Strangers At Dawn Part 6

Miss Beattie tactfully changed the subject, and she and Mrs. Hastings embarked on a discussion of Bath in its heyday, leaving Sara free to study the major.

He was doing all the talking, and his companion, a lady whose blond beauty had long since faded, gazed adoringly up at him. But the major hardly spared her a glance. He was scanning the room, his restless gaze jumping from person to person.

He must have sensed her scrutiny, for he suddenly turned and their eyes met briefly before Sara looked away.

Maybe he was looking for the lady who had placed the advertis.e.m.e.nt in the Chronicle, trying to discover her ident.i.ty. It was, thought Sara, a reasonable thing to do. All the same, his inattention was an insult to the lady by his side.

Trying to look casual, she carefully looked in his direction again, and saw that the major was openly staring at a lady in a green turban. He suddenly snapped his fingers, cutting himself off in midsentence, abruptly bowed, and strolled away, making a beeline for the lady in the green turban.

He was stalking his prey.

Sara shuddered. She'd been eighteen years old when William's restless glance had fallen on her, eighteen and incredibly flattered when he'd left the side of the young woman he'd been dancing with and made a beeline for her.

Though their father's estates adjoined, she and William were practically strangers. He'd been away at school, then at university, and the Nevilles did not mix with their Stoneleigh neighbors.

They'd met at an a.s.sembly in Winchester.

She hadn't been impressed by the fact that he was Sir Ivor Neville's heir. William was a romantic figure and glamorous beyond anything she'd ever known, a far cry from the middle-aged viscount her father had tried to buy for her.

William was wild, so the stories went. But William told her that now he'd met her, that was all in his past. And she'd believed him. He'd wanted to marry her, and she was the happiest girl in the world.

The one person who stood in their way was Sir Ivor. His father was a proud man, William said. When the time was right, he would tell him about Sara. So she'd met William in secret, and when it was impossible to meet, she'd poured out her heart in long, pa.s.sionate letters.

And those letters had nearly got her hanged.

The major was giving his undivided attention to the lady in the green turban, and she was obviously flattered. Her eyes sparkled and she smiled up at him.

Prey, Sara thought again and shuddered. She couldn't go against her instincts. She'd never feel safe with someone who reminded her of William.

The major was no longer of any interest.

Having achieved her object in coming to the Pump Room, she would have been happy to leave. But Miss Beattie had other ideas. It would be criminal, she declared, to come to Bath and not partake of its famous water. So Sara was sent to the pump to fetch a gla.s.s of water for her "mistress."

Sara was well aware that what Miss Beattie wanted was a cozy, private chat with their landlady. Bea had got this absurd idea in her head that the perfect man could turn up at any moment, like manna from heaven. Sara was sure that Bea would be quizzing Mrs. Hastings on where all the young men in Bath were hanging out, supposing there were any.

Poor Bea just couldn't face facts.

Sara kept her eyes averted both coming and going from the pump when she pa.s.sed Major Haig. As she approached the bench where she'd left her companions, she saw that she'd been right. Mrs. Hastings hadn't lost any time. She'd managed to scare up a gentleman who wasn't in his dotage.

His back was to her, but his garments spoke volumes: tight beige trousers molded like a second skin to the hard muscles of leg and thigh; broad shoulders hugged by a dark blue coat that wouldn't dare show a wrinkle; and Hessian boots with those absurd ta.s.sels on them.

The man was a dandy!

Her smile died the moment before he turned to face her, the moment an uneasy suspicion took root in her mind.

Brilliant blue eyes with laugh lines at the corners smiled down at her. He doffed his hat, and his fair hair caught and trapped an odd ray of suns.h.i.+ne that spilled in from one of the long windows. His grin was jaunty.

It was Max Worthe.

"Miss Childe," he said, "what a pleasant surprise. I was just telling your friends that you and I met in Reading when I performed a small ... ah ... service for you."

Sara acted without thinking. She put the gla.s.s to her lips and took a long, long swallow.

*Chapter Six*

It had finally happened, thought Max at long last, Sara Carstairs's mask of composure was beginning to crack. It was more than a crack. A yawning ravine. She was gulping down Bath's foul-tasting mineral water as though she'd just walked out of the desert.

