Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

M iss Sarah Bloomfield sat gracefully in the grand drawing room of her family's London townhouse, absently twirling a teacup in her hands. The room, adorned with exquisite paintings and plush furnishings, exuded luxury, charm, and comfort, befitting the home of a viscount. Usually, she felt quite at home, but now she felt as if the walls closed tighter around her, barely leaving Sarah any room to breathe.

Her mother and younger sister, Helena, loved spending time in London. However, Sarah wished she was in the countryside, reposing in a boat on the lake while she read. She felt a restlessness and suffocation she couldn't quite shake. Sarah did not like this feeling, for she had always believed herself to be a lady who understood her emotions and the reasons behind them. The season was in full swing, and with it came an endless parade of balls, soirées, and social engagements that had begun to blur into a tiresome routine. Still, that did not explain her discontent in its entirety.

Or perhaps it did; there is nothing more to it, she silently whispered.

That she could find the season boring was a revelation that had yet to sink in fully, given how much she previously enjoyed the frivolities of the ton. Her mother had yet to recover since Sarah mentioned her ennui this morning. The earlier disapproval in her mother's gaze as she left with Helena for a ball still stung. Sarah had pled a headache but feared her mother had seen right through her.

The door opened with far more exuberance than she was used to from her brother, The Honourable Frederick Bloomfield, as he strolled into the drawing room. Her brother was tall and striking, with the same dark hair and green eyes that marked the Bloomfield lineage. Her family often teased that God played a joke on the family with Sarah's birth, for she was shorter than everyone in her family, petite when others were voluptuous. As her mother lamented, one of the most egregious defects was that Sarah wore spectacles.

"Sarah," Frederick greeted her warmly. "I have news."

She set her teacup aside and smiled. "Do say it is something enjoyable, for I am fit to expire from the humdrum of the season."

Frederick chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Indeed, I believe it will pique your interest."

He handed her the letter, and as she read it, her eyes widened. It was an invitation to a ball hosted by Elizabeth, the Duchess of Ravenswood. Predictably, Sarah's heart started to pound, and a pair of smiling dark blue eyes rose in her thoughts.

James Fairbanks .

She bit her lower lip until the flesh ached. How wretched it is that I always react so to the mere thought of you!

James was a rather handsome gentleman, known about town for the Fairbanks's scandalous exploits and his open disdain for the rigid expectations of high society. To Sarah's great dismay, this only added to his allure. He only had to enter a room where she was present, and Sarah's heart would start to race, and her skin grew heated.

"Are you thinking of attending?" she asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

Frederick nodded. "I am and would delight in your company for the night."

Sarah pinned her brother with a curious stare. "Why is a ball hosted by Lizzy news, Frederick?"

A sheepish grin touched his mouth. "I had to endure our mother's lamentation about your lack of … excitement for the season. She is very displeased. Once I can assure her you will attend, it will ease some of the complaints our father and I will suffer. That is delightful news, Sarah."

"You are unpardonable!" Laughing, she grabbed a cushion and tossed it at him. He snagged the cushion and held it to his chest as he lowered onto the sofa facing her.

"The duchess's ball will be an opportunity to see and be seen. I hear everyone is hoping for an invitation. This means you have a chance to …" he grimaced and glanced away from her.

Sarah's heart squeezed. "A chance to what? Find a gentleman interested in courting a spinster? I fear no matter how crushed a ball is, I shall remain unlucky in that regard."

Her brother scowled. "You are not a spinster."

She grinned. "How lovely of you to say so. I am four and twenty, Frederick. No eligible bachelor would dare to court me when there are far younger beauties on the marriage mart."

"I cannot understand those fools," he groused. "You are delightful."

"I know," she said softly, trying her best not to think of James Fairbanks.

"Say you will still attend. It will at least give our mother the impression you have not given up, which will soothe her." A rather sly look entered her brother's eyes as he continued, "Besides, I hear James Fairbanks will be there. Quite unusual as he seems to enjoy the deplorable countryside instead of town. You might find his company more stimulating than the usual crowd."

Sarah tried to retain a serene expression, though inside, she was mortified that her brother knew of her interest in James Fairbanks. An interest she hardly understood or accepted. He was a rogue. What was there for her to admire? For the last couple of years, Sarah had heard of James Fairbanks's reputation for charming every lady he encountered. She learned of his passion for architecture and restoration of old manors from his sister Ester, a dear friend of Sarah's. Somehow, she never seemed to have any conversation with James that was not filled with barbed retorts.

