Hardly a Husband (Free Fellows League 3)

Jarrod's dismissal hurt. Sarah bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering and counted the chimes of the clock on the mantel as she fought to maintain her composure. Her pride was in tatters and her hopeful dreams that Jarrod Shepherdston would welcome her into his arms were shattered, but she wasn't going to let him see her cry over them. "You can" she accused, "but you won't."

"I can't," he said.

"Is it me?" she asked, glancing down at the cloak Jarrod had used to cover her. "Is there something wrong with me? Something I should do? Or say? Or wear?" She looked up. "I know my nightdress is… isn't… I know it probably isn't the sort of garment your lovers usually wear, but I…"

"Sarah, there's nothing wrong with you or your nightdress." He swallowed hard in a valiant attempt to forget the sight of the damp white cotton nightgown clinging to her curves in all the right places. "You look very… very…" Beautiful. Seductive. "Appealing."

She smiled at him. "You find me appealing?"

"Very," Jarrod answered honestly.

"Then why won't you help me?"

"Sarah," he soothed, "try to understand. I'm a gentleman and I was brought up to believe that there are some boundaries a gentleman must never cross." He smiled at her. "Compromising the daughter of an old friend is one of those boundaries."

"And who taught you that principle of gentlemanly etiquette?" she retorted. "Your father?"

* * *

Chapter Five

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In every enterprise consider where you would come out.

— Publilius Syrus, first century B.C.

Jarrod froze as if she'd struck him and Sarah could have bitten out her tongue when she recognized the look of shock and surprise on his face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, instantly regretting her taunt. She stared at the toes of her slippers, too ashamed to look him in the eyes. It was one thing to challenge Jarrod into a war of words. She had always done that, but it was quite another to cause pain. Sarah had crossed the line when she resorted to using sins of the father in order to hurt the son.

It hadn't become common knowledge because the staff at Shepherdston Hall was extremely loyal and protective of Jarrod, but there were those in Helford Green who knew that the fifth Marquess of Shepherdston had been orphaned and inherited the title under secret and tragic circumstances. It had happened in London and Sarah had never learned the details, but she had heard enough of the scandalous whispers to fling a dart at Jarrod and have it strike home.

"No need to be sorry," he said. "In a roundabout way, I suppose I did learn that lesson in gentlemanly etiquette from my father. But only because your father schooled me in a different set of principles." Reaching out, Jarrod lifted Sarah's chin so he could see her face. "He taught you those same principles. Are you willing to compromise them, Sarah?"

Sarah lifted her chin out of his reach. "Yes, I am."

"Why?" Jarrod pinched the bridge of his nose. Sarah had been stubborn as a child and Jarrod could see that she hadn't changed in that regard. She was as stubborn as ever.

"To keep a roof over Aunt Etta's head. To keep food on the table and a fire in the hearth." To keep from being forced into marriage with Lord Dunbridge. Sarah reached into the pocket of her cloak for the calling card she'd been carrying since its arrival shortly after her father's funeral, searching for the familiar worn edges, but her pocket was empty. She glanced down at the floor, fighting her rising sense of dismay when she realized the card to which she had clung as a last resort — the calling card guaranteeing her an audience at Miss Jones's Home for Displaced Women — was gone.

Sarah bit her bottom lip. When it arrived, that calling card had seemed like the answer to her prayers. Especially since the other answer to her prayers had failed to materialize in the days and weeks and months following her father's funeral. Sarah had prayed she wouldn't need it. She had prayed Jarrod would ride to her rescue, but neither God nor Jarrod had heard her prayers and Sarah had held on to the card because it promised her a place to live if her outrageous plan failed and Jarrod disappointed her once again. She had lost the card, but she knew the name printed on it and the address on Portman Square. She couldn't present the card to gain an audience as the accompanying note had instructed, but the card had been addressed to her and sent by post to the rectory. Sarah consoled herself with the knowledge that while the card that had served as her personal talisman all the way from Helford Green to London was gone, whoever had sent the card would certainly recognize her name if she presented herself at the front door.

"If that's your reason, I'll buy you a house." Jarrod walked to his desk, pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen, and began to write. "I'll make you a gift of it and you and your aunt can live there for the rest of your lives."

"On what?" she asked.

Her question was food for thought that gave Jarrod pause. "On an allowance," he answered. "I'll provide you with a generous allowance with which to furnish the house and run the household. You can have servants, a carriage, the whole lot…"

"Thank you, Jays," Sarah replied sweetly. "And will you buy me a house on Curzon Street?"

"Yes," he agreed. "On Curzon Street or any street you want."

Sarah sighed. "Just like Lieutenant Slater."

"Not at all like Lieutenant Slater." Jarrod bristled at the suggestion and at the trap she'd set for him. A trap he'd failed to recognize.

"How is it different?"