If I Fall (29 page)

But while her quip had meant to disarm and be amusing, Jack instead looked serious. Intent upon working something out. “Do you miss him?”

“Who?” she asked, blinking.

“The Duke.”

“You mean Jason?” she asked, as he nodded.

“You became her to forget him,” he intoned.

“No—I became her to survive,” Sarah replied quietly. Then after a moment’s thought, “Maybe the Golden Lady did … help me put him aside for a little while, so I wouldn’t feel the worst of the pain. But the truth is I don’t miss him. At least not since…” She blushed, her mind flashing to a man in a dark cloak. “At least not anymore.”

She looked down at her half-eaten sandwich, having lost the taste for it. She had more to say, and blessedly, he held silent and waited for her.

“I miss what could have been,” she said finally. “I miss having the security of knowing that I’ve done it. I’ve found the man I will spend the rest of my life with, and therefore it can begin. No more waiting. No more balls, no more inspections from bachelors and probing questions from their families, wanting to see if I measure up.”

“But you’re so good at it,” he replied. “Er, the balls and things.”

She laughed, a little sadly. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean that I wanted to start the whole thing over again.”

“I don’t know if I want to start the whole thing over again, either. Er, with the navy I mean, on a new ship,” he clarified when he caught her look. “If we were to look at the
Amorata
the way you looked at your Duke—”

“Yes, let’s do, because that makes perfect sense,” she couldn’t help but quip sarcastically.

Gratefully he ignored her. “When I was a boy, I was in love with the life. But I was on board the same ship for nine years. I knew its ins and outs, I knew the crew. I knew how to take her over shoals and get her to fly fast. I remember when I was seventeen—in the waning days of the war, we came across a French flyer off the coast of Spain, doing something nefarious no doubt, because she engaged immediately. We were caught off guard, but the captain led the men and turned the wheel over to me. And I stayed there, following his yelled-out commands the whole time. Twelve hours, that action, and not a single loss of life.” He looked to the horizon, where the ships moved easily on the Thames. “The
Amorata
and I have been through a lot together. And now everyone is scattered to the four winds. Back to their families. To other ships.”

Except me
. They were the words that she knew he could not say. “I never thought of you as lonely, Jack. You were always … such a self-sufficient lad.”

He kept his eyes on the horizon, but she saw by the clench of his cheek, the ball of his throat, that he had indeed heard her.

“Even if I was so lucky as to get a new commission—which is unlikely in these times—I would have to question whether
I want to spend the next nine years building another home that is impermanent. I may be a good sailor, a good officer. But I don’t know if I would miss the life … what could have been. I always wanted a life of service to the Crown, but one of adventure, too. For all the
Amorata’
s comfort, it can be too comfortable as well. I’ve been thinking … very much of late … that I need something more.”

She wanted to ask him what he would do, then, without the sea. She wanted to ask him if he intended to make a strong suit to Miss Devlin. She wanted to ask … so many things. But instead, she just laid her hand over his, stilled him from plucking at the grass, and stared out onto the horizon with him.

And as pink began to tinge the sky, the sun calling an end to their day, they sat further still. Until Sarah finally spoke.

“I missed this.”

He looked up at her, and then down at their joined hands.

“I did, too.”

They stepped through the front door of number sixteen Upper Grosvenor Street just as dusk gave up its hold, and night took over.

“Thank goodness,” Sarah sighed as she glided through the door in front of Jack. “I was afraid we were going to be too late.”

“I told you I’d get you back in time.” Jack replied, as he handed his hat to Dalton. Dalton dutifully brushed the grass off of it. “Besides, you said you weren’t going to arrive at the Gold Ball until, what, three hours from now?”

“Yes, but I have to get ready,” Sarah replied, shaking her head at him. “I can’t very well arrive at the Gold Ball in Regent’s Park with dirt under my fingernails and twigs in my hair. Nor can you.” She glanced down at his clothes, which had, after sitting on the ground and running about playing bowls, taken on a decidedly earthy smell.

“I like you with twigs in your hair,” Jack said, his eyes going automatically to her unkempt hair arrangement, where slick, heavy locks threatened to slip free of their knot and spill over her shoulders. He abruptly shook off the image, and retook the role of friend. “Perhaps you can start a new trend.”

They’d had such a wonderful day. The day of playing on the green and leaving their troubles behind them, if only for a few hours, had made Jack more relaxed and happy than he had been in weeks—hell, months.

He let go of the sadness that encompassed the fate of the
Amorata
. He left behind his guilt over playing a cruel trick on Sarah … he said good-bye for a few short hours to the weight of the Blue Raven, that mission the Worth Brothers had placed on his shoulders.

Until they stepped through the door again.

As Dalton moved off, with mention of how the rest of the family was deep in preparations for the Gold Ball tonight, they were left alone in the foyer.

He could tell her now, he mused, as she brushed down her skirts. He could tell her, and hold her back from possible danger. She would hate him—but perhaps, a fraction less so than if they hadn’t just played
apology bowls
all afternoon.

He could tell her now, he decided. And he would.

If only she didn’t say what she said next.

“All I can say is thank goodness you forwent wearing your uniform today—I asked Dalton to have it pressed for tonight.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “I did not think I was included on the invitation to the Gold Ball.”

