Chapter Five

"W ell, that couldn't have gone any better!" the countess enthused as they headed home from the picnic.

Sadie stared at the woman. "Everyone saw my legs," she groused. "I now have witnesses to my wild Scottish ways."

"Pish posh. They didn't need witnesses for that. They saw you save a child from certain death. Lord Heath was most impressed."

"Lord Heath has already declared me unsuitable."

The countess sniffed. "For him , perhaps. And really, I'm not at all sure about that. Still, he's going to waltz with you for the next few days—"

"He said tomorrow night—"

"But it won't be enough to make you fashionable."

"I'll never be fashionable." Sadie sighed, feeling contrary. She'd never cared before, so why did it so depress her now?

"Don't be silly. You are well on your way! The women already call you Lady Vengeance."

Sadie jolted, panic surging through her. "How did you hear that?"

"My dear, I know everything." She folded her hands in her lap. "I'll admit that I was horrified when I first learned about it. You can't go around chastising gentlemen, no matter how much they deserve it. But the women thank me. It's been astonishing. And the men have reformed, a little. It must be your Scottish bluntness."

Sadie stared at the countess. Did she really think she simply spoke with the men? It didn't matter. The lady was allowing something extraordinary. She would be wise to not question it.

"But Sadie," the countess continued, "you must stop. I would have interfered before, but everyone has been so grateful. I believed then—as I do now—that as long as the women are on your side, a certain amount of wildness is forgiven. But that gambit has gone as far as it can. You have to stop."

That didn't seem likely. Lord Liddican had slunk off into a corner somewhere, but she didn't think he'd stay there for long. Vicious men rarely did.

"If we get Prinny's approval, you will be as fashionable as is possible for a Scotswoman."

Sadie laughed at that. "And why would Prinny approve of me?"

The countess threw up her hands in disgust. "Do try to think. Lord Heath works for Prinny. You knew that, right?"

She remembered something to that effect. "He manages the royal seals. If a merchant wants royal approval, then they apply to Lord Heath, and he, in turn, speaks to Prinny."

"Yes, exactly. And now he will get you the royal seal as well."

She snorted. She wasn't a crate of whiskey waiting for Prinny to slap a mark on her. And yet, if Prinny declared her interesting, she'd receive a huge boost. Other women—courtesans and mistresses—had done the same, but it carried a social taint. She would become infamous, which was the opposite of what Lord Heath wanted.

She shouldn't care, but she did. She'd thought she hated him, but at today's picnic, she found him unbearably attractive. He doted on his children, and they adored him. Many men appeared kind in public, but were cruel in private. Lord Heath's children loved him to the point of giving him no peace. And he was at sea because he desperately wanted to protect them.

In short, he loved his daughters. He was a good father and would make a kind husband. Even if he never loved his wife, he would be careful with her, honor her appropriately, and…

But whomever that woman was, it would never be Sadie.

"Oh you Scots," the countess sighed. "Always gloomy, no matter what happens. Never mind whatever you're thinking. We must discuss what you're wearing tonight."

"We already—"

"Hush! We must plan three nights of seductive attire, each more alluring than the last. Lord Heath must see what a wild Scotswoman offers. I vow you'll have him down on one knee within the week."

*

Lord Heath did not show up at that evening's ball. Sadie hadn't expected him, though the countess appeared disappointed. He'd said as much that afternoon, and Sadie wouldn't have respected a man who broke his word to his children.

He may not have been there in person, but they were the talk of the ball. There was a hot debate about whether a lady should expose her legs for any reason. Most thought that a true lady would find a better way to rescue a child. Sadie didn't understand how that could even be a question. There had been lots of ladies at the picnic who hadn't found a way to help Lacy.

Was there nothing better to discuss than the state of her ankles? At least she had plenty of dance partners that night. Everyone wanted to ask her thoughts on the matter, so she began inviting a discourse on the Corn Laws or Napoleon. Anything of more importance than the fact that she'd climbed a tree in public. Which was to say—everything.

She was not loved for her stubbornness.

Even the countess had commanded her to stop killing the discussion. Didn't she realize that some sensations were helpful?

