A Passion For Pleasure

by Nina Rowan

  “I do not doubt it, Mrs. Hall,” Rushton replied. “Yet I fail to understand the reasons for your distance from him.”

  “My father keeps Andrew from me, my lord.”

  The earl studied her for a moment, his brow creased into furrows of displeasure. “How is it, then, that Bastian can assure me this separation will not affect my family?”

  He can’t. The admission clawed at Clara’s throat.

  She searched frantically for another solution, an escape, but her thoughts ran through a maze and hit one barrier after another.

  Until, like a window opening, a possibility appeared.

  She turned to stare at the earl. Her heart began to beat faster. The storm had thwarted her first plan, but Lord Rushton would surely have an idea of what she might attempt next. He was the only person she knew who was more powerful than her father.

  If she confessed all, would he help her?

  “Lord Rushton.” She lifted her chin, fighting to keep her voice steady as she plunged into the unknown. “I…I am aware of the scandal your family has suffered. I did believe that the earldom would not be touched by my difficulties. But now I must caution you that my father might approach you in an attempt to circulate false rumors.”

  Rushton frowned. “Involving you?”

  “Yes. It’s the reason he forced me to leave Manley Park, though few people knew about it outside of me and my father.”

  The earl waited, implacable, the very air around him motionless. Clara cast her gaze to the shelf behind him and struggled to gather her courage.

  “What is the reason, Mrs. Hall?” Rushton asked.

  “I…my father believed I was responsible for my husband’s death.” Still unable to look at him, she spilled out the whole story—how she’d knelt beside Richard lying on the ground, blood still pooling beneath his head, and how her father had found her there. She told him about Wakefield House, about her proposal to Sebastian, and her hope that Fairfax would surrender custody of Andrew.

  “Sebastian…he knew marriage was the last chance I had to regain custody of my son.” A knot congealed in Clara’s throat. “Unfortunately my father has rejected our proposition and, further, threatened to spread lies should I fail to leave Andrew alone.”

  “And you did not anticipate such a reaction,” Rushton said.

  “No, my lord.”

  “Then, Mrs. Hall,” Rushton said, his voice leveling out like a hard piece of wood, “I suggest you do as your father requests and leave your son alone.”

  Clara’s heart squeezed into a tight, hard ball at the note of finality to his words, as if he were verifying that she had no option but to capitulate.

  And yet she would never do that. She could never be fully happy with Sebastian, never allow herself to love him as she truly wanted to, all the while knowing Andrew remained under Fairfax’s control.

  She gripped the back of a chair and fought not to think of Sebastian, of his determination that they would not approach his father. “My lord, the reason I married your son was to try to regain custody of Andrew. You must understand that I cannot surrender that aim.”

  He peered at her again from beneath his black eyebrows, his features set like those of a king studying a vassal. “If that is the reason you married him,” Rushton said, “why did Sebastian marry you?”

  “He…he told me you’d expressed a wish that he marry soon.”

  “He could have married any number of women soon. Why did he choose you?”

  The earl might as well have added, a woman of ordinary means who lives with her uncle in a ramshackle museum and has very little standing left to her?

  A sudden pang speared Clara, as she struggled against a powerful longing to reply with her secret wish. Sebastian married me because he wanted to. Because he loves me.

  She could not lie to Rushton. Not only because she desperately needed his help, but because he was her father-in-law, and now she could very well pose a threat to the reputation the earl and his family had recently restored.

  Clara pressed a hand to her heart and told Rushton about the cipher machine. “Sebastian sought the machine plans for…for Darius, my lord.”

  Rushton’s sharp gaze flickered. “Why?”

  Clara tried to calm her thoughts. Her very soul felt cleft in two by her desperation to have Andrew back and the intensity of her feelings for her husband.

  But never could she allow those feelings to usurp her goal of rescuing Andrew. Everything she had done up until this very moment had been with the intention of reclaiming her son. And if she were to ask Lord Rushton for help, she had to prove herself loyal to him and willing to avoid further scandal.

