by Kruger, Mary
Pieter Tenbroeck.
Sabrina refolded the note and put it back in the envelope. The address was a street in Hans Town, an area unfamiliar to her. Though going there was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, she had to. The note troubled her more than she cared to admit, with its subtle threat against Oliver. Hurt though she was by his lack of faith in her and his refusal to help her out of this tangle, she had to protect him from Tenbroeck. This one last thing she would do for him, before she had to face the consequences of what she had done.
“...And so, sir, if you will look at the evidence, I believe you will reach the same conclusion,” Oliver said, sitting back in his chair. He appeared totally at ease, in contrast to Castlereagh, who was hunched over his desk, but the appearance was deceptive. If Castlereagh did not accept the result of his logic, then there was nothing more to do. Sabrina’s fate would hang in the balance. But if that happened, Oliver thought, his hands balled into fists, he would not stand by and watch her go to a punishment she did not deserve. Before the soldiers came to arrest her, he would take her away himself. The thought filled him with a savage exultation. He would be an outcast, anyway, and so what would one more offense matter? And exile with his Sabrina was far more preferable to the sterile, arid existence he now faced.
“Hm.” Castlereagh looked down at the papers. “Yes. It might interest you to know, Bainbridge,” he said, straightening, “that I’d come to the same conclusion myself.”
Oliver’s eyebrows rose. “Had you, sir?”
“Yes. It did not escape my notice that the only information we know for certain your ward passed was incorrect. The question I ask myself is, why?” He sat back, looking at Oliver over steepled fingertips. “Why did she do it?”
“I’ve asked myself the same thing,” Oliver said.
This time, Castlereagh’s eyebrows rose. “Have you. Have you not talked to her of this?”
“No, sir. Not since it was discovered.”
“I suggest, then, that you do so without further delay.” He rose and went over to a window. “It must have been a difficult choice for her, Bainbridge,” he said quietly, “to stay loyal to you, or to her country.”
“Yes, sir.” Oliver rose. That aspect of the situation had not occurred to him before, but now it made him realize, yet again, how badly he had wronged her. Before any more time passed, he would take Castlereagh’s advice. He would speak to her on the matter and beg her forgiveness, hoping against hope that she would bestow it. “Sir.” He hesitated by the door. “Is there to be a punishment?”
Castlereagh’s eyes rose from the papers in front of him. “For the moment, no. By the by, we’ve just had news that Tenbroeck took passage in an American ship out of Portsmouth two days ago.”
He is gone, then?”
“Yes, and good riddance to him.”
“You don’t sound very concerned, sir.”
“I am not. I do wonder, however, why your ward felt it necessary to join forces with him.”
Oliver hesitated. “I believe I know the answer to that, Sir, but it is not my secret to divulge.” It was Sabrina’s, if what he thought was correct, and hers to keep. “I can assure you, though, that it will cause no problems in the future.”
“Can you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Castlereagh studied him closely, and then nodded. “Very well, then. I will trust your word. As it happens, your ward has done us a service.”
Oliver nodded. It took little imagination to guess what the damage would have been had she really been converted to Tenbroeck’s cause. “She is free, then?”
“Yes. She is free. But, Bainbridge?”
Oliver stopped in the doorway. “Sir?”
“I suggest you keep a closer eye on her in future.”
“Yes, sir, I intend to.”
“And, Bainbridge. When you are done, come back. You are needed here.”
Oliver stared at him in disbelief. So, he was not to be disgraced, after all. “Yes, sir,” he said, and turned to go, his heart light for the first time in days. He quite definitely would keep his eye on Sabrina, if she would only forgive him. And then he intended to spend the rest of his days making up to her.
Sometime later, attired in a gown of dull brown bombazine covered by an equally drab cloak, Sabrina crept out the side door of Bainbridge House and walked quickly to the corner. They she hailed a hackney. Once inside, she leaned her head back against the cracked leather squabs, not caring how dirty they were. The tears that were never very far away when she thought of Oliver threatened again, and she determinedly held them back. Since that dreadful night, she had not seen or talked to him. Even if she had a chance to explain, it would be too late. She should have confessed to her crimes a long time ago, before matters had gotten to such a state. Now nothing she could say would help. She didn’t fear the prospect of arrest; she didn’t think that would happen, once the facts were known. She would, however, be disgraced, and so would her family. That was the worst part of all. Oliver’s life had been destroyed, and it was her fault.
I should never have come to England, she thought, closing her eyes. She should have stayed in New York, where at least she had known who she was, Sabrina Van Schuyler, the bastard child of errant parents. Living as Miss Carrick had seduced her, and what had it gotten her? Everything was gone, everything. Most importantly, she had lost any chance she might have had of winning Oliver’s love. No matter what else happened, that was all that mattered. She had lost Oliver.
The cab stopped. “This is it,” the driver called back. She climbed out, handing him a few coins. The cab drove away, leaving her standing on the pavement. Hans Town, though in an unfashionable section of town, was respectable enough, but this street had an air of dilapidation. Yes, this was the house she been directed to, she thought, after consulting the note. She didn’t like the looks of it. It was tall, narrow and dark, its bricks sooty from the smoke in London air, and its windows were grimy. Only weeds grew in the tiny patch of ground in front. It was not a place she would have chosen to visit. Wishing she had told the hackney to wait for her, she climbed the stairs and went in.
The note directed her to the second floor. She went up a narrow staircase bereft of carpet, aware of every step she took. At the second-floor landing, she hesitated. At last, summoning up her coverage, she rapped quickly at the door.
“Come in,” a masculine voice called. Sabrina reached for the knob, and then hesitated. The voice was familiar, but was it Tenbroeck’s? She frowned, trying to place it, and then, with a mental shrug, turned the knob and went in.
The room was empty. Puzzled, Sