CHAPTER TWO
Sarah was loafing on the verandah and staring out at the stars. They’d had a delightful supper, although the food hadn’t been all that great. According to Mildred, Clayton Farnsworth squandered his money on fast living so he wasn’t very regular about paying wages to his employees. He could definitely use a new chef.
Thankfully, they never did make it out to the lake to spy on the nude swimmers. They’d gotten waylaid by the other guests, and they were an interesting group.
They included Viscount Pendergast who was about to wed a Russian princess, as well as Wesley Grey whose cousin, young Caleb Grey, had just been installed as Earl of Lyndon. Mr. Grey’s friend, Michael Fenwick, was with them too. He claimed to be a prince’s natural son. From his glamorous looks and manners, Sarah absolutely thought he’d probably been raised in a palace.
Mildred had been astonished by the elevated tenor of the visitors and that her nephew had the ability to cultivate such an impressive crowd.
The evening had grown dark and chilly, and the party had moved inside. There was card playing in the front parlor and singing in the music room. Later, it sounded as if there would be gambling after the ladies went to bed. Mildred had been content with the prospect, while Sarah found it quite shocking.
But…if Mildred didn’t mind, Sarah certainly should have no opinion as to the entertainment that occurred after she was asleep.
She closed her eyes and sent a prayer winging out to her sisters, Catherine and Abigail. She hoped they were safe. She hoped their jobs were satisfying or at least not horrid. She had no idea where they were working, and in the morning she would write long missives to them.
Through all her eating and chatting, she’d been braced for the moment she would encounter the naked mystery man, but he hadn’t arrived. If the three women were present, she couldn’t tell. She’d specifically declined to gape at them and couldn’t identify any pertinent characteristics.
A male suddenly spoke from behind her. “Hello, Miss Barrington.”
She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Even though she’d only heard the voice once, she’d recognize it anywhere.
She spun slowly to face the cad from the lake, and she was stunned by the silly spurt of excitement that flooded her. He was very tall, and with her being barely five-foot-five in her slippers, he towered over her. She had to tip her head back to peer up at him.
Dressed at the height of fashion, his suit of clothes was sewn from such an expensive fabric and so perfectly tailored that he might have been wearing formal attire. The men in attendance were all handsome and debonair, but still he put all of them to shame.
Before she realized his intent, he stepped in and pressed her to the balustrade. Not in a violent or intimidating way, but he was incredibly masculine, and she was being pelted by sensations she didn’t care to acknowledge.
“We were acquainted in London,” he told her. “I’m sure you remember me. Nicholas Swift?”
“Mr. Swift!” she scolded. “We’re strangers, and you’re being very forward.”
She placed a palm on his chest to ease him away, but he was such a vain oaf—and so much bigger than she was—that she couldn’t shove him an inch.
“I’m so surprised to find you here,” he said.
“You have me confused with someone else,” she arrogantly replied.
“Don’t jest. You’re Catherine Barrington. You’re much too beautiful for me to have forgotten who you are.”
“I’m not Catherine Barrington.”
He didn’t believe her—or listen. “How is that little tart, Libby Markham? And how is Christopher? Are you sick of him already? I’d love to have a chance with you now.”
What? What?
She’d meant to give him a derisive set down, but it was clear he knew her twin sister, and he’d mistaken her for Catherine. She was charmed by his error. When they were girls, it had happened often, but these days she spent scant time with Catherine. It rarely occurred anymore.
Who was Libby Markham? Who was Christopher? In the weeks she and Catherine had been separated, it appeared her sister had developed a whole new life. Sarah hated it when Catherine had experiences or met people without Sarah meeting them too.
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” she said.
“Will you pretend you’re not Catherine? To what end?”
“I am her sister.”
“You’re twins?”
“Yes.”
His naughty gaze roamed down her torso, lingering at several spots he shouldn’t assess. She understood he was trying to rattle her, but if he thought he could he was deranged.
“What is your name?” he inquired.
