The Offer (Baron 2)

“Trevor tried to rape you? That’s your story. Not a very likely story that, my girl. He’s been married to Elizabeth for only a month. I suppose you’ll tell me that you didn’t spend five days—alone—with Phillip Mercerault.”

“I was ill, very ill. He found me unconscious in the snow in Eppingham Forest. I was on my way to Borhamwood, to the stage. I wanted to come to you. He saved my life. There was nothing more than that, Aunt, you must believe me. I could have been his little sister for all he cared. He did nothing. Believe me, I was so ill I couldn’t have done anything. It was Charles Askbridge who made Phillip believe he’d compromised me, but I would have none of it. I did nothing wrong.”

Lady Barresford stared down at her in disbelief. “You’re trying to tell me that the viscount agreed that he’d compromised you? You’re claiming that he made you an offer? That is what you want me to believe now?”

Sabrina said quietly, “Yes, he made me an offer. I refused him. He didn’t compromise me. He saved my life. Why should he have to marry me? He did nothing wrong. I did nothing wrong. We didn’t even know each other.”

“You miserable little liar,” Lady Barresford fairly shrieked at her. She waved her fist in Sabrina’s face. “No girl would be such a fool as to turn down Viscount Derencourt, much less one who has spent five days alone with him. What you really mean to tell me, isn’t it, my girl, is that he offered to take you on as his mistress?”

“No, he couldn’t do that. I’m an earl’s granddaughter. I’m a lady. I don’t understand you, Aunt.”

“You seduced him and he offered to let you continue. There’s nothing difficult to understand in that. He’s a man, a very accomplished, a very handsome, sought-after man. You’re a very stupid girl.”

“Phillip could never act like that. Why do you insult him and then call him accomplished and handsome? He is those things and he is also very kind. He was very good to me.”

Lady Barresford shook her head in disgust. “I’m not insulting him, but to call him kind merely shows what a provincial you are. He has a grand reputation with ladies. He can get any lady he wishes to toss up her skirts for him. He has no interest in marriage. All understand that. He is only twenty-six, after all. There is no way he would offer for you. You’re lying and I won’t have it.” She hit her palm to her forehead. “But when all’s said and done, you’re still an earl’s granddaughter. What in heaven’s name am I to do with you now?”

Yet another person to decide what to do with Sabrina Eversleigh, she thought, and stared down at her toes.

“You will go home to Yorkshire,” Lady Barresford said with sudden decision. “You will try to be conciliating with Elizabeth and Trevor, for there is your grandfather to think about. You don’t want to make him more ill than he is now. Yes, you will be nice, you will be civil, you will apologize. I hope Trevor and Elizabeth will forgive you.”

Sabrina raised her eyes to her aunt’s face. “I can’t go back to Monmouth Abbey, Aunt. Even though you don’t wish to believe me, Trevor did try to rape me. I have no doubt that if I were to return unprotected, he would succeed unless I shot him, and I would have to. Then our line would die out since he’s the only male heir. As to Elizabeth, I can no longer live in the same house with her. She has changed toward me.”

“Do you blame her? You tried to seduce her husband of one month.”

“I did not. Why won’t you believe me?”

Lady Barresford looked like she wanted to shoot her. “Believe you? That is nonsense. You may well be stupid but I am not, Sabrina. Oh, good Lord, what do you intend to do? You must know that after all that has happened, you can’t remain here.”

Sabrina rose. “You’re wrong, Aunt, about all of it. You won’t even consider that I’m telling you the absolute truth. Why? You said I was stupid and it was nonsense, but it wasn’t, it’s not.”

“Don’t be ridi

culous. Even blind old Mrs. Baggil could see the truth of this. You stayed with Phillip Mercerault for five days. Of course he bedded you.”

“Very well. I’ll be out of your house as soon as I can pack.”

“And just where do you think you are going, miss?”

“I won’t be on the streets, if that’s what worries you. You forget that the money you have freely been lavishing on the both of us belongs to me. I bid you good-bye, Aunt.”

“Miss Sabrina.”

Sabrina drew her gaze from the wall to her maid’s doughy, satisfied face. She just couldn’t bear it another moment. Did every person, regardless of station, know of her disgrace and revel in it? She said, her chin up, “I am Lady Sabrina and that is what you will call me. Do you understand?”

Hickles obviously understood, but it was a trial for her. She was bored. Accepting the lady’s position, she’d thought she would see a procession of gentlemen march through her rooms, but so far, nothing. Just the two of them, and the lady was silent and withdrawn. Finally, Hickles nodded. “Lady Sabrina, it’s teatime. Would you like me to order it up?”

“Yes, thank you, Hickles.” She saw the avid gleam in her maid’s eyes, heard the ill-disguised impatience in her tone. How odd it is, she thought, staring after the woman, that even the servants knew of her disgrace. She certainly hadn’t said anything. How had Hickles known? Of course, something else Hickles knew very well was that she was the only one to provide Sabrina—an eighteen-year-old-girl—with any respectability at all.

Sabrina watched the clock on the mantelpiece move its arms slowly into evening. She had no desire to leave the Cavendish Hotel for fear that she would meet someone she knew, or more accurately someone who knew her. She thought of the gentleman who had openly ogled her. She wished he were here so she could hit him.

When the clock finished chiming its four strokes, she realized with something of a start that it was Tuesday afternoon. She was to have ridden in the park with Phillip on Monday. She wondered if he’d been delayed at his home and was unaware of what had happened to her.

Phillip had known everything, had warned her again and again, and she’d laughed in his face. She looked at herself in the narrow mirror over the mantelpiece. Her face was a stranger’s, set, thin, dark circles beneath her eyes.

“It’s been proved,” she said to that pathetic stranger in the mirror, “you’re a fool. A very stupid fool. A fool who has no future. All you have is a string of days that will stretch out without end into months and then into years.” She felt sudden fury at the injustice of it all and smashed her fisted hand into the mirror. The glass shattered and she looked at the blood that was beginning to trickle down her fingers.

Toward midnight, after hours of frustrated thinking, an idea came to her. The world hadn’t changed, but she certainly had. She’d nurtured romantic ideas about a future that could no longer be hers, then she’d allowed herself to wallow in self-pity, to act the broken, helpless female.