Page 6

CHAPTER 6

S arah seemed both pleased and displeased when his idea turned out to be chocolate in a small hidden drawing room neither the servants nor his aunts knew about. He’d taken her there not to have his wicked way with her, but to ensure privacy, and her the freedom to make the choices she desired, without a marriage forced by discovery.

Of course, that didn’t mean he had any intention of letting her go.

She was delightful in more ways than he ever imagined. She was intelligent and witty, with quick retorts and clever insights. She was strong, with a powerful spirit far too many women hid, yet there was also a kindness to her, a goodness. Bradenton had mentioned some of her charitable activities, and he imagined he didn’t know half of it. He was a fortunate man to have found her.

He would be even more fortunate when they wed.

But now he was immensely curious about her outing. There must have been a reason for her walk, since it clearly wasn’t to view his fictional dweedledoof collection. It may have to do with whatever she had unsuccessfully hidden under her pelisse. He could see her trying to grip something as she walked.

She removed the pelisse upon entering the warm room and placed it on a chair by the fireplace. This room was smaller than most, cozy with emerald and sapphire settees framed by a dark wood. There were several wooden writing desks with plush chairs, and he lit the fireplace until it crackled with cozy warmth. He used this room for his own writing when he didn’t want to be disturbed – or discovered.

She sank into the settee furthest from him, as if the physical distance could somehow insulate her from his influence. It would not.

She sat as straight as a wooden board. “This is lovely.”

“Thank you.” He poured her a cup of the exotic chocolate he had sourced from his secret supply and handed it to her.

She took a small sip, and her cheeks flushed with delight. “This is extraordinary. Where did you get this, and could I have a hundred pots more?”

He chuckled softly, as she blushed. “I know a few connoisseurs of exotic goods. And there may be more for you, depending on how forthright you are.”

She scrunched up her nose at him. “Just when I was considering sparing some of your shirts.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Never-mind. It would be lovely of you to offer more such delights.” She took a sip that turned into a gulp, but he didn’t mind. Most women didn’t show their true selves, instead hiding behind propriety and society’s strict rules. It was refreshing to find a woman who revealed her true identity.

“I could barter, perhaps, for another serving. How about you tell me what you were hiding in your pelisse?”

Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. “What makes you think I was hiding anything?”

“Other than the fact that you are blushing?” He smiled as her blush deepened to a rosy red. “I could tell you were holding something. Plus, it seemed extra bulky. You can tell me.” He lowered his voice. “I am excellent at keeping secrets.”

She looked back at the pelisse, and then at the chocolate pot. Lifted her chin. “Fine. It is no big secret. I wanted to write, thus I brought supplies to do so.”

He sat up. “Please tell me you’re not planning on ruining more of my clothing. My laundry maids shall have a fit.”

“You think I would do something like that?” she sniffed, yet her color seemed even more pronounced. Perhaps he should start wearing his less expensive cravats when she was near a pot of ink.

“My apologies, Sarah. Do tell me, what do you write?”

She hesitated, but then straightened. “I write stories. I know it is not a common activity, but I quite enjoy it. I hope one day to get published.”

She stayed silent, as if expecting his rebuke. Instead, he sat straighter himself. “Really?” How extraordinary. She couldn’t know this, but it was something they had in common. He loved to pen stories of fiction, ever since he was a child. It was not a common activity for lords, and not among the more accepted pursuits of physical prowess or visiting one’s club. “I am something of a writer myself.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “Are you?”

“I am.” He refrained from total honesty. No doubt she would be shocked to learn of his literary identity, yet that was not something he was ready to reveal, at least not yet. “I would love to see your writing.”

“Oh no.” She looked down. “No one has seen it.”

“Then you are quite past due. I am certain it is wonderful.” He was truly curious. If she had true talent, he could set up a meeting with Mr. Tennant, the representative from his publisher. He had a country estate nearby and was in residence. Yet he would have to hear a sample first. “How about we make it a game? We can even put something on it.”

“A game?” She eyed him warily. “How so? And what could we possibly wager?”

“You will go on a carriage ride with me tomorrow.”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear my terms.”

“No.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing you want?”

The no didn’t come this time, at least not immediately. She opened her mouth as if to give the negative, yet closed it, tapped her chin. “If I win, will you ignore me while I am here?”

“Is that truly what you want?”

“Yes.”

But her eyes said the opposite. Still, he had no intention of losing. “That would be terribly boring for both of us. However, I could give you a few days to get acclimated to the… situation.”

She watched him warily. “I don’t kn–”

“I’ll add a week’s worth of chocolate.”

“Deal.”

The chocolate had been a fortune, but well worthwhile.

She lifted a finger. “But it can’t just be me. If I am going to share my writing, you will have to share yours, as well.”

He never shared his writing with others. Actually, that wasn’t true. He shared with half of England, evidenced by the robust sales of his books. Half the ton talked about his stories of adventure, and loathe as he was to admit it, romance. Of course, he couldn’t share his current work, or she may guess about his books. Yet for her presence, he would share something else.

“All right.” He stood and walked to one of the writing tables, then gestured to the other. “We will both write something new, so as not to give away any secrets. Supplies are inside the table.”

“Agreed.” She rose and traveled to the other writing table, opened the drawer and retrieved paper, quills and a pot of ink. He cringed and began to loosen his cravat.

She grimaced at him but then shrugged. “Probably not a bad idea.”

No, it wasn’t.

When they had both set up their supplies and he had moved his cravat to the far end of the room , she rubbed her hands together. “What are the terms?”