  “Because, my lord,” she said, feeling as if she were standing on the edge of a sharp precipice with no idea what lay at the bottom of it, “Darius wanted to facilitate a meeting between Sebastian and the former Countess of Rushton.”

  Shock flashed swift and hard across the earl’s face. “What?”

  “Darius knew Sebastian would reject the possibility of a meeting, so he sought to establish the truth of his resignation from Weimar by asking for his help finding the cipher machine plans.”

  “And what is the truth of his resignation, Mrs. Hall?”

  His question confirmed what Clara had suspected—that Sebastian had not told his family about the difficulty with his hand. Tears stung her eyes.

  “He’s suffered a disability in his right hand.” Clara rubbed her thumb against her palm. “He can’t use it anymore. Can no longer play the piano. The former countess suspected something was amiss, which was the reason she wanted to see him.”

  “And what was Sebastian’s response?”

  “He went to visit her at the Albion Hotel.”

  She flinched when Rushton slammed his hand on a table. His face reddened with a flush of ire, his eyes hardening into glass. “When did she return to London?”

  “I don’t know, my lord.” She stepped forward and lifted a shaking hand. “I’m telling you because I beg for your help with my son. I must convince my father to return custody of Andrew to me. Lord Fairfax is—”

  “Lord Fairfax is the boy’s legal guardian!” Rushton snapped, his spine straightening like a ramrod. “How dare you expect me to interfere in another man’s raising of a child? If your father has banned you from seeing your son, Mrs. Hall, I suspect he has a very good reason for doing so. And if you think I will risk the potential of gossip by intruding in your father’s affairs, then you are sorely mistaken.”

  “My lord, please…”

  “Mrs. Hall, if I had known this prior to your marriage to Sebastian, I would never have allowed the union to take place,” Rushton said coldly. “I will tolerate no—”

  He stopped suddenly, looking toward the foyer. Clara turned. The drawing room door opened. Her heart closed in on itself as Sebastian and Darius stepped in.

  Sebastian’s dark gaze skidded from her to his father. Wariness flashed across his features. Even Darius faltered for an instant.

  “Sebastian.” The earl’s voice vibrated with barely suppressed anger. “And Darius. I would like a word with you alone. Now.”

  “Wait.” Clara hurried toward Sebastian, reaching out a hand to touch his arm. He jerked away from her, his eyes clouding. “Please…”

  “Mrs. Hall!” Rushton’s order thundered through the room. “I ask that you leave us alone.”

  “My lord, you must let me explain.”

  “You have explained more than enough.” He pointed a finger toward the door. “Please go.”

  Desperate, Clara cast a glance toward Darius but found no understanding in his grave expression. An ache welled in her throat. Unable to look at Sebastian again for fear of his censure, she hurried from the room.

  Male voices flared in contention as she closed the door behind her. She hugged her arms around herself and tried to contain her bone-shaking trembles. Mrs. Fox looked at her, her expression set with disapproval, but she made no remark about the sudden cacophony.
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  “W-where is Uncle Granville?” Clara stammered.

  “He’s gone to oversee the exhibition in St. James’s Street,” Mrs. Fox replied. She hesitated, pursing her lips. “Would you…I’ve a bit of brandy in the dining room, if you’d like. You look rather pale.”

  Clara shook her head. “I’m…I’ve somewhere I need to be. Please, would you…when you see Sebastian again, tell him I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “He’ll know.” Clara grabbed her hat and shoved her arms into her cloak. “Please, just tell him.”

  “Mrs. Hall, I must say you don’t look as if you ought to go anywhere at the moment.”

  “I have no choice, Mrs. Fox.”

  Clara wrenched open the door and ran.

  Chapter Eighteen

  How dare you put our family in peril again?” The very air around Rushton vibrated with anger. “After what she did?”

  “She leaves London on Friday,” Darius said, his tone unapologetic. “And never did she intend to inform anyone else of her return.”

