down and held himself a breath away from her, his whole body tight. The smell of her was like spring in the dusty attic.
‘Congratulations, Sara,’ he whispered against her lips as she reached for him and their mouths collided, hers soft against his own, opening for him. He slid his arms round her back and drew her hard against his body, her tongue hot and slick against his own.
He groaned as she thrust her hands into his hair, raking her fingers through. The scrape of nails against his scalp. Their mouths and teeth clashing as everything spun out of control. She ground herself against him, no air separating their bodies. He was so damned hard he could barely think, the moment all gasps and questing fingers. There were buttons on her dress, but he fumbled them. Instead, he grazed his palms against her nipples, which were tight and peaked under the fine fabric. His mouth captured her throaty moan, pure bliss to his ears.
They were caught in some kind of madness and the end of the world wouldn’t stop him, the desperate noises she made urging him on.
