The Offer (Baron 2)

There was no hope for it, if, that is, Charles was right. Phillip pounded his bread dough. Charles was right, no doubt about it, his reputation had come home to roost. “I don’t suppose,” he said, “there’s any way of keeping the entire affair hushed up?”

“I don’t see how, not with the entire county alerted to both your and Sabrina’s disappearance. It must come out. Don’t forget Richard Clarendon.”

Phillip rose and began pounding mercilessly at the dough. He looked down at the white flour on his hands and smiled despite himself. He repeated to Charles the same words he had spoken to Sabrina. “I’ve done well by her, you know. I’ll speak to Richard. Perhaps he’ll believe me. Perhaps he’ll still want to wed her. He is a marquess. That’s certainly got more cachet than a measly miserable viscount.”

“Yes, by all means speak to Richard. But I wouldn’t count on him slapping you on the back, kissing both your cheeks with gratitude, and telling you he believes you saintly enough to be a vicar. No, Phillip. I’m sorry, but I think you must prepare yourself. In any case, it’s time you wed. You need an heir. Even Rohan Carrington is married. It’s your turn now.”

Phillip cursed fluently.

Charles said, “It’s the right thing to do, the honorable thing.”

“Honor bedamned,” he said, and sent his fist again into the dough.

“One can’t bedamn honor.”

Elaine bedamned my honor, Phillip thought with sudden bitter memory. His mind raced over the years, years he’d spent by himself, concerned with only his pleasures. He said slowly, “I suppose you’re right. Someone must see to her. I have the distinct impression that left to her own devices, Sabrina Eversleigh would fall from one scrape into another. At least I can hold her on a tight rein.”

To Phillip’s surprise, Charles laughed.

Phillip raised an eyebrow. “I am eight years her senior. I will deal well with her.”

“You’ve known her for less than a week, Phillip. And she’s been ill. You’ll have to ask Margaret about all the mischief Sabrina led her into over the years. Yes, I think you’ve spoken too soon. Sabrina is no malleable sheep, Phillip.”

Phillip thought about her outrageous attempt to escape from him the night before. “She’ll obey me. I haven’t a doubt about that.” He formed the dough into two loaves and slid them into the oven.

“You will join me for lunch, I trust, Charles. We must decide what is to be done. When Sabrina wakes up, I shall inform her.”

18

Charles didn’t remain to have luncheon with the viscount, the two men having decided that Sabrina’s grandfather should be informed at once and the search halted. Phillip heard her awaken some two hours later. He prepared a tray and made his way upstairs to her bedchamber.

He didn’t know if he felt more sorry for her or for himself. Both of them were caught in a trap of societal rules. He didn’t see any escape. He’d done his best, gone out of his way, and it had gotten him a wife.

A wife.

He didn’t want a wife. He was too young, too fond of doing exactly what he pleased whenever he wanted. Rohan Carrington had married, and he was so content it annoyed Phillip down to his toes. And made him just a bit envious, truth be told. But marrying a woman he’d selected was one thing; having a woman foisted on him was quite another matter. Still, there was no choice. He wasn’t a villain; he wouldn’t let a young lady be ruined when it was in his power to unruin her.

By the time he reached her bedchamber, he had pretty much accepted the consequences of his good deed. Sabrina Mercerault, Viscountess Derencourt. It had a certain ring to it. It wouldn’t be all that difficult to be wed to her. Those violet eyes were unique and really quite lovely. As was the rest of her, which he’d seen at great length.

He found he was rather looking forward to her reaction when he told her that he knew who she was. She’d been a stubborn witch. He decided that he didn’t dislike her stubbornness, certainly not a bad quality in a wife—if controlled. Yes, she would suit him as well as any other female. Better than Elaine would have suited him, that was certain, at least he prayed it was certain. Sabrina was lovely, she was bright. Few men knew their future brides as well. Yes, everything would be all right. She would become his wife as soon as it could be managed.

He stepped through the doorway of her bedchamber. She was looking away from him, toward the window. Bright afternoon sunlight poured through into the room, making her auburn hair a nimbus of fiery red around her head.

After they were married and she was safe, he would have to tell her that he had no intention of changing his life. Surely she would understand. Theirs wasn’t a love match, but a marriage of convenience. No, he would continue as before and she would accept her role in his life and in society. She would do quite well.

She turned back from the window and closed her eyes. Her nose twitched. She said, “I know I smelled viscount’s bread. I don’t care if it’s flat as my hand, I’ll eat the whole thing.”

Phillip smiled at her with new eyes, and set the tray down on the bed. “I brought an entire loaf.”

There was soup, a bowl of honey, and his bread that she was eating as fast as she could get it in her mouth. Good, she was so thin. It worried him. When he took her to Dinwitty Manor, Cook would regard the new mistress with a zealot’s eye and Sabrina would have to be careful, as he always was when staying in his country home, not to become fat as a stoat within a week. She was chewing vigorously when he said, “Eat all you want, you need it now, but be advised that I don’t want a fat wife.”

She stopped chewing. She stared at him, then shook her head and chewed faster. She swallowed, choked, and quickly drank down the glass of water on her tray.

She wiped her eyes and looked at him hard. She cocked her head to one side. “Excuse me, Phillip, I surely must have misunderstood you. What did you say? Perhaps you could say it again so that I could hear it aright this time?”

“As you will, Lady Sabrina.”

“I told you I don’t like that, Phillip.”