"Ah, I have lost you to your musings," Frederick murmured fondly, rising. "I have an engagement that I would not miss for a manor."

Intrigued by his words, Sarah said, "A ball?"

The flush on her brother's face widened her eyes. He muttered something under his breath and hastened from the room. Bemused, she stared after him, shaking her head in wonder. It was then she noticed a folded piece of paper in the corner of the sofa. Presumably, it fell from his pocket. She stood and plucked it up, freezing as the words registered.

I hope to see you tonight at Lady Sanderson's ball, my darling. I will be wearing a silver peacock mask.

"Lady Sanderson?" Sarah gasped.

She glared at the note that had slipped from her brother's pocket. James Fairbanks had mockingly invited her to this scandalous event only a few days ago, and her cheeks heated at the memory of the overheard conversation.

" Ah, Nicholas, you will miss all the delightful pleasures at the masquerade ."

" I shall miss nothing ," his brother had replied with a grin, his expression growing sensual. " My wife delights me in all ways. I want and need only her ."

" How novel ," James had drawled. " Then Richard and I shall take at least three women to our beds and —"

His words had broken off when he noticed Sarah standing behind them, a hand pressed against her chest.

Mortified, she had lowered her hand, lifted her chin and tried to appear unflappable. " You plan to seduce three ladies in one evening, Mr. Fairbanks. Your overconfidence is quite amusing ."

Nicholas had laughed, slapped James on the shoulder, bowed to Sarah, and left them alone.

" Miss Bloomfield ," James had murmured, stepping too close to her. " Why am I not surprised you are eavesdropping? "

Wild flutters had swarmed through her belly. " You are so outrageously scandalous! "

" Hardly ," he drawled. " Masquerade balls are merely fun ."

" I daresay most gentlemen do not plan to seduce even one lady at such infamous balls, and you are plotting to entice three. You are shameless, sir ."

His gaze had gleamed so wickedly. " Why not attend with me, Miss Bloomfield? "

" I beg your pardon? "

A roguish glint in his eyes informed Sarah that the wretch liked teasing her. He had stepped so close to her that the hem of her gown had swirled over his polished boots.

" Come with me to Lady Sanderson's masquerade ," he had invited, his expression pure deviltry.

" You lecherous libertine! "

" How can you say so if you have not experienced me? You might thoroughly enjoy that I am a libertine ."

James's audacious words had robbed her of breath. Then his low laugh wrapped around Sarah like a lover's arm. Loathing the reaction he provoked inside her, she sniffed and whirled away from him.

She breathed, pushing aside the memory that had haunted her these last few days. It seemed the masquerade ball was tonight, and he planned to be wicked with more than one lady. A masquerade ball aimed to indulge in mischief, to flirt with the boundaries of decency, and to enjoy discreet amusements when life grew mundane. At these clandestine gatherings, all manner of wickedness seemed permissible.

"The wretch," she muttered, hating that the sensation writhing inside her chest alarmingly felt like jealousy. "He can kiss and seduce whomever he pleases; we have nothing between us. What do I need to feel envy for?"

Sarah knew what she envied— a kiss … a close embrace with someone who admires me . A wistful ache pierced her chest. If only she were that daring. A fierce rebellion stirred in her chest, shocking Sarah with its intensity. She wanted to be there, to see James, if only to disrupt his licentious behavior. He was a reprobate who could stand his plans being derailed at times. A gleeful chuckle escaped before she bit her lip and groaned, "Oh, Sarah, do not be nonsensical."

Why can I not be nonsensical for once? Only a couple of weeks ago, she urged her dearest friend, Poppy, to follow her heart and live as she hungered. Her friend took her advice and seemed much happier now that she held the attention of the dashingly handsome Richard Fairbanks.

Why do I not follow the advice I gave Poppy? How dare I tell her something I am not brave enough to do for myself?

Sarah hastened to her bedchamber, her mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. She glanced at the clock, noting that she still had time to prepare. Her maid, Alice, entered the room, clearly surprised to find Sarah agitated.

"Miss Sarah, are you quite well?" Alice asked, concern etched on her face. "You appear very flushed."

Sarah took a deep breath, determination settling in her heart. "Alice, I need your help. I am going to a masquerade ball tonight."

Alice's eyes widened. "But, Miss Sarah, your mother and sister have already left for their engagements. Her ladyship will be furious if she finds out."

"I know," Sarah said, wrinkling her nose. "We will ensure my mother does not find out. But this is something I must do. Please, help me find a suitable gown and mask."

Alice hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, miss."

