The Promise of Change (14 page)

Not long after he left, a waitress walked over with a steaming mug of tea. “Here you are, miss. This should help.”

“Thank you.” Sarah noticed her teeth no longer clattered uncontrollably. She gratefully took the hot mug and wrapped her hands around it.

She didn’t know how long she sat in front of the fire, but gradually she thawed out, her tense muscles relaxed, and the shivering abated. She shook out her hair, running her fingers through it, hoping it would dry a little. I must look like a drowned rat, she thought.

She looked up to see Alex striding toward her. She might look like a drowned rat, but he looked like the clear winner of a male wet T-shirt contest. His hair was soaked, and his sodden T-shirt clung to his broad chest and flat stomach, revealing even more of his pleasing athletic frame. Water dripped from the hem of his shorts, running down his legs in rivulets.

“Did you go out in the rain again?” she asked, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to hide her frank admiration of his body.

“Yes. I had to take care of the bikes,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m glad to see your color has returned.” He reached out to touch her face. “I was beginning to think you were going into hypothermia.”

“Playing doctor again?” she asked, teasing. Then she remembered the other connotation associated with that phrase.

“I’ll play doctor with you anytime.” He broke into a seductive smile. He held out his hand to her. “It’s still raining cats and dogs out, so I’ve hired a taxi to take us back.”

Once seated inside the warm, cozy interior of the taxi, he drew her to him and wrapped his arms around her.

She didn’t bother to tell him he was cold and wet. It didn’t matter.

“Old Parsonage, please.”

They dashed into the lobby of the inn. The rain had not let up.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Edwards,” the desk clerk said cheerfully. “I see you got caught in the rain, too.” There was a roaring fire in the inn’s sitting area, with a few dampened guests gathered around it. “We’ve laid a fire in your room. All it requires is a match,” she added with a quick glance at Alex, followed by a knowing smile.

Walking past the desk, Alex took Sarah’s hand and drew her toward the stairs. She threw him a questioning look.

“You need to get into dry clothes, right?” he asked with a sweep of his hands indicating her crumpled, clammy clothes.

“Yes, but what about you?”

“I’m English. I’m used to being cold and wet.” He shrugged his shoulder. “They have robes in the room?”

“Yes—”

“Then I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you right now.” He directed her upstairs as they had this conversation.

The thought of him in her room made her shiver, but not with cold.

Once inside her room, he walked over to the fireplace and, kneeling down, pulled out a match to start the fire. Without looking at her, he said, “Why don’t you take a hot shower? I’ll make sure the fire catches.”

Sarah hesitated. The intimacy of the scene was hard to miss.

“Go ahead, you’re safe. I won’t invade your privacy. Unless you ask me to,” he added with a grin.

Even amidst the nervous flutters in her stomach, she noted his pronunciation of ‘privacy’ with a short ‘i.’ Perhaps a hot shower would help calm her agitated nerves.

After starting the fire, Alex found himself alone in the room, and used that opportunity to strip off his wet clothing and rummage in the armoire for a robe. He tried not to think of her naked in the shower, just a few steps away. Instead, he occupied himself with ordering hot tea for the room.

Standing beneath the hot spray, she finally warmed up for the first time since the rain started. She hoped it would steady her erratic pulse, but no such luck. The thought of him in the next room . . . her room . . . was intoxicating. She stayed in the shower longer than necessary, unsure what she would find when she opened the bathroom door.

She turned off the water before he thought she’d washed down the drain. She’d failed to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom, so putting on her robe she took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom, toweling her hair casually, like it was perfectly normal to have him in her room.

She stopped in her tracks. Seated in one of the wing chairs in front of the now-blazing fire with a small tea tray on the side table, he wore the inn’s complimentary robe, his rumpled clothes lying on the floor by the fire to dry, making the fact that the robe was the only thing he wore even more obvious.

The deep breath she took before she opened the door left her in an audible sigh. He looked up. It was dim in the room with the storm still darkening the sky, the fire the only source of light. It cast a golden glow across his handsome face, where a series of emotions flickered. First, surprise, then admiration, and finally desire.

He crossed the ample room that suddenly seemed small. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Better?”

“Yes,” she breathed, tilting her head up, his face so close to hers. He leaned down, taking her face in his hands, kissing her softly. She dropped the towel she held and threaded her fingers around his neck, pulling him closer. His hair was still damp.

