Captives' Charade (2 page)

“But Alex, you forget that I always saved the last dance for you,” the Duchess smiled serenely, her green eyes twinkling.

“Small consolation for the hours of agony I passed waiting for you to make up your mind whether to dance with me at all,” Weston replied gruffly, smoothing his handsome dark blue cutaway coat. “My sympathies are aroused for young Lord Harrington when I see Juliana practicing the same wiles on him you so heartlessly used on me.”

Aye, so are mine, Sarah sighed dejectedly, thinking that just once it might be a lark to inspire that kind of devotion in a man. But she knew she would do nothing to cause it, for she could have little respect for a man who would fall so easily under her carefully wrought spell.

Despite her reluctance to join in the festivities, Sarah had to admit later that the birthday ball was not unbearable. After helping her parents welcome their guests, she circulated among her friends and acquaintances, doing her best to ignore some of the more assertive young men. While she was indeed perceived as a challenge, not many young men were committed to wasting an entire evening when there were so many more willing and suitable young ladies present. Therefore, Sarah was truly beginning to relax when a compelling presence brought her to a degree of attention and curiosity she had never felt for a member of the opposite sex in her entire life.

Sitting among a group of young matrons, Sarah had just tilted to her lips a second glass of champagne when her eyes were drawn to a man’s entrance into the formal ballroom. Never in her life had she been struck with the urgent need to stare, to experience the totally sensual pleasure of admiring the quintessential representative of the species. He was so attractive, so full of an almost animal-like vitality that the room seemed to hush in deference to his presence.

In the crowd of pale-faced peacocks, the man was tanned and dressed entirely in black and white, his superbly elegant clothes fitting him like a second skin. The cut of the rich silk cloth clearly revealed the perfect symmetry of his tall, sinewy build, and set off his patrician features beneath a carelessly arranged crop of springy dark brown hair.

It was not merely his physical size, though that in itself was remarkable. Nor was it the confident gleam in his piercing, brown eyes, nor the arrogant slant to his unruly brows that seemed to mesmerize the throng, and sent a frisson of anticipation stinging along Sarah’s nape.

It was the sense of absolute control that marked the man, as if, with no discernible effort on his part, he could have this high-born and influential crowd eating out of his hand. Even at this moment, he was, with practiced skill, returning the curious stares with an assessing gaze that spawned a tittering nervousness about the room.

It was a feeling Sarah was not immune to. When his eyes passed to her, she inhaled sharply, embarrassed by her uncharacteristically impolite and obvious stare. Her cheeks rouged instantly, but before she could bend her head to feign a ladylike cough, she was struck by the brilliantly white, perfect smile he flashed at her, as if he were enjoying her reaction, in particular.

When she had mustered the nerve to look up again, it was to see her handsome father enthusiastically greeting their latest arrival. With a suddenness that caused several raised eyebrows, Sarah leapt to her feet, intent on evading the inevitable introduction. But the sound of her father’s voice proved her failure to escape in time.

Feeling more like a lamb to the slaughter than she cared to admit, Sarah straightened her shoulders in the somber gown and walked the short distance to her father’s side. Her gaze never resumed contact with the stranger’s, but an inner trembling afforded proof that his eyes never left her.

“Mr. Chamberlain,” The Duke of Weston bellowed proudly as Sarah approached them. “I’d like you to meet my elder daughter, Lady Sarah Tremont. Daughter, this is Stewart Chamberlain, our guest from the Colonies. Massachusetts to be exact. Mr. Chamberlain is here on business, and I was able to persuade him to join us this evening,” her father said as Sarah cautiously extended her gloved hand.

Something in his lazily smiling countenance forewarned Sarah that Stewart Chamberlain’s touch was not going to be one she would soon forget. His long, tanned fingers gently but firmly grasped Sarah’s gloved hand as he bent to kiss the back of it. She gasped inwardly at the warmth of his lips and shivered, despite her resolve not to.

“My pleasure, Lady Sarah,” he intoned in a deep, indolent voice, the sound of which assaulted her senses as much as his grasp. “Your father told me I would be able to meet the two most beautiful young ladies in all of England if I came, and indeed it appears that I have.”

