Sarah's Surrender (Novella) (2 page)

“But I need to know.”

His eyes raked over her without warmth. “But I owe you nothing. You said no to me.”

“Yes, but…” Life could not be so cruel.

“I will marry you, Miss Swilp, but I have no need to discuss it now. A wife must learn to let her husband be. I would have thought your father had taught you better.”

An image of her mother cowering before her father and his anger, her head bent and hand shaking, filled Sarah's mind. “Yes, he did. I do apologize.”

“That is better. It is good that you understand now.” He turned and walked into the card room without another word.

She should have felt relief. Mr. Meyers still wanted her. She would not have to go crying to Papa that all was ruined. She would not have to face her mother and the knowledge of what would happen. Instead, her stomach curdled like sour milk when the tea was poured.

Lifting her head she turned back toward the ballroom. Jonathan stood there, his gaze upon her. What had he seen, heard? Hopefully nothing. Surely nothing. He was too far away.

She took a step back, feeling the fronds of the palm brush her shoulder blades. Her head drooped forward. If possible, she would have stepped behind the plant and hidden there for the rest of the evening. Why was it always so hard?

She felt tears form in the corners of her eyes.

No. This was not she. She did what must be done. She did not fret about it; she simply did it. She turned away from Jonathan. Even if he was back, he no longer mattered in her life.

It was only a day and a half until it would all be settled, until she would be engaged to Mr. Meyers.

Only a day and a half.

Now that was quite the gown. Or perhaps he should say quite the green.

Jonathan Perry stared across the room at the dress and the girl who was trying to fade into the palms. He wasn't normally taken with fashion, but this was hard to miss. He'd noticed the girl earlier in the evening, had been both strangely drawn to her and at the same time put off by her lifelessness, but until this moment he had not seen her clearly—and now he saw her very clearly. He couldn't think of ever having seen anything quite that bright a green—well, perhaps a fly settling on a pile of dung. They sometimes shone with unbelievable color in nearly the same manner.

He was about to turn away when the lady shifted slightly and something about the movement drew him. It was reminiscent somehow, that must be why he kept looking at her. He pursed his lips and stepped forward.

It couldn't be.

By God, it was.

Sarah.

Sarah Swilp.

His Sarah.

But a far different girl than he'd left behind those years ago. Then she'd been bright and shining. She'd never been classically beautiful, but she'd shone with such a light that one forgot that within seconds. He could remember thinking that there was never anything as glorious as Sarah when she laughed, the deep husky timbre filling the room, even the house, her curls a mad cascade about her shoulders.

This woman did not have that quality. It was hard to imagine her ever laughing, not with those tight lips that seemed almost frozen on her face. Even as she pushed them up into a smile they hardly seemed to move.

And she was so, so…so faded.

He could blame some of it on the gown, it was hard to imagine any woman standing up to that color, but it was more than that. Her skin was so pallid—as if she had stayed locked in the basement from the moment he left until this very day.

And her eyes. It should have been impossible to see them from across the room, but even from here he could see how lifeless they seemed. No, that wasn't quite right. They had life, just not a life that anyone would want. They spoke of wounds deep and painful.

Then those eyes came up and met his, for a second they flashed with remembered fire, but then her cheeks lost any color that they still contained—and she turned and scuttled off.

What had happened to the Sarah that he'd he known? How had she become this timid mouse?

It had hurt to leave her five years ago, but she'd given him no choice. She'd refused to take a chance on him, had refused to take the risk—and he'd been equally unwilling. And then her final words had left him with no hope and so he had gone. He stared after her, remembering how she'd left him feeling.

Well, looking at her now, it was clear that in not taking that chance she'd lost much—not that he would take credit for whatever had happened to her these past years. She had taken responsibility for her life and he had left her to it. No, he took no blame.

And he would feel no pity for her.

He lifted his chin and stared across the room, waiting for her to turn back, waiting for her eyes to find him again.

You do know I won't marry you
. Once that sentence had cut her to the quick; now it filled her with remembered anger. She'd grown so furious that evening five years ago, had used fury and barely remembered words to soothe the wound so deep that it still stung.

How dare he glare at her? If anyone had the right to glare it was she. She was the one who'd been led on, who'd been led to believe that he cared and then—
You do know I won't marry you.

She stopped and turned back, hating that he still had the power to hurt her, to leave her feeling helpless.

Blast him to hell.

She tilted her chin up and returned Jonathan's glare. No, Mr. Perry's glare. She'd lost the right to call him Jonathan when she'd rejected his outlandish proposal. Only it hadn't been a proposal, had it?

What type of man works to seduce a girl and then announces he won't marry her just before—just before—well, just before? She wasn't even going to think about what they'd almost done.

Only, as she stared across the room, all she could think about was just that.

How could she look at him and not remember the feel of his lips against her own, not remember the ache that had filled her as his hands trailed down her back, not remember the look in his eyes as she let her bodice drop?

It had been that look that had done her in. He'd looked at her as if she were all he'd ever wanted, all he'd ever need. She'd been his whole world.

Or so she'd thought.

He'd certainly been hers.

