“I saw the way you looked at him at the Hollisters’ ball and the way you spoke to him at the marquess’s dinner party. It’s plain as day that you have feelings for him.”
The tiniest bit of hope unfurled in Sarah’s chest. “Mother, what if I wanted to… marry for love?”
“There is no such thing,” her mother scoffed.
Hope died a quick death.
“But, I—”
“You’ll marry Lord Branford, Sarah. Afterward, if you’d like to have a discreet affair with Lord Berkeley, by all means, do so. But for the love of God, wait until after you produce the heir. That’s all I ask.”
Sarah recoiled from her mother. It was as if she didn’t even know the woman sitting next to her. Why had she thought for one moment that her mother might actually understand? Be sympathetic? Sarah hung her head. She would never ask Christian to have an affair with her. It was beneath him. Beneath her. It just proved that her mother didn’t know her at all.
Her mother patted her hand. “Lord Branford has been good to wait all these months, especially after your unfortunate little escapade last winter. It’s time you stopped being childish. Do as you’re told, Sarah.”
“Yes, Mother,” she murmured.Do as you’re told, Sarah.The words thundered in her ears until her head ached.
“It’s not all bad. Just think, we can finish shopping for your trousseau as soon as we return to London. That should cheer you up.”
No. Her mother didn’t understand anything.
“Yes, Mother.” Another stiff murmur.
Her mother patted her hand once more. “You’ve already begun fittings for your wedding gown. We’ll simply increase the number of appointments each week.”
“Yes, Mother.” It was all she could say. Her afternoon with Christian played through her mind with excruciating detail. The parson’s noose was tightening around her throat until she couldn’t breathe.
“Everything will be all right, dear.” Her mother stood and moved toward the door. “Now, get some sleep. Lord Branford will be here for the wedding tomorrow and you’ll want to look fresh and rested for him.”
“Yes, Mother.”
The door closed behind her mother and Sarah’s throat began to contract. The walls of the bedchamber were marching toward her. The room became smaller and smaller. Marry Lord Branford in three weeks’ time. Marry Lord Branford in three weeks’ time? Three weeks? It was too soon. She couldn’t breathe. She pushed herself off the bed and raced to the door. She was wearing only her night rail and dressing gown, but it didn’t matter. She had to get out of the tiny room. She wrenched open the door and fled down the corridor. Thankfully, it was dark and empty. She was running somewhere, to someone, even though she wouldn’t admit it to herself. Alex had mentioned to her the location of Christian’s room earlier when they’d been touring the house together. Lord Owen had pointed out his own room and said Lord Berkeley was right next door. At the time she’d thought it seemed like superfluous information, now she was thankful for it.
Sarah hurried down the corridor on bare feet, turned toward the bachelor wing of the house, and flew along that corridor, too. She had to see him. Had to tell him. She didn’t know why. All she knew was that Christian was the only other person she’d ever met who had told her that he experienced the sensation of walls closing in around him also. He was the only person who could understand.
She nearly skidded to a stop in front of his door. Her breathing was so harsh, she feared she’d wake the entire row of bedchamber occupants. She knocked as softly as she dared, then placed her ear against the door to listen for any movement.
Several moments ticked by interminably before the door swung open and Christian stood there, soft linen breeches covering him from the waist down and absolutely nothing on his bare chest. His hair was a bit mussed, as if he’d been abed, but he looked so handsome that she nearly rushed in and kissed him. Instead, she swallowed hard.
He pushed a hand through his rumpled hair. “Sarah, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“I had to get away from my room. I… I couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in.” She dragged her nails across her arms.
He stuck out his head and glanced both ways down the corridor to ensure they were not seen, then he quickly pulled her inside his bedchamber. “It’s not safe for you to be out there. If someone saw you, your reputation would be in ruins.”
“I know. But, I had to tell someone. Tell you…”
“Tell me what?”
“I couldn’t breathe, Christian. The walls… I can’t…”
He pulled her by the hand to the bed, where he sat her down and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Lower your head toward your knees. Breathe.”
She did as she was told, bending at the waist to move her head as close to her knees as possible. Without her stays, it was simple. He rubbed her back, his hand a hot brand through her dressing gown. She struggled to breathe, her head bowed, her hands in her hair.
“In through your nose, out through your mouth,” he said quietly.
Several moments passed while her breathing calmed and he stroked her back. His hand moved up to her hair. She tried to ignore how good it felt. She didn’t want it to stop. Finally, she sat up again and drew in a shaky breath.
