The Wife He Always Wanted (11 page)

As if feeling their eyes on him, Mister Blackwell turned, and seeing their stares, he winked at Noelle. It was a simple gesture, yet enough to draw a smile from his wife.

Sarah let her gaze drift over the crush. Gabriel was taking a very long time to return to her.

Could he be angry still? She
had
rebuffed him. What if he went off in search of more amiable female company?

It took a minute to finally spot him near the dance floor. Her fear was confirmed. Clinging to his arm was a woman dressed in a scandalous ice-blue dress, cut obscenely low. She wore the mask of a cat covering the upper half of her face.

Gabriel bent to speak intimately to her and she laughed, leaning forward to give him what Sarah suspected was a fully unencumbered view of her large breasts.

Heat crept up the back of her neck.

“Rest easy, dearest,” Noelle said, tightening her grip on Sarah’s arm. “He knows you are watching. Ignore the display. If he is like the rest of the Harrington men, he will not find the brazen offering of her wares enticing when he has a wife who holds his interest.”

While doing her best to follow her friend’s advice, Sarah pretended disinterest. After a few minutes, Gabriel dislodged the tart from his arm, sending her into a pout. He glanced toward Sarah, and she quickly looked away before he could see her staring.

This business of enticing her husband was headache inducing. Why could he not adore her madly and end this game?

She hated that she was not naturally passion inspiring. That she was just ordinary. No expensive gown or fashionable coiffure would turn her from mouse to swan.

“Stop that at once, Sarah,” Noelle snapped. “I can see your wavering confidence on your face. You are letting your insecurities take over your mind.” She darted her eyes about. “Smile at the man in the gray coat.”

“What?”

“Smile at him,” Noelle commanded. “Now.”

Sarah smiled at the stranger. He stopped abruptly and was almost hit from behind by a matronly woman in a pink gown. Within minutes, Sarah was squired out onto the dance floor, the stranger’s compliments on her beauty filling her ears.

How he found her beautiful when she was masked was beyond comprehension. Still, it did lift her spirits to be considered so, even if it was nothing but empty charm.

With Noelle’s encouragement, Sarah danced for the next hour with several partners. Occasionally, she noticed Gabriel watching her from his place near the wall, his eyes drifting over the heads of several changing companions as he seemed more interested in her than whatever conversation was going on around him. When she partnered with a young man so handsome that he made her eyes ache, Gabriel glowered. Yet he did not approach.

She managed to hide her satisfied smile. She stepped forward to her partner and was twirled about.

Gabriel had not danced. She was certain that it was not from lack of effort from the women of the company. Every woman, from young misses newly launched from the schoolroom, to women well past the blush of youth, paraded past him in a steady line of fluff and satin.

Not that he’d noticed.

Politely, he had rebuffed them all, appearing content to sip spirits and watch her.

She shivered under the intense heat in his eyes. She felt hunted, just as Noelle predicted.

And she was content to be the subject of his attention, though she tried not to find so much pleasure in such. Perhaps Noelle was right. She held his interest. For now.

The night grew late when Noelle was no longer able to hide her yawns behind her fan and Mister Blackwell pronounced it time to get his wife home to bed.

They left the ballroom to collect their wraps when Gabriel appeared. “I think I can manage to get my wife home safely, Blackwell,” he said. Gavin nodded. Noelle and Sarah quickly exchanged kisses on both cheeks and said their good-byes.

“I will see you tomorrow,” Noelle said.

Sarah nodded and they exchanged a pair of satisfied smiles. She whispered, “I still have much to learn.”

Gabriel took her elbow and ushered her out into the night. He said nothing, leaving the sounds of chatter from the departing guests to fill the quiet between them. After she was settled into the Harrington coach, she leaned back against the squabs and shook out her skirt.

The weight of his gaze drew her eyes up to his. She could not read his mood from his expression.

“Did you enjoy your first ball, Wife?”

“I did,” she said. “Very much.”

He rested his chin on his bent hand and let his eyes drift over her. “You managed to snag several admirers.”

Her brows went up. “Did I? I did not notice.”