He coiled his fingers in the wet hair at the nape of her neck, moving his lips over hers with increasing intensity. Her damp skin smelled of jasmine and rain.

A voice in the back of her head said this is insane. She ignored it. Instead, she took his bottom lip gently between her teeth. He groaned. Sarah sighed in return.

“Sarah.” He spoke her name against her lips. “Sarah.” He pulled back, his hand cupping her throat, caressing her staccato pulse with his thumb. “Sarah, tell me now . . . is this what you want? If not, I will leave. All you have to do is ask. But thirty more seconds of this, and I can’t vouch for my self-control.” He searched her face with his fathomless eyes, almost black now with desire.

She took a deep breath, as if she was about to dive into the deep end of the pool. “Yes,” she said with a sigh. “This is what I want.”

He kissed her again, more urgently this time. Retreating a step, he took her hand and led her to the bed.

She didn’t move, afraid that she would wake up from this dream. Her murmured, “no apology necessary,” and Alex’s seductive grin and tender parting kiss were part of that dream.

She sighed, trying to keep consciousness at bay, but she was pulled inexorably to wakefulness. She rolled over and caught his scent. The other pillow had an indentation where his head had lain. It wasn’t a dream. Of course, how could she expect it to have been a dream, when she’d hardly slept long enough to enter that state?

She waited for the panic to set in. This was completely out of character for her. She wouldn’t think about the only other time she fell this fast for someone. No panic. She stretched like a satisfied cat, smiling at the memories. For someone who had slept very little, she felt remarkably well.

Alex had snuck out of the inn in the pre-dawn with a promise to be back by nine. He thought it best that he didn’t come down for breakfast in his stiff, rumpled clothes from yesterday, murmuring something about her reputation. He’s such a gentleman, she thought.

She reluctantly climbed out of bed and tried to locate her robe. It lay in a pool on the floor a few feet from the bed where Alex had slipped it off her shoulders. She staggered to the bathroom as if she was drunk, stopping in front of the mirror.

She stared in dismay at the image. There was no denying what she’d done last night. It was readily apparent in her face. Her lips were swollen, her eyes too bright, and her cheeks flushed. Add to that her tangled, wild hair, and she was a walking billboard for sex. She cringed. A little butterfly fluttered in her stomach. Was that panic, or excitement? Definitely a little bit of both.

Sex was not a recreational activity for her. She knew this was a bit old-fashioned, but according to the Book of Sarah, sex was more than just a physical activity, a union of two bodies. It was an emotional, spiritual, and even intellectual merging of two people who cared deeply for one another.

So how did her actions of last night fit with her feelings for Alex? Or vice versa? And how did Alex feel about last night?

The shower cleared her head and calmed some of the rising panic, but the consequences of last night’s events chipped away at the bliss she initially felt when she woke.

What was I doing? she asked herself yet again. How many times this week did I ask myself that question, and how many times had I shoved it aside? There was no shoving it aside anymore. She only had two more days in England, and she didn’t know how this would end, but it couldn’t end well. Could it?

Thrusting further introspection aside, she looked for something to occupy her mind until it was time to meet Alex for breakfast. She wondered if they were fooling anyone by putting on this charade.

Picking up the TV remote, she clicked on the news. She hadn’t seen the TV news since she’d been in England, and come to think of it, she hadn’t missed it.

As the news played in the background, she grabbed her phone, and with her tongue firmly in her cheek, texted Ann and Becca: “Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here.”

Laughing at her foolishness, she turned back to the TV in time to catch the name ‘Fraser.’ On the screen was a heavy-set man, his broad face capped by slightly thinning brown hair, dressed in a conservative suit. He stood at a podium surrounded by a few dour looking suit-clad gentlemen.

The caption on the bottom of the screen read: “Robert Fraser to run for Prime Minister.” Sarah gasped. Alex’s brother. Grabbing the remote, she turned up the volume, catching him mid-speech.

“. . . announce my candidature for Prime Minister under the Conservative Party. I will support the principles of Thatcherism: free markets, deregulation, financial discipline, tax cuts, and weaker trade unions. It was the dedication to these principles that cured Britain’s economic decline in the 1970s. It is the dedication to these same principles that will cure Britain’s current economic crisis.”

Ironic that Robert criticized Alex’s chosen profession, when he had quite a flair for the dramatic himself. Then again, didn’t all politicians, she thought a bit cynically.

