Regency Christmas Vows

Murmuring an incoherent apology to Mr Tilbury, Sarah hurried from the ballroom, almost ran up the stairs and instinctively sought shelter in her own room. Once there, she closed the door softly and leant back against it with her eyes closed. Mrs Clarke’s sharply cruel words echoed in her mind: ‘Lost to all sense of decency…’

There could be no mistake. Somehow, word of her intention to visit Blanchland had leaked out, been seized upon by eager gossips, and passed around the ballroom. Sarah felt outraged and humiliated. How dared they speak of her like that, make her the butt of their slander, rip her reputation to shreds in her very presence? She had seen them all, some condemning her already, others merely excited by scandal, but all watching her reactions for their own entertainment. Sarah had heard of times when the collective disapproval of Bath society had ruined someone’s reputation, or left them a social outcast. It was just that she had never been on the receiving end before.

And why should she hide away here as though she had something to be ashamed of? Eyes flashing, Sarah flung open the door, ready to do battle in the ballroom. She would show Mrs Clarke and Mrs Bunton and all the other quizzes that she did not give a rush for their disapproval! She would not let them judge her and run away from them…

Sarah closed the door behind her and walked towards the stairs, still burning with outraged anger. She did not see the figure on the shadowed landing until it moved, and then she spun round with a gasp of alarm.

‘Lord Renshaw! Good gracious, you gave me fright! Whatever are you doing up here, sir?’

‘I wanted to speak to you, Miss Sheridan,’ Guy said, coming forward into the circle of light cast by the single candelabra. ‘I heard you come running up here and thought it best, perhaps, that we did not have an audience for our conversation.’

Sarah looked at him in puzzlement. There was something curious in his tone, some element that she could not define but that made her uncomfortable. It was impossible to decipher his expression in the flickering candlelight.

‘I do not understand you, sir,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Surely it would be better to return to the ballroom—’

‘Very well, if you are determined to face the extraordinary rumours that are circulating there,’ Guy said coolly. ‘Perhaps we could invite the whole of Bath society to join the conversation since they are taking such a close interest in your affairs!’

Sarah let out her breath in a long sigh. ‘Oh, so you have heard—’

‘I have! I could scarce believe it! Either you are seriously lacking in judgement, Miss Sheridan, or you are not the woman I thought you!’

Sarah stared at him, her temper soaring dangerously. She had been expecting him to sympathise with her in the face of the small-minded and malicious scandal-mongers, and to find herself condemned unheard was adding insult to injury.

‘Oh really, my lord!’ she burst out. ‘It is the outside of enough to have to put up with the ill-informed gossip of spiteful matrons without such as yourself picking pieces in my good character as well!’

‘Indeed?’ Guy stepped closer to her, his physical presence completely overwhelming her. Now that he was so near, Sarah could sense the slow burn of his anger, though she still did not understand its cause. ‘At the least you do not pretend ignorance! Are you telling me that the rumours are untrue, Miss Sheridan?’

Sarah hesitated for a fatal second, trapped by her own honesty. ‘Yes! No! At least…I do intend to visit Blanchland, but it is not as you imagine…’

Guy brought his hand down on the banisters with a force that seemed to make the delicate ironwork shiver. ‘Surely it can be no surprise that your apparent desire to spend the winter in a house of ill repute should set the town by the ears, Miss Sheridan! Good God, Blanchland is a place where no woman of respectability should dream of setting foot! You will not have a shred of reputation left to you!’

Sarah glared at him. ‘I can scarce believe that you are giving credence to chance-heard rumours, my lord! I should have thought better of you! You have not even paused to request an explanation!’

Guy had turned away, his face tight and angry, but now he swung back towards her.

‘There can be no reasonable explanation! At least,’ he corrected himself punctiliously, ‘the best construction I can put on your conduct is that you lack any sense of proper behaviour and the worst—’ his dark eyes narrowed murderously ‘—is that you are accustomed to the sort of society and pursuits that Blanchland has to offer! Neither is an adequate excuse!’

