She was doomed. She lay in the arms of the man who had ruined her neighbor, and pathetically, she wanted him to seduce her as well.
She suddenly lifted her head and struggled in his arms. Silently, he released her, and she flung herself to the opposite side of the coach. She plucked her shawl from the seat where it had fallen and drew it tightly around herself. As the carriage shifted, she let herself slide against the wall of the coach. She stared out the window as they made the turn onto the main road of the estate.
She heard the sounds of him retrieving his gloves, the faint creak of the leather seat as he leaned forward, and the scuff of his shoes against the coach floor.
He said softly, “Miss Colbr—”
“Please, do not speak.” She shook her head, keeping her gaze on the lanterns lining the driveway. She must retain what little dignity was left to her, and she couldn’t trust herself to do so if she looked at his face.
13
The next day Anna spent as much time away from the manor as she could. She wasn’t ready to face Lord Wareton after what had happened in the carriage. In the morning she rode, during the early afternoon she went calling with the other ladies, and afterwards she walked alone to visit Mrs. Hunter.
She was so reluctant to return home that by the time she left Mrs. Hunter’s cottage, the sun shone low through the woods and cast long shadows on the path. She started across the stream, now shallow enough to cross by jumping from stone to stone. She stopped on a large, flat boulder in the center and stared at the sparkling water. Lord Wareton had carried her across this spot only a few weeks before, yet it seemed like months ago.
That day had changed everything. She hadn’t fully realized it at the time, but that was when she first recognized how strongly she was attracted to him. No matter what she told herself at the time, even then part of her knew that her fascination with him wouldn’t easily fade.
She was ashamed of how her own body betrayed her, and how passionately she responded to his touch and kisses. He threatened what she’d long believed about herself: that she was a sensible person who would never behave recklessly, never do anything that would risk her reputation or her family’s honor.
He proved how shaky her self-control really was. She’d been so close to allowing him unthinkable liberties in the carriage. Had he decided to seduce her, anything might have happened. Yet he was the one who had shown restraint and stopped them from recklessness. He wanted her, she was certain now, but he hadn’t taken advantage of her. He’d shown honor and conscience, and once again, he’d turned everything that she believed about him upside down.
She stood at the edge of the stream, lost in thoughts of him, when a gunshot rang out. The sound was so close, she nearly lost her balance. Once she’d recovered, she hurried across the stones to the far bank and paused on the path to listen. The woods were silent now, the only sound the low gurgle of the water. Likely someone was hunting close by.
Was it Lord Wareton? Her pulse sped up, and she walked faster. She rounded a curve in the path, where the trees opened into a small field. A man stood in profile in the center of the clearing, holding a small pistol close to his chest, the barrel pointed skyward. The setting sun behind him made him little more than a silhouette, but he was too short and thin to be Lord Wareton.
The man took several quick steps and swiftly lowered the gun, appearing to aim at a tree stump several dozen paces away. He fired. The shot echoed through the woods, making her jump. A stone smaller than a summer apple flew off the stump and into the grass beyond.
Whoever he was, he was an exceptional shot. He wore no jacket or hat, and the afternoon sunlight blazed on his hair, making the edges appear blond. As if he sensed her approach, he turned, and for an instant the way he moved reminded her of Lord Wareton.
It was Mr. Sinclair.
In his right hand, he gripped the pistol and in the other, he clutched a battered flask, the top undone.
They stared at each other in silence.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she finally said.
“Miss Colbrook.” He lowered the weapon. It was a pocket pistol, and not one she recognized from Wareton.
“You are an excellent shot,” she said. He wasn’t supposed to be. Hadn’t Lord Wareton said repeatedly that his brother was a poor marksman, that he couldn’t shoot a pheasant right in front of him?
And even though it wasn’t a dueling pistol—he could hardly carry one around without being noticed—she had a sudden, terrible suspicion.
“You are practicing to challenge someone?” She kept her voice calm.
“Perhaps.” He seemed annoyed that she’d caught him and yet relieved as well. He raised the flask and took a long drink. He couldn’t have been drinking much beforehand, not and still be able to shoot so skillfully.
“Whom will you challenge?” she asked. As if it weren’t obvious.
“I’d rather not say.” He placed the pistol on the ground, stood, and took another quick drink.
“You can resolve your differences without this,” she said. “I know he treats you harshly, but he is your brother.”
He retrieved his coat from the ground and slid the flask inside, a smile flickering across his face. “Tempting as the idea may be at times, I do not plan on challenging Adrian.” He sounded truthful enough, but he avoided her gaze. She wasn’t sure she believed him. This had something to do with Lord Wareton, she was certain.
“Then who?” she said.
Silently, he drew on his coat and began fastening it, his fingers slipping on one button. Was he more foxed than he appeared?
“You will not tell me?” she said. “What is so important that you would risk your life?” She bit her lip to stop herself from adding, so foolishly.
“Would it upset you if I was injured?” He sounded as if he were teasing her. He snatched up the pistol and slipped it inside his coat.
“Naturally.”
