A Passion For Pleasure

by Nina Rowan

  “If not even your father will resist Fairfax, then what hope do we have of any success? And I will not drag you farther into—”

  “Stop.” Driven by sudden anger, Sebastian crossed the room to clasp her shoulders. “You are not dragging me into anything, Clara. If I thought you were, I would divorce you. We are in this together. We have been since the moment I accepted your proposal. And we will fix it together.”

  She didn’t ask how. Instead she folded herself into his arms and buried her face in his chest. Her arms tightened around his waist. Sebastian pressed his lips to the top of her head. For all his preoccupation with his family—Rushton, Darius, Catherine, Alexander—he’d lost sight of the most basic premise of his marriage to Clara.

  She was his family now. Clara and Andrew were his family. His to provide for, to cherish, to protect. He was bound to ensure their happiness. He alone could fight for their safety. He alone could keep them together.

  And not even Fairfax could stop him.

  The realization broke inside him like a comet racing through a dark sky. He’d spent so many months despairing the loss of his hand, the end of his career, that he hadn’t realized the void was being filled with something so much more fulfilling. An abiding love, a sense of purpose that flared his blood with colors and happiness.

  He grasped Clara’s waist, ignored the seizing of his hand, and lowered his head to kiss her. Her soft gasp slipped into his mouth, but her body curved against his as naturally as a leaf bows to a breeze. She parted her lips and smoothed her hands over his jaw and into his hair.

  “I love you,” Sebastian whispered against her mouth. “If you will but trust me, I will not fail you.”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks, salty against her lips. Sebastian brushed them away with his thumb and lifted his head. Though Clara might be correct that the core of his being remained the same, Sebastian knew he had irrevocably changed, and not solely due to the loss of his hand.

  He had changed because of Clara, because she had shown him how to reshape desperation and use it as fuel. Because she, too, knew the black despair of having something taken away, and yet she had never wavered in her efforts to get Andrew back. If she would not waver, then neither would he.

  “Your father is still in financial straits,” he said. “And while we cannot rely on Rushton’s help, I’m certain Alexander will give us whatever we need to appease him.”

  Clara shook her head. “It isn’t about money, Sebastian. If it was, Fairfax would have made an explicit demand when we spoke with him about Wakefield House. I’m certain he would take whatever you offered, but I fear nothing will make him relinquish custody of Andrew.”

  “Yet it also isn’t a question of Fairfax wanting to raise Andrew himself, is it? If it were, he wouldn’t send the boy away for medical care. I don’t imagine he would stay with Andrew in Switzerland, do you?”

  “No.” Clara bit her bottom lip. “He never thought Andrew would amount to anything, Sebastian.”

  So what else was there? Sebastian had the nagging sense that they were missing something important, and yet he had no idea what it was. On the surface, Fairfax was a grandfather committed to retaining custody of his grandson and putting him under the care of a physician.

  Maybe the answer lay with the physician and the institution…if Fairfax chose not to stay with Andrew, which seemed likely, then Sebastian and Clara might have a chance to see the boy while he was under medical care. Fairfax would probably make arrangements to bar them from the institution as well, but money could work to unlock those doors.

  And Sebastian would tell Alexander everything that had happened, if it would mean his brother’s financial support. Alexander would be furious over the revelations about Catherine Leskovna and might very well renounce both Darius and Sebastian for having associated with her again, but he would help give Clara the opportunity to see her son.

  “I have an idea.” Sebastian gripped Clara’s shoulders, felt hope flow through him in a wave of sky blue. “Will you trust me?”

  “I do trust you.” Her gaze searched his, her violet eyes filled with a mixture of warmth and sorrow. “And you have already proven your love for me. Now you must give me the chance to do the same.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Andrew did not want to return to London with his grandfather. That much was clear. Rushton watched as the boy all but cowered against the side of the railway car as they made their way back to the city. He looked at Fairfax.

  “What was this talk about an institution?” he asked.

