Page 29

A RACING HEART, A RACING HORSE

S arah left her friend to rest, troubled—although not for the reasons Lilly believed.

It was ludicrous to think any longer that Lilly ought to marry Balton-Sycke, and only a fool would wish him on her.

She had changed her mind about the man utterly—having once believed he was Maniola jurtina , sturdy and adaptable, instead finding him to be Mayetiola destructor , a serious nuisance who infested places he was unwelcome, quickly making a pest of himself.

Besides, she liked Saye. He was interesting and unpredictable, and studying him was amusing.

Lilly would never be bored; even if he was bewildering and eccentric, her friend was up to the task of taming him.

However, she had not been the surrogate mother of a young, stubborn, independent boy for nine years without learning a thing or two about dispensing advice to the young, stubborn, and independent.

There were enough people here in Saye’s corner; she would do better for the romance, she felt, by shoving her friend at the Mayetiola .

“Romance,” she said aloud, sighing. Her own prospects were not particularly bright.

Mr Withers had conspicuously avoided her ever since she had punctured Balton-Sycke, and most of the rest of the gentlemen treated her warily.

As she had entered the library a few moments ago, Lord Mickels, who was then exiting, stepped back in an exaggerated manner, giving her a wide berth while saying, “What-ho, don’t know what she has in her pockets!

Cannot be too careful!” and chuckling merrily as if he were a great wit.

Henceforth, she would likely be known as ‘Lady Beetle’ or something equally appalling.

It was too wet for out-of-door activities, and besides, after the late and boisterous evening, most of the guests seemed happy for a day of quiet pursuits.

And while Sarah liked a good book as much as the next person, she could not settle on anything, instead staring out of the library’s bay window and watching droplets pelt the glass.

She ought to return to her room, where Evans was waiting and no doubt wondering what had become of her.

“Perhaps what I truly ought to do is return home to The Pillows,” she murmured. “I have done my reputation more harm than good here, and at least Papa will be happy to see me.”

To her surprise, a warm hand landed on her shoulder. “You surely do not pay heed to anything Lord Mickels says,” came a low murmur directly behind her. “A mutton-headed lobcock, is our Pickles.”

Sarah did not turn, but of course, she would know that rough voice anywhere. “If you have come to taunt me, please do not bother. You must be feeling quite justified in your opinions of me after last evening’s misfortune with poor Mr Anderson.”

He did not answer, but he had not moved—she could feel the heat from his body all along her spine, her shoulder warm under his hand.

She turned around to face him. Even though she was a tall woman, she was nevertheless a few inches shorter than he; she was accustomed to being eye to eye with most gentlemen, and it was somewhat disconcerting to be…

smaller. But she was. And though he was so large, when he moved, it was with an indefinable grace paired with military purpose.

His older brother was unpredictable, but…

‘dangerous’ was a better word for the younger.

Still, instead of wishing for retreat, she wanted… to advance. To push.

“Why do you do it?” she asked.

He only raised his brows. He was every bit as arrogant as Saye; he had only earned it by different means. “Do what, madam?” he asked imperiously.

“Goad him. Challenge him. I thought, at first, you were in love with her. Elizabeth is an agreeable person, and would be quite easy to love, if it were so. But now, I do not really think so.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he scoffed. But he would not meet her eyes. “And neither do you.”

“Quite possibly, I do not. Very well, let us say you are in love with her. What good does it do you to provoke him? You ascribe to a code of honour which would never allow you to act upon those feelings. I think you care for him too much to try. And yet knowing how he suffers?—”

“Suffers!” The colonel made an explosive sound of contempt. “He has everything a man could ever want—has had, since the day he was born.”

“And so you wish to take away what he considers most priceless? Help him suffer some deprivation, as you do?”

Rather than rise to the bait, he only sounded amused. “Perhaps we should recite poetry together, Darcy and I? Matlock Court has a tower, even. We could dash ourselves off it, after bemoaning how we suffer .”

She nodded. “I have suggestions for you. ‘One fire burns out another’s burning; One pain is less’ned by another’s anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another’s languish.’”

“Romeo and Juliet? This conversation has sunk to a new low.” But his stiff posture eased. “I shall tell you why I tease my cousin, if you tell me why you stand at the library window and whine about being unloved.”

She crooked her head at him. “I heard one of the young ladies describe you as ‘charming’. Miss Hilgrove, I think. Perhaps you ought to find her now and flaunt a medal or two—you do have medals, I presume? I recommend displaying the shiniest ones. You might show better in a glare.”

He grinned. “You were the one who said you no longer had to bother pretending with me, to act as someone you are not, to hide your faults, because I had already seen them.” He looked down at her, his grin fading. “Perhaps I no longer need to act a part with you.”

Sarah found herself unable to look away. Her heart seemed to be hammering most peculiarly, pounding away inside her chest as if trying to break free. “Why does it do that?” she softly wondered aloud.

“Do what?” he asked, and there was no longer derision in his words.

She took his hand—a rough, calloused hand, gloveless, a strong, large hand.

Hers felt delicate within it. She put it high on her chest, where the beat of her heart felt loudest to her.

He moved to within a hair's breadth. She peered up, that hand heavy upon her; he bent down.

And for the first time, Sarah felt the touch of lips, his mouth firm and soft, cool and heated, all at once—true anomalies.

Her hand reached to his chest; his heart pounded as fiercely as hers .

The kiss altered, growing wilder; it took control, even, of the temperature in the room, changing it from mildly chilly to overheated.

She stepped still closer, wanting more of that delicious heat, and the kiss slowed, deepened.

When it finally ended, he kept his hand right where it was, their faces so close, his gaze hooded, contemplating her, she thought, as if he were a starving man, and she were Mrs Figg’s pigeon pie.

It was, all unspoken, the most genuine compliment she had ever received.

“One cannot pretend this, can one?” she asked.

“In my father’s experiments, for example, he placed together Drosophila flies, some with rare yellow bodies and others with the typical yellowish-grey pigmentation.

Females—no matter their body colour—continually preferred the common pigmentation over yellow males.

In human terms, I am a yellow-bodied Drosophila .

You seem to be exhibiting some physical signs of preference, but of course, I suppose you must be driven by far more complex reasoning than a common vinegar fly. ”

He blinked in sudden confusion, his brow furrowing as he drew back. “Yellow-bodied…vinegar… what? Devil take it, you are not experimenting on me , are you?”

It was her turn to smile. “Heavens, no. I believe when I am seeking test subjects, I shall choose someone more…” she trailed off at the look in his narrowed eyes.

“Who?” he demanded. “Someone more what?”

Sarah had been going to suggest someone more malleable, more easily governed, and definitely someone softer and less overpowering. Instead, she heard herself saying, “Someone more devoted to my pleasure, rather than his cousin’s bride.”

He dropped his hand, and she immediately missed its warmth. His expression had hardened again, and he looked angry. For some reason, she was completely unafraid. To be more accurate, she felt fear’s opposite. She felt powerful.

Turning on his heel, he stalked away—but at the library door, he whirled back to face her.

“Leave the rest of the men here be—they would not know what to do with you, Miss Bentley. And if you truly wish to learn something, find me.” He left her standing there, her heart still beating hard.

She placed her own hand upon it, but it did not have the same tantalising effect.

“Oh, my,” she said aloud. It took several moments for her heart to return to its usual pace, but during them, she made a decision—it was time to take Saye’s advice and seek out Lady Aurelia.

Saye’s sister always showed her rather buxom figure to fine advantage, and, as Saye had pointed out, they were built upon the same lines.

Yellow-bodied vinegar fly she might be, but she was not stupid.