A Stolen Season (13 page)

Sarah flopped back into her chair and rubbed her temples. “He’s such a nice guy, Richard — you can’t help but like him.” She shook her head. “Lord William was the same, I suspect. He did, after all, try and help me before we fell from the horses. And I had stolen from him.”

Richard sat forward. “We know the device is here. Do you want me to secure it? I’m sure at some point he wouldn’t have it on him and I can make my move.”

“No,” she said, standing as two footmen brought in her luggage. “Don’t do anything,” she said, whispering. “I’ll get it, I promise. Just give me the month, play along with the celebrations, and don’t raise any suspicions.”

Richard glared.

“One month, Sarah, and then I will take over, and believe me when I say I’ll do anything to get the device back,” he said as he stormed toward the door.

Sarah jumped as he slammed the door shut. A moment later a young woman bustled into the room.

“Good afternoon, Miss Baxter. I’m Louise and I’ve been appointed as your ladies’ maid. Lord Earnston was informed you didn’t bring your maid with you. Is that correct, Miss Baxter?”

“That is correct. Please call me Sarah.”

Louise’s eyes widened and she curtsied. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Baxter. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”

Sarah sighed and looked at her luggage piled beside the door. “I suppose I should unpack. You could help me with that.”

“No need for you to help, Miss Baxter. I’ll have it put away soon enough.”

Sarah continued to explore her room. She surveyed her spacious apartment. The teak furniture was light and feminine. A four-poster bed stood against a wall opposite the fireplace, with jade-colored silk hangings hung sensuously from the intricately carved canopy and a matching duvet covering the bed. Sarah stood transfixed by the room’s unexpected grandeur and beauty.

A lady’s writing desk sat in the corner near the windows, giving any who used it a magnificent, strategically placed view of the garden. Sarah ran her hand over the paper and noted the ink pot already set out. She absently picked up the quill and twisted it in her fingers. A half smile lifted her lips at the little details Lord Earnston attended to, to please his guests.

The floors were polished cedar and a lovely, hand woven rug, soft under foot, ran from the bed to the fire. A comfortable looking settee sat before the hearth, no doubt to curl up onto during a cold winter’s day.

The different shades of green in the soft furnishings and window-dressings contrasted with the lighter colored furniture. These in turn highlighted to perfection the different textiles and materials throughout the room. The effect was quite breathtaking. From what she’d seen of the house so far, it oozed class, history, pride, and money. Lots of money.

“This room is beautiful. Don’t you agree, Louise?” Sarah asked, sitting on her bed.

“It used to be his lordship’s before he became the earl.” Louise hung a pelisse in an armoire.

“Really?” Sarah looked about the space and a twinge of ever-present guilt pricked her. It would have still been his lordship’s room had she not caused his brother’s death. Of course any trace of femininity would be missing should Eric still sleep here. She could imagine him quite comfortable here.

Sarah jumped off the bed and walked toward the windows overlooking the garden. She gazed out over the private courtyard below–a walled oasis hedged by strategically placed plants to create patterned beds.

Further away she could see manicured lawns and wild deer grazing on the meadow. It was a very pretty aspect, especially at this time of year when the flowers were still blooming. Different shades of roses and lavender grew in profusion, the warm day releasing the wonderful aroma to drift into her room.

A knock at the door sounded and Louise opened it. “A missive for Miss Baxter,” a footman said, handing the note to Louise.

Sarah took the letter and opened it. “Louise, would you help me change? Lord Earnston has invited me to ride with him.”

“Of course, Miss Baxter.”

Sarah quickly changed and left the room before heading along the first floor passage.

“Sarah.” She turned and smiled as Eric strode toward her. “I’m happy to see you. I hope your travels were not arduous.”

“Not at all, my lord. I’m just heading for the stable for our ride.”

“Ahh, yes, I look forward to it but before we go would you like a tour of some of the house?”

Sarah nodded. “I would love that. From what I’ve seen already it’s very beautiful.” Eric took her arm and a sense of awareness shivered down her spine.

“Well then, let us start with the portrait gallery.”

