Secrets of a Perfect Night

by Stephanie Laurens

  “Don’t be a fool, boy, I know what you’re thinking.” George’s eyes narrowed. “You want to know why I didn’t tell her the truth about why you left her. And why I waited so long to tell you she was alive. And wed to me.”

  “I did,” Jason said slowly. “But I’m not certain it matters anymore.”

  “Of course it matters,” George snapped. “Don’t you think you have the right to know?”

  “Do I?” Jason’s voice was hard. He pulled himself to his feet and paced beside the bed, giving voice to the questions that had plagued him since the moment he’d learned Rachael was alive. “Or have I forfeited that right? Can’t the fault for much of this be placed on my head? I knew better than to trust her father. And I should have trusted her. How could I have believed she would take her own life?” He combed his hand through his hair. “At the very least, I should have demanded proof.”

  “For God’s sakes, Jason, it was Gresham who told you of her death.” George’s voice rose. “Bloody wicked man. He’s dead now, you know. Broke his neck when his horse threw him. The animal probably earned his place in heaven for that. What kind of devil lies about the death of his only child? And who would fail to believe a father who makes such a claim?”

  “At the very least I should have—”

  “You should have tried harder to find me, but beyond that, you were young and beset by grief and guilt.” George shook his head. “The blame here is not yours.”

  “Then whom do I blame?” Jason snapped without thinking.

  “Gresham.” George paused. “And me.”

  “You?” Jason scoffed. “As much as I want to, how can I? You rescued her. You made certain she was not the center of scandal and ridicule. You gave her a home. You made her your wife!”

  “I kept her for myself!”

  For one brief moment, Jason hated him. “Yes, damn it to hell, George, you did! How could you? You let the woman I loved believe I had abandoned her. How could you do that to me? To her?”

  “Because I was as lacking in courage then as I am now!” George averted his gaze and plucked at the coverlet. “I should have told her the moment you wrote to me and I learned the truth. And I should have written you at once, but I couldn’t. We were already married, and”—his gaze met Jason’s—“I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. Not even to you.”

  George blew a tired breath. “Sit down. Jason, it is fatiguing enough to discuss this without having to stare up at you.”

  Jason returned to his seat.

  “That’s better.” George fell silent. When he spoke his voice was weary. “She should know that her life, our life together, was built on deception. I have been selfish and unfair. I want you to tell her the truth now, Jason.” George’s voice was soft. “I cannot.”

  “You love her, don’t you?” Jason held his breath.

  “She is my life.” George shook his head. “And she deserves far better than being tied to a feeble old man awaiting his own death.”

  “Scarcely old. You’re not yet six and forty.”

  George ignored him. “I want Rachael to have the happiness she should have had all along. With you.

  “But even now I don’t have the courage to tell her that, all these years, I’ve had it within my power to alleviate the pain she’s carried. I can’t bear the thought that she would detest me for it and the affection in her eyes would be swept away by disgust.”

  “The risk is the same whether it comes from me or you.”

  “I know.” George paused, and at once Jason knew the older man was wrong. He had far more courage than he suspected. “But my days are numbered and I have few chances to set things right. It’s past time she knew. Tell her, Jason.”

  “No.” Jason made the decision even as he said the word, and knew it the only decision possible. “What good would it do any of us? She is your wife.” He disregarded a stab of pain at the words. “I will not jeopardize that.”

  “Then you are as much a fool as I.”

  Jason chuckled, an odd sound, without humor. “The same blood runs in our veins.”

  “My happiness then at the expense of yours?” A wry smile quirked George’s lips. “How can I die in peace knowing that?”

  “You’re not going—”

  “I am.” He waved away Jason’s objection. “Physicians are an incompetent lot, but I cannot deny what my body tells me.”

  For a long moment he was silent, and Jason watched the play of emotions on his face. Sorrow gripped him for this man who had given him so much. How frightening it must be to face one’s own death. To take account of one’s own life and find it lacking.

  “Now then.” George’s voice took on a brisk tone. “We have your inheritance to discuss.”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Jason. Forget about your heart for a moment. Use that head of yours that turned what I sent you into a tidy fortune.” George seemed to gather his strength. The talk between them was obviously taking a toll.

  “We have not been fortunate enough to have children. It is my deepest regret. I should have liked to see Rachael surrounded by children of her own. Therefore you will inherit my title, the estate, and Lyndhurst Hall.”

  “And Rachael?”

  “She was her father’s only heir.” George grinned.

  “Wonderful twist of fate there. Upon his death she came into a sizable fortune. Rachael sold the London house. I would not allow her to sell the estate, yet she has never returned there and has, in fact, leased Gresham Manor. However, she did insist on tearing down some unused stables on the property, claiming they were a danger.”

  “Of course,” Jason murmured, swallowing the lump that rose to his throat.

  “I have had the money she received from her father, the profit from the sale of the house, and the rest of it set aside for her. She will be financially independent upon my death.” He considered Jason carefully. His words were measured. “In addition, I wish her to have this house. It is not part of the entailment. I know it has always meant a great deal to you, but it is very much her home now.”

