A Passion For Pleasure

by Nina Rowan

  “We were gone for an hour when I realized Andrew had forgotten his satchel. I went back for it, and when I returned I found Richard had fallen from his horse and hit his head. He was still breathing, but…”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. She looked away, the burn of despair darkening. “Neither my father nor Andrew was there. I didn’t know what had happened. I started shouting Andrew’s name, which is how my father found me. I don’t know what he thought at that moment, but he hauled Richard’s body onto his horse and rode back to the house to send for the constable. I think by the time he arrived at home, he’d already decided I was somehow responsible for Richard’s death.”

  Sebastian’s heart thumped against his ribs. “He had no evidence that you were.”

  “No. He also had no evidence that I wasn’t.” Clara dashed a hand across her eyes. “We found Andrew at the house when we returned. He’d ridden back on his own. He said he hadn’t seen what happened to Richard. Everything was a blur after that. The constable came. We had funeral arrangements. And a week after we discovered Richard had left custody of Andrew to my father, he threatened to send me away. That was when I left Manley Park. To this day, my father remains certain that I had a hand in Richard’s death.”

  An ugly question rose to Sebastian’s mind. He didn’t want to ask, but for the sake of all that his family had endured, he had to. “Did he make a public accusation?”

  “No.” Clara expelled her breath on a heavy sigh. “He knew there was no evidence, but he wanted to separate me from my son. And so he has.”

  Sebastian grasped his right hand with his left, curling his fingers into a fist. Anger and tension knotted the back of his neck.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

  “Because I was afraid you wouldn’t help me.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t marry me.”

  “I’ve already agreed to your proposal,” Sebastian said. “More than that, I want to marry you.”

  Clara’s lips parted, drawing his attention to the full line of her mouth. Heat twisted through his lower body, the urge to kiss her seizing his blood even as his mind wrestled with his blunt admission.

  He wanted to help her beyond conducting the transfer of Wakefield House. He just had no idea what else he could do. Blackness swamped his chest, threatened to pull him under. He knew the feeling well and hated it as much now as he had the night he’d stood in front of the Weimar musicians and Franz Liszt to resign his position.

  He lowered his head to her left ear, the one that was lost in silence.

  “I will find a way,” he whispered, the promise made to himself and not her. Not yet. Only when he could confirm his ability to carry it through would she hear his vow.

  Clara turned her head, as if she sought to remind him he spoke into her damaged ear. The movement brought their mouths perilously close together, so close her breath swept across his lips.

  “I’m scared,” she confessed.

  “So am I.” He understood it, her fear about something over which she both blamed herself and yet had no control. He understood it because the same fear seethed beneath his own skin.

  “You?” She gave a husky laugh. “What are you afraid of?”

  He pressed his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes and curled her hand around the lapel of his coat. The smells of machine oil and perfume clung to her, but beneath it he detected the scent of oranges and spice, a strangely tropical aroma that sweetened his bitter thoughts.

  Her lips brushed his. So soft. So gentle. Her fear seemed to dissolve into the tenderness of her sigh, the unwinding of tension from her body. Sebastian laced his hands around her waist, drew her closer, deepened the kiss until she arched like a supple willow against him.

  The icy thoughts thawed, melting into the heat of their kiss, the press of their bodies. Warmth filled Sebastian, twined through his blood. A vital energy surged from her into him, a spark of electricity that ignited a fresh resolve.

  Clara placed her hand flat on his chest and eased herself away from him. Urgency threaded her voice. “I must find out what happened to Andrew, Sebastian. I will not lose sight of him.”

  “Nor will I.”

  They stared at each other, the bloom of night between them, the sounds of the ball filtering through the open doorways of the building. In that moment, a strange, reckless impulse seized Sebastian hard—the urge to grab his world and force it upright, to find his footing again, to repair everything that had been broken.

  For him. And now for her.

  “Bastian.” Rushton’s voice carried through the night air.

