by Holt, Cheryl
“Did you tell Sheldon about your affair?”
“I was very frank, and he was very kind.”
Caroline scoffed. “Sheldon is many things, but he’s not kind. Don’t pretend that he was.”
“Under the circumstances, he was a veritable knight in shining armor.”
“Does Jean Pierre know?”
“I don’t see how he would. Sheldon is the only one I’ve told besides you.”
“We have to get word to him immediately. Raven has a secret method for contacting him. We’ll send a letter.”
“We’re not sending any letter.”
“Yes, we are. He has to haul his sorry behind back to England and marry you himself.”
“No.” Sarah shook her head. “I don’t want that.”
“Don’t be daft. Of course he has to come back.”
“John Sinclair doesn’t care about me, Caroline. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He never has.”
“This doesn’t have to do with caring. This has to do with the fact that he sired a child on you, and he has to pay the price. Matrimony is the price.”
“He wouldn’t think so.”
“He doesn’t get to have an opinion. That’s how the world works. A man misbehaves, and shortly after, he finds his butt at the altar, with a leg shackle being hammered onto his ankle.”
“Not John Sinclair. He’s his father’s son in every way, and I won’t humiliate myself by begging him to assist me.”
“Don’t say that.”
Sarah sighed, hating the entire conversation.
From the moment she’d realized her condition, she’d known what she had to do.
John had been very clear as to his feelings about Sarah. While she’d been merrily planning their future, he’d been furtively plotting to abandon her at a coaching inn. He’d ridden away without a goodbye or backward glance.
It remained the most mortifying episode of her life, and if she lived to be a hundred, she didn’t imagine she’d ever recover from the shame of how he’d treated her.
Still though, all these weeks later, she kept stupidly assuming he’d change his mind. She kept watching the road, expecting to see him galloping in on his white stallion. She kept watching the mail, assuming he would write to tell her he hadn’t meant it, that he was coming back to her.
Yet from the day they’d met, he’d played her for a fool, and she had to cease her fantastical dreaming that she could have a different ending with him. He was who he was: a cold, hard man who didn’t bond or attach himself. She didn’t think he could attach himself.
She could have Raven rush to France, could wait and pray that Raven could persuade him. But he wouldn’t return, and she didn’t dare deceive herself, because she didn’t have time to waste. If Raven chased after him, it might be months before Raven staggered in with the degrading news that she’d been rebuffed.
What then?
She’d leapt into their affair without pausing to worry about the ramifications. She’d been so idiotically enamored, so unsophisticated at amour, that the prospect of a pregnancy or the fact that she had no ring on her finger had never occurred to her.
As she’d grown more wary and had fretted, John had sworn he couldn’t sire a child. She’d believed him! And she had to accept that—like his reprehensible father—he probably had offspring scattered across the globe.
A single woman couldn’t blithely fornicate without consequences arising. There were laws and moral teachings that prohibited decadent acts. No person in the neighborhood would tolerate her disgraceful ruination. No person would be civil or forgive her sins. She couldn’t stay at Bramble Bay and be a mother with no husband.
The only other option was to leave and give birth elsewhere, to have the baby adopted. But she truly thought it would be the sole child she would ever have, and she simply couldn’t force herself to hand it over to strangers.
She had frantically ruminated, had chastised and searched for solutions—but there was only one solution. That being marriage as rapidly as it could be accomplished.
Sheldon was the only man available to her. She didn’t know any other candidate whom she could possibly ask to take such a shocking step, to wed her when she was carrying the babe of another.
He’d been her father’s friend. He’d been Sarah’s friend, and she’d gone to him because she could confide in him, because he would listen and help. She’d prevailed on him horridly, and he’d agreed to aid her. It was over. It was done, and she wouldn’t renege or second guess.
Once in her life, she’d deemed him fussy and pedantic and much too old for her. But now, he was the perfect choice: wise, mature, prudent. He would see her through the coming debacle, and in return, she would be a good wife to him.
Previously, she’d viewed herself as a hopeless romantic who would only wed for love and passion. Well, she’d had all the love and passion a female could ever imagine, and where had it landed her?
Abandoned at a roadside coaching inn, that’s where.
She needed constancy. She needed stability. She needed a savior who would proceed quickly and quietly prior to anyone being aware of how she’d shamed herself.
“I’m marrying Sheldon,” she said again. “It’s already settled.”
“Even after you told him everything?”
“Yes.”
“He’s willing to raise another man’s child as his own? Why would he? It makes no sense. What has he to gain by granting you this enormous favor?”
“I offered him a large dowry. When he learned the amount, he was more than happy to have me.”
“A dowry? You don’t have two pennies to rub together.”
“No, but I have Bramble Bay.”
Caroline frowned, confused. Then understanding dawned, and she blanched. “You’re giving him your family’s home? The Teasdales have owned Bramble Bay for hundreds of years. How could you consider it?”
“What else can I do, Caroline? I must have a husband.” She gestured toward the door. “Is there a row of suitors lined up in the hall? It’s not as if I can court and woo. I have to move forward right away—before the scandal leaks out.”
“But Bramble Bay, Sarah! Think what you’re doing!”
