After all, he wasn’t going after just any woman. He was going to claim the Siren and save Sarah Pettijohn from the misery of her current existence.
As he galloped through the night streets of London, the lantern in his hand lighting the way, he realized there wasn’t a man of his acquaintance who wouldn’t be jealous.
Chapter Five
It had taken Sarah hours to finally fall asleep.
After she’d ordered Baynton from her home, she’d had to spend a good hour pacing the floor, reliving every frustrating moment of being in his presence, and imagining quick rejoinders to put him in his place.
The worst had been when he’d been curious about her plays.
My work, she could hear herself telling him haughtily.
“Work?” he’d questioned as if women never did such a thing. Or that writing wasn’t the very hardest work, which it was. In fact, it was harder than an aristocrat like himself could appreciate because he had never worked. He had servants to work for him.
And then, in her outraged mind, she could see herself stuffing pages of her play into his arrogant mouth. She’d make him chew on her words for questioning her. Yes, she would!
Indeed, she could not wait until Geoff and Charles produced her play. She’d already chosen The Fitful Widow because it was humorous and yet, had a poignancy to the story, especially when the hero falls to one knee and declares himself in love with the Widow.
She could vividly see the scene staged in her mind. She knew Londoners would flock to the theater after the first performance. Word would spread throughout the city of how wonderful her play was until it reached the ears of the Duke of Baynton—and he would wonder, who was this marvelous new playwright who had captivated the capital?
Perhaps he would be curious enough to seek her out?
She could picture their meeting. For some reason, she saw herself dressed in Georgian fashion with powdered hair and even a patch. Paste jewels were in her ears. She’d chosen for her imaginings, she realized, the costume that her mother had worn in her performance of She Stoops to Conquer, the last role she’d ever played before Lord Twyndale had made her his mistress.
The costume was perfect for Sarah to appear regal and self-assured. That was the attitude she wanted around Baynton.
For his part, in her mind’s ramblings, she saw him in somber clothing. Drab browns. He appeared contrite, humbled. It was a very good image . . . however, she could not discount reality.
Baynton would never humble himself to her.
Furthermore, her thoughts had led her down the path of regret and of those things that could never be.
Aloneness had filled her being.
Baynton would never see her play. It was beneath his dignity. And her mother was gone. Disappointment, cynicism, and a taste for the poppy had let her drift away with only Sarah left to mourn her.
Sarah had looked around her room then, seeing it as she believed Baynton had. There wasn’t anything to her surroundings. It was a shell compared to the life she’d once lived and she was fiercely glad that Charlene was gone, safe away from her. Her life was in Boston. She’d have children and love and all the good things that came with them—things that were lost to Sarah.
Her temper spent, Sarah knew she had grown maudlin. She should put herself to bed. Tomorrow was an important day. She had a meeting to discuss her play with Geoff and Charles. She should not let the Duke of Baynton ruin it for her.
So, she’d undressed, carefully folding her Siren costume away and placing it in a bandbox. She had pulled her heavy cotton nightdress over her head and had blown out the candle. Her pallet was not comfortable but she cheered herself with thoughts of the morrow and drifted into a turbulent sleep.
Sarah had never been one to dream, except now she did. She found herself walking in a dark and dangerous place that she couldn’t quite define but she wasn’t alone. The Duke of Baynton was beside her, guarding her, guiding her. She was glad he was because she heard voices mocking her. She thought she saw faces and yet, it was unclear in that hazy, jumbled way of dreams.
Her only certainty was that Baynton was by her side—until the knocking started.
At the sound, he stopped, but she kept walking. She had a thought that he would catch up. He didn’t. He just disappeared and she was left with the awful knocking that kept growing more and more insistent—
Sarah came awake with a start, shocked to realize she was in her bed and not walking the streets. Certainly her body ached as if she’d traveled for miles, and she had, she realized. She’d exercised herself very well the past evening and had received little sleep in return.
“Mrs. Pettijohn? Wake up!” The Duke of Baynton began rapping heavily on her door again.
“What in the world—?” She combed her hair back from her face. She hadn’t bothered to braid it before turning in and its heavy mass was tangled. The side of her face felt as if she’d been sleeping too hard and her eyes were crusty. She rubbed them.
“Mrs. Pettijohn, open the door. I have a matter of great urgency to discuss with you.” There was a light around the door as if it was day, but it couldn’t have been.
The word “urgency” captured her attention. What could be urgent that he hadn’t said to her last night? Her mind immediately went to Charlene.
