She hugged her knees to her chest. She had left the house as early as possible, wanting to escape before anyone, especially Nicholas, was up. The conversation still left a bitter taste in her mouth. Not only because Nicholas might be right about Huntington’s motives, but because she feared the marriage would drive a greater wedge between herself and her brother. She had always loved her charming, sometimes irresponsible brother, but she had not been able to accept his running off with another man’s wife, no matter what the circumstances were. She had tried her best to understand and forgive him since Mary’s death in a remote Yorkshire inn had nearly destroyed him.
She had never thought her rakish brother would fall so deeply in love. Or that raven-haired Mary with her cool, untouchable beauty would return his love with an equal passion. Mary had seemed to accept her family’s wishes that she marry Devin St Clair, then Lord Warwick, without a qualm. She’d once told Sarah that a marriage of convenience suited her very well for falling in love seemed such an uncomfortable business. She had dismissed all Sarah’s arguments for a love match as hopelessly romantic.
And then Sarah had met Mary’s handsome, charming fiancé with his rather wicked smile and wondered if he would be willing to let Mary remain detached after all.
In the end it was not Mary’s husband but Sarah’s brother who had fanned her passion to life. And if Sarah had not invited Mary to stay at Meade Cottage, Mary might still be alive.
She shivered a little as a cool gust of wind brushed her arms. She’d scarcely noticed the ominous grey clouds gathering overhead. Reluctantly, Sarah gathered her sketchbook and pencils and stood.
‘Miss Chandler.’
She whirled around, nearly dropping her notebook. Cedric Blanton stood behind her. She felt a sudden lurch of fear, even though it was broad daylight. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘I must speak to you.’
‘I would rather not. I must go in.’ She turned and started to walk down the gravel path.
To her dismay, he caught up to her and fell into stride beside her. ‘You cannot marry Lord Huntington.’
She kept her eyes fixed on the path and increased her pace. ‘That is none of your concern.’
‘But it is. You were with me first. If he hadn’t interfered, you would be betrothed to me.’
‘That is ridiculous. If you hadn’t behaved so…so ungentlemanly then I would have no need to marry anyone.’
‘You would do better to marry me.’
‘It is too late. I am to marry Lord Huntington in a few days.’ Thank goodness the house was only a short distance away.
‘We could elope.’
‘No!’ This time she stopped and stared at him. ‘I could never do that.’
His mouth tightened. ‘You will be sorry if you marry him. As will he.’
Was he threatening her? But she could not tell from the expression in his pale blue eyes. A drop of rain recalled her to the fact she was about to be caught in a rainstorm. ‘I…I must go in.’
‘What the hell are you doing with my fiancée?’
Huntington’s icy voice cut through the air like a whip. Somehow, he’d managed to come up behind them, the wind obscuring his approach. He was dressed in a dark coat and breeches, the wind ruffling his dark hair, his expression grim, like some sort of avenging angel. Sarah resisted the urge to cower.
Blanton looked at him, unruffled. ‘I was merely offering Miss Chandler my services if she should need me.’
Huntington took a step forward, his face full of icy contempt. ‘I will see you to the devil before she needs your services.’
Blanton’s smile faltered and then returned. ‘I hope not, my lord.’ He looked over at Sarah, his eyes filled with a cold fury that made her shudder. ‘Goodbye, Miss Chandler.’ He turned and walked away.
Sarah forced herself to look at Huntington. His face looked as stormy as the sky. She shivered. ‘I was just about to return to the house.’ She started to move, only to find him blocking her way.
‘What were you doing with him?’ he demanded.
His arrogant tone, along with the implication that she had actually sought Blanton’s company, set her back up. She lifted her chin. ‘I was not with him.’
‘Then he was an apparition?’
‘Of course not. I only meant…’ Several large drops of rain hit her squarely on the forehead. They were swiftly followed by several more. ‘This is not the time to engage in idiotic conversation, my lord. We are about to become extremely wet.’
He glanced up at the sky. ‘You are right.’
‘There is a small temple over there,’ Sarah said. He looked up in the direction she indicated, then grabbed her hand and started hauling her towards the summerhouse. By now, the rain was coming faster and faster.
The skies burst open just as they stumbled up the steps of the small Grecian temple. Rain dripped from Huntington’s hair and he looked as if someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head. Sarah had no doubt she looked every bit as bad. She shivered a little in her thin muslin gown.
He brushed the water from his coat, then shrugged out of it. He held it out to her. ‘Put this around your shoulders.’
She shook her head. ‘’Tis very kind of you to offer, but…’
He scowled, and stalked to her side. ‘You’re shivering. Don’t argue.’ He draped it around her shoulders, the warmth from his body penetrating her skin.
‘But won’t you be cold?’ She glanced over at him and then quickly away, the sight of his broad shoulders under the fine linen of his shirt making her uncomfortable.
‘My waistcoat is enough. I generally tend to be warm.’
‘Do you? I am always cold.’
‘I am glad we have that settled. Why don’t you sit down, Miss Chandler?’
She was about to argue and changed her mind. She sat down on the small stone bench near the wall and pulled his coat more tightly about her.
He had retreated to the other side of the building and leaned against a column, arms folded across his chest, his booted legs crossed as well. ‘What did Blanton want?’
‘Nothing, really.’ How many times had she said those words in the past few days?
‘I find that difficult to believe.’
She sighed. He had that implacable expression she was beginning to dread. She wrapped his coat more firmly about her shoulders. ‘Must we discuss this? It matters little.’
He scowled. ‘But it does. You are betrothed to me.’
‘That does not mean I must answer to you in every matter.’
‘It does in this matter. Stay away from him.’
His tone indicated the matter was closed. ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Nor are you to go anywhere on the grounds without a footman.’
‘No, my lord.’
He shot her a suspicious glance. His scowl deepened. ‘There is one more thing.’
‘Yes, my lord?’
‘Will you cease to address me as “my lord”?’ he snapped.
‘Very well, sir.’
The next thing she knew he had stalked over to stand in front of her. She resisted the urge to cower and merely looked at him, her hands clasped in her lap.
‘Perhaps, Miss Chandler, you could tell me