The Sum of All Kisses

“Oh, if only I could find a gentleman,” she muttered to herself, “who will make me miserable and vex me to the end of my days.”

And then.

Of course.

Lord Hugh Prentice.

God above, was there to be no end to her travails?

“Sarah!” came Honoria’s cheerful voice as the bride herself stepped into the doorway beside him. “I have good news.”

Sarah came to her feet and looked at her cousin. Then she looked at Hugh Prentice, who, it had to be said, she’d never liked. Then she looked back to her cousin. Honoria, her very best friend in the entire world. And she knew that Honoria (her very best friend in the entire world who really should have known better) did not have good news. At least not what Sarah would consider good news.

Or Hugh Prentice, if his expression was any indication.

But Honoria was still glowing like a cheerful, nearly wed lantern, and she practically floated right off her toes when she announced, “Cousin Arthur has taken ill.”

Elizabeth came immediately to attention. “That is good news.”

“Oh, come now,” Harriet said. “He’s not half as bad as Rupert.”

“Well, that part’s not the good news,” Honoria said quickly, with a nervous glance toward Hugh, lest he think them a completely bloodthirsty lot. “The good news is that Sarah was going to have to sit with Rupert tomorrow, but now she doesn’t.”

Frances gasped and leapt across the room. “Does that mean I might sit at the head table? Oh, please say I may take his place! I would love that above all things. Especially since you’re putting it up on a dais, aren’t you? I would actually be above all things.”

“Oh, Frances,” Honoria said, smiling warmly down at her, “I wish it could be so, but you know there are to be no children at the main table, and also, we need it to be a gentleman.”

“Hence Lord Hugh,” Elizabeth said.

“I am pleased to be of service,” Hugh said, even though it was clear to Sarah that he was not.

“I cannot begin to tell you how grateful we are,” Honoria said. “Especially Sarah.”

Hugh looked at Sarah.

Sarah looked at Hugh. It seemed imperative that he realize that she was not, in fact, grateful.

And then he smiled, the lout. Well, not really a smile. It wouldn’t have been called a smile on anyone else’s face, but his mien was so normally stony that the slightest twitch at the corner of his lips was the equivalent of anyone else’s jumping for joy.

“I am certain I shall be delighted to sit next to you instead of Cousin Rupert,” Sarah said. Delighted was an overstatement, but Rupert had terrible breath, so at least she’d avoid that with Lord Hugh at her side.

“Certain,” Lord Hugh repeated, his voice that odd mix of flatness and drawl that made Sarah feel as if her mind were about to explode. Was he mocking her? Or was he merely repeating a word for emphasis? She couldn’t tell.

Yet another trait that rendered Lord Hugh Prentice the most aggravating man in Britain. If one were being made fun of, didn’t one have the right to know?

“You don’t take raw onions with your tea, do you?” Sarah asked coolly.

He smiled. Or maybe he didn’t. “No.”

“Then I am certain,” she said.

“Sarah?” Honoria said hesitantly.

Sarah turned to her cousin with a brilliant smile. She’d never forgotten that mad moment the year before when she’d first met Lord Hugh. He had turned from hot to cold in a blink of an eye. And damn it all, if he could do it, so could she. “Your wedding is going to be perfect,” she declared. “Lord Hugh and I will get on famously, I’m sure.”

Honoria didn’t buy Sarah’s act for a second, not that Sarah really thought she would. Her eyes flicked from Sarah to Hugh and back again about six times in the space of a second. “Ahhhhh,” she hedged, clearly confused about the sudden awkwardness. “Well.”

Sarah kept her smile pasted placidly on her face. For Honoria she would attempt civility with Hugh Prentice. For Honoria she would even smile at him, and laugh at his jokes, assuming he made jokes. But still, how was it possible that Honoria didn’t realize how very much Sarah hated Hugh? Oh very well, not hate. Hate she would reserve for the truly evil. Napoleon, for example. Or that flower seller at Covent Garden who’d tried to cheat her the week before.

But Hugh Prentice was beyond vexing, beyond annoying. He was the only person (aside from her sisters) who had managed to infuriate her so much that she’d had to literally hold her hands down to keep from smacking him.

She had never been so angry as she had that night. . . .

Chapter Two

How They Met

(the way she remembers it)

A London ballroom, celebrating the engagement of Mr. Charles Dunwoody to Miss Nerissa Berbrooke

Sixteen months earlier

“Do you think Mr. St. Clair is handsome?”

Sarah didn’t bother to turn toward Honoria as she asked the question. She was too busy watching Mr. St. Clair, trying to decide what she thought of him. She’d always favored men with tawny hair, but she wasn’t so sure she liked the queue he wore in the back. Did it make him look like a pirate, or did it make him look as if he was trying to look like a pirate?

There was an enormous difference.

“Gareth St. Clair?” Honoria queried. “Do you mean Lady Danbury’s grandson?”

That yanked Sarah’s eyes right back to Honoria’s. “He’s not!” she said with a gasp.

“Oh, he is. I’m quite sure of it.”