Chapter 5: A Family Outing (Part-1)
The nights that followed the charity race event passed in a fevered haze for Sarah. No matter how desperately she attempted to slip back into the numbing routine of her daily existence, haunting flashes of that fateful night refused to relinquish their hold.
Sarah found herself drifting through the immaculate halls of the Whitmore estate as if unmoored, a ghost poorly tethered to the trappings of her once-unshakable reality. Conversations with staff and family alike took on a surreal, dreamlike quality that left her disoriented in their wake. Only when she stole private moments alone did the fragile facade of normalcy begin to crumble in earnest.
It was on one such night, that Sarah tossed restlessly amid her rumpled bed sheets, the inky blackness of night offering no solace to her fevered thoughts. Vivid images from her heated dream flickered through her mind's eye in a dizzying kaleidoscope – the throaty roar of the powerful engine, the exhilarating thrill of the chase, and the searing brand of Victor's lips upon her own.
No matter how desperately she tried to dispel the sensual phantoms, they only seemed to intensify with each passing hour. An exquisite ache blossomed between her thighs as she recalled the feral grace of Victor's movements, the undisguised hunger burning in those azure depths like twin smouldering embers.
With a strangled groan, Sarah flung the sweat-dampened sheets aside and slipped from her bed, her skin tingling with the memory of his phantom caress. There would be no rest for her tonight, not with the ghosts of forbidden desires haunting her every waking moment like torturous spectres.
Donning a sheer silk robe, she padded across the plush carpet to the windows and threw back the heavy velvet curtains. The first pale streaks of dawn were just beginning to chase away the night, bathing the immaculate grounds in a soft, ethereal glow that seemed to rouse an equally heady awakening within her breast. As the inky vestiges of slumber melted away, a sharp rap at her bedroom door jerked Sarah from her reverie.
"Enter," she called out, turning to find Emily sweeping into the room with her customary blithe lack of decorum.
"There you are!" her sister crowded with an impish grin that instantly set Sarah's teeth on edge. "And already up and about, I see?"
At Sarah's blank look, Emily's eyes widened comically. "Oh! I forgot to mention – Father has invited our dear James to join us on a family outing." She gave an airy little giggle that grated on Sarah's fraying nerves. "The stable master has readied the horses for a lovely trail ride this afternoon. James will make for such a strapping brother-in-law, don't you agree?"
Her words hung in the air like a noxious cloud, and Sarah felt her tenuous grip on composure slipping away. "He is NOT your brother-in-law!" The vehement words burst from her lips before she could stop them, borne aloft on a swell of emotion she could no longer contain. Shame instantly flooded her cheeks, but she found herself powerless to rein in her spiralling temper.
"Not yet, at any rate," she amended tightly, turning away from her sister's stunned expression and willing her thundering heart to still its frantic cadence. "Do call him Mr. Shaw."
Emily blinked owlishly for several beats before recovering her usual aplomb, though a glimmer of hurt lurked in her eyes. "Why Sarah, whatever has gotten into you? This hostility towards your intended is most unbecoming."
A pang of remorse lanced through Sarah's breast, but she quickly tamped it down. Emily was still little more than a child, after all – sheltered from the harsh realities that Sarah herself had only begun to glimpse. How could her sweet, naïve sister possibly understand the raging torrent of desires that had been awakened within her?
"We should make our preparations," Sarah said, at last, her tone carefully measured. "I, for one, have no desire to keep our...guests waiting overlong."
The way she emphasised that final word made it clear that the jury was still out as to what allegiance James Shaw had truly earned within the hallowed halls of the Whitmore Estate.
The afternoon sun burned high overhead, casting dappled shadows across the emerald lawns as the Whitmore party assembled at the family stables. Sarah could feel the familiar weight of her father's scrutiny as she adjusted her riding gloves, his silent appraisal a constant presence that had haunted her since childhood.
Jonathan Whitmore was a man of few words, but his expectations were as clear as the azure sky above. Decorum, restraint, a lifetime of rigid adherence to the family's lofty legacy – these were the virtues he had instilled in her from the cradle. And now, as she teetered on the precipice of womanhood, the full weight of that burden seemed to press down upon her slender shoulders like an invisible mantle.
As the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the tranquil hush, Sarah spun to find her intended, James Shaw, striding towards her with his usual arrogant bravado. But this time, his presence did little to ignite her ire. No, her blood burned for an entirely different reason as images of Victor's piercing gaze flooded her consciousness, stoking the embers of her awakened desire into a raging inferno.
James smirked, clearly savouring the effect of his entrance as his dark eyes roamed over Sarah with undisguised possession. "Your father thought it would be a marvellous idea for us to spend the day together as a family," he purred, his voice a poisonous caress against the shell of her ear. "A chance to...bond before our impending nuptials."
The way he emphasised that final phrase made Sarah's skin crawl. She could practically see the smugness dripping from his pores, the blatant implication that she was little more than a trophy to be won and paraded before the envious eyes of London's elite.
But before she could form a biting retort, Jonathan appeared beside James, clapping the younger man heartily on the shoulder with a forced bonhomie that sang of discomfort. "Doesn't this remind you of your younger days, James? I have heard that you were once a skilled equestrian, riding for miles without a care in the world."