He liked her better this way: fl.u.s.tered, flushed, and afraid of what he might say or do next.

The companion, Miss Beattie, who, he'd learned, had been promoted to the status of Sara's employer, broke what was becoming an awkward silence. "You met Sara in Reading, Mr. Worthe?"

"At the Black Swan."

"But that's where we were staying."

"I know."

There was a small pause as Miss Beattie digested this. "And you performed a service for her?" Her eyes darted to Sara. "Sara said nothing to me."

I'll just bet she didn't.

"It was a small service," said Max. "I shouldn't have mentioned it. No. I'd rather you heard it from Miss Childe."

He knew he was being unfair, but he thought that maybe Sara deserved it. She'd lied to him. She'd run from him. His fury had long since cooled, but she'd touched his pride, and he didn't see why she shouldn't pay for it, up to a point.

Besides, he was enjoying himself enormously.

She'd drunk every drop of water in the gla.s.s. She wished, now, that she hadn't. Then she could pour it into Max Worthe's ridiculous boots.

Miss Beattie and Mrs. Hastings were looking up at her as though she'd suddenly taken off all her clothes. She had to fight the urge to turn and run.

Shrugging helplessly, she said, "I didn't want to worry you. That's why I didn't mention it. You see, I ... fell down a flight of stairs, a small flight of stairs, and Mr. Worthe was kind enough to ... to ... " she looked down at the empty gla.s.s in her hand, "... to get me a gla.s.s of water."

Max spoke to Miss Beattie. "She was very shaken by the experience."

"True," said Sara in a tight little voice, "but fortunately, I'm quite recovered. I beg your pardon for drinking your gla.s.s of water, Miss Beattie, but I was overcome with the heat. Stay right where you are and I'll get you another. Mr. Worthe, would you mind giving me your arm?"

Max regretted that the delightful hesitation in her voice had vanished. She was in control again. She could not guess how that control both fascinated him and egged him on to try and shatter it.

They were hardly out of earshot of the two gawking ladies when Sara dropped Max's arm. "What are you doing here?"

"That must be obvious."

She darted him a fierce glance, then looked away. "Nothing is obvious to me."

"What else could have drawn me to this dreary place but you, Sara?"

"So you followed me here!"

"Well, I didn't come for the good of my health-and I just about choked when you gulped down that gla.s.s of water-and if there are fleshpots in Bath, it's the best kept secret in England. Of course I followed you."

Her voice was cool and controlled. Her words were like darts. "Well, of course I know there is nothing in Bath to attract a man like you, a Corinthian and a fop. I suppose you have nothing better to do with your time than pursue innocent young women."

"Innocent?"

This time, her stare did not falter. "You're wasting your time, Mr. Worthe. So why don't you just go away?"

He smiled lazily. "You know us Corinthians. Time hangs heavily on our hands, and we'd do anything to relieve the boredom."

Though he concealed it well, he was annoyed because she'd summed him up as an idler with nothing more serious on his mind than the cut of his clothes and chasing women. Coming from her, a woman with a murky past, it was hypocrisy on a grand scale.

There was nothing he would have liked better than to tell her, straight out, that he knew who she was. But on that tedious, two-day drive from Reading, after his anger had cooled, he'd reflected on what approach he should take when they finally reached their destination. The last thing he wanted was for Sara to become frightened and go into hiding again.

His best bet, he'd decided, was to play this out as though he had not recognized her. That was something else that annoyed him; even if he hadn't recognized her, he would still be here, would still have come after her. His one encounter with this woman had rocked him back on his heels. In her own way, Sara Carstairs packed a wallop that would do credit to Mighty Jack Cleaver.

And look what had happened to him when he'd tangled with Mighty Jack!

She didn't like the sudden flare of laughter in his eyes; she didn't like the stupid smile on his face; and she particularly didn't like the way he was making her nerves jump.

She edged her way to the far side of the pump where they could no longer be seen by Miss Beattie and Mrs. Hastings. Her nervous fingers were clutching the empty gla.s.s in a death grip, and she carefully set it down on the pump's rim, then hid her hands in the folds of her gown.

"Mr. Worthe-"

"Max. Call me Max. It's friendlier."

"We're not friends."

"No. We've gone beyond that."

