Chapter Fourteen

S arah ran, the tears streaming down her face, head bent against the crowds of people making their way through the gardens. When the path forked she took the left side, the quieter side, which curved away into the darkness. There were no lanterns lighting the way down here, and a couple of times she slipped and stumbled, the grip on her delicate shoes not ideal for the outdoor terrain.

As she ran she kept replaying the conversation with Lord Routledge—Henry—in her mind, and the awful, stiff way he had held her for the dance after. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but perhaps her blunt delivery had left a lot to be desired. She wanted him to see how wonderful he was, how any young woman would be lucky to have him. She wanted him to realise that he deserved to be loved. Of course she understood he had been through so much, that wasn’t something to be dismissed. She just wished he wouldn’t resign himself for a life without love.

Letting out a sob, she felt the tears flood onto her cheeks. It had gone so badly. He’d looked at her as if she had just coldly and deliberately ripped out his heart, thrown it to the floor and stamped on it. She’d felt the anger underneath the disbelief too—although as ever Lord Routledge had managed to keep a relatively calm facade. Then, when he had escorted her to the dance floor, he had spent the entire time not looking at her. It had been the most cold and impersonal quadrille ever danced.

Sarah slowed, looking around her. The only light in this part of the gardens was from the moon and the stars around it. Her eyes had started to adjust to the darkness, but she was suddenly aware of how vulnerable she was out here, away from the other revellers. She checked over her shoulder and listened for a moment, relief flooding through her when she did not hear anyone approaching.

She screamed when she felt a hand on her shoulder, whipping round and lashing out. She would have caught the man in the abdomen but her assailant jumped back, light on his feet. She was about to kick out with her own feet when Lord Routledge’s familiar voice cut through the air.

‘I would thank you not to kick me.’ His hand pressed against her half-raised leg, stopping her from acting on instinct.

It took a minute for her heart to stop thumping in her chest and return to a normal rhythm. For that time they stood facing one another in the darkness of the gardens.

‘You shouldn’t have run off,’ Lord Routledge said, his voice gruff.

‘I needed to be alone.’

‘However upset you are, it is not worth risking your safety.’

Even after everything she had said, he still cared for her wellbeing. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to gather her thoughts.

‘I am sorry, I did not think of my safety.’ They stood in silence for a long moment before Sarah spoke again. ‘I am sorry for speaking so bluntly before.’

‘You spoke your mind. I cannot criticise you for your honesty.’

‘I was insensitive in how and where I told you what I thought.’

‘Why do you care what happens to me, Miss Shepherd? After tomorrow we shall go our separate ways, never to see one another again.’

His words nipped at her, stinging and biting, and she flinched.

‘I wish I did not care,’ she murmured. ‘It would make it all that much easier.’

‘But you do?’

‘I may have only known you for a few days, my lord, but I meant it when I said I think you are the kindest, most generous man I have ever met. You saved me from a run of foolish mistakes at the Shrewsbury ball, listened to my story and promised to help, even though you did not know me. These last few days you have been attentive and true to your word, despite everything you have occurring in your own life.’ She glanced up and met his eye, knowing she should leave her speech there, but unable to stop. ‘I wish I felt nothing for you, I wish tomorrow I could say goodbye and move on with my life, but I will not be able to, not easily.’

He remained silent, his face impassive, and she wished she could tell what he was feeling.

‘Ever since I found out what my father did to my mother all those years ago, how a few weeks of happy recklessness led to a lifetime of being alone, I promised myself I would never get into the same situation. I would either devote myself to my work and grow old a spinster, or I would ensure I was wed before allowing anything intimate to happen. Yet a few days in your company and I find myself yearning for...’ She trailed off, still too much of an innocent to put into words what she wanted from him.

‘Yearning for what?’

‘You,’ she said quietly.

