Sarah's Surrender (Novella)

Sarah's Surrender
is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Loveswept eBook Original

Copyright © 2015 by Lavinia Kent

Excerpt from
Ravishing Ruby
by Lavinia Kent copyright © 2015 by Lavinia Kent

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

L
OVESWEPT
is a registered trademark and the
L
OVESWEPT
colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

eBook ISBN 9781101964996

This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book
Ravishing Ruby
by Lavinia Kent. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

Cover image: © indira's work/shutterstock

readloveswept.com

v4.1

ep

He could not be here. Miss Sarah Swilp closed her eyes and prayed that when she opened them she would find it had all been an illusion, that he would be an illusion. He could not possibly be here. He'd been gone for five years, been out of England for five years. Why would he return now? And why here? He'd been a rich man when he left; now he was supposedly beyond rich. Why would he possibly choose the Carringtons' ball as his first appearance in London?

Keeping her eyes closed, she continued to pray. This night was bad enough without Mr. Jonathan Perry deciding to appear.

He couldn't be here. He couldn't.

All the pain and anger of that night five years ago descended on her. She'd fought so hard to forget and now he was here—and on this night of all nights. Wasn't it bad enough that she'd just discovered Lord Duldon was to marry Lady Bliss Danser, that her own foolish hopes were to be dashed? She should have known better. Not since that night five years ago had her life ever worked out the way that she wished.

She would have to open her eyes soon. Somebody would notice. And people thought her strange and moody already.

Still, perhaps she could afford one more moment.

No, she would be brave; nothing was ever gained by delay.

With slow deliberation she cracked her eyes, and squinted.

And against her will, her eyes sought out the strong figure of the man across the room, then lingered over his long, lean frame. He seemed taller, broader than she remembered, different from the man she had once thought she loved.

Love. Had it ever been love or had it all been the foolish imaginings of a child? It had certainly felt real at the time, but she'd learned her lesson. It had been burnt into her soul.

You do know I won't marry you.

Had there ever been a phrase so hateful? So designed to cut a woman to the quick?

She'd been glad that he'd been gone these last five years, glad not to see him, not to remember him. Glad to forget he'd ever existed.

Glad to forget those dark eyes and their piercing stare; those endless shoulders that had protected her from the world; the scent of green grass and leather that always clung to him when she pressed her face against his chest. Glad to forget the safety of his embrace. Glad to forget how hard he'd felt against her cheek; the delicious sensations she'd felt when his hands skimmed over her. Glad to forget how happy his grin could make her; how constantly he'd made her laugh. Glad to forget the feel of his lips pressed against hers, his tongue sliding along the crease. Glad to forget…

And now he was back. And of course he'd arrived tonight, when it felt as though her world were falling about her. He'd have loved to laugh at her dreams, to have laughed at poor Miss Swilp reaching so far above herself once again, to have laughed that she'd ever imagined Duldon could be interested in her.

God, Jonathan looked good though, better than she'd remembered—and that should have been impossible. Why couldn't he have grown thick about the waist or lost some of that dark hair? Why did he stand there so tall and proud, the black of his evening wear so stark and elegant? There simply was no justice in the world.

His head turned.

His chin dropped slightly, and his eyes met hers, pierced hers—and then moved on.

Did he not recognize her? She knew she had changed, but…Then his gaze returned, swept her from head to toe. His lips tightened. He turned away.

She knew what that look and gesture meant. Pity was all too apparent when aimed at oneself.

Without another thought, she turned and fled, pushing through the crush and up the stairs. The retiring room. She would find a moment's peace there, a chance to collect herself before risking a confrontation with Jonathan.

She paused at the door. Hopefully, it would be empty. The evening was still too young for torn hems, and the ball was so glorious in its intensity that she couldn't imagine that anyone would want to miss a moment of the excitement.