Only she knew Lord Heath hated all such sensation. He wanted a quiet, respectable wife. Which is exactly what he told her after the ball when he appeared at her window.

She'd been awake. Indeed, she'd been staring forlornly out her window as she thought of the quiet Scottish moors. Then he appeared, a dark form who began steadily climbing the ivy.

She wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it. He appeared much too proper to do such a thing, but when she hauled open the window, he squeezed into her bedroom as if summoned from her thoughts.

"God, that was fun," he said with a grin. "Though that ivy needs to be removed before it damages the house."

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "And what about your children?"

"I have a neighbor woman who stays sometimes. She needs the money and I need the help."

"But why are you here?" And looking so dashing in shirtsleeves and boots.

"I came to see if you were all right. You'd think the Queen herself had climbed that tree for all the gossip that is swirling. I cannot understand what the countess is thinking to let this scandal go on."

"Can't you? She thinks you will be dashing to my defense."

He frowned. "Well, I have been, but that's hardly dashing. It's just common sense."

She rolled her eyes. "As if you English have ever been known for common sense."

"Hey now!" he exclaimed. "No need to get mean. The Scots aren't exactly a practical people."

"What are you talking about?" she huffed. "We're completely practical. You're the one climbing into my bedroom just to see if a bit of scandal has left me weeping!"

"Has it?"

"Never." Though she had teared up at the thought of him despising her because of the gossip.

"Good."

"I cannot believe you climbed the wall to ask me!"

He grinned. "I suppose you are having an effect on me. I had to speak to you without everyone else around." His expression sobered. "Eddie is causing problems."

"Lord Liddican can do nothing to harm me." She'd become a sensation all on her own.

"He is claiming all sorts of nonsense. Ridiculous things that the two of you have done together."

She blinked. "Us?" She wrinkled her nose. "That's disgusting."

"He is a disgusting man. But with your recent notoriety, there are those who will believe it."

"Someone always believes the worst."

"The prince is one of them."

Prinny thought her to be Lord Liddican's whore? "You cannot mean that."

"I mean," he paused as he ran a hand over his face, "that between Eddie's lies and this afternoon's picnic, Prinny has decided you are worth meeting. Not in any official capacity, you understand. That's what I've come to tell you. He's going to visit the park tomorrow to see this tree you climbed. You should be there when he does. You should act demure and reassure him that you are nothing like what Eddie claims."

She nodded. "And if I gain his approval?"

"Then you shall be set in society. If Prinny declares you respectable—"

"Respectable?"

"Well, ‘interesting' is good enough. But if he says that, then Eddie cannot touch your reputation. No one could."

She took a deep breath. "And what of you, Lord Heath? Will that be enough for you?"

He frowned. "Enough for me how?"

Enough for her to be a good example for his children. Enough for him to be interested in her as a wife. Enough for him to kiss her right here, right now, in her bedroom.

He seemed to see what she was thinking. Indeed, his eyes turned dark, and his body leaned closer.

"Miss Allen, you have always been enough for me," he whispered.

"That doesn't tell me anything," she said. "I don't know…"

Her words were cut off as he kissed her. Deep. Thrusting. Possessive. He seemed to want her in the most carnal way, and hotblooded Scotswoman that she was—she wanted him, too.

His tongue was in her mouth, taking what she gave. His hands were on her breasts, and she arched as he ripped her night rail away. She was naked as he abraded her nipples, hot as her belly pressed against his organ. And open, so open to him as he pressed her back to her bed.

She went willingly. He was kissing her breasts, spreading her thighs, and taking her body again and again.

It wasn't enough. He was a big man. So why didn't she feel him?

He was in her, hard and thick, and yet she couldn't feel anything.

And then she knew.

This was a dream . A beautiful, wonderful dream that could only end one way.

The wail began as soon as she thought it. The banshee scream burst through her room, swirling wind that screamed its own lament, "Traitor! You bed a Sassenach! Traitor!"

She tried to stop it but was too slow. She watched in horror as its claws sunk into his chest and came away covered in gore.

For the second time that week, Sadie woke screaming.