  “As well she shouldn’t,” Rushton snapped, swinging his hard gaze to Sebastian. “I knew it was a mistake to leave things in your hands, to expect that you would make the right decisions as to your future. Have you any idea of the damage Fairfax could wreak with his accusations against his daughter? When did you learn about this?”

  “Before we wed,” Sebastian admitted. He stepped back to the door, pulled by the urge to race after Clara. Unease coiled in his gut. “But we had no suspicion that he would make such accusations public. What has he to gain by doing so?”

  “His motives do not concern me.” Rushton paced to the hearth, his shoulders rigid. “The accusation does.”

  “We could very well turn this back upon him,” Darius said. “Fairfax has creditors to appease. He needed money from Sebastian, so if he were granted enough funds…”

  “I have no intention of putting myself at the mercy of a man who is strengthened by the accusation of murder,” Rushton retorted. “I could give such a man my entire fortune and would still have no guarantee that he would keep his silence.” Rushton glowered at Sebastian. “Not to mention that I have no evidence as to the falsity of his claim.”

  Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “Clara did not murder her husband.”

  “Of course she’d tell you that,” Rushton snapped. “You have no evidence to the contrary, do you?”

  “I don’t need any.”

  “And you.” Rushton spun to confront Darius, anger tearing through him as he pointed a finger at his other son. “You could be considered an enemy of the state owing to your residence in Russia. And now Mrs. Hall tells me you sought plans for a cipher machine that could be used in wartime? Your loyalties would be called into grave question should the Home Office discover you are in possession of such plans. And what defense would you have should they accuse you of wanting to use such a machine against British troops?”

  “They could not do so if you, my lord, finance the construction and testing of the machine for the Home Office.”

  “Why in the love of God would I finance anything with which you are involved?” Rushton snapped.

  “Because it is the most innovative and expedient way of transmitting coded messages between British troops. Granville Blake and I can prove the codes are unbreakable.”

  Rushton stared at him but before he could respond, a knock came at the door. Sebastian turned as Mrs. Fox poked her head into the room, blinking at the heated tension buffeting the air.

  “I beg your pardon, gentlemen.” She delicately cleared her throat and looked at Sebastian. “Mr. Hall, may I speak with you for a moment?”

  Sebastian strode to the foyer with her. She held out a folded note. “A delivery boy just brought this for Mrs. Hall. He said it was a missive from Lord Fairfax’s butler. I thought you should know. Mrs. Hall left in such a hurry, and she did not look well at all.”

  Foreboding seized him. Sebastian grabbed the note and unfolded it. His heart plummeted.

  “Mr. Hall?” A twist of alarm crossed Mrs. Fox’s sedate features. “Is everything all right?”

  “Tell my brother and Granville.” Sebastian threw the paper into the bin and yanked open the door. “Davies says Fairfax has made plans to take Andrew to the Continent. They’re leaving tomorrow.”

  Rain pounded on the roof of the cab. Only a few pedestrians hurried past, umbrellas blooming like mushrooms over their heads and puddles splashing around their feet. Clara peered through the carriage window at the façade of Fairfax’s town house, two windows burning with light. No movement shifted behind the water-streaked glass.

  Please, she thought. Please let him come out. Please let them go somewhere, anywhere, just get Andrew away from Fairfax and I’ll think of something…

  She slid her gaze to a carriage that rattled over the street and came to a halt at the curb. Her heart stumbled when Sebastian descended and walked toward Fairfax’s house with a long, determined stride.

  If he intended to confront her father…

  Alarm ripped through her. Without thinking, Clara shoved open the door. “Sebastian!”

  He stopped and turned, rain streaming off his hat to drench his shoulders. Two seconds later he was pushing her back into the cab, his expression taut with anger and…fear?

  “What?” Clara gasped, clutching at the damp sleeves of his greatcoat. “What happened?”

  “He leaves tomorrow for Switzerland. With Andrew.”

  “No.” All the strength drained from Clara’s bones, pooling into terror. She sank onto the seat, still gripping his sleeves, trying not to shake. “He can’t.”