Sarah welcomed having him so close to her again. Eric walked them toward the south wing, which housed the Grand Gallery, and rattled off names of previous earls, their wives, their children and so forth, the multitude of names soon lost on Sarah.

One painting in particular caught her eye and she stopped. “Eric wait, is this you in the portrait?”

He sighed and a look of distaste crossed his visage. He came to stand before the painting and glowered. “Yes, it’s the latest in the collection, painted three years ago by John Jackson.”

Sarah fought not to boggle at the name of the artist. How amazing to be painted by such a famous historical artist and yet not know it.

She took in the work of art. Eric had been painted leaning against an old oak, two wolfhounds lying at their ease near his feet. He looked thoroughly bored and not the least amused. She smiled.

Eric stilled beside her, an affronted look crossed his face. “What! Don’t you like it?” He looked at it again. “I suppose it is not too bad.”

“No, on the contrary, I like it very much,” she said. “I just think Mr. Jackson has caught the aristocratic side of you more than your true self, that’s all.”

“I didn’t know I had two sides. Very interesting notion, my dear. Would you care to explain your findings?”

Did she? “Well … it’s just sometimes you can be so serious, and forgive me if you take offence at this, but cold toward people when in society. For instance,” she continued, “the first night we met, you kicked Richard and I out of your home. You didn’t even bother to find out why we were there or how we came to be. And in this image, you look very stately and grand and he’s caught that.”

“I would not send you packing now, Miss Baxter.”

Sarah laughed. “I wouldn’t let you.”

Eric gave her a heart-stopping grin and took her arm, before continuing with the tour.

“You do realize, my dear, that you’re not supposed to speak in such a forward manner to a gentleman, do you not?”

“I know,” Sarah said and laughed.

They moved on into the grand ballroom, which ran directly behind the gallery, consuming one-half of the first floor space. Sarah momentarily lost her breath. The room was glorious. Its size was scarcely comprehendible; gold gilding wrapped around candle sconces, mirrors, and chandeliers. The room looked fit for royalty; she could only imagine how grand it would look in a couple of weeks for Anita’s engagement ball.

Large Corinthian columns with carved alcoves housed statues in different poses and scenes. Two fireplaces stood proud and tall at opposite ends of the room. Made from grey granite they were features in themselves.

Sarah sighed, spellbound. “I have never seen anything so stunning. This room literally takes my breath away.” She stepped further into the area and turning full circle so as to not miss any of it.

“My grandfather replicated the ballroom of Hepsley House in Somerset. Hepsley is owned by an old family friend and my grandparents first met at a ball under Hepsley’s grand roof. My grandfather, loving my grandmother as he did, copied the design and layout to remember that night each and every time they used this room. Everything you see here you would see at Hepsley. It’s quite odd when you’re standing in another ballroom many miles away knowing it could well be your own.”

“Your grandparents were a love match.”

“Their marriage was arranged, but love blossomed between them quite quickly, or so grandmother says at least. And I believe they were very happy together until he died.”

“When did he pass?” Knowing she was bound to meet some of Eric’s extended family, the last thing she wanted was to offend anyone.

“It would be coming up to twenty-five years now. I was only a young child when he died. He was travelling home from London; the clay soils around here can be quite dangerous in some areas. The carriage slipped and rolled and he was killed. Grandmother never really got over his death.”

Sarah frowned as they walked back into the gallery and stopped before a painting of Lord William and Eric, painted during their youth. Their eyes
were
the same and her heart squeezed uncomfortably.

“Don’t look so sad, darling. It was a long time ago and grandmother is quite fine now, I assure you.”

Sarah looked up at Eric, knowing their days were also numbered. Stepping toward him, she leant up and kissed him. Not for any other reason than she loved him, loved being with him, and would miss him terribly when she left.

“I have to warn you, my dear, if you continue to kiss me in such a way I will be forced to take drastic measures with you.”

Sarah teasingly repeated the gesture. The kiss deepened to a slow intoxicating embrace. Sarah wrapped her arms about his neck and held on and never wanted to let him go. Never wanted to lose this wonderful gift she’d been given. She pulled back, a little dizzy. “What? Like that, my lord?” Sarah said, her voice hazy.

