‘You are very severe this morning, my lord!’ Sarah could not help laughing. ‘I am glad that my own small skill gains your approval rather than your censure!’
Guy smiled lazily. ‘Oh, I am renowned as a hard critic, but I cannot find fault with you, Miss Sheridan!’
Sarah felt herself blushing under his scrutiny. For some perverse reason all she could think of was his threat—or was it a promise?—to kiss her on some future occasion. Would such a manoeuvre be possible on horseback? It was an intriguing thought. It would certainly require considerable skill, but—Sarah suddenly realised that Guy was still watching her, one dark eyebrow raised in teasing enquiry. Afraid that he would read her thoughts again, as he had the previous night, Sarah turned her horse’s head abruptly away and was relieved to see the groom struggling up the last incline to join them on the level summit.
‘There is an exceptional view from up here,’ Guy observed, looking out across the city to the Somerset hills beyond, ‘and a keen breeze. It leaves me sharp set! Will you join us at Chelwood for breakfast, Miss Sheridan?’
Tom the groom, who had been encouraging his exhausted horse, cast Sarah a scandalised glance. She smiled.
‘Thank you, my lord, but I do not think that would be very proper! I fear I must return to Brock Street for my breakfast!’
‘My sensible Miss Sheridan! A bachelor household, even one so unimpeachable as Chelwood, is not an appropriate destination for a single lady!’ Guy’s dark eyes were full of mockery. ‘A pity if you were to starve on your way home as a result!’
‘I must be going, at any rate,’ Sarah said, trying to crush her foolish excitement at his use of the phrase ‘my sensible Miss Sheridan’. She turned Astra’s head towards home. ‘Amelia will need help with all the preparations for her ball tonight. Good day, my lord.’
‘A moment, Miss Sheridan.’ Guy put his hand over hers on the reins. ‘Does Lady Amelia intend to be so fast as to have the waltz this evening?’
Sarah paused. ‘I believe so, my lord.’
Guy let her go and raised his whip in a salute. ‘Then save me a dance, Miss Sheridan!’
Amelia was in great good spirits. Silk drapes in red and blue swathed the walls and pillars of the ballroom, white candles filled the sconces and huge vases overflowing with red roses formed the centrepiece of her decorations.
The roses had arrived in the late afternoon and had caused much excited giggling and shrieking amongst the maids as they had tried to find sufficient receptacles in which to place them all. Several old, chipped vases had been pressed into service for the less prominent of arrangements and a chamber pot had even been proffered, though Sarah had seen Chisholm hastily hide it behind the umbrella stand before Amelia had noticed. There had been no card, which had led to much gossip and speculation, but when the pack of maids had gone and Amelia had swept off to see to the menus, Chisholm had stepped forward with a tiny, delicate posy of pale pink rosebuds with a card tucked inside. There were only two words, written in a strong black hand that Sarah had never seen before, yet instantly recognised: ‘Penance? Renshaw.’
And now Sarah was wearing one of the rosebuds pinned to the bodice of her aquamarine gown and was full of a most heady excitement at the thought of seeing Guy again.
‘Your decorations look very fine and patriotic,’ Sarah said, catching her cousin at a quiet moment between the arrival of two parties of guests. ‘I know you would not give away the secret before, but how have you managed the red, white and blue theme for the menus, Milly?’
‘Oh,’ Amelia laughed, ‘the trout with garlic and tomatoes is red and there is woodcock in a white wine sauce—’
‘And the blue?’
‘Ice cream with bilberries! We call it glace du Napoleon! Cook has been swearing that this is his finest hour!’ Amelia smiled as her gaze rested on the roses. ‘They are magnificent, aren’t they? Are you sure you have no idea of their provenance, Sarah?’
‘Good evening, Lady Amelia. And Miss Sheridan! I am so glad that you decided to attend after all, ma’am!’
Sarah swung round to see Viscount Renshaw bowing punctiliously. She was not sure whether she was glad to see him or not. On the one hand, his arrival was timely in diverting Amelia from her question. On the other, there was a decidedly wicked twinkle in his eye.
Amelia opened her eyes wide. ‘Lord Renshaw! Good evening, sir! But whatever can you mean? Why should Sarah not attend my ball? Sarah, you know you have been promised for tonight this month past!’
Sarah gave Guy Renshaw a fulminating look. ‘I have no notion what his lordship can mean, Milly!’
‘I beg your pardon.’ Guy gave her a look of limpid innocence. ‘I must have misunderstood you, ma’am. Lady Amelia, do I have your permission to take your cousin off and dance with her?’
Amelia looked speculatively from one to the other. ‘You have my blessing, Lord Renshaw, but whether Sarah will agree is another matter!’
Guy took Sarah’s arm. ‘It is a waltz and you did promise me…’
He appeared to take her acquiescence for granted, steering her towards the dance floor and taking her in his arms in a manner that might be entirely appropriate for the waltz, but nevertheless deprived Sarah momentarily of speech. Their bodies touched for a brief second before he held her a little away from him with impeccable propriety.
Sarah was an accomplished dancer, but she found that waltzing in Guy’s arms was a very different experience from attempting the boulanger with Mr Tilbury. Dancing with Guy was unnerving; the touch of his hands through the silk of her dress felt like a caress. His head was bent close to hers, and when their eyes met she could see the admiration in their depths, the flash of desire that he did not trouble to hide. It disturbed her and stirred something strange and sensual within her. Sarah closed her eyes momentarily, startled by her own feelings.
‘You dance beautifully,’ Guy said, after they had circled the floor a couple of times in silence. ‘I remember that you were musical even as a child. You used to sing and play most prettily.’
‘I do not recall that you were so eager to dance with me in our youth,’ Sarah said, with a slight smile, glad of an innocuous topic of conversation when her thoughts had been anything but innocent. ‘There was one children’s ball at which you spurned me quite ruthlessly, my lord!’
Guy’s arms tightened momentarily. Looking up, she saw a look of brilliant amusement in his eyes and her heart did a little somersault.
‘I had no discernment in my youth,’ he said regretfully, ‘and our parents were forever trying to throw us together. I believe they wished us to make a match of it and naturally enough, I tried to rebel! What boy of sixteen wishes to contemplate matrimony—least of all with a young lady of eleven!’
‘Perhaps they were a little misguided—’
‘Just premature, I believe, Miss Sheridan!’
Sarah was vexed with herself for giving him the chance to flirt with her. Just when she had thought they could talk on uncontroversial subjects, he had turned the topic around! He richly deserved a set-down.
‘More of your nonsense, sir!’ she said crossly. ‘I am no green girl to be taken in by your flattery!’
‘No, indeed,’ Guy agreed amiably, his smile teasing her. ‘I forgot that you had so many years in your dish, Miss Sheridan! My reputation is quite safe with you, is it not?’
Sarah was rendered momentarily speechless by his impudence. Before she could marshal her thoughts to deliver the cutting remark he deserved, the music whirled to a close.
Guy bowed. ‘Perhaps you will spare me another dance later, Miss Sheridan?’
‘I do not think that would be