She turned away again, forced her feet to walk away from him. Now that she'd found out about Duldon and talked to Mr. Meyers there was no reason for her to stay. Nobody was going to ask her to dance, not tonight when she looked like death warmed over; it had been rare for anybody but Duldon to ever ask her to dance, at least not since…

She felt phantom fingers on her waist, felt her arm lifted, felt the whirl and the excitement. Her breath left her, her mind suddenly lost in the past, lost in the sheer joy of movement, the anticipation, the…

No. No. No.

That was the past.

This was now. She was soon to be soon to be married.

She kept walking.

She should not, could not think about Jonathan now, not think of how he'd made her feel, not think of all the dreams she'd had. And she definitely would not think about all they could've had together, even if just for that one night, that night she'd thought would be the most magical of her life.

Only…

A thought took her and held her.

She'd never had such a thought before, at least not for years. She looked back over her shoulder at Jonathan, let herself feel the sizzle that still flashed between them.

What if she said yes? It might be five years too late, but she doubted he'd turn her down. From what she understood men rarely turned a woman down—not for the type of offer she was thinking of.

She glanced down at herself, at the hideous green gown. She might not be the girl he'd known before, but…

And what of Mr. Meyers?

They were not actually engaged, but did she still owe him some loyalty? He was almost certainly expecting a virgin on their wedding night, someone pure and untouched. Or was he? What had her papa told him of that night long ago when she'd said no to Jonathan? She could not believe he had not talked of it. He would never have held his tongue on her account.

He'd better not have left a bastard in your belly,
had been her papa's only comment when she'd told him that she would not be seeing Mr. Perry anymore. She'd never bothered to enlighten him as to the real happenings of that night.

But had Papa told Mr. Meyers? It seemed like they'd discussed everything else, but then again, perhaps he'd thought her value would be higher as a virgin.

What did she owe Mr. Meyers?

He knew she was being forced by circumstance to wed him and he seemed to have no objection to that, so did she owe him anything?

Yes, she owed him something, but she owed herself more.

One night. Could she give herself one night with Jonathan? One night to explore everything she'd dreamed of years ago, to explore everything she'd never have the chance to experience in the future. Surely that was not too much to ask?

But what if Jonathan said no? He'd clearly found her resistible five years ago.

Did it have to be Jonathan? He was the only man who'd ever tried to seduce her, but she'd caught plenty of them staring at her breasts with clear desire.

It took less than the blink of an eye for her to know the answer.

Yes, it had to be Jonathan. No other man had ever stirred her the way he had. No other man had ever made her want things that no innocent lady should admit to, and yet she only had to catch a glimpse of Jonathan to know that she did want those things.

She wasn't even certain if it would still work with Jonathan. Yes, she'd felt something when she'd seen him this evening, but it had been as much pain as desire. There was something between them, but was it only the memory of the past that had her body stirring? Did she still want the things that had kept her up at night fantasizing for so many years?

Was it awful to not be sure and still be determined to move forward?

Lifting her eyes, she found him still watching her. She met his gaze and held it. She tried to let her thoughts, her wants, flow into her gaze, but was not sure if she was successful. He might just think she had something in her eye.

Still holding his gaze, she walked toward the garden door. Her lips curled up in the slightest of smiles as she eased out into the warm air. Pausing, her feet coming to stillness, she waited for the briefest of moments and then turned away, heading into the dark of the garden, the scent of roses surrounding her.

Did she want him to follow her? Once he had understood Sarah's every glance and nuance, but now Jonathan was not sure. Her expression had changed a dozen times in the last moments. She had changed so much since he had last seen her five years ago. Why would she wish him to follow her? The angry words that had marked their parting had left little room for future discussion. Still, that was five years ago. Surely much could be forgiven after five years.

So did he follow her?

Curiosity spurred him forward, but caution held him steady.

A dark garden and an unmarried lady could be a dangerous combination for an eligible gentleman. Would Sarah try to trap him? It had happened to his older brother, the heir to the earldom. Jonathan had never been willing to take the risk himself, had done everything in his power to be sure it never happened.

But he had never been a coward. And he did wish to know what had happened to Sarah. What had changed the vibrant girl he had known into this colorless creature?

Was he following her? It was hard to be sure as the dark enveloped her. The noise of the ballroom trailed out into the gardens, making it hard to hear footsteps, even her own. Sarah dodged about several courting couples and moved deeper into the shadows. If Jonathan was following her, she did not wish to be seen by anyone else, and certainly not overheard. What she had to say could ruin her if it became common gossip—and it most certainly would if anybody besides Jonathan heard her words.

There was the distinctive crunch of gravel. Someone was coming. Was it Jonathan? Who else would it be? Another couple? No. It was definitely a solitary step.

She stepped forward into the half-light and waited.

Her heart pounded, beating out of her chest. Was she really going to do this? Did she dare? Did she even still want to?

She squeezed her hands tight and then released. Yes. She did want to—and if she changed her mind, then she changed her mind. It was not as if he could think worse of her than he already did. His cruel words had made that very clear.

