"He had you," Jarrod said. "And he should have made sure your future was secure."
"He expected me to marry, Jays." Bristling at the note of criticism in Jarrod's tone of voice, Sarah glared at him. And once I married, he expected that my husband would provide a secure future for me."
"Then why the devil haven't you found someone who would?"
"I've only been in town a sennight. What would you have me do, Jays? Run about London proposing to every man I meet?"
"Of course not!" he snapped. "But a sennight appears to have been long enough for you to see Captain Howard, Lieutenant Slater, and Lord Deavers."
"Captain Howard sent a note after Papa died. Lord Deavers did the same. And I ran into Lieutenant Slater while walking Precious in the park."
"What the devil is a Precious?"
"Aunt Etta's spaniel." She looked up at him. "And Lieutenant Slater is the only young man I've spoken to except you."
"And he propositioned you over a spaniel! You've endured five seasons. Surely you must know someone in the market for a bride."
"I've only 'endured' three seasons," Sarah corrected. "Including this one. Aunt Etta was in mourning for her sister-in-law one season and Papa suffered through a bout of pleurisy during another. We didn't come to town those years."
"What about the other two?" he asked. "Didn't you meet anyone then? Or are you that hard to please?"
"Hard to please?" Sarah's voice rose an octave. "I'm not hard to please."
"Then why haven't you married?"
Because I've been waiting for you to ask me. Sarah had to bite her tongue to keep from blurting out the truth and facing another disappointment. So she settled for a half-truth. "Because I've decided to become the mistress of my own fate." She hazarded a glance at Jarrod. "And I cannot begin a career as a…" She hesitated.
"Courtesan?" Jarrod supplied the term.
Sarah nodded and continued, "… without practical experience, and I had hoped that you would find it in your heart" — she chose the same phrase Jarrod had used earlier — "to help me acquire the knowledge I'll need."
Frustrated by her stubbornness, irritated at her late father for dying and leaving his only child to fend for herself, and more tempted than he liked to admit by the audacious beauty standing before him, Jarrod raked his fingers through his hair, then bent down and retrieved her cloak from the floor. "I cannot do what you're asking me to do, Sarah." He draped her velvet cloak over her shoulders. It was still wet, but Jarrod tied the cords in a neat bow beneath her chin anyway.
Jarrod's dismissal hurt. Sarah bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering and counted the chimes of the clock on the mantel as she fought to maintain her composure. Her pride was in tatters and her hopeful dreams that Jarrod Shepherdston would welcome her into his arms were shattered, but she wasn't going to let him see her cry over them. "You can" she accused, "but you won't."
"I can't," he said.
"Is it me?" she asked, glancing down at the cloak Jarrod had used to cover her. "Is there something wrong with me? Something I should do? Or say? Or wear?" She looked up. "I know my nightdress is… isn't… I know it probably isn't the sort of garment your lovers usually wear, but I…"
"Sarah, there's nothing wrong with you or your nightdress." He swallowed hard in a valiant attempt to forget the sight of the damp white cotton nightgown clinging to her curves in all the right places. "You look very… very…" Beautiful. Seductive. "Appealing."
She smiled at him. "You find me appealing?"
"Very," Jarrod answered honestly.
"Then why won't you help me?"
"Sarah," he soothed, "try to understand. I'm a gentleman and I was brought up to believe that there are some boundaries a gentleman must never cross." He smiled at her. "Compromising the daughter of an old friend is one of those boundaries."
"And who taught you that principle of gentlemanly etiquette?" she retorted. "Your father?"
* * *
Chapter Five
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In every enterprise consider where you would come out.
— Publilius Syrus, first century B.C.
Jarrod froze as if she'd struck him and Sarah could have bitten out her tongue when she recognized the look of shock and surprise on his face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, instantly regretting her taunt. She stared at the toes of her slippers, too ashamed to look him in the eyes. It was one thing to challenge Jarrod into a war of words. She had always done that, but it was quite another to cause pain. Sarah had crossed the line when she resorted to using sins of the father in order to hurt the son.