  “I would not have it otherwise,” Jason said quietly.

  “I didn’t think so.” George smiled with satisfaction. “Perhaps when I am dead, you and Rachael—”

  “When you are dead I shall have lost my only relation left in the world.” He leaned closer and took George’s hand. “I shall have lost the man who took me in and raised me more as a son than a cousin. I will have lost my benefactor, my mentor, and my dearest friend.”

  George stared for a long, silent moment. “Will you give me your word that you will tell Rachael everything when I am gone?”

  “No,” Jason said without hesitation.

  “Why on earth not?”

  “I will not have her think ill of you after you’re gone.”

  “Damnation, you are as stubborn as your cousin. And every bit as foolish.” George sniffed, and for a moment Jason thought he saw a glimmer of tears in the older man’s eyes. “You’ve become a fine man, Jason. You have made me proud.”

  The back of Jason’s throat ached with emotion. He groped for a response, but words alone were not enough. He squeezed George’s hand.

  “You’re going back to America, aren’t you?” George said quietly.

  “I left rather quickly. I have a number of matters that need my attention.” Jason smiled. “I think it’s for the best.”

  “You will return to claim your inheritance.” George’s voice was firm, but there was a familiar twinkle in his eye. “I do insist you promise me that. England will always be your home and I will not waste my time in paradise trying to explain to each and every previous Earl of Lyndhurst why the current holder of the title is not in residence.”

  Jason laughed. “Very well. You have my word.”

  “I understand why you’re unwilling to stay. Still…it is difficult…” George sighed, and Jason knew it would not be long before he’d be keeping his promise.

 
But why wait? If he left for America at once, he could wrap up his affairs and, with luck, return before it was too late. If his presence eased George’s mind in his remaining days, then it was worth enduring Rachael’s hatred.

  “We will see each other again soon.”

  “If not in this life…” George smiled.

  They chatted for a few more minutes, but Jason could see the visit had taken a toll on George. Eventually his eyes closed and he slept.

  Jason stayed by his bedside until the shadows in the room deepened and the day turned to dusk. Finally he took his leave, bidding good-bye to Mayfair and entrusting him with the care of the earl and countess.

  He didn’t see Rachael on his way out and thought that, too, was for the best. His head filled with the myriad details of winding up his business interests in America, and in a habit as natural to him now as breathing, he absently rested his hand against the small pocket in his waistcoat, heavy with a familiar weight carried on his person day and night for seven years.

  And through the fabric his fingers traced the distinct and unmistakable shape of half a gold coin.

  1815

  I suspected, or perhaps simply hoped, that you had resolved to return home before my death. I fear, my dear boy, you will not make it. The hostilities between America and England will make travel difficult if not impossible.

  I should have forced you to tell her the truth when you came to London. Yet even then I was afraid of losing her. Worse, I feared she would stay with me out of pity. And that, I could not bear.

  What I did not have the courage to do in life, I can do in death. I have instructed my solicitor to deliver this letter to you and another for Rachael only upon your return to England. I do not wish for you to be separated by an ocean when she learns all. She will need you then.

  Do not allow the actions of others that have heretofore shaped your lives determine what is yet to come. Do not allow the mistakes of the past to eclipse the promise of the future. And do not allow Rachael’s memories to color what is here and now.

  Jason’s gaze idly searched the crowd. Would there be a familiar face among the guests present? It had been more than a decade since his last appearance at a London ball, and he had not kept in touch with past acquaintances.

  He sipped his champagne ruefully. He wasn’t fooling himself. He didn’t care a fig for past acquaintances. There was only one familiar face he wished to see. He’d put off going to see her since his return to London. Now would George’s letters change everything?

  Would she indeed need him? Or had she come too far from the girl she’d been to so much as consider the possibility of reunion? It was not inconceivable that George’s admissions would bring her peace and she would view Jason in a more cordial manner, but that would be the extent of it.

  And what of him? What if, upon his first glance of Rachael, he realized the past was over and done with and it was time to go on with his life?

  He chuckled softly. Despite years of hard work, a few adventurous moments here and there, and any number of women whose names he could not remember, Rachael had always been in his mind. And in his heart.

  Somewhere along the way, he’d come across the idea of souls destined one for the other. No matter how hard he’d tried every day, every minute, he couldn’t escape the belief, somewhere deep in his gut, that his soul was bound with hers for all eternity. They were meant to be together. Matched by fate. Each incomplete without the other. Halves of the same whole.

  Sides of the same coin.

  Six

  I have no doubt of your fondness for me, but, my darling Rachael, I know as well the love we shared was but a faint imitation of what you knew with Jason. I have watched you through the days of my illness grow strong as I grew weak. You have handled the details of my life, whether personal or in affairs of business, with a courage and intelligence I had not suspected. I am proud of you, my dearest wife.

