Chapter Five

S ally reeled back from the library door, open a crack so she’d clearly heard the conversation inside. Her heart was racing, and a jagged boulder blocked her throat. Hot tears stung her eyes, so she saw the elegant corridor with its graceful side tables and Chinese pottery through a misty haze.

She’d wanted a book, but paused before entering the library when she realized Silas and Sir Charles were in the midst of a discussion. Before she’d decided whether to interrupt or not, what she heard made her curious.

Eavesdropping was beyond the pale. And she suffered the fabled fate of eavesdroppers – she didn’t like what she heard.

She stumbled toward the drawing room. With shaking hands, she pushed open the door and said a fervent prayer of thanks to find it unoccupied. Biting her lip to stifle a sob, she shut the door behind her and rested back on it, trembling.

At last, Sir Charles had stated his intention to propose to Meg. It shouldn’t come as a surprise – it didn’t. Although his diffidence about his reception was unexpected. Sally had feared she’d been too obvious in her matchmaking, and if perhaps that had contributed to his tardiness in coming up to scratch.

Yet today, when she heard him say he’d set his sights on Meg, she wanted to die.

Because now when there was no longer any doubt that he hoped to marry her niece, Sally discovered that she wanted Sir Charles Kinglake for herself.

What a mess.

What a disaster.

And what a blind fool she’d been.

She’d survived her cold marriage by locking away her longing heart. She’d done this so successfully that she’d assumed all deeper emotion was forever banished from her life.

Whereas it turned out she was wrong, and her heart had only been sleeping. Now that understanding descended like a thunderclap, she realized her heart had clamored for her attention for weeks. But she’d been deaf to its frantic messages.

Obstinately deaf.

Any woman of sense would know that female interest sparked her pleasure in Sir Charles’s company. And see the stirrings of attraction in her erratic pulse in his presence. And know that she was constantly unhappy and restless because she wanted him.

Anyone but silly Sally Cowan, that is.

Anyone but a woman who had never known desire.

No wonder she didn’t recognize desire when it came to life.

Desire. And…love.

Because the devastating truth was that she wasn’t too old to fall in love. She loved Sir Charles more with every breath she took. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a man.

And he was completely out of reach.

She gulped in a huge breath of air and placed a shaking hand over her heaving stomach. She could cry now in private. But she must put on a brave face when the engagement was announced.

She should be used to maintaining a show, after her years with Norwood, acting as if everything was fine.

But somehow this was different. Worse. Far more painful, however miserable her marriage had been. This unwelcome, overwhelming love for a man she could never have must remain her secret.

She’d always valued the easy honesty of her dealings with Sir Charles. In the eight weeks since he’d been in London, they’d become friends. Now as a mere friend, she’d assume a cheerful air when he wed Meg. Who was a lovely girl and who deserved this paragon of a man.

No doubt they’d be terrifically happy.

The idea of that terrific happiness made her want to scream.

With a choked sob, she fumbled to lock the door. Her hands were all thumbs, but she managed it at last, thank heaven. Then she staggered across the carpet and collapsed into an armchair. Useless tears burned her eyes like acid, but right now, when she needn’t pretend to be anything but bitterly unhappy, she gave way to the luxury of a good cry.

Because she was doubly shut out of paradise. Even if Sir Charles didn’t want to marry Meg, he’d never court a barren widow several years his senior. He’d want someone young and sweet – and damn it, fertile. Any man would.

She could cry now, but once she left this room, she must gather herself up. She must act as if nothing was the matter, and she was delighted the man she loved was marrying her niece. After all, she’d promoted the match from the start. Pride, duty, and affection for Meg all mandated that she held her head high and smiled and smiled and smiled.

She clenched her fists against the chair’s arms. How in the name of all that was holy could she endure it?

* * *

Charles approached dinner, determined to stake his claim with Sally. Once formalities were done, he intended to take his beloved on a candlelit tour of the long gallery. A tour that he planned to end with kisses and joy and her promise to become his wife.

But from the moment everyone gathered in the drawing room, he noticed that Sally was different. Hard and glittering – and arch in a way he’d never seen her before.

He usually despised archness, but in Sally, the flirtatious gaiety just made him want her more than ever. He itched to give her a good shake and kiss her, until that coquettish expression melted into surrender. And rip that spectacular silvery dress from her long slender body and plunge deep inside her until at last she saw him and nobody else.

Because however her behavior vexed him, he couldn’t deny she looked magnificent, with a hard sparkle that made him think of diamonds. While the silvery dress inevitably reminded him of armor.