She slipped through the door and into the chamber, releasing a long sigh. Not even a maid was present. She was alone. Pouring cold water from a pitcher, she splashed her face, hoping to draw some color into her pallid cheeks. It didn't take a glance in the mirror to know she lacked color. She'd felt it all drain the moment she'd seen him. Not that there had been much to begin with; the days when her cheeks shone like roses were rare indeed, and this certainly was not one of them.

No. No mirror was needed.

She knew exactly what she looked like, knew exactly what Jonathan had seen.

Hair neither blond nor brown but some faded in-between shade, the curls pulled tight and forced to order. Pale skin and lips. Brown eyes with nothing rich or chocolaty about them. Lips that were there, but that was about all the description available.

Unnoticeable. That was how she would describe her face.

Her body was slightly better. Breasts too big for slender shoulders and ribs, but still far from large. And full hips that forced the drape of her gown to fall in most peculiar ways. Height that was neither tall nor short.

There truly was nothing exciting about her at all.

A small sigh escaped her lips despite her best intentions.

When she'd been younger, when Jonathan had known her, people had complimented the flash of her eyes and the brightness of her smile, but it had been five years since she'd heard such words.

She was so average as to be strange.

She glanced down. Except for her dress. There was nothing average about her dress.

If described as the bright green of spring it sounded as if it should be pretty and refreshing, but its harsh gleam was anything but. At least on her. On the cousin it had been designed for, it would have been quite striking. Claudia's white skin, black hair, and brilliant blue eyes would have stood up to the vibrant color. On Sarah it just looked…well, she imagined that half of the people who glanced her way saw only the dress and not her at all.

She'd overheard many more comments about her disastrous clothes these last years than she'd heard comments about herself. Even Lady Perse had commented, had made it clear that she could do nothing to help Sarah find a husband if Sarah would not help herself, and finding a new dressmaker had been first on the list. Only she couldn't afford a single new dress, much less a new wardrobe. Her family's finances were a private matter, however, and Papa would have been more than a little displeased if she'd discussed such a thing with Lady Perse, and so she'd refused the second invitation to a matrimonial tea. She'd focused all her attention on Lord Duldon, the only eligible man in years to ask her to dance—and now he was marrying Lady Bliss.

There was nothing for it; she would have to marry Mr. Meyers.

Blast. She was moping, feeling sorry for herself.

Tears welled behind her eyes as feelings of misery filled her.

Splashing her cheeks again, she bit down on her lips trying to bring some color to them. Turning away, she did not risk focusing on the mirror for even a second. It was far better to imagine the improvement to her appearance than to be faced with the truth. At least she was sure that the devastation she felt inside did not show. That was one thing she had learned from her papa and his actions, how to quickly cover any emotions that might try to rise to the surface. Placid and calm. That was what she would be.

Sweet.

Placid.

Calm.

And if some people took that to mean she was standoffish, that was just fine with her.

Sweeping out of the retiring room, she pretended that she was somebody other than herself, pretended that she was a great queen, the head of a conquering army: chin tilted up, shoulders straight, face cold and clear. She feared nothing, cared for nothing. She was supreme.

And then she reached the head of the stairs and saw them, her past, her present—and her future.

Jonathan, looking up at her with what she could only assume was distaste.

Lord Duldon, gazing at Lady Bliss as if he gazed upon paradise itself.

And Mr. Meyers, staring off into the crowd as if he had someplace far better to be.

They stood spread across the floor below, a display of all her foolishness, of all her dreams.

She pulled a long breath in, felt her breasts press tight against the horrible lace edging of the gown.

And then, ignoring the other two men, she forced her gaze to move to Mr. Meyers. He was her future. He might not know it yet, but she'd let him know this evening. She could only hope that he still wished to marry her.

A swallow caught halfway down her throat.

Mr. Meyers was not tall. His shoulders were not vast and broad. He smelled of sweat and must, not leather. He'd never made her laugh, not in all the years he'd been visiting her father. When he looked at her his eyes rarely looked higher than her breasts and on occasion her lips.

And he was old enough to be her father.

But, he had asked her to marry him.

Twice.

And the second time it had felt more of a threat than a question.

