If I Fall (28 page)

“I asked if you had a late night?”

“Oh. Yes.” He looked dumbly at his plate of food. He was supposed to have been out with Marcus Worth. He must get his head out of this stupor, and remember his lies and alibis.

“Yes, well, if anyone deserved to, it’s you. Indeed, your last two days of staying out all hours were well earned.”

His brows came down. “Why is that?”

She looked at him quizzically. “Because of the
Amorata
.”

It was then that he noticed the newspaper at her elbow. The
Amorata
. Of course. Had he only received that news two days ago? Had he only gone through the madness of meeting the Blue Raven in an alley and the Worth brothers in a dark cellar just the day before yesterday?

He reached forward and she handed the paper to him. But no, the date at the top bore the truth out.

And there, inside the section reserved for military dealings, the fate he knew had fallen in three lines:

“I’m so sorry, Jack,” Sarah said, her voice breaking through his haze. He shook his head to clear it.

“It’s not as if we didn’t know that this was coming. You’re the one who called me out on my denial, if you recall,” he said gruffly.

“Yes,” she conceded, “but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Doesn’t make what any easier?”

She shrugged lightly, bringing a cup of strong morning tea to her lips. “Giving up the life that you had planned on.”

Jack stared at her. And it was as if he saw her for the first time in her truest form.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply. Because for the first time, he truly understood. What she had been through. And how she had survived it. Turning herself into another person.

After all, hadn’t he done the same thing?

“It’s not your fault the
Amorata
is gone, Jack,” she tried kindly.

“No, I’m sorry for everything,” he said, his kippers and biscuit suddenly taking on new interest, as apparently he couldn’t take his eyes off of them. “Everything that happened since I came back. For judging you harshly. For embarrassing you on the dance floor. For … everything else. I had no right.”

He chanced a look up, and could see by the blush on her cheek and the stillness of her frame that his words had hit home.

“You’ve apologized a dozen times over for those things,” she replied, her eyes not moving from her own plate of food.

“I’ve tried. But you never accepted because … probably because I never understood before.”

“Understood what, Jack?” She laughed just a little, betraying herself.

“What it’s like. Giving up the life you had planned on.”

“Oh,” she breathed. The sound of the clock ticking was the only movement in the room. “Well, I am accepting now.”

“Thank you, Miss Forrester.”

“You’re quite welcome, Lieutenant.” Then, after a pause, she turned her smile to him. “And I apologize for … my bluntness, I suppose. And making you uncomfortable.”

“Apology accepted.” Then he quirked his head to one side. “What are your plans for the day, Sarah?”

Her gaze locked onto his eyes, and then quickly back down to her plate. “Nothing exciting,” she replied although the blush of her cheek told otherwise. “I thought I might go shopping, or on a ride in the park, settle my nerves before the Gold Ball tonight.”

The Gold Ball. Jack vaguely recalled being told it was a premiere event, thrown in honor of the King, and in promotion of his Regent’s Park. Or some such thing. As it was with all functions Sarah attended, everyone who was anyone would be there.

“And as the Golden Lady, you must attend.” Jack surmised. “But why are you nervous?”

“I—ah—I haven’t seen my friends in a while, is all,” she hastily added.

“Such as Lady Phillippa, and the Comte de Le Bon?” he ventured, and watched as her blush went utterly crimson.

“Now, don’t start judging my friends again, in that voice…” she warned, but her warning was weak—her mind was elsewhere. On other “friends” she expected to see.

“I didn’t intend to.” He held his hands up, in a gesture of surrender. Then, impromptu, he stood from his seat, and came around the table to sit next to her.

“Might I propose something?” he said, leaning forward, which beckoned her to do the same. “How about—for the sake of your nerves—we take a short trip today. Just you and I. You leave the Golden Lady at home and I’ll leave the angry lieutenant, and we’ll have some fun.”

“I … I don’t…” She hesitated, looking back and forth between the clock and his face.

“I’ll make sure you’re back in time. Besides,” he said, taking her hand, “it will allow me to truly apologize for my transgressions.”

Her hand in his sent waves of electricity through his body, a pulse of pure memory. Whether or not she felt the same, he could not know. But she stopped looking at the door … and held fast with his eyes. He smiled, giving her the most mischievous grin he could conjure. “Please?”

He saw the moment she made her decision. And thanked God it was in his favor.

“Very well,” she said with a smile that matched his own. “What shall we do?”

“Do you mean to tell me that playing bowls is your way of apologizing?” Sarah asked, yelling against the warm breeze.

“No, letting you win at bowls is my way of apologizing,” Jack called back, as he unloaded the old set of bowls from the back of the carriage.

“Jackson Fletcher, you’ve never
let
me win at anything—I
always beat you soundly,” she retorted, her eyes flaring, gratified to see his wide smile in return.

They were west of the city—an hour’s ride by carriage, almost to Greenwich, where the green fields sloped down into the Thames, affording a view of the ships gliding past, their billowing sails blending with the puffed clouds of the glorious June day. It was the perfect day to do this, Sarah thought, enjoying the view almost as much as she was enjoying the breeze. It was the perfect day for a respite from her life—because if she had to be in Grosvenor right now, paying calls or shopping, having to play the part of the Golden Lady, by the time tonight came, her mission in front of her, she would work herself into a ball of nerves.

Although, that she wasn’t currently a ball of nerves was something of a miracle, in and of itself.

