by Cheryl Holt
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I’m not the sort to beat a woman, and besides, she’d likely enjoy any physical coercion. It would prove I’m a barbarian.”
“She was brazen and sassy,” Judah shot back. “You don’t have to tolerate that behavior.”
“No, I don’t.” Sebastian nodded to Raven. “Fetch her for me.”
Raven hurried out, leaving Sebastian alone with Judah. It was the perfect opportunity to raise the subject of Nathan, but he couldn’t bear to. Not when he was about to joust with the blond shrew.
“Why don’t you head to the party?” he said. “I can handle this on my own.”
“I should be here with you. I’ll help you to set her straight.”
“I’m sure I can manage her. She’s a wee little thing. A stiff wind would blow her over.”
“You’re too nice to females. You let them run roughshod over you.”
“I’ll try to buck up.”
He pointed to the door, indicating Judah should depart and not argue about it.
Though they weren’t soldiers, they were organized like a military unit. Or perhaps like sailors at sea. Sir Sidney had been their absolute dictator, with Sebastian his second in command.
Out in the wild, infractions were dealt with in the same way they would have been on board a ship. Sir Sidney had had miscreants flogged for lying, locked in the brig for drunkenness or laziness. Their work had always been dangerous, and no reprobate was allowed to imperil the rest of them.
The malcontents were eventually cast aside and never permitted to rejoin Sir Sidney’s hallowed circle of explorers. It was a cruel result, and everyone in his orbit was determined it not happen to them.
Judah bit his tongue and slunk out. Thank goodness. Sebastian was in no mood to spar with him. If a quarrel started, who could guess where it might end?
He poured himself a tall brandy and sat behind the desk, considering the disturbing information Raven had just imparted.
Though Sebastian was resolved to hide his father’s base appetites, Sir Sidney had been a rutting dog. He’d had a fondness for native women, and ultimately, it had gotten him killed. It had nearly gotten them all killed.
In Africa, they’d been living with a local tribe for several weeks, and Sir Sidney had begun fraternizing with some of the wives. A very angry, very jealous chief had caught him and murdered him.
It was a humiliating conclusion that Sebastian and his crew intended to conceal. The decision was deceitful and very, very wrong, but they would conceal it anyway.
They’d all worshipped Sir Sidney. He was a national hero who was beloved by the entire kingdom. Sebastian wouldn’t have his father’s reputation tarnished over a moral failing. It was simply too awful to contemplate.
But…
He’d often wondered if Sir Sidney had misbehaved during his short jaunts in England. There had always been rumors of mistresses and illicit children, but Sebastian had never been confronted with hard evidence, so he’d chosen to believe his father had only pursued his vices while on the road.
Had Sir Sidney dallied with trollops in England? Was Sebastian about to learn the answer to that question? If he had some bastard half-siblings in London, how did he feel about it? On the spur of the moment, he couldn’t settle on an opinion.
It didn’t take much time for Raven to return with her, and it appeared she’d come willingly; he wasn’t dragging her in. No, she marched in, bold as brass.
When she’d waltzed in a bit earlier, he’d assumed she was a doxy, so he hadn’t paid much attention to her. He’d noticed her hair, but that was all. Now, he enjoyed a very lengthy, very potent assessment.
Yes, she was blond, but it was a white-blond, a silvery color he’d never observed on a woman before. It was curly and long, barely restrained with a ribbon. She seemed magical, as if she’d been hatched by fairies and wasn’t an actual human being.
She was thin and petite, but curvaceously shaped in all the right places. And she was very pretty. Annoyingly pretty. Exhaustingly pretty. She had one of those faces that made a man look twice, that held him rapt. It was a face that made a man act like an idiot, that had him bumbling over to introduce himself, then botching it because he was tongue-tied by her beauty.
But it was her eyes that were the most striking. They were a brilliant blue, like the sapphire of the Mediterranean. They reminded him of his ex-friend Nathan’s eyes. Yes, they were definitely Nathan’s eyes. Perhaps she had a Blake ancestor buried in her family tree.
She stood like Nathan too, feet braced, as if she was balanced on a ship’s deck in rough waves. She had his same air of self-possession, as if she ruled the world and lesser mortals should get out of her way.
Maybe it wasn’t just a Blake ancestor in her family tree. Maybe there was a king or a prince thrown in too. She was that magnificent.
Before he could rise to greet her, she sauntered over and pulled up a chair—without being invited to join him—and she started first.
“Thank you for responding so quickly, Mr. Sinclair.”
Was there sarcasm in her tone? He was certain there was, but he ignored it.
“You’re welcome.”
“I am Miss Sarah Robertson. It was so kind of Mr. Raven to bring me back.”
“It’s Shawcross,” Raven said.
“What?” she asked him.
“It’s not Mr. Raven. It’s Mr. Shawcross.”
“I’m glad we cleared that up,” she snottily retorted. “Next time you’re manhandling me, I’ll be able to scold you by the correct name.”
Sebastian had no idea what had occurred between them out on the lane, and he didn’t care. Nor did he have the patience to hear them bickering.
