Wicked Little Game

by Christine Wells

  With a soft chuckle, she let him draw her head back against him. He hadn’t held her like this since that first awful night. She couldn’t remember anyone else embracing her with such tenderness, not since she was a little girl.

  After a few precious moments, he drew back a little. “What is it?”

  She raised her head. “I want a child, Vane. So badly, I—” She stopped when she saw his slight grimace of pain. Of course, she wasn’t alone in that wish. Of course, he felt the sting of their childlessness, too.

  Ashamed of her outburst, she shook her head and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Forgive me. I gave in to a moment of self-pity. I don’t usually do that. Really, it’s all right. I accepted this a long time ago.” She searched his face. “Do you wish . . . ?”

  “Of course I do. But if it’s not meant to be, then I’ll accept that.”

  “It’s so unfair to you.”

  He touched her cheek. “You gave me the choice, remember? And I chose. I would choose the same again, a thousand times over. Never think otherwise.”

  He raised her palms to his lips, one after the other. Instead of cringing at the thought of him touching the roughness and the scars, her heart swelled until it seemed to fill her completely. He accepted her as she was.

  Barrenness, scars, and all.

  VANE sorted through correspondence, hoping for news. His conversation with Sarah about their childless state seemed to make it even more imperative to find Tom. But the more time passed, the less likely it looked that he would ever find Brinsley’s natural son or the woman who’d been entrusted with his care. Vane had done his best and so had Finch, but the little Cockney hadn’t been able to glean hide nor hair of the boy.

  “No one remembers him, or not well enough to give me a description, anyways,” Finch had reported.

  “What about the woman?”

  “They remember her.” Finch leered a little. “Made her living on her back, didn’t she? But the boy must have made hisself scarce-like ’cos none of her customers remember him. And none knows where she went.”

  Where to look now, besides the mortuary, was anyone’s guess. Rockfort had heard nothing of the boy. Vane had visited him again and given him every opportunity to let the information slip, but Rockfort either didn’t know or he was far more discreet than Vane gave him credit for.

  If Peter Cole knew where Tom could be found, he certainly wasn’t telling. It was hardly surprising that Peter might not be aware of the brat’s existence when one considered the brothers had been estranged for most of their adult lives.

  Vane finished sorting through the post and opened a letter from Lyon House. It was from his mama, inviting him and Sarah to stay, alternately scolding him for keeping his bride from them and cajoling him to remain for the summer.

  He grimaced, reluctant to share Sarah with anyone. Yet, he knew it was incumbent on him to see his new bride reestablished in Society. They ought to go, and he would like to show her Lyon House, after all.

  Vane found Sarah in the sitting room, in command of the tea tray. He was still somewhat bemused by her refusal to alter the masculine tone of this enclave but he’d discovered he liked to see her there. She looked delicate and very dear, perched on the edge of a deep leather armchair, her back straight as she poured tea for him and arranged three of the cakes he liked on a plate. Had she noted his preference? He’d like to think so.

  His lips twitched as he took the laden plate. “You are trying to make me fat.”

  Her gaze swept him from head to toe. A smile warmed her mouth and danced in her green eyes. “Yes, indeed. Soon you will need stays, just like the Prince Regent.”

  With a snort of laughter, he handed her the letter. “My mother wishes us to visit.”

  Something flickered in her eyes as she took the letter. Anxiety? Relief? He added, “She wants us to stay for the summer, but I thought not above a week.”

  “How kind of her,” Sarah said, scanning the page before she handed it back. “We must certainly go.”

  “Yes, I suppose we must. Though I had hoped to have you to myself for a while longer, it is probably time you came out of hiding.”

  She glanced up swiftly, as if the faint challenge in his tone took her by surprise. “Perhaps you are right,” she said slowly, a slight frown drawing her sleek eyebrows together. “I have been a coward, haven’t I? Afraid of what people might say. And a hypocrite to boot. How paltry of me.”

  She looked quite indignant, and Vane’s chest filled with a strange warmth. “Most women in your situation would have long since expired of the vapors. All I meant was that I’d like to see you reclaim your place in Society.” He smiled. “My mother is a flighty piece, but she has a good heart and will certainly grease the wheels of your next Season if you wish.”

