The Blanchland Secret
From Chapter 1
"Engrossed in her thoughts, she
stepped off the pavement and someone bumped into her,
knocking all the breath out of her body. The roses went
flying across the cobblestones. Sarah lost her balance
and would have fallen were it not for an arm that went
hard around her waist, steadying her.
"I beg your
pardon, ma'am," A masculine voice exclaimed. "Devilish
clumsy of me!"
The gentleman set Sarah gently on her feet and removed
his arm from about her with what she considered to be
unnecessary slowness. He turned to gather up the
scattered flowers, but he was too late. A carriage,
bowling along at a smart pace, neatly severed the heads
of half of them.
"Oh no!" Sarah went down on her knees again
to try to rescue those that were left, but even they were
bruised, their petals drooping. She sat back on her
heels, holding the sad bouquet in her hand.
"Pray have some sense, madam! You are likely to
be squashed flat if you remain in the road!"
The gentleman took Sarah firmly by the elbow and
hauled her to her feet again. There was considerably less
courtesy in voice this time. Sarah stepped back and
glared at him furiously.
"I thank you for your concern, Sir. A pity you
did not think of the danger before you consigned my roses
to precisely that fate."
The gentleman did not answer at once, merely raising
one dark eyebrow in somewhat quizzical fashion. His
thoughtful gaze, very dark and direct, considered Sarah
from her skewed bonnet to her sensible shoes, pausing on
her flushed face and lingering on the curves of her
figure beneath the practical pelisse. Sarah raised her
chin angrily. Her experience of gentlemen was
indisputably small, but she had no trouble in recognising
this one as a rake - nor in reading the expression in his
eyes. His was a tall and athletic figure, set off to
perfection by an elegance of tailoring seldom found in
conservative Bath society. London polish, Sarah thought
immediately, remembering Amelia's description of her
years in the capital and the intimidatingly handsome
gentlemen who had flocked to her balls and soirees. This
gentleman had thick fair hair ruffled by the winter
breeze, its lightness a striking contrast to the dark
brown eyes that were appraising her so thoroughly. A
slight smile was starting to curl his firm mouth as he
took in the angry sparkle in Sarah's eyes, the outraged
blush rising to her cheeks.
"I can only apologise again, madam," the
gentleman said smoothly. "I was so taken in admiring
the beauties of this city," the amusement in his
eyes deepened, "that I was utterly engrossed."
Sarah felt an answering smile starting and repressed
it ruthlessly. There was something here that was
surprisingly hard to resist; some indefinable charm,
perhaps, or more dangerously, an affinity that was as
disturbing as it was unexpected. The gentleman exuded a
careless confidence and a vitality that seemed to set him
apart. Bath was full of invalids, Sarah realised, and it
was almost shocking to meet someone who seemed so very
alive. The strangest thing of all was that he seemed
vaguely familiar. The combination of fair hair and dark
eyes was very unusual and definitely stirred her memory.
She paused, unaware that she was staring and that the
quizzical twinkle in the gentleman's eyes had changed to
thoughtful speculation.
"I beg your pardon, but have we met before, Sir?"
Sarah frowned slightly. "There is something familiar-"
Too late, she realised just how he might misinterpret her
question. She had been thinking aloud and bit her lip,
vexed with herself.
The gentleman's dark eyebrows rose fractionally and
there was a certain cynicism in his drawl as he said:
"You flatter me, ma'am! I should say that we could
be very good friends if you so choose-"
The colour flooded into Sarah's cheeks. She stopped
dead, regardless of curious glances from the other
shoppers in Milsom Street. "That was hardly my
intention, Sir! I would scarcely attempt to scrape an
acquaintance in so ramshackle a manner, particularly with
a gentleman who is an undoubted rake. Your assumptions do
you no credit. Good day to you, Sir!"
Guy, Viscount Renshaw, watched the slender figure walk
purposefully away from him. A faint, rueful smile curved
his lips. He saw the lady reach the corner of the street,
saw her pause to exchange greetings with a gentleman
coming the other way and noted with quickened interest
that the gentleman was his good friend, Greville Baynham.
Reflecting that it was fortunate that Bath society was
proving to be so close-knit, Guy strolled across the
street just as Greville took his leave of the lady.
"Sorry I was so long, old fellow." Greville
gave his friend an amiable grin. "Saw a pair of
Purdeys that took my fancy. I hope that you found enough
to amuse you in my absence?"
"Oh, I was well entertained," Guy said
lazily, watching Sarah disappear out of sight. She had a
very trim figure, he thought, good enough to challenge
any of the accredited London beauties. Those hazel eyes,
set in the wide, pure oval of her face, were magnificent...
He realised that Greville had addressed another remark to
him and was waiting patiently for his response.
"I merely asked whether you would care to take
the spa waters?" His friend said with a quizzical
look. "Though perhaps you have found other
attractions more to your liking? Bath is a slow place
these days, especially out of season, but-"
"But not as slow as all that." Guy turned a
thoughtful look on his friend. "Tell me, Grev, who
is the lady to whom you were speaking just now?"
Greville frowned, pushing a hand through his ruffled
brown hair. "The lady?" His brow cleared.
"Oh, you mean Miss Sheridan? Save yourself the
trouble if you thought to strike up a flirtation there,
Guy. She don't give rakes the time of day!"
Guy laughed. "I believe you, although she did
claim an acquaintance with me. Thought I had mistaken her
quality until she gave me the coolest set-down I've ever
experienced." Guy frowned a little. "Sheridan,
did you say? The name is familiar...Why yes, I remember
her! Well, I'll be damned."
Greville burst out laughing. "Doing it too brown,
Guy! I don't believe you've ever met the lady before!"
"No, I assure you!" Guy looked triumphant.
"Miss Sheridan is the daughter of the late Lord
Sheridan, is she not? She is also my father's God-daughter,
and though I have not seen her for an age it must be the
same girl. We were practically childhood friends!"
Greville's shoulders slumped. "Devil take it, Guy.
Of all the cursed luck."
Guy gave his friend a pained look. "Surely you
mean it is a charming co-incidence? And as you evidently
know the lady, you will be able to furnish me with her
direction-"
Greville groaned. "Don't do it, Guy! Miss
Sheridan is Lady Amelia Fenton's cousin and Amelia will
string me up if you try to get up a flirtation with Sarah!"
Guy smiled. He had heard quite a lot about Greville's
hopeless passion for Lady Amelia only the previous night,
when his friend had been in his cups and musing on the
cruelty of womankind. Guy had imagined that Bath would
prove very shabby genteel now that it had passed its
heyday as a fashionable spa, yet the staid society was
promising several intriguing possibilities. Greville had
made no secret of the fact that he intended to press his
suit with the lovely Lady Amelia and now there was Miss
Sheridan... Remembering the flash in those beautiful
hazel eyes as Sarah had administered her set-down, Guy
was forced into a reluctant grin. He had noticed her as
soon as she had come out of the florists with those
wretched roses in her arms. Beneath the prim bonnet, her
hair had been the colour of autumn leaves; not brown or
gold or amber, but a mixture of all three. She had held
herself with an unconscious grace, slender and straight,
and despite her demure appearance she was far from
priggish. There had been a hint of laughter in her eyes
and a smile on those pretty lips, and he had known that,
for all her propriety, she had been attracted to him. It
was a shame that his father was also Sarah Sheridan's
Godfather. Guy acknowledged that that would preclude the
sort of relationship that had sprung to mind on first
seeing her. Nevertheless, it gave him the perfect excuse
to pursue the acquaintance and that was a thought that
held definite appeal... "