“But not half as much as if Adrian were wounded.” He smiled, not a jealous or sad smile, but teasing...He did flirt with her just to upset his brother, she was now positive.
“Come, Miss Colbrook, shall I escort you home? At this hour, people will soon start worrying about you.” He meant Lord Wareton, of course. Lord Wareton might indeed worry about her, if he knew she was with his brother.
He offered her his arm. She held onto him lightly as they strolled out of the field, heading back toward Wareton.
“Why do you and your brother fight?” she asked.
Mr. Sinclair smiled. “You noticed?”
“You joke, but I can see it is quite serious, and the resentment between you runs deep.”
His smile faded and he drew away from her, letting her arm fall. He walked faster. “He makes no secret of it, that is certain,” he said. He bent and picked up a stone from the center of the path.
“Why doesn’t he trust you?” she asked gently. Perhaps she could help resolve the problem. The anger between them pained her, and not only because she had feelings for Lord Wareton, she quickly told herself. She hated to see bad blood between brothers. They should be close friends, not adversaries.
“What else could make two men act so foolishly?” He laughed dryly, echoing his brother’s tone. “A woman.” He hurled the rock into the woods.
“You both loved the same woman?” she said.
“Adrian?” He glanced at her and shook his head. “Perhaps you are not as observant as I thought, or you might have realized by now that my brother is incapable of such soft emotions.” He spoke faster. “He is too wrapped up in honor and duty and being perfect. He cannot even forgive—” He stopped abruptly, and then sighed. “No, we were never in love with the same woman.”
“Lord Wareton has never been in love?” she asked. They left the woods and walked between open fields bordered by low hedgerows.
“Not that I’ve ever known,” he said. “Before he went into the army he was too much of a libertine, and since he returned, he’s too obsessed with his responsibilities to
allow himself to form any attachments.” He kicked another stone, sending it skidding into a hedgerow.
If they hadn’t both loved the same woman, what could it be? Had Lord Wareton disapproved of a woman his brother cared for? Did it have anything to do with Julia? Had Mr. Sinclair cared for her before Lord Wareton had seduced her?
“However,” he said, “I must say that you have driven him to distraction far more than any other woman I can recall. I can tell he cares for you, as much as he is capable of caring for a woman, anyway.”
She tried to suppress the thrill she felt at his words.
“Why does he punish himself?” she said. “Because of his past?”
“Yes. And everyone else along with him.”
What exactly did he mean by that?
They climbed towards the manor in silence and paused on the top of a hill to look west. The sunset was just beginning, turning the wispy white clouds on the horizon pink.
“How lovely,” Mr. Sinclair said, sounding quite sad. It almost seemed as if he’d forgotten she was there and spoke to himself.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she ventured, “does the animosity between you and your brother have anything to do with Miss Howe?”
He blinked and the truth flashed on his face before his usual carefree expression returned. He tapped the side of his coat where the flask was hidden, as if he were considering another drink.
“It does,” she said, before he could deny it, “I know it. Please tell me. Perhaps I can help.”
“I assure you,” he said, “you cannot fix what is between us. Only I can.” Determination flickered in his eyes. Despite his denial, she feared more than ever that he was planning on challenging his brother. His anger was undeniable—in his tone, the set of his jaw, and the way he curled his fists when he spoke of his brother. “Although,” he added, his voice softening as he glanced at her, “I do appreciate your offer to help.”
They began strolling once again, following the path down the hill. The manor glowed pink in the distance, reflecting the setting sun. She was surprised a servant hadn’t been sent out after her. Dinner was not far off.
Mr. Sinclair took another long swig from his flask and began to walk faster. She had to try again to prevent whatever he was planning.
“You say that you do not wish to challenge your brother,” she said, “but you hide your shooting practice from him.”
“That is my concern,” he said. They climbed a gentle rise and continued along the hedge-lined path that led to the gardens. He pushed the wrought iron gate open and held it for her as she stepped through.
He followed her a few steps and stopped abruptly, staring at the lights of the manor. “I have no wish to go inside now and see Adrian.” He glanced at her. “Sit with me a while.”
After only a second of hesitation, she nodded. Whether he asked her more out of a desire to upset Lord Wareton or a true wish for companionship, she wasn’t certain. But if she stayed, she might learn what was between them. She watched him take another drink. Feeling only slightly guilty, she noted if he kept drinking the way he was, he might soon tell her anything she wished.
They settled themselves on a low stone bench at the edge of a steep slope that faced north, away from the manor. He sat a respectable distance from her, and they watched the sun disappear into the trees. The garden darkened abruptly, even while the sky remained light. A nearly full moon was rising, already bright against the shadowy sky.
Mr. Sinclair drew the brandy from his coat, tugged out the stopper, and offered her the flask.
She stared at him a moment, then took it.
He smiled. “I am surprised you accepted my invitation.” His voice was soft, and now slightly slurred. “To be alone with a gentleman of my reputation, drinking, as night falls. It is quite shocking.”