A fire blazed in his eyes, and she saw the warring emotions in him. Finally, desire won out—he stepped forward, without saying a word, and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her hard, not like the gentle, passionate kisses of the day before, and Sarah responded to his touch immediately. She knew she should push him away, break off this contact and do the sensible thing, but she wanted more than anything to sink into his arms.

His hands roamed over her body, pulling at her dress, and she gasped as his fingers grazed her skin.

All her life she had been good, she had done what she was told and followed the rules. For once she wanted to break every rule, to do what she wished and damn the consequences. She wanted to feel the heat of his body on hers, to writhe in passion underneath him. She wanted to give every part of herself to him and revel in his attention.

But not like this. She’d felt his passion before, but this evening there was a hard edge to it, as if he could not forgive her for her words earlier. As much as she wanted him, she could not give herself to him when he was angry with her.

It was one of the hardest things she had ever done, pulling away from him, and she saw the surprise in his eyes as she stepped back.

‘I can’t do this,’ she said quietly. ‘Not like this.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re angry with me. I can feel it.’

She wanted him to deny it, to approach her with a gentle sensitivity, to reassure her it was only desire he felt, not anger. Instead he sighed, deflating a little.

‘You’re right. We shouldn’t do this.’

He didn’t move, but she could see him shutting her off, putting up walls to protect himself.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sarah said, unsure if she was apologising for kissing him or pulling away, or perhaps for the words she had said earlier. She felt a lump form in her throat, taking away her ability to speak clearly. All she wanted was for him to take her in his arms, to tell her she was right, and then kiss her until she lost all sense of doubt. She wanted him to admit he wanted more than a convenient marriage, that he wanted her , not just because of a base, physical desire, but because he enjoyed every aspect of her company.

Quietly she scoffed. He was not going to say any of that. The best she could hope for was that he would consider her words over the next few weeks, then decide he could look for a wife that he at least liked and maybe could grow to love. She could expect nothing more from him. It was pure fantasy to think they had a future together. Their acquaintance was short, and she was exactly the sort of woman he had vowed to avoid.

Sarah tried to compose herself, knowing that in a few minutes she would have to walk back through the crowds of people without alerting any of them to the fact her heart was breaking. She didn’t want to care so much for Lord Routledge, but she did. He clearly desired her—even after her earlier tirade he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her—but that was not a basis for an ongoing relationship.

‘I think I am going to return home now,’ she said, taking another step back.

Lord Routledge looked at her, his eyes raking over her body. A small part of her hoped he might say he could not be without her, that he did not want her to go, but eventually he gave a short, sharp nod.

‘Very well. I will escort you to the entrance and find you a carriage.’

‘Thank you.’

They walked in silence, retracing their steps through the dark until they reached the main path. Sarah kept her head bent and her eyes fixed on the ground, hoping she would not have to interact with anyone. It took for ever to make their way back to the entrance. The gardens were busy now, and most people were wandering in the opposite direction to Sarah and Lord Routledge, having just arrived to enjoy all the pleasure gardens had to offer. Finally they were outside the gates and Lord Routledge spent a few minutes finding a carriage to take her home.

‘I have paid the driver to see you to your door,’ he said as he helped her up. She felt her heart squeeze at the contact of his fingers on hers, but he dropped her hand quickly once she was inside the carriage.

‘Thank you.’

He nodded and stepped back, closing the carriage door without saying anything more.

Sarah forced herself to sit back, refusing to act like an over-eager fool. Lord Routledge had made his position clear—she should follow his lead.

As the carriage started to roll away she closed her eyes, feeling an unmistakable wrench in her chest as her heart broke a little.

‘If this were a book he would come running after me, throw himself into the carriage and declare his undying love for me,’ she murmured to herself. But the carriage doors stayed firmly closed and there was no sound of running footsteps. Sarah sighed, hating herself for even entertaining a little bit of hope.

She told herself it had been worth it. She had been unable to sit back and let Lord Routledge sacrifice himself into a loveless marriage when he deserved so much more. He might ignore everything she had said, but at least she could continue her life with a clear conscience.