Just what did she need armor against? An unwelcome suitor called Charles Kinglake?

He couldn’t help thinking that was the answer. And that made him itch to smash something. Never once did she look in his direction. Even when he wished her good evening, she responded to a spot over his right shoulder.

He wasn’t alone in noticing something amiss.

“Sally, that’s a gorgeous dress, but it’s making the rest of us feel distinctly underdone,” Helena said from near the unlit fire, where she stood with her brother Stone. It was warm for May, and the French doors stood open to the fragrant evening. “Are we expecting a royal visit I don’t know about?”

Sally laughed. Was Charles the only one to hear the edge of hysteria in the sound? “My modiste finished it last week, and I decided I couldn’t wait to wear it.”

Helena’s lips adopted a wry twist. “If I’d known we were going formal, I’d have worn my diamonds.”

“You don’t need diamonds to shine, my love,” West said. He and Caroline were chatting on a chaise longue against the wall.

“Oh, you should never say that to a lady,” Sally said with a flirtatious glance at her host. Meg, who as usual was talking about horses with Brandon and Carey, cast her aunt a glance weighted with concern.

Charles frowned. Something was horribly wrong, but he had no idea what the devil it could be. Sally was trying too hard to shine. Her natural vivacity turned to brittleness. She was noticeably a different creature from the woman he knew.

He wished everyone else in the room to Hades. Damn manners and propriety. He wanted to confront her and find out what had changed. But social rules made that impossible.

Yet again, his lack of status in Sally’s life stung. The unwelcome truth was that she could walk away from him tomorrow, and he’d have no right to call her back.

In the world’s eyes, they were mere acquaintances. Whereas in his eyes, she was the center of his world.

“None of you gorgeous creatures needs diamonds to shine.” West, who had had a career in diplomatic circles before he married his childhood sweetheart, sent his wife a fond smile. “You all sparkle like the stars anyway.”

Helena’s expression turned sardonic. “Nicely saved, my dear. But don’t imagine that means you’re getting back the necklace you gave me for Christmas.”

Caroline smiled. “And while we mightn’t need diamonds, never imagine we don’t want them.”

Stone groaned theatrically. “See what you’ve done, Sally? Now I’m stuck with another trip to Rundell and Bridge. After the last one, I had to mortgage the estate.”

The lovely brunette in spring green fluttered her eyelashes at her husband. “I’m sure it was worth every penny, my love.”

Stone placed a tragic hand to his brow. “What does it matter if I feed our children on stale bread and water, as long as their mother’s taste for baubles is satisfied?”

“See?” Helena turned to West. “That’s the right attitude. You could learn a lot from my brother.”

Stone, rich enough to bedeck a hundred wives in diamonds, directed a woebegone look at his best friend. “You never think before you speak, do you, old man?”

West’s expression held a hint of smugness. “No need to thank me, chum.”

“Then I won’t.”

“Sir Charles, see what you’ve got to look forward to when you take a wife?” Helena said.

Sally was still avoiding looking at him. He struggled to hide his disquiet and raised his glass to his lovely hostess who, while not as elaborately dressed as Sally, was stylish in teal silk. “Apparently a lifetime of buying diamonds.”

“Oh, you’re going to make some lucky woman a wonderful husband,” Caro said, sending Stone a sly look.

“I do hope so,” Charles said, but his hard-won smile faded when out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sally’s unguarded expression. The glitter had disappeared as if it had never been. Instead she looked stricken and pale, and her eyes were dark with misery.

Hell, what did all this mean? Had she somehow guessed he meant to propose tonight and the idea filled her with horror? Dear God, surely that couldn’t be the problem.

Sally looked like her best friend had just died. What in creation was the matter? He racked his brains, but he still for the life of him couldn’t work out any reason for her behavior.

She caught him looking at her, and she plastered on a smile. But the bitter unhappiness lingered in her eyes.

He loathed seeing her like this. He wanted to battle all her dragons, keep her safe, make her happy. But right now, he fought an invisible enemy.

“Shall we go through to dinner?” Helena gestured to Charles to take her into the dining room.

As the others made up couples, with the exception of Brandon who sauntered in last, they went through and found their places.

Charles had hoped to sit beside Sally, where he had a chance at a private word, but Helena had placed him on her right. A position of honor certainly – he wished to God he appreciated it.

“Don’t give up hope,” Helena murmured as he helped her to her seat.

