by Cheryl Holt
“It happens all the time.”
“Well, he didn’t behave that way.”
“A man can have many sides.”
“Yes, and I assume you’re an expert on men?”
“I’m an expert on people.”
She evaluated him with those magnificent eyes of hers—Nathan’s eyes—which was incredibly disturbing.
He pushed back his chair, practically leaping to his feet. She didn’t rise with him, but appraised him meticulously. Her disappointment was exceedingly clear, and just as he started to feel ashamed and totally in the wrong, she stood too.
“I realize it’s a lot to absorb all at once,” she said. “Think about it for a few days.”
“I don’t need to think about it.”
“You should stop by and meet them. I find—after family members are introduced—it can change everything.”
“I have no desire to meet them.”
She stepped to the desk where there was a writing tray complete with ink jar, quills, and paper. Without garnering his permission, she dipped a quill, penned a note, and sanded it. He watched, flummoxed by her audacity. He’d never encountered a woman quite like her.
“Here are the directions to my orphanage.” She set the paper in front of him. “I live there. Visit us whenever it’s convenient, but please hurry. I don’t know when escrow will close, and I’m not sure where we’ll be after it does. I would hate to miss you.”
“I won’t ever come.”
She scoffed, as if his refusal was silly. “We’ll see. You’d really like Noah. From what I hear, he’s the spitting image of Sir Sidney, right down to the swagger in his walk. Anyone would notice the resemblance.”
Sebastian thought of the inquest that was approaching, of the gossip he was working so valiantly to quell, of Sir Sidney’s reputation they were all so desperate to protect.
“Are you threatening me?” he asked.
“Why would I threaten you? You have a half-brother and a half-sister too. She’s the sweetest little girl ever—blond and blue-eyed, like all of you Sinclairs. Evidently, your father had strong bloodlines. All of you look exactly alike.”
He was so taken aback by her remark that he was surprised he didn’t faint.
She was very cunning, very dangerous. What might she ultimately say about his father, and to whom might she say it?
“In the next week,” he said, “I’d like you to settle on a price.”
“A…price?”
“Yes. How much will you require in order to be silent about this?”
“You couldn’t pay me a sufficient amount to be silent about it.”
“I doubt that very much. I predict you’ve already calculated the sum and that it’s astronomically high. But you should know, Miss Robertson, that if you antagonize me, there will be consequences.”
She tsked derisively as if he was being ridiculous. “Don’t be so annoying. It’s exasperating, and I don’t have the patience for nonsense. Just come and meet your half-siblings. You’ll like them. I guarantee it.”
They faced each other as if on a battlefield. He yearned to dive over the desk and shake her until she admitted she was lying, or until she relented and swore she’d never spread any stories, or until…until…
“Raven!” he shouted.
Raven opened the door and asked, “Yes?”
“Miss Robertson and I are finished. Escort her off the property.”
She threw up her hands. “We haven’t decided a single issue.”
“We’ve decided plenty,” he said.
“Such as…?”
“I don’t believe you, I won’t give you a farthing, and I’ve wasted every minute I intend to waste on you.”
Raven stomped over, grabbed her arm, and marched her out.
She tossed over her shoulder, “This problem won’t vanish simply because you wish it would. They’re flesh-and-blood children, Mr. Sinclair. They’re your father’s children.”
“Goodbye, Miss Robertson. If I’m lucky, which I haven’t been so far, we won’t cross paths again.”
“Yes, we will,” she snottily insisted. “I plan on it. I’ll keep nagging at you until I wear you down. I’m exhausting that way.”
“As she leaves,” he advised Raven, “I’d like you to explain the sorts of penalties she might incur if she causes any trouble for me or my family. She should be especially concerned about the impact any rumors might have on my mother who is in deep mourning and would be terribly hurt by such despicable falsehoods.”
“I will do that, Sebastian,” Raven said.
He stepped into the hall with her, and she was gone.
