Part 23 (1/2)

”Lady Sarah?”

She looked up. He was watching her with a curious expression, and his eyes . . . How was it possible his eyes grew more beautiful each time she saw him? He wasn't smiling; the truth was, he didn't smile that often. But she saw it in his eyes. A glint of warmth, of happiness.

It hadn't been there that first day at Fensmore.

And it stunned her to her very toes how much she never wanted it to go away.

”Thank you,” she said decisively, but instead of the cane, she reached toward his hand. ”Help me up?”

Neither was wearing gloves, and the sudden burst of warmth on her skin made her tremble. His hand wrapped firmly around hers, and with a little tug, she found herself on her feet. Or foot, really. She was balancing on the good one.

”Thank you,” she said again, somewhat alarmed at how breathless she sounded.

Wordlessly, he held out the cane, and she took it, curling her fingers around the smooth handle. It felt almost intimate, holding this object that had practically become an extension of his body.

”It's a bit tall for you,” he said.

”I can make do.” She tested out a step.

”No, no,” he said, ”you need to lean into it a bit more. Like this.” He stepped behind her and placed his hand over hers on the handle of the cane.

Sarah stopped breathing. He was so close that she could feel his breath, warm and ticklish on the tip of her ear.

”Sarah?” he murmured.

She nodded, needing a moment to find her voice again. ”I-I think I have it now.”

He stepped away, and for a moment all she could feel was the loss of his presence. It was startling, and disconcerting, and . . .

And it was cold.

”Sarah?”

She shook herself out of her odd reverie. ”Sorry,” she mumbled. ”Woolgathering.”

He grinned. Or maybe it was a smirk. A friendly one, but still smirkish.

”What is it?” She'd never seen him smile like that.

”Just wondering where the wardrobe was.”

It took her a moment-she was sure she would have got it instantly if she'd not been so befuddled-and then she grinned right back. And then: ”You called me Sarah.”

He paused. ”So I did. I apologize. It was unconsciously done.”

”No,” she said quickly, jumping atop his final words. ”It's fine. I like it, I think.”

”You think?”

”I do,” she said firmly. ”We are friends now, I think.”

”You think.” This time he was definitely smirking.

She tossed him a sarcastic glance. ”You could not resist, could you?”

”No,” he murmured, ”I think not.”

”That was so dreadful it was almost good,” she told him.

”And that was such an insult I almost feel complimented.”

She felt her lips tighten at the corners. She was trying not to smile; it was a battle of the wits, and somehow she knew that if she laughed, she lost. But at the same time, losing wasn't such a terrible prospect. Not in this.

”Come along,” he said with mock severity. ”Let's see you walk to the library.”

And she did. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't painless-truthfully, she shouldn't have been up and about yet-but she did it.

”You're doing very well,” he said as they neared their destination.

”Thank you,” she said, ridiculously pleased by his praise. ”It's marvelous. Such independence. It was just awful having to rely on someone to carry me about.” She looked over her shoulder at him. ”Is that how you feel?”

His lips curved in a wry expression. ”Not exactly.”

”Really? Because-” Her throat nearly closed. ”Never mind.” What an idiot she was. Of course it hadn't felt the same for him. She was using the cane to get her through the day. He would never be without it.

From that moment forward she no longer wondered why he did not smile very often. Instead, she marveled that he ever did.

Chapter Thirteen.

The blue drawing room Whipple Hill Eight o'clock in the evening When it came to social engagements, Hugh never knew which was worse: to be early and exhaust himself having to rise every time a lady appeared, or to arrive late, only to be the center of attention while he limped into the room. This evening, however, his injury had made the decision for him.

He had not been lying when he told Sarah that his leg would most likely pain him that night. But he was glad she had taken the cane. It was, he thought with a surprising lack of bitterness, the closest he would ever come to sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to safety.

Pathetic, but a man had to take his triumphs where he could.

By the time he entered the large drawing room at Whipple Hill, most of the other guests were already present. About seventy people, if he judged the crowd correctly. More than half of the so-called caravan were being lodged in nearby inns; they frolicked at the house during the day but were gone in the evening.

He did not bother to pretend that he was looking for anyone but Sarah the moment he limped through the door. They had spent much of the day in quiet companions.h.i.+p in the library, occasionally chatting but most often just reading. She had demanded that he demonstrate his mathematical brilliance (her words, not his), and he had complied. He'd always hated ”performing” on demand, but Sarah had watched and listened with such obvious delight and amazement that he hadn't been able to bring himself to feel his usual discomfort.

He had misjudged her, he realized. Yes, she was overly dramatic and given to grand p.r.o.nouncements, but she was not the shallow debutante he had once thought her. He was also coming to realize that her earlier antipathy toward him had not been entirely without merit. He had wronged her-inadvertently, but still. It was a fact that she would have had that first season in London if not for his duel with Daniel.

Hugh would not go so far as to agree that he had ruined her life, but now that he knew her better, it did not seem unlikely that Lady Sarah Pleinsworth might have nabbed one of those now legendary fourteen gentlemen.

He could not, however, bring himself to regret this.

When he found her-it was her laughter, actually, that drew him to her-she was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room with her foot propped up on a small ottoman. One of her cousins was with her, the pale one. Iris, her name was. She and Sarah seemed to have an odd, somewhat compet.i.tive, relations.h.i.+p. Hugh would never be so bold as to think he understood more than three things about women (and probably not even that many), but it was clear to him that those two carried on complete conversations with nothing but narrowed eyes and tilts of the head.