The slightest genuine smile marked her lips. She was crazy. She was thinking of how horrible Jonathan had been to her and at the same time contemplating inviting him to her bed.

Because that was what this was all about.

Well, perhaps not precisely her bed, but a bed. A big comfortable bed. Surely he would know where to find one. That was the type of thing men knew, wasn't it?

She was squeezing her hands again. Forcing them to softness, she allowed her whole body to relax.

“Sarah?”

Her head came up.

“Yes,” her voice came out as a whisper.

A very tall, very masculine figure strode toward her out of the darkness.

Her heart sped even faster.

He stopped a few feet in front of her.

She stepped back, wishing to hide herself in shadow. Let him remember the girl she had been, not the woman that she was. She'd been desirable back then; now—now, she was different. Diminished. Hardly the same woman who had once made his eyes flame with desire.

The soft scent of fresh-cut fields met her nostrils as he moved, following her. Was it just an inherent part of him? Or did they make cologne with such a scent? Her stomach quivered as memories filled her. She could remember burying her face in the curve of his neck, just above the crisp linen of his shirt, and simply breathing, feelings surrounding her, feelings of safety and warmth. If only she could close her eyes and return to that moment, return to that feeling.

“Did you wish to speak with me?” His voice was cool and sharp, piercing the darkness.

“Yes.” She said the single word and then could not find another to follow it. Her tongue seemed to swell until it filled her entire mouth, blocking all ability to speak.

He waited. She could feel him, feel his impatience, his desire to know what she wanted, why she had led him into the dark.

And still she could not speak.

He seemed so big, so broad, so foreign—and yet so desirable.

From across the room she had not felt it, but now it was unmistakable.

Her body remembered his, cried for his. She wanted to lean forward, to press her lips to him, to his cheek, his chin, to the curve of his shoulders, to the flat planes of his chest and abdomen, to…

She was older now, wiser and more knowledgable. At nineteen she'd known the feel of Jonathan's body, the strength, the hardness, but not how it all actually worked. Now she knew far more, at least in a technical sense. Though some of the things she'd been told seemed nigh impossible.

Her fingers reached out a few inches. She wanted to stroke him again, to try and…

His head jerked, his eyes following the movement of her hand.

She froze. She did not have the right to touch him. Not yet.

A great swallow.

With some trepidation, she lifted her chin and met his gaze. This should not be so hard.

Another swallow.

She had to find a way to speak. “You look well.” And wasn't that true.

“You do not.”

Her gaze dropped. Her feet moved back a step. That might also be true, but did he need to be so blunt? She did not remember him being cruel. Perhaps she should just go. It was clear he no longer found her attractive. “I am sorry. This was a foolish idea.” She tried to keep her voice from trembling.

“What was a foolish idea?”

“Never mind. It does not matter.” She took another step back, and then moved to the side trying to get around him.

“No.” His long fingers reached out and grabbed her arm, the heat of his hand warming her cold flesh.

“Please,” she said, trying to pull away.

“No. Tell me what you wanted, what would make you lure me to a dark garden after all these years.”

“It was not I who went away.”

He released a long sigh. “No, but that hardly matters. I doubt we would have spoken anyway after those last words.”

“And whose fault was that?” She could not hold back the bitterness that filled her tone.

“Yes, whose was it? It was not I who backed away and said I would find another.”

Had she said that? She remembered so little save her hurt and fury, fury that began to return. She could find strength in quiet fury. “How could you expect me to…?”

“To deliver what you had promised?”

“But you made promises too.”

“I believe the whole crux of the matter was that I did not make promises and wanted to be most clear about that.” His voice held an eerie calm.

She pressed her lips tight. “That is not fair. It was never fair.”

“I am not worried about being fair.” Even in the dark she could feel the heat of his gaze as it swept over her face, seeking, searching.

Just what did he want? And did she care? She'd given her whole heart to him, her whole being to him, once and he'd tossed it away without a care. Now it was time for her to take what she wanted.

Her heart was still beating fast; she could feel it pounding against her breast. Was it her anger? Was it nerves? Or simply being close to him? She hoped it was anger or nerves. It was unnerving to think that he still might have that much power over her.

“Then what were you worried about?” she asked. “What changed my friend and almost lover into…I don't even know how to describe how different you seemed. All I know is that suddenly everything changed.”

“It is you who changed. You who refused me.” His voice grew chilly.

Blast, this was not what she wanted. She needed to figure out how to seduce him, or how to make him seduce her. It had not seemed like such a difficult thing a few moments before. “Does that matter now? I want to try again.”

“To try what again?” Wary, it was he who took a step back.

She filled her chest and exhaled slowly, watching the stream of air ruffle the folds of his cravat. “I want a chance to say yes. I want to be your lover.”

“You do?” He could not hide his confusion.

Had she surprised him? The thought warmed her. It brought back memories of how carefree and eager she had once been. Now was the moment for bravery. “Yes, I do.”

He suddenly seemed taller than she had ever imagined and yet she had not seen him move. “You should know my sentiment has not changed. I have no intention of marriage; if anything I am less inclined than I was five years ago.”