She stumbled out of bed, and with the help of her lady’s maid, donned a riding habit that left little to the imagination. It was tight enough to show off what little curve she had and clung tightly to her bosom—which her aunt had pointed out, was her best and only asset. She pulled on her gloves and went down the stairs.
“My dear, we have a change of plans.” Her aunt was in an elaborate ball gown saying something French to the woman nearest her. “My gown is to have crystals sewn onto it!” Her voice gave away her excitement making Sara smile for her. “I must stay here.” She didn’t look Sara in the eye, instead she said, “Oh, and Lord Renwick is waiting for you in the study. He has graciously consented to escort you to the park for an hour or so to aid you in familiarizing yourself with some of the more famous of the ton.”
Sara wanted to scream. Wasn’t it bad enough she had to be escorted by him to the ball, now she had to spend even more time with the man? She held her tongue and smiled. “Shall I be off then?”
Her aunt looked up from her dress. “Well, hurry on.”
Sara did a quick curtsy and walked into the study. Lord Renwick’s back was facing her, giving her adequate time to size him up. His pantaloons tightened over thickly muscled thighs, and her eyes traced up his velvet coat and smoothly pressed shirt. His hair was a little unruly, possibly from the ride, but it gave him an air of danger she had grown to admire about him.
He turned quickly, meeting her gaze. She dropped into a curtsy and heard him sigh as if annoyed by her presence “Lady Fenton informs me she will not be joining us?” He was glaring at her.
“No, my lord. That is, she was planning to come but has a pressing matter to attend to with her modiste. If you would like to reschedule, I’m sure—“
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Surely you don’t think I am afraid to be alone with you?” He smirked in her direction. His moods seemed as unstable as her breathing.
She backed up into the wall. “Of course not, my lord. That wasn’t my intention. I was merely thinking it would be unwise to be without a chaperone.”
His eyes flashed with anger as he walked quickly toward her. He stopped inches from her face. “I am not the one you need to be worried about.”
“So you’ve told me,” she answered boldly.
His eyes widened as an amused smile broke out on his face. He dangled his hand in front of her. “Shall we?”
“Lead the way,” she muttered somewhat sarcastically. He obviously caught her disdain and laughed ironically.
“You don’t like me,” he announced rather smugly once they were facing each other in the carriage.
She scowled. “Whatever would give you that idea, my lord?” She smiled sweetly at the end, possibly sealing her fate as his least favorite person.
His eyes crinkled at the corners giving him a cheerful look. “Have I offended you?”
“When have you not offended me?” she retorted impulsively, thinking about the masquerade and the insults of the day that followed.
At that he laughed a little too hard for Sara’s liking. His expression sobered when he saw the disdain in her eyes. “My dear, I am trying my best to help you. Tonight would be trying for the most normal of girls.”
Her stomach lurched. How often was this Adonis to remind her of her contrasting plainness. “And I’m not normal.” She said it without emotion as she looked into his icy gaze.
“No,” he finally answered. “You are not.” His voice was strained.
“I understand.” She looked down at her hands and played with her gloves. A change of subject was needed. “How long will we be in the park, my lord?”
Nicholas looked confused about the subject change but shrugged his shoulders in response, “As long as it takes.”
“As long as what takes?” she asked.
He smiled brightly. “You’ll see.”
Minutes later, he was helping her out of the carriage. Several people were walking through the park arm and arm, and many more single ladies with chaperones were chattering away. As she linked her arm within Lord Renwick’s, a blanketed hush fell upon the once chatty people of the ton. They whispered; some men smiled at her wickedly. Naturally they must think her ugly, too. She tried to brave a smile but found it terribly trying. After about ten minutes, Lord Renwick abruptly stopped the walk and turned toward Sara.
“Hold still,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
It wasn’t difficult for Sara to oblige. After all, he was yet again only inches away from her. Whenever he was near, she felt positively paralyzed with a nervous sensation in her stomach.
“I’m going to lean in,” he warned without looking at her. His words were hot on her ear. “When I say now, I want you to slap me.”
That was not what she was expecting. “My lord?” she whispered. Why on earth was she to slap him? Was this some sort of sick game?
“Trust me,” he said again into her ear. And for some odd reason she did. “Now,” he instructed.
Without a second thought, she sent her hand flying across Lord Renwick’s cheek. He wasn’t braced for impact like she had expected, and he nearly lost his balance; he grabbed her arm to steady himself then swore. “Blast! Sai! I didn’t mean for you to kill me!” His face bore the blazing imprint of her hand.
Sara smiled behind her hands as they covered her mouth. It felt good to slap him, and he really did deserve it. She looked around and was shocked to find every single person in the park staring at her. How did they know what was even happening? Before she knew it, Lord Renwick was guiding her back into the carriage, still holding his crimson cheek.