Last night had been just the most shocking, exciting, wonderful experience of her life. If she had been obsessed with the Blue Raven for the past week, last night had shifted all of that focus, all of that obsession into place, like the tumbles of a lock, and she was completely and utterly in love with the man.

Which is exactly what she wanted to be.

Why else would she have let him touch her in that way? Why else would she have let his hand snake up over her legs, her breasts? Why else would she have dared a lifetime of doing everything right for a spare moment of doing something wrong?

Why else would she have promised to help him with the Comte?

Because she was completely in love with him.

And with that realization, for the first time in weeks, Sarah Forrester slept like a stone.

But with the morning, came the blush of understanding. (And the need to send Molly to purchase some face powder, because absolutely everyone would see the love bite on her neck otherwise.) She sat at her dressing table, unable to reconcile its silly scroll work and the glee of the little girl who had picked it out with what she had been doing on top of it just the night before.

With a man who made no mention as to if or when she would see him again! Her mind rollicked wildly between
what
have I done?
and
no, he felt something for me, too—I’m certain!
with no means to make it stop. Until she remembered: She did have one thing that would ensure his continued presence in her life.

She had promised to help the Blue Raven, a master spy, on one of his quests. He had asked her on an adventure. The thought at once calmed her down.

But then … she realized what she had promised.

It was at breakfast, while she enjoyed the solitude (and being very mindful of the placement of her collar) that the nerves began to creep into her belly. The queasy fear of what the night held. What if she couldn’t persuade the Comte? Why did the Blue Raven want in his home anyway? Was he a villain? What if the Comte became suspicious by her asking and began to question
her
?

Sarah looked over the expanse of lawn, the happy removal to nature at such a close distance to home.

“Thank goodness for Jack,” she breathed.

“What about me?” Jack asked, surprising her from behind. She jumped. Jack always made her jump.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly. “I just said, thank goodness it’s Jack I’m playing, because Amanda has become absolutely wicked at bowls.”

“It’s her reach, one would expect,” Jack shrugged. “Too bad for you I’m still taller than her.”

Jack took the bag of bowls—green and black ceramic balls that were hefty enough to have momentum when thrown—and dropped them at her feet. Then he rifled through, finding the kitty—the smaller, white ball that would be their target. At some point in the past decades one of the Forrester sisters had painted a crude kitty’s face on the ball. He wound up, and pitched the poor kitty down the field.

Far down the field.

“Height has absolutely nothing to do with bowls,” Sarah countered haughtily.

“And how would you know?” he came back, teasingly holding his hand over her head, as if to indicate her stature left something to be desired. She retorted by taking a green bowl from the pile and, after a good windup, sending it down the field.

It rolled to a stop mere inches from the kitty.

“I believe it was I who taught you to play this game, correct?” she returned.

Jack quirked up a brow, and got his own ball—a black one—and sent it down field.

Sarah couldn’t help but laugh when she saw where it landed.

“This isn’t a flat, manicured green,” Jack grumbled.

Sarah laughed even harder at that. She picked up another green bowl and sent it flying.

“I can’t believe you wanted to play bowls today,” she sighed, shaking her head. “And thought to let me win as apology.”

“It was rather short notice.” Jack said with a smile. “It was either this or playing pirates—which I always let you win, too.”

“You were always the pirate, Jack, you had to lose.” Sarah smiled at him. “It’s the only way for justice to prevail. Now stop complaining and take your turn.”

And so they played. They played a childhood game like the children they had once been. Bickering as they would have over whether or not a bowl had touched the kitty. Laughing when one of Sarah’s bowls rolled away under a tree where it surprised a poor man whose leisurely lunch in the park had turned into a leisurely nap. Applauding as Jack took to running a victory lap around their makeshift green when he finally, finally won one of their seven games.

Yes, thank goodness for Jack, she thought again.

Who would have thought even twenty-four hours ago that she would be thanking anyone for Jackson Fletcher?

Whatever wrought this change in him—whatever wrought this change in her—she was glad of it.

Which is exactly what she told him when they settled down on the grass to eat the cold sandwiches that cook had hastily packed for them.

“To think we could have been getting along this whole time,” she said in between bites.

“To think,” he agreed, on a mouthful of cheese.

“Makes me feel rather foolish for sticking my nose up in the air at you.”

“As well you should,” he replied with mocking laughter. “Why did you do such a thing, anyway?” He stretched out his
long legs and lay on the grass, propping himself up on his side with one elbow.

“I believe it had something to do with you calling me a fraud, and saying that my entire life was a lie,” she replied kindly.

“Oh yes,” he recalled. “Well, that was rather silly of me.” Then with a ponderous expression, “Do you have any idea why I was so rude as to snub you on the dance floor?”

“I believe it was my suggestion that you court a young lady of fortune,” she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “How is Miss Devlin, by the bye?”

Jack swallowed audibly. Then bought time by wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Fine,” he finally said. “But I’m not as close with the family as you might think.”

“Really?” An eyebrow went up. “You didn’t call on her at home twice last week?”

He and Whigby had, of course, but he was surprised to learn Sarah had taken note of it.

“How did you…”

“Everyone tells me everything, Jack.” She smirked at him. “It’s one of the more interesting aspects of being the Golden Lady.” Everyone did tell her everything, that was true. But it didn’t mean that she did not keep her ear out for particular information. And somehow, even while she was focused so keenly on solving the Blue Raven’s mysteries, she had been attuned to any news about Jack and Miss Devlin. Likely to see if he was taking her loathed advice, she told herself, and for no other reason.