Together, they rummaged through Sarah's wardrobe, searching for the perfect ensemble. They settled on a deep emerald gown that complemented Sarah's dark brown hair with its lighter blonde and dark red streaks. The gown was elegant yet daring with its lowered neckline, perfect for a masquerade ball. Alice helped Sarah into the gown and styled her hair in loose waves, adding a touch of mystery with a simple black mask the maid took from Frederick's room.

Glancing in the mirror revealed that she looked different, bolder, and more daring than ever. Instead of fitting her spectacles atop her nose, Sarah retrieved her lorgnette. She thanked Alice and went to the servants' entrance, avoiding the main hall where she might run into her father returning home early from White's. Outside, the night was cool and clear. Sarah took a deep breath, her heart pounding with anticipation and nerves.

Lady Sanderson's masquerade was scandalously held at her townhouse, only a few minutes away by carriage. Her mother and sister had taken their equipage, and Sarah had no choice but to walk. She kept her pace sedate and tightened her cloak around her shoulders as she walked through the quiet streets. The soft sounds of her footsteps on the cobblestones were the only noise in the stillness of the night. The idea of attending such a scandalous event thrilled and terrified her in equal measure.

What if she was recognized? What if she did something foolish? What if she saw him?

Oh, Sarah, do not overthink it!

Arriving at Lady Sanderson's townhouse, Sarah was relieved to find the entrance bustling with masked guests. Her mask was all the butler needed, and he waved her inside without a second glance. The townhouse was dimly lit, creating a sensual haven. Lady Sanderson's townhouse was transformed into an opulent haven of decadence—a dazzling spectacle of colors, mystery, and allure. Silken draperies in deep blue and gold hung from the walls, creating a rich backdrop that shimmered in the candlelight. Crystal chandeliers overhead cast a soft, enchanting glow over the room.

Guests moved about in a compelling dance of shadows and light, their identities concealed behind elaborate masks and costumes. Men wore velvet frock coats adorned with intricate embroidery, their faces hidden beneath masks of gold and silver. Some donned plumed hats or cloaks that billowed with their movements, adding to the air of mystery. The women were a vision of splendor, dressed in gowns of every conceivable hue and style. Silk, satin, and lace cascaded in luxurious waves. Their masks were adorned with feathers, jewels, and delicate filigree, hiding their features while enhancing their allure. The scent of exotic perfumes mingled in the air, a heady mix that added to the intoxicating atmosphere.

"Oh," Sarah whispered as she strolled into the grand ballroom. "It will be more delightful than I anticipated."

The waltz had never seemed so enchanting, its rhythm seductive and inviting. Couples twirled and swayed with freedom not found in more respectable settings, their movements fluid and expressive.

Sarah stared at a lady whose mouth was intimately pressed against a gentleman as she leaned against his chest. She felt like she had entered another world where society's usual rules and constraints did not apply. A wicked thrill darted through her heart that she was doing something scandalous and forbidden. She lifted her lorgnette to her eyes, scanning for one face in particular. It was rather inexplicable, but she recognized him instantly. James Fairbanks stood out even among this crowd of elegant revelers. He danced with a lady garbed in a diaphanous gown, their movements far closer and more sensual than one would expect at a proper ball. How he held her and how their bodies moved together spoke of an intimacy that tightened Sarah's chest.

The dance ended, and he led the lady to a chaise on the sidelines. They did not sit. His dark head was lowered, and a small smile touched his mouth at whatever she whispered in his ear. The lady's mask was adorned with feathers, and her gown was a shimmering shade of rose. She looked every bit the temptress, leaning in close to James, perhaps inviting him to a tryst.

As Sarah watched, unable to tear her eyes away, James's head snapped up, and their gazes collided. Her mouth dried and her heart lurched. Why had he chosen this moment to look her way? His eyes, a piercing blue, seemed to miss nothing as they traveled the length of her body. A slow smile spread across his face, one that held both amusement and interest. He brushed a kiss at the lady's wrist, then walked away. Sarah noted the air of vexation about the lady before she flounced away.

James walked toward her, his gaze intent. Anticipation washed over her in a wave of hot, sensual awareness, shocking Sarah. Here, hidden behind disguises, anything seemed possible, and it was as if a part of her bloomed at the realization. She lowered the lorgnette, folded it, and discreetly slipped it into her glove.

He stopped before her, and she lifted her head to meet his regard. James slipped his hand around her waist and dragged her up against his body. Sarah gasped and clutched at his shoulders so she did not stumble. "Sir!"

