The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London 3)

“We were friends once,” he said. “Under the circumstances, do you not think it wise to try again?” Friends and occasional lovers was the best he could hope for. Once Vane arrived, she would have an ally, someone to sour her opinion, someone to think for her.

Lillian remained silent for a moment. “Are the odds not stacked against us?”

She was probably right. She’d sacrificed her soul for Estelle, for peace and freedom.

“If I’ve learnt anything at sea, it’s that this moment is all that matters. A sailor focuses on the destination at his peril.”

“You mean one cannot expect to arrive at an idyllic location without e

ffort.” She brought the posy of flowers up to her nose and inhaled.

“No, we must work hard even if the journey is perilous, even if we want to abandon all hope and turn back.”

“And where will our travels take us, do you think?”

He shrugged because he dared not think that far ahead. “There are havens littered along the coast.” Places called Friendship, Respect and Love. “Let us hope the wind steers us on the right course.”

“And what do we do when the storm comes?” Was she referring to Vane’s imminent arrival? “Because it is coming, Fabian, make no mistake about that.”

“Then we shall just have to weather it, and hope we’re strong enough to stay afloat.”

Something he said seemed to soothe her. Those bewitching hazel eyes softened, and she whispered, “Hope is all we have.”

Chapter Seven

They rode back to the castle in silence. The sea breeze picked up momentum, and the temperature dropped. Lillian wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, and Fabian cursed for not having the foresight to remove his greatcoat from the cart.

“Lean into me. It will keep the wind off your back.”

“I’m fine.” She held her body rigid, inches away from him, as if he carried an infectious disease and the merest touch would cause certain death.

He leant forward and firmed his grip on the reins. Trapped in his arms, she had no choice but to rest against him. After a few muttered groans, she relaxed. He would have to take his time with her in bed. While a fiery passion simmered beneath the surface, it was clear she fought to suppress her feelings. Perhaps it had something to do with her scandalous past. Perhaps she despised him. But then he’d seen the flash of affection in her eyes when he’d given her the bouquet, one he’d seen many times in their youth.

They rode into the bailey to find Mackenzie swigging from his pocket flask while he waited. Alerted by the pounding of Thunder’s hooves, the Scot quickly replaced the top and slipped the flask into his pocket.

“I was hoping you’d be a wee while longer.” Mackenzie gave a sly wink and then strode over and helped Lillian to the ground. “We’re almost ready. Come, my lady.”

A groom rushed to take Fabian’s horse, eager to tend to the animal so he might partake in the festivities.

Fabian dismounted and brushed the dust from his coat. “I expected to find a carpet of crimson petals awaiting us.”

“And you’d have had one if we had an endless supply of roses.”

Fabian offered Lillian his arm, and she placed a tentative hand in the crook. Whenever she touched him, his heart fluttered about like a wild bird in a cage. Lord, he’d have to get these strange emotions under control.

They followed a grinning Mackenzie into the castle, stopped at the large oak doors and gave a collective gasp at the sight greeting them.

Like a hive in the height of summer, the great hall buzzed with activity.

His men dashed about, brought in platters of meats, bread and cheese, and placed them on the long tables. One table ran along the width of the dais. Two further tables ran the length of the great hall. All the candles glowed in the wall sconces. The fire in the stone hearth roared, the flames dancing in celebration, too.

The women laughed and hummed tunes as they brought in vases of flowers and flagons of wine and ale. Some had a light skip in their step as they went about their work. Excitement thrummed in the air.

Mackenzie stepped forward and gestured to the table on the dais and to the two throne chairs in the centre. “My lord, my lady. Please take your seats for the banquet.”

Fabian stared at his friend and raised a brow. “Are you feeling well, Mackenzie?” He noticed one of his men setting up a music stand near the door while another drew his bow across the strings of a fiddle. The itch to accompany them proved great. “There are a few matrons in London who could use your skill for organising a party.”

Mackenzie chuckled. “Fools make feasts, and wise men eat them. That’s how it works in the Highlands though I fear you have the company of simple folk today.”