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“I’d prefer to speak with you before our conversation can be overheard,” she said.
Garrick inclined his head to direct three of his men, who moved past them and into the rapidly filling hall. With darkness came the need for candles, which lit both the passageway where they now stood and the great room, which he’d always thought of as one of the grandest in all of England.
“Gladly, my lady, as I wish to do the same.”
Having moved away from the entrance, Sara took his hands in hers, surprising both him and, Garrick suspected, her husband.
“’Tis so good to see you, my friend.”
He squeezed her hands. “And you, Sara.” He glanced at Geoffrey, but the man did not appear disturbed by their familiarity. Another mark in his favor. “My deepest condolences for the loss of your father. I’ve never had the pleasure of knowing a better man.”
“And I’m sorry to have to say the same. It seems this past year has not been kind to either one of us.”
They were silent for a moment, and then Garrick squeezed her hands once more before letting them go. “I came not only to offer my condolences, but to apologize for not having been here to help you. When I heard what happened—that bastard Randolf . . .”
“Garrick never did like Randolf,” Sara explained to her husband.
“Good,” Geoffrey said, looking at Garrick. An understanding passed between them—both men would lay down their lives to protect Sara.
“I’m glad you were here,” Garrick said to the new earl, nodding at him.
“As am I.”
When the earl looked at his wife again, Garrick relaxed.
Yes, there was to be no doubt—her husband loved her.
“I’m grateful for your visit,” Sara said, “but apologies are not necessary, Garrick. You were across an entire ocean fighting for Edward. There was nothing you could have done.”
“Fighting to right his father’s follies,” he said, hoping his voice did not betray him as a traitor. Although Sara knew he respected the man’s position, she likely remembered he had no love for Edward’s policies—and approved even less of his father’s. But this was neither the time nor the place for talk of politics.
Sara’s husband looked around them as if searching for one of the king’s spies.
“My husband can be overly suspicious,” she said by way of explanation.
Garrick followed his glance.
“Oh dear,” Sara said. “And I thought I’d have an ally when you arrived. It seems I’m to be overrun by the good intentions of overprotective men.”
“Sir Geoffrey—”
“Geoffrey.” He stuck his hand out to him, and Garrick shook it firmly. Aye, he liked this man with the same raven-black hair as . . .
“Oh!”
They all turned as the very woman who’d entered his thoughts nearly ran into him. She halted, breathing heavily as if she’d been running.
“I thought I was late,” she said, staring at him.
She looked exactly as she had in the stables, though with less hay clinging to her velvet gown, and her effect on him was undiminished.
“Emma.” Sara moved toward the vision—the woman—and placed a hand on her back.
“Meet a very dear friend of mine. Sir Garrick Helmsley, the sixth Earl of Clave. Oh, and you are now a Scottish earl as well, are you not?”
Garrick hardly heard the words. The woman’s gaze pulled him toward her, compelling him not to look away, and he was easily swayed.
“Aye,” he managed to reply. Years of training and decorum saved him.