Sarah seldom lost her temper. The even tenor of life in Amelia’s household was hardly ever ruffled by upset or disturbance, but now she found herself furiously angry. Guy’s stubborn refusal to see anything but the worst in her was as distressing as it was infuriating. The situation was further exacerbated by the fact that she could not understand why he was so angry. Worst of all was a shaming desire to cry, as she realised that, despite the brevity of their acquaintance, his good opinion was something that she valued deeply. She swallowed hard and made a conscious effort to whip up her anger as a defence against the hurt she was feeling.

‘That is enough, sir! I do not wish to hear you slander my reputation! And as for your playing of the moral arbiter, it is rich beyond belief! You are the greatest hypocrite I have ever come across!’

Sarah made to walk past Guy and seek the sanctuary of her room again, all thoughts of returning to the ballroom forgotten. She was shaking with anger and mortification. She had no clear idea of how such a confrontation could have occurred, nor did she wish to prolong it. For Guy to take her to task in such a way was not the conduct of a gentleman, but deeper than that, more hurtful, was his evident contempt and unjust condemnation.

Guy shifted slightly, but he did not move to let her past. There was something wholly unyielding about his stance, as though he had no intention of letting her go easily. For a long moment their eyes met in angry conflict, then Guy stepped forward and trapped Sarah between his body and the balcony rail.

He bent his head and brought his mouth down on hers in a kiss that was searching and utterly ruthless. Disbelief and fury welled up in Sarah. She pummelled his chest hard with her clenched fists, but he only tightened his grip on her, rendering her protests useless.

‘I am living up to my reputation now, Miss Sheridan,’ he said, raising his lips an inch from hers. ‘I suggest that you start to do the same!’

His mouth returned to hers with a fierce demand. A shocking excitement swept through Sarah, setting her trembling in his arms. She could smell the faint, crisp scent of his lemon cologne, taste the sweetness of wine as his lips parted and moved over her own, lightly one moment, deepening again the next, but always in inexorable control. The merciless hands holding her hard against him did not relent for a moment.

Sarah gave up the struggle. She had no strength left to resist him, no will to do so. Despite the calculated nature of his embrace, to be kissed by him was such exquisite pleasure that she never wanted it to end. Her fingers uncurled against his chest and she slid her arms up about his neck. One of Guy’s hands slipped down her back and over her hip, drawing her against the hardness of his body. He slid his other hand under the hair at the nape of her neck, his caress on the tender skin there causing Sarah to shiver. She made a small, inarticulate sound of surrender, pressing closer, completely abandoned to the kiss.

Something had changed, although Sarah was too adrift to realise what it was. Guy’s cruel grip had eased and the touch of his lips, his hands, became gentle, exploring mutual pleasure rather than administering punishment. The aquamarine dress was slipping off Sarah’s shoulders and the lace fichu tumbled to the floor. She felt the featherlight touch of Guy’s fingers graze her collarbone before his lips left hers to trace a downward path from the line of her throat over the exposed curve of her breast. His breathing was as ragged as her own now. Sarah arched against him, weak with desire, stunned by her reaction to him.

His mouth returned to hers roughly, plundering its softness. He held her face still with one hand, upturned and open to his, his fingers tangled in her hair. His other hand gently brushed aside the silk of the dress and bared Sarah’s heated skin to his touch. The deep, sweet invasion of her mouth went on and on. The pins tumbled from Sarah’s hair and fell with a soft tinkle on to the marble floor of the hall below. She did not notice; did not notice as her hair fell from its carefully arranged curls to swirl about her bare shoulders, did not notice as her bodice slipped to her waist, leaving her half-naked in Guy’s arms, did not notice as a door below opened abruptly and people spilled out into the hall.

‘Oh!’ There was a squeal from one of the women. ‘I almost stepped on a pin!’

Sarah heard the voices, but could make no sense of them through the desire that clouded her mind. It seemed, however, that Guy retained just enough presence of mind to drag her back from the balcony and into the shadows before the assembled company turned as one to gaze up into the darkness of the upper hall.

‘I say! Whatever is going on? Is there anybody up there?’

There was a giggle from one of the women, a guffaw, hastily repressed, from one of the men, and some murmured words and laughter before they all drifted off into the cardroom. Then there was silence.

