LITMIR.BIZ

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they got drunk and Francis, who, it seems, had a perfectly harmless tendre for me, was teasing my husband, the man who I thought was above all this stupid, patriarchal nonsense about women’s honour and duelling. And Francis, in his cups, went too far and... I don’t know what was said. Michael wrote in the letter he left that he never believed for a moment that I had been unfaithful to him and yet I cannot understand how he couldn’t see that Francis was drunk and a bit jealous, perhaps, and didn’t mean it. They told me that Francis had intended to fire wide, but he always was a hopeless shot...’

      ‘My God.’ He thrust the handkerchief into her hand, she stared at it as though she had no idea what it was for, then swiped at her eyes with it, blew her nose with inelegant force and threw the crumpled linen to the floor.

      ‘I suppose you think he did the right thing? Even my father and brother, who were appalled at his death, obviously understood why he had made the challenge.’

      ‘What else was he to do if his wife was insulted?’

      ‘Oh, let me see.’ Her voice dripped sarcasm. ‘Wait until they were both sober? Ask Francis to explain himself? Blacken his eye? Act like the reasonable, reasoning, intelligent human being that he was?’ Sara turned from him and stood looking out over the sea. ‘Can you imagine what it is like for someone you love to get themselves killed and to leave a letter telling you that they did it for you? The guilt is hideous. Can you imagine how Marguerite will feel if her brother kills the man she loves for her?’

      ‘Gregory Farnsworth should be punished.’

      ‘If he is alive, if he really is a heartless seducer, then, yes, he deserves punishment. But you are not judge, jury and executioner, Lucian.’ When he didn’t reply she looked round at him and all the anger drained from her face, leaving only a small, bitter smile. ‘I haven’t convinced you at all, have I?’

      ‘I am appalled at what happened to you, but the circumstances are not the same.’ He stooped and refilled the cups. ‘Come and sit down and have some tea.’

      ‘Of course. We are English, are we not? Anything can be made more bearable by tea.’ Sara sat, seemingly quite calm now, and took the cup he passed her with a murmur of thanks. ‘But the question of Gregory is neither here nor there while you have no idea of where he is, or even if he lives. When I was grieving it was talking to my close friends that helped more than anything. Let me see if Marguerite will talk to me.’

      Lucian looked at her as she sat, poised, beautiful, controlled again. And yet so much anger and grief and guilt boiled under that exquisite exterior. He wanted her, he realised, wanted to taste her again, to hold her, to strip every scrap of clothing from her body and possess her, wanted all that with an urgency that shook him. What did that make him, when he should be thinking about nothing but his sister’s welfare, when the woman he desired was still shattered by her husband’s tragic death? It simply made him male, he supposed, capable of thinking about carnal matters even in the midst of situations of great seriousness.

      In the end all he could find to say was, ‘Thank you. I know I can trust you with her.’

      * * *

      Lucian was right to trust her to do her best to help Marguerite, but she would do nothing to help him bring down the errant lover, not if the girl still had deep feelings for the man. Sara sipped her tea and looked out to sea, watching Lucian from the corner of her eye. He was a brave man not to have fled when she had unleashed all that misery and anger about Michael’s death.

      He was very attractive, she thought, and perhaps the fact that she noticed, that she wanted to kiss him again, wanted far more than that, was a sign that she truly had come through her mourning. She would never forget Michael, never stop loving the memory of him, or feeling anger at his death—and anger at him for challenging Francis and guilt herself for... No, she had promised herself not to dwell on her own guilt because it would drive her mad. She was a different woman now, a new Sara who had to decide what she really wanted in this moment, today. And tomorrow.

      ‘You are very thoughtful.’

      And you, with all your demons, are an uncomfortable companion for my thoughts!

      ‘I was brooding on the future, what I will do when I leave here. The shop was always something for a year or so, something completely different from everything that had gone before. And it was creative, I could build the business, which was interesting. I have one grandfather who was an East India merchant and perhaps I have inherited his trading instincts.’

      Restless now, she put down the cup half-emptied and went to look out over the sea again. The tide was turning and the little fishing fleet was making its way out to sea, red and buff sails vivid on the blue water as they butted through the waves. ‘Sandbay is changing, developing. There is perhaps one more year when I can live my dual life and then I will be too much of an oddity.’

      Lucian came to join her at the rail, resting his hands on it as she was, their little fingers—his right, her left—just touching. A tingle like the spark from a cat’s fur in a thunderstorm shot up her arm. Did he feel it, too? His hand moved, covered hers, his thumb stroking slowly over the pulse in her wrist. Oh, yes, he feels it.

      ‘Sara. Last night you said you were curious. Are you still?’

      ‘Yes,’ she admitted and closed her eyes as the world narrowed down to the sensation of his caress on the tender skin, the awareness of his body next to hers, the brush of the breeze on her face. ‘But...’

      ‘Ah. The but.’

      ‘You should not allow your lover to associate with your young sister—and that is what we are talking about, isn’t it? Not just a kiss or two, but an affaire.’

      ‘That is what I desire, yes.’

      Looking out to sea, with only Lucian’s voice to judge by, undistracted by his expression, she could read the layers of meaning. Yes, he wanted her. Yes, an affaire was what he meant: this was most definitely not a proposal of any other kind. And, no, he would no more bring his lover into contact with his sister at the moment than he would his mother, had she lived.

      The silence hung there for the time it took a seagull’s scream to die away and then he said, ‘And you are quite correct, of course, about Marguerite. Her needs must be paramount.’

      He was going to kiss her, she felt him shift against her as his breath touched warmth to her wind-chilled lips, then she was in his arms, moulding herself into his blatantly aroused body. There was no pretext now that this was curiosity or flirtation taken a little too far. This was an exchange of desire and demands that they both knew would go no further.

      One of them had to stop and she supposed it had better be her. Sara rested her cheek on Lucian’s chest and listened to his heart beat and imagined it over hers as they lay in bed, then put the fantasy firmly away.

      His hands dropped from her shoulders and she opened her eyes to see him outlined against the sun dazzle on the sea, already moving towards the door. ‘We will be in all day if you call. Marguerite would be pleased to see you. Thank you...for the tea.’

      * * *

      Marguerite was occupied with her new sketchbook at the window of the private sitting room at the hotel when Sara called. It had taken an hour to regain some composure and to think about how to best approach the younger woman. Now she perched on the table next to her and admired the drawing of the cliffs which was lively, if amateurish. ‘How is the shell mirror frame coming along?’

      ‘It is drying over there. I need some more small shells for the rim around the glass. Have you seen Lucian today?’

      Was that a question with a hidden meaning, or simply a genuine enquiry? Sara bent over the mirror and spoke casually. ‘He dropped into the shop this morning to tell me you would be at home all day. Would you like to go out on the beach? I need to collect seaweed to make some pictures and it is lovely weather.’

      ‘I...yes, I would, I think, if it is safe. I can’t swim, you see, which makes the waves rather frightening.

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