Teeth flashed in the dim light as they passed slowly down the street. “You not only noticed, my dear Sarah, but took pleasure in flaunting the attention.”

“I think you misread my politeness for something more,” she replied, lifting her chin. Inside she was pleased he’d noticed. “Though, I cannot speak for the men.”

“They were besotted,” Gabriel assured her. “I must take comfort in knowing that you were in masque. Had your identity been discovered, the Harrington town house would be besieged by eager bucks on the morrow.”

Heat crept into her cheeks. “You speak nonsense.”

“Do I?”

“I am not the sort of woman with whom men become ‘besotted,’” she said. “I believe men are easily taken by a new face; even one that is masked. Had they a chance to meet me in another setting, the outcome would have been different.”

He watched her for a moment before speaking. “You see yourself as plain?”

She shook her head. “I am practical. I do not consider myself plain. I consider myself as average, not above other women. Were I not Albert’s sister, and we had met at a society event, you would never have noticed me.”

Chapter Ten

G
abriel wanted to argue her point but knew she was correct, and he felt like a cad for being so superficial. Had they been introduced at a ball or party, he would have politely spoken to her for a few minutes then excused himself and gone off to find a stunning beauty to spend the rest of the evening dancing attendance to.

“See, I am correct,” she said, a touch of hurt filling her expression. She turned toward the window.

“You are not correct,” he replied. A soft lock of hair brushed the curve of her jaw, hiding her expression. “Perhaps once, a pretty face was enough to hold my interest, but not anymore. Now I find myself entranced by a woman with both beauty
and
intelligence.”

How odd then that as he sat in the coach, the lamplight illuminating her face in a silvery glow, he discovered there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

“Hmmm. Someday you will have to introduce me to this perfect creature.”

The comment took him aback. Despite Noelle’s best efforts to build her confidence, she was still unsure of herself.

From her elegant neck, to her full mouth, to her trim, yet enticing, figure, it was clear why men sought her out.

His wife underestimated her power over his sex. “True, you are not the kind of woman who’d bring men to their knees the moment you walked into the room, because you are shy and do not seek to draw attention to yourself. However, when you choose to bestow one of your smiles on a man, his attention is all yours.”

And she
was
lovely. A fact largely unnoticed by him until this evening. She had filled out a bit, his wife, and her cheeks no longer held a deathly pallor.

It was easy to see why men were drawn to her. By the time they attended the Hollybrooks’ ball, Sarah would be in the full blush of her youthful prettiness, making it harder for him to run off men like Lord Pembrook.

“How kind of you to say so, but I know my limitations.”

He wanted to shake her. “I think you do not see yourself as others do.” He stretched out a leg and placed an arm casually across the back of the seat. As he stared, he could see her struggle not to fidget. “I shall have your mirrors polished so that you may observe yourself clearly.”

Her pretty mouth parted slightly and an impatient sigh escaped. “I see now why women have been casting themselves at your feet since you were a lad. You do have a full measure of charm.”

The tart comment brought his grin. “I thought you were immune to me and my devastating handsomeness and appeal.”

Sarah’s body tensed. She was clearly not of a mind to accept his teasing banter; lingering effects of their earlier argument, most likely.

“It is impossible to see around your inflated sense of worth to determine if your face is indeed handsome, Mister Harrington.”

His laughter filled the coach. “Who knew your tongue had such a painful bite, Wife.”

Despite the dim light, he saw a flash of embarrassment in her eyes. His outspoken wife still had a measure of sweetness in her. He liked knowing that had not been “lessoned” out of her.

Even now, he felt her struggle not to look down at her toes. Her confidence had its limits. “I think you should let me kiss you again, dearest Sarah.”

Her eyes widened. “You would not.”

“You are my wife. It is my right.”

Before she could summon up a scathing reply, he stood, pivoted, and dropped onto the seat beside her. He knew that they were seconds from arriving at the town house. If he was to torment her, it was now.

Emboldened by her scent and her full mouth, he realized rather quickly that she’d not fight him. Her hand gripped his waistcoat, and she gave no sign that she intended to scream for help or knock him off the seat.