For an eternity, he was frozen in his spot, listening to be certain she’d departed, then he went to the sideboard and gulped down another brandy.
“Bastard children indeed,” he muttered to the empty room.
Then he headed out to join the party.
CHAPTER THREE
“Did you like him?”
“Not really. He was pompous and absurd.”
Sarah was talking about Sebastian Sinclair, and she flashed a wan smile at Noah and Pet.
She wished she was the sort of person who could lie with a straight face, but in light of the type of children she raised, she’d never seen a reason to prevaricate. It was important for them to know the truth about their various circumstances.
They were standing outside the orphanage, having just returned from running errands. There was as yet no chain on the door to keep them out, which had her shuddering with relief.
She wanted to believe—when the sale was final—she would be given a chance to remove her things, but her brother-in-law, Cuthbert Maudsen, was the fiend who’d sold the building, and he was a scurrilous villain. Merely out of spite, he might not let her retrieve her belongings.
“So we won’t get to meet him?” Noah asked about Mr. Sinclair.
“I don’t think so,” Sarah told them. “I invited him to stop by, but he refused.”
Petunia was always a budding optimist. “He could change his mind though, couldn’t he? I would definitely like to meet him. It would be grand to have another brother.”
Noah grinned at her. “One isn’t enough for you?”
“One is very nice, but one more would be even better.”
“We have another sister too,” Noah said. “I wonder what she’s like. Do you suppose she’s as annoying as you are?”
Pet replied with, “She’s likely pretty and kind as a princess.”
Sarah had been so busy fretting over Mr. Sinclair that she’d forgotten about his younger sister, Ophelia. She was twenty-two and unmarried and still residing at home with her mother. She was another famous Sinclair who couldn’t walk down the street or wear a new gown without the newspapers writing about her.
How would Miss Sinclair view the situation? It would require her to accept a negative fact about her precious father. If Sarah didn’t make any headway with Mr. Sinclair, dare she seek out Miss Sinclair instead?
If she tried, she was sure Sebastian Sinclair would wring her neck.
Sarah was awash with worry. Noah and Pet were marvelous children: smart, polite, funny, considerate, generous, and selfless. Though they had different mothers, it was obvious they were siblings. With their golden blond hair, big blue eyes, slender frames, and confident demeanors, they were perfect little Sinclairs.
She recognized how hard it was for Mr. Sinclair to admit Sir Sidney had had character flaws. She could only hope, after some reflection, he’d calm down and contact her so they could have a sane discussion.
She’d like to keep Noah and Pet with her, to rear them herself, but she had no idea how she could. Yet the thought of separating from them was painful. She’d grown up at the orphanage, having been left on the stoop at age three, and ultimately, she’d been adopted by the Robertsons. Her mother, Ruth, had died when she was an adolescent, and she’d started managing the facility for her father, Thomas, when she was seventeen.
She was now a very elderly twenty-seven, her parents deceased, and her sole kin her awful sister, Temperance, with whom Sarah constantly bickered over their father’s estate. Sarah had never lived on her own and couldn’t envision what it would be like.
She was terribly afraid, should she find a place for Noah and Pet—her last wards—she might become invisible and simply float off into the sky.
“Might you approach Miss Sinclair about us?” Noah was speculating, as Sarah had, that Miss Sinclair might provide a path to assistance.
“I haven’t decided,” Sarah said.
“I think she’d like us.”
“She might, but we can’t be certain. Rich people can be very odd, and the Sinclairs have such a high opinion of Sir Sidney. It upsets them when bad stories spread.”
“Everyone has a high opinion of my father.” Noah nodded firmly. “It’s well deserved too.”
“Yes, it is,” Sarah agreed, not meaning it, “but your half-siblings don’t like to hear that he misbehaved with your mothers. It’s distressing for them.”
“If you arrange an audience with Miss Sinclair,” Noah asked, “could we accompany you? I could speak for Pet and myself. Would it help?”