With great effort, Sarah summoned an unnaturally bright smile to her face. “Why Mr. Chamberlain, you are much too kind.” And then, hoping to undermine his composure, she quipped, “I fear you have been too long at work to believe an indulgent father’s opinion of his daughters.”

“On the contrary. It is only in business that I have learned whose opinion to trust. And your father’s,” he replied, casually assessing her bosom, “is unerringly sound.”

The nerve! Sarah flushed, feeling a tremendous urge to cover herself from his burning eyes. He had matched wits and then had the audacity to leer at her in front of her father! Weakly, she prayed for escape from the disturbingly virile Stewart Chamberlain and was barely able to hide her relief when Lady Juliana suddenly appeared with young Jack Harrington at her side.

“This, Mr. Chamberlain, is my daughter, Lady Juliana Tremont, whose birthday we are celebrating. And with her is Viscount James Harrington, the son of our neighbor, The Marquess of Oxfordshire.

To Jack, Juliana and Sarah, he said, “This is Mr. Stewart Chamberlain from Boston, Massachusetts.” As the Duke made the introductions, Sarah watched Juliana staring at the Yankee with unveiled delight. The fair-haired Jack, having observed this, was finding it more difficult to be congenial.

“Lady Juliana, it is my pleasure to meet you. Birthdays quite agree with you,” Chamberlain said as he gave Juliana a dazzling white smile. “And Harrington,” he said to Jack, extending his hand, “Indeed you are a fortunate man to be escorting the belle of the ball.”

“Oh, Mr. Chamberlain,” Juliana tilted her head provocatively, “Lord Harrington may be my escort this evening, but it appears that I have this next dance free. And I think that on my birthday, I should dance every dance, do you not agree?”

She smiled, very pleased with herself, and with a wave over her shoulder to the three, Juliana and her partner joined the others already waltzing on the dance floor.

His faced turned a tight mask, Jack turned to Sarah. “Would you care to dance with me, Lady Sarah?” he asked stiffly.

“Of course,” she smiled, hoping to find some way to console the poor lad as they walked onto the dance floor.

How they managed to keep o ff each other’s toes was beyond Sarah, since both of them spent the time watching Stewart Chamberlain gracefully sweep Lady Juliana around the gleaming floor, dancing as if they had done this many times before. His dark head bending low to her fair one was a most disarming sight. For totally different reasons, it bothered Sarah and Jack that Chamberlain was such a superb dancer. And oblivious to all stares, Juliana was beaming, having the time of her life.

How can she be so calm with his arm around her? thought Sarah as she plodded through the waltz. Well at least this is one heart I will enjoy seeing her break, she said to herself with uncharacteristic vengeance. Perhaps then he will not be so smug.

As if reading her thoughts, Jack spoke softly above her head. “For a Yankee, he appears quite at home. I feel sorry for him if he thinks Julie’s fascination is real. She is only a little tart playing games,” he said with more conviction, obviously, than he felt.

“Now Jack,” Sarah replied, feigning a cheerfulness she did not possess. “You know her too well to be jealous. And just think. You have her all to yourself save for these parties. Give her time. After all, she is only sixteen.”

Jack sighed as the waltz mercifully ended. “I suppose you are right, Sarah. But there are times when I would prefer to punish her.”

“Poor Jack,” Sarah commiserated, but she could not help chuckling, too. The thought of Lord Harrington ever doing anything to upset his love was so implausible, it was laughable. Squeezing his hand reassuringly, she excused herself so that he might be better able to recapture Juliana for the next dance.

As she moved toward the terrace doorway, intent on taking some air, she pondered how her young sister had so easily captured Jack’s heart. How he suffered because of Juliana! Though when she was not in a position to flirt, Juliana seemed quite in love with her most persistent suitor. Since childhood, he was her staunchest champion, always taking the blame for the misfortunes resulting from her mischievousness. And no matter how often she shunned his devotion, Jack was always there to forgive her fickle ways.