She realized then that she could be alone with him in any situation and feel completely at ease, unlike Lord Wareton, who made her heart speed up when he so much as walked near her. The fact that Lord Wareton was convinced she was in danger from his brother was almost absurd when she considered how many times Lord Wareton had kissed her. Yet Mr. Sinclair must have done something to make Lord Wareton distrust him, but what?
She swallowed a mouthful of the brandy, enjoying the warmth spreading down her throat. As she returned the flask to him, she said, “Tell me more of the woman who came between you and your brother.”
He took another long drink and sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the croaking of frogs in the nearby pond.
“Why ask me?” he finally said, suddenly sounding childish and whiny, as he often did when he spoke with Lord Wareton. “Adrian will tell you how it is,” he added, his voice rising, “after all, he always learns the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have made mistakes,” he continued. “I shall not deny it. And Miss Carp—one mistake was especially horrid, I see that now. I can admit to my errors.”
Had he been about to say Miss Carpenter, the name of the other woman in the account books?
“And because I’ve made some mistakes, Adrian now assumes the worst. Always.” He leapt to his feet and marched around the bench. “And he has gotten harsher.” He paced back and forth, swinging the flask in one hand. “He makes my life miserable,” he said, his voice even louder. “Ever since he left the army, he acts like some bloody paragon of virtue. Like he has any right to tell me how to behave.” His voice was now loud enough that she feared it might carry all the way to the manor.
“Mr. Sinclair.” She stood and faced him across the bench, speaking softly. “You are being rather loud—”
“Loud!” He half laughed, half snorted. “This is not loud at all.” There was more than a slight slur in his voice now. He put one foot on the stone seat and leaned towards her. His breath reeked of brandy.
“Lord Wareton, ha!” He swung away from her to look towards the manor. “Once he was a scoundrel too.” He spun back around and stepped up onto the bench. “But now he’s a man of honor, not a wastrel like me.” He slid down on one knee; even in the dim light, she could tell he was grinning foolishly.
“Yes, he’s truly reformed.” He leaned towards her and swept his arm out dramatically, nearly hitting her. “And not just reformed, but a bloody earl now as well! So bloody noble that he’ll lie, even risk his own life, to protect his pitiful brother.” He spat out the last few words, spraying her face. Instinctively, she stepped back again, wiping her cheek.
Lie and risk his own life to protect his brother?
She’d just comprehended his words when her feet began to slide. She’d forgotten how close she stood to the steep slope. She knew immediately that she wouldn’t be able to regain her balance. Mr. Sinclair lunged forward, trying to grasp her hands. But before he could reach her, she was already falling.
Adrian paced the length of the study, pausing to stare out the open window yet again. Edmund had been gone all afternoon and Miss Colbrook for nearly as long. Where in the blazes were they?
He scanned the grounds as far as he could see, watching for any sign of her return. A breeze cooled his face and stirred the papers on the nearby desk.
Perhaps Lady Stratford was right and Edmund’s flirting, outrageous as it seemed, was harmless. Then again, Miss Colbrook wouldn’t be the first intelligent woman to be seduced by his brother.
And she was vulnerable at the moment, as her behavior last night demonstrated. Adrian now felt certain that she was attracted to him, not to Edmund. Yet if she was distraught enough over her feelings for him, who knew what might happen under Edmund’s bad influence?
A guilty thought pricked at him. Was he much better than Edmund?
Watching her last night, looking so radiant in her new gown, and seeing how much she seemed to enjoy Edmund’s company, had been almost more than he could bear. He’d wanted desperately to take her away from Edmund, and at the same time, he feared his own behavior once alone with her.
He was being abominably selfish to eve
n entertain such thoughts about her. But in the carriage, when she’d confessed that she dressed so beautifully for him and not for Edmund, his remaining self-control had shattered.
Until then, he’d believed that she despised him. To discover she still wanted him was both wonderful and terrible. He wanted so desperately to tell her the truth, to let her know he was innocent, at least directly, in Miss Howe’s ruin. He wanted to banish the turmoil and anger in her eyes when she looked at him now, wanted to replace it with the approval and affection he’d known before.
Yet wanting to confide in her was a reckless impulse that could well make an already untenable situation far worse. And even if she did know the truth, what then? With one less obstacle between them, temptation and ruin would be that much closer. Even with her believing him to be Julia’s debaucher, he’d nearly ravished her right there in the coach. It had taken all of his remaining self-control to stop kissing her, and to crush her against his chest instead of making an even graver mistake than he already had.
Yet he couldn’t forget the feel of her against him, warm and soft, the lavender scent of her skin, and the delicious contours of her breasts. Strangely, he wanted to hold her close and simply wrap her in his arms for hours almost as much as he wanted to ravish her. He had never felt so powerless to control his emotions over a woman—
Shouting erupted from the gardens.
It was Edmund. Ranting in that particular tone he had. That particularly annoying tone. What the devil was he about now? Adrian knew that howling all too well. Edmund was foxed.
Miss Colbrook could be out there being subjected to heavens knew what horrid behavior. Adrian turned and strode from the study. It was time he put a stop to it.
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