He wasn’t as good-looking as Alex, but that could just be her bias
.
She wondered whether Robert had told his brother before making the announcement and if so, what Alex thought about his brother’s decision. More importantly to Robert, she supposed, was whether Alex would vote for him.

Turning off the TV, she grabbed her bag and headed down to meet the politician’s handsome brother.

“What would you like to do today?” Alex asked as he buttered a slice of toast, a hint of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

Seated at a small table in the Inn’s garden, they shared a light breakfast, both clearly relaxed and at peace with their world.

Sarah didn’t know how it was possible, but he looked even more handsome today, and she wondered if she had anything to do with that.

Alex’s warm greeting this morning erased any concerns she’d had earlier. He’d taken her in his arms and discreetly whispered in her ear that he couldn’t stop thinking about her, sending shivers of desire from her head to her toes.

Yesterday’s storm had heralded a brilliant blue sky, cooler temperatures, and a whisper of a breeze. Birds sang in the trees, and the garden fountain seemed to chuckle with joy, even as Oxford’s morning traffic was underway just beyond the walled garden.

Considering a response, she sipped her tea. “I’m not sure there’s a site in Oxfordshire we haven’t seen.”

“I know one,” he replied with a smile. “You haven’t seen Rutherford.”

“I’ve been to Rutherford,” she said, a little confused. “Remember, that’s when I figured you for a liar.”

He laughed. “Yes, but you haven’t seen the grounds. Do you ride?”

She frowned. “A little, and not since college.”

“Let me guess, you played polo in college.”

Laughing, she said, “No, but I needed a basket-weaving class.”

“What does basket-weaving have to do with riding?” he replied, obviously confused.

“Nothing.” She laughed lightly. “Basket-weaving is an expression for an easy class. I wanted an easy ‘A’ my last semester so I signed up for English riding.”

“Was it an easy ‘A’?”

“It was an ‘A’, but it wasn’t easy.” She chuckled, remembering the sore knees and quads from all that posting.

“Well, it’s a shame to waste that training.” He smiled, slow and easy.

“I’m afraid I left my jodphurs and riding jacket at home,” she said with a little smirk.

“Jeans and T-shirt will suffice. I’m sure I can find a pair of my mother’s riding boots. Size thirty-six, I’d guess.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Yes.”

“Perfect.”

Sitting astride a lovely dappled gray mare, Sarah looked out over the land that was Rutherford. She was having a Jane Austen moment. Beside her on an enormous black gelding sat Alex, looking like a modern-day Darcy in his riding pants and boots.

Alex indicated the various points of interest: the ruins of an ancient castle, the caretaker’s cottage, the pond where he and his brother fished as boys, and some small caves where he and his brother often hid out playing a game of Robin Hood.

The pride he took in his family’s estate was obvious, but his was a quiet pride, that of someone who knew how easily it could all be lost, as it almost was but for the hard work of his grandparents.

“Please forgive me. I have probably bored you to tears with all this talk of my ancestors.”

“No,” she hastened to assure him, “I have thoroughly enjoyed it. Truly.” She smiled tenderly.

He turned his horse to face hers and carefully sidled up to her. Leaning from the saddle, he pulled her to him for a deep, yearning kiss.

She was the first woman he’d brought to Rutherford. After last night, and being with her today, having her by his side as he rode the grounds, he realized that he’d already made up his mind. This was not his usual fling. She was what he wanted. What he’d been waiting for. And he would tell her tonight.

“Grandmother! We’ve returned,” Alex shouted to the house.

“In here, darling,” Lady Clara called from the same room where she and Sarah had had tea.

Alex and Sarah entered the room holding hands and laughing. Lady Clara looked at their flushed faces and her old heart did a little tap dance. She knew that look, although she’d never seen it on the face of her grandson. Love.

“Grandmother, Sarah and I would like to stay for dinner if you don’t mind?”

“Mind. For heaven’s sake boy, this is your home, too. I’ll just go tell Martha,” Lady Clara said as she left the room.

“Did you enjoy today?” Alex asked, drawing Sarah into his arms before kissing her.

“Oh, yes!” she replied, breathless from the kiss. “I must confess, I felt as though I’d walked straight into the setting of a Regency novel.” She blushed a little at her confession. “And you, Lord Rutherford, you were quite dashing on your dark steed, looking every inch the lord and master.”