She waited till her heartbeat had slowed, waited till her brain was functioning before she put her thoughts in order. Finally, she said, "I want to know what you said to my companions before I arrived."

He quelled the impulse to say that her secret was safe with him. He wanted to shake her, not shatter her, and she was beginning to look frail. "I introduced myself," he said quietly, "and asked after you. That's all, Sara."

"But how did you know that Miss Beattie was my employer?"

"Sara, I've already admitted that I followed you from Reading. It wasn't difficult to find out who your traveling companion was. Last night, I saw you safely to your front door-your lodgings in Queen's Square, I mean-then I found lodgings for myself."

"How did you know we would come to the Pump Room this morning?"

"I called at your lodgings. Your serving girl-Maggie?- told me where I could find you."

She shouldn't be surprised, she told herself. It wasn't the first time she'd sensed the steel in him. On the surface, he was all casual charm and easy smiles, but there was more to Max Worthe than that. He was a dangerous male animal, and she'd be a fool to forget it.

"Sara? What did I say?"

She ignored the hand he held out to her. "You've been following me for two days and two nights. You've been sneaking around behind my back, asking questions about me. Why are you doing this? Why?"

"You know why."

Their eyes met and held. She trembled. He frowned. Heat and pa.s.sion flared between them like a flash fire. Max was shaken. Sara was appalled.

She dragged her eyes away. "I'm going to be married, Max. I told you that already."

"I don't believe you. Where is this suitor?"

"There's been a delay. But he'll be here soon. Please, Max, don't spoil this for me."

He shrugged carelessly, but she could still sense the banked fires beneath the control. "He's a fool to leave you unprotected." When her eyes went wide, he said impatiently, "Don't let your imagination make something of that last remark. I won't hurt you, Sara. But I'm not going to stay away either."

She'd learned the value of keeping her emotions under a tight rein. A woman who was at the mercy of her feelings was vulnerable, and that was something she could not afford to be. Slowly and deliberately, she gathered her dignity. "You're way off the mark if you think you can make me do what I don't want to do, Max."

His smile dazzled her. "I don't know, Sara. You've been calling me 'Max' for the last little while. The trick is in knowing how to manage a woman."

"And you've had plenty of practice, I suppose?"

He laughed, reached past her and accepted a fresh gla.s.s of water from the pump attendant. "Just watch me, Sara, just watch me."

Not a word pa.s.sed between them as they returned to the bench where they'd left the ladies. Sara inwardly fumed, but as much as she wanted to send Max Worthe about his business, she was afraid of a scene. She sensed a recklessness in him that alarmed her. If she didn't watch out, she'd find her name on the lips of all the gossip mongers in Bath.

She tried to nurse her temper to keep it hot, but her annoyance was soon overtaken by a grudging amus.e.m.e.nt. Max Worthe really did know how to manage women. The trick, she decided as she studied him, was to give them his full attention. His eyes didn't s.h.i.+ft restlessly around the room as though his mind were elsewhere. He seemed to be enjoying himself as much as the two ladies who were the object of his attentions.

Her amus.e.m.e.nt dimmed when she realized that Miss Beattie, straitlaced, and a confirmed spinster, was flirting outrageously. She'd never seen Bea like this before-pink cheeks, fluttering eyelashes, and a vacuous smile. Bea was also talking too much, telling him about all the places they hoped to visit, practically inviting him along.

They were all becoming too friendly for Sara's peace of mind.

She tried to catch her companion's eye, to warn her off, but Miss Beattie was proving to be obstinate, and Sara knew why. Max Worthe was just the kind of man Bea had hoped would miraculously appear on the horizon and ride to their rescue. He was handsome, personable, and could have given Prince Charming a run for his money.

And that's precisely why he was the wrong man.

"And what brings you to Bath, Mr. Worthe?" asked Miss Beattie at one point.

"A friend," said Max. "He lives nearby, on the other side of Claverton. Marston Manor. Do you know it?"

Mrs. Hastings nodded. "Lady Meynell lives there. Then Ash Meynell must be your friend?"

"He is," said Max.

"Oh dear," said Mrs. Hastings. "I believe Mr. Meynell has gone to Brighton. He goes there every year at this time."

Max scratched his chin and glanced at Sara.

She said sweetly, "It seems that you've come a long way for nothing, Mr. Worthe."