“It’s Miss Barrington.”
“Your Christian name, darling. What is it?”
“It’s none of your business at all.”
“It’s an informal gathering. We’re all friends.”
“I might eventually be friends with some of the guests, but not all of them.”
She flashed such a scornful glower that he had to grasp she was talking about him, but the loathsome libertine wasn’t deterred.
He simply laughed at her disdain. “I’ll ask Mildred Farnsworth what it is. She’ll tell me.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“You’re being truthful that you don’t know who I am so I should introduce myself. Will you swoon if I do?”
“No, but there’s no reason for you to repeat yourself. I refuse your acquaintance.”
He ignored her. “I am Nicholas Swift.”
“So you said.” She was being rude as she never was. “Bully for you.”
“Will you be snotty for the entire party?”
“Only to you.”
“Your sister was much nicer. I should have stayed in London and chased after her instead.”
“Catherine is much nicer than I am, but she’s also much smarter. She’d never so much as glance in your direction.”
“Should we bet on it?”
“No, and your question indicates you’re a gambler. I should have guessed.”
“Yes, I’m a gambler and a wastrel.” He announced his tendencies as if he was proud of his low character.
“Don’t brag.”
“Who’s bragging? I’m just stating the facts. How are you enjoying yourself so far? Have you seen any intriguing sights?”
“You’re aware that I have, you wretch.”
He smirked. “I must admit I was amused when you stumbled on us.”
“You deem it humorous to embarrass a young lady?”
“Were you embarrassed? I didn’t notice you running off in horror. To me, you seemed entranced.”
“You’re deluded, Mr. Swift.”
“Am I?”
He looked so cocky, so confident, and she wished she could bring him down a peg, but it was probably impossible. He wasn’t the sort to feel guilty about bad behavior.
“Is it your habit to strut about naked?” she inquired. “When we advised Mr. Farnsworth about what was transpiring, he was very shocked.”
Mr. Swift waved away her comment. “I never worry about Clayton’s opinion, and he invited the strumpets who are here. If they take off their clothes, he’ll get over it.”
“What about you? You still haven’t told me if I was witnessing regular conduct from you. Are you prone to depravity?”
“Absolutely. Isn’t everyone?”
“Would you really have removed your trousers while I watched?”
He chuckled. “I don’t know.”
“Did you tug them off after I left? Did you give your fawning audience a scandalous view of your grand self?”
“I’ll never tell.” He raised a brow. “You’ll have to always wonder.”
She scoffed. “As if I’d waste my time pondering the wicked episode.”
“Won’t you? You’re quite irritated. How will you stop thinking about it?”
“I’m not irritated,” she insisted. “I’m merely stunned that adults could be so corrupt.”
“You and I live in different worlds.”
“We certainly do.”
“I’m delighted by loose tarts. They keep my life interesting.”
“Well, I’m ecstatic to report that I’m not loose or a tart so there will be few reasons for us to socialize. There’s nothing about me that would tantalize you.”
“That, Miss Barrington, is where you’re very, very wrong.”
He was exceedingly sly, and he’d sidled even nearer. The toes of his shoes had slipped under the hem of her skirt, and his leg was pressed to her own. There was a strange energy flowing between them, almost as if their proximity was generating sparks. The sensation was thrilling and disturbing. What could be causing it?
His blue, blue eyes danced with mischief, and she was struck again by how much he resembled Mildred. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t a Farnsworth nephew.
“You look exactly like your sister,” he said, “but your hair is a tad more blond.”
He was correct, but she didn’t like that he would note such a small variation. It made him seem shrewd and perceptive, and she wanted him to be stupid and thick-headed.
“Yes, it’s a tad more blond.”
“And your eyes are bluer.”
His voice was like a caress that sent jolts of pleasure out to her extremities. She stepped away, refusing to be enticed by him. He bit down a grin, realizing he’d won their brief battle of wills.
“Who is Christopher?” she asked.
“My friend in town.”
