Read Online Strangers at Dawn by Elizabeth Thornton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
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what had bewitched him last night? He hadn’t known whether to ask Sara to become his mistress or whether she was the kind of woman who would settle for nothing less than marriage.
Sara Childe and Sara Carstairs were one and the same person. He tested his theory gingerly, then, after a long period of reflection, uttered an obscene profanity and flung one boot against the wall. Sara Childe and Sara Carstairs were one and the same person! He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before. Three years had passed since he’d seen her, but her impression had been branded on his mind. He thought he would recognize her again, the moment he set eyes on her, but he’d been fooled by that dark, exotic coloring.
He didn’t know why he was so angry. He’d hoped for a miraculous escape, and the gods had just handed it to him. There could never be anything between him and Sara Carstairs. She’d had more lovers than he’d had dinners. He knew this for a fact because he’d amassed a file on the Carstairs woman with enough information to make a book. She wasn’t fussy about who she took to her bed, as last night clearly demonstrated. He could have had her if only he’d persevered.
The very things that had enchanted him last night now filled him with disgust. He’d thought there was something special between them, but all that Sara Carstairs had wanted was a man, not him in particular. Any man would havedone. And he had held off because he’d been taken in by her air of innocence.
He would never make that mistake again.
She’d lied between her teeth. There was no betrothed. She was an heiress in her own right. There was no necessity for Sara Carstairs to marry for financial security. She’d wanted to get rid of him and had hit on that story to throw him off the scent.
She would have flown the coop by now. Last night, he’d been tenacious in his curiosity, and that’s what had frightened her. Well, it would be no great labor to follow her trail. There wouldn’t be too many carriages on the road at this ungodly hour. He’d pursue her all right, but now his object was anything but lover like. He wanted a story for his newspaper, and one way or another, he would get it.
Never in his life had he experienced such an icy rage. He waited until he had himself under control before he quit the room.
Five
M ISS BEATTIE OPENED THE NEWSPAPER AT the personal columns and began to search for Sara’s advertisement. It was hard to believe that so many gentlemen and ladies could not find a mate in the ordinary way. But Sara was right. There were more entries in the personal columns than there were houses for sale.
She found Sara’s advertisement and read:
Lady Of substance, personable, reserved, wishes to meet gentleman Of good character (age and fortune immaterial) with the object Of contracting a Marriage of Convenience. Apply to Box 41, The Chronicle.
“You’ll never guess,” said Sara, “how many replies I received.”
“How many?”
“Twenty-five.”
Miss Beattie’s jaw sagged. “How many?”
“Twenty-five.” Sara laughed. “I can hardly believe it either. I thought I’d be lucky if I got one or two.” She held up a brown paper package. “But here they are. Maggie brought them while you were dressing.”
Maggie was the serving girl who came with the suite of furnished rooms Sara had rented for her stay in Bath, the ground floor of a solid, though modest house in Queen’s Square. Their landlady, Mrs. Hastings, a widow who had fallen on hard times, lived in the floor above.
Sara had rented the rooms and placed the advertisement before she left London. She and Miss Beattie had arrived in Bath the night before, and the first thing Sara did on waking that morning was send the maid to the offices of the Bath Chronicle to collect her replies. She and Miss Beattie were now in the small morning room at the back of the house, enjoying a late breakfast of tea and toast.
Miss Beattie read the advertisement again. “I
Sara Childe and Sara Carstairs were one and the same person. He tested his theory gingerly, then, after a long period of reflection, uttered an obscene profanity and flung one boot against the wall. Sara Childe and Sara Carstairs were one and the same person! He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before. Three years had passed since he’d seen her, but her impression had been branded on his mind. He thought he would recognize her again, the moment he set eyes on her, but he’d been fooled by that dark, exotic coloring.
He didn’t know why he was so angry. He’d hoped for a miraculous escape, and the gods had just handed it to him. There could never be anything between him and Sara Carstairs. She’d had more lovers than he’d had dinners. He knew this for a fact because he’d amassed a file on the Carstairs woman with enough information to make a book. She wasn’t fussy about who she took to her bed, as last night clearly demonstrated. He could have had her if only he’d persevered.
The very things that had enchanted him last night now filled him with disgust. He’d thought there was something special between them, but all that Sara Carstairs had wanted was a man, not him in particular. Any man would havedone. And he had held off because he’d been taken in by her air of innocence.
He would never make that mistake again.
She’d lied between her teeth. There was no betrothed. She was an heiress in her own right. There was no necessity for Sara Carstairs to marry for financial security. She’d wanted to get rid of him and had hit on that story to throw him off the scent.
She would have flown the coop by now. Last night, he’d been tenacious in his curiosity, and that’s what had frightened her. Well, it would be no great labor to follow her trail. There wouldn’t be too many carriages on the road at this ungodly hour. He’d pursue her all right, but now his object was anything but lover like. He wanted a story for his newspaper, and one way or another, he would get it.
Never in his life had he experienced such an icy rage. He waited until he had himself under control before he quit the room.
Five
M ISS BEATTIE OPENED THE NEWSPAPER AT the personal columns and began to search for Sara’s advertisement. It was hard to believe that so many gentlemen and ladies could not find a mate in the ordinary way. But Sara was right. There were more entries in the personal columns than there were houses for sale.
She found Sara’s advertisement and read:
Lady Of substance, personable, reserved, wishes to meet gentleman Of good character (age and fortune immaterial) with the object Of contracting a Marriage of Convenience. Apply to Box 41, The Chronicle.
“You’ll never guess,” said Sara, “how many replies I received.”
“How many?”
“Twenty-five.”
Miss Beattie’s jaw sagged. “How many?”
“Twenty-five.” Sara laughed. “I can hardly believe it either. I thought I’d be lucky if I got one or two.” She held up a brown paper package. “But here they are. Maggie brought them while you were dressing.”
Maggie was the serving girl who came with the suite of furnished rooms Sara had rented for her stay in Bath, the ground floor of a solid, though modest house in Queen’s Square. Their landlady, Mrs. Hastings, a widow who had fallen on hard times, lived in the floor above.
Sara had rented the rooms and placed the advertisement before she left London. She and Miss Beattie had arrived in Bath the night before, and the first thing Sara did on waking that morning was send the maid to the offices of the Bath Chronicle to collect her replies. She and Miss Beattie were now in the small morning room at the back of the house, enjoying a late breakfast of tea and toast.
Miss Beattie read the advertisement again. “I
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