Dorothy Eden (29 page)

He was mocking her. He was accepting the challenge. He was an adventurer. He lied with amazing ease and versatility. He had tried to secure the Mallow inheritance for a bastard. He had no sympathy for Ambrose’s rights. But her decision as to how she would act in this situation had been made when she had seen Ambrose standing in the hall. Or had it been made weeks ago?

‘I haven’t found out anything of account, Ambrose. To the best of my knowledge this man is Blane Mallow, and Titus is his son. As far as I know, Mrs Stone was a dishonest vagrant, and Amalie was Blane’s wife. Both of these women are tragically dead, so now I fear we’ll never know if anything is different from what we imagine.’

Ambrose’s gaze was narrowing in disbelief, and a frightening cold anger. Sarah had seen that expression only once before, just before he had sailed for the West Indies. She hoped fervently never to see it again. It was as if she were waking from a dream.

‘So I must release you from your promise to me, Ambrose. You must marry an heiress, as I advised you at the beginning. You’ll soon forget me, I assure you.’

She didn’t add that she realised now she had never loved him. Poor Ambrose, one must spare him that final humiliation.

She turned to Lady Malvina to say sincerely, ‘I apologise for my deception to you, Lady Malvina. I thought at the time that I was justified, but I realise now that I was not. I also apologise to you, Lord Mallow.’

The man at the fireplace didn’t move.

‘I shall arrange to leave tomorrow morning. Titus will be very happy with his grandmother, and perhaps a tutor could be arranged for him shortly. He’s getting too big for a governess.’

She withdrew a step. ‘So may I say goodnight, and goodbye?’

‘Sarah!’ Ambrose protested, in a frozen voice.

‘Leave her,’ said Blane.

‘But, Blane, must Miss Mildmay go like this?’ Lady Malvina said peevishly. ‘I admit she’s been very deceitful and secretive, but Titus loves her. And so, I believe, do I.’ The old lady sank into her chair, her affectionate blurred gaze on Sarah. ‘Heavens, I’m tired. Let’s forget this and go to bed. Tomorrow we can go on as usual.’

‘Not as usual, Mamma. I’m sorry. I’m afraid Sarah must go.’

‘You call her Sarah!’ Ambrose burst out. ‘You always were a mannerless cad!’

‘Thank you, Ambrose. So at last you credit me with a past.’ He turned to Sarah. ‘I shall take you to London myself. After all, everyone must agree, especially you, Ambrose, that this is no place for impostors.

‘Sarah! Will you go with him? What would your family say? Your cousin at Balmoral?’

Cousin Laura, thought Sarah, was not likely to bother herself too much about a penniless relative’s exploits. But her sisters, Amelia and Charlotte, with their dull existences, were going to be deeply envious. And Aunt Adelaide was going to say drily that as usual Sarah had done the unexpected, which was hardly the way to get a husband.

‘Some day, Lord Mallow,’ she said, her eyes downcast to hide their leaping joy, ‘I hope you will meet my cousin Laura. When she is free from her duties with the Queen. But I myself don’t intend to take another imprisoning situation. I haven’t the disposition for this kind of life. I think I will travel. So I will be happy,’ she lifted her eyes to his shatteringly bright gaze, ‘to begin my journey with you.’

Dorothy Eden (1912–1982) was the internationally acclaimed author of more than forty bestselling gothic, romantic suspense, and historical novels. Born in New Zealand, where she attended school and worked as a legal secretary, she moved to London in 1954 and continued to write prolifically. Eden’s novels are known for their suspenseful, spellbinding plots, finely drawn characters, authentic historical detail, and often a hint of spookiness. Her novel of pioneer life in Australia,
The Vines of Yarrabee
, spent four months on the
New York Times
bestseller list. Her gothic historical novels
Ravenscroft
,
Darkwater
, and
Winterwood
are considered by critics and readers alike to be classics of the genre.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1960 by Dorothy Eden

Cover design by Connie Gabbert

978-1-4804-2971-0

This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media

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