“You mentioned his name in the same sentence as my sister. Are they acquainted?”
“I’m sure they’re very well acquainted by now.”
She scowled. “What do you mean?”
“Christopher is a libertine who loves to flirt. The last time I saw her, she appeared completely smitten.”
“Catherine is smitten?”
“Is that so hard to accept?”
“Yes. Would he take advantage of her?”
“Only if she lets him, and he can be very persuasive.”
He was smiling like the devil in disguise, and she had no idea if he was being candid or not.
Catherine was mature and pragmatic. Their family’s catastrophe had forced them to grow up very fast. She was wary of men and would never succumb to a cad, but just in case Sarah would add a word of warning about this Christopher person when she penned her letter in the morning.
“I can’t decide if you’re telling the truth about your friend,” she said. “Catherine would never involve herself with a libertine.”
He shrugged. “Women constantly involve themselves with debauched fellows. Why would your sister be immune?”
“She’s too prudent.”
“Really? Oh, Miss Barrington, I wish you liked to bet. It would be so easy to fleece you.”
She snorted with disgust. “That comment certainly leaves me glad to have met you.”
“You should be glad.”
“Your vanity knows no bounds.”
“No, it doesn’t.” He gestured to the dark garden. There were lamps lit on the various trails, but mostly it was shadows and hidden corners. “Will you walk in the garden with me?”
“Walk? With you?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You’d enjoy it,” he pompously claimed.
“If that’s what you suppose, you’re absolutely deranged.”
“I’m not deranged. I’m perfectly lucid and incredibly focused on what I want. I usually get it too.”
His hot gaze wandered down her torso again, and she couldn’t figure out why she didn’t stomp off in a huff. It would stroke his ego to fluster her, and she couldn’t deny it was exhilarating to engage in banter.
“Who is Libby Markham?” she asked. “You mentioned her too.”
“She’s your sister’s friend. They attended the dances at Vauxhall.”
“My sister has a friend named Libby Markham? She was dancing at Vauxhall?”
“Yes.”
“If you suddenly told me she flew to the moon, I couldn’t be more surprised.”
“Why? Your sister is quite the social butterfly in town.”
“I guess I should stay in better contact with her. I had no idea about any of this.”
“Yes, and Libby is a nuisance, and she’ll likely cause trouble for your sister before they’re through.”
“You know this because…?”
“Libby is a trollop who tried to convince me to ruin her.”
Sarah gasped. “Mr. Swift, I assume there’s some reason you would confess such a salacious detail, but I can’t imagine why you’d assume I should listen.”
“In case you were wondering, I didn’t ruin her.”
“I wasn’t wondering!”
“I could have proceeded, but I declined. My gallant tendencies surged to the fore.”
“Mr. Swift! Please! You’re embarrassing me.”
“How? Will a few risqué sentences send you into a faint? I’d wager you’re made of sterner stuff than that.”
“I’m not from your world, and I can’t deduce how to react to such a story.”
“I like looking at you when you’re embarrassed. You’re so pretty, and your cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink.”
She frowned. “You’re flirting with me.”
“Yes, I can’t help myself.”
“Well, stop it.”
“Why should I?”
“I don’t like men who flirt.”
“That’s the silliest remark I’ve ever heard. What female doesn’t like a man to flirt?”
“This one doesn’t.”
“What a terribly boring life you must lead.”
“My life is fine,” she declared.
“Is it?”
The question dangled between them, and he was scrutinizing her so meticulously, as if he was aware of how she’d chafed and fought against the calamities that had pummeled her. After her parents’ deaths, it had taken years to reinvent herself, to lower her standards, to become a totally different person from whom she’d been raised to be.
She should have been married by now. Her father should have chosen a lofty spouse for her from a premier family. She should have had several children, should have been content with her doting husband and grand home.
None of it had happened, and she glanced away from Mr. Swift, hating how he seemed to know more about her than he should. She was positive it was a practiced affectation that he used on women so they’d think he was insightful and sympathetic. But it wouldn’t work on her.