He was glaring at her as the door closed. “I said slap, not imprint your hand onto my face,” he snapped.
She smiled sweetly. “Oh, I’m sorry, my lord. I must not have heard you correctly. You did instruct me to slap you, did you not?” She masked her sarcasm with the most innocent face she could muster as his eyes darted between her mouth and her eyes.
“No, you—” He didn’t finish. Instead he huffed like a little boy who was just informed he wouldn’t be allowed to stay up past his bedtime.
“I what?” she prompted, leaning forward.
He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “You slap hard for a chit.”
“Strong words from a man who merely a few years ago bedded half the ton, don’t you think?”
The look in his eyes should have made her squirm. They nearly went black with rage, then suddenly taking on a gentler illusion, he turned away and ground out, “I’m sorry I called you a chit.” The words were sharp-edged, but it was the best apology she would receive.
“And I’m sorry I hurt you,” Sara conceded, leaning against the window frame.
His head shook as if to contradict her, but he said nothing. Instead he rubbed the still red spot on his face. “Where did you learn to hit like that?”
Laughing quietly she announced, “I slap trees.” She was flirting. Odd, because she wasn’t aware she knew how, but that was exactly what was taking place. She should be more careful. The man sitting across from her reeked of danger, yet she couldn’t help but tease him. It’s not that it would do any harm. After all, she was ugly and he wasn’t the least bit attracted to her.
His eyes sparked a bit as he took his hand off of his face. “Trees? You slap trees? Whatever for?”
“Well,” she said leaning forward and scandalously pulling off her glove—something she was told by her aunt never to do. “A woman’s hands are very delicate.”
Sara looked up and noticed his eyes were positively smoldering back at her. Must he always be so angry? She was having a bit of fun. Joking would be good for him.
“And?” he asked hoarsely.
“And,” she said lifting an eyebrow in interest, “If a girl slaps trees, it helps toughen the hands up. It also builds strength, so when a certain girl is approached by a certain rake, she has the strength to…”
“Torture him?” Lord Renwick interjected, though the look in his eyes told her he wasn’t talking about the tree anymore.
She leaned back as if stung and quickly put her glove on. Somehow the tables had turned. What started as harmless flirting now felt like extremely dangerous territory. Her own heartbeat slammed in her chest, and as rapidly as it was beating she was sure he could hear it too.
He licked his lips. She couldn’t help but watch as he bit his lower lip in thought. Desperation was not an emotion she was fond of, yet in that moment, she felt desperate for his lips to meet her own.
Lord Renwick cleared his throat, “Interesting…methods.” His voice was back to normal.
“Are we still talking about trees?” she asked innocently.
“What else would we be talking about?” he sneered.
Lord Renwick’s eyes followed her hands like a cat follows a mouse. Was he thinking about her being ungloved? Wasn’t that most improper?
***
It was bad enough Nicholas could still feel the heat from Sai’s slap; she had surprised him, and he hated being surprised. Except for the small fact that she was the one delivering said surprise, and although his cheek stung like a mad hornet’s nest, he couldn’t help but admire her small hands and her spunk.
When she took off her glove he nearly passed out, and he wasn’t one to go weak in the knees. Her hands were delicate flowers, but it was a misconception that they couldn’t pack some strength; in fact, he was convinced she was the only woman he knew who could successfully give a man a black eye. The thought made him smile; he would like to see this young woman resort to violence tonight. It would be most amusing. Then again, that would mean she would actually have to touch another man, a thought Nicholas hadn’t come to grips with just yet.
She was flirting with him shamelessly; although, she was so skilled at it, one hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. His emotions were altogether unstable whenever she was near. One minute he was calm, the next he felt like someone set him on fire, he was so angry. Then in the next instant, he felt such a blinding attraction for her he was paralyzed with muteness. He put his hand to his face again and sighed.
He shouldn’t have called her a chit. Normally he would flirt back, but she frustrated him to no end. Sai was a carrot dangling in front of a horse. She was what every man wanted, but only some, the titled some, would be able to acquire. Though her blushing told him she was a mere maiden, her behavior spoke of something else entirely.
He groaned out loud, then realized she was still looking at him.
“Is something wrong, my lord?”
"Renwick, at least call me Renwick,” he said.
She smiled chastely. “Renwick, are you well?”
The look in her eyes was stunning; she really did care, even if she had been the one to cause his pain—all of it for that matter, the emotional and the physical. Sure he felt physical pain in his cheek, but he also felt pain in his legs, in his back, in his neck… his heart. It shamed him that he ached so wickedly for her. He would be bad for her; his lust would destroy her. She would think it passion, but he knew what he was. Men hardly married someone they were both attracted to and loved. It wasn’t done. Plus, this woman was no innocent. She may be a maiden, but…something hard lay behind her façade, something he hadn’t quite figured out.