  Sarah thought of her own mother with a sharp twinge of regret. “Let’s not be precipitate. Let’s begin with this visit and then we’ll see.” While Vane’s mother was a delight, Vane’s brothers were a different matter. It hadn’t escaped her that Christian, at least, didn’t approve of Vane marrying her.

  Despite Christian’s coolness at her wedding, she’d sensed a deep bond between Vane and all his brothers. If she wanted to make Vane truly happy, she’d need to win their friendship. And why she’d suddenly begun thinking in such terms, she couldn’t imagine.

  A slight commotion downstairs had them both lifting their heads to listen. A rough Cockney accent made Sarah stiffen in alarm but Vane’s face broke into a grin.

  The door opened and an ugly little man popped his head around it. “Sorry to disturb you, guv, but I thought as how you’d want to know straightaway like. I’ve found ’er.”

  Eighteen

  “YOU’VE found Maggie?” Vane started forward to shake the man’s hand. He gestured to Sarah.

  “Lady Vane, this is Mr. Finch, my trainer. He has been making inquiries about Maggie Day on our behalf.”

  Finch bowed, turned his hat in his hands as if he longed to jam it on his head and be off.

  Sarah smiled. “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Finch?”

  He started, as if she’d tried to bite him. “What, me, my lady? Bless you, no. I jest came up because I knew it was urgent like.” He took a breath. “I found her and I brought her ’ere. Promised her a yellow boy if she came wiv me.”

  “Oh, that was well-done of you,” said Sarah quickly. She could barely restrain herself from charging down the stairs. “I take it the boy wasn’t with her?”

  “No, my lady. She says she don’t know where ’e is.”

  He gave a small shrug that said, see for yourself, that’s all I could get out of her. Vane thanked Finch and saw him out.

  When he returned, Vane and Sarah exchanged a long gaze.

  “I think you’d best let me handle it,” he said.

  “Certainly not.” She pulled on her gloves, willing her hands to stop shaking. Her gaze flickered up at him and away. “I would like you to come with me, though.”

  It cost her something to make that admission. He seemed to know it, because an alert look came into his eyes as he bowed and offered her his arm. They went down to the south parlor, where Rivers said Maggie waited.

  With every step, Sarah’s anxiety and anger burned brighter. Why didn’t Maggie know where her son might be? It was callous and irresponsible, but more than that, it was stupid. Losing the boy was against Maggie’s interests. Surely she’d gathered from Sarah’s visit that Sarah wanted to help them financially?

  When she and Vane entered the parlor, Maggie swiftly turned from contemplating a Reynolds that hung above the fireplace. A full minute passed before Sarah could equate that blowsy, sullen wretch she’d encountered in Billingsgate with the self-possessed, well-turned-out woman she saw now. Perhaps Maggie had moved up in the world. Perhaps she’d no need of Sarah’s help.

  But if that were the case, why was she here?

  Vane’s swift sideways glance told her he was thinking the same.

  Sarah invite
d the woman to sit, and a self-satisfied smile spread slowly over Maggie’s features as she spread her muslin skirts and perched on the edge of a spindle-legged chair. “Very polite for someone talking to a woman what’s had your husband, ain’t you? Real lady, you are.”

  Sarah’s insides clenched around a cold, hard core. “Let us avoid that sordid subject, shall we? I want to ask you about Tom.”

  The scornful expression Sarah had seen before swept over Maggie’s face. “That’s what I came to tell you. There ain’t no Tom.” She looked from Vane to Sarah. “Made him up, didn’t I? Thought there was money in it so I told you what you wanted to hear.”

  Sarah sat there, stunned. She couldn’t speak.

  Slowly, Vane said, “That would explain why we couldn’t find hide nor hair of the lad.”

  “But—” Sarah knew she was grasping for words like a fish gasping for air. “Lies? Was it all lies Brinsley told me, then? You didn’t bear his child?”

  “Oh, there was a child, all right. All I’m sayin’ is I’m not the ladybird you’re after.” She paused, glancing from Vane to Sarah. “If I was to tell you what I know, what’s in it for me?”

