She couldn't move. Sarah Jane knew that Lord Killsworth had backed away just in time before she became a fallen woman.

Sarah Jane couldn't even begin to explain what had happened in the... in the... she didn't even know where she was. She didn't even remember how she got there.

Every thought in her mind was invaded by the tall Lord Killsworth, the new Lord Rosenberg, and his achingly handsome face.

She stood, resting her weak body on the desk, feeling winded. Chills had dissipated and was now quickly turning into embarrassment, as he searched frantically in his desk.

A candle was lit.

And Sarah Jane decided that nothing compared to looking at Lord Killsworth in candlelight.

He exhibited the most stricken expression. Raised brows, wide eyes, and a perfectly clenched jaw—a combination of emotion that she did not understand. His neck exposed a thick expanse of skin with taut muscles. His robe slightly open, revealing a patch of hair that grew thicker as it traveled to the concealed deep V of his shirt.

Her eyes trailed down his chest towards the ropes of his robe and noticed a most unusual protrusion.

She gasped, what in heavens is that?

Lord Killsworth immediately pulled the robe tighter around his body. He swallowed loudly several times, his throat worked visibly.

She had no idea how she looked like to him. No man can view her passively thus.

Her hair flowed freely across her face and towards her spine, as the shorter lengths bounced above the gentle mounds of her chest. Her nightgown had come loose, its ribbons resting between her breasts as one shoulder bared itself under the candlelight.

Her lips were swollen from his kisses, enticingly parted that wore an expression of pure sin.

And she was looking at his erection.

Hell and damnation. Lady Sarah Jane could have seduced a saint.

"What are you doing here?" His voice came out strangled. He had no right to see her this way. No right at all.

"I... I—" she stammered.

"For Christ's sake, Sarah Jane, have you no care for your well-being at all? AT ALL?"

Startled by his ire, Sarah Jane immediately pushed away from the edge and pulled the thin material over her shoulder, tying the ribbons tightly between her breasts. "If you must know, I do care for my well-being, very much so." She tried to keep her pride.

Ashamed of her behavior and his resulting irritability, she could not bring herself to look at him again. What must he think of her, wantonly sharing kisses with a man she barely knew?

"I came down looking for a book, but I found you instead," she said with a hard swallow.

"Do you have any idea what happens between a man and a woman?" He voice was low and menacing that Sarah Jane's resolve instantly shattered into pieces.

"Do you, Lady Sarah Jane," he repeated, as if his tone wasn't enough to rattle her.

She thought for a while. Well, she was a country miss after all. How would it differ from all the ducks and horses?

Then again, she might be wrong. "I might have a clue."

"A clue." He took a long stride towards her. "You have but a measly clue, and you are here. Alone and in the dark with me."

He was angry. His sentences were short and clipped. Sarah Jane watched him as his eyes glinted against the light of the candle on his hand.

She eyed the wax suspiciously. The candle was bare and bereft of its steel plate, and as the light burned, its wax pooled thickly on its sides and was about to drip to his fingers.

"I did not seek you, my lord," she said slowly still eyeing the thickening wax drops.

"What are you looking at," He demanded, as he tried to follow her gaze.

What could she have found more interesting at this very moment?

"You're dripping." She gasped, as she watched the melting liquid fall to his bare toes.

A low hiss escaped from his lips as the hot liquid burned his skin. Anthony watched the wax harden and turn opaque on his toes. He flipped the pooled candle non-too-gently with his other foot, pulverizing the offending thing into powder.

He faced her again, more agitated now that he had not missing the double entendre of her words.

"I cannot imagine how you find my pain interesting, Sarah Jane, or else I would think that you are doing this on purpose." He paused to concentrate on lighting another candle with his. He shoved the newly lit candle into her cold hands.

Sarah Jane couldn't understand what he was talking about, neither could she understand why he was so angry with her.

"I do not catch your meaning. The candle is certainly in your power, not mine." There should be pain but not too much. She knew how being burnt by wax felt. It was only midly annoying, he need not act out this way.

With an audible sigh, Anthony turned to walk to the table with his paper and quill. "You're incorrigible." He shook his head without sparing her a glance. "You are most willingly inclined to torture me with your presence."

There was a sound of protest escaping her lips.

He cut her off quickly. "Stop wandering around in the house alone, and most specially in the dead of the night. You may have been raised by a pack of wolves, but in polite society, the respectable of ladies do not carry on with such singular behaviors."

He held up a hand, as he anticipated her to argue with him.

"You have been in my house for not more than two days, and you have precariously placed yourself in positions sufficed to blacken your reputation. Have a care or it will be the death of us both."

She huffed indignantly, her eyes narrowing in slits. "Insulting, insufferable man you are! You have no right—"

His head snapped to her direction, his patience drawing nigh to shreds. "Oh, but I do," he drawled. "I do have every right as your guardian, am I not? If you will not leave me peace at this precise moment, so help me, I will rescind my promise of bringing you to London! I do not mince words, young lady, I certainly mean what I say."

She was already out before he had the chance to finish his tirade.

"And I do what I say!" His voice boomed from the room, following her as she left the deserted hallway, clutching the solitary candle in her hand.

Lord Killsworth possessed a temper that can send dogs howling and old women crying, but not, Sarah Jane remarked quietly, enough to scare her off. Her hasty retreat was only a matter of self-perseverance lest she pushed him to revoke that one thing she had truly wanted.