But then, he knew about Papa. Knew about the debts. Knew just how little choice she had.

She should have said yes to him that last time, only a week ago, when he'd called on her before lunch and actually bothered to bring her flowers. He'd tossed them at her after her refusal.

Don't know why I bother trying with romance. It's cold hard reality that will bring you to me. I'll just have to see how long it takes.
His words still echoed in her brain.

But she could no longer afford to have dreams; her time had run out. Any pride she had left was gone.

If only she could close her eyes again and never have to walk down the stairs, never have to pretend that the world was wonderful when all she wanted was to curl into a ball and wail.

Mr. Meyers had been right. She did have no choice. She'd been so foolish to pretend she did, to hope that a knight might show up at the last moment and save her.

She took one step down, ignoring the urge to see if Jonathan was still watching her.

Mr. Meyers was not so bad. He had all his teeth. He wasn't mean, or at least she didn't think he was. These things were hard to tell from public appearance. Papa had taught her that.

Another step.

And he wanted to marry her. She wasn't quite sure why, although she rather thought he liked the fact that she had no choice, that she would be forced to always be grateful to him. And he thought she was obedient. Papa was always telling his friends how good she was at doing whatever was demanded. If only he knew the truth—but perhaps it was best that he didn't.

She hadn't liked the look Mr. Meyers got on his face at Papa's words, but what choice did she have?

And he liked her breasts. There was no mistaking that.

Another step. Keep ignoring Jonathan. Perhaps he wasn't even there anymore. No, don't think about him.

Think only of Mr. Meyers.

How did you tell a man you were now willing to marry him?

She braced her shoulders. You just did it. It was no different than most of life. You just did it.

How many things had she done just because there was no choice?

Too many to even begin to count.

She should be well practiced by now. It should not be this hard.

Only it was.

She'd had dreams, so many dreams. And none of them had included marrying a man her papa's age, a man who clearly would never regard her as a person, let alone someone special.

Perhaps she was misjudging him. He must hold her in some esteem if he wanted to marry her.

Three more steps down.

She could do this.

There was no choice.

She hurried down the remaining steps and without giving herself time to think positioned herself a few feet from Mr. Meyers.

She felt his eyes fall upon her, felt the icy flicker as his gaze swept up the green gown and stopped at her chest.

Pulling a deep breath in, she let her breasts swell against the bodice.

He licked his lips, glanced once at her face, and then turned and walked away.

A cold knot formed in her belly.

She made to follow him, her feet sliding over the smooth parquet of the floor. If she hurried a little through the crowd she could get in front of him, give him another chance to speak to her. Stepping quickly about one couple and then another, she bypassed a group of matrons and came to stand just in front of the card room door. Mr. Meyers was a friend of her papa's; there was not a chance he was not heading to the card room.

A large potted palm stood to the left of the door and she positioned herself in front of it, hoping her dress blended well with the deep shade of the leaves.

She pasted a pleasant smile on her face as she saw Mr. Meyers approach.

He paused, his gaze skimming over her again. His lips tensed. “Did you wish to speak to me, Miss Swilp?”

Why ever would you think that?
The answer died before it even left her lips. “Yes.”

“I rather thought so, but as you can see I am busy.” He nodded to the door to her right.

Cards. Men always wanted to gamble. “I do understand, but I only need a moment.”

“I imagine you've reconsidered. Your father made it very clear that you would.”

He had? Yes, she supposed he had. Papa would not feel any need to speak to her before making such a decision. “Yes, I rather think I have.” There was nothing else she could say.

“Good.” He stepped toward the card room.

“But…”

“Yes, Miss Swilp?”

“Don't we need to speak? Shouldn't we actually—”

“I am busy and I do not care to discuss such things in public. I will call on you tomorrow—no, the morning after—and let you know my plans. I will tell you how I have decided to proceed.” He took another step forward.

“But you still do wish to marry me?” Her hands rose to cover her mouth.

He stopped and turned, his heels squeaking on the floor. “We will talk the day after tomorrow.”