  “He won’t.” His mouth set in a grim line, Sebastian eased himself away from her and grasped the door handle. “Wait here.”

  “No.” She tightened her grip. “You can’t see him.”

  “I will—” His voice stopped as he looked to the door of the town house.

  Andrew, his tutor, and a footman descended the steps toward a waiting carriage. Sebastian snapped an order at the driver and slammed shut the door of the cab. The cab rattled after the carriage at what seemed an exceedingly slow speed—the dappled mare no match for Fairfax’s fresh gray pair. Thankfully the rain had slowed the pace of traffic, and the cabdriver was able to keep the carriage within his sights.

  When the carriage pulled up to the entrance of the British Museum, Clara tried to dart out before Sebastian, but he curved his gloved hand around her wrist and forced her back. Panic clutched her.

  “You can’t…”

  “Wait here,” he ordered, then vaulted from the cab just as Andrew and his tutor climbed out.

  Clara’s breath stopped. Like a blade slicing through cloth, Sebastian ran across the street. Rain streamed down, splashing against mud-slick cobblestones. He dodged a wagon and a water cart, swerved between two phaetons, and skidded onto the steps of the museum before Andrew.

  The boy and his tutor recoiled at the sight of the water-drenched stranger, then the tutor reached for Andrew’s shoulder to draw him aside. Sebastian lunged forward. In one movement, he hauled the boy into his arms and ran.

  The driver shouted. The white-faced tutor stared. Andrew kicked at Sebastian, twisting and flailing to escape. The footman leapt off the bench and pursued Sebastian, his boots sliding on the slippery stones. Sebastian held fast, darting in front of a ragpicker’s cart to reach the cab.

  A burst of hope cracked open Clara’s shell of terror. She threw open the door. “Andrew!”

  He twisted in Sebastian’s grip at the sound of her voice. And then he was there. With a cry, Clara clutched her son as Sebastian pushed him into the cab and followed.

  “Go,” he shouted at the driver. “Paddington station.”

  The driver hesitated. The footman neared, face slashed with determination. Sebastian pounded on the roof. The cab lurched forward just as the footman grabbed the door handle. His foot skidded on the slimy gutter, his grip loosening. The cab clattered down t
he street, picking up speed as it rounded Great Russell Street and headed toward the train station.

  Clara hugged Andrew to her chest, hardly daring to believe she was again holding her son. Tension wove through his slender frame before the fear dissipated, and then he sagged against her. His arms crept around her neck. Clara buried her face in his dark, wet hair and sobbed. Fairfax would have to rip her in two before she’d let her son go again.

  Time compressed to nothing when the cab halted in front of the railway station. Sebastian urged Clara and Andrew out before him, handing several coins to the driver before he strode toward the ticket booth.

  Clara pulled away from Andrew, cupping his face in her hands. She brushed her thumbs across his damp cheeks. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded but didn’t speak. The train steamed into the station, disgorging clusters of passengers before the conductor called for embarkment. Clara turned to see Sebastian coming toward them, tickets in hand. He handed her two and guided her toward the door.

  A sudden shout pierced her like an icicle. She whirled around, pulling Andrew closer. The footman and a police constable pushed through the crowd behind Sebastian. People gasped, parting to give them way.

  Clara edged toward the train, her grip tightening on Andrew’s shoulder. The constable came closer. A wall of people closed between Clara and the train door. Air squeezed from her lungs. Sebastian’s hand slipped away from her.

  Her heart slammed against her chest when he pivoted and shoved toward the approaching men. Before Clara could speak, he lunged toward the footman and sent them both to the platform floor. A woman screamed. People scattered.

  “Sebastian!” Clara shouted. Panic flooded her as the crowd surged, pushing her toward the train.

  She gripped the bar beside the train door. Her breath lodged in her throat when the constable edged around the struggling footman and started toward Clara.

  The train started to move. Sebastian gripped the footman’s arm and twisted it behind his back.

  The constable shoved aside two men, his expression dark and determined. Clara pushed Andrew ahead of her onto the train. A woman bumped into her from behind.