Reality hit Sarah like a tidal wave. How could she be standing here in the candlelight, her clothing all awry, having allowed this man the most appalling liberties imaginable? Only seconds before he had questioned her virtue, and now she had comprehensively proved his point! She was trembling, her whole body shaking not with passion but with the enormity of what she had done. Where would it have ended? With her naked on the landing in full view of Amelia’s guests? Her cheeks burned as she realised that she had been so lost in desire that she had not even thought of whom might see her. How could this have happened? She had always found Guy Renshaw attractive, but their verbal sparring had given her no clue to the shocking physical awareness that would flare between them. Why, when she had made to leave him on the landing she had not even liked him any more! And yet…

Sarah pulled her dress up over her shoulders and bent to pick up the discarded scrap of white lace. The point of a fichu, she remembered her mama telling her years before, was to preserve a lady’s modesty. Well, she had no need of that! Her own behaviour had proved as much! And worse, memory stirred to remind her just how much she had enjoyed it, how she had ached for Guy’s kisses, the touch of his hands on her body…How was it possible to dislike someone and want them at the same time? The thought made her despair.

More distressing still was the look of stony contempt on Guy’s face. Whatever emotions had shaken her, they had evidently left him singularly unmoved. He still had hold of her wrist, but Sarah wrenched it from his grasp and walked past him to the door of her bedroom, her head held high and the effect ruined by the knowledge that his gaze had taken in the decadent effect of her plunging neckline. Her heart sank as Guy followed her into the room. All she wanted to do now was recover from her humiliation in private.

‘You will oblige me by leaving me alone now, sir.’ Sarah knew she had not achieved the icy tone she sought and could hardly bear to raise her eyes to his.

‘A moment.’ Guy’s searing gaze swept over the dishevelled curls about Sarah’s shoulders and lingered on the shadowy cleft between her breasts. ‘You’re good, I’ll say that for you! Just enough untutored innocence mixed with passion!’ He gave a cynical laugh. ‘Good enough to leave me in some doubt! Anyway, I came to make you an offer—one that you may look kindly upon after your performance just now. I wish to spare you the trouble of looking for a protector at Blanchland. I am rich enough for any taste and I’m sure I can satisfy you! What do you say?’

The colour drained from Sarah’s face. This was the final insult. She had refuted his accusations only to fall into his arms and apparently prove herself experienced. Was carte blanche the logical outcome? She supposed that might be so. Could she blame him for thinking of her as he did? Perhaps not, and yet she had hoped he would know her better than that. She had cherished secret dreams that had been far removed from this tawdry reality. She could scarcely believe that everything good and pure and sweet between them had been ground into the dust.

‘Get out of my room!’ It felt to Sarah that she must have shouted, but her words came out as a whisper. Guy’s expression was blank for a moment, then he turned on his heel and the slam of the door echoed through the entire house.

‘Sarah?’ Amelia’s tap on the door was almost silent and her cousin barely heard her whisper. ‘Sarah, are you there?’

As Sarah struggled to sit up, Amelia turned the knob and stepped into the darkened bedroom. The lamp was turned down low, but there was enough light to see Sarah’s stricken face and Amelia hurried forward in obvious alarm.

‘Sarah! Whatever has happened?’

Sarah raised a face so blotchy and tear-stained that it was almost unrecognisable. A few minutes before she would have sworn she had no more tears left, but now she burst into tears all over again.

‘Oh, Milly!’

Amelia sensibly did not press for an explanation, but gathered her cousin into her arms without a word. Eventually Sarah’s sobs subsided a little again and she looked up.

‘Has he gone?’

‘He? Who?’

‘Lord…Lord Renshaw…’

Several things became clear to Amelia at the same time. ‘Yes, he left about an hour ago. I did not see him, but Grev said that he had gone. Was he with you before that, Sarah?’

A nod of the head was her only reply. Amelia’s thoughtful gaze took in her cousin’s tumbled hair and the blue dress that was lacking a piece of material it had certainly started off with. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Here? He was with you here?’

Sarah nodded again.

Amelia glanced from her cousin to the bed. Try as she might, she could not keep the horror out of her voice. ‘Oh, Sarah, surely he did not make love to you—?’