“Believe me. I’ve thought plenty.”
“Jean Pierre gave the estate to you so you’d always be safe.”
“Yes, and I’m using it to save myself. It seems a fitting conclusion, doesn’t it?”
“You can’t do this, Sarah. I’m telling Raven. There has to be a better way.”
“There is no other way, Caroline. Just let it go.”
Sarah was weary and afraid and exhausted. She pushed herself to her feet and staggered from the room before Caroline uttered other painful comments she couldn’t bear to hear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
John dismounted and tossed the reins to his stable boy.
He’d been riding for hours out in the countryside, the brisk winter wind whipping at his hair and clothes. He felt dead inside, so he was trying to animate himself, desperate to learn if anything—cold temperatures, exhausting fatigue—could make a dent.
Weeks earlier, he’d returned to his castle where he was anxious to recuperate after all the drama in England. Yet to his surprise, he’d found no solace.
His prior visit, he’d brought Sarah with him, and he’d believed he could come back without her. But nothing was the same, and she seemed to be haunting the halls.
He gazed to the small harbor. Out in the Channel, the ocean was angry and gray, whitecaps roiling the water. Sarah was on the other shore, safe at Bramble Bay.
After being freed from prison, they’d spent a few contented days together. She’d assumed he would stay in England with her, but he’d never yearned for any of the pleasures she enjoyed. He’d never craved a home or family or wife. Had he?
He constantly posed that question, and he was so confused by the answers he received.
He’d left her because he was the worst wretch in the
world, and he’d only hurt her in the end. But he ceaselessly obsessed over what might have been. She’d dangled a life in front of him that he’d never expected to have. He hadn’t wanted what she was offering, so why couldn’t he let it go? Why couldn’t he forget about her?
Did she ever stand on the verandah at Bramble Bay and stare out across the Channel? Did she ever think of him and wonder how he was faring?
He snorted with disgust. Of course she didn’t. She’d hate him now, having realized it had all been lies, that it had been physical seduction and naught else. He wasn’t capable of giving a woman more than that, and she’d dreamed of so much more.
“Stop it!”he muttered to himself. He had to stop pining and fretting over her.
“Have I upset you, sir?”the stable boy asked.
“No, no.” John shook his head, feeling stupid and worried that some of his mother’s madness was finally taking hold.
He was loitering in the yard, talking to himself, and consumed with memories of a female he’d harmed terribly and would never see again. If that wasn’t a sign of pending lunacy, he didn’t know what was.
He pointed to the harbor where an unidentified ship had dropped anchor.
“Have you heard who’s arrived?”
“No,”the boy replied, and he kept on with John’s horse.
John went into the castle, and as usual, a bevy of servants flitted up. Everyone was eager to help, to serve.
“You have guests,”the butler said.
“Guests?”
“Yes. From England.”
His heart literally skipped a beat as he figured it had to be Sarah. But as quickly as the ridiculous notion arose, he pushed it away. Sarah wouldn’t have any idea how to find his tiny village, and even if she could, she’d never waste her time.
“Master Hook is here,”the butler advised. “They traveled with him.”
“Raven is back?” John grinned with delight, but there was concern beneath the surface. Raven was supposed to be at Bramble Bay watching over Sarah. Had something happened?
Dread flooding him, he asked, “Where are they?”
“In the main hall. I invited them to stay and dine with us. Master Hook will, but the others declined.”
“Their loss.” John’s chef prepared fine suppers, and John was happy he wouldn’t have to share his meal with any stuffy Brits.
“Will you see them?”
“Yes.” John started off, the butler dogging his heels. “What are their names?”
“Master Hook wishes to make the introductions.”
John raised a curious brow, then marched in. It was Raven and two men, and John bit down a wave of disappointment that Sarah wasn’t with them—even though he hadn’t expected her to be.
Raven lived with John, so he was lounged on a sofa, enjoying a brandy and a warm fire. The other two were standing over by the window, staring out, their backs to John. They were dressed in expensive clothes, which meant they were rich snobs who would annoy John enormously.
They were tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered, their legs spread as if they were soldiers ready for inspection by their commanding officer.
Typical Englishmen! he fumed, his habitual dislike bubbling up like soup in a pot. Fussy. Pompous. Irksome and vain. They thought they owned the bloody world, and he’d always been thrilled to prove that they didn’t.
“There you are,”Raven said in French. “I didn’t think you’d ever get here.”
The visitors spun to face John, and one of them said, “Speak English, Mr. Hook. I’ve been out of the schoolroom for a long while, and my French isn’t that fluent anymore. I want to be sure I understand every word you two scoundrels say.”
Raven rolled his eyes as John studied the pair. There was a familiar aspect to them, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“You’re guests in my castle,”John snapped, “so you have an incredible amount of gall to hurl insults the moment I walk in. If you can’t mind your manners, you don’t have to remain. I’m big enough and bad enough to throw your asses out. Shall we see if I can manage it?”
“This is going to go as poorly as I suspected,”Raven mumbled. “Sorry, Jean Pierre, but they insisted I escort them, and I let them persuade me.” He flicked a thumb at the glowering oafs. “The fellow on the right is your brother, James Harcourt, the exalted Earl of Westwood. The fellow on your left is your brother, Tristan.”
