Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

One year and two months later …

S arah strolled down the empty street leading to Grosvenor Square, inhaling the cool, crisp night air. It was a refreshing contrast to the stuffy confines of her parents' townhouse. She lifted her face to the sky and inhaled deeply before smiling.

I must stop doing this. But not tonight … tomorrow .

It was a silent promise she made herself twice, sometimes three times per week, and one she often ignored. Sarah had always found solace in her late-night walks, an escape from the constraints of her life and the ever-watchful eyes of her family, despite her advanced years. It was incredible that she could sneak away, and they had no knowledge of her activities.

However, a couple of weeks prior, Sarah discovered her brother knew of the risks she took and discreetly arranged for a footman to follow her for protection. Frederick's care made her feel cherished, and she only loved and admired her brother even more. Sarah was thankful he had not reported her late-night adventures to their parents.

An unladylike snort escaped her, and she muttered, "What adventures?"

Frederick did not inform their parents about her conduct and lack of discretion because he found her pitiful. Sarah winced, loathing the truth. On these nights, when she sneaked from her parents' home, she did nothing scandalous. She merely took long strolls through the various streets of Mayfair, enjoying the freedom of not thinking about all the rules that should govern her existence because her father was a viscount and her mother the daughter of an earl.

Her walks were her bit of freedom, the only times she ignored the ceaseless decorum lessons that bore her no reward. Sarah was five and twenty, and despite being out in society since her nineteenth birthday, she had never received a marriage offer. Sometimes, the mortification was too much to bear. It was as if she were a toad with warts, usually found on witches in those morbid tales. There were no gentlemen eager to court her, and the one man she was painfully aware of treated her with either biting sarcastic remarks, chilling indifference, or like a distant friend.

Oh, Sarah, do not think of him! It is wretched enough he steals into my dreams; he shall not own my waking moments, too!

She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones. As Sarah approached a corner to turn toward her home, a sense of unease prickled at the back of her neck. Shadows moved ahead, and she paused, straining to see what was happening. Sarah adjusted her spectacles, pushing them high on her nose and widened her eyes. Surely, this would allow her to comprehend the scene before her more clearly.

To her horror, she saw four men struggling with a figure she recognized all too well, her tormentor and the man a part of her feared that she was in love with—Mr. James Fairbanks.

Good heavens, what is happening?

Sarah's heart lurched, and she barely suppressed her cry of alarm as one of the men struck James from behind. He crumpled to the ground, and another man quickly tied his hands with rope and the other his feet. Dread and disbelief held her frozen. She glanced behind her, frantically waving at the footman following in the distance. The servant was, however, slowly backing away, waving his arm to indicate she should run over to him.

As if I would leave James alone!

Sarah frantically beckoned the footman closer. She snapped her attention to the horrifying scene, hoping the footman would come to her aid. The ruffians lifted James and carried him toward a parked carriage. Sarah hugged the shadows and crept closer, her heart pounding in her chest as she listened to their gruff voices.

"Get him to Penporth quickly," one of the men growled. "He must be married to Miss Mirabelle before his family realizes he is missing."

"Will getting him there work? What if he refuses before the vicar?"

"Mr. Sinclair will ensure he says yes. I am sure he has the method to do so."

The others grunted in agreement, and Sarah's mind raced. A forced marriage? She couldn't let that happen. James might be infuriatingly arrogant and so insufferably roguish that he caused her sleepless nights, but he did not deserve this fate. No one should be threatened into a lifelong union.

"Miss Sarah," a voice whispered behind her.

"Thank heavens you are here," she said. "Those ruffians have taken James Fairbanks into that carriage. They mean to cart him off to Penporth for a marriage. We must rescue him."

The footman stared at her as if she had grown horns.

"I will summon Mr. Frederick right away, Miss Sarah."

To her shock, the man hastened away. Two of the men went to check the horses and the harnesses, and the other two mounted the carriage. Without a moment's hesitation, Sarah darted forward, grateful they parked in the shadows to hide their outrageous deed.

