The Ugly Duckling Debutante (House of Renwick #1)(31)

The rest of the night went by so slow that Sara thought she might collapse into a fit of rage. Gentleman after gentleman asked her for a dance. Her feet were so tired, she thought they would fall off, and each man she met whispered into her ear poetry and songs of love. It wasn’t at all what she had expected.

Apparently ugly ducklings could hatch into swans. She just didn’t realize it wasn’t at all as exciting as she had read about in her novels. Most of the men were slightly foxed, if not completely, and let their hands roam a little too freely down the sides of her body. The others she danced with, the ones she at least found agreeable, ended up trying to trick her into going into the gardens with them. Had they no idea she was betrothed? Was this how Nicholas had behaved in order to earn his reputation? The thought dizzied her and the room suddenly began to swim. She needed to escape; she needed to get out of these God forsaken shoes and find fresh air.

Sara ran to the closest door and threw it open, revealing a tiny garden walkway; she hurried down the walkway toward the bench and turned around to see if anyone followed. Nicholas would be furious if he found her out here by herself.

She sat on the bench and let a lone tear escape her eye. Fairy tales were not true; they had it all wrong. It was about time she accepted that, even if now she somehow miraculously had a pretty face and dress, nothing would satisfy her unless she had someone to love her for her heart and the way she laughed. She sighed and threw off a shoe, moaning in ecstasy at the feel of the grass against her stockings. It felt so good she decided to throw off her other shoe.

“Why are you throwing shoes at me?” Nicholas’s deep voice penetrated the darkness. His perfectly chiseled face wore a smug grin that he apparently reserved only for her.

“Oh, I apologize, my lord,” she retorted. “If I had known you were back there, I would have thrown them much harder.”

“Which is why I kept my silence until both shoes were already out of reach of those catapults masquerading as dainty hands.” He sat down, still wearing a smirk, though her tone did cause him to wince. “What are you doing out in the gardens by yourself, and stripping out of your shoes, no less?”

“I should be asking you the same thing, my lord.” He held the shoe out to her but pushed her hand out of the way when she reached for it. Instead he laid the shoe effortlessly on the ground next to her exposed stockings. Her face flushed red just thinking about the scandal she caused.

“It’s not scandalous unless you let me see your ankles.”

She smiled.

“Wait. Are you going to let me see your ankles, because if you are—” He laughed.

She liked him this way, easy to talk to, happy. It was better than the brooding mood he seemed to lapse so easily into at the slightest provocation. “You’re happier outside,” she found herself musing.

He sighed. “I’m happier when I’m away from all of that.” He pointed back toward the giant ballroom. “I guess you could say I’ve sowed my wild oats and now want nothing more than to retire to the country like an old man.”

“You're hardly old!” She giggled. “I mean, of course, you’re older than me by quite a few years.” Nicholas glared at her. “But you’re not ancient.”

“Your compliments restore me to youthful vitality, I assure you.” He gallantly put his hand over his heart and grinned, revealing a perfect view of his captivating smile.

She suddenly felt light as a feather, although the turmoil of the evening weighed heavily on her heart.

“Why is it,” he leaned in, “that every time we attend a gathering, I find you outside doing something scandalous?”

“It was hot?” she offered, more as a question. He reached to brush some hair from her face.

“Try again,” he said.

Sara was rapidly running out of reasons to explain to him why she kept escaping the clutches of the ton. “I don’t like to be stared at,” she answered looking down, and it was the truth. If she was really being honest with herself, it had always unsettled her to be gawked at—ugly or pretty, it didn’t matter. It made her feel like who she was on the inside was of no importance.

“That’s silly,” he said quickly. “Why wouldn’t a woman such as yourself—and notice I didn’t use the word normal—want to be admired?”

She exhaled. “Because I don’t believe it’s the outside that counts.”

Nicholas seemed perplexed by her statement, almost as if he thought she was bluffing. He folded his arms across his chest and spoke softly, “What about the inside then? What if your inside is as black as your outside?”

She smiled. “Surely a Christian man like yourself, understands there is forgiveness, even for the blackest of souls.” Sara didn’t know what possessed her, but she found herself reaching across the bench and laying a hand on his. His eyes widened in surprise.





Chapter Eleven



Did she accept him then? Was this her way of telling him as much? He felt too vulnerable. The air in his lungs whooshed out as her hand reached out to touch his. Her words affected him—no they ruined him. He felt as if she would give up the entire world to make him happy; how did this happen? How did they begin to care for one another? It couldn’t happen; he wouldn’t let it. It would destroy her. She must understand how potentially dangerous he was for her.