  Vane spoke. “That depends how much your information is worth.” He drew out a coin and flipped it so that it landed in her lap. “I believe you were promised this for attending us. That should show you our good faith.” He paused, narrowing his gaze. “I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

  The bold wench looked him over from the top of his head to his shining black boots. “If you saw me, I sure as eggs didn’t see you, guv.” She gave him a saucy smile. “You, I’d remember.”

  The faintest flicker at the corner of Vane’s mouth told Sarah he wasn’t immune to such nonsense. She cleared her throat loudly and said, “Do go on. I await this grand revelation with bated breath.”

  Vane’s lips twitched. Most certainly, he was suppressing his delight at her jealousy. Let him have his little victory, she thought sourly. All she cared about was finding Tom.

  Maggie primmed her mouth but laughed at Vane with her eyes before she turned sober again and answered. “I was the midwife who delivered the boy you’re looking for, not the mother. The mother . . . well, I expect she’s dead now, poor love.”

  “But Brinsley told me you were the mother.” Sarah put a hand to her temple. Had he? Or had she just assumed the mother was Maggie because the timing was right? She’d supposed he had only been with one woman in that first year of their marriage but what a naïve supposition that had been! That poor pregnant woman could have been anyone.

  “What happened to the child when he left your care?” she asked.

  “He was taken away to the country, dunno where. My niece went as wet nurse.”

  “Her name?” Vane demanded.

  “Polly Lawson.”

  That was all they gleaned from Maggie. She hadn’t seen Polly since she’d left with the babe mere days after his birth. The mother’s name had never been given. Maggie could tell she was from a good family, one who’d disown her if the truth of her condition became known. She’d had good reason to keep her identity secret.

  As Maggie sauntered out, wide hips swaying, it struck Sarah that Brinsley had asked one mistress to deliver the baby another woman had borne him. Wearily, she acknowledged it was precisely the sort of thing Brinsley would do.

  “We need to find that Polly Lawson,” Vane said, moving to ring the bell. “I’ll get Finch and some others onto it while we’re away. If he has news, he can post down within a day. I think we’re close, Sarah.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I pray you’re right.”

  WHEN she and Vane arrived at Lyon House, Sarah immediately perceived that this was a family home. As soon as the carriage pulled up outside, an avalanche of dogs tumbled from the open door to greet them, and a small boy brought up the rear.

  Chuckling, Vane ordered the young lad to call off his hounds, which the boy did with a cheeky grin and a shrill whistle produced through a fork in his fingers. He was a strong-featured, dark-haired lad. He carried a fishing rod over one shoulder and a satchel over the other.

  Turning to Sarah, Vane handed her from the carriage and introduced the boy to her. John dropped his fishing rod and snatched off his hat, making a jaunty little bow. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Aunt Sarah.” Eagerly, he turned to Vane. “I’m glad you’re here, Uncle Vane. Coming for a fish?”

  Vane started to refuse the invitation, but Sarah put her hand on his arm. “Oh, do you think we might? I haven’t been fishing since I was a girl.”

  John eyed her askance, clearly doubtful that a mere female would be equal to the excursion, but Vane smiled. “Why not?”

  John hooted a cheer and raced off to find them more fishing rods.

  Vane gave directions for their luggage to be taken into the house and offered his arm to Sarah. As they strolled toward the lake, he said, “Young scamp. He’s Greg’s eldest.”

  Sarah tilted her head. “He’s more like you.”

  “Heaven forbid! But yes, if you mean he’s a handful, you’d be correct. He’s forever falling into mischief.” Vane tilted his head back and scanned the cloudless sky. “What a remarkably pretty day.” He glanced down at her. “I can think of better things to do with you than fishing out here.”

  “Oh?” she said, not quite taking his meaning. She searched his face, and at the gleam in his eye, she choked on a gasp. “You mean you and me . . . out here? Oh, you are wicked, sir!”

  His lips tilted upward at the corners. “What a lot you have to learn,” he observed. “And how I shall enjoy teaching you.”