  “Andrew has refused to speak since his father’s death,” Fairfax replied. “Several doctors have recommended I consult a Swiss physician who can help determine the cause of his affliction. I intend to leave Andrew with him until he is cured.”

  “You’ve no idea how long that will take,” Rushton said. Unease laced through him as he glanced at Andrew again. If Fairfax abused the boy, then one would think Andrew might be relieved at the opportunity to get away from him. Then again, he’d have to consider an institution and a physician as the lesser of two evils.

  “It does not matter how long it takes,” Fairfax replied. “As long as Andrew is well cared for and cured.”

  “So your plan is to leave him in Switzerland while you return to London?” Rushton asked.

  “Not London. I shall return to Manley Park for the remainder of the year.”

  Rushton narrowed his eyes. His unease intensified, alongside the growing sense that Fairfax was leaving something out of his story, some vital piece that might prove illuminating.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, Fairfax,” he said, keeping his tone friendly and curious, “why exactly did your daughter leave Manley Park in the first place?”

  “Oh.” Fairfax waved a dismissive hand. “She too was distraught over the loss of her beloved husband. So distraught, in fact, that she was unable to properly care for Andrew. She thought it best if she went to London to recuperate from her bereavement.”

  A frown pulled at Rushton’s mouth. If Fairfax indeed believed Clara had been responsible for her husband’s death, why had he not accused her of the crime? And why would he concoct a tale of her grief driving her away from her own son? Which story was the true one?

  Although Rushton possessed bitter, firsthand knowledge that a mother was capable of abandoning her children, he could not reconcile such drastic action with what he knew of Clara. So grief-stricken over the death of her husband that she would abandon Andrew, even if the boy was no longer her legal ward?

  No.

  The woman who had abducted Andrew in an effort to reclaim him, the woman who had begged Rushton for aid…such a woman would never leave her child behind. And even if Rushton was uncertain about his conclusion, he could rely upon his son’s actions for confirmation.

  Not even to defy Rushton would Sebastian have married a woman who had abandoned her child shortly after the death of the child’s father. In a moment, Sebastian would have seen through to such coldness.

  Instead Sebastian had married her partly to help her get her son back, obviously believing that Clara and Andrew should be together.

  Rushton had never considered himself a man ruled by emotion. His anger toward his son was not so blinding that it obscured Sebastian’s admirable qualities. Sebastian had always been the one most capable of understanding what people truly needed, often better than they understood themselves. It was but one of the reasons Sebastian had always been at his ease in the world.

  “When do you intend to bring Andrew to Switzerland?” Rushton asked.

  “I’d intended to leave last week, so all preparations have been made,” Fairfax replied. “Provided I can change my tickets, Andrew and I should be able to leave for Brighton on Monday at the latest. We’ll take a boat to Dieppe, then stay in Paris for a day or so before leaving for Interlaken.”

  Rushton tucked that information away in the back of his mind as he turned his attention back to Andrew. The boy stared out the window
, his face pale but without expression.

  Rushton had the upsetting thought that Andrew might very well try to run away at some point during his journey with his grandfather. Though likely Fairfax had also considered the possibility and would ensure the boy was well guarded.

  Protected. Fairfax would ensure that Andrew was well protected.

  Andrew turned his head and met Rushton’s gaze. The sudden contact brought to mind an unexpected image of his sons. All four of them. Dark-haired boys whose eyes glinted with varying hints of mischief, curiosity, seriousness, glee. Boys who had grown into men of sharp intelligence and strong constitutions, despite the obstacles that had been thrown into their paths.

  Men capable of teaching Rushton a thing or two about how to conduct oneself in the world.

  Andrew Winter might become the same type of man, given the opportunity to attend school, play sports, travel, work, marry. But such a future appeared in doubt, if his grandfather carried through with his plan.

  Rushton tore his gaze from Andrew and looked out the opposite window. None of this was his concern, at any rate. Fairfax was the boy’s guardian. And Rushton’s sole concern was to prevent anything from further damaging his family’s reputation.