  You are not the same girl I married those many years ago, and it may well be too late to find again what you once had with Jason. I can only hope there is still a chance for happiness for the two people I care for most in this world.

  It is my most fervent wish that you do not close your heart to the possibility that what once was lost may not be gone forever.

  WITH EVERY MINUTE and every dance and every pleasant conversation, her tension eased. Obviously Jason wasn’t here tonight and the inevitable could be put off for yet another day. She needed at least that much time to come to terms with everything in George’s letter. And decide what, if anything, was to be done about it.

  Dear Lord, it had been three years since she’d seen Jason, but each word of their last conversation still echoed in her mind as it had every day since his visit. She’d been horrid to him and hadn’t regretted it for a moment until today. Only now did she realize he’d attempted to explain everything and she’d refused to listen to even a single word. Perhaps, if she’d allowed him to tell her…

  What would have happened then?

  “Lady Lyndhurst.” The voice she still heard in her dreams sounded behind her and her heart stopped. “It has been a long time.”

  She turned slowly and gazed up into the dark eyes that had once held her world. She pulled a deep breath and adopted a polite, public tone that belied the rush of blood in her ears.

  “My lord.” She extended her hand and marveled at its steadiness. “What a delightful surprise.”

  He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across it. In spite of her gloves, a shiver shot through her at his touch. “A surprise?” His gaze met hers. “Surely you expected to see me here tonight?”

  “One never knows who will or will not appear at a New Year’s ball, my lord.” His brow rose and at once she wished the words back. She knew now he was not at fault for failing to meet her so long ago. Still, it was hard to forget the years of bitterness that had started with that one night. She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held tight. “Please forgive me, I do apologize.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” he said simply, his gaze boring into hers as if he wished to read her very thoughts.

  “On the contrary, there is much I need to apologize for.”

  “Never to me.” His lips quirked upward in the crooked smile she remembered all too well. But this was not the smile of a charming boy. A man stood before her now. His handsome face reflected the experiences of a decade and was, if possible, more attractive for it. “However, there is much to talk about.”

  “Is there?” She pulled her hand free and fought back a rising sense of panic. She wasn’t at all sure she was ready to talk to him. She had no idea where to start.

  “Yes.” For a long moment he studied her silently. “People are beginning to stare, you know.”

  “Are they?” She swallowed hard. “I wonder why. No one knows of our past history and—”

  “Rachael.” His voice was gentle. “I suspect there is a great deal of interest in this first meeting between the new earl and the dowager countess.”

  “Of course,” she said, struggling to maintain her composure. “I should have realized.”

  “I imagine they are all wondering if I shall throw you out into the streets.”

  “How absurd.” Annoyance colored her voice. “The nature of my finances is no secret. Aside from my father’s legacy, George left the house in London to me. I shall never be homeless. The estates, of course, are yours and you’ll find everything in order, but…”

  A twinkle showed in his eye.

  She stared suspiciously. “Are you teasing me?”

  “Indeed I am.” A slow grin spread across his face.

  “Well, stop it at once.” She wanted to stamp her foot, the childish impulse a shock in itself. Hadn’t she grown out of such nonsense? Was it his presence that made her feel like the foolish child she’d once been? She heaved a sigh. “Welcome home, my lord.”

  “Home?” He shook his head as if the very idea were odd. “I have not thought of it as such for a very long ti
me.”

  “Perhaps the time has come to think of it again as home.”

  “Perhaps.” He stared down at her.

  Had they already reached the limits of polite conversation? What on earth should she say now? He was a stranger, yet familiar and, God help her, dear. For a moment the years vanished and she was a girl again staring up into his eyes. A fierce longing swept through her and stole her breath and touched her soul.

  Did he feel the same?

  He bent closer and lowered his voice in an overly confidential manner. “People are most definitely staring now.”

  At once she returned to the here and now and matched his teasing tone with her own. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “I suggest we dance.” He offered her his arm. “I don’t believe we have ever danced together.”

  “Then it is past time,” she said with a sense of gratitude. At least a dance would give her a few moments to compose herself. She placed her hand on his arm and ignored his assessing gaze. She knew full well what he was thinking: it was past time for so many things.

  She allowed him to lead her to the dance floor and tried to concentrate on the cotillion, grateful it wasn’t a waltz. But whenever she glanced at him, his gaze was fixed on her in a most disconcerting manner. She moved through the steps as if in a dream. And why not? Hadn’t he often visited her dreams? At least during the dance there was no opportunity to talk, but the music drifted to a close long before she wished.

  “I’m rather afraid our dance did not diminish the interest in us.” Jason glanced around the room. “Unless you would prefer to attract even more curious gazes, perhaps we should retire to a somewhat less conspicuous location.”

  “Very well.” She took his arm, bracing herself against the feel of his hard muscles beneath her touch, and forced a light note to her voice. “Although we do them all a disservice. At this time of year London is bereft of many of those who routinely provide gossip for the ton. It is the duty of those of us who remain to do what we can to fuel the fires of rumor.”