Chapter Ten
With a soft curse, he pulled away. “This isn’t right, Sibella.”
Released from his arms, Sibella grew unsteady. He reached out for her, but she moved away.
Her eyes were shadowed. “John, I would never ask you to give up your important work for me.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Annoyed with his weakness to have let it go this far, he pulled the cape across her breasts and stepped back before they both landed on the sofa where the war would be lost. “Wait here while I put on my boots. I’ll take you home.”
She flicked a tongue along her swollen bottom lip, her eyes filled with passionate fire, her rapid breathing matching his. Lord how he wanted her!
“Very well.” She moved away from him.
When had he realized he cared so much for her? The revelation sent him reeling. But his life had never seemed more uncertain. It was impossible.
He sat on a chair in his bedchamber to pull on his boots while fighting to forget how she had curled into the curve of his body, pressing her soft breasts against his chest. Pushing away the strong impulse to return and make love to her, he located his coat, attempting to arrange his thoughts into some sort of order. Hell’s teeth, have sense, man! He could be dead tomorrow. And Sibella was engaged to a man who would offer her the life she wanted—that she deserved. He was a blind fool. Determined to return her safely to her home, he hurried back to the library.
She had gone.
A curse on his lips, he ran to the door and yanked it open. There was no sign of Sibella in the square. He ran to the corner as a coach disappeared down Grosvenor Street. Had she found a hackney? Surely, she wouldn’t attempt to walk alone to St James’s Square through the dark streets.
Yes, she would. Strathairn broke into a run. He’d caught a glimpse of crimson as Sibella passed under a gas lamp. She was hurrying along Upper Grosvenor Street toward the park.
He caught up quickly, grabbed her arm, and swung her around to face him. “Are you trying to frighten me to death, Sibella?”
“I merely wished to go home,” she said, her face hidden beneath the hood. “Just find Vaughn for me, John. I don’t ask anything more of you.”
“You are being foolish.” He tucked her arm through his. “We’ll find a hackney near the park.”
They walked toward Hyde Park, the noise of a night cart rumbling along in the distance. When they neared Park Lane, a shabbily dressed fellow stepped out from behind a tree and approached them.
Sibella gripped his arm. “John, he has a knife!”
“I’ll have your valuables,” the man growled. “Give me the lady’s earrings. What other jewels are hidden beneath that cape?”
Strathairn pushed Sibella behind him. “I advise you not to try,” he said, cursing that he had rushed out without his pistols and knife.
“Those rings, too, be quick.” The rogue edged closer, slashing the air with a nasty looking weapon.
“I suggest you go on your way,” Strathairn said. “Or you may come to regret it.” While keeping his eyes on the knife, he planted his feet in a boxer’s stance, hands raised to protect his face and neck, elbows close to his body.
His actions appeared to have the desired effect. Unnerved, the ruffian sniggered but backed off a step.
“Why don’t you go home?” Strathairn said. “I have no desire to hurt you.”
“You see this ’er knife? It will separate your head from your neck in an instant.” The thief gained confidence and came at Strathairn in a rush, his weapon raised to strike.
Strathairn avoided the man’s lunge and a well-placed kick to the groin stopped his forward motion.
With a shriek, the man crumpled and bent double, the knife skittering away into the shadows. Strathairn punched him hard on the back of the neck. He crashed to the pavement and lay silent.
“Is…is he dead?” Sibella whispered.
“No.” Strathairn grabbed her hand. “Best we find that hackney.”
When a hackney appeared in the street, Strathairn stepped out and hailed it. He assisted Sibella inside and directed the Jarvie to St James’s Square.
In the carriage, Strathairn said, “You’re very quiet.”
“I’m stunned at how easily you dealt with that armed man.”
“Poor fellow was weak and undernourished.”
“A man wouldn’t want to cross you, John.”
“I remain confident that I can handle a thief. It’s an elegant dark-haired lady I’m having the most trouble with.” He searched her eyes in the dim light cast by the swinging carriage lanterns. “You know I must do the honorable thing, don’t you?”
“I know you think you must,” she said sadly, “and you’ve condemned me to a life with a man I don’t love.”
“But Sibella, try to understand.” Understand? He was fighting to convince himself it was the best thing. “Marriage to an honorable man. A home of your own. Children. A quiet life…”
“This won’t happen again. You make me feel emotions I don’t want to feel.” She took a deep breath and turned to the window.
He put out his hand to touch her trembling shoulders, then withdrew it, the tightness in his throat rendering him silent. “You’ll soon forget me.” It hurt him like the devil to say it. He fortified himself with the knowledge that she would be safe with Coombe, a man her brother approved of. If she married him, Chaloner might cut her off from the family. He respected Chaloner too much to believe it, but it could happen.
“I’m going to try very hard to forget you,” she said, sparing him nothing as the carriage entered St. James’s Square.
