The Pleasures of Passion: Sinful Suitors 4

by Sabrina Jeffries

  His reluctance to tell his parents about their courtship before approaching her parents had long been a topic of discussion between them.

  She’d understood—really, she had. She probably wasn’t lofty enough to suit his family, and Niall had been waiting until she had her come-out and his parents could meet her in a natural setting. Then he could ease them into the idea of his wanting to wed her.

  But now . . . “You could still speak to my parents, gain their blessing and agreement to the marriage. Then you . . . you could get a special license, and we could marry before we leave here.”

  Though that didn’t solve the problem of Mama.

  “There’s no time for that! Besides, it takes at least two days to acquire any kind of license. And my ship leaves tonight.” He drew her close. “For once in your life, sweeting, throw caution to the wind. You love me. I love you. We belong together. I don’t know how I’ll bear it if you don’t flee with me.”

  His words tore at her. She wanted desperately to go.

  And apparently he could read the hesitation in her face, for he took advantage, clasping her head in his hands so he could seal his mouth to hers with breathtaking ardor.

  Oh, Lord, but the man could kiss. He made her heart soar, and her blood run fast and hot. Looping her arms about his neck, she gave herself up to the foretaste of what their lives could be like . . . if she would just give in.

  But how could she? Reluctantly, she broke the kiss, even knowing it might be their last.

  His eyes glittered with triumph, for he could always tell how easily he tempted her. “I know this isn’t the ideal way for us to start out, Bree, but I’ll make it up to you. Father will continue to send my allowance, and my friends will take care of us until we’re settled. I might even find work in Spain.”

  She wavered. It sounded wonderful and exciting and oh so tempting.

  He cupped her cheek. “All we have to do is leave tonight, with the tide. You and I, together for the rest of our lives. Trust me, you won’t regret going.”

  Ah, but she would.

  She could handle travel to a strange country and everything that such an upheaval entailed. She could live on a pittance. And yes, she would even risk ruin if it meant being with him.

  But she couldn’t abandon Mama. Papa would never manage the doctors or sit wiping Mama’s brow when she was feverish. Papa could hardly bear to be in the sickroom. And with money short because of his gambling, they couldn’t afford an extra servant to tend to her mother night and day. Besides, she could never entrust Mama’s care to a servant.

  She pushed away from him. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  His expression turned to stone. “You mean, you won’t.”

  “If we could bring Mama with us, I’d go, but that’s impossible. She’s too ill to travel.”

  “Don’t pretend that this is about your mother,” he said harshly. “It’s about your blasted caution. How many weeks did it take me to convince you to start meeting me in the park? To tempt you into a kiss? You’re a coward at heart, and you know it.”

  The bitter words stabbed her through the heart. “Well, at least I don’t recklessly fight duels and then run off to avoid the consequences!”

  She regretted the words the instant he drew himself up, every inch a lord. “So that’s how you see me, is it? Fine.” He started to walk off.

  “Wait!” she cried. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I suppose you must . . . have had your reasons for dueling.”

  He let out an oath, then turned back to her. “I’m sorry, too. I don’t think you a coward.”

  She stifled a sharp retort. That wasn’t true. Men always wanted women to throw caution to the winds, but that was only because they had less to lose. A woman lost everything when she trusted the wrong man. Just look at Mama.

  “Bree,” he said softly, “I don’t want things to end this way.”

  “Neither do I, but . . .” Frantically, she tried to think of another solution. “I—I could write to you once Mama gets better.” Though she feared that wasn’t going to happen. “Then you could send for me somehow.”

  “You would travel alone to meet me?” he asked skeptically.

  “I’d find a way to get there.” Tears filled her eyes.

  “Don’t cry, sweeting. Please, I can’t bear it.” Thumbing a tear away, he said, “I’m not giving up on you, on us. If you need to reach me—when you need to reach me—let my father know. I’ll tell him to expect to hear from you. He can get a letter to me, and we’ll arrange matters so you can follow me.”

  “I will, I promise.” She gazed into the face she loved so well and fought back more tears. “But I can’t go yet.”

  He nodded, as if he couldn’t trust himself to speak.

  “So I suppose this is farewell,” she choked out.

  “Au revoir,” he said fiercely. “Not farewell. Never farewell.” He brushed a kiss to her lips, then stared into her eyes so longingly it made her ache. “If you change your mind about going with me today, I’ll be on the Cordovan. It sets sail shortly after sundown. Ask for Mr. Lindsey—that’s the name I’m using abroad—and they’ll direct you to me.”

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  Then, before she fell apart completely, she walked out to where Gilly stood. And as she left the park, while Gilly peppered her with questions, all she could think was, Will I ever see him again?

  Despite his insistence on Au revoir, she very much feared that she would not. And that realization shattered her heart.

  The sun was setting over the Thames as Niall stood on the deck of the Cordovan, scanning every bonnet on the crowded dock in hopes of spotting Bree’s face and chestnut curls. But the hollow feeling in his gut told him the truth—she wasn’t coming. He was utterly alone.

  Unbidden, the exchange he’d overheard between her and Gilly popped into his head.

  Only think what your mama will say when she hears you’ve snagged an heir to an earl!