“Of course you were—and we need you especially. Lady Fieldstone asked Phillippa to take over the table she had purchased, and Phillippa refuses to let there be an empty seat at Lord Fieldstone’s table.”

His brow went up. “What do you mean, purchased a table?”

Sarah took his arm and they began to make their way up the stairs.

“The Gold Ball was founded by the King while he was still Prince Regent, to benefit the construction of his park.” Sarah explained. “It’s grown quite a bit in its charitable function since then, and this Season, it was asked that attendees purchase a table for the supper courses. Apparently Lady Fieldstone purchased a table before…” Sarah let the sentence trail off without unnecessary explanation. “It’s a point of pride for Phillippa that Lady Fieldstone’s table not sit empty. Thus, we need you.”

But the truth was, he could never tell her.

Lord Fieldstone’s death. A Burmese
dha
. A missing letter with Fieldstone’s blood on it. Someone trying to start a war. As unkind as his actions had been to Sarah, it was now bigger than his foolish pride, and his guilt.

But he could still try to keep her safe. Uninvolved. For just one more day.

“What if … what if we don’t go to the ball tonight?” Jack asked, and Sarah came to a halt.

“Don’t go to the ball?” she asked, appalled.

Don’t go to the ball. Don’t charm the Comte back in love with you. Don’t let yourself get mixed up in this any further.

“What if we continued our good day, and just left the outside world to their own devices. Just for a night.” Jack took her hand in his, and hoped that she heard his plea.

He watched as hesitation overcame her, then she made a decision—and he cursed God that it was not in his favor.

She smiled a little sadly and patted his arm. “Jack, I’m so glad we patched up our differences today. But those things we left behind to do so? We have to pick them up again.”

She leaned forward and with a glance down the hall to make sure no one was watching, kissed him lightly on the cheek. Not with any intention other than friendship, he knew, but it burned him, burned his skin. And saddened him to the core.

And as she let go of his arm, and retreated down the hall, Jack thought vaguely he should call after her. He would say…

But he couldn’t.

So he determined he would do the only thing he could. Watch over her.

No matter what.

That night, amongst the glitter and glamour of the Gold Ball, Jack watched when, as expected, the Golden Lady made her triumphant return to form. Sarah was universally feted and admired, charming the crowd with her smiles and flirtations. He watched as the Comte fell under her spell again.

And he watched as she asked him about the prospect of visiting his home.

“My dear Comte, how was I to let you know of my comings
and goings for the past few weeks?” Sarah pouted prettily, as they sat at the table in between dances. She had favored him with the last two in a row—one more and they might end up engaged. “A woman is not permitted to send notes to a gentleman, nor is she allowed to pay calls.”

“You are quite right,” he said, kissing her hand. “I am merely sorry that you were out when I paid
my
calls.”

Jack cocked a brow, knowing full well that Sarah had not been out, but that was neither here nor there.

“Besides, if I were to pay a call, I wouldn’t even know where to go,” Sarah said leadingly.

“Miss Forrester, you know where I live.” The Comte looked befuddled. “The Duke of Parford has graciously lent us his home for the Season. He was so admiring of Mr. Pha and myself when we met in Bombay—”

Sarah put on an expression of wonder, and interrupted him before he could go any further. “Do you mean that lovely large house on the corner of the square?” As he nodded, she exclaimed. “But no one’s been in there for years! They say he has some of the most beautiful paintings in his gallery.”

The Comte tilted his head to one side. Jack shook with suppressed laughter, seeing the man—this possible villain—so easily befuddled.

“Yes, there are some nice paintings, but—”

“Oh, my dear Comte—Jean—I must see them. Is it possible? That I could come to call?”

“I don’t really think—”

“Oh, of course, you’re right, it wouldn’t do. You should throw a dinner party! That way everyone could see the Duke’s collection.” Sarah’s eyes lit up as she leaned forward, letting her breasts, confined by scraps of embroidered gold silk, just barely brush the Comte’s arm.

Jack’s expression darkened as the Comte’s grew warmer. “Well, I don’t know about that—” the Comte was saying, but his eye line indicated his attention was elsewhere.

“Miss Georgina”—Sarah turned to the Comte’s stepsister, who was sitting next to them, meek in her burnished gown—“would it not be fun to host a dinner party? Why I would be gratified to help you with the arrangements.”

The Comte went still as he turned to his sister. “I don’t
think it would work at all, Georgie…” he began, but Georgina, normally so small and wide-eyed, brightened immediately at the prospect.

“But of course we should, Jean! What fun. I would relish the opportunity to get to know Miss Forrester better”—she shot her stepbrother a pleading look—“and can only hope with the Golden Lady’s help, we shall have the best dinner party imaginable!”

Thus, Jack watched as Sarah committed herself deeper than her promise to the Blue Raven commanded that she go, committed herself to spending several days in the presence of the Comte, the Burmese gentleman that was their guest, and possibly a murderer.

And he only had himself to blame for not stopping it.

“S
ARAH
, what do you mean there will be no music at the dinner party?” Bridget practically screeched, when she stormed into Sarah’s room without knocking.

“Do come in, Bridget,” Sarah said, as Molly pinned the last of the flowers into her hair. Her hair never had and never would curl, so therefore the only whimsy that she could inject into the coiffure was flowers. Which pricked at her skull.