  Clara stepped away, then turned and fled back into the building. Sebastian took a breath and faced his father, whose keen gaze followed Clara.

  “You’ve a particular interest in Mrs. Winter,” Rushton remarked.

  “I ought to,” Sebastian said. “I’m going to marry her.”

  Grim satisfaction filled him as his father blinked with evident surprise. Sebastian’s pronouncement hung in the air. Rushton cleared his throat.

  “Bastian, she is an assistant in an automata museum who—”

  “She is lovely and respectable, and she…” His voice tangled suddenly as he remembered his father’s own words about finding a wife who would make him a better man. “You gave me both an ultimatum and a suggestion, my lord. Marriage to Mrs. Winter will fulfill both.”

  The mention of Rushton’s ultimatum left a sour taste on Sebastian’s tongue, as if such a calculated motive somehow diminished the intensity of his feelings for Clara. Marriage to her would do more than fulfill a condition. Sebastian suspected it would somehow fulfill him, though he could hardly explain that to himself, let alone his father.

  “You have recommended several young women who would serve as a suitable match for me, sir,” he said, his voice sharpening with determination. “Yet you have neglected to take into account my view on the matter. You now have my response to your decree. I choose to marry Clara Winter.”

  They looked at each other, Rushton’s dark eyes penetrating the dusky light. A flood of questions and answers seemed to fill the space between them, reminders of the countess, of all their family had lost and still sought to regain. Sebastian steeled himself for a battle, prepared to defend his decision with every ounce of his being, but then…rather to his shock…his father stepped back.

  “Very well,” Rushton said. “If Mrs. Winter is your choice, then I trust you to fulfill your obligations with the honor that befits the son of an earl.” He turned toward the door leading back to the drawing room. “I hope she will, at the very least, remind you of what nobler qualities you can possess. Only by improving oneself can a man sustain a good and rewarding marriage.”

  Clara looked at the clock. Nearly four. Mrs. Fox’s voice came from the parlor, where she was explaining the history of Uncle Granville’s inventions to a visitor. Granville was back in the workshop continuing his task of copying the intricate details of the cipher machine plans.

  Without informing either of them of her intentions, Clara pulled on her cloak and left the museum. As she hurried toward the cab stand, the clatter of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels neared.

  Clara stepped aside as a black carriage came to a halt beside her. The door opened, and Sebastian descended with a sense of purpose, as if he’d come directly for her.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  Trepidation tightened Clara’s throat. She had not had an opportunity to speak to him in private since Lady Rossmore’s charity ball two nights before. It was for the best, she tried to tell herself, as after her confession she feared that any conversation might result in his withdrawal from their agreement.

  “I’ve…I’ve a few errands to run,” she explained. “Why are you here?”

  “I’ve come to tell you my father has given his assent for our marriage,” Sebastian said. “Had he not done so, I still would have married you, but his approval will sanctify the union for the benefit of society.
”

  “Very…very well.” Lord Rushton’s approval was, Clara knew, the last element needed for the marriage to proceed smoothly. Now they needed only to speak their vows.

  “I’ll accompany you on your errands, then.” Sebastian stepped aside to allow her to precede him to the curb. “We’ll take my carriage.”

  “That’s not necessary. There’s a cab stand at the end of the street.”

  Sebastian frowned. “It’s growing dark. Where have you to go?”

  Clara stared at the looming interior of the carriage. She’d already told him everything. And he had not retreated. She felt her resolve to keep him at a distance slipping away like raindrops on a windowpane. Not even to herself she could deny her gratitude for his presence, his insistence on remaining by her side.

  “My father stays in Belgravia when he is in London,” she said. “I…I sometimes wait outside his town house to see if he’s brought Andrew with him. Thus far, I haven’t caught a glimpse of him.”

  His left hand tightened on her arm. “What is the address?”

  Swimming suddenly in the need for companionship so she would not have to face the predictable disappointment alone, Clara recited the street number and allowed Sebastian to hand her into the carriage. His deep voice rumbled as he relayed the address to his driver, then climbed in after her. Dusky light slanted across his strong features, his dark eyes glittering as he watched her from the opposite seat.

