Sarah opened her mouth to inform him she would not so demean herself as to run from him when the knowledge that she just had, and might have reason to do so again, hit her. She remained silent. Darcy, accurately reading her mind, held on to her hand.
After a moment’s consideration, he spoke. “I had intended, my dear, to speak to you of our…curious relationship.”
Sarah, breathing rapidly and anxious to end the interview, immediately countered, “I really don’t think there’s anything to discuss.”
A difficult pause ensued, then, “So you would deny there’s anything between us?”
The bleakness in his voice shook her, but she determinedly put up her chin, turning away from him as far as their locked hands would allow. “Whatever’s between us is neither here nor there,” she said, satisfied with the lightness she had managed to bring to her tone.
Her satisfaction was short-lived. Taking advantage of her movement, Darcy stepped quickly behind her, the hand still holding hers reaching across her, his arm wrapping around her waist and drawing her hard against him. His other hand came to rest on her shoulder, holding her still. He knew the shock it would give her, to feel his body against hers, and heard with grim satisfaction the hiss of her indrawn breath.
Sarah froze, too stunned to struggle, the sensation of his hard body against her back, his arm wound like steel about her waist, holding her fast, driving all rational thought from her brain. Then his breath wafted the curls around her ear. His words came in a deep and husky tone, sending tingling shivers up and down her spine.
“Well, sweetheart, there’s very little between us now. So, perhaps we can turn our attention to our relationship?”
Sarah, all too well aware of how little there was between them, wondered in a moment of startling lucidity how he imagined that would improve her concentration. But Darcy’s attention had already wandered. His lips were very gently trailing down her neck, creating all sorts of marvellous sensations which she tried very hard to ignore.
Then, he gave a deep chuckle. “As I’ve been saying these weeks past, my dear, you’re wasted as a virgin. Now, if you were to become my mistress, just think of all the delightful avenues we could explore.”
“I don’t want to become your mistress!” Sarah almost wailed, testing the arm at her waist and finding it immovable.
“No?” came Darcy’s voice in her ear. She had the impression he considered her answer for a full minute before he continued, “Perhaps we should extend your education a trifle, my dear. So you fully appreciate what you’re turning down. We wouldn’t want you to make the wrong decision for lack of a few minutes’ instruction, would we?”
Sarah had only a hazy idea of what he could mean but his lips had returned to her throat, giving rise to those strangely heady swirls of pleasure that washed through her, sapping her will. “Darcy, stop! You know you shouldn’t be doing this!”
He stilled. “Do I?”
Into the silence, a nightingale warbled. Sarah held her breath.
But, when Darcy spoke again, the steel threading his voice, so often sensed yet only now recognised, warned her of the futility of missish pleas.
“Yes. You’re right. I know I shouldn’t.” His lips moved against her throat, a subtle caress. “But what I want to do is make love to you. As you won’t allow that, then this will have to do for now.”
Sarah, incapable of further words, simply shook her head, powerless to halt the spreading fires he was so skilfully igniting.
Afterwards, Darcy could not understand how it had happened. He was as experienced with women as Max and had never previously lost control as he did that night. He had intended to do no more than reveal to the perverse woman her own desires and giv
e her some inkling of the pleasures they could enjoy together. Instead, her responses were more than he had bargained for and his own desires stronger than he had been prepared to admit. Fairly early in the engagement, he had turned her once more into his arms, so he could capture her lips and take the lesson further. And further it had certainly gone, until the moon sank behind the high hedges and left them in darkness.
———
How the hell was he to get rid of her? Max, Lady Mortland on his arm, had twice traversed the terrace. He had no intention of descending to the shadowy avenues. He had no intention of paying any further attention to Lady Mortland at all. Lady Mortland, on the other hand, was waiting for his attentions to begin and was rather surprised at his lack of ardour in keeping to the terrace.
They were turning at the end of the terrace, when Max, glancing along, saw Caroline come out of the ballroom, alone, and walk quickly to the balustrade and peer over. She was clearly seeking someone. Emma Mortland, prattling on at his side, had not seen her. With the reflexes necessary for being one of the more successful rakes in the ton, Max whisked her ladyship back into the ballroom via the door they were about to pass.
Finding herself in the ballroom once more, with the Duke of Twyford bowing over her hand in farewell, Lady Mortland put a hand to her spinning head. “Oh! But surely…”
“A guardian is never off duty for long, my dear,” drawled Max, about to move off.
“Perhaps I’ll see you in the Park, tomorrow?” asked Emma, convinced his departure had nothing to do with inclination.
Max smiled. “Anything’s possible.”
He took a circuitous route around the ballroom and exited through the same door he had seen his ward use. Gaining the terrace, he almost knocked her over as she returned to the ballroom, looking back over her shoulder towards the gardens.
“Oh!” Finding herself unexpectedly in her guardian’s arms temporarily suspended Caroline’s faculties.
From her face, Max knew she had not been looking for him. He drew her further into the shadows of the terrace, placing her hand on his arm and covering it comfortingly with his. “What is it?”