“The one we tried our best to kill?”John snidely taunted.
“Yes, and unfortunately, we didn’t succeed.”
John was so stunned that he could barely stay on his feet. He couldn’t show any weakness and should have tossed them out as he’d threatened he would, but he was too bewildered to storm over and do it.
They’d crossed the Channel to find him? Why would they have? During all the months he’d been in England, they hadn’t bothered. When he’d been sitting in the execution cell at Newgate, they hadn’t bothered. When he’d had supper at Phillip’s, they hadn’t bothered.
Yet suddenly, they were dying to make his acquaintance. Suddenly, they’d braved the winter ocean in order to meet him. Raven had dared bring them—when he’d known how John would resent the intrusion.
“Obviously a peculiar event has transpired, and you can’t wait to tell me about it.”
“Obviously,”Lord Westwood sneered.
The butler was hovering, and John gestured to him. “It looks as if this will be a lengthy discussion. Pour whiskey all around, would you?”
The man nodded and hurried to comply. Swiftly, he had the sideboard opened, the drinks served. As he slipped out, Raven peered over his shoulder and said to the Harcourts, “You demanded to speak with him. Get on with it.”
“If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Hook?”the earl said. “This is a private chat.”
“If it concerns Jean Pierre,”Raven replied, “it concerns me. I guard his back and always have. If he asks me to knock your foolish heads together and drown you in the harbor, I will.”
Tristan Harcourt bristled as if he might stomp over to see if Raven was tough enough to carry out his threat, but Lord Westwood stopped him.
“We’re here about Sarah Teasdale,”the earl haughtily announced.
It was the last comment John had anticipated, and he carefully shielded his reaction. Was she sick? Was she injured?
“What about her?”John coolly inquired.
“It’s come to our attention,”Tristan said, “that you ruined her, then abandoned her without following through on the marriage you promised.”
“And your point is…?”
“We have a few issues with cads who seduce innocent maidens and leave them in the lurch.”
Tristan appeared too incensed to continue, and the earl was happy to jump in.
“We especially have issues with Charles Sinclair ruining maidens and walking away. We’re not about to let his son do the same.”
“Miss Teasdale is fine,”John bit out. “I won her home from her brother, but I returned it to her. Raven is there to watch over her, and my clerk—Mr. Thompson—is there too, to assist her in getting the accounts back in the black. So if you’re here to complain about her situation, it was a wasted trip.”
Westwood glanced at his brother and murmured, “He doesn’t know. I figured he didn’t.”
“I figured he did,”Tristan seethed. “I figured he knew and didn’t give a damn. Just like his father.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”John snapped.
Raven supplied the answer. “You planted a babe in Sarah’s belly, Jean Pierre.”
“I…what?”
“She’s having a baby. You’ve left her in a terrible jam.”
“She didn’t mention it to me.”
“When you headed to France, I doubt she knew.”
“She definitely knows now,”Lord Westwood muttered. He ordered Raven, “Tell him what she’s planned.”
But Raven didn’t take orders from anyone but John.
“Tell hi
m yourself,”Raven spat.
“I can’t. I’m so disgusted to see another Sinclair male acting this way that I’d probably choke on the words.”
John looked at Raven. “What is she doing?”
“She’s arranged to wed her neighbor.”
“Which one?”
“Some asshole who’s thirty years older than she is. He was a friend of her father’s.”
“She told me about him once,”John said.
“Tell him the rest,”Westwood insisted. “Let him hear the worst of it.”
“He’s demanded a dowry.”
John frowned. “She doesn’t have a dowry.”
“She has Bramble Bay,”Raven explained, “and he wants it as his bride price. She’s agreed to give it to him.”
“She wouldn’t have,”John said.
“She has,”Westwood confirmed. “He’ll marry her and raise her child as his own, but at a steep cost. I don’t believe she should have to pay it. Do you?”
The question hung in the air between them as John furiously assessed the catastrophe he’d set in motion. The news was so surprising and disconcerting.
He’d never previously sired a child, was convinced he couldn’t sire a child, so he hadn’t worried about any carnal consequences for Sarah. If she’d lived in Paris, she might have been able to brazen it out, might have been able to birth a bastard and flaunt it to the neighbors. But she couldn’t get away with such brash conduct in stuffy, rural England.
Yet, what was the best way to assist her?
She was better off without him. He wasn’t the man she assumed him to be, and he would never be that man. Nothing had changed to alter that fact, so why would he inflict himself on her?
He didn’t know how to be a father, didn’t want to be a father, but he couldn’t allow another man to rear his child. It wasn’t an ending he could tolerate.
For a moment, he could practically see the baby they had created. It would be a little girl with his blond hair and her mother’s pretty blue eyes. He could visualize his daughter skipping through the foyer at Bramble Bay Manor, her starched petticoat swishing with each step. She’d be smart and sassy and merry in a manner John had never dreamed of being as a boy.
But as quickly as the vision arose, he shoved it away. He was never ruled by sentiment. He never let emotion push him to recklessness. He thought carefully, then acted.