He slithered very close again, and it occurred to her that he was like a dangerous predator who was constantly sizing up his prey, and she had to be cautious around him. He was very dashing, very magnetic, his alluring traits tempting her to linger by his side. It would be difficult to keep him at bay.
How had he managed to escape the marital noose? His past had to be littered with weeping maidens who were bereft over his departure. Why wasn’t there a line of angry fathers at the door, determined to drag him to the altar?
“You’re a lady’s companion?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How long have you been at it?”
“Too long.”
“Is your life awful? Do you ever wish you could change it?”
It could be awful, and she frequently yearned to change it, but she would never admit it to him. “It’s enjoyable when I’m employed by someone like Mildred Farnsworth.”
“She’s a character, isn’t she?”
“Yes. I like her.”
“I like her too, and I can’t understand how she could possibly be related to a dullard like Clayton.”
Sarah tamped down her opinion of Mr. Farnsworth. “Shall I share a secret?”
“Most definitely.”
“When I bumped into you out at the lake, I hadn’t met Mr. Farnsworth yet. I thought you were her nephew.”
“Why?”
“You look just like her.”
“I hadn’t noticed any resemblance.”
“Trust me, you could be her son.”
“Fascinating. From now on, perhaps I’ll claim to be her kin. There has to be a way to earn money from such a connection.”
“Earn…earn…money off it?” She was sputtering with affront. “That’s a hideous idea.”
“I’m a confidence artist, Miss Barrington. I thrive on deceit and trickery. It’s how I support myself.”
As he voiced the comment, he was staring blandly, but then a corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. She decided he was teasing her, that he was jesting. After all, what man would willingly confess to having such a corrupt disposition?
“You’re probably a wastrel”—her tone was scolding—“but you’re not a confidence artist.”
“I’m not?”
“No. I’d say you’re exactly who you appear to be. There’s no mystery here.”
“What is it I appear to be?”
“You’re a libertine and gambler. You have dishonest friends, and you’ve engaged in immoral activity for so long that you can’t remember how to carry on in an ethical fashion.”
He considered her statement, then nodded. “You’ve correctly pegged my true nature. You’re very astute.”
“So there’s no need to pretend with me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“And don’t be sarcastic. I don’t like it.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have to mind my manners around you.”
“You should mind your manners around everyone.”
“Yes, but if I did that, I’d miss out on so much fun. I’d certainly never swim in a pond with naked women.”
She scoffed. “I can’t believe you mentioned that sordid escapade. Are you trying to embarrass me again?”
“Yes. I told you I like how pretty you are when your cheeks flush. Actually, you’re beautiful whether you’re flushed or not.”
“Stop flirting!”
“I can’t. You tempt me beyond measure.”
He stunned her by brazenly laying a palm on her waist. His intense focus made her feel exotic and special, and she was rattled by the ridiculous thought that it would be thrilling to have a brief romance during her stay with Mr. Farnsworth.
She caught herself asking, Why not?
The query was so preposterous that she had to physically shake herself back to her senses. This type of encounter was the first step down the road to perdition with him. No doubt he gazed at every female just as he was gazing at her. If she wasn’t careful, he’d be inviting her out to the lake, and she’d be desperate to join him.
“There will be dancing later,” he murmured. “Will you partner with me? You have to agree. I won’t let you refuse.”
She’d meant to say absolutely not, but the words that emerged were, “One dance, Mr. Swift.”
“One set?”
He seemed so hopeful she couldn’t disappoint him. “Yes, one set and that’s it. You’re much too sophisticated for me, and I have to watch myself.”
“I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
She clucked her tongue. “It’s a sin to tell a lie.”
“All right, I’ll try to be a perfect gentleman. I can’t guarantee I’ll succeed, but I’ll try.”
She bubbled with laughter. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“It might be refreshing to behave for a change.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t like it.”
“For you, the attempt would be worth it.”
