The Offer (Baron 2)

Yes, finally an idea. She would have to have the resolve to get it done. But she could do it. She knew she could do it. She finally fell into a deep sleep.

Phillip didn’t return to London on Monday. He returned from Dinwitty Manor on Saturday, earlier than expected. The fact of the matter was, he had missed her, curse those incredible violet eyes of hers. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, wondering what she was doing, wondering if she was finally well and back to her former energy, which he imagined was formidable, hoping she was eating enough, wondering if she would like Cook’s offerings here at Dinwitty Manor, and knew she’d swoon at the food here, everyone did.

He’d come back to disaster. He sat now in the library of his town house on Wednesday, staring thoughtfully into space, his fingers wrapped about a folded piece of stationery.

It had taken nearly more determination than he laid claim to not to go to Sabrina as soon as he’d known the full extent of her disgrace. He’d even had Dambler speak to other servants so that he would know everything. It was bad. But he’d stayed put. He guessed that if he’d gone to the Cavendish Hotel on Saturday or even Sunday or Monday, she would have been more furious than reasonable. He could easily imagine her anger, her bitterness, her sense of injustice at what had happened. He’d even wondered if she’d blamed him for being right. Of course she would. The messenger always got the knife in the innards.

He unfolded the note and read it swiftly through once again. At last. He doubted he could have stayed away from her much longer. She had a business matter to discuss with him, did she? At least she still had guts. She’d thought it all through and come up with a solution. He couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say. It seemed to him now that he’d done the right thing by not going to her immediately, by offering his services yet again. No, now she was the one to offer. She’d finally come to her senses. He wondered as he allowed Dambler to assist him to dress exactly what she would say to him.

27

On Wednesday at half past four in the afternoon, Viscount Derencourt lightly knocked on the door of the suite of rooms at the Cavendish Hotel. Thank the good Lord she had money. He’d found that out quickly. If she hadn’t secured her inheritance, he would have gone to her immediately.

A heavy woman of indeterminate age and frankly vulgar manner admitted him as if he were a prize goose for her dinner.

“I’m Viscount Derencourt. You may announce me to your mistress.” He was haughty and cold, guessing that Sabrina had endured more than enough disapproval from this wretched person. There was an avidity in her that truly repelled him. He wondered how she behaved around Sabrina.

“After you’ve announced me, you may take yourself off.” He saw the woman’s slack-jawed disappointment before she turned and led him into a small drawing room.

“Lady Sabrina, Viscount Derencourt is here to see you.”

Although Sabrina had dressed herself with care, Phillip was appalled at her appearance. Her face was pale and drawn and she looked at him as if she fully expected him to denounce her, just as everyone else had.

“My lord, I’m delighted you could come,” she said with such fear he wanted to simply take her in his arms and tell her never to worry about another thing for as long as she lived. But he couldn’t. She had a business proposition for him. He would play by the rules she’d set. He didn’t move. He watched her turn to the officious maid. “Hickles, you may go now. Do dress warmly, for it is quite chilly outside.”

Phillip shrugged out of his greatcoat and gloves. As Sabrina took them, he said, “What did you do to your hand? Hold still, let me see.”

“It’s nothing,” she said and whipped her bandaged hand behind her. “Thank you for coming, my lord. Will you please be seated?”

“No, I first want to see what you did to your hand. Who bandaged it? A blind beggar?”

“No, I did. It was difficult to bandage it well with just one hand. I cut it on a mirror. It isn’t important. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

But he just stood there, his hands out. Finally, with a snort, she brought up her hand. He unwrapped the bandage and laid the cut bare. “It’s not too bad,” he said finally, “but I want to pour some brandy on it, just to make sure it’s really clean. Do you have anything of that sort here?”

She nodded and turned away to the sideboard. The brandy was probably very cheap, but as medicine it surely wouldn’t matter.

“Come here,” he said, and walked to the window. He opened it, then held her hand outside. He poured the brandy over her hand. She didn’t even jerk or moan. Fortunately there was no one walking below at that particular moment.

“Now, let me bandage this right. Did that hurt?”

Her hand was burning like it was on fire, but she shook her head. He wrapped her own bandage very carefully around her hand, then knotted it. “There, how does that feel?”

“It’s fine, thank you.”

“Would you like to tell me how you did it?”

“No. I was simply clumsy. Really, it’s not important. Please, my lord.”

He nodded and sat down. He steepled his fingers and smiled at her.

“Would you care for tea?”

“No. I daresay that conversation is what I would like most of all right at this moment.”

“Very well.” She sat down opposite him. She was calm, seemingly in excellent control of herself. She was behaving quite well. If he showed her his concern, she would likely think that he was pitying her, and that, he knew, she would never accept.

She didn’t say anything, just stared at him. To get her started, he said, “I received your note, Sabrina. You wrote that you have a business matter to discuss with me?”