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Enough.Sara straightened her spine, standing as tall as she could. Whilst her country had a multitude of failings, she still loved it. She’d been trained to be itsQueen.
‘Yes. Here I am.Engaged.With a sparkly ring and all.’ She wiggled the fingers of her left hand in the woman’s direction, feeling more petty than queenly.
The woman said nothing, merely turning back to the field, took another sip of champagne. Sara watched her gaze as it travelled over the players. Lance had removed his shirt. Sara was sure that was a scandalous thing to do, but the sight of his muscular back and the vee of his torso dried her mouth.
‘He’s a fine horseman. Do you ride?’
The wicked memory of her astride Lance, his head thrown back as she took him deep inside her flickered through her head.
‘Horses?’ Sara asked with feigned innocence. That was greeted with a supercilious raised eyebrow. ‘No. Do you?’
‘Of course.’ Sara had no doubt this woman would be perfect at everything she did. Unlike her. She was too unruly, too forthright. Too much of everything. ‘I’m sure Lance will teach you. He’s kind like that. But you do know what they say about him?’
‘I’m sure if I don’t you’ll enlighten me.’ A prickle of something cold ran down her spine.
‘The Duke of Bedmore. Beds ’em, not weds ’em. Chucks ’em after he—’
‘Play nicely, Vic.’ That deep, soothing male voice. Lance. Relief coursed through her. She wheeled around and placed her hand on his chest, as much for the ice-cold beauty behind her as for anyone else in the crowd.
‘Darling—’ she said in a way that might have sounded a little too breathless and a lot too fake, but she didn’t care ‘—you were outstanding. But I haven’t been introduced to...’ She waved her hand in the direction of the other woman in a dismissive manner, the perfect balance of queenlyandpetty this time.
The woman smirked, then downed the last of her champagne in one gulp. Lance frowned, but the look in his eyes was hard to fathom. Distant, sad. Lost.
‘Sara, this is Lady Victoria Carlisle. My sister.’
‘Your...sister?’
Of all the things she’d expected, that was not it. Victoria dumped her empty glass on a server’s tray. Grabbed another. Took another healthy sip and raised her glass.
‘Pleased to meet you. Welcome to the family. I look forward to the blessed union and so forth.’ She turned to Lance with a brittle smile. ‘See? I know how to play nicely.’
Lance took the glass of champagne from Victoria’s hand and gently set it down on a side table before grabbing some water to hand to her instead. She pouted but accepted the glass and took a sip. That sadness was in her eyes too.
‘Enough.’ His voice was soft and low. He turned to Sara, cupped her face. Dropped his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss. ‘I need to have a chat with my sister. Are you safe to entertain yourself for a few moments?’
Sara touched his hand. ‘Of course.’
He turned and led his sister away. Something was going on, something painful to both of them.
Something terribly broken, in need of repair.
Lance took Victoria to a quiet corner, or as quiet as he could find in the marquee, where champagne flowed and people were a little the worse for wear. He checked her over as subtly as he could, because being late to the event usually meant she’d had an argument with her husband. He was relieved to see no bruises Vic would try to explain away. However, Lance knew bruises didn’t have to be physical. The tongue could lash as mightily as a fist. Because she wasn’t wearing sunglasses, he was able to check her eyes. Her pupils were a normal size today, not pinprick. Her voice was clear and cutting, not slurred. To his mild relief, Vic presented nothing other than a cool and brittle aristocratic demeanour.
‘She’s a pretty little thing.’
Lance hoped she hadn’t been too cruel. His sister had a fine capacity to wound, honed to rapier-like precision. He missed the sweet, soft teenager she’d once been, until their parents had destroyed her life.
‘Sara’sbeautiful.’ And she was. In a dress the same pale blue as her eyes, she glowed. The way she’d looked at him as he’d dressed to ride had almost made him disgrace himself.
‘Must be love.’ Vic gave an unladylike snort. ‘I didn’t think our family believed in it. Girl has a spine too. She’ll need that in—’
‘Leave him.’
Vic’s gaze shot to his, a little wide. She was an expert at hiding her emotions, but Lance could sense the fear nonetheless. The way she flinched as if under attack.
‘Astills don’t divorce.’ The tone of her voice, those words, were a perfect imitation of their mother.
‘You’re not an Astill any more, so feel free.Please.’