Charles’s faint laugh was tinged with displeasure. “What in Hades? Are you all aware of my plans?”

Helena’s glance fell on Sally who sat further down the table. She was glittering at Carey who looked appropriately dazzled. “No, I don’t think we all are. But you’ll get there in the end.”

Charles studied his beloved, and couldn’t help feeling Helena was overly optimistic. Tonight Sally seemed set on captivating every male here, with the exception of the one who wanted to marry her.

He supposed he should be grateful that the party included two happily married men and a pair of striplings not yet twenty-one. But watching the woman he loved preen and flirt with those two handsome young pups set his teeth on edge.

* * *

Charles was grateful that discussion centered on politics when the gentlemen lingered behind for their port. He avoided Stone’s meaningful looks and took an extra glass, but the premonition of disaster looming ahead only tangled his gut into tighter knots.

Over dinner, Sally had been witty and incandescent – and she still hadn’t looked at him. He’d combed his memory for some way that he’d offended her. But he couldn’t think of a thing. When they’d parted after seeing West’s art collection, she’d seemed as friendly as ever.

To think, he’d found that cause for complaint.

When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room, Sally looked up at his entrance, then her gaze slid off him and landed on West and Silas. Charles braced for more blasted glittering, but she remained quiet. And strangely sad, despite the smile fixed to her face. The smile wasn’t terribly convincing.

“What do you think this weather is going to do?” Caro asked from the sofa, where she sat beside Helena.

“Spring rain here can settle in and last for days, I’m afraid.” West moved forward to rest his hand on his wife’s shoulder. Helena glanced up with a soft smile.

Charles ground his teeth. It wasn’t the night for him to appreciate other people’s marital bliss.

Meg, for once, wasn’t talking about horses. Instead she was flicking through a fashion magazine at a table in the corner. Brandon and Carey were absent. Charles guessed they were playing billiards. With great glee, they’d discovered the table this morning. Perhaps that was why Sally was sad – she’d lost her audience for her flirting.

Charles no longer held out any hope of proposing tonight. But he badly wanted to know what had upset Sally, and if he could do anything to help. He hated knowing that despite her show of effervescence, she was wretched.

He smiled at her. “Lady Norwood, I’m keen to see West’s Caravaggios by candlelight. Would you like to accompany me?”

“Perhaps not this evening, Sir Charles,” Sally said in a dull tone. And while every eye in the room focused on her with varying degrees of curiosity, Sally still talked to someone invisible standing just behind him.

She straightened, and he saw that she was still unusually pale. When she reached out to grip the mantelpiece, her long, slender fingers were rigid with tension.

What the devil? Even more concerned, Charles stepped forward. “Lady Norwood, aren’t you well?”

He saw her begin to shake her head, then she gave a jerky nod. “I have a slight headache.”

Helena’s expression held more speculation than sympathy, Charles noted. “Perhaps it’s being cooped up inside all day.”

Sally sent her a shaky smile. Hard to believe this was the creature who had scintillated with coruscating brilliance only half an hour ago. Perhaps she was genuinely ill, but the more Charles looked at her, the less he believed it.

No, something had upset her. He just wished to Hades he knew what it was. The sight of Sally Cowan fighting to contain her distress made him insane. He loathed that she shut him out.

If he’d ever doubted that he loved her, the way he felt now when he saw her unhappy confirmed that he was irrevocably hers.

“I’m sure that’s it.” Sally went back to addressing Charles’s right shoulder. “However I think Meg would love to see the paintings. She has a great enthusiasm for chiaroscuro. ”

Charles stifled a derisive retort. Not unless Chiaroscuro was the name of a racehorse, she didn’t. He waited for Meg to make some excuse.

To his surprise, the girl closed the magazine. “I’d love to.”

Good God, the world turned upside down. Charles remembered his manners in time to bow to Meg. “Capital. Shall we?”

He lifted a lit candelabra and offered his arm. Meg stood and curled her hand around his elbow. “We shall.”

“Have fun,” Sally said after them, and he could swear he heard a crack in her voice.

Puzzled, he glanced back as he and Meg reached the door. For the first time all evening, Sally was staring directly at him.

She was no longer pale. Instead she looked like she suffered a fever. She bit her lip, and her chin trembled. Growing up with four sisters told him she tried with all her might to hold back tears.

What the hell?

Then she realized he was looking at her, and she dredged up that careless smile, no more convincing than it had been earlier.

The memory of the strain in her piquant face haunted him as he left the drawing room with Meg at his side.