"Indeed," James replied with a thin smile that never reached his cold, appraising eyes. "Though I must confess, my interests now lie more in...private pursuits."
Sarah bristled at the thinly veiled innuendo, her hands clenching into white-knuckled fists as a surge of revulsion roiled in the pit of her belly. How she longed to wipe that smug sneer off his face, to let the raging torrent of defiance bubbling within her spill forth in a torrent of biting words.
Yet, she found herself utterly paralyzed, her mind whirling with sensory recollections of that heated fantasy on the beach. She could still feel the roar of the engine thrumming through her veins, the wind in her hair sweet with the promise of freedom as it beckoned from just over the horizon.
Beside her, Emily prattled on excitedly about the day's plans while the stable hands busied themselves with preparing the mounts. Sarah barely registered any of it, lost as she was in the torrent of her awakened desires.
It wasn't until James' arm slid around her waist with casual possession that she finally surfaced, his touch igniting a blaze of disgust that cut through the haze of her fantasies. Sarah recoiled as if burned, shoving him away with surprising force.
"Keep your hands to yourself," she hissed, chin raised in a subtle challenge as her eyes flashed with defiance.
James' brows lifted in mock surprise, but his eyes glittered with a menace that stole Sarah's breath. "Why Sarah, that's hardly the way to behave in the present company."
He leaned in closer, his lips a hairsbreadth from her ear as his hot breath fanned against her flushed skin. "Though if you'd like to discuss proper...etiquette in private, I would be more than happy to oblige."
Sarah's stomach churned with revulsion at his blatant innuendo, her fingers curling into claws as she fought the urge to rake them across his smug, self-satisfied countenance. This...this vile excuse for a man would never be worthy of her heart, of her body. Not when the mere mention of his name made her long for the searing intensity of Victor's presence.
Glancing over James' shoulder, Sarah caught sight of the stable hands leading out her father's stallion – a massive beast of rippling muscle and liquid grace. Despite her anger, a snort of derision escaped her lips at the sight. How utterly pathetic James appeared in comparison! Like a fumbling child playing a role far too grand for his meagre talents.
A glacial chill slid down Sarah's spine as Victor's heated words from the night before washed over her in searing recollection. "I can't fathom what would make a woman settle for...tawdry diversions when the option for something infinitely more thrilling is sitting right before her."
Her breath hitched as the mental image of Victor perched astride that powerful beast flashed through her mind's eye - every line and sinew coiled with leonine grace, eyes blazing with the thrill of the chase.
"Something amiss, my dear?"
James' oily voice sliced through her lascivious imaginings, his yellowed smile somehow both condescending and calculating at once.
"You appear...distracted, Though I can't fathom why, unless..." His eyes glinted with undisguised malice as he leaned in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "Unless the mere thought of mounting such a...powerful beast has you feeling faint? I would be only too happy to lend a steady hand."
Heat blossomed across Sarah's cheeks, though this time it was fury lending her that telltale flush. How dare he! That arrogant, supercilious worm of a man!
"No need, I can manage myself fine", Sarah replied.
At the same time at the entrance of the estate, a glossy black town car purred to a halt, cutting an imposing figure against the manicured grandeur of the grounds. The driver exited and crisply opened the rear door, allowing Victor Mallory to emerge with an effortless grace.
Victor paused for a moment, squinting against the afternoon sunlight. His expression remained inscrutable behind the lenses of his aviator sunglasses, betraying none of the tumultuous storms that constantly churned beneath that suave exterior.
The heavy oaken doors swung open, and the stately form of Mr. Higgins appeared on the threshold like an apparition from another era. Victor's lips quivered in a thin smile of recognition as the venerable butler inclined his head in a shallow bow of deference.
"Mr. Mallory, sir. This is an unexpected pleasure," Higgins intoned, his rich baritone seeming to add very weight to the words. "I trust your journey was an agreeable one?"
"Quite," Victor replied with an imperceptible nod. He removed his sunglasses with a casual flick of his wrist, revealing eyes that glittered like chips of frozen azure. "Though I'm afraid this visit is one of business rather than leisure."
If Higgins found that statement unusual, his impassive countenance gave no hint. The butler simply gestured towards the foyer with one white-gloved hand. "By all means, sir. I shall inform Mr. Whitmore of your arrival at once."
Higgins led him through a labyrinth of polished marble corridors and into a richly panelled study. The scent of aged leather and pipe smoke hung heavy in the air, speaking of masculine indulgences and long nights fueled by brandy and solitary contemplation.
"If you would be so kind as to make yourself comfortable, sir," Higgins murmured with a second deferential bow. "I shall fetch Mr. Whitmore directly. Refreshments will be provided presently."
With that, the butler swept from the room, leaving Victor alone amidst the muted shadows and understated elegance. Yet the man seemed utterly unfazed by the solitude, slouching into one of the high-backed leather chairs with a casual indifference that bordered on insolence.
On the other side, as Jonathan was helping Emily astride her mare, Mr. Higgins approached Jonathan with a measured grace befitting his years of impeccable service.
"Sir, Mr. Mallory is at the door requesting a meeting with you."