Page 2

CHAPTER 2

S atisfaction. Desire. Possessiveness.

Sarah watched him with wary eyes, her stance straight yet her gaze challenging, as if she already deduced his plans for her. Her blue eyes brimmed with intelligence, her cheeks tinged pink in the coolness. She wore a plain pale dress with few embellishments, her silky hair twisted in a simple knot, yet she held herself as resplendent as a queen. She broke his gaze, glanced to the left and the right. Was she looking for an escape?

There would be none.

He bowed. “A pleasure to see you, Sarah.” He nodded towards Bradenton and his wife. “Your Graces.”

“The honor is ours.” Bradenton and Priscilla returned the requisite greetings, yet Sarah remained stoic.

Priscilla touched her gently on the shoulder, and she blinked. “Thank you for the invitation,” she murmured.

“Welcome to my humble estate.” The term was a misnomer, as he gestured them to a manor that was anything but modest. Bradenton held his wife’s hand possessively as Sarah glanced about once more, poised to dart away should the opportunity arise. His hands twitched with the urge to reach out and grasp her. “Cook has prepared refreshments, including a delicious fruit punch.”

Sarah halted. The pinkness on her cheeks deepened to a lovely rosy red.

Magnificent.

Twigs crunched under their feet as they traversed the textured cobblestone. The air was crisp and cool, the sky’s unbroken whiteness scented with upcoming precipitation. If instincts proved correct, snow would soon arrive, enough to block the valley and prevent passage back to London.

He was not the only one who noticed. “We shall not stay long,” Bradenton whispered as he passed underneath the curved entrance. “As soon as the opportunity arises, Priscilla and I will embark home.” He frowned. “The ladies will not be pleased.”

“I appreciate the sacrifice.” Damien bowed his head. Sarah had stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He strode towards her. “Let me help you.”

“That’s not–”

He touched her.

Her sharp intake of breath was audible, matching the unexpected triumph surging through his chest. Light, gentle and only slightly improper, he splayed his hand on the small of her back, mirroring her movements as they stepped forward, not allowing any distance between them. Her eyes flashed, yet she was was disciplined enough to say nothing, and he was bold enough to stay near.

They met the duke and duchess at the doorway, stopping just outside the entrance to the grand foyer, Around them, cream-colored walls rose three stories tall, covered in rich paintings and gold-threaded tapestries. A master artist had created the space, which drew gasps, stares and exclamations from nearly all visitors. Yet Sarah barely noticed as she glanced back to the carriage.

Did she have any idea her life was about to change?

“How is the fruit punch?”

It looked better splashed on his cravat.

Sarah exhaled a long, slow breath. That wasn’t nice. Yet she couldn’t be blamed for being unbalanced by the earl. Indeed, he collected women’s swoons like a drunk hoarded liquor. Rourke had done nothing beyond typical for a wife-seeking lord, a process frightfully akin to selecting a broodmare for a breeding farm. He was considering a woman with a handsome dowry, well-respected family and satisfactory personality. By those terms, she seemed a reasonable option.

Yet something mysterious burned behind that golden visage.

She shifted on the firm wingback chair. Gold ruled in a luxurious dining room two stories high, with the precious metal framing priceless paintings and embellishing oversized pieces of furniture. It swirled on a massive oak table, was even embedded in the floor. It suited the earl – powerful, commanding, entrapping.

The worst part was her would-be suitor was not at all unappealing, but rather handsome, charming, enjoyable, handsome, well-spoken, intelligent, handsome, polite, muscular, masculine, handsome, tempting, witty, and handsome. And yes, she repeated handsome multiple times, but really it was his fault for being so handsome.

He’d captured her attention the night of the ball, as he charmed every debutante, danced with every wallflower and thanked every servant with a kind smile. He was the sort of man she’d want, if she was the sort of woman who wanted to be owned by another. Yet she had no intention of surrendering to a lord, especially one as powerful as Rourke. “The punch is lovely, thank you.”