She could have continued the argument and raise points here and there, but soon he would discover that her father had not indicated any need to provide her with a Season—merely just look after her well-being and see that she was well situated.

This would therefore put her debut into a precarious situation.

She mused as she turned to a corner. Didn't her well-being include being in a stable position, undoubtedly un-alone, and absolutely not an old crone at the mercy of foul-tempered Lord Killsworth-Rosenberg?

"He needs a wife," she whispered harshly, her nose scrunching at the disdain of his character. Sarah Jane remembered how Mathilda had been quite in ill spirits and was always in a temper up until Robinson swept her off her feet.

Lord Killsworth only agreed to sponsor her Season because he was in want of a wife, there were no questions about that. His handsome looks and irresistible charm could seduce any marriageable proper girl of his wish, and then he will be happier, kissing her whenever he wished, hiding in the shadows when no one was paying them attention.

Maybe it could even be a side quest she could venture in. While she looked for her own partner, maybe she could keep an eye out for his match too.

The thought of Lord Killsworth marrying a lady whose beauty, voice, talent, and grace couldn't be denied, sent violent jealousy pangs baring its teeth and scraping her skin. If the jealousy was either for marrying Killsworth, or merely for some unearthed insecurity for being compared to such an accomplished lady, she didn't dare speculate.

Sarah Jane passed through a hallway, glancing around as she reach beneath the staircase. The lights were still out except for one candle in front of a large looking glass. She could stay there, she supposed. The thunderstorm had lasted half an hour but stopped abruptly, which made her wonder if she had imagined it all.

"What a beautiful wife I would be," she muttered sarcastically, "Terrible at the pianoforte, can't really draw, accomplished nothing." She sighed to herself and examined her features on the looking glass. "Hair that is neither blonde nor brunette, skin pasty with red splotches, and so much of a healthful bosom that threatens to drown anything in its way!"

But if there was one thing that Sarah Jane had admired about herself, it was her mind.

She hadn't met anyone who could match her artful tongue, though as unladylike as it may seem. She was opinionated about matters that girls her age had never bothered understanding.

Plumbing and irrigation in Thurstason were leaking, and she had been on her hands and knees with the footmen in trying to understand the root of the problem. When the gardens had been drying, she managed to direct the plumbing leak towards the it and caused a bountiful harvest of berries and vegetables that helped Thurstason self-manage.

"My lady?"

She turned quickly to the sound, and found Robinson at the end of the hall holding a tall candle. "Oh! It is merely you, Robinson."

"I say, who are you talking to," he asked, as he approached. Disturbed sleep was still etched on his face.

"Myself." She looked back at the looking glass and smiled at herself. "Have you seen Mathilda?"

Robinson nodded and brought the candle near Sarah Jane. "She inquired upon you, hearing the thunder. Now that I've found you, how are you, my dear lady?"

She nodded with a smile. "Thank you. I was frightened, but I was comforted by the presence of Lord Killsworth." Robinson didn't have to know that they got into a fight.

Robinson assessed her quietly, as he ascertained if she knew what she was about. "Very well, I will wait at the foot of the stairs until you are safely in your room."

"Thank you," she replied, as she moved to the staircase. Her hand paused at the railing. "I haven't seen Mathilda anywhere," a chill ran down her spine, "is she upset with me?"

"No, my lady. She can never be upset with you." Robinson adjusted the candle to his other hand. "She's merely abed with some illness, but is recovering quickly."

"Mathilda is sick?" Sarah Jane's heart thudded, there should be no cause to worry is there?

"Just a little bit under the weather. You needn't worry, my lady," he replied quickly.

"Surely you know that when one says that I needn't worry implies fervently that I must!" Spluttering with great feeling, she hurriedly brought her legs to move towards the servants' quarters, but Robinson blocked her path.

"My lady, you need not overreact, really!" Robinson side-stepped to block another attempt of her dodging him. "You may see her in the morning. She is resting."

Looking at him, Sarah Jane quietly assessed her opponent. She bluffed a movement to the right, then quickly jumped to her left when Robinson darted to intercept her.

With a triumphant giggle, she started to dig her heels for a run.

"Lady Sarah Jane," came a man's voice from a few feet away.

She paused and turned to look at Killsworth's grim expression.

"Why are you still here? I believe I've asked you to return to your chamber."

Feeling like a petulant child, she moved back to the staircase and dismissed Robinson with a nod. "Until the morrow, then," she told him, as the trusted butler hid a smile.

Sarah Jane walked up the stairs feeling Killsworth's presence stalking behind her.

Depositing her in front of her room, Anthony had not enough patience with niceties and chose to dismiss her with a curt bow.

"We shall discuss your curious position here in the morning."

And he left her, slamming the door in his wake.

———-
A/N: this chapter is from my experience of an older gentleman lashing out at me because of my naïveté. I guess the annoyance was thus warranted. *shrugs*

Thank you for reading my work. It always gives me pleasure to find new readers and meet them or talk to them! I've spent hours dreaming of this story, hours researching so that it would be historically accurate, and hours writing it to the best of my abilities. Comments are highly appreciated so that I can improve further. If you've enjoyed yourself reading this, kindly consider giving it a vote so that it bumps up Wattpad's algorithm :) Thank you!!