“I can’t imagine it, Noah.”
The entire debacle was so crushing that, suddenly, she felt as if she might burst into tears.
Her father—poor Thomas Robertson—had devoted himself to the orphanage. He’d spent his inheritance and had worked himself into an early grave in order to aid the children of strangers.
He’d been such a sweet, charitable man. How would he view what was transpiring? No doubt he’d be devastated.
He and Ruth had adopted Sarah when she was tiny, then, two years later, Ruth had birthed Temperance. She’d been born difficult and unhappy, and she’d hated the lowly existence their parents had offered.
When Thomas could no longer abide her tantrums, he’d sent her to live with his wealthy, pretentious mother. She’d coddled Temperance, and when she’d passed away, she’d bequeathed her house and a small trust fund to Temperance, so she’d wound up as a bit of an heiress.
Sarah had never been jealous about it. The woman was Temperance’s grandmother, not Sarah’s, and Sarah had been content with the life the Robertsons had bestowed. In contrast, Temperance was never satisfied with any situation and always protested that she wasn’t receiving her share of what was owed.
At eighteen, she’d met Cuthbert Maudsen, a handsome gambler and wastrel, and she’d been determined to marry him. Their father had tried to dissuade her, so she’d gone to her grandmother and had convinced her to sign all the appropriate documents.
Temperance and Cuthbert had now been wed for seven years, and he was just as irresponsible and dodgy as their father had feared. Temperance’s dowry was squandered, their home mortgaged to the hilt, and Cuthbert barely able to keep creditors from hauling him off to debtor’s prison.
As Thomas’s health had declined, his mental acuity had deteriorated, and Temperance had slyly persuaded him to change his Will, to leave his estate to Cuthbert—the man of the family—and Thomas had proceeded without Sarah knowing.
To her great astonishment and disgust, Cuthbert had ended up owning her building and, as his fiscal woes had worsened, he’d sold it. She hadn’t found out what was occurring until a huge For Sale sign had been hung on the front door.
She’d beseeched Temperance not to allow it. She’d pleaded with Cuthbert not to do it. But Temperance would never defy her husband, and Cuthbert was desperate.
His cruel act—and Temperance’s refusal to intervene—had been the final nail in the coffin of Sarah’s relationship with her sister. Despite Sarah’s repeated efforts to understand and tolerate Temperance, they’d arrived at a conclusion that was unforgiveable.
“Are you sad today?”
Pet’s question interrupted Sarah’s pathetic reverie.
“A little,” she admitted, and Pet slipped her hand into Sarah’s and squeezed it.
“It will all turn out for the best,” Pet said. “You’ll see.”
“I hope so.”
Noah added, “I won’t let anything bad happen to you or Pet. I swear it.”
Sarah smiled at him. “You’re a good boy, Noah.”
“Of course I am. I am Sir Sidney’s son, and he was a hero. How could I not be one too?”
“You could practice some humility once in awhile. It wouldn’t kill you.”
“When I’m so wonderful, why be humble? What would be the point?”
Sarah chuckled and reminded herself to count her blessings, to stop flogging herself over what she couldn’t fix or alter.
She opened her reticule and handed them each a penny.
“Buy yourself a candy,” she said.
Noah frowned. “Are you sure we should? Can we afford it?”
“Two pennies won’t make any difference.” She gestured down the street. “Have some fun.”
“We will, so long as you promise you won’t sit in your apartment moping.”
“I won’t mope.” But she probably would.
“Why don’t you come with us?” Pet asked.
“I have some letters to write,” Sarah lied, and she waved them away.
They hesitated and debated, but the pennies were too tempting. Ultimately, they skipped off, but they glanced back over and over, their concern for her extreme.
She’d been candid with them about their dilemma, but she’d framed her remarks in a positive way, insisting they’d be fine. She doubted it though. With each passing day, she grew more anxious, and as she entered the building, she decided she had to call on her friend, Nell Drummond.