  Clara folded her arms around herself and swallowed hard, her blood pulsing with the troubled urge to close the distance between them, to slide onto the bench beside him and curl her body tight against his. She could almost feel him—the hard, lean length of his muscles, his broad chest, the weight of his arm as he draped it across her shoulders and pulled her closer.

  She wanted the haven of his warmth and strength, a safety she had never known. Her untold longing was made all the more potent by the knowledge that he would not turn her away. Not physically, at least.

  Clara forced her gaze to the window, aware of the danger Sebastian Hall posed. Her soul was already so threaded with cracks, brittle from repeated breakage and vain attempts at repair. If she allowed Sebastian to slide between those cracks and find his way into her heart, she would then give him the power to deliver a fatal, crushing blow.

  And yet she would not renege on her proposition, dangerous as it was to her very being. She could not retreat now, did not want to, or everything would be lost.

  She stared at the passing streets. Shadows and waning light skated across the storefronts, the narrow tenement buildings, the fruit stalls and horse-drawn carts. Before long, elegant town houses swept into view, the brick façades adorned with curved balconies and slender pilasters.

  The carriage shuddered to a halt. Clara leaned forward, sliding the curtain farther aside to enhance her view of the house across the street. A gleaming black door barred the entrance, and the windows blinked like eyes in the reddish light. A menacing silence seemed to emanate from the house, as if warning passersby that nothing good lurked within.

  No lamps shone through the windows. The expected disappointment pierced her heart, sharp as a driven nail.

  “They’re not at home,” she murmured. “Or he’s not at home.”

  Sebastian leaned across and settled his hand on her knee. The heat of his palm burned clear through her skirts and petticoats. Clara made a fist to prevent herself from placing her hand atop his and tracing the long lines of his fingers.

  She continued watching her father’s house. An ache built in her throat. She heard Sebastian’s breath, the sound weaving into her ear alongside the increased beat of her heart.

  He did not take his hand from her leg. After an interminable period of time, she relaxed her tight fist and allowed her hand to spread over his. Not looking at him, she pulled off her gloves. He turned his palm upward. His strong fingers knotted with hers.

  Desire sheared into her soul like the clip of scissors, both the physical reaction of warmth and the longing not to feel so utterly alone anymore. Even her beloved uncle with his unflagging support could not ease Clara’s sense of cold isolation.

  But the clasp of Sebastian’s hand in hers reminded her of his presence and assuaged the loneliness. Just a bit. Just for now.

  She tightened her fingers on his as a black carriage pulled in front of the town house. She recognized the matching grays that came to a stop, their sleek manes rippling in the twilight, their polished hooves stamping the cobblestones.

  Her spine stiffened. In one swift movement, Sebastian was beside her, peering past her through the window. “Is that your father?”

  “H-his carriage.”

  Fairfax’s driver had parked at an angle that allowed her to see the space between the carriage and the front of the town house. When the footman swung open the carriage door, Clara gripped Sebastian’s hand so tightly her knuckles burned.

  Her father stepped down—a tall, slender figure in a blue greatcoat and hat, his gloves white as bone in the diminishing light. Fairfax carried himself with an elegance that masked his brutal streak, like a gleaming sharp sword concealed within an ivory-tipped cane.

  Even as dark memories and anger rushed at her in a torrent, Clara’s heart wrenched at the sight of the man who had sired her, clothed and fed her, the man who might still, somewhere, harbor an emotion resembling love for her.

  Fairfax spoke to the footman. No one followed him down from the carriage.

  Clara tried to deflect the arrow of disappointment, realizing only in that moment of bitter dejection how much she had hoped today would be different from all the other times she had sat in desperate surveillance, wishing for one glimpse of her son.

  She turned to Sebastian, seeking his eyes, needing his assurance. “You can tell your dri—”

  “Clara.” Holding her gaze, he nodded to the window.

