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‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. He wasn’t. She’d had a fortuitous escape.
Sara looked up at him, a slight frown creasing her brow. ‘Don’t be. I’m not.’ The words tumbled out of her. She raised a gloved hand to her mouth as if trying to shove the errant syllables back in, her eyes wide. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. Ignore me. I... It’s the grief talking.’
He took her by the elbow and manoeuvred her towards a potted palm, out of earshot of most others. On the way he grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter. She needed fortifying. This woman was too open and honest. She’d be eaten alive by the crowd here, who gloried in each other’s humiliation and loss, the bunch of them competitive to a fault. Right now, most of them were grappling to court the new Queen. This bright and beautiful woman in front of him would be a casualty along the way.
‘You didn’t appear particularly grief-stricken. Your laughter was somewhat of a giveaway...’
‘It was hysteria more than anything.’
‘You don’t strike me as prone to hysterics. Should I have a vial of smelling salts handy in case you’re overcome and swoon into me?’
The corners of her mouth trembled upwards and she sank her teeth into her lower lip as if trying to stop a smile breaking free. He wanted her to lose her inhibitions. To claim her errant smiles all for himself.
She glanced about the room as if searching for something or someone. ‘Have you ever been in a situation where you realised everything you thought you knew was a lie?’
He looked into her smooth, now impassive face, fighting so hard not to show any trace of happiness. Yes. He knew exactly what she was talking about. He nodded.
She kept going. ‘I was born to be a consort and look at me.’ She waved her hands up and down her body. The wine in her glass sloshed about but didn’t spill. She took a gulp and winced. ‘Talking to some stranger, showing...feelings. There’s nothing regal about me. I’m sure I would have been a disappointment. A terrible Queen. No wonder he...’
She bit her lip again, but not to halt a smile this time. Lance didn’t need to be told who ‘he’ was. He’d bet his considerable fortune that the Crown Prince, and the rest of the aristocracy Lance loathed, had tried to crush the wings of this glorious being in front of him.
‘Angel.’ It suited her. She looked as if she should be adorning some classical artwork. Paint her perfect pale skin against the backdrop of a morning sky, with a pair of wings, and she could be a heavenly being to match any he’d ever seen on a fresco. ‘I was born to be a duke and I’ve been disappointing them for years.’ Her eyes widened and the tilt of her lips gave her an ethereal beauty that would have stopped everyone in the room, had anyone else been able to see them. Luckily, dark corners behind well placed potted plants were useful for concealment. ‘The trick is, you need to own the role, not fight against it. You’re untouchable if you don’t care.’
‘And you don’t?’
Once, he’d cared too much. Not any more, not for years. Caring didn’t matter when there were things he couldn’t fix. Victoria bore the brunt of his greatest failing. Phone calls hurriedly ended when her husband arrived home. Strange bruises she claimed to have suffered because she was ‘clumsy’, when that had never been a problem which afflicted her in the past. The terrible suspicions he harboured, which had grown and grown in the years she’d been married. He shouldn’t be trusted with any woman’s happiness.
‘All I care about is thrilling them in the tabloids.’
How they loved plastering him on the front page, each story more overblown than the last, when there was a mundane truth no one wanted to hear. Most of it was little more than fiction.
The smile on Sara’s face was glorious and wide.Unrestrained.A warmth kindled in his chest. Better a smile than tears for a man he knew didn’t deserve her. Now, if he could remove her hat, unleash her golden curls from the thick chignon at the base of her head. Brush the strands through his fingers. Stroke away her hurt and her fears until she flushed rosy with pleasure...
‘You’re a...a scoundrel.’
A reminder of who he truly was. He needed to stop his heated imaginings. Innocents had no place in his life. He tended to crush them with thoughtlessness. Victoria was his first victim. He didn’t want there to be any others.
He bowed. ‘At your service. The Astills are notorious for their vices.’
‘Really?’ The question was breathy and curious. Against all better judgement, he was glad that he’d piqued her interest.
‘My forebears have spent centuries squandering our fortune. We come from a long line of drinkers, gamblers, adulterers and fornicators. I’ve a family history to live up to and I take my role as its current head seriously.’
‘And in that illustrious list, what vices do you choose?’
‘The marital bed is sacrosanct and safe from me. Otherwise, take your pick.’
Her sharp intake of breath made his heart rate spike. Her cool blue eyes twinkled with fascination. Lance dipped his head to her ear.
‘Although of late gambling and drinking have lost their appeal.’ His voice was a murmur, breath whispering along her neck. ‘If I want to maintain the scandalous reputation of the Astill family, there’s really only one choice left...’
Lance revelled in the wash of pink that once again tinted her face like sunrise over snow. A tremor shuddered through her. He moved closer. Couldn’t help himself. Not that Lance would touch a woman so... untainted by life. But still, one could dream for a moment that things were different.
‘Perhaps that’s what I need,’ her voice whispered, thick and breathy.
His heart pumped a bit harder. ‘What?’
‘My life...it’s been so...’ She fluttered her hand about again, as if trying to shake free the words.