Alex pressed her denim-clad hips to his, the corner of his mouth tilted up at a rakish angle. “How about I throw you up on the back of my horse and carry you off to those ancient ruins and—”

“Ahem.” Lady Clara stood in the door, hands folded primly in front of her, but only to control her excitement. Perhaps she wasn’t such a bad matchmaker after all.

Sarah’s blush deepened to full-on red. Alex didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. When Sarah attempted to pull away, he kept his arm at her waist, holding her firmly by his side.

“Dinner will be served soon. You two must be parched after your long ride today. Martha is bringing refreshments shortly.”

“I’ll just go freshen up, if you’ll excuse me.” Sarah got to the door before she realized she didn’t know where she was going. “Where . . ?”

“Down the hall, my dear,” Lady Clara said, coming to her rescue. “Second door on the left.”

Alex watched her trim figure disappear through the door. He didn’t know which was better, the elegant backless dress, or the snug jeans and riding boots.

A soft smile played across his features. Last night, he’d witnessed, and, to his extreme pleasure, experienced the passionate side that formed the underpinnings of his sweet, reserved Sarah. A side he looked forward to exploring even more.

He’d also witnessed a bit of her stubbornness earlier when he tried to help her mount and then give her a brief review of the mechanics of riding English. A smile ghosted across his face at the memory. Her eyes flashing green sparks, she’d said, with a stubborn set to her chin, “I can do it myself. Don’t help.”

“So, it looks as though you two are having a nice time,” Lady Clara said, archly. “She is a lovely girl.”

“Yes, Grandmother, you don’t need to sing her praises. You’d be preaching to the choir at any rate.”

“Oh, Martha, set the tray there. Thank you.”

“Lemonade, dear?” Lady Clara asked, as she poured a glass.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Lady Clara couldn’t help but notice that Alex kept watching the door. She hid her smile as she poured another glass.

“It is a shame that she is leaving on Sunday,” Lady Clara nudged.

“Yes. I wanted to speak with you about that. Do you, that is, would you mind if I asked Sarah to stay a little longer . . . here . . . at Rutherford.”

If she wasn’t so old, she’d have danced a jig. “Oh, I think that is a lovely idea. She could have the Rose Room,” she continued. Conveniently located across the hall from Alex’s room, she thought smugly.

Lady Clara still beamed when Sarah returned. “Here you are my dear, a lovely glass of lemonade.”

Gratefully, Sarah took the glass as Martha came to announce dinner. Sarah hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, and she was unsure whether to bring the drink with her, or leave it.

“Come, my dear. Bring the lemonade with you.”

Thank God. She controlled the urge to guzzle the icy drink in a very unladylike manner. Alex wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her to the family dining room.

Dinner was a lovely affair. Sarah enjoyed watching Alex and Lady Clara interact. It was easy to see the love and affection they had for one another.

Lady Clara, in turn, enjoyed watching the interactions between Sarah and Alex. The little gestures of affection, the dreamy looks exchanged over sips of wine.

Alex was not immune to observations of his own. Sarah and his grandmother laughed over some Oxford anecdote, and he was reminded of his own mother’s interactions with his grandmother. The two women genuinely enjoyed one another’s company. He hoped his mother would feel the same when she met Sarah.

“Oh, my dear, I never will forget how beautiful you looked at the final dinner,” Lady Clara gushed.

Alex smiled at the praise. “You should have seen her Wednesday evening. She put heaven’s stars to shame.”

Sarah blushed at the profusion of compliments.

“Grandmother! Where are you?”

“Heavens! You’d think these boys were never taught any manners. In here, Robert.”

“Robert? What the hell is he doing here?” Alex’s face grew thunderous.

“Now, now,” Lady Clara placated.

Robert? Alex’s brother was here? Sarah’s blush turned into a blanche. Her mouthful of food went down like a rock.

The man Sarah had seen on television just this morning entered the room. He paused when he saw her, then nodded his head before grazing his grandmother’s cheek and stalking past her to stand beside Alex’s chair, where he threw a pile of tabloids onto the dining table with a
thwack
, making Sarah flinch and the dishes clatter.

“Hello, Robert. So good to see you again.” Alex’s voice was sarcastic as he raised an eyebrow at his brother.

Robert didn’t bother with a greeting. “This,” he said pointing his finger at the papers on the table, “this is exactly what I was afraid of. This,” he stated, pointing again at the papers for emphasis, “is my worst nightmare!”

Sarah’s first impression was correct. Robert definitely had a taste for the melodramatic.