“By God yes, just like that.” Eric pulled her at a clipped speed along the gallery. “Come with me.”

Sarah chuckled as they left the south wing, rushing past numerous rooms. The west-facing front held a magnificent view over the deer park beyond. The walls within housed pictures by some of the greatest artists the world had ever seen.

With some trepidation, Sarah realized Eric was a very wealthy and powerful man. What would he do if he ever found out she was common and worked as an archaeologist. She shuddered and pushed the thought aside.

They turned down a main corridor and Sarah noticed the wing closed off half way along by two large wooden doors. Realizing where Eric was taking her, she pulled him to a stop.

“Eric I can’t go into your room, my reputation would be shot to pieces if anyone saw. What if someone catches us in there? I’ll be ruined.”

Sarah watched as Eric looked up and down the corridor. By the time she comprehended what he was about to do, he had picked her up and carried her over the threshold of his room.

“Well it looks like I won that argument,” she mumbled.

Eric chuckled and kissed her nose. “Let me show you my chambers and then I promise we’ll go for our ride. Will you look if I promise not to molest you in any way, no matter how tempting it may be to do so?”

Sarah looked at him warily, not too sure whether to believe him or not. “Okay, but be quick. Being here is making me nervous.”

Eric placed her on her feet and Sarah shut her mouth with a snap. After seeing the other parts of the home, she had been sure nothing could outdo the grand rooms. She was wrong.

Eric’s bed alone was an astounding masterpiece of art, sporting three steps on all three sides leading up to the mattress. The headboard, made of dark mahogany, stretched from floor to ceiling. Sarah stepped closer and noted the engraved hunting scene of horses and dogs. The posts were carved to look like trees with vines climbing up and around their trunks. Silk hangings shrouded the bed and gave privacy when required.

Sarah thought of all the children conceived in this bed. Eric too would create his babies there. She bit her lip and turned around and felt the soft Aubusson rug beneath her boots.

Twin leather chairs, positioned before a marble fireplace, were probably the least extravagant items in the room.

She walked around the room, trailing her fingers along the surfaces of all the beautiful furniture. An ornate desk with lions’ heads at the base of smooth, turned legs stood proudly in one corner. The masculine piece looked out on to a picturesque rose garden.

A door on one side of the bed was ajar and, curious, Sarah walked over to it, peered inside, and located Eric’s dressing room. “There’s another door in there, Eric. Where does that go?”

Eric sat on one of the steps that led up to his bed and watched her as she walked around his chamber. “My future wife’s dressing room. Beyond that, her bedroom.” He paused and met her gaze. “Would you like to see it, Sarah?”

Sarah shut the door, not missing the hidden meaning behind his words. Looking back at him, she caught the grin and cocky tilt to his lips. She frowned. “Do not think I don’t know what you’re up to, Eric. And to answer your question, no, I do not need to see that room.”

Eric heaved a disappointed sigh. “Perhaps you would prefer joining me over here?”

Sarah walked straight past him and out the bedroom doors. She was not going to answer that question either. Her body was already screaming,
Yes! Yes I will join you, thank you for asking.
No, she would behave herself and head for safer waters, outside on the back of a horse instead of thinking of something else between her legs she’d prefer a lot more.

Within minutes, they were outside. The day was warm, the sky a turquoise blue, randomly spotted with fluffy white clouds. A faint breeze the only element marring the day.

“The stables are this way.”

Eric took her hand and walked toward the wooden and stone buildings. He left her in the courtyard and she heard him talk to the stable hands before two horses were led from the stalls.

She watched him saddle her mount and tighten the horse’s girth, his muscles flexing with the action. Her attention fixated on his arms before he bent over and gave her a perfect view of his backside in buckskin breeches.

His top boots were soon dusty, and Sarah hardly recognized the sophisticated gentleman she had met in London. Here at his country estate, Eric was more relaxed and carefree. More her type.

He walked a horse toward her, and she smiled. “She’s beautiful,” she said, patting the chestnut mare’s nose before the horse nuzzled into Sarah’s hand.