It hadn't become common knowledge because the staff at Shepherdston Hall was extremely loyal and protective of Jarrod, but there were those in Helford Green who knew that the fifth Marquess of Shepherdston had been orphaned and inherited the title under secret and tragic circumstances. It had happened in London and Sarah had never learned the details, but she had heard enough of the scandalous whispers to fling a dart at Jarrod and have it strike home.
"No need to be sorry," he said. "In a roundabout way, I suppose I did learn that lesson in gentlemanly etiquette from my father. But only because your father schooled me in a different set of principles." Reaching out, Jarrod lifted Sarah's chin so he could see her face. "He taught you those same principles. Are you willing to compromise them, Sarah?"
Sarah lifted her chin out of his reach. "Yes, I am."
"Why?" Jarrod pinched the bridge of his nose. Sarah had been stubborn as a child and Jarrod could see that she hadn't changed in that regard. She was as stubborn as ever.
"To keep a roof over Aunt Etta's head. To keep food on the table and a fire in the hearth." To keep from being forced into marriage with Lord Dunbridge. Sarah reached into the pocket of her cloak for the calling card she'd been carrying since its arrival shortly after her father's funeral, searching for the familiar worn edges, but her pocket was empty. She glanced down at the floor, fighting her rising sense of dismay when she realized the card to which she had clung as a last resort — the calling card guaranteeing her an audience at Miss Jones's Home for Displaced Women — was gone.
Sarah bit her bottom lip. When it arrived, that calling card had seemed like the answer to her prayers. Especially since the other answer to her prayers had failed to materialize in the days and weeks and months following her father's funeral. Sarah had prayed she wouldn't need it. She had prayed Jarrod would ride to her rescue, but neither God nor Jarrod had heard her prayers and Sarah had held on to the card because it promised her a place to live if her outrageous plan failed and Jarrod disappointed her once again. She had lost the card, but she knew the name printed on it and the address on Portman Square. She couldn't present the card to gain an audience as the accompanying note had instructed, but the card had been addressed to her and sent by post to the rectory. Sarah consoled herself with the knowledge that while the card that had served as her personal talisman all the way from Helford Green to London was gone, whoever had sent the card would certainly recognize her name if she presented herself at the front door.
"If that's your reason, I'll buy you a house." Jarrod walked to his desk, pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen, and began to write. "I'll make you a gift of it and you and your aunt can live there for the rest of your lives."
"On what?" she asked.
Her question was food for thought that gave Jarrod pause. "On an allowance," he answered. "I'll provide you with a generous allowance with which to furnish the house and run the household. You can have servants, a carriage, the whole lot…"
"Thank you, Jays," Sarah replied sweetly. "And will you buy me a house on Curzon Street?"
"Yes," he agreed. "On Curzon Street or any street you want."
Sarah sighed. "Just like Lieutenant Slater."
"Not at all like Lieutenant Slater." Jarrod bristled at the suggestion and at the trap she'd set for him. A trap he'd failed to recognize.
"How is it different?"
&nb
sp; "Your aunt Henrietta can live there with you." He squeezed his eyes shut and searched for a graceful way out of the tangle he'd stepped into.
"Thank you, your lordship. That's most generous of you, but you know I can't accept a house from you." She pursed her lips at him and feigned a pout. "I'm surprised that you would be so bold as to suggest that I might. You are, after all, a bachelor and no relation to me or to Aunt Etta and…"
"Stop it, Sarah," he warned. "I'm in no mood to tolerate your baiting." His head ached from a night without sleep and his body ached with the need for sexual release.
"That's unfortunate, Jays, because I'm in no mood to have your charity thrust upon me."
"By Jupiter, Sarah, I'm not offering charity!" Jarrod placed his palm against the surface of his desk and caressed the wood grain in an effort to keep from pounding his fist against it.
"What would you call it?"
"A home," he snapped. "I would call what I'm offering you and your aunt a home."
"A home we couldn't possibly afford to purchase on our own."
