Page 50 of His Sinful Touch

SABRINA COULDN’T BREATHE, her heart pounding—she was certain that Peter had seen her. But his gaze slid past the spot where she sat, and he turned, taking in the rest of the room.

“Good God,” he said. “Damned gloomy place, isn’t it? Look at that old chap above the mantel. He looks like he could eat your liver for lunch.”

“Sit down, Peter, and stop fantasizing.” Mr. Dearborn dropped into one of the stiff chairs. “No doubt they hope to intimidate us by making us wait.”

Peter perched on the sofa at right angles to his father. They waited. Niles Dearborn shifted in his chair. After a moment, Peter got up and began to pace about.

Sabrina watched, her nerves dying down under the weight of her increasing boredom. Peter’s nerves, on the other hand, seemed to be growing worse. It was no wonder Alex had put the men in this room; the place fairly reeked of power and privilege long held—it was huge and ornate, furnished in heavy, dark Jacobean furniture. The fireplace was massive, and though she could not clearly see the portrait of “the first duke,” which seemed to prey on Peter’s nerves, the black walnut paneling on either side of the fireplace was forbidding enough. Intricately carved with all sorts of animals and figures, the paneling was undeniably beautiful, but equally overwhelming.

Peter finally stopped at the mantel, propping his elbow on it in a pose of casual ease. The picture was spoiled, however, by the way he kept shifting and glancing around, running a finger beneath the edge of his ascot.

Sabrina, watching him, felt strangely woozy, her stomach twisting within her. Another remnant of her dream last night crept into her brain. Peter had been acting the same way, nervous and jumpy, his forehead damp with sweat. She closed her eyes, her hand going to her stomach. She could feel the wool of Peter’s jacket as, dizzy and disoriented, Sabrina leaned against his arm. Another man was there, too; she could hear him droning on and on, though the words did not penetrate the fog in her brain.

Where were they? Was this scene real, an actual memory? She felt as if her breakfast might come back up at any moment. Lilah put her hand on Sabrina’s arm, pressing lightly. Sabrina looked up to see her friend staring at her in concern.

Lilah mouthed, Are you ill?

Sabrina shook her head. The vision had faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind only a faint nausea and a lingering uneasiness.

Peter moved from the fireplace to the window, then back again. Stretching his arm out on the mantel, he began to drum his fingers. At last his father snapped, “Peter, do stop that noise.”

“Where the devil are they? We’ve been here twenty minutes at least.”

“Yes, well, just possess yourself in—” Mr. Dearborn jumped up as the butler entered the room, followed by the Duke of Broughton.

“His Grace, the Duke of Broughton,” Phipps intoned, as if announcing the queen.

The duke glanced about vaguely in his usual way, and Dearborn stepped forward and bowed. “Your Grace.”

Broughton peered at him and said mildly, “Hello. Do I know you?”

“My name is Niles Dearborn, Your Grace, and it’s an honor to meet you. Pray allow me to introduce my son, Peter Dearborn.”

“Yes, very nice, I’m sure.” The duke waved toward the chairs. “Do sit. Now, Phipps said this was important. You’re here about some artifacts, are you?”

“Artifacts?” Dearborn looked blank, glancing at his son. “I don’t understand.”

Broughton smiled in a kindly way. “I must warn you that I am interested only in ancient Greco-Roman matters. Not anything more recent or Egyptian—though, of course, that’s terribly important as well, just not my area, you see.”

The Dearborns gaped at him.

“I don’t think they’re here about artifacts, Father,” Alex said, strolling into the room, followed by Theo, Megan and Con. Surprisingly, even Uncle Bellard shuffled into the room behind them. “I believe they’re here to try to take Miss Blair, isn’t that right, gentlemen?”

“Miss Blair?” The duke looked confused. “Who—”

“Sabrina, Father,” Theo explained.

“Oh, Sabrina! Yes, lovely girl. Now, she has a real appreciation for history.” The duke beamed. “Isn’t that right, Uncle Bellard?”

“Yes, indeed.” The little old man nodded. He glanced around and saw Con. “My boy! When did you get back? I take it the world didn’t end, eh?”

“No. It was something of an anticlimax.”

Uncle Bellard cackled. “I bet it was. Who are you supposed to be?”

Con said drily, “I have it on good authority that I am a music-hall entertainer.”

Sabrina grinned and glanced at her friend. Lilah rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the twitch of her lips.