He glanced at Raven and said, “Would you excuse us? I’d like to speak with her alone.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I’ll be fine. I doubt she bites.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Raven said. “I don’t trust her, and you shouldn’t either.”
“Don’t discuss me as if I’m not here,” she fumed.
“We wouldn’t dream of it.” Sebastian motioned Raven out, but cautioned, “Stay close. Once I’m finished with her, I’ll need you to guarantee she leaves the property.”
“Don’t put up with any nonsense from her, and don’t listen to any lies.”
“I won’t,” Sebastian insisted.
Raven glowered at Miss Robertson, but his stern glare was futile. She glared back with an enormous amount of aggrieved offense. When Raven realized his posturing was having no effect, he stomped out and slammed the door.
As his strides faded, she mockingly said, “He seemed nice.”
The scornful comment pried a laugh out of him, but he wasn’t about to bother with small talk. Abruptly, he asked, “What’s this about you having custody of Sir Sidney’s natural children?”
The maddening woman replied with, “I’m dying of thirst. May I have something to drink?”
“We are not engaged in a social call, and I’m not about to ring for tea. We’re going to wrap this up as rapidly as possible.”
“You are the most inhospitable person I’ve ever met.”
“You’re right, but in my own defense, you are deranged, and I have no desire to confer with you.”
She stared at his brandy glass, then her wily gaze flitted over to the sideboard where there was an array of liquor and wine. Was she hinting that she’d like some? What sort of wench was she?
“I’m not about to offer you an alcoholic beverage,” he said.
“I haven’t requested one.”
“Well…don’t.”
“You’ve just made me think of my father, although with you being such an arrogant beast, I can’t imagine why you would.”
Don’t ask, don’t ask. He asked, “Why would I make you think of your father?”
“He and I used to share a whiskey every night before he went to bed—and we never told my mother. He viewed it as a terrible vice, so it w
as our secret.”
“Your father is deceased?”
“Yes, both my parents are gone. My mother for over a decade and my father for three years now.”
She sighed with regret, as if she was still mourning him. Having recently lost his own father, it was a fact that might have persuaded him to like her, but he was determined not to like her.
To his great disgust though, he proceeded to the sideboard and poured her a whiskey, then came back to the desk and slid it across to her. Of course she was ungracious and insulted and didn’t reach for it.
“I won’t imbibe of hard spirits with you,” she said.
He wouldn’t beg her, and he grabbed it and downed it himself. It was much stronger than the brandy he’d been drinking. His eyes watered, and he coughed and pounded on his chest.
She watched him with a jaundiced expression as if he’d behaved just as badly as she’d anticipated he would, and he was weary of her sharp assessment and even sharper tongue.
“You have exactly five minutes to state your case,” he said, “then we’ll be finished, and I will never grant you an audience again.” He peered over at the clock on the mantle, marking the time, then he nodded imperiously. “Please begin.”
But she didn’t start as he’d commanded. Instead, she inquired, “Are you always so angry?”
“I’m not angry, Miss Robertson. I’m exasperated. I have guests, but you’ve dragged me away from them. I’m giving you a chance to play on my sympathies, and I suggest you take it.” More severely, he added, “Tell me about my father and tell me at once! Stop stalling.”
Without further hesitation, she announced, “You have a brother named Noah and a sister named Petunia. We call her Pet for short. He’s twelve and she’s six.”
He wasn’t certain what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. He’d envisioned a nebulous story that might or might not be a lie. He hadn’t been prepared for her to mention actual living, breathing children with names and ages. Suddenly, they seemed very real.
He shifted uncomfortably, hunting for the correct response, but he couldn’t figure out what it should be.
Eventually, he opened his mouth, and what emerged was, “A brother and a sister? And you’re positive they’re my father’s? You learned this…how?”
“I have birth certificates.”
He frowned. “You what?”
“I have birth certificates. Plus, Noah only moved in with me a few months ago, but he’s always known who his father is.”
“According to who?”
“According to his mother who was Sir Sidney’s favorite mistress.”
Sebastian felt as if he’d been turned to stone. No, no, that wasn’t it. He felt that he’d been shot with a burning arrow. He was hot all over and practically bubbling with rage.
How dare this…this…tart, this stranger, stroll into his home and impugn his father so egregiously! How dare she level accusations based on unfounded gossip!
He studied her, his eyes narrowing to slits as he struggled to bring her into clearer focus.
She was very calm, her hands folded in her lap, her demeanor devoid of any cunning or deceit. She probably couldn’t tell a lie if he threatened to tie her to a torturer’s rack.
Could it be? Could she really have custody of his father’s children? Had the worst finally occurred?
With rumors constantly swirling, wouldn’t someone have come forward before now? Sir Sidney had had numerous enemies and rivals who’d have loved to ruin him, and envious people liked to tear down their heroes. Could one of them have paid her? Was this naught more than an extortion ruse?
“What do you want?” he asked, resolved to exhibit her same calm demeanor.
“First off, I’d like the money you owe me for the prior year.”
He was almost disappointed in her reply. “You want money? You freely admit it? Why am I not surprised?”
“I don’t run a public charity, Mr. Sinclair. It’s a private facility for the bastards of the rich and notorious. Scoundrels have to help defray the costs. In exchange, we feed, clothe, house, educate, and raise the offspring they’re trying to hide.”