She hadn’t seen her in weeks, not since Nell had traveled to the country for a wedding. She had to be back in London by now, and while she wouldn’t be able to supply any financial assistance, she’d definitely commiserate. She might even have some ideas that hadn’t occurred to Sarah.
So far, she hadn’t told anyone of the perfidy being pursued by her sister. Who could bear to confess it? But she had to cease her pretending, had to beg for help from those who could provide it. The problem was that she knew very few people who had the means to furnish much more than verbal advice.
She walked through the common room and up the stairs to her apartment at the end of the hall. She removed her bonnet and was hanging it on a hook, when suddenly, a man said, “It’s about time you arrived. Where have you been?”
She jumped a foot and whirled around and there, on her dilapidated sofa, was the grand and glorious Mr. Sebastian Sinclair.
“Why are you in here?” she demanded.
“You ought to keep your doors locked,” was his reply. “Otherwise, there’s no telling who might wander in.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” she muttered.
As her pulse slowed to a manageable level, she had to tamp down a spurt of excitement. What could he want? What might he do? What might she convince him to do?
It had been three days since she’d visited him at Hero’s Haven. While he was a blowhard and ingrate, he wasn’t a dunce or a fool. She’d been mildly certain he’d seek her out—if only so he could yell at her again.
He was like a curious cat, and he’d pull and pull at the string of yarn she’d dangled in front of him until he was aggravated beyond his limit. He’d be determined to learn more about Noah and Pet. He’d chastise and blame Sarah for creating a situation he couldn’t abide.
Well, he could complain incessantly, but so long as they were talking, there was a chance to push him into better behavior.
“Noah and Petunia just left to buy a candy,” she said. “You missed them.”
“I’m not here to see any of your stupid urchins.”
“They’re not stupid, they’re not urchins, and they’re your half-siblings. Don’t be surly or you can leave.”
She turned to hang her cloak on the hook too, and she was very deliberate about it, eager for him to realize that she wasn’t impressed by him.
The reality was though that she’d been thinking about him constantly. He was very handsome, and with him being so famous, it had been riveting to meet him.
Her world was very small, filled with children who needed her. It was a rare moment when she crossed paths with a rogue or a scoundrel or a hero. She’d been overwhelmed by the encounter, wishing she’d have an opportunity to parlay with him again and wishing it would happen sooner rather than later.
The stories about his father read like tales out of an adventure novel. What must it have been like to be raised by him? What must it have been like to travel the globe with him? He’d been brutally murdered. Had Mr. Sinclair witnessed the hideous scene? How awful for him if he had. Who could ever recover from such a terrible sight?
She wondered what he’d do with himself now that his father had passed away, and she suspected he was vexed by that very same question. Clearly, he drank too much and was reveling to excess, and she figured it was simply him grieving.
Her own father had been dead for three years, and it seemed as if it had just transpired. From bitter experience, she’d found out that some wounds were very slow to heal.
“This apartment is my private home,” she said as she spun to face him, “yet you felt free to bluster in. Tell me why I shouldn’t be incensed.”
He snorted with disgust. “I told you that you should lock your doors.”
“Yes, but most people in this neighborhood are too polite to barge in where they’re not welcome.”
“I’m welcome,” he absurdly claimed. “When you were at Hero’s Haven, you specifically informed me to stop by whenever it was convenient.”
“I stand corrected, but it still doesn’t explain why you’re sitting on my sofa.”
“I’ve come to hear your price. I’ve been waiting to be apprised.”
“Ah, yes, my price. I have a very high amount in mind.”
“I’m glad you’ve pondered it. Raven thought you’d be difficult about reaching a deal, but I insisted you’d be sensible.”
“Shall I make us some tea?”
“Gad, no. I hate tea.”
“You hate tea? No one hates tea. It’s very unBritish of you.”