Page 75 of Scandalous

He gave her an amused look before raising his glass to his lips. She stared at his full, sensuous mouth, slammed by the memory of it between her legs. The vision was so powerful, so . . . physical, it rendered her blind and deaf.

“Sarah?” He was peering at her, and his voice was hollow, as if it came from the end of a long corridor.

“I . . . I beg your pardon?”

“I said, surely your guardians would not welcome a visit from one such as me?”

His words worked like a magnet on her scattered thoughts, and Sarah gave vent to the sigh of irritation this topic deserved.

“It is inconceivable to me why your past as a slave should influence any forward-thinking person. It is the person who owned you who should be ashamed. I find it beyond irksome that you would ever think me, or a member of my family, capable of such thoughts. I am also disappointed you think learning I have august relations would change me. I am the same person as ever.”

Martín merely smiled.

Sarah found his condescending smirk more than a little galling. She could no longer hold back the question that had been burning a hole in her mind for days. “And where have you been these past weeks?”

He laughed. “I, too, am the same person I have always been.”

She jerked her eyes away from his taunting face and gazed sightlessly at the plate before her, unable to hide her misery. That was as good as an admission that he’d spent the past weeks in a brothel. She was a fool to care for him. His behavior proclaimed his feelings for her all too plainly: he had none. What had happened between them meant less than nothing to him. He’d hardly been able to get away from her quickly enough when they reached London, and now she knew he’d spent the entire time in the arms of another woman. Or several, more likely. The sour tang of bile flooded her mouth, threatening to choke her.

“Are you quite all right, Miss Fisher?” Lord Danforth’s handsome brow wrinkled with concern.

She was making a spectacle of herself.

She blinked hard several times. “I must have inhaled a piece of pepper. I will be fine,” she assured him, drinking deeply from her water goblet.

The meal lasted several hundred years. Sarah answered the viscount’s questions and made the requisite inquiries, the entire time aware of the low rumble beside her that indicated Martín was engaged in conversation with his other dinner partner, oblivious to what his words had done to her.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Martín regretted the words even as they left his mouth. Once again he’d behaved like an obnoxious boor. He did not understand this urge to offend and disgust her. Why had he snapped at her so viciously when she’d asked about his family? Why did he have to tell her where he had been? In the past he had never hidden his behavior from anyone, but neither had he flaunted it as he did with Sarah.

“How long will you be in England, Captain Bouchard?”

Martín realized he’d not been paying heed to his dinner companion. “I have no fixed plans, merely a few matters that need my attention.”

“Where will you go next?”

“I will go to Paris.”

“Indeed, how exciting! You are French?”

Martín eyed the woman beside him. She was perhaps ten years older than he. Although she was by no means attractive, she had an intelligent sparkle in her wide gray eyes and a very engaging manner. The way her gaze roamed his face and body was suggestive. He wondered if the unmarried sisters of a viscount were permitted to engage in carnal adventures. He made a note to ask Ramsay about such matters when they were next alone.

“No, mademoiselle, I am an American.”

Her expressive brows rose at this information.

“Oh, then you are recently our enemy. Tell me, are you the spearhead of some new invasion? An advance force of handsome men come to turn Englishwomen’s heads?”

He smiled, amused by her provocative question. “I’m afraid I have little to do with my country. In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to call me an agent of your government as my ship operates under a British letter of marque and reprisal.”

“Goodness! Does not your country consider you a traitor?”

“No, mademoiselle, they do not. In fact, my country does not even consider me a human being.” He watched as the truth came to her, her eyes flickering across his face and features, as if suddenly seeing beyond his fine clothing.

“I see.” Her smile, if anything, was warmer than before. Martín found her response intriguing. But not quite as surprising as her next words. “You must come to our house and visit my sister and me. Will you call on us, Captain? The Marquess of Exley is one of our greatest supporters and has told us of your association with Baron Ramsay. I understand you and the baron both have a great interest in the subject of slavery?”

Had the woman really not known of his past? Or was she merely prodding him to see if he would disclose anything of interest? Martín knew the women of Ramsay’s class had nothing better to do with their time than shop and gossip, so it was entirely possible this woman knew a great deal about him. The last thing he would allow was a woman—any woman—mucking around in his past for her own amusement. He certainly had no plans to present himself at her house so she could wheedle gossip out of him.