He deserved that and more. “I’ll get word to Edward as soon as I learn where Vaughn is.”
“Thank you, John. I am confident that you’ll find him.”
He would find that young rascal and give him a piece of his mind when he did. The house was dark apart from the flicker of candlelight below stairs. When the carriage stopped, Strathairn leapt out to help her down.
“Sibella…”
“Please leave me here, John. My maid will admit me through the servants’ entrance.” She crossed to the iron fence, then paused to glance back at him. “Be careful, won’t you?” She disappeared down the steps below the street. Light fell onto the pavement from the open door, and with a swirl of crimson velvet, she was gone.
He stood staring after her at the dark house. When candlelight shone from an upstairs window, he crossed the road. Was he a fool to think he could walk away from the one woman in the world he wanted? He climbed back into the hackney where her perfume lingered.
*
The next morning, a heavy sensation of sadness dragged Sibella down into the feather mattress before she came completely awake. As no one arrived to chastise her, she was confident her nightly excursion had gone unobserved. An attempt to dismiss from her mind what had passed between them last night failed dismally. She would never forget the touch of his lips, how his tender kisses turned demanding and passionate, how his breath hitched as he pulled her close against his hard body. How he forced himself to break away.
She blushed with the shameful knowledge that she would have lain with him if he’d asked her. But it was he who showed restraint. It was right that John had refused to make love to her, for if he had, he would be hers. She knew him. He was an honorable man. Had she subconsciously hoped to seduce him into marriage? It was too painful to face that possibility. She’d always hated subterfuge. No wonder she was no good at it.
Sarah entered and handed Sibella her hot drink. She drew back the curtains and the gray morning light flooded the room. Sibella yawned and sat up to sip the chocolate. How could she have gone to Coombe’s bed with the carnal knowledge of John filling her mind and tugging at her heart and pretend she was an innocent? Living a lie would be an abomination. John was right, he was wiser than she. But he cared for her. That was no lie. She uttered a tiny moan.
The maid who was laying out a morning gown, turned to her. “You spoke, my lady?”
“No, just thinking aloud, Sarah.”
She warmed her cold hands around the cup. At least John had promised to find Vaughn, which allowed her to focus on Lord Coombe. She would not go willingly like a lamb to the slaughter. She cringed at the analogy, but was determined to have full knowledge of what she was getting herself into.
After breakfast, Sibella went in search of Chaloner. She found him in the nursery checking on Freddie’s condition. “How is he?” she asked over his shoulder as he sat by the bed.
“Just a heavy cold, the doctor assures us, but you know how Lavinia worries.”
He sounded gloomy.
“Would you like me to spend some time with him today?”
“I’d be most grateful, Sib. I have a pile of work to do. It’s Nurse’s afternoon off, and Lavinia is exhausted.”
“We enjoy our games together, don’t we, Freddie?” Sibella smiled at the young boy who lay in bed looking more bored than sick. “I’ll fetch some, shall I?”
Six-year-old Freddie grinned. “Checkers,” he croaked.
Clearly relieved, Chaloner rose. He turned to her outside Freddie’s door. “Did you want something?”
“Just to ask you what business Lord Coombe has in Bristol.”
“He inherited a coffee plantation in the West Indies from an uncle some years ago.” He darted a glance at her. “Do you object to him being in business?”
“No, of course not. How ridiculous it is to frown upon gentlemen if they are seen to work in some capacity, like the lower classes, and yet many do work, terribly hard sometimes, attending parliament and managing their estates. You are always exhausted.”
They walked along the corridor together. “I’m sure Coombe’s past has touched your soft heart. He lost his young wife after only two years.”
“That is sad. I wasn’t aware his marriage had been so brief.”
“When is he expected to return?”
“At the end of the week.”
“Then we shall find him here again. He doesn’t stay away for long.”
Sibella brushed aside Chaloner’s attempt to encourage her. “Mama intends to remove to Brandreth Park tomorrow. She opens the village fete on Saturday.” She searched his eyes. “That really is something Lavinia should do, don’t you think?”
“Try taking it away from Mother.”
Sibella laughed. “You have a point there.” But she knew Lavinia didn’t want to take up the reins of marchioness. She shirked it at every possibility. She must eventually.
Chaloner leaned against the stair rail. “You know, Sib, it’s my belief a marriage works better if the man is more in love than the woman.”
“Can it not be both?”
“Indeed it can, but painful, I should think, to love a man who does not return your love.”
Chaloner left her to go downstairs.
What about a man who loved a woman too much? Did he speak from experience? Chaloner bent over backwards to please Lavinia, and Lavinia, although Sibella was indeed fond of her, needed a good shake. It wouldn’t be her that did it, however. Cordelia was the outspoken one. With a shrug, Sibella left and went in search of games to keep young Freddie amused for a few hours.