Free Strangers at Dawn by Elizabeth Thornton Page B

Don’t dawdle. Let’s set Bath on fire.”
    S ARA WAS IN HER ROOM TYING THE RIBBONS of her bonnet under her chin when her thoughts strayed from her three likely prospects to Max. She’d thought about him constantly in the last few days, but it was only now,when she’d put some distance between them and was confident that they were not likely to meet again, that she could look back on their encounter with a calm and critical eye.
    It seemed strange, almost laughable, that he, a Corinthian and a fop, should be the one to overcome her deep distrust of men. He’d done a lot more than that. He’d aroused sensations she hadn’t known existed.
    Passion. How was it possible for a man she did not know to have such an effect on her?
    Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. He was the kind of man a mother would warn her daughter against-handsome, charming, experienced, and with the morals of …
    No. She couldn’t fault his morals. He wasn’t like William. He was gentle and kind, and that’s why she’d been susceptible to him. He could have seduced her easily, but he had let her go.
    She wished now that he hadn’t been so chivalrous. It would have been a beautiful memory to warm her in the cold nights ahead. She wasn’t sorry that he’d climbed through her window. Every woman should have a Max Worthe in her past, if only to remind her that once, some man had found her beautiful and desirable. And this man had meant it.
    She gazed wistfully into space as she remembered that night, and by small degrees, before she was aware of it, all her senses came alive. She remembered his powerful body pinning her to the mattress, the brush of his hands from her breast to waist to thigh; he was no longer coaxing her, he was devouring her. The memories were so vivid, so erotic, that she felt as though he were actually touching her now.
    “Sara!” Miss Beattie poked her head around the door. “What is it? What’s keeping you?”
    Sara stared, stuttered, then came to herself with a start. “Nothing,” she said breathlessly, “nothing at all.” She picked up her reticule and hurried from the room.

    T HIS WAS SARA’S FIRST VISIT TO BATH. THOUGH she liked what she saw on the short walk from Queen’s Square to the Pump Room-a city of gleaming Bath stone built in the neoclassical style-her pleasure was dulled by the constant fear that someone might recognize her.
    She had to go through with it. She couldn’t do what she usually did when she was recognized. In the past, she’d solved her problems by starting over somewhere else. But now she was cornered. She had no choice but to fight back. All she had to do was keep out of William’s reach a little while longer …
    And marry a man who would take her on her terms.
    It had started to rain. Miss Beattie, always prepared, unfurled a black umbrella. “Maybe we should have taken a chair,” she said, indicating one of the many sedan chairs that had passed them on the way to the center of town.
    “I’ve never seen so many sedans at one time,” said Sara. “I suppose it’s because the hills are too steep for carriages to navigate.”
    “Or,” said Miss Beattie tartly, “it could be that the clocks in Bath stopped in the last century. At least, that’s my impression.” To Sara’s questioning look she elaborated, “Sedans? Gentlemen in breeches and powdered hair? I feel as though I’ve taken a step back in time.”
    Sara laughed. Miss Beattie was right. The majority of people coming and going were, if not elderly, past their prime. The ladies had adopted the current fashions of high-waisted gowns, but the gentlemen’s garments were out of date. Few wore the knit trousers and tight-fitting coats of the smart set in London.
    That thought eased her fears. Bath was famous for the curative powers of its mineral waters. That’s why there were so many old people here, to cure their ailments. That’s whyit was no longer a fashionable resort. It was too staid, too dull for the kind of