we do not, sir! Not from you, at any rate! We can manage perfectly well on our own!’
‘I doubt that,’ Greville said coolly. ‘You have only been on the road for a few hours and already you are in a scrape! And as for your destination—well, that proves you have not the least notion of how to carry on! Good God, two gently bred ladies visiting a house of ill fame! Fit for Bedlam, both of you!’
Amelia’s stormy gaze swept from Greville to Guy Renshaw and rested there for a moment. ‘Do not preach to me, sir, when you keep such poor company!’
Sarah winced. Amelia seldom lost her temper properly, but when she did so the results could be spectacular. This promised to be one of those occasions. She caught Guy Renshaw’s eye and saw that he was looking rather amused. A slow smile was curling the corners of his mouth and Sarah felt an answering gleam and stifled it at once. The last thing she wanted at that moment was to experience any kind of kindred feeling for Guy. He had humiliated her and insulted her, she reminded herself severely, and his charm was of the most superficial kind.
‘It ill becomes you to speak of bad company when you are planning so rash an escapade, madam!’ Greville said to Amelia, more coldly than Sarah had ever heard him. ‘Do you forget that this will ruin your reputation forever? And yet you disparage those who seek to offer you their aid—’
‘Offer their aid!’ Two spots of colour were burning on Amelia’s cheeks now. ‘Forgive me, sir, but it seems to me that you came to censure rather than to support! My cousin and I can do very well without such dubious assistance!’
‘You may claim so, but you have as much idea of how to go on as a pair of schoolgirls! Less! At least a schoolroom miss knows her manners!’
Sarah caught her breath sharply as Amelia made a noise like an enraged kitten. The combatants faced each other fiercely across the table, Amelia with her fists clenched and Greville with a singularly unyielding look on his face.
Sarah could feel Guy watching her across the room and she found herself looking around for a means of escape. Guy was between her and the door, the window was too small and she could scarcely scramble up the chimney. A strange panic took hold of her as he came towards her.
As Amelia drew breath for another salvo, Guy reached Sarah’s side and took her arm.
‘I believe that we may safely leave these two to settle their differences, Miss Sheridan. May I beg a word in private?’
‘Certainly not!’ Amelia snapped, before Sarah could speak. She flashed Guy a look of contempt. ‘Stand aside from my cousin, Lord Renshaw! You have done her enough harm!’
Guy looked from Amelia to Greville. ‘My dear Lady Amelia, pray confine your quarrel to Sir Greville and leave Miss Sheridan to deal with me!’ He removed the poker from Sarah’s hand. ‘I should feel safer if you were without this!’
Sarah had forgotten that she had been stirring the fire when they had arrived. She relinquished her weapon and edged away from Guy towards the door.
‘A moment, Miss Sheridan.’ Guy had turned back to her with exquisite courtesy. ‘Pray do not leave just yet! It is still raining and your carriage is not fit for use! Will you grant my request of a private interview?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘My cousin is in the right of it, sir. I do not care to have my business discussed in a wayside inn!’
Guy inclined his head. ‘Then come back with us to Woodallan and discuss it there!’
‘Impossible!’ Amelia retorted, her colour still high. ‘We must reach Blanchland before nightfall—’
‘Must you?’ Guy strolled into the middle of the room and turned back to smile at Sarah. ‘Had you thought what might happen if you arrive at dinner time?’ he asked conversationally, looking from her to Amelia. ‘Why, Sir Ralph may well be indulging in one of his famous orgies and you would walk right into the middle of it! Time enough for that once you have been there a little while! But if you leave it to the morning, you will find them all still abed. Not ideal, of course, but less…active, perhaps, than the night before!’
‘Outrageous!’ Amelia declared.
‘But true,’ Greville said coolly.
‘I fear Lord Renshaw may be right, Milly,’ Sarah said after a moment. ‘Perhaps we should bespeak rooms here for the night—’
‘Out of the question,’ Guy said briskly. ‘You could not so offend my parents’ hospitality, Miss Sheridan, as to take rooms within two miles of their house!’
Sarah flushed. ‘If you were not to tell them we were here—’
‘Alas, I would find it quite impossible to keep the truth from them! Their own goddaughter preferring the dubious comforts of an alehouse to Woodallan! I am sure my mother would be quite distraught!’
Sarah reached for her cloak. Somehow they had been outmanoeuvred. ‘Very well, my lord. Since I do not trust you to spare your mother’s feelings, we will come with you. However—’ she glared at him ‘—do not think to dissuade us from our errand, nor to enlist the support of your parents in such an enterprise!’
Guy’s dark gaze mocked her. ‘Miss Sheridan! I could not possibly tell my parents that you intended to visit Blanchland! The shock might kill them!’
He held the door open for her. ‘You look very pretty, Miss Sheridan,’ he added, in tones low enough that only Sarah could hear. ‘To see you with your hair like that gives me ideas—’
‘I thank you,’ Sarah snapped. ‘I heard enough of your ideas last night, sir! I wonder that you dare to speak to me of them again!’
Guy detained her with a hand on her arm. ‘In point of fact, Miss Sheridan, that is what I wished to discuss with you. I wished to apologise, but I will save it until we have gained the privacy of Woodallan!’
Sarah’s lips tightened angrily. ‘It may be that I do not wish to hear any of your excuses, Lord Renshaw!’
‘You will hear me out, however,’ Guy said, with what seemed to Sarah to be breathtaking arrogance. He offered her his arm, and laughed when she swept past him, ignoring it. Behind her, Sarah could hear Greville and Amelia starting to bicker again as they all went out into the yard.
‘You realise that you will have to marry me now!’ Greville was saying, in an exasperated undertone, to which Amelia retorted,
‘I would rather walk across hot coals, sir!’
They journeyed to Woodallan in bad-tempered silence.
Woodallan lay two miles from the turnpike road, in a hollow beside a stream, sheltered by the hills behind and with a glorious vista of rolling country before it. The rain had cleared as quickly as it had come, and the house’s golden Bath stone gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight. Next to Blanchland, it had always been one of Sarah’s favourite places, and now she felt a lump in her throat as the years rolled back. She remembered walking up the long lime avenue as a child, clutching her father’s hand, remembered playing hide-and-seek in the topiary garden, remembered tickling trout in the stream during the hot summers…
The Blanchland and Woodallan estates had marched together and the families been friends since the first Baron