  I haven’t snagged anyone yet.

  His hands clenched on the rail. Bree hadn’t meant that the way it sounded, so . . . so calculating. If she’d been trying to reel him in, she would have agreed to go with him, for God’s sake.

  “The captain tells me that you should have a good voyage.”

  He stiffened. Father had come to see him off.

  Facing the man who’d engineered his escape, he asked, “How is Clarissa?”

  “Your sister is as well as can be expected, under the circumstances.” His father’s eyes sparked with futile anger. “I can’t believe the girl was fool enough to trust that bastard Whiting, even for a few moments.”

  “It wasn’t her fault. She fancied herself in love.”

  Just like Bree, who’d met him alone regularly because she’d trusted him not to hurt her. Because Niall had persuaded her he could be trusted, that his reputation as a rogue was greatly exaggerated.

  Apparently Whiting had convinced Clarissa of the same thing. So Niall could hardly blame her for going off alone with the man. But he could damned well blame Mother, the worst chaperone in London. She should have done better in warning his sister about the dangers a devil like Whiting could present.

  Last night, Clarissa had been raped. This morning Niall had killed her assailant. And he couldn’t tell a soul, because the world knew only that he and Joseph Whiting had dueled. Clarissa’s reputation and future were intact and would stay that way as long as everyone kept quiet.

  “Were you able to convince Mrs. Whiting to hold her tongue about why her son and I dueled?” he asked his father.

  “For now. We’re very fortunate that Whiting was hoping for a marriage to Clarissa and thus didn’t tell anyone else why you two fought. Now that he’s dead, no one will learn of it unless Mrs. Whiting speaks, and she swears she won’t. She doesn’t want her son’s name dragged through the mud any more than we want Clarissa’s ruined. But I can’t guarantee that Mrs. Whiting will keep to her word if you’re hauled
before the court.”

  “One more reason I must leave England.”

  “Yes. Perhaps someday I can find a way to change the situation, but for now . . .”

  It was highly unlikely that Niall would be returning. Yet he still didn’t regret what he’d done, just that he couldn’t reveal the truth to Bree.

  He didn’t dare. Not even to her. Clarissa now had a chance at a good life despite what had happened to her, and that was all that mattered.

  Even if it meant he lost Bree.

  No, blast it, he wouldn’t lose her! He couldn’t. Which was why he had to tell Father about her.

  “There’s a woman I’m leaving behind,” Niall said. “I asked her to go with me, but she refused, on account of her sickly mother. She may, however, come to you in a few months asking that you send a letter to me, and if she does, I request that you treat her kindly and help her in any way you can.” He met his father’s gaze. “I promised to send for her when she’s ready to join me. I love her. I mean to marry her if I can.”

  Alarm sparked in his father’s face. “You didn’t tell her about Clarissa, did you?”

  “Of course not. I made a vow to you, and I intend to keep it.”

  “Thank God. If I’m not even telling your mother, you’d damned well better not be telling some adventuress you fancy yourself in love with.”

  Niall stiffened. Father still didn’t entirely trust him. Not that Niall could blame him. Father was a gentleman through and through, with a strict code of honor. He had no truck with young men sowing their wild oats. Ever since Niall had done so a bit too enthusiastically in his salad days, his father always seemed to be expecting him to prove himself.

  By God, what did he have to do to show he’d reformed in the past year? “I don’t ‘fancy’ myself in love with her. I am in love with her. And she’s not ‘some adventuress.’ She’s respectable.”

  “Well, that’s something at least.” His father searched his face. “Who is she? Do I know her?”

  Now came the hard part. “I don’t believe so. Her name is Miss Payne, and she’s the daughter of a fellow named Sir Oswald Payne. He’s—”

  “I know Sir Oswald.” His father’s face clouded over. “Damned wastrel has lost nearly everything gambling. I’m surprised he hasn’t yet landed in debtors’ prison. He has few connections and practically no money.”

  Niall sighed. This was precisely why he’d hesitated to tell his parents about Bree.

  “And when the hell did you meet his daughter, anyway?” Father demanded.

  “Last summer, when you were too busy renovating Margrave Manor to accompany Mother to Bath so she could take the waters. While she and I were there, so were Miss Payne and her parents.”

  “Your mother never mentioned them.”

  “Because Mother never met them. Miss Payne is not yet . . . out.”

  “God help us,” his father muttered. “So she’s what? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

  “Seventeen,” he said defensively. “She’ll come out next season. I happened to encounter her in the park in Bath one day when we were both taking a walk. We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance.”

  “Ah.” Father looked relieved. “So you haven’t even met her parents yet.”

  “No. I’d hoped to wait until her come-out and have you meet her formally first, but—”

  “Good, good, always best to be cautious in these things. If Sir Oswald knew that a man of your consequence was sniffing round his daughter, he’d be angling to gain any advantage from it. At least you weren’t so stupid as all that.”

  Niall bristled at Father’s typically dismissive tone. “I don’t think I was stupid at all. I didn’t rush into my friendship with Miss Payne. I took my time making sure she would suit me as a wife. And I truly believe she will.”