He bent his dark head toward hers, and his warm breath caressed her lips. For a wild moment, she thought he was going to kiss her.

"Why are you here, Sarah?" James demanded against the corner of her mouth.

He knew! How … how was this possible? Sarah's heart was pounding so hard she felt faint. "How is it you are so sure it is me?"

"I would know you anywhere," he murmured dryly. "Now tell me, why are you here?"

Her belly flipped, and her heart started to drum faster. After a small beat, she whispered, "You invited me, James."

A tremor went through his body, and a sense of awe whispered through her heart. Was it my proximity that made you shake, James , she silently asked, wishing she had the boldness to voice the question.

"You knew I teased."

She scoffed. "I knew nothing of the sort."

"You must leave."

Sarah placed the flat of her palm against his chest and peered up at him. "Why must I leave?"

Something dangerous flashed in his beautiful eyes. "Only rakes and scoundrels are here. A sweet innocent like yourself is not safe here."

"Should my brother hear you call me sweet, he would splutter."

"Hmm, he has mentioned more than once your tart tongue. Even if you can flay the best of the lot with your cutting words, you are still leaving."

"I will be safe with you."

An unfathomable emotion darkened his gaze, and Sarah wanted to point out how indecent it was for him to be holding her so against his body. Her tongue would not obey, and she inhaled his heady scent into her lungs, wondering at the madness of her action.

"You are not safe with me," he said tightly.

A piercing want surged through her … hot and delicious. "Oh?"

"I will escort you home," he said gruffly.

"A dance first," she said softly.

"Sarah—"

"James … dance with me."

She wondered if she imagined the soft groan that came from him. Sarah smiled as he lifted her weight easily and walked with her onto the dance floor. There were no whispers or gasps at his shocking display. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, and she swallowed. "I could walk; I would not have tried to slip away from you, James."

He made an irritable grunt, and she lowered her head to hide her smile. He lowered her, keeping his arm clasped around her waist. This close to him, Sarah could feel the pounding of his heart. Though he seemed contained, he was clearly rattled by her presence. Smiling, she slipped her hands up to his shoulders as he swept her into the rousing dance.

How close we are, James .

This was not the first time she danced with him, but never had it felt so provocative. His hands on her lower back felt like a searing brand. He was a wonderful partner, and she did not try to speak as they twirled across the dance floor. The waltz passed in a blur, and as the last strains of music faded, Sarah felt a sense of loss. She had never met a man quite like James Fairbanks.

Several minutes later, she felt a mix of good humor and irritation as he led her from Lady Sanderson's home.

"My sensibilities are not so fragile I cannot stay," she said tartly.

"If you were hurt, I would have no explanation for your family."

She remained silent as he walked her through the crush to the outside. The cool night air was a welcome relief after the heated atmosphere of the masquerade.

"Where is your carriage?"

"I walked."

His brows lowered into a frown. "I ought to throttle you. Did you not think of the danger of a lady walking alone?"

Sarah glanced up at him, her heart aching with unspoken feelings. "I wanted to see for myself what you found so appealing about this masquerade ball."

"Did you?"

"It was … different," she admitted. "But I would surely need to stay longer than fifteen minutes to appreciate what makes such a ball riveting."

He grunted and started to walk toward her home. The streets were mostly empty, their footsteps echoing softly in the stillness. James's tension was palpable.

"Are you out of sorts because you did not complete arranging your trysts?"

He chuckled, but the sound held no mirth. "You have a bit of hellion in you, don't you?"

"You sound as if you disapprove," she drawled. "Quite odd, considering you are a bad Fairbanks."

"What kind of friend would I be if I indulged in such scandalous conversation? We will not be discussing anything related to trysts."

She sniffed but made no reply. Sarah liked him so much, but she could not shake the feeling that he might never see her as anything more than a friend. Though, he did appear as if he wished to engage in further discourse. Emotions tightened her throat, and she remained silent as they continued the journey. As they reached her family's townhouse, James stopped, his hand brushing against hers.

"Go, Sarah," he said softly, his expression hooded.

Wordlessly, she nodded and hastened away. Her foot on a step, she paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Thank you, James."

He hesitated as if wanting to say more, but instead, he said, "Goodnight, Sarah."

"Goodnight, James."

She slipped inside the house, and she sensed no one else was at home. Sarah hurried to her bedchamber and stripped off her clothes and mask. Once under the covers, sleep eluded her, the feel of being held so close to his body haunting her dreams. Her heart was heavy with longing and uncertainty.

What if James never sees me as more than a friend of his family?