She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. Waiting for the perfect moment, she slipped silently behind the carriage. One of the men walked away, and the other climbed atop the driving seat. Sarah took advantage of their distraction and the shadows. With nimble fingers, she lifted the latch, hauled herself up and clambered inside, quickly closing the door. Sarah held her breath, her heart beating wildly, as the carriage jolted forward, moving faster than she anticipated.

As the carriage lurched and rattled, Sarah's nerves almost shattered.

What am I doing? This is madness. Now we are both trapped!

The carriage windows offered little light, but she could make out his slumped form on the seat opposite.

"James," she whispered urgently, shaking him gently. "James, wake up!"

He groaned, his eyelids fluttering open. There was little comprehension in the brilliant blue eyes that stared into hers, and then they sharpened.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed the moment she tugged the cloth from his mouth.

"I am rescuing you," she whispered. "Is this not obvious, Mr. Fairbanks?"

"Rescuing me?"

" Yes . I witnessed the scuffle and what they did to you."

"The expected thing to do, Miss Bloomfield, was to simply inform my brothers of what you witnessed, not dive headlong into a situation you do not understand and place yourself in harm's way," he snapped.

Sarah winced. She had not thought so far ahead. "They want to force you to marry someone, so I rushed forward to rescue you," she said, glancing nervously at the carriage door.

"What?"

"Yes, they mean for you to wed someone called Miss Mirabelle. You are not marrying her, not if I have anything to say about it!"

James sucked in a harsh breath and stilled. "Ah … now I understand this farce." His mouth curved in a rueful smile. "This is my personal matter. There was no need to concern yourself with it. However, I was never the ungrateful sort, so I offer my thanks, Miss Bloomfield."

"Are you hurt? They hit you on the back of the head, I think."

"I am well."

His lack of panic steadied her heart. "Good. I think we might need to jump from the carriage."

"I am trussed up like a pig," he said. "First, I need to get loose. The carriage is gaining speed. We need a dagger or something sharp—"

She dragged the edges of her dress to her knees.

"What are you doing?" he tightly demanded.

Her belly flipped, and her heart raced. "You can see me?"

"I can see enough. Your skin … is very pale, and your stockings … my thoughts are running amok, going to places they should never dare go, considering the situation we are in. So, tell me the reason you pulled your dress above your knees."

"Oh." The scoundrel! She flushed. "I am merely retrieving my dagger."

"Under your clothes?"

Why did he sound so strangled? "I … I strapped it to my thigh … it seemed a prudent place."

That four men accosted James, bashed him over the head, and then trussed him up in a carriage felt as if it could be in the realms of ordinary experiences of living. That Miss Sarah Bloomfield snuck into the carriage to rescue him and now withdrew a dagger from under her clothes was rather extraordinary and alarming. The sensation that jolted his heart was fear, and he gritted his teeth against it, yet he acknowledged he could not bear the thought of harm touching her.

The faint light offered by the sliver of moonlight shining through the small carriage window showed him her determination. James felt that ladies of the ton were to be treated like spun glass; if one spoke too vibrantly, a lady might swoon or descend into hysterics. He had never seen the like of such nonsense in Penporth. Still, he had not expected a lady of Miss Bloomfield's genteel upbringing to try and rescue him from a kidnapping without thought of her own safety. Unknown emotions wrenched through his chest.

She started to cut the rope at his feet.

"Do my hands first, and I will do my feet."

"That is sensible," she murmured and started to tackle the rope.

After a few beats, she said, "My dagger is either terribly dull or these ropes were made from rawhide and tied by a sailor!"

"There is no need to panic," he said soothingly, sensing her anxiety. "Take your time and try again."

She redoubled her efforts. "I cannot understand why it is so difficult to cut—"

A sharp cry slipped from her, and she drew back.

"Stop," James said, his chest squeezing. "Where did you cut? How bad is it?"

"It is only a small nick."

"Let it be. Give me some time to think."

"There is no time," she hissed, gripping his arm. "What if … what if I fail to rescue you?"

