The Offer (Baron 2)

“You should have let him bring you back, Sabrina. It isn’t done for a girl to just skip away from her escort like that.”

“Yes, ma’am. I forgot.” Sabrina sat down beside her. She was tired and hot and wanted to sleep for a year. She wondered how much longer it would be before her body didn’t betray her, before she was completely well again.

“You do dance passably. That is something.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You may call me Aunt. Also, I believe you should strive for just a bit of animation in your voice, not a great amount, naturally, but a bit. If I didn’t see you talking, I would think you were dead. Yes, you must strive for a whisper of vigor. To be sure, gentlemen have no admiration for a girl who can be heard talking and laughing across a room, but still, they are put off by ladies who have nothing at all to say. Try to squeeze at least one compliment out to each gentleman you dance with. Sometimes it is difficult, since many gentlemen are so sadly deficient, but I have faith you will manage it.”

“I will, Aunt. I’m sorry, but I’m so very tired.”

Anissa looked at her closely. There were circles beneath those extraordinary eyes of hers. That wouldn’t do at all. Nothing must detract from those eyes. “We will leave in a half an hour. Then you will sleep for as long as you like.”

Sabrina wanted to tell her formidable aunt that she was more than just physically tired. She thought she could probably sleep for a week but her spirit would still be flattened. She forced a smile. Her aunt seemed pleased. “Yes,” she said. “I just need to rest.”

Anissa leaned close. “I would never wish you to be a flirt, child, but remember that this is your first appearance in London. Perhaps you could make just a small push—once you’re not so tired—to be more charming.” She paused a moment, remembering that she had spoken similar words to Sabrina’s snippy sister, Elizabeth. Not, of course, that it had done any good at all. An entire season she had squired Elizabeth about, and all for naught. She sighed. “It was the longest season I’ve ever lived through,” she said aloud. “Elizabeth simply didn’t gain any ground, but that’s neither here nor there now, thank the good Lord. I had quite given up when I heard from your grandfather that she’d married your cousin. You know I imagine it was a bribe. Not that it matters now, of course. She is the future Countess of Monmouth. She is well set. Now we must see to you, Sabrina.”

Anissa saw Jane Balfour leading Viscount Derencourt over to Dorinda Morton, Lucilla, like a dog, trailing after them. Her chin quivered. She would bide her time. She sent Sabrina after a cup of punch.

When Sabrina returned to her aunt, she heard Jane Balfour’s voice from behind her. “Sabrina, allow me to introduce Viscount Derencourt. Phillip, you are acquainted with Lady Barresford naturally. This is her niece, Sabrina Eversleigh. Lady Sabrina.”

She was relieved that she’d already handed her aunt her cup of punch. If she’d still held it, she would have dropped it, splashing it all over her beautiful velvet gown. She knew she’d see him in London, he’d told her that. But it was too soon. She hadn’t had the time to gain distance from her feelings for him, or to school herself in how she must behave toward him. She slowly forced her eyes to his face.

He wasn’t dressed at all like the man who’d taken care of her for five days. Of course, she wasn’t dressed like that girl, either. She watched him bow over her aunt’s hand, exquisitely polite. “Lady Barresford. A pleasure to see you again, Sabrina.” The gentleness of his voice nearly undid her. She’d never heard that gentle voice during their time when she’d been so very ill. She nodded dumbly, unable to speak.

“What is this, my lord? Why, I had no idea you were acquainted with my niece.” What was going on here? Sabrina had suddenly turned into a stick—thin, mute, and stiff.

“We met only briefly, my lady,” Phillip said, forcing himself to look away from Sabrina to her aunt, an ambitious old biddy he’d always avoided in the past. “It was a Christmas party at Moreland.”

“Ah, that is Charles Askbridge’s country seat,” Lady Barresford said. “And Charles’s dear sister, Margaret, married Sir Hugh Drakemore. I was pleased to hear of it since Margaret has always been on the short side and her mother despaired of finding her an agreeable husband. How does she like marriage, my lord?”

Phillip thought of the glowing smile on Margaret’

s face when Hugh, a man Phillip had sworn would go to his grave a bachelor, had arrived at Moreland but one day before Christmas. He saw Hugh swing her up in his arms, laughing, kissing her. “I’d say she’s tolerably happy with the institution, ma’am.” The small orchestra at the far end of the drawing room struck up a lively country dance.

“Would you care to dance with me, Sabrina?”

“Yes, my lord.” She didn’t look at him, just placed her hand on his arm. “Is that all right, Aunt?”

“Yes, do enjoy yourself, child.” As the viscount walked away with Sabrina at his side, Lady Barresford felt a stab of apprehension. The viscount, although a charming, handsome young man, and quite wealthy, was known as a slippery fish that no one had ever managed to net. Later, she must tell Sabrina that he’d never marry her. He was still too young to worry about begetting an heir, though it was well known that gentlemen could pass to the hereafter at any age. Only they never seemed to realize how very fragile they really were. A wife was the best thing to keep a man firmly planted above ground and not beneath it.

Yes, she would speak to Sabrina. There was no use in having her waste her time. Also, it was doubtful Sabrina had ever before met a man like Phillip Mercerault. Still, she did appear to know him well enough for him to address her by her first name. This was interesting.

Phillip was saying softly not an inch above Sabrina’s ear, just before he bowed in the dance, “It’s a pity you can’t waltz yet.”

“But I can waltz. Grandfather hired a dancing master for Elizabeth and me, just before her marriage.” But she hadn’t danced since she’d been here in London.

“That isn’t what I meant,” he said, looking down into her eyes. “You must have permission to waltz here in London.”

“From whom?”

“From the patronesses at Almack’s. Has your aunt gained admittance for you?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t said.” She couldn’t look away from him. Here she was fully dressed, looked quite as well as she could look, and she was with Phillip. He turned to face her at the edge of the dance floor. She couldn’t help herself. She swallowed, leaning toward him. He let her nearly touch his chest, then he pulled her back. “I cannot, Sabrina, as much as I want to, I cannot.”

She stared up at him, not understanding. She felt an almost physical pain. It boggled her mind. She hadn’t expected this. She didn’t understand it. Where were these odd feelings coming from? “Why?”

They were close, much too close. She was wearing all those damned clothes. Not that she didn’t look wonderful, because she did. The problem was he remembered her naked, every white inch of her. Then he heard her one spoken word. “A man doesn’t just succumb to any lady, for fear she’ll compromise him. But I don’t mind telling you, it’s a close thing. You’d best not tease me.”