Sarah made a noise that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. ‘No, it is not as bad as that!’ She pushed the damp hair back from her face. ‘Not quite, but nearly…’ Slowly the story of the encounter came out, with Amelia sitting quite still and quiet as she listened.

‘I felt so dreadful,’ Sarah ended bitterly. ‘I had told him that he had misjudged me, and then I behaved like the veriest trollop! Is it any wonder that he treated me like one? When he said—’ She broke off on a sob, swallowed and started again, ‘He made it all sound so sordid, Amelia, and that is exactly how it was!’

‘You must not blame yourself,’ Amelia said carefully, after a moment. ‘I knew that you were more than a little in love with him, whatever you said before! Lord Renshaw had no right to speak to you as he did and, despite his reputation, I had not really thought that he would—’ She broke off. ‘Truly, the man is unforgivable!’ She passed her cousin another handkerchief and patted her hand encouragingly.

Sarah blew her nose hard. ‘Oh, dear, this is a terrible! To offer me carte blanche—’

‘A poor reflection on Lord Renshaw rather than on yourself, my love!’ Amelia said stringently. ‘Pray put him from your mind. I doubt we shall see him again!’

Sarah thought that this was probably true. The idea gave her so much pain that she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from crying again. Yet if it was distressing to think of never seeing Guy again, it upset Sarah even more to think of the opinion of her that he would carry away.

‘Will you still go to Blanchland, Sarah?’ Amelia was asking carefully. ‘Unfortunately, it is true that everyone is talking about it. I swear I told no one, but I wonder if the servants overheard—’

‘Probably,’ Sarah said tiredly. She got up and moved to turn up the lamp. ‘Let people talk! I still intend to go tomorrow!’

‘Sarah!’ Amelia seemed uncertain whether to be glad or sorry that her cousin’s familiar determination was reappearing. ‘You cannot! Oh, surely you must see that it is impossible now! If you stay here and we put it about that it was all nothing but malicious gossip, the outcry will soon die down—’

‘You mistake, Amelia.’ Sarah was already pulling a couple of canvas bags from the cupboards, her actions showing a feverish energy. ‘I intend to go, now more than ever! I will not have the likes of Guy Renshaw standing in judgement on me!’

Sarah rose early after a night with almost no sleep at all. Amelia had left her with a kiss after spending a fruitless half hour trying to persuade her cousin to change her mind. The more Sarah thought about it, the more her conviction grew. The misery she had felt at Guy Renshaw’s stark contempt was hardening into anger now, humiliation turning into a burning fury. She was angry with herself for falling into his arms and confirming his opinion of her, but she was even more angry that he should ever have doubted her virtue. In the dark shadows of the night she had painfully admitted to herself just how much she had liked him. So much had been built upon so little: the roses, a couple of conversations, one waltz. And now she would have to learn to forget him.

With a heavy heart, Sarah dragged her bags to the bedroom door. If she was lucky, she could avoid Amelia, who always got up late on the morning after a ball. She could not bear another scene. She would take a hack down to the Angel and get the coach to the Old Down Inn and from there…

Sarah went out onto the landing, intending to tiptoe downstairs and find herself some breakfast before she left. She averted her gaze from the spot at the top of the stairs where she and Guy had had their encounter the previous night.

Far from being quiet, the house seemed very noisy. The shutters were flung back and servants were scurrying about in a frenzy. As she descended the stairs Sarah could see two large trunks, neatly bound with red rope, standing by the front door. Chisholm, looking as harassed as Sarah had ever seen him, was taking down what seemed like an endless list of instructions from his employer. Sarah stared in disbelief.

‘…and cancel my attendance at Mrs Chartley’s breakfast, if you please, and the card party at Colonel Waring’s and any other invitations I have forgotten!’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘And make sure that any invitations from Mrs Bunton and Mrs Clarke are returned unopened—’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Amelia, looking fresh and radiant in a coffee-brown travelling dress and matching hat, turned to see her cousin watching her in amazement from the top of the stairs.

‘There you are, Sarah! At last! Hurry and take some breakfast! Oh, and Chisholm—’ her voice hardened ‘—if Sir Greville Baynham calls, pray tell him that I have left town and that his friends are not welcome in my house again—’

‘Oh, Milly, you cannot do that! It is not Greville’s fault!’ Sarah recovered the use of her voice and hurried down to her cousin’s side.

