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Authors: Tamara Lejeune

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BOOK: When You're Desired
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“You
would
see it that way!” she cried. “Let me tell you something, Dorian Ascot! I would not consent to be your mistress if I were
starving
to death and you were the bloody butcher! The thought of you
touching
me makes me feel quite ill, in fact. I would rather abandon myself to a whole camp full of soldiers than suffer
one
kiss of yours. That, sir, is how much I hate you!”
Dorian stared at her, stunned. He was certain that no one had ever hated him in his life, and even more certain that he had done nothing to deserve it.
“I do not understand this hostility,” he protested in confusion. “Why should you hate
me
? What have I ever done to you?”
“What indeed!”
“Well, whatever it is you think I have done,” he said, growing angry, “it was yourself who brought me here to this point. Did you not encourage me to offer you my protection?”
“If I did, believe me, it was only for the pleasure of throwing your disgusting offer back in your face!” she returned.
As the door opened, Dorian shouted the waiters out of the room. When they had withdrawn, he said, tight-lipped with anger, “Are you mad? Or just distempered?
What
, I pray, has the Duke of Berkshire ever done to you? We have not met above thrice, and on all occasions, I believe I have behaved with
perfect
decorum!”
She stared at him. “Are you going to sit there, really, and
pretend
that you don't know me?”
“Of course I
know
you,” he said, quite baffled. “Everybody knows you. You are Celia St. Lys!”
“I wasn't always,” she said. “I was once a frightened little girl, and you—Look at me, Dorian!” she commanded. “Take a good, long look! Are you
quite
sure you don't know me? Do I not look at all familiar to you?”
“My dear girl!” he protested, falling back. “Of course you look familiar. Your face is in every shop window in London.”
“Think back!” she snapped, shaking her head impatiently. “The first time you saw me—the first time you saw
Celia St. Lys
, I mean—did you not think to yourself,
I know that face! I have seen that face before—somewhere
.”
“No,” he answered. “I'm sure I would have remembered.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “Have I really changed so much?” she asked, sinking down onto her chair.
“It seems you have, I'm afraid,” he told her.
“You are exactly the same as I remember you,” she said sadly.
“I wish you would tell me what I've done,” he said quietly. “I am sure it must be some mistake . . . But if I
have
done wrong, I promise you, I will put it right if I can.”
“You cannot put it right!” she said, searching his face. Tears stood in her eyes. “How could you put it right? I see now just how little I meant to you. And I am told I have a face no one could ever forget.”
“I can see you are very upset,” he said. “But, my dear, whoever it was who hurt you—it was not me. Could it have been Lord Granville?” he asked suddenly. “There is said to be some slight resemblance between me and that bounder—though I never saw—”
“It was
you
, Dorian,” she said, choking back a sob. “I was called Sarah then. I'm
Sarah
. Surely you remember!”
Dorian shook his head slowly. “I—I'm sorry, my dear.”
“But you've got to,” she insisted. “I used to sit on your knee, and you would tell me I was the prettiest girl in the whole world.”
“No, my dear,” he said, holding up his hands. “
That
I would remember.”
“Did I imagine it, then?” she said angrily. “You used to tell me if I didn't want a husband, I could always go to London and make my fortune treading the boards at Drury Lane. Where do you think I got the idea?”
“I don't know, madam! Look here! I don't know what game you're playing at, but I know I don't like it. I am leaving.” Rising from the table, Dorian flung down his napkin.
“Go then,” she said angrily. “You are dead to me anyway. I shall never forgive you as long as I live!”
He shook his head. “You are confused, madam. Your mind is unbalanced. I am sorry for you, but I cannot help you.”
“For my seventh birthday,” she said loudly, arresting his progress to the door, “your father gave me a gold locket in the shape of a heart. It had an S on it, picked out in diamonds. I want it back, if you please.”
Dorian stopped dead with his hand on the door handle. “A locket?” he repeated, turning to look at her, his face suddenly quite pale. “In the shape of a heart?”
“You had no right to take it from me,” she said, her voice shaking.
“Good God!” he cried out softly. In the next moment, he was on his knees beside her chair. “Sally?” he said, seizing her hands. “Is it you? Is it really you?”
Chapter 9
Celia pushed him away. “
Sarah
, if you please,” she said coldly. “My name is Sarah Hartley. Yes, Dorian. It is I. I lived with you at Ashlands for six years, after your mother took me in. I should have thought you'd remember me, but no! Neither of you did. I was actually nervous to meet you again after all these years, though I do believe I hid it rather well. You looked right at me, didn't you? But all you saw was Celia St. Lys, potential mistress. Do you remember me now, Your Grace?”
“Of course I remember you,” he said, staring at her. “You were nicknamed Sally. I just didn't—I didn't
recognize
you, that's all. I have not seen you in—in ten years.”