Alex started to brush the papers aside when the photo caught his attention. Picking up the paper, the thunderclouds returned. He shifted his eyes to Sarah, and then back to the paper he held. His mouth flattened out into a frown.

“Your worst nightmare, what about Sarah?” he said, indicating her presence.

Sarah? What did this have to do with me? she wondered.

Robert didn’t even bother to look in her direction. “Sarah isn’t running for parliament on a conservative ticket. Supermodels, actresses . . . that singer, your playboy lifestyle is going to crush me,” he growled.

Dramatic flair or not, she winced at the bitterness in his voice. Still confused over what this had to do with her, she reached for the paper Alex discarded.

Something about the grainy photo looked familiar. She continued staring at it until it dawned on her with sickening clarity. She and Alex lying beneath an oak tree in an intimate embrace she remembered only too well. The caption read, ‘Port Meadow Picnic.’ She didn’t bother to read the story below the fold that accompanied the photo.

Her hand flew to her throat as her face grew ashen.

“My dear.” Lady Clara laid a hand on her shoulder. “My dear, are you okay?”

Sarah’s ears buzzed, the room grew dim, as everyone around her seemed to recede into the background. Memories of the knowing looks and snide public comments about Adrian’s affair and their divorce flooded her brain. Reminded of the article about Adrian earlier in the week, Sarah also recalled her fears of rushing into a relationship with Alex. A relationship which could plainly have another very public end.

Alex was remarkably calm as he rose from his seat, glancing at Sarah with concern. “Robert, do you ever think of anyone besides yourself?”

“I’m supposed to sit back and watch my political aspirations go down the toilet just so you can cop off with this woman?”

Sarah snapped back to the present. She didn’t need a translation to understand the insult. Everything happened so fast after that.

Alex drew back his fist and punched his brother in the stomach.

Sarah gasped as Robert doubled over with a strangled groan.

“That was for insulting Sarah,” Alex ground out before dealing an uppercut to Robert’s chin, opening a gash that started bleeding almost immediately. “That was for the rugby match.”

Robert brought his hand up to his chin to staunch the blood. “You bloody-well better be prepared to fight. Let’s take this outside.”

Sarah was so shocked she couldn’t even articulate a plea for Lady Clara to do something. No need, because Lady Clara was already intervening.

“Boys! Enough. Will you have Sarah thinking I have two hooligans for grandsons?” She stood between them like a referee at a boxing match telling the opponents to go to their respective corners.

“Robert, go wash up that cut and bandage it. Alex, I’m sure your hand could use some ice.” He winced when she mentioned his hand. “Now,” she urged when they continued to face off at one another. She followed Robert out of the room.

Sarah shook with anger, fear, and the fight or flight response caused by the altercation. She’d never seen Alex so angry, so . . . violent. She heard ice rattling in the ice bucket as Alex put some in his napkin to wrap around his hand. The sound broke through her inertia.

“Alex, is it broken?” she whispered, anxious, but afraid to touch his hand for fear it might cause him more pain.

“I doubt it. It’s not the first time I’ve clouted my brother, Sarah, and it probably won’t be the last . . .” His voice trailed off.

“But why did you do that?” she asked, incredulous.

“He insulted you. Do you think I would let him get away with that?” He frowned at her, his brows knitted together. “And the rugby retribution was long in coming,” he muttered almost to himself.

“But you could have . . . I don’t know . . . cursed at him or something . . .”

He raised his uninjured hand to her cheek. “Sarah, it’s how we settle things.” He shrugged. “Don’t worry, later we’ll reconcile over a pint.”

This was a side of Alex she’d yet to see, nor ever had imagined existed. Oddly, she rather liked that he stood up for her. Not being a violent person herself, this was an unexpected side of her as well. But the fact that it was his brother, and that she had been the impetus for such behavior was mortifying to her.

Her eyes cut back to the tabloid lying on the table, a concern creasing her brow.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked, as he pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her. “I’m sorry about the photo. I thought I’d out-smarted the guy, but apparently he has made it his personal mission to invade my privacy.”

Sarah pulled back. “You knew about this? You knew we were being . . . stalked by this photographer, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, and I thought I’d evaded him.” Alex reached for her again, but she stepped back.

“You really should have warned me, Alex. Don’t you think I had a right to know that a consequence of dating you might be to find myself in the . . . spotlight?” She picked up the tabloid again and flipping it over saw the headline “The Other Woman?”

He grimaced at the expression on her face.