He cupped her face, held her gaze, and breathed against her mouth, “Kiss me, Sarah.”

Her lips quivered, her eyes darkened, and her lashes fluttered closed. He pressed forward, closer, until he could almost taste her mouth. He wanted to kiss her; yearned for it, eagerly.

How easy it would be to kiss her. But not yet.

Thankfully, the coach rolled to a stop. He fought the urge to smile when her eyes popped open and she appeared a bit rattled at the near-kiss. He drew back.

“Damn. We missed our opportunity.”

The coachmen opened the door and Gabe alighted. He turned to help Sarah down and felt her hand quiver. The chit was not as off put by him as she wanted him to believe. And he wondered how long she’d lie in her bed tonight, thinking about the kiss that did not happen.

They went inside, removed their coat and cape, and he led her up the staircase. Her hand trembled throughout.

He knew it was wicked to tease her so. Yet, he could not resist. He wanted her to want him. Passionately.

The only way to accomplish this goal was to make her eager for his touch, his kisses. He could seduce her, yes. She might even enjoy his touch. But he wanted her to feel passion for him, and passion was the one lesson Noelle could not teach her. It was something she had to discover inside herself.

“There we are.” He pulled her to a stop before her bedroom door and took her hand. He kissed her gloved knuckles and stared deeply into her violet eyes. “Until tomorrow, then.”

* * *

S
arah watched him enter his room, which he did without once turning back to see her standing there, waiting for him to notice the hunger and longing she felt to her toes; the kind of emotion that both frightened and intrigued her.

Lud, she wanted his kiss.

When he’d touched her in the coach, she’d been unable to push him away, her bold husband. When he’d brushed against her body in the close confines, her hand had involuntarily gone up to touch his chest.

When he’d leaned in to kiss her, his lips so very close to hers, she’d ached in anticipation. If not for the untimely arrival at Harrington House, she would have melted against him and allowed him to have his way with her eager mouth.

Drat. She told him not to kiss her anymore. If only there was bite behind the sentiment. She was just as befuddled by his charms as any other woman. So much for leading him on a merry chase.

Slowly, she turned to open the door and slipped into her room. Leaning back on the panel, she looked at the ceiling, confused at the new emotions he’d invoked in her. These were yearnings she knew would only be satisfied by his touch and experience . . . but how? How could she explain the happenings inside her body, when she did not fully understand them herself?

All she knew was she wanted him to kiss her. That was easy enough to put words to. Why then did her breasts ache when he kissed her? Why did she feel tingles between her legs?

Pushing away from the door, she walked over to sit on the bed and wait for the maid to come to her.

How shocked would Gabriel be if she rapped on his door and begged him to kiss her the way Noelle had kissed her Mister Blackwell? Extremely shocked, if she were to guess.

Would he think her forward? Too forward?

With a groan, she dropped back on the bed. “What to do?”

Any decisions were set aside when the young lady’s maid in training, Ivy, arrived, stifling a yawn behind clenched teeth. The girl worked with quiet efficiency to strip her to the skin and draw a soft cotton nightdress over her head. By the time her toilet was completed, all thoughts of kisses were pushed aside for the desire for sleep. She crawled into bed and buried her face in the pillow.

* * *

T
he next afternoon, Gabriel called Sarah into the parlor. When she arrived, a man of medium height, nearing fifty if he was a day, stood near the sideboard with Gabriel, watching the door for her arrival. The man wore a hooded expression.

Gabriel was clearly not happy. When he spotted her, he walked over and spoke to her in a low voice. “Why did you not tell me you’d gone to the
London Times
building and asked for papers pulled, during the time of your father’s death?”

Her lips parted and no sound came out. Then she said quietly, “I did not think it a matter needing discussion. I can do as I wish, without your permission. I also visited Bow Street, if you must know.”

“You did not think.” He crossed his arms. “Apparently your visit brought you to the attention of the Bow Street Runners.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Mister Brown, do come and meet my wife.”

