He tried to pull away slightly, but she clutched him tighter, as if he were a lifeline to a drowning woman. The feather from her fashionable hat brushed his cheek, and Riordan had the sudden urge to tear it from her head and tunnel his hands through her golden-brown hair.
A ragged sob escaped from her throat and tore at his heart. Right. Lock it away. Easier said than actually done. He gently rubbed her back. “There, do not despair, my lady. I’m not sure what I can do to assist you, but I will give it some consideration.” Damn it all, he should not be making such pronouncements. Her ample breasts mashed against his chest, causing his shaft to stiffen. If her ladyship was aware of his arousal, she did not react.
Several minutes passed. Then, as if in slow motion, Lady Pepperdon detached herself from him, and the loss of having her in his embrace struck him like a forcible blow. “Forgive me,” she said. “I…I should not have…I must go.” She scurried from the room before he could stop her. As tempted as he was to chase after her, his aroused state convinced him to stay inside until his lust subsided.
George the footman entered the room, and Riordan quickly moved behind his desk and took his seat. “Lady Pepperdon wishes you to have this,” the footman said. He passed Riordan a heavy brown paper-wrapped package and gathered up the dishes, placing them in the basket. “Her ladyship says keep the food.” The footman turned and exited the room.
Riordan untied the string, pulling the paper aside. A note, along with four books.
Please accept this donation for your school library.
Best Regards, Lady Pepperdon
The books were of the highest quality, leather bound with gold-tipped pages. The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, Oliver Twist, The Pickwick Papers, and Histories or Tales of Past Times, as told by Mother Goose.
If there was a path leading to his supposed locked-away heart, Lady Pepperdon had found it. And Riordan had no clue what to do about the surprising development.
* * * *
Another night of restless sleep. Sabrina headed toward the dining room for breakfast like a criminal walking toward the gallows. The thought of eating and watching her father devour kippers made her stomach reel—as did the fact that she would have to give her answer regarding the marquess.
That alone would be enough to disturb one’s slumber, but what kept her wide-eyed until the late hours was the fact that she’d thrown herself at the handsome young schoolmaster. Granted, he’d come to embrace her first, to offer comfort, but she’d grabbed him brazenly, pulling him tight against her—and the sensation was like nothing she’d experienced before.
He must be over six feet by a couple of inches, as the top of her head fit neatly under his chin. The warmth and comfort he exuded was addictive, and she ached for more. His body was hard, unyielding, and she could not stop her hands from exploring his torso and trailing up his back. Muscle flexed under her fingertips. The fact that the hardest part of him did not make her flinch and run from him in fright shocked her to her toes.
Yes, she understood what part of male anatomy pressed insistently against her thigh. The fact that she’d aroused him simultaneously pleased and worried her. The most logical explanation? He’s a young man in his prime and would react to any woman embracing him. The shameful episode convinced her she would have to keep her distance. It should rule out Mr. Black as a potential partner in her scheme.
During the early years of her marriage, Sabrina came to the conclusion she did not possess the physical urges she’d read about in books. To discover now that she did was confusing, to say the least. Perhaps she merely longed for the warmth of his embrace and nothing else. The schoolmaster was as tempting as a plate of sweet, frosted cakes, and she had sworn off sweets long ago. Dejectedly, she sat at the table. “Tea and a raisin bun, George,” she muttered to the footman. “And be quick about it.”
Her father continued to ignore her, reading his paper as if she did not exist. Sabrina tore the bun apart and glumly nibbled on it.
“Well?” Her father lowered his paper. “What is your decision?”
Oh, good heavens. “At least grant me a few months to try and find an alternative? I can reach out to my friends.” What friends? The girls she grew up with had married and moved away and she’d lost all contact with them. Pepperdon would not allow her to entertain nor correspond with anyone. Not that she knew where any of them lived. But she could try and locate them. Perhaps one of them could take her in temporarily.
“I have wasted enough time and money this past year keeping you fed and clothed. And paying the salary for your servant,” he snapped irritably.
Clothed? She wore the same two mourning dresses. “Would you entertain another choice? Before next Tuesday, if I found someone who would agree to marry me, would you make a settlement on me?”
The baron regarded her shrewdly. “What are you cooking up, you devious piece of baggage?”
“An alternate plan is all, Father.”
Tapping his fingers on the table, he kept his hard gaze on her. “You think to trick me? To bring in an imbecile you snatched off the streets, only to leave him after you sink your claws in my money?”
The fact that he’d managed to hone in on a variation of her plan made Sabrina gulp deeply, but she kept her expression neutral. “It depends how much you want to be clear of me. What amount would you settle?”
“That is between me and the man in question and is none of your business. You can march every eligible man before me from a hundred-mile radius; the fact remains, I would have to approve of the match.” A smug smile curved about his lips. “And he would have to meet the terms.”
What terms? She sipped her tea. “What does it matter? I cannot leave my husband, can I? Obtaining an annulment is next to impossible and a divorce even more so.”
“At least you understand that much. Very well, Daughter. If you find a desperate man who will agree to marry you, by all means, have him come see me.” Her father’s cruel smile widened. “I will be sure to inform him of all your many faults. Pepperdon kept me apprised through the years. The fact that you are a barren, frigid bitch will give any man pause.”
Again, his words sliced across her heart. How she wished she were frigid and unfeeling, then his hurtful words would be a glancing blow, nothing more. Were all men as malicious and spiteful as her father and late husband? She had no other men in her life to compare them to; perhaps all men were hateful creatures.
The image of Mr. Riordan Black formed in her mind. No, not all men. However, she would not take advantage of his kind, compassionate nature and draw him into this messy mire. There must be another solution, but what?
He deserved better than her, a broken shell of a woman.
Chapter 5
Not ten minutes after Lady Pepperdon departed, Riordan penned a letter to the law firm in London that the Wollstonecrafts had used for years. One of his mates from Cambridge worked there as a solicitor, and Riordan laid out the woman’s dilemma (without mentioning her name), asking if there were any precedents for dissolving a marriage, and was Scotland an option? He asked for William Chambers’s complete discretion in the matter. Lady Pepperdon—Sabrina—haunted his thoughts as he made his way home at six o’clock in the evening. He felt compelled to help her—why, he hadn’t quite worked out. But her desolate declaration of being subjected to horrors from her husband played over and over in his mind.
His residence came into view. The board provided him with a small, partially furnished cottage not a half a mile from the school. They employed a housekeeper/cook, who came four days a week for general cleaning, laundry, and meal preparation. Often Mrs. Ingersoll, the wife of a laborer at the flour mill, made enough to last for days.
Since he’d