  She looked…and gasped. The footman held the door of the carriage again to allow a brown-haired boy to exit. Andrew grasped the handle as he navigated the steps and stopped not far from where Fairfax stood.

  Clara’s heart pounded wildly, her blood filling with a chaotic mixture of joy and despair. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the single desperate thought that her son stood a scant distance away and had no idea she was right here.

  Fairfax turned, lifting his arm as a breeze threatened to tip his hat from his head.

  In that instant, Clara saw it. Andrew flinched, hunching his shoulders into his coat and taking a half-step back. The movement was almost unnoticeable, or at the very least attributable to a gust of cold air or unpleasant odor…but Clara knew her son’s reaction for what it was, and the very marrow of her bones froze to ice.

  “No.” The word scraped her throat like rusted metal. “No.”

  She wrenched her hand from Sebastian’s grip and flung open the carriage door. Rage swamped her so fast, so hard, that murder felt within her grasp. She plunged with reckless abandon across the street. “Andrew!”

  “Clara!” Sebastian shouted from behind her.

  A screeching noise filled the air, the yell of a cart driver, the whinnying cry of a frightened horse.

  “Andrew!”

  Her father and son both turned. Fairfax moved with the swiftness of a lizard, shoving Andrew toward the town house steps and snapping orders at one of the footmen. The man rushed between Clara and Andrew, blocking the boy from her line of sight.

  “No!” Blinded by tears, Clara reached the other side of the street the instant the town house door opened and the second footman pushed Andrew inside. “I won’t let you do this! I won’t let you keep him from me!”

  “Stay away, Clara.” Fairfax faced her, pointing his forefinger as if to condemn her. “You have no right to him.”

  “I do have a right to him!” Clara’s chest burned with anguish. “I’m his mother. Andrew!”

  The footman at the door grunted suddenly and grabbed his shin. A small figure darted around him and back down the steps.


  Tears streamed down Clara’s cheeks as Andrew approached closer…closer…a few more steps and he would be in her unbreakable embrace, his arms around her neck, and she would run and run and keep running.…

  “Stop.” Fairfax flung his arm out to arrest the boy’s flight. Andrew slammed into the barrier and stumbled backward, his wide-eyed gaze locked to Clara’s. Even then, she saw the desperation seething in his young soul.

  Before Clara could move forward again, the footman hurried down the steps to grasp Andrew’s shoulder and pull him back toward the house.

  Fairfax stepped in front of Clara. Her breath lodged in her throat as she lifted her terrified gaze to her father. Cold laced his expression, his features as immovable as the rocky outcropping of a cliff.

  “Please…” She whispered the desperate, broken plea. Sebastian’s hand closed over her arm.

  Her father didn’t acknowledge the other man’s presence. Fairfax stood rigidly, feet apart, the stance of a man of power. He stared at Clara, his eyes stamped with utter detachment, stark and hard as a fossil.

  In that instant, Clara knew whatever love he might have once felt for her had dissolved into nothing. Just as she knew her own heart had long ago cast him out.

  A second footman stepped in front of her.

  “Get out of my way.” A flame of renewed fury spilled over Clara. She lunged at the man, clawing at his face, kicking his shins, but he was an unbreachable wall until his big hands closed over her shoulders and pulled her toward the dark interior of her father’s carriage.

  Another pair of arms closed around Clara from behind, yanking her from the footman’s grip. Sebastian half-dragged, half-carried her away as Clara frantically struggled to get loose.

  People had stopped to gape at the commotion, but there was no sign of a seven-year-old boy with eyes the color of toffee…

  The black door of the town house slammed shut.

  He was gone.

  Clara collapsed to the ground, sobs wrenching her, every breath pulsing anguish through her entire body. Sebastian pulled her closer, his arms tightening, the wall of his chest solid against her back. He was saying something, she felt the movement of his lips against her hair, but she couldn’t hear him past the sobbing inside her head.