I…I think I should go in.’ Her voice was faint.
He scowled. ‘In a moment.’ He’d just about extricated the pin from the soft silky fabric of her dress when he heard a screech from behind them.
And then, ‘Oh, my! Oh, my goodness!’
He spun around, the brooch in his hand. Lady Henslowe stood behind them, a hand clasped to her breast. Even in the faint moonlight, he could see her eyes were wide with shock. And with her was Lord Henslowe, a murderous look on his normally placid face.
‘Damnation.’ He was beginning to think fate fully intended to make him pay for every one of his numerous sins.
Chapter Two
N ever, even if she lived to be a hundred and one, would Sarah forget the shocked expressions on the faces of Lord and Lady Henslowe. She closed her eyes and prayed she could vanish. Or die on the spot.
But she did not. She opened her eyes to find Lord Henslowe advancing on Huntington. He fixed him with an icy stare. ‘I trust this means there is to be a betrothal, my lord.’
‘Yes,’ Huntington said coolly.
‘No,’ Sarah replied at the same time.
‘But, my dear, you cannot allow such…such liberties and not marry him!’ Lady Henslowe exclaimed. ‘And, oh my! Your gown!’
Henslowe’s gaze swung to Sarah’s torn bodice. He stared and then glowered at Huntington. ‘So this is how you repay my hospitality! By attacking my guests! It is too late to forbid the marriage between my son and your sister but, damn you, you will not set foot in this house again!’ He advanced on Huntington as if he meant to thrash him.
Huntington seemed to be frozen to the spot. Sarah ran forward and caught Henslowe’s hand. ‘No! Stop it! He…he did nothing wrong! He is not responsible for this!’
Henslowe shook off her hand. ‘You are defending this rogue?’ he demanded. ‘The devil! Has he seduced you already?’
‘No, of course not,’ Sarah said.
‘But, my dear, how did your gown become torn? And why are you in the garden and with him?’ Lady Henslowe asked. Her gaze was fixed on Sarah’s bodice with horrid fascination.
‘I…I went to the garden for a few minutes…I wished to be alone and then…’
Huntington’s cool voice cut in. ‘This is neither the time nor the place for this conversation. Miss Chandler is shaking. I suggest, Lady Henslowe, that you take her in and see she has some brandy.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Lady Henslowe bustled to Sarah’s side. ‘My dear, such a shock…you must come with me.’
‘I don’t want brandy,’ Sarah said.
‘You will remain with me, Huntington,’ Henslowe said, ignoring Sarah. ‘No use thinking you’re going to run off until this affair is settled.’
‘I wouldn’t think of it,’ Huntington drawled. His arms were crossed and his eyes held the faintly amused indifference Sarah was so accustomed to.
Sarah felt wretched. ‘Please, you must listen. Lord Huntington did not do this. You see, I was…’
‘Go in, Miss Chandler.’ Huntington’s eyes held a warning which Sarah completely planned to ignore.
‘No! Not until I explain the matter.’
The indifference left Huntington’s face. If anything, he looked as if he wanted to strangle her. ‘There is, Miss Chandler, nothing to explain. Lady Henslowe will take you in.’
Lady Henslowe tugged on her arm. ‘Come, my dear. You cannot stand here with your gown in such repair! Oh, Sarah, how could you do this? Whatever will Monteville say?’
Sarah stared at her. ‘Oh, no! Not Grandfather! You cannot tell him about this. He…he will probably murder me!’
‘My dear child, I hope I have done nothing to put such fear in you.’
Lady Henslowe stiffened and made a little moaning sound. Sarah froze, her gaze going to the man who had silently appeared behind them. For the second time that night, she wished she might vanish from the face of the earth.
The Earl of Monteville’s cool, impersonal gaze travelled over the group for a moment. It was only when his gaze fell to Sarah’s bodice that it hardened. He looked at Huntington. ‘I trust there is an explanation for why my granddaughter should be standing in a darkened garden with a rather large tear in her gown.’
Huntington’s own gaze was equally hard and direct. ‘I believe, my lord, we had best meet in private.’ He did not look at Sarah.
Sarah shook off Lady Henslowe’s arm. ‘No, there is no need, I can explain…Lord Huntington has done nothing…he only wished to help me!’
‘The rogue tried to seduce her!’ Henslowe said.
‘It is not true!’ Sarah glared at him. His mouth fell open.
The look Lord Monteville turned on her was not unkind. ‘My dear child, it is best that you go in. You are undoubtedly cold. Penelope can take you in and find your shawl.’
‘Oh…oh, yes!’ Lady Henslowe, who had been watching in stunned silence, sprang to life. ‘My dear, come with me.’
Sarah allowed Lady Henslowe to take her arm without protest. It was no use arguing with her grandfather. She had seen that look too many times to know that any sort of resistance was in vain. She only prayed that he would talk Huntington out of the ridiculous notion he must marry her.
Dev stepped past Monteville into Henslowe’s private study. A candle on the massive mahogany desk cast a dim light in the dark panelled room. Monteville closed the door and moved to the sideboard. He poured two glasses of brandy and held one out to Dev. ‘I believe this might be in order.’
Dev accepted the glass. Apparently Monteville had no intention of calling him out, at least not yet. Despite the Earl’s age, he was reputed to be a master with a sword. Although Dev possessed no mean skills in that regard, he had no desire to duel with a man several decades his senior. He took a neat shot of the liquor, its warmth burning down his throat, then turned his gaze on the Earl.
Monteville watched him without touching his own drink. Although in his mid sixties, he was still a formidable presence with a lean, upright figure and a pair of piercing grey eyes. Now they were fixed on Dev. ‘So, Lord Huntington, perhaps you will explain the little drama in the garden and Lord Henslowe’s rather confused desire to either evict you from his house or run you through.’
Dev set his glass down and looked directly at Monteville. ‘He believes I tried to ravish or seduce your granddaughter. I am not certain he’s yet decided which.’
‘And did you?’
Dev scowled. ‘No.’
‘Then perhaps you will enlighten me as to what did happen.’ He looked merely curious, a sign Dev found more disconcerting than all of Henslowe’s blustering.
‘Lord and Lady Henslowe found us alone in the garden,’ Dev said.
Monteville raised a brow. ‘And was that all? Although secreted alone in a dark garden is somewhat improper, I cannot quite fathom how the position could be described as damnably compromising. I would imagine a man with your intelligence could come up with a plausible explanation for your, er, situation.’
‘My hand was at her breast,’ Dev said bluntly.
Monteville’s brow shot up further. ‘Ah, I can see that might present a more delicate dilemma. I trust you had a reason for doing so?’
‘I was attempting to remove a brooch. She needed it to repair a tear in her bodice.’ He would not have been surprised if Monteville demanded satisfaction. Even to his own ears the explanation sounded feeble.
‘And