Bow Street Runners? Here? Sarah didn’t have time to process this tidbit when the man joined them. He was not entirely imposing, but carried himself with confidence.

“Mister Brown, this is Mrs. Harrington, the former Miss Sarah Palmer.”

The man bowed. “A pleasure, Mrs. Harrington.”

Sarah brushed aside any further pleasantries. “I cannot fathom why my visit to the
Times
or your offices would be of interest to the Runners. Surely my search for a few articles about my father’s death is of no interest to anyone but me, and the Runner I spoke to discovered no helpful information to share.”

Mister Brown seemed bemused by her abrupt tone. “Perhaps we should sit, Mrs. Harrington.”

The Runner took a chair and Sarah the settee. She waited, her apprehension rising by the heartbeat. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“This is about more than your search for answers in your father’s death,” Mister Brown said. “The mystery of his murder, and your curiosity, has kicked open a wasp nest.”

“I do not understand.” She frowned. “A wasp nest? I did nothing but ask to read a few articles. Please explain.”

He nodded. “Two days ago, your cottage was partially destroyed by a fire. We suspect it was started by the same person who searched the building before setting the flame.”

Sarah went cold, quickly changing from alarmed to confused. “Why would anyone do such a thing? The cottage contained no valuables.”

Gabriel stepped forward, ignoring her question. “Why are the Runners involved in a cottage fire? Surely the vandalism, and Sarah’s visit to the
Times
, is not enough to garner your attention?”

Mister Brown refused tea from a maid and Gabriel shooed her off. He looked from Gabriel to Sarah and back. “Might we speak privately, Mister Harrington?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Whatever news you have can be said in front of my wife. The cottage was her home and it’s her interest in her father’s death that led to your visit.”

Grateful she’d not have to assert her right not to be excluded from the conversation, she waited for Mister Brown to continue. The man appeared somewhat hesitant to begin. Whatever his reason for coming, it was about more than the hunt for the vandal who damaged her cottage.

It took a moment before he nodded and spoke.

“We think that the fire has something to do with the death of Mrs. Harrington’s father,” he said bluntly. “That is why your interest in the articles drew our interest.”

Sarah gasped. Gabriel walked to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her heart raced. “My father has been dead for more than ten years. This case was left to gather dust a long time ago.”

After giving her shoulder a squeeze, Gabriel walked around the settee and took a seat beside her. She took comfort in his nearness.

Mister Brown continued, “What I am about to tell you must be kept secret.” Sarah and Gabriel nodded and he rubbed his hand over his chin. “For almost twenty years, your father was a spy for the Crown. We’ve confirmed that his death was not the act of a footpad, as we were led to believe. He was targeted for something he was investigating.”

“That cannot be.” Sarah’s mind went back to her memories of her kind and bookish father. “He worked as a secretary for Lord Hampton. He was not a spy.”

“Indeed he was, I assure you.” Mister Brown leaned forward. “He was one of our best. He had the ability to move within certain circles without drawing notice. I deeply regret his loss. He was a friend.”

The weight of this news was almost more than Sarah could carry. She stood and walked to the fireplace. Everything she thought she knew about her father was taken from her. He lived a life of which she and Albert had no part.

How could he keep this secret? From her, yes, she was just a child then. But Albert? How much did he know?

“I thought his travels were part of his duties to Lord Hampton,” she said softly. “I cannot believe this is true. There must be a mistake.”

Mister Brown joined her. “I know this is a shock, but I assure you that your father
was
the man you knew, with this one exception. His information saved many, many lives early in Napoleon’s reign.”

Sarah looked into his kind eyes. If nothing else was true, they shared a great loss in the murder. “You must tell me everything.”

For the next hour, Mister Brown told her tales of her father’s adventures, times they worked dangerous missions in faraway places together, and of a secret friendship built on a shared desire to help king and country.

“He once spent a week with the emperor’s mistress, right beneath his haughty French nose.”

Sarah shook her head. She remembered her father’s handsome face. He would certainly attract women from all levels.

The tale was not so hard to believe. Yet, the picture did not entirely fit. “My bookish father dallied with Napoleon’s consort?”