  Her face heated. How ridiculous that after all they’d done together, he could still make her blush. “I don’t—”

  “Here we are!” John came running up behind them, a quiver of fishing rods in his hand.

  Vane took them from him, and they all trooped down to the lake. As Sarah trailed a little way behind on the well-worn path flanked by tall grasses and wildflowers, her pores soaked in the sunshine and the fresh country air. Suddenly, a sense of well-being flooded her. It was a joy to see how wonderful Vane was with the child.

  The two of them shared an easy rapport, trading jests and good-natured insults. The boy’s antics clearly amused Vane, but he also reminded him of his manners when they arrived at the lake and instructed him on the art of making a lady comfortable before the fishing could begin.

  “First, you must find her something on which to sit, as the grass is invariably damp.” Vane removed his coat and handed it to John, ignoring Sarah’s murmured protest. “Now, find a relatively dry spot and spread that out for your aunt to sit on.”

  “Like Sir Walter Raleigh,” said John, nodding. He took his time choosing a place and then set the coat down, smoothing it carefully with his small palms. “There. Now what?”

  “Now, you offer your hand to the lady and bow.” Vane smiled as John followed his direction. “Then she takes your hand, and you help her sit down.”

  Laughing, Sarah joined in the game, perching on the coat on the slope of the bank and arranging her skirts.

  “And then?”

  “And then you offer her refreshment.” Vane took John’s satchel and rummaged but he only turned up an ancient crust of bread, which he pitched to a cluster of ducks that quacked and fluttered greedily around the morsel.

  “Never mind,” said Sarah. “Next time, we’ll bring a picnic.” She fluttered her hand. “Now, I do thank you for your amazing gallantry, but please go on and throw your line. I’ll be along in a minute to try my luck.”

  She didn’t need to urge him twice. John was off before she’d finished speaking. Vane’s eyes twinkled. “He is a brat.”

  “He is charming. Do go and join him.” She smiled at the small figure who had turned back to see what was taking his uncle so long. The sun danced on the lake behind him. “He’s waiting for you.”

  THE gentle ease of that afternoon left Sarah invigorated and relaxed. She’d even caught a fish, a
slippery, silver carp, which she hoped was a good omen for her visit. She suspected she’d need all the luck she could come by when she joined the family for the evening meal.

  By the time they arrived back at the house, disheveled, wet, and cheerful, it was time to bathe and dress for dinner. Sarah took extra care with her toilette and wore a demure gown of muslin embroidered at the bodice and hem with spring flowers. She didn’t doubt she figured in Vane’s brothers’ minds as the temptress who had bewitched their beloved eldest sibling. She did not wish to look the part.

  Vane’s mother waved away her apologies for not coming directly to the house to greet her hostess. “Nonsense, nonsense! We do not stand upon ceremony here, and you are family now, my dear.”

  The dowager smiled, patting the sofa next to her. “Do sit down. I thought we’d have a family dinner this evening, nice and cozy, to welcome Sarah, and then tomorrow we will pay calls in the neighborhood and make you known to everyone.” She put her hand on Sarah’s upper arm and rubbed it with easy affection. “They will love you, my dear.”

  The words gave Sarah comfort, as did her mother-in-law’s touch. The dowager was always touching—things, people. Her delicate hands never stilled. Sarah tried to remember the last time her own mother touched her in such a casual fashion and couldn’t.

  Slowly, the brothers began drifting in. Freddie, with an easygoing charm that echoed his mother’s, kissed Sarah on the cheek and shook hands with Vane, clapping his elder brother on the back as he made a rather warm joke about their honeymoon.

  Vane took it in good part but deflected the boy’s curiosity and redirected the conversation with a deliberately provocative comment about the latest prizefight in town. When Nick and Greg arrived, they were immediately drawn into the argument and Sarah breathed a small sigh of relief.

  Christian sauntered in late and her tension returned. “Ah, the blushing bride,” said Christian softly, bowing over her hand.

  Unobtrusively, Vane withdrew from the sporting conversation and ranged himself at her side. She frowned at him. She would fight her own battles. She didn’t need his protection. A man like Lord Christian Morrow would never respect her if she cowered behind her husband.