Page 95 of Scandalous
D’Armand saw Martín’s clenched fists, and his smile grew into a grin. “I have something that might interest you—two things, as a matter of fact. One of them looks remarkably like you.” He withdrew a slim silver case from his exquisitely cut riding jacket and extracted a rectangle of white paper. “I will be at home to you tomorrow at three o’clock. That will be the only time I will ever receive you through the front door.” He held out the card. When Martín reached out to take it, d’Armand let it flutter to the ground.
Martín watched the Frenchman disappear before dismounting and picking up the card. It listed an address not far from Davenport House.
He stared at the card without seeing it. D’Armand had something that would interest him? Two somethings? What could he possibly have that would interest him? Most likely the man thought it necessary to lie to him in order to lure him to his house for the purpose of killing or capturing him. Martín could have told the nobleman he didn’t have to resort to subterfuge to get him alone; he would gladly meet him anywhere, anytime.
He’d not wanted to face his past and all the humiliations associated with it, but now—now that his past had come for him—he felt nothing but relief.
Tomorrow he would take Sarah for a curricle ride. He had worried it was too soon to press his suit with her, especially as she was now a rich, independent woman. But d’Armand’s presence had taken the difficult decision of what and when to tell Sarah completely out of his hands.
Martín tucked the card into his coat pocket and mounted his horse. He felt a hundred times stronger than he’d felt in months, as if a crushing weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt . . . liberated. Laughing out loud like a madman, he turned his mount in the direction of his friends and urged it into a gallop.
Tomorrow afternoon, years of worrying, wondering, and waiting would be over.
* * *
Sarah was ready a full quarter of an hour before Martín arrived in Ramsay’s elegant curricle with two magnificent grays in harness.
He smiled down at her. “Please forgive me for not helping you into the carriage, but I’m afraid these frisky devils require all my attention,” he apologized, while a groom assisted her into the stylish vehicle. There was no avoiding his big body on the narrow bench, and their legs pressed against each other from hip to knee.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his face close enough to hers that she could smell his intoxicating cologne.
Sarah nodded and gave a strangled yelp as the vehicle leapt forward, hurtling toward the busy intersection.
“They’re fabulous!” She clutched her hat, which was threatening to fly away even though it was secured under her chin.
“Ramsay is a fine judge of horseflesh. Zeus and Hades are his most recent pair.”
Sarah laughed. “Named after feuding gods? How like him.”
“Named for gods, are they? I could see he was proud of his cleverness and wanted me to ask, but I refused to give him the satisfaction. You must tell me, who are Hades and Zeus and why were they feuding?”
Sarah entertained Martín with whatever tales of Greek mythology she could recall as they wove their way through the busy streets.
“Those fellows sound more like sailors than gods,” Martín commented, tooling the carriage through the park gates and turning off the congested carriage path. “In fact, some of those stories sound remarkably like Ramsay.”
“Yes, he would make an excellent Zeus. And you—” Sarah broke off when she realized what she was about to say.
“Yes?” He slowed the horses and turned to face her, giving her a quizzical glance.
“Oh, nothing.”
He laughed. “Sarah, you must know by now that I will have it from you no matter what the cost.”
“It is nothing, really. I was merely going to say you would make an excellent Ares to Lord Ramsay’s Zeus.”
“And who is he?”
“He is Zeus’s son, the god of war.”
“Why do I remind you of him?”
She bit her lip. Why had she begun this ridiculous conversation?
“Sarah . . .”
“Fine. You look remarkably like Lord Ramsay’s painting of Ares.”
“Have I seen this painting?”