  By helping Fairfax reclaim his grandson, Rushton had fortified the walls around the earldom. That was all that mattered.

  At the Paddington station, they procured two cabs to take them back to their respective residences. Rushton nodded a farewell to Fairfax and turned to ensure his luggage was loaded into his cab.

  There was a quick, sharp tug at his sleeve. He glanced down. Andrew stood at his side, his shoulders hunched furtively.

  “She didn’t do it,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with disuse. “Didn’t.”

  Before Rushton could question the boy, Andrew darted back to his grandfather. Fairfax was speaking to the cabdriver and appeared not to notice Andrew’s short absence.

  Andrew climbed into the cab and looked at Rushton through the window. He shook his head.

  Disquiet tumbled through Rushton’s chest. Was Andrew speaking of his abduction? Or Clara’s involvement in Richard Winter’s death? Although Rushton didn’t believe her capable of murdering her husband, he hadn’t discounted the potential of her accidental involvement. Fairfax would hold to his accusation that Clara was responsible for Richard’s death.

  But how did Andrew know she was not?

  The familiar smells of paint and grease permeated the museum. In the front exhibition room, Clara pivoted on her heel and paced to the window. Her mind ferreted through all the tangles of the newest plan they had concocted since arriving back in London yesterday.

  She could no longer afford to carry the weight of hopelessness and anguish. For the past year, such emotions had pulsed alongside her blood, fueling her desperation, but ultimately they were useless. She would never see Andrew again if she allowed despair to rule her heart.

  And now, she was no longer alone. Even when faced anew with the loss of her son, even though darkness still fought to pull her downward, she reached for the light shining like gold coins on the surface. She and Sebastian had reclaimed Andrew once, and they would do so again.

  She glanced to where Sebastian sat by the hearth, his brow creased as he studied the latest missives from his brother’s solicitor.

  “He didn’t sign the deed of conveyance.” Sebastian pushed to his feet and began to pace, latching a hand behind his neck. “That’s to our benefit, at the least.”

  Darius unfolded himself from a chair and approached to examine the papers. “Though there appears to be no possibility of Fairfax’s willingness to settle.”

  “No.” Sebastian shook his head. “We will not approach him again. I will write to Alexander explaining the situation and send the letter in Monday’s post.”

  “I’ve the information about the institution here.” Granville riffled through a stack of papers. “As well as all the papers pertaining to Wakefield House.”

  Relief eased some of the tension from Clara’s shoulders. Wakefield House remained in Sebastian’s hands, still useful as a point of negotiation should the situation arise, doubtful though that might be.

  She met her husband’s warm gaze, her heart fluttering again at the reminder that not once had he wavered in his determination to remain by her side.

  The sound of the doorbell rang faintly in her ear. She went to the foyer to answer it, as both Mrs. Fox and Mrs. Marshall had left for the day. Clara pulled open the door, her breath stopping in her throat as she stared at the Earl of Rushton.

  “Mrs. Hall.” He gave her a stiff nod, his features set like stone. “Sebastian’s footman said he was here.”

  “Yes.” Confused and wary, Clara stepped back to allow him entrance. After he’d divested himself of his greatcoat and hat, she gestured to the drawing room. “Everyone is inside.”

  Rushton’s shoulders tightened, but he nodded. Praying he would not throw yet another obstacle into their path, Clara preceded him and closed the door after he’d entered.

  Silence crashed over the room. Darius and Sebastian exchanged glances, their stances guarded. Apprehension flickered across Granville’s face.

  “Sebastian.” Rushton nodded at his sons. “Darius.”

  “My lord.” Sebastian extended his hand to a chair. “Would you care to sit?”

  “No.” Rushton’s gaze flickered to Sebastian’s hand, the finger bent at a right angle. A shadow veiled his eyes for an instant. “I’ve come to ask about your intentions regarding Andrew.”

