The Offer (Baron 2)

She looked down at her toes. She was glad she was standing on a thick rug. The wooden floor would be cold. She cleared her throat. “Well what? Listen, Phillip, what do you want from me?”

“I want you to go to sleep and then tomorrow when there aren’t any bruises under your eyes and you aren’t as white as newly laundered sheets, I want to very gently speak to you about how a man and his wife do things at night, in bed, in the dark. But you’re here and it’s very late, and you don’t look all that pale anymore.” He stopped, then cursed.

“That was very good. I’d never heard any curse involving a horse’s bodily parts before.”

“Forget that, I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that you’ve taken me by surprise.”

“I’m just here to see if you want to come to bed, Phillip,” she said patiently. “It’s very late, just like you said. You should be in bed. You probably have many things planned on the morrow. You need your rest. You’ve done so much this week. You’ve done so much for me.”

“All right,” he said and walked to her. She took a step back. He held out his hand but she didn’t give him hers. She gave him the candle.

He smiled down at her then, a gentle smile, the sort of smile a parent would bestow on a child.

“You’re very brave, Sabrina.” He gave her back the candle. He patted her cheek. “Go to bed. Tomorrow, one of us can move into another bedchamber.”

“You’ll also talk to me about those other things as well?”

He nodded at her again before she left. Phillip waited in the drawing room until he heard the door of the study open and close. He pictured her walking back up the stairs, that lovely white gown billowing ever so slightly around her bare ankles. Even if he hadn’t had woman for a year, even if he was chewing on his knuckles, even if lust was threatening to drive him over the edge, he wouldn’t have touched that innocent fairy creature. And she’d sought him out, offering herself to him. He felt a surge of lust and with it a bolt of anger at himself. He wouldn’t defile her, scare her, as he knew any sort of lovemaking would.

No, he’d protect her from himself. He would leave. Greybar was standing right outside the drawing room door beaming. “It was a splendid occasion, my lord.”

Phillip nodded, his thoughts still on Sabrina, on protecting her. “Yes, thank everyone for me, Greybar.”

“Allow me and the entire staff to wish you and the viscountess happiness.” Greybar hoped his master would understand his subtlety, but he wasn’t too hopeful. His lordship had the look of a man on a mission after drinking a good deal of brandy. Why was he leaving? On his wedding night? He’d watched from the shadows as the new viscountess had trailed back up the stairs, alone. Then the truth struck him right between the eyes. His lordship was being noble. Even the lowest scullery maid was well aware of the facts surrounding the viscount’s hurried wedding. “Poor little mite,” Mrs. Hawley, the housekeeper, had said earlier that day, shaking her soft gray curls, of which she was inordinately proud, “after the wedding we’ll keep her safe and sound with us.”

Greybar was very proud of his master at that moment. He’d risen above himself. He was showing immense gallantry. He wasn’t giving in to a man’s baser instincts. No, as a gentleman with money, he would take those instincts elsewhere, where they belonged, and not upstairs where that poor scared little girl was now lying in her virginal nightgown, quite alone and doubtless better off that way. Not that a newly married man should visit his mistress, but perhaps in this case, it was more well done of him than not. The master was young and lus

ty. Because he didn’t want to scare his little wife out of her wits, he was taking himself off to relieve himself elsewhere.

He helped his master into his greatcoat and handed him his hat and gloves. Phillip said, “I know you’re aware that the new mistress has come through a rather trying time. But it’s over now. She’s young, Greybar, and untried in London ways. I’ve decided against taking her to Dinwitty Manor, at least for the time being. She must learn her way here, in London, and I trust that you will assist her. A dinner party, say next week, will be just the thing to start her off.”

“Oh yes, my lord, that sounds like an excellent start. We’ve a week to get color back into her cheeks, perhaps to add a bit of flesh on her little bones. Oh yes, that would be perfect.”

Two hours and five minutes later, after shouting his second release to Martine’s newly replastered bedchamber ceiling, Phillip rolled off her and onto his back. He crossed his arms behind his head. He thought of Sabrina benignly now, without any nagging lust getting in the way, thought of her lying in his big bed, soft and asleep and him not attacking her.

“You know, Martine,” he said now, feeling quite pleased with himself and her, “all my friends pulled the wedding off quite nicely. And you have helped me return my thoughts to more practical matters and away from matters of the flesh. Now I can assist Sabrina to recover her spirit without wanting to kiss her and caress her and just bloody look at her until she’s so terrified that she’d just swoon right away onto the floor. No, with your help, I can regard her as a pupil who’s bright and willing to learn. But it will be up to her to make her own mark in society. She’ll be quite acceptable once she puts a bit more meat on her bones, that’s what Greybar said, and he’s right. But what’s important is that I give her time to get over Trevor, that mangy bastard. Yes, once that happens, then I can introduce her to what goes on between a husband and a wife.

“Exactly how I’m going to proceed I haven’t figured out yet, but I thank you for granting me respite. You know how Greybar loves to entertain. Why I already told him that we’ll have a dinner party next week and then—”

There was a soft snore beside him. Martine was fast asleep. Phillip grinned as he dressed himself and took himself back home.

He fell asleep in a too-short bed in a guest bedchamber just as the dawn was turning the sky a pale pink outside the window. He thought of Sabrina, again without undue lust. She was of impeccable breeding; she would make him an excellent wife. Yes, everything would be fine. He was aware of feeling quite pleased with himself as he drifted off into sleep.

31

Early the next morning, the viscount, wearing a pleased, sated smile, turned to his wife at the breakfast table. “Some bacon, Sabrina? It will help put some meat on you, that’s what Cook said. Did you sleep well?”

“I don’t care for bacon, but I did sleep well, once I managed to get to sleep. That bed is very big and I’m not used to your house. It was very quiet and then there’d be a creak and a little shudder. I dreamed about ghosts and things of that sort.”

“I’m sorry, but soon you’ll be used to everything.” She merely nodded and chewed on a slice of toast. She was dressed charmingly, in a high-necked pale pink muslin gown. The pink did wonderful things to her auburn hair and to that white skin of hers, not to mention how it seemed to deepen the violet eyes. He started to compliment her, then decided that it might frighten her, that she might think that he was flattering her so he could hoist her skirts up. So he said nothing, merely kept smiling, determinedly.

“You won’t have to get used to my bed. Perhaps, if you wish, you can select another bedchamber until we have the viscountess’s bedchamber redone. All right?”

“Did you sleep in one of the other bedchambers last night, Phillip?”

“Yes. The bed was a bit on the short side. But it wasn’t bad.”

She toyed with a crust of toast. He handed her a pot of jam. She said suddenly, “Doris told me I looked like a redheaded angel.”