"There wouldn't be any need to purchase it," Jarrod told her. "It would be a gift and, unlike Lieutenant Slater, I wouldn't expect convenient sexual congress in return for that gift."
Sarah blushed at his frankness. "Whether you did or you didn't wouldn't matter. My reputation would be ruined either way," Sarah pointed out. "And if that's the case, I'd prefer an equitable exchange of convenient sexual congress as payment for the roof over our heads."
"I can't believe you would rather prostitute yourself than accept a gift." Jarrod shook his head. "It makes no sense."
"Neither does the fact that accepting such a gift and linking my name to yours without benefit of clergy would mark me as a fallen woman whether I remained chaste or not," Sarah replied. "It's a matter of pride and a matter of choice. I'm a lady with no husband, father, uncle, or brother. I can't enter the dining room of my hotel without a chaperone or ride down St. James's Street in an open carriage, or pay a call on any unmarried man for any reason without damaging my reputation." She looked at Jarrod. "I'd rather sacrifice that reputation for a purpose than lose it for no reason at all."
"Be reasonable, Sarah…"
"I am being reasonable."
They faced each other over the width of Jarrod's desk. Jarrod snorted.
"All right, then," Sarah invited, "tell me your definition of reasonable."
"Accepting the house I've offered."
"Done," Sarah announced, extending her hand for him to shake. "I'll accept your offer of a house, if you'll agree to become my protector and tutor me in the art of seduction."
Jarrod groaned. "You know I can't do that."
"Then we seem to have reached an impasse."
Jarrod thought for a moment, seeking a solution to an impossible problem. "I'll help you find a husband."
Sarah took a deep breath and played devil's advocate. "What makes you think I want one?"
"All young ladies want husbands," he answered. "No one chooses the life of a courtesan."
It was Sarah's turn to snort in disbelief. "Really? Think again. Or better yet, look around you, Jays. If you were a female would you choose to become a wife? Would you choose to become some strange man's chattel when you could remain unmarried and choose your own path? A mistress has a much better life than a wife."
"Some" — he emphasized the word — "mistresses have better lives than some wives. But you're fooling yourself if you assume that is always the case. Mistresses can be as maltreated and neglected as wives."
"Thank you very much for enlightening me about the standards of our society," she retorted.
"It's the least I can do," Jarrod answered in kind. "To prepare you for the path you seem determined to pursue."
Sarah gave him a sugary sweet smile. "It's the very least you can do. For I'm quite certain that you could prepare me for a great many things I'll need to know in order to succeed."
"Succeed?" The idea caught him off guard.
"Of course, succeed," she said. "What is the point of sacrificing myself otherwise? If I can't do well enough to support myself and provide a home where Aunt Etta can live out the remainder of her days in the manner in which she's most comfortable, why bother?" She looked at Jarrod. "If I were on my own, I could seek another type of employment, but I am not on my own. I have Aunt Etta to consider."
"Have you?" Jarrod challenged. "You just refused the offer of a house. I don't think you've given any thought to Aunt Etta's situation."
"Of course I have," Sarah argued. "I've thought of little else since Lord Dunbridge forced us to vacate the rectory."
Jarrod arched an eyebrow. "And the best you could come up with was a harebrained scheme of sneaking out of a hotel room in the middle of the night and traipsing about town in your nightgown in order to tempt me into helping you begin a career as a part of the Cyprian corps?"
Sarah stared at him. "Were you tempted, Jays?"
"Yes, Sarah, I was tempted," he admitted. "Am tempted. But I've been tempted before by women who were experts in the art."
"Did you succumb to their temptation?"
Jarrod smiled a teasing sort of smile. "What sort of gentleman would I be if I answered that?"
"An honest one?" she suggested.
"Perhaps," he mused. "But I could also be a lying braggart, and, in any case, I refuse to answer an impudent question simply to satisfy your virginal curiosity."
"Then kiss me."
"What?"
"Give in to temptation and satisfy my virginal curiosity at the same time. I won't tell," she whispered, moving closer. "No one need know."