He thought for a moment. How could he judge her writing without being obvious? And most of all, how could he win? “How about we attempt to move the other person with our writing? It could make them sad or delighted, but it must touch them.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “That may be difficult to judge.”

“True. We will have to rely on honesty. Can I trust you?”

She sighed but nodded her head. “You have my word. Shall we give it a fifteen-minute time limit?”

“Sounds fair.”

The clock rang then, providing the perfect starting bell. He thought for only a minute, then pressed the quill onto the paper. The minutes soared as swiftly as the snow drifting outside the window. The words followed, as he drew in sweeping swirls. Finally, the clock ticked the quarter hour, and they both put down their quills.

“That wasn’t bad,” she admitted. “It quite spurred me on. Perhaps I shall try to write like this from now on.”

“I am happy to offer my services any time.”

“Oh I didn’t mean… nevermind. I’ll go first.” She cleared her throat, took out her paper and began to read.

With every word, Damien’s smile – and delight – grew. She was not merely competent, but fantastic. She told a miniature yet charming tale of children who traversed an enchanted forest. By the time she uttered the end and gave a mini-curtsey from the seat, he had already decided to invite the publisher over to speak with her. She deserved the chance to show her work – and perhaps something even more.

He clapped. “That was fantastic.”

She couldn’t quite hide the smile. “Do you truly think so?”

“I truly do.” He put as much earnestness as he could into the words, and by the pleasure spilling into her eyes, she believed him. “I suppose it is my turn. Prepare to be moved.”

With a nod, she threaded her hands and sat back in her seat, giving him her full attention.

“Dweedledoof, oh dweedledoof, how fair art thou? You bring so much beauty to my world. Firstly green, such a rare and delightful color. With leaves so leafy and a stem so stemmy, just a weed so weedy. You are a portrait of perfection in a rose-littered world, the true standout of nature’s bounty. Delight is a bouquet of your beauty. Dweedledoof, oh dweedledoof, how fair art thou? Neverending.”

He stopped and placed the paper down on the desk.

Sarah blinked at him. Then she laughed. And she laughed. And laughed and laughed. It was pure music, and infectious as well. Finally, they both managed to tone down the laughter to smiles. “That was… that was…”

“Delightful? Amusing? Moving?”

“Yes to the first two, but the last not so much. I cannot deny your writing… errr.. skills, however I cannot claim it truly touched me. It was not enough to merely amuse. Therefore–” She leaned forward. “I have won.”

He frowned. She was right. While amusing, the writing hadn’t really affected her. He was not going to win, not unless he shared his true writing. “I would like a second go.”

“That wasn’t in the rules.”

“Two weeks of chocolate.”

“The time starts now.”

The words flowed easily now, as natural as the thoughts in his mind. She inspired more words than he could ever gather, a feast of delights from which to choose. The ink flowed as the moments passed, and it seemed but seconds when time was up. He put down his quill. “Are you finished?”

She smoothed out her paper and nodded.

“As am I.” He had read and reread it several times and it was perfect . If this did not move her, then he had gravely misjudged. “Would you like to read yours first?”

She inclined her head. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took some inspiration from you.” With a deep breath, she started, “Cravat, oh cravat, how fair art thou? You bring so much beauty to my world. Firstly white, such a rare and delightful color. With knots so knotty and fabric so fabricy. You are a portrait of perfection in an ink-splattered world, the true standout of men’s clothing. Delight is a bouquet of your beauty. Cravat, oh cravat, how fair art thou? Neverending.”

He never laughed so hard in all his life.

This clever, clever woman. Any husband of hers would have a lifetime of delight. It was only one of the reasons why he was determined to be that man.

She looked as delighted by his reaction as he was. “I hope you liked it.”

“I cannot tell you how much. And now it is my turn.” He took a moment to calm, allowing for the seriousness the passage deserved. There wasn’t a snowflake of humor in his new work.

“A perfect rose cannot compare to you. Softness as silky as a velvety petal. Loveliness with more color than even the brightest bloom. Strength as sharp as a thorn’s power. Drive more powerful than a bud bursting into the world. Cleverness to forge a path of destiny. Kindness a gift to perfume the world. Beauty to delight every sense, as much hidden on the inside as revealed to the world. No, a rose could never compare to the perfection within you.”

She stared again, and yet this time no laughter came. No outward sign of delight or joy. Instead, just a deep, searching gaze, with eyes darting among his features as if searching for something he kept hidden.

Perhaps they both kept parts of themselves hidden.

He stood and placed the paper down on her desk. “Did it move you?”

She stared for an eternity more, finally gave a curt nod.

Satisfaction rose within him. Partly because he had won and partly because he would now gain the pleasure of her time. Yet entirely because he had moved her, and for a moment, that seemed the only thing that mattered in his world.

“I shall see you tomorrow then.” He inclined his head to the chocolate. “Have as much as you’d like. Regardless of the contest, you may have every day for as long as you are with me.” Did she realize how long that would be? He wondered as he turned to leave.

He hadn’t made it to the door when the patter of light footsteps reached him, and then she was behind him. “Wait. Why did you write this?”

He turned. Silhouetted in the moonlight like an ethereal creature, she was lovelier than any woman he had ever seen. Yet as he had written, she was even more beautiful on the inside. “Because it is true,” he said simply.

Her eyes lingered on his lips. It took all his strength to hold back, yet he did. She deserved a gentleman. If they were to have the sort of connection he hoped they would, she would need to discover it for herself. She moved forward, brushed her lips against his.

Then, she was gone.

He stood transfixed as she fled the room and his presence, but only for a short time. Soon, she would realize exactly what he planned. He would commence his plan to win her over, starting tomorrow.

He could not wait to make Sarah his bride.