“Have I changed so much?”
“Yes, my dear, you have,” he said softly. “You are a woman now. My God! Little Sally! How can this be? What in God's name happened to you?”
He would have taken her hands, but she snatched them away.
“What do you mean, what happened to me?” she cried. “You know damn well what happened to me! When I was eight years old, your mother brought me home with her as a pet—a charity case, if you prefer. I'd never seen anything like Ashlands! Suddenly I was a fairy princess in a fairyland. You called me your cousin Sally. You were my cousin Dorian, and your mother was my aunt Fanny! I suppose you meant well when you took me in. I was happy. But you made me believe I was one of the family. That was cruel. You promised to take care of me always, and I believed that, too. But you lied, Dorian. You lied!”
“No, Sally. It was not a lie.”
“Of course it was a lie!” she cried. “The truth is, your mother was bored. I was a pretty little thing. I amused her for a time. She took pleasure in bestowing her bounty upon me. Her drawing room was my first stage. You were my first audience, and how I strove to please you all! Lord! I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. When it was all taken away from me—”
She broke off, trembling helplessly as she blinked back fresh tears. “When it was all taken away from me,” she began again, in a steadier voice, “I could not understand what
I
had done wrong. Why didn't Aunt Fanny love me anymore? Why did Cousin Dorian send me away?”
“Send you away?” he repeated, gray around the mouth. “Good God! How could you think that? I would never have sent you away! Never! We were all so fond of you, Sally.”
“But you
did
send me away, Dorian,” she said.
“No,” he said. “Of course I didn't.”
Celia stared at him. “Am I to believe you did not know?” she exclaimed.
“I swear it. I have no idea what you are talking about!”
“Did you not notice that I was gone?” she cried.
“Of course I did—we all did! We felt the loss very keenly, but—”
“Out of sight, out of mind!”
“That is not how it was at all,” he said sharply. “My wife fell ill. I took her to Bath to take the waters. When Joanna and I returned to Ashlands, you—you were gone, Sally, my dear.”
“And you never wondered what happened to your little
cousin
? Did you never try to find me?”
“No,” he said. “I never wondered about you. I never looked for you. Because you were dead, Sally.”
She blinked at him, unable to understand. “What?”
“My mother told us you were dead, that you had died while we were away at Bath. All this time, Sally,” he went on gently, “I have believed you to be dead and buried in the churchyard at Ashland Heath.”
She stared at him, stunned. “Dead and buried?” she echoed. “I—I don't understand.”
“Nor do I. We grieved for you. We mourned you. We all did. But there was no reason to
wonder
what had become of you. We thought we knew.”
“If I am dead, how did I die?” she said. “Answer me that, if you can.”
“You took a fall from your pony and broke your neck. You died instantly.”
“Your mother told you that?”
“Yes, she did.”
“At least I didn't suffer,” she said tartly. “
Where
did you say I was buried?”
“In the churchyard at Ashland Heath. There's a very nice stone, and the grave is kept very neat and tidy, I do assure you. I do not understand any of this, my dear, but I am very glad to see you. I wish you were glad to see me,” he added.
Tears slid down her cheeks. “But, Dorian! Your mother sent me away. Your father would never have allowed it when he was alive, but she said . . . Oh, Dorian! She told me it was what you wanted. You and Cousin Joanna.”
“Joanna was as fond of you as I,” he said. “We were both quite shocked to learn of your death. If my mother told you that . . .” He shook his head. “Why would she do such a thing?”
“You really didn't know she had sent me away?” said Celia.
“Of course not,” he said, frowning. “If I'd known, I would have found you and brought you back to Ashlands, where you belonged.”
“Do you mean that, Dorian?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Then it was
she
,” Celia said. “It was she and she alone who did this to me. Oh, Dorian! All this time . . . I have hated you—you
and
Joanna.”
“My dear Sally!” he murmured. “What happened?”
“I don't know,” she said. “I suppose she just got tired of having me around. She buried me, all right, but not in the churchyard at Ashland Heath. She sent me to Ireland.”
“Ireland!” he exclaimed. “We have no acquaintance there.”
“Nor did I. It was a cold, gray, barren place where I was.”
He shuddered. “Well, but you had someone to look after you, at least, I hope,” he said. “Surely you were not alone?”
Her lips twisted into a travesty of a smile. “No, I was not alone.”
“Were they good people at least? Were they kind to you?”
“No, Dorian,” she said, shaking her head. “They were
not
kind to me.
He
was not kind to me at all!”
“He?”
“My husband,” she said simply.
“Husband!” Dorian exclaimed.
“Not only did she send me away, she arranged for me to be married. I thought it was what
you
wanted for me, Dorian.”