His flattery was rolling over her, and it had been an eternity since a handsome man had peered at her in an enticing way. It was easy to see how she could land herself in a boatload of trouble with him.
“I should go inside,” she said.
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“Mildred will be looking for me.”
“She’s playing cards. She hasn’t missed you.”
“Perhaps I have missed her.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Are you in the habit of deciding what a woman should think? If so, you must consort with some very silly girls.”
“They’re always silly. It’s why they end up as trollops.”
“I’m certain that’s true.”
“It’s why I find you so captivating. It’s a rare occasion when I run across such an elegant female.”
“If you keep showering me with compliments, I’ll get a big head.”
“Heaven forbid.”
He smiled a smile she felt clear down to her toes, but wasn’t she too smart to succumb to a crass flirtation? Wasn’t she too rational? What if she wasn’t? What if she was really very gullible?
The notion was terrifying.
She was suffering from the distinct impression that—if they’d been in a more private spot—he might have kissed her. Would she have let him? While she liked to presume she’d have been aghast, that she’d have pushed him away and delivered a stern admonishment, it was slowly dawning on her that she wouldn’t have had any complaint.
She’d like very much to be kissed by him. It would be very exciting, and she’d recall and reflect on it forever. The fact that she’d be amenable only reminded her that she had to be careful.
He was very loose, very fast, and Mildred wasn’t the type to concern herself over where Sarah was every second. Mr. Swift could wag a finger in her direction, and she’d traipse after him like a trained puppy.
She didn’t know what might have happened, but from behind them a woman cooed, “Nicholas, there you are. I’ve been searching everywhere.”
He winked at Sarah as if they were conspirators, then he spun to whoever had joined them. Sarah spun too, and when she and the other woman saw each other they both gasped and said, “What are you doing here?”
Sarah was staring at her cousin, Desdemona Henley, Lady Middlebury, who was wed to her cousin, Jasper. He was her distant cousin, the operative word being distant, and his existence blatantly indicated that the world was a very unfair place.
When Sarah’s parents had died, her brother, Hayden, had died with them. Jasper had been the next male in line, and the earldom—with all its wealth and property—had fallen onto his undeserving shoulders.
Her sister, Abigail, had been the next oldest Henley child, and it was absurd that she couldn’t have inherited instead. She’d have been an excellent steward, but because she was a female it had all gone to Jasper who was a pompous idiot.
He and Desdemona had been plucked from obscurity and raised up to become one of the most prominent couples in the kingdom. They’d jumped into their roles as Lord and Lady Middlebury and viewed themselves as being very grand and significant, but they didn’t realize that a title couldn’t bestow esteem or respect.
They’d dragged the Henley name through the mud, and the estate was gradually being ruined under their inattentive thumbs.
After her parents’ funeral, Desdemona had been particularly cruel to Sarah and her sisters. If Jasper had been a bachelor, or if he’d had a kinder wife, he might have allowed them to stay at Middlebury, but Desdemona had been adamant that he cut all ties and force them to fend for themselves.
Sarah hadn’t seen her in three years, and she’d never previously bumped into her in a social situation. It was awkward and infuriating. She would gloat and preen so Sarah would remember how quickly and effortlessly she’d stepped into Sarah’s life and yanked away every little piece of it.
She was a decade older than Sarah, and Sarah was delighted to note that time was passing for her and not in a good way. She was about Sarah’s same height of five-foot-five, but she was very fat, her rich diet adding on too much weight so her clothes were bulging at the seams.
With her blond hair and blue eyes, she looked like a Henley—even though Jasper was actually the cousin—but her hair was limp, the shade dull, and her eyes weren’t the brilliant blue Sarah and her sisters possessed. She’d never been a happy person. She was devious and mean, proud of her status and always calculating the odds.
Sarah was already wondering if she could convince Mildred to leave early for Bath. Would they have to tarry the entire week? Could they depart sooner? How about first thing in the morning?