There were times when her a ffection for the lad almost made Sarah wish that she and Jack had been the ones to fall in love. They were kindred personalities – calm, intelligent, thoughtful – with none of Juliana’s selfish unconcern for feelings or consequences. But her joie de vivre, so much more compelling than their quieter natures, was one of the reasons they both loved her so much. Juliana was indeed a heartless madcap, but she also provided merriment and calamity to their ordinary lives.

With a clarity that bemused her, for Sarah had not been consciously handsome stranger, she Chamberlain might just be the one suitor whose heart Juliana could not break. Despite her earlier reaction – prompted purely by vengeance – she truly doubted that Mr. Chamberlain had ever been the victim of any woman’s charms.
thinking of the tall,

He was no callow youth, if she were any judge of age or experience. The rugged worldliness of his features suggested that thirty had passed him by. By his obvious sophistication, she surmised him to be the type who had sent more than one Juliana crying to their mothers. And not a few fathers declaring that he do the honorable thing and marry their darlings.

Alone on one of the paths through her mother’s prized gardens, Sarah laughed aloud at the thought of anyone forcing that Yankee to do anything. Her one encounter with the stranger had already convinced her how absurd the idea was. Chamberlain was his own master, and pity the sorry fool who thought otherwise.
CHAPTER 2

“Care to join me?” The quietly delivered invitation caused Sarah to practically jump out of her skin. It came from a wrought iron bench, beneath a large oak tree. The bench was partially hidden by a hedgerow deep within the garden maze. Before she saw the shadowy form of the man, she spied the dull glow of a pleasantly scented cheroot.

“Y-you startled me,” she gasped, her knees turning liquid with the knowledge that the man speaking was none other than the one occupying her thoughts.

“Please, sit down,” he beckoned, rising to make room for her on the curved loveseat. Now she could see his face reflected in the torches lighting the path. Again it had a devastating effect as her heart beat madly within her rising breast.

“Thank you, but ....” she hesitated, desperate for an excuse. “I-I am afraid I have grown chilled. I forgot my shawl.”

Before she could turn, Stewart had laid his cigar to rest on the bench, had removed his beautifully made tailcoat, and was bringing it around her shoulders. His actions forced her closer to him. To escape she had no alternative but to sit down. “Better?” he murmured pleasantly.

“Thankyou,”shewhispered,anunrulypart of her enjoying the fabric, the scent, and the heat of his body still lingering within the folds. The sensations were having a strange effect on her composure.

He resumed his seat next to her, nonchalantly stretching his quite long legs in front of him as he took another puff on the slender cigar. “I had not expected to have such an opportunity to make your acquaintance this evening,” he said after a moment. “Your father was quite gracious to invite me on such short notice.”

“Are you staying in Town?” Sarah asked politely, referring to London, surprised that her tone sounded normal. The man certainly was impossible to ignore.

“I have been ... until today. Your father and I are going into business together. We are attempting to arrange a trade cartel of American and British businessmen. Do you know something of this?”

She did indeed, but his question surprised her. Most men assumed, and rightfully so, that young ladies knew nothing of what the men in their families did for a living. A woman was a pleasant diversion, necessary species. Few women cared, and fewer still were educated enough to discuss business or politics on anything but the most superficial level. Sarah found the manager of the home, and a partner in the perpetuation of the herself warming to the opportunity of discussing with this man a subject that interested her greatly.

“My father and I have discussed it on numerous occasions,” she told him matter-offactly. “Ever since the Orders in Council were enacted two years ago, we advocated some sort of trade pact between the British and the Colonists, to maintain freedom of trade. Of course,” she added, “the Yankee blockade runners were doing an admirable job for a time, despite our restrictions.” She smiled provocatively

He tipped an imaginary hat, grinning in shared amusement, “I ask you, what choice did we have? If we wanted to trade with Europe, we had to suffer Britain’s ‘privilege’ of inspecting our cargo beforehand. Your government would have been more honest had they hijacked us on the high seas,” he scoffed.

“You have to understand our problem with France,” she insisted. “You Americans fail to recognize the principle here, thinking you can trade with anyone, regardless of politics. France is our sworn enemy. You can’t have it both ways, Mr. Chamberlain.”

“Sowehavebeenshown,”hechuckled mirthlessly, taking a puff of his slim cigar while he stretched his long body more comfortably on the bench.