“But you were only fourteen,” he whispered. “How could she—”
“I was fifteen on my wedding day, if that makes you feel any better.”
“No, it doesn't!” he said grimly.
“Fortunately, he was quite old. He only lived to torment me for five years. I am grateful it was no longer. When he died, I wept tears of joy. He left me some money. Not much, but enough. Enough to get me to London, which was all I wanted.”
A waiter tentatively poked his head in the room, but Dorian waved him off. “I think you should come home with me to Berkshire House,” he said decisively. “We'll confront my mother together. Her cruelty shall be exposed. She must answer for what she has done.”
“I don't want that,” said Celia. “You cannot expose her without exposing me. I am not Sarah Hartley anymore. I am Celia St. Lys. I've worked very hard to get where I am. No one can ever know that I was—that I was ever her pet, her plaything, her charity project. Do you think I want people to know about my brute of a husband? You would only expose me to ridicule, or worse—pity! Swear to me, Dorian, on your life, that you will not say a word about this to anyone. No good could ever come of it. We cannot change what happened. I would be humiliated if people knew. If you ever cared for me at all, say nothing. Tell no one. Not your mother, not your brother. Oh, certainly not your brother.”
“He played no part in this business, at least,” said Dorian.
“No,” she said quickly. “He'd already been packed off into the army when I came to live with you. How he would gloat if he knew! Please, Dorian, if you ever cared for me at all, say nothing to your brother. Say nothing to anyone.”
“Of course you have my promise, if that is your wish.”
“Do you swear?”
“I swear I shall not tell a soul,” he said gravely. “If that truly is what you want.”
“That is what I want,” she assured him. She smiled faintly. “How I have hated you all these years! Do please forgive me! I should have known you would not use me so ill. Not my dear, sweet cousin Dorian. I brought you here tonight with no other purpose than to hurt you. I was going to make you fall in love with me. I was going to make your mother pay me to go away. Then I was going to break your heart. Somehow, I couldn't go through with it. I had to tell you who I was.”
“I am very glad you did.”
She smiled faintly. “So am I. I have missed my cousin Dorian.”
“I have missed you, too, Sally,” he said. “Why did you not come to me sooner?”
“How could I? I thought you had thrown me away. I had to wait for you to come to me.”
“Shall we finish our supper?” he asked gently, for the waiters were again hovering.
Celia shook her head. “I'm not hungry anymore. I think I'd like to be alone now, if I may.”
“Of course,” he said, studying her strained face. “I'll take you home now.”
“No,” she said. “Suddenly, I'm quite exhausted. I just want to sleep. Would you be good enough to arrange a private room for me? My maid can come in the morning to attend me,” she added, as he looked rather doubtfully at her. “We will talk again, Your Grace, very soon.”
“No, you must never call me that again,” he said. “You must call me Dorian, as you used to, when we first met. When my father was still alive, and you were the prettiest little girl in Berkshire.”
He left briefly, to make the arrangements for her.
Simon searched for St. Lys all over London. Finally he gave up and made his way to Grillon's Hotel, where, though it was nearly four in the morning, Sir Lucas still waited.
The hours had not been kind to Sir Lucas. His clothes were rumpled, his cravat quite ruined. He had been drinking and his eyes were bloodshot. His wig was askew.
“Lord Simon! At last!” he said angrily as he admitted the other man into the private room he had engaged for himself and St. Lys. “I have been waiting for you this age.”
Simon took in the scene at a glance. A table had been set for two near the fire. The napkins were still folded in neat, upstanding triangles, but the tablecloth was stained with claret. The doors to the next room—presumably a bedchamber—stood closed.
“My patience has worn thin, sir! Where is she?”
Like Sir Lucas, Simon was out of humor. “I cannot tell you,” he replied. “She slipped away from me at the theatre.”
Sir Lucas's left eye skittered in its socket. “
You let her go?
” he cried.
Simon lifted his brows. “Certainly I let her go. What would you have me do? Abduct her? She is free to move about as she pleases.”
“But I have her letter,” Sir Lucas cried. “She
promised
to meet me.”
Simon shrugged. “It seems the lady has changed her mind, Sir Lucas. A woman's prerogative, I believe.”
“This is intolerable, Lord Simon! You must find her. She must be made to keep her promise to me. I will not be made a fool of by an actress.”
Simon frowned. “I will get your necklace back for you, Sir Lucas. Further than that I cannot go,” he said sharply.
Sir Lucas frowned. “I am not asking you to assist me in a rape, sir,” he protested. “She agreed to meet me. She must keep her word.”
Simon smiled coldly. “In a civilized society such as ours, I fear there is but one way of forcing a female to keep her word, Sir Lucas.”
BOOK: When You're Desired
2.91Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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