"I'll know, Sarah," Jarrod told her. "And so will you." He looked down at her. "I'll know I crossed the boundary no gentleman should ever cross and you'll know you tempted me into it."
"I'll know you chose not to resist," Sarah contradicted.
"And I'll know you've chosen a life for which you're entirely ill-suited."
Sarah heaved an exasperated sigh.
"There is no getting around it. You were meant to be a wife, Sarah. No matter what you believe about the inequality of marriage, you were meant to be married. You were meant to have a husband and children."
That was true. And she wanted both one day. But she wanted Jarrod to be her husband and since that wasn't likely to happen, she'd make certain the man the magistrate had in mind as her guardian and husband wouldn't want her. Marriage was permanent. If she married someone else, she wouldn't be free to marry Jarrod or become his lover and, unlike a great many ladies of the ton, Sarah would not forsake her vows. If she took the vows of matrimony, she meant to keep them. She wouldn't commit adultery for Jarrod or for anyone else. "I'd rather remain unmarried than spend the rest of my life with a man I don't love."
"Yet you profess to wanting to share your body with a multitude of men you don't love," Jarrod mused.
"Who's to say I wouldn't love one or two of them?" she asked.
"Who's to say you would?" he shot back.
I would, Sarah thought. Especially if Jarrod was one of them. Because she had been madly in love with Jarrod Shepherdston since she was five and that wasn't likely to change. Unfortunately, neither was the fact that Jarrod had never made any bones about his distrust of marriage. Sarah was under no illusions. Jarrod simply wasn't in the market for a marchioness and as long as he remained opposed to marriage, so would she.
"And what of your aunt's feelings? What of her dreams and aspirations for you? Have you thought about those? Or about how your decision to join the ranks of the demimonde will affect her? How she will feel when members of the ton ostracize you? How she will feel when the ladies who stood in line beside you as you made your curtsies give you the cut direct when they cannot cross the street to avoid meeting you? And if your aunt lives with you, she'll be tarred with the same brush and her reputation will be as blackened as yours. How is she going to feel when lifelong friends and acquaintances no longer acknowledge her?"
"Her t
rue friends will acknowledge her," Sarah said. "Those who don't aren't worth worrying about."
"That's your opinion," Jarrod interjected. "Your aunt may feel differently."
"She won't," Sarah affirmed.
"How do you know? Did you ask her?" He pinned Sarah with a look. "Did you discuss this with her or did you decide the best course of action on your own?"
"I saw no point in worrying her with the details."
"So you waited until she fell asleep, then crept out of the hotel."
"And came to you for help." Sarah looked him in the eye, then crossed the floor and reached for the doorknob. "My mistake."
Jarrod took a step toward her. "I'll speak to Lord Dunbridge about the living. Perhaps I can persuade him to change his mind about Reverend Tinsley."
"We don't need your intercession, Jays," Sarah told him. "There are other places Aunt Etta and I can go. We'll be fine."
"Blast it, Sarah! You came to me for help — "
Sarah turned in the doorway at the sound of her name. "And you refused. Remember?"
"I refused to seduce you," he corrected. "I didn't refuse other forms of help. Now, tell me how long before the magistrate makes his decision?"
Sarah bit her bottom lip.
"How long?" he repeated, a bit more forcefully.
"Three weeks."
"Well," Jarrod pronounced, "I'm sure we can come to some arrangement. Dunbridge is a businessman. If I can't persuade him to change his mind about the reverend in three weeks' time, I'm sure I can convince him of the benefits of providing you and your aunt with a place to live."
"Thank you, Lord Shepherdston." She bowed her head and executed a formal curtsy that set Jarrod's teeth on edge. "I'll see myself out."
Jarrod was tempted to let her. But he was a gentleman and his manners and his protective instincts prevailed. He glanced at the clock. It was nearly half past five. The household would be stirring soon and his day would begin with a morning ride and breakfast with his godfather, Lord Mayhew, followed by a meeting of the Free Fellows League in their usual room at White's. "Wait!"
"Yes?" Sarah tried, but failed to conceal the hopeful note in her voice.