‘No matter!’ Amelia’s chin was set defiantly. ‘Sir Greville is to blame for having such poor taste in his friends! Now, are you almost ready, my love?’

Sarah watched bemusedly as two footmen threw open the main door and staggered out to the carriage under the huge weight of Amelia’s baggages.

‘Yes, but…what…?’

‘I knew that I could not persuade you to change your mind,’ Amelia said, seizing her arm and steering her towards the breakfast parlour, ‘so I have changed mine! Dearest Sarah! I am coming with you!’

Chapter Four

‘Seems to me you’ve made a dashed mess of things, Guy,’ Greville Baynham said frankly, helping himself to a large plate of devilled kidneys. ‘Didn’t even give the poor girl a chance to explain!’

Guy stared gloomily out of the breakfast-room window. He had spent the best part of the night playing high and drinking deep, and this morning was left with a vicious headache and a feeling of sick disgust. At the back of his mind was the thought that Greville was very probably correct.

In his salad days he had tumbled into love several times with females who were either unsuitable or ineligible or both. It had not mattered then; his suffering was usually of short duration and there were plenty of ladies willing to help him recover and move on to the next conquest. As he had grown older he had seen that love rarely had much to do with these transactions and was quite content for this to be the case. The fact that his father wished him to settle down and provide an heir for Woodallan he viewed as a completely separate issue. Or, he had viewed it as such until he had met Miss Sarah Sheridan.

Guy shifted in his chair. He had told Greville about the rumours that were circulating about Sarah and a little of the scene between them, though, naturally enough, he had not imparted the whole tale. Greville had been frankly incredulous.

‘Sounds all a hum to me,’ he said judiciously. ‘The Bath tabbies usually prefer fiction to fact! They find it so much more scandalous. Ten to one the whole thing is nothing more than a Banbury tale!’

Guy pulled a face. ‘I would like to agree with you, Grev, but Miss Sheridan practically confirmed it! When I asked her if it was true she was visiting Blanchland, she did not give a convincing denial! What was I to think?’

Greville waved his fork about descriptively. ‘That she was visiting her old nurse? That Ralph Covell wanted to hand over some of her father’s paintings? I don’t know—anything except what you clearly did think, old chap!’

Guy did not deny it. Now he said, ‘I suppose…I may have been a little hasty—’

‘Seems to me you should think about why you reacted as you did,’ Greville said drily, demonstrating his disconcerting habit of hitting the nail on the head. ‘I believe you must owe Miss Sheridan an apology, Guy. Do you care to accompany me to Brock Street this morning? I was intending to call on Lady Amelia anyway.’

Guy hesitated. He sincerely doubted that Sarah would either offer an explanation or give him the chance to apologise. It seemed most likely, in fact, that she would never speak to him again. He thought again of the previous night, of how Sarah’s initial resistance to him had melted into response and how he had taken ruthless advantage of it. Much as he would have preferred to deny it, her willingness had raised an echo of genuine passion in him that had transcended the blind fury that had first prompted him to punish her. He had been as shaken as she was—or as she had appeared to be.

Guy paused. Supposing—just supposing—Sarah had been the innocent he had always thought her to be? How must she have felt to have her inexperienced reactions construed as calculated passion? How would she be feeling that morning, confronted with the discovery of her own desires and the memory of his contempt? There were no excuses. He had taken disgraceful advantage of her.

Guy gave a groan and buried his head in his hands. Looking at matters in the cold light of day, he was both stunned and disconcerted by his violent reaction to the gossip he had heard. As Greville had said, he needed to analyse why he had responded so furiously and the answer was not far to seek. Although he had not previously acknowledged it, his feelings for Sarah Sheridan ran very deep indeed. The knowledge was a shock on one level, but on another he was obliged to admit that he had known it from the first. The fact that he had known her such a short time was irrelevant to his feelings. And now he had made the most godforsaken mess of the whole business…He groaned again.

Greville was eyeing him with concern. ‘I’ll ring for an ice bag,’ he said, getting up. ‘And, Guy, have a shave before you go out. It won’t help your cause to arrive in Brock Street looking half cut!’