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Matthew felt likea sodden dog. Even his woolen cloak smelled faintly... doggy... as he shook off the water and handed it and his bicorn to Harris.
“The countess is in the receiving room, Your Grace.”
Matthew nodded and entered to find Sarah standing near the fire. She smiled, a sweet but troubled expression on her face. He faltered. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Please close the door.”
He looked toward the entry hall, confused. “It would be improp—”
“Please.”
He did, then turned back to her. “I am assuming you do not wish to stroll in the park this afternoon.”
She actually grinned, glancing once at the window. “I suspect that you are soaked enough for both of us.” She gestured toward the fire. “Please, come dry off.”
“I am afraid my cologne will reek more of wet horse and dog than anything Parisian.”
“Ah, the scent of a stable. Refreshing in light of the aromas of the men of Almack’s last night. I sneezed much of the night.”
“I thought you might be coming down with a cold.”
She hesitated. “You were watching me?”
Matthew felt his gut tighten. What was the right answer to that? Her words from that first day came back to him:“You require health and frugality. I require honesty.”He nodded. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.” He swallowed hard. “I found that I was not entirely pleased with you dancing with so many other men.”
Her eyes widened. “You were not?”
He shook his head. “Many times during the evening, I wished to sweep you up and spirit you out of that place. I know why my mother wanted us there, and I think that was successful, but Almack’s is, quite frankly, a horrid place.”
Sarah studied him a moment, then shifted her gaze to the fire. “Lord Blackwell told me about her. Mrs. Dove-Lyon as well.”
Matthew’s shoulders tensed. He did not have to ask to which “her” she referred. “Sarah—”
“Neither of us is a child, Matthew. Neither of us came to this table without difficulties. Old wounds. Obstacles to success that would make even Wellington hesitate to step into the fray. We thought we were coming to it with our eyes open, but your heart and mind are entangled elsewhere—”
Matthew’s chest tightened. She was going to end their arrangement. He had to stop this. Persuade her. He stepped closer. “Sarah—”
She looked up at him, her eyes sheened with unshed tears. “And I still stand accused of murder. And no matter how successful last night was in clarifying that for Society, the magistrates still have not—”
“Sarah—”
“Ruled yet, and the truth is that I did not like seeing you dance with other women either. I found myself wanting to pull each and every one of them away from you—”
Matthew’s heart leaped.What did she say?
“Because they were all so lovely, and they have families and status, and probably dowries and could offer you so much more—”
He kissed her. An impulse, such as he had never felt before, pushed him forward and he grasped her face pulling her into a kiss. Her words stopped and her eyes shot wide. Her lips were soft, plush, and sweet as cream tea. He felt her scar beneath his left palm, and he curled his fingers against her neck beyond it as he tugged gently on her lower lip with his.
A low whimper sounded in her throat and she closed her eyes, tears leaking from each corner. Her hands clutched his lapels, and she pressed her body closer to his. Her warmth coursed through him, and he slipped his hands down her back as he ended the kiss, watching her face.
“I do not,” he murmured, “want any of those other women.”
Her one word came out on a breath, her eyes still closed. “No?”
“No.” He paused.Honesty. “I thought you were going to end our arrangement.”
Sarah opened her eyes. “After last night, I was. For so many reasons. The other women. The better women. That one woman. And something I did not think you knew about me.”