“And you’re claiming you have two of them who were sired by my father.”
“I’m not claiming it. I’m flat out saying they live with me. Pet always has. Her mother died when she was born, and she had nowhere to go. The woman wasn’t a mistress of your father’s though. Their encounter was what’s referred to as a one-night romp.”
“Miss Robertson! I won’t listen to such denigration of my father. Please be more circumspect!”
But she ignored his request. “Noah had resided with his grandfather, but the man recently passed away.”
Sebastian took a deep breath, desperate to rein in his temper, to not insult or shout at her. He had to get through the meeting without losing control.
“You feel I owe you money…why?”
“Pay attention, Mr. Sinclair. I run a private facility. Sir Sidney’s clerk always sent Pet’s fees, but this year, after Sir Sidney’s demise, the funds never arrived. I inquired as to why, and I was apprised that my compensation was cancelled by a family member. Was it you? If so, I wish you’d have discussed it with me.”
He searched his memory, but he couldn’t recollect any revelations about an orphanage or illicit children. Then again, in the past few months, there had been so many decisions and arrangements to be made. It might have slipped his mind.
Or might it have been his mother? She was Sir Sidney’s long-suffering widow who, he suspected, was secretly very glad to be shed of her domineering, wayward husband. Had stories reached her about her philandering husband? If so, what steps might she have implemented to conceal the truth?
She wasn’t a kind or compassionate person, so any ending was possible.
“Sir Sidney’s clerk paid?” He was particularly bewildered, as if he were a dunce who couldn’t quite grasp the concept she was repeatedly clarifying.
“If you don’t believe me, ask him. Or snoop in his ledger books.”
“The other…child, the one you call Noah—”
“I don’t call him Noah. It’s his name.”
“How did he suddenly show up on your stoop?”
“I swear there’s something wrong with your ears, Mr. Sinclair. You ought to have them checked. I just told you: He was living with his elderly grandfather, and the man died. He sent Noah to me.”
“You being an angel of mercy?”
“I like to think I am.”
“I’ve never heard of your establishment.”
“Most wealthy people haven’t—until they need me. They quietly speak to their friends, and they learn about me.”
She responded evenly, candidly, and it was so hard to discredit her account.
“You want money for the boy too?” he asked.
“Actually, what I’d really like is for you to find a home for them.”
At the suggestion, he was absolutely aghast. “Me? Why?”
“My building has been sold, and once escrow closes, I’ll be evicted.” It was a difficult admission for her. She paused, but quickly regrouped and forged ahead. “For weeks, I’ve been contacting various families, so they could move their children to new locations.” She shrugged as if she’d explained every problem vexing the world. “I need your help.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
He leaned back in his chair, and he sipped his brandy as he scrutinized her over the rim of the glass. She was such a composed female. He could be a stern fellow, large in size, authoritative by nature, and a single glower was enough to give any woman a fit of the vapors.
Not her though. She looked as if she’d had a life of calamity and had faced it all down with nary a ripple of concern. She looked anciently wise, as if she had all the answers, as if she knew all the questions before they were asked. She carried herself like a goddess and made him feel like a clumsy fool.
“I’m very rich,” he pointed out.
“D
on’t brag about it. It’s annoying.”
He snorted with disgust. “I don’t suppose you considered that fact prior to soliciting me.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning you could be running a confidence game so I’ll buy your silence. It’s called blackmail.”
“I am trying to wring some money out of you,” she brashly confessed. “I don’t deny it, but it’s merely the amount I’m owed for Petunia. I won’t charge you for Noah. As I mentioned, he hasn’t been with me very long.”
“You talk as if I’ll blithely toss my purse at you.”
“Why wouldn’t you aid me? When I’m evicted, will you permit Noah and Pet to be cast out onto the street? They’re your father’s children. You can’t want that.”
He sipped his brandy again, his thoughts jumping off assorted cliffs as he attempted to think of a pithy comment, one that would rattle her, one that might poke through her tranquil façade. She seemed so…sure.
How was he to guess if the two urchins were really his father’s? She claimed she had birth certificates, but so what? Any fiend could print up a fake piece of paper.
He was so discombobulated he couldn’t pick the best course. Ever since the debacle in Africa, it had been his usual condition.
The only thing he knew with any certainty was that he wasn’t about to pay her a penny. Nor would he rescue any orphans. He wouldn’t! And he didn’t care how tenderly she shared her story or how prettily she batted her lashes.
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
She studied him curiously, as if he were a strange bird in the forest. “That’s it? After all I’ve told you, you simply thank me for coming?”
“Yes.”
“What about Noah and Petunia?”
“I can’t help you with them.”
“Why not?” she had the temerity to inquire.
“Because I don’t believe you.”
She assessed him, then scowled. “Yes, you do.”
“Are you a clairvoyant? Can you read my mind?”
“No, but I’m a good judge of character. You believe me. It’s plain as the nose on your face.”
“Miss Robertson, my father was a national hero. He was beloved in the kingdom. Can you picture him flitting about, siring a slew of bastards?”