He grinned. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“You looked like you wanted to do something unseemly with it. I believe you have experience with such antics.”

Perhaps his cravat had looked better pink.

Priscilla opened her mouth to speak, but Bradenton stopped her. “My dear, can I speak with you for a moment?”

The duchess pursed her lips, yet pushed the chair back with an audible scrape, before allowing Bradenton to lead her from the room. A door slammed, and Sarah twisted to the window.

“Sarah.” Rourke regained her attention. “You were just about to share your opinions on the fruit punch.”

She narrowed her eyes. “My lord, are you unbalancing me on purpose?”

“It’s a distinct possibility.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll have another accident with the fruit punch?”

“I like the color pink.”

“Why stop at the cravat? Perhaps this time, I’ll make your entire shirt pink.” She sucked in a breath of air. What was this man doing to her? She had to stay in control.

He placed a hand under her arm.

All control fled.

He touched her lightly, yet he possessed her as strongly as iron shackles. Tingles danced on her skin. “Perhaps it wasn’t an accident after all,” he drawled.

It had been an accident, yet if she did it again, she could scarce claim so. She lifted her chin. “Perhaps pink cravats could be a new fashion trend. The color really was very attractive on you.”

He gave a wicked smile. “So you admit you find me attractive?”

To an extraordinary extent. “I most certainly do not,” she sniffed.

“Do not find me attractive or want to admit it?”

“I refuse to answer that question.” She had to regain power. “I know why Bradenton brought me here.”

“Do you?” He folded his arms across his chest, splaying the shirt taut against defined muscles. “Pray tell, why?”

“You are in need of a countess, and Bradenton believes I need a husband. Yet he has promised my choice of match.” She shifted in the hard back chair. It was as unrelenting as the man before her. “Are you looking for a wife, my lord?”

“No.”

“What?” She grasped the goblet so tightly the thin glass started to bend in her fingers. She quickly released it. “I was under the impression you–”

“I’ve already found one.”

A commotion sounded outside. Angry voices, a screech that quite resembled Priscilla and the rumble of a carriage. She turned…

“I’ve chosen you.”

She froze.

Ever-so-slowly turned back to him.

“What did you say?”

His power blazed like fire. “We will make a suitable match.”

What was happening? At least with the other men, they made some semblance of an offer. This was a command.

The man who gave it was going to learn she did not heed commands, not from her cousin, and most certainly not from a man who had no right over her. “That is not your choice.”

“We shall see.”

“No, we won’t,” she snapped. “I won’t stand for this, and neither will Bradenton.” Where was her cousin? The servants had left, and they were alone. She paled. “You’re not planning to do something improp–”

“Of course not,” he swiftly broke in, his stern visage shattering any doubts. “I am a gentleman.”

“Yet I am not a lady, just a relation to a well-positioned family. Furthermore, I am not yours.” She braced her hands on the table and stood. “Coming here was a mistake. I shall inform Bradenton I wish to leave at once.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible now.” Undisguised satisfaction belied the apologetic words. “The duke and duchess are no longer here.”

Her breath hitched, as the atmosphere turned far more dangerous. “What do you mean they’re not here?” Surely, she misunderstood. They had no plans to separate during this short sojourn.

Rourke stood, towering over her, and suddenly he wasn’t a gentleman, but a commander, leader, warrior. “They left for London.”

“Impossible,” she breathed. They wouldn’t have left without her. Yet uncertainty propelled her forward, to the wide window and an ever-whitening world. She sucked in a breath of cool air, flattened her palms against the smooth glass. Cold seeped into her hands, yet she pressed closer. “The carriage is gone.”

“I imagine they’re halfway to the valley by now.” Rourke announced rather calmly – for a kidnapper. “You will be my guest for a little while longer.”

Something tiny, white and flaky fell from the sky. It was joined by another flake and another and another… “It’s snowing.” She gasped.

“Perhaps a little longer is an underestimation.” He gave a slow wide smile. “You are now my guest for the entire winter.”