  “A wastrel’s daughter?” Father shook his head. “Take care, my boy. There’s a reason rank separates people. Look at your sister, taking up with that fellow Whiting. I should think you would be more cautious.”

  “You weren’t,” Niall snapped. “You married a rich Cit who proved flighty as a finch.”

  “Only because your grandfather gambled so much that he left me no choice,” Father said irritably. “But you don’t have to take such a chance in marriage. Fortunately you can marry a solid girl, someone with the right rank, breeding, and connections.”

  “Or I can marry for love. Which is what I prefer.”

  Father snorted. “Love? What you’re feeling is lust, pure and simple. I take it this young woman is pretty?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “She didn’t turn you down because of her ailing mother, I can assure you. She turned you down because you can no longer be her savior.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The pity in his father’s eyes sliced through his confidence. “What good would you be to her once you two are in hiding in Spain? She won’t be able to lord it over her friends as a viscountess or show off her fine town house or prance about to balls on the arm of an earl’s heir. And after I’m gone, she won’t have the advantages of being a countess.”

  I haven’t snagged anyone yet.

  He thrust those words from his mind. “She’s not like that. She only cares about being with me.”

  “Are you sure? She’s lived her entire life with dwindling expectations, thanks to her idiot father. Suddenly, you come along and the world opens up for her. Until you fight a duel, and everything changes. So now she says she can’t go with you because of her sickly mother. Has she said anything to that effect before?”

  Fighting to ignore his father’s logic, he gazed out at the river. “We’ve barely talked of marriage before. And yes, she has spoken of her mother’s illness in the past.” But she’d never hinted that she couldn’t marry because of it.

  Worry crossed Father’s face. “Don’t be a fool, son. The last thing you need as you head off to an uncertain future is to be saddled with a wife who’s unhappy about your exile. She did you a favor, don’t you see? Now you can start life over abroad without such a burden. You might do very well for yourself, if you just keep your wits about you.”

  His temper flared. “And if I have Miss Payne at my side. I need her.”

  “Pretty girls are thick upon the ground, in Spain as well as here. No reason you have to marry this one.”

  “I love her. That’s reason enough. And I’m sure that she will come to meet me once her mother is . . . gone.”

  “I hope you’re right. I hate to see—” He steadied his shoulders. “If it’s her you want for a wife, then it’s her you shall have. Just don’t be disappointed if she proves to be . . . not what you think, all right?”

  “That won’t happen.” Niall seized his father’s arm. “So you will help her if she asks for it? You owe me that much.”

  A pained smile crossed his father’s face. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

  “Do you swear it?” Niall persisted. His father put great store in vows.

  Father sighed. “I do. But only if you swear to me that you will stop worrying about it and concentrate on your escape. You’re not free yet, you know.”

  That reminder of his tricky situation sobered him. It would do none of them any good if he were captured and taken to court. “I swear,” Niall said.

  Though he wasn’t sure that particular vow was one he could keep. Father could caution him all he liked, but Bree had imprinted herself upon his heart. Niall could no more stop worrying about her than he could stop breathing.

  So it was going to be a long, hard trip to Spain.

  One

  London

  September 1830

  Impatiently, Niall paced the drawing room of the Margrave town house, waiting for his mother to be ready so they could go to dinner at Clarissa’s. This was his first time in town since his pardon and subsequent return to England a month ago, but some things never changed.

  Mother still didn’t know the meaning of being on time. And she was worse than ever now that Father wa
s dead and Clarissa had married one of his childhood friends—Edwin Barlow, the Earl of Blakeborough. There was no one around any longer to reel Mother in.

  His newly hired valet entered the room. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but when I was unpacking the trunk you shipped from Portugal, I found this envelope at the bottom.” He held it out. “I wasn’t sure if it was important.”

  As Niall took it and saw the script written in his father’s hand, he wondered why he would have kept an old letter with his other correspondence. Only after he opened it and a newspaper cutting fell into his hand did he remember.

  A few months after his arrival in Spain, Father had sent him the article from La Belle Assemblée, a ladies’ magazine. It was the Provincial News section—a list of births, deaths, and marriages outside London.

  And Niall remembered its contents word for word:

  Cheshire

  Married. At Chester, Mr. Reynold Trevor, son of Captain Mace Trevor, to Miss Brilliana Payne, of London, only daughter of Sir Oswald and Mariah Payne.

  Father’s accompanying letter had only said, I thought you would wish to know.

  Bree had married within scant months after Niall’s departure.

  Niall felt the pain of the loss of her anew, the years having barely dulled it. Clearly Father had been right—Bree had merely been waiting for a better offer. Mr. Trevor might not have been heir to an earl, but he’d been wealthy enough to own an estate in good condition, and his father had some standing in society. Apparently those two things had sufficed to prompt Bree to throw Niall over.

  If she’d ever even loved him at all.

  Now, as then, Niall noted that Bree’s mother hadn’t been listed in the cutting as the late Mariah Payne. So Father had been right about that, too. All that nonsense about Bree not wanting to marry because of her sickly mother had been naught but an excuse.

  “My lord?”

  With a start, he realized his valet was asking him something. “Sorry, I’m woolgathering. What is it?”