The rough emotions in her tone struck James's heart forcibly, and he sought to reassure her by saying, "They will not kill me. The worst scenario is that I marry Mirabelle."

At that moment, Sarah froze.

"You do not seem at all disconcerted at the notion!"

"Should I be?"

The hand on his arm slipped away, and she pushed her spectacles up her nose.

"Do you … do you wish to marry Miss Mirabelle?"

"The thought has crossed my mind more than once that she would make me a suitable wife. I would have accepted an invitation from her father for a discussion. This action was unwarranted."

She slammed her eyes closed. "I see. Is this the reason you spend so much of your time in Penporth?"

The soft pain in her voice gutted him. "Sarah—"

"I thought you were not the marrying kind?"

James lifted a brow. "What led you to that belief?"

Her lashes fluttered open. "I heard you said so to your brother Nicholas! You said you would never marry a lady of the ton even if she came with a dowry of a million pounds and—"

She sucked in a harsh breath, the rest of her words forgotten, and realization widened her eyes. " Oh ."

"I am sure you've come to an understanding of my character, Miss Bloomfield," James said flatly, hating that the pained disappointment in her tone raked his heart like talons.

He had never made Sarah any promises and despite their bickering, James had always treated her with cordiality and respect. Even when she sneaked into his dreams naked and wet, and wanting him, he ruthlessly shut aside such longings.

"Yes," she murmured, gripping her fingers so tightly in her dress they must hurt. "Your objection is to a genteel lady with a noble background."

"Miss Bloomfield—"

"Let us not speak anymore," she said softly.

Despite cutting herself, she went back to sawing the ropes binding his wrists. James did not distract her, holding himself still lest she nicked herself again. Finally, they came apart. He flexed his hands, grimacing at the circulation returning, and then reached for the ropes around his ankles.

"We need to wait for the right moment," he said quietly. "They will have to stop eventually, and when they do, we will make our move. I will keep them occupied until you run away to a—"

"No."

He sighed. "These men have dubious characters. I do not want you hurt."

The carriage jolted again, and she nearly lost her balance, but James steadied her with a firm grip.

"You are brave, Sarah," he said softly. "And I am grateful you came to help me. I cannot bear the thought of you hurt, so the first thing we must do—"

"There is nothing you can say that will push me to run away while you fight them alone."

Though she whispered, her words were filled with stunning resoluteness. He wanted so badly to kiss her, to swallow all protests that would come from that mouth, sensibilities and decorum be damned. Only kissing a lady of the ton was equal to a marriage offer. Or so the damn etiquette lessons he took with his siblings claimed.

James gritted his teeth until his jaw damn well ached. Why was he even thinking this nonsense now?

"Very well. We will wait for an opportunity. The journey to Penporth is a few days. They will eventually stop. When the carriage slows, we will make our move and go together."

No matter what happens, by God, I will keep you safe.

Sarah nodded and returned to sit on the squabs. James moved to the seat by the window, peering out into the inky darkness. Thunder rumbled overhead and he smiled. "It will rain soon. We will take advantage of it."

When she made no reply, he shifted and faced her. Despite the darkness, her golden green eyes were a brilliant spark in the carriage, and now they gleamed with emotions he could not name. James was tempted to draw her close and hold her. But that would be too dangerous. He would be a fool if he did not acknowledge that Miss Sarah Bloomfield had an interest in him. James sensed the attraction the very first time he met her, and there had been an answer inside of him.

He was fiercely attracted to her, but he would not act on it. Though his family had embraced living in the ton , such a life was not for him. James would always love their idyllic village of Penporth and that was the place he called home. He'd overheard more than one lady refer to his home as a deplorable, dull, pig-and-sheep-infested place and knew no lady of society would be contented with living in such a place. Not when the glamor and social whirl of the ton existed, and other countryside living like Derbyshire and Kent were more suitable for those who considered themselves elevated above the common folks.

She looked away from his regard, and James went back to his vigil. There was only one thing he needed to concern himself with, and that was to keep her protected.