To Sarah’s disgust, Desdemona took Mr. Swift’s arm and snuggled herself to him as if they were intimately acquainted. Had she been one of the nude swimmers? Sarah hadn’t studied the women closely enough to notice.
She’d heard Jasper was a philanderer. Was Desdemona as well? Was she carrying on with Mr. Swift? The whole idea was nauseating.
He was still grinning at Sarah, his expression not changing, his eyes still twinkling with merriment. Did he find Desdemona ridiculous? Did he find the moment humorous?
“I’d introduce you,” he said, “but it appears you know each other.”
“Yes, we know each other,” Sarah muttered.
Desdemona demanded, “Why are you here, Sarah? I asked, but you haven’t answered me.”
“You’re not the Queen, Des. Don’t put on airs with me. I can’t stand it, and I’ll simply ignore you.”
Desdemona smirked, her face pinched with her own self-importance. “I assume you’re…working.”
“Yes, I am. What exactly is your purpose at this party?” Sarah’s caustic glare flitted to Mr. Swift. “I could swear you’re flirting with a man who isn’t your husband. Where is Jasper?”
Desdemona’s focus narrowed, and Sarah was vividly reminded of how vicious Des could be. Yet what could she do to Sarah that she hadn’t already done?
“Watch your mouth, Sarah.” Desdemona’s tone was deadly.
“Watch yours,” Sarah retorted like a spoiled toddler, and she glanced up at Mr. Swift. “Would you excuse me, Mr. Swift? I don’t like the company on this verandah.”
“Of course, Miss Barrington,” he graciously responded, “but the dancing will begin in a few minutes. You promised to partner with me for a set.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m positive I won’t like the company in the dancing parlor either. It’s been a long day for me. I’ll probably just go up to my bedchamber.”
“You little snot,” Desdemona fumed. “How dare you disparage me!”
“How dare I?” Sarah batted her lashes sarcastically. “It’s so easy, Des. You’re totally obnoxious, and I can’t ever forget that you are.”
Sarah waltzed off, and Desdemona bit down a squeal of affront as Mr. Swift said, “You two don’t seem very friendly.”
“The annoying tart!” Desdemona replied. “She’s thinks she’s so smart, but I’ll have Clayton send her packing. She needs to recollect where that snooty attitude always takes her.”
Then Sarah was inside the house, and thankfully she didn’t hear anything else.
No doubt Mr. Swift would pepper Des with questions about Sarah and why their relationship was so horrid. She could imagine the falsehoods Des would spew, and it ignited her temper. She yearned to shout, Don’t believe a word that witch says about me!
But she couldn’t bear to observe as Mr. Swift nestled with Desdemona so she kept her gaze straight ahead and proceeded through the various salons until she found Mildred playing cards.
Mildred was gambling—there were coins in the center of the table, not a huge pile, but a few—and Sarah paid no attention to what was happening. Mildred wasn’t like other women, and Sarah was determined to disregard her more outrageous traits. The good ones definitely outweighed the bad.
Sarah walked over and whispered in her ear, “I’m going to bed. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” Mildred assessed her and scowled. “Are you all right? You look distraught.”
Sarah peeked over toward the door as Mr. Swift and Desdemona followed her in. Sarah could never hold her tongue around Des, and she refused to make a scene.
“I’m not distraught,” she claimed. “I’m just tired.”
Mildred waved her away. “I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll do something fun.”
“I can’t wait.”
Sarah started out, and luckily Mr. Swift and Des had moved so they weren’t blocking her way. She was able to sneak out without having to speak to them.
At the last second though, she peered over at Mr. Swift. He grinned as if life was a big joke. Desdemona was still clutching his arm, her interest clear and irritating. He shrugged, as if telling Sarah there was no explanation for his behavior with Des, as if he was so marvelous Des couldn’t resist.
Sarah didn’t care if he was having an affair with her despicable cousin. The two of them could jump in the lake—and drown together—for all it mattered to her. She rolled her eyes at his idiocy, then continued on to the stairs.