The Offer (10 page)

Phillip felt her shuddering, trying to pull away from him, and cursed to himself. He'd frightened her. “It's going to be all right. I'm nearly done drying you. Just hold still, Sabrina.”

“I'm trying,” she said, but then she looked up at him, met his eyes, and knew that if he didn't let her go very quickly she was going to embarrass him and kiss him until she was breathless. Oh, dear, surely she wasn't supposed to ever feel like that. It was because she was still ill, because she was still weak, because she trusted him, at least in this. In what?

Phillip felt a ton of lust bearing down on him. No, no, he wasn't about to take advantage of her. Here she was shuddering from fear, from cold, from—he didn't know what, and he wanted to mount her. He was a bastard. Without looking at her again, he bundled her up in the dressing gown and carried her to a chair next to the fire.

“It's time for your servant to carry out another duty. Behold your new maid.” He turned away from her before she could reply and pulled the blankets and sheets from the bed.

Sabrina watched him work. He looked nice, despite his wrinkled shirt that was open a goodly way down his chest, a chest that had dark hair on it. She looked into the fireplace. This was better. He wasn't here to
make her think stupid things, to make her body feel stupid things. Still, she wondered about those strange feelings low in her belly when he'd touched her, stupid feelings for all that, feelings a woman didn't need, particularly this woman. She pictured Trevor in her mind's eye. Now, the revulsion she'd felt for him, that was what was appropriate to feel. That was safe because it was revolting. She'd just never imagined. Well, now she knew. She shook her head, bemused, and raised her head when he came back to brush her wet hair.

Sabrina slept through the afternoon and awoke near sunset. She lay quietly for some minutes, sniffing in the faint lavender scent of the clean sheets and the faint jasmine scent from her bath. She raised her hand to her hair, carefully arranged about her head. It was dry, all of it, and soft. No more oily braid. He'd complained constantly for five minutes, the length of time it took him to get all the tangles out of her wet hair. In fact, she grinned, then laughed. That made her cough.

The cough brought her struggling up to her elbows to catch her breath. She wasn't surprised at all to hear Phillip's booted footsteps on the stairs.

“Drink this, Sabrina. It's got honey in it. I've kept it warm for you, just in case. It will soothe your throat. Slowly now. That's right.”

It was strong hot tea. The honey in it made it slide down her throat.

She lay back against the pillow and gave him a brooding look. “I think that girl must have been mad.”

Phillip placed the teacup on the night table and sat on the bed beside her. In an unconscious gesture, he smoothed a lock of auburn hair from her forehead.

“What girl? Any girl I know?”

“The girl you were once engaged to, the girl you
mentioned when you were trying to pry me open yesterday, and her name slipped out of your mouth, and then I had you.”

“Actually, she wasn't mad, but perhaps she is now. Who knows? One can only pray.”

“What was she?”

“She wasn't honorable. Do you understand that?”

“All I know is that if I made a promise to someone, I would stick to it unless someone was torturing me too much for me to bear.”

“Yes, that's exactly how I feel about honor.”

“You don't still pine for her, do you, Phillip?”

“Pine? What a foolish word. No, I rarely even think about her now. It's just that she's in London so I still see her and remember. Perhaps the memories are good to have. They keep perspective. They discourage acting before thinking things through thoroughly. Just why do you think her mad?”

“It's obvious. With you about, Phillip, she would have been able to make so many economies. She would hardly have required more than one servant.”

“I am rather a good servant, aren't I? Throughout my life I've done bits and pieces of things, but never so much in so little an amount of time. Actually, truth be told, I'm relieved that I was able to make food that we could digest. I have only one major failure.”

“Oh no, surely not. Even the flat bread that you didn't mean to be flat was still all right. Come, what is this major failure? Come, tell me. I'm sure I can talk you out of it.”

“You don't trust me. I've done everything I can think of, used every argument that came to mind, but it does no good. You don't trust me. I've told you stories that have spanned my twenty-six years, but the recounting left you unmoved. You still don't trust me. You haven't told me anything that would enable me
to help you. Now, you are a good liar. With a few more years, you should be nearly as good as I am. But lies aren't what are needed here.”

She'd made one stupid remark about that Elaine person and just look where it had gotten her. A sermon about trust. Well, curse it and curse him. She smoothed the green coverlet over her lap and stared at the bedposts.

She'd closed down again. Well, damn. He felt a surge of anger and savored it. “You must know,” he said now, his voice turning hard, “that the servants who care for this house will be able to return any day now. The weather has warmed and the snow is melting. If I'm to help you return safely to your family—wherever they may live—you will have to make a clean breast of it. Was Diablo your horse, Sabrina? Did you grandfather shoot him?”

Her head snapped around so fast, he nearly laughed. But he didn't, just gave her that hard-eyed stare. “How do you know about Diablo? I was only ten years old. My sister took him without my knowing of it and crammed him over a fence.” The memory swamped her. She felt her throat closing. It had been eight years ago.

“What happened?”

“He broke his leg on the landing. He had to be put down. How did you know about Diablo?”

“You were delirious in your fever. You cried out about him.”

He read the fear on her face and he wanted to shake her. “Did I speak of anything else?”

“Trevor.”

“Yes, Trevor,” she repeated and turned away from him.

Phillip wanted to shake her but he couldn't. When she was well enough to shake but good, it would be
too late. He rose and looked down at her. “If you don't tell me the truth, if you don't arm me with the facts I need to protect you, then you reduce me to nothing. Listen to me. No matter what happened, I can help you, if you'll but tell me the truth.”

“What happened to me has nothing to do with you, Phillip. I'm nearly well. By tomorrow morning I should be completely fit. It you would take me to Borhamwood, to the posting house, you need never see me again.”

“I can't do that, Sabrina, and you must know that I can't. You're a young lady. You're eighteen years old. I can't assist you to escape from your family and put you on a common stage to London. You cannot begin to imagine the sort of man you could meet on that stage. No, I would never do that. Forget it, and tell me the truth.”

He would bend, but he wouldn't break. He'd drawn the line across the path. She didn't look at him, just shook her head. After he left her to go to the kitchen to make their dinner, she thought long and hard about her plan. It hadn't been fair to involve him even in that. No, she couldn't very well expect an honorable man to put her on a stage bound for London.

Phillip appeared thoughtful during the evening. He didn't say much, but she knew he was aware of her, aware of how many bites of his stew she'd eaten, how many mouthfuls of bread she'd chewed. She knew he was worried about her. For a moment she felt uncertain. Then she thought about the hideous chaos that would await her at Monmouth Abbey were she to allow him to take her back there. It was all she could do not to shudder.

“You told me you were visiting friends here in Yorkshire,” she said, hating the interminable silence,
for it wasn't a comfortable silence, a companionable silence.

“Yes, that's what I told you.”

“Who is this friend?”

He was looking down at his filthy Hessians. He said without looking up, “Undoubtedly he's a friend of yours—Sir Charles Askbridge.”

Charlie.
She had to keep calm, act all sorts of ignorant and indifferent. She smiled. “Mayhap that name is a bit familiar to me.”

He didn't pretend boredom now. “As you well know, Sabrina, Charles's Yorkshire home is called Moreland. Even though the directions he provided me led me into Eppingham Forest and thus to find you, I would wager that Moreland isn't too far distant from here.”

Moreland was no more than seven miles distant. Charlie loved to hunt in the forest since he'd been a boy. And he knew Phillip. How very close Phillip had been to his destination. She shrugged and pretended to study her fingernails.

“I imagine that you quite like Charles. Everyone does. What do you think of his younger sister, Margaret? She's not much older than you are.”

Margaret was twenty, just between Sabrina and Elizabeth. She shook her head and stared at him with a vacant expression. He was angry, but he held it in very well. She was impressed. “You were riding by yourself. Isn't that unusual for a viscount?”

“I left my incredible retinue of servants in Leeds. I struck out on my own, feeling brave and ready for adventure. Instead look what I got myself into. Would you like the rest of my traveling details? Of course you would. I imagine you are aware of the rounds of Christmas parties held outside of London at this time of year. Even though you look blank as a schoolboy's
slate, I know that you do. Don't get me wrong. You're an excellent actress. It's just that I've come to know you very well. In any case, Charles invited me to Moreland and gave me directions that led me to this isolated place. I had sent my valet ahead. I had this romantic notion about becoming one with nature. What rot. So you see, Sabrina, it is probable that both Charles and your family are now out looking for us.” He added, his voice so serious she again nearly spilled her innards, “It can't be longer than a day now, two at the most before they find us.”

She knew that he was right, but held her tongue. At last she had an idea. She yawned and stretched. “Your delicious dinner has lulled my stomach and now my head. I think I'd like to sleep now.” She yawned again and snuggled down under the covers.

“Thank the good Lord I was never burdened with a sister.” He looked heavenward, then back down at her. His eyes were bleak. “There's a world waiting outside this room, Sabrina. I would that you think about that.” He leaned over and patted her on the cheek. “Good night. Sleep well.”

She wanted to thank him, but she couldn't, not now. “Good night, Phillip.” She closed her eyes and turned her head away.

Phillip blew out the candle and walked from her room to a bedchamber down the hall. Since she no longer needed his constant attention during the night, he had begun the previous night to sleep in another room, in a lumpy bed that was marginally more comfortable than the cramped chair in Sabrina's room.

Sabrina lay quietly in the darkened room reviewing her plan. With the snow melting, her grandfather—no matter what he thought of her now—would have an army of men out searching for her. Even if her grandfather believed her dead, he would search. She
couldn't begin to envision the bloody battleground at Monmouth Abbey if she were found and returned to him. He was too old and frail for that. She knew that there would be no way to keep the truth from him—Elizabeth's betrayal of her and Trevor's attempted rape—it would all come out. She wouldn't bring such bitter disillusion to her grandfather. She wouldn't destroy all his plans and hopes. She wondered if Trevor truly would try to kill him if she returned. She didn't know. She couldn't afford to find out.

She could never go home. No, she wouldn't cry. It wouldn't help, it would solve naught. She thought of her plan. It was simple and straightforward. So who cared if she was still a bit weak? Not all that weak, surely, not too weak to walk just a bit and ride just a bit. No, she could do that.

She slipped quietly from her bed, lit the candle on the night table, and padded on bare feet to the small desk near the fireplace. She found a pen and several scraps of paper and quickly wrote the lines she'd silently rehearsed for the past two hours. She felt sadness when she closed her note, “. . . please forgive me, Phillip, but I cannot stay here any longer. I thank you for saving my life. Now I must take care of myself.” Her fingers paused, and then she quickly added, “I'll never forget you. Sabrina.” She decided she'd write to her grandfather once she reached London.

She found her clothes and cloak, rumpled but dry, hanging in the armoire. She tugged off the man's dressing gown and pulled on her dress. She felt strong and certain of herself. This time she would succeed. She picked up the three pounds that Phillip had laid in a neat stack atop the table, and slipped them into the pocket of her cloak. She pulled the three blankets from the bed to wrap around herself once she was on her way.

Her boots didn't make any sound as she walked as quietly as she could down the front stairs, both hands on the railing. She still felt strong, still felt sure of herself and what she was going to do. By the time she reached the outside kitchen door, she was ready to run all the way to Borhamwood. It felt incredible to be well again, to be strong again, and competent.