  Sebastian eyed his father warily. “We have no intentions. As you’ve proven, we have no further recourse.”

  “And yet I do not for an instant believe you will not attempt to find one,” Rushton replied, folding his hands behind his back. “You’ve already gone to enormous lengths to reclaim Andrew, and I know there is nothing on earth that would stop either of you from continuing your efforts.”

  “Why do you want to know what they are, then?” Hostility threaded Sebastian’s voice. “So you can relay the information to Fairfax?”

  “No.” Rushton cleared his throat, looking from Sebastian to Darius and back again. “So that I might assist you.”

  Silence fell again. Clara’s heart pounded inside her head as she struggled against the hope desperate to break forth. She met Sebastian’s gaze and saw the same struggle in the depths of his eyes before he turned back to his father.

  “Why would you assist us?” he asked. “All you’ve wanted is to avoid scandal.”

  “And up until now, I have had good reason to do so.” Rushton turned to Clara. His brows pulled together with a faint sense of confusion. “Your son spoke to me.”

  Clara gasped, her hand going to her throat. “Andrew spoke to you?”

  “He said, verbatim, she didn’t do it,” Rushton explained. “I assumed he was speaking of your hand in Mr. Winter’s death.”

  Hope surged through Clara’s blood, filling her heart. Andrew had believed her. No matter what Fairfax had said to him, no matter what lies he had slipped into Andrew’s ear, her son believed her over his grandfather.

  “Did he say anything else?” she asked.

  “No. He had little time to speak at all.” Rushton frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I was given to understand that Andrew had been rendered mute by the shock of his father’s death. Yet if that is the case, why would he choose to make such a statement after all this time? And to me, no less? A stranger?”

  “Perhaps he thought Fairfax would make the accusation public?” Darius ventured. “And sought your help in denying it?”

  “If Fairfax had intended to make the accusation public, he could have done so months ago.” Sebastian raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “We must follow them to Switzerland. At least there, Fairfax won’t have the weight of British law behind him should he start tossing threats about.”

  “Neither will we,” Clara added, a fact which might be to their benefit.
r />   Sebastian looked at his father. “Do you know anything else?”

  “Fairfax plans to leave by Monday for Brighton,” Rushton said. “He might already be gone. I’ve procured tickets for our own travel. Darius, you will remain in London in the event we need assistance here.” He gave Sebastian a firm nod. “Bastian, Mrs. Hall, I suggest we depart immediately.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  An amphitheater of green hills surrounded the town of Brighton, whose wide, paved streets enclosed the brisk sea air like the banks of a stream. Fashionable shops, theaters, and baths bordered the streets, and the royal gardens wrapped around the northern shoulders of the town like an ornamental cloak.

  Sebastian procured two rooms at the York Hotel, an expansive hotel a short distance from the Chain Pier. After Rushton had gone to settle into his quarters, Sebastian pushed open the door to a clean, spacious room with a large bed, desk, and chest of drawers.

  “There are refreshments in the coffee room,” he said, but Clara shook her head. She hadn’t been hungry for the past two days, her stomach tight with nerves.

  She eased aside the curtain and looked out over the sweeping expanse of the ocean. Andrew could be out there already, carried away from her to a distant land where God alone knew what awaited him.

  Sebastian’s warm hand settled on her nape, his fingers working the knotted muscles. “I’ve sent word to a hotel in Interlaken for the reservation of two rooms. It’s not far from the institution. We’ll contact the director once we’re there. I don’t want him to say anything to your father about our correspondence.”

  The boat to Dieppe would leave early the following morning. It seemed an eternity.

  A knock at the door announced Rushton’s arrival. At his suggestion, rather than sit in the hotel room and worry about all the things that could go wrong, they went out to take some air. The cold, salt-tinged wind reminded Clara of Wakefield House, a memory that fueled her resolve anew. They walked along New Steine, past various shops and markets whose displays overflowed with fresh-caught mackerel and red mullet.