Desperately Seeking a Scoundrel by Elisa Braden

Author:Elisa Braden
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Elisa Braden
Published: 2015-12-08T00:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Just when I suppose you have exhausted every idiotic notion, you pull an old relic down from the shelf and dust it off for another go.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her nephew upon news of his third reprimand at Oxford.

“An engagement?” mumbled Sarah’s mother an hour later. Eleanor removed a hairpin from between her lips and stabbed it into Sarah’s coiffure. “Are you certain you did not mistake his meaning?”

Sarah ran her hand over her mother’s handiwork. Tamed, she thought with relief. For now. “No mistake. I told him it was preposterous. That was the word I used. Preposterous.” She rose from the small stool and set her borrowed brush on the borrowed dressing table. “You are to act as our chaperone, apparently.”

Eleanor deliberately eyed the breakfast tray Colin had delivered earlier—still piled with food she’d been unable to finish—then looked back at Sarah. “It appears you need one.”

Scoffing with perhaps too much enthusiasm, Sarah replied, “Gracious me, Mama. Nothing has happened.” It was true. He had left her bedchamber after their almost-kiss. The disappointment had knocked the breath out of her. But, she supposed one did not form a habit of kissing the object of one’s pity.

Her mother stared at her with a mother’s eerie knowledge.

“Well, nothing alarming, in any event.”

More silence and speculation.

Sarah cleared her throat. “The Duke and Duchess of Blackmore are waiting to make our acquaintance in the drawing room. Mrs. Poole should be here any moment to escort us downstairs.”

“Sarah.”

She smoothed her hands down the folds of her gown, cringing at the worn, checked fabric, the dull brown color. It was the same dress she had worn yesterday, for their trunks remained on their cart. Colin had mentioned new gowns. Shamefully, she found her will weakening, her pride crumbling beneath the onslaught of temptation. She mustn’t give in. To accept his preposterous plan was to imply that a union between her and a man like Colin—handsome, wealthy, sensual, charming—was even possible. No, she knew precisely who she was. And who he was. And why he could never feel the same melting weakness for her as she did every time she glimpsed his lean hands or perfect chin or beautiful blue eyes.

Still, a new gown or two would be lovely. Her hand brushed over the black band on her arm. How dearly she wished to wear full black, to honor her father in that way.

“Sarah, look at me.”

The demand came from her mother, so she obeyed.

As always, Eleanor was tidy and composed, her skin pale, showing only subtle signs of her age and hardships in fine creases at the corners of her eyes and lips. Now, concern wrinkled her brow. “You mustn’t let him persuade you to actions which could result in … well, in new burdens … of a permanent nature.”

Sarah felt heat rise and tingle in her cheeks. “Mama,” she protested. “If I agree to his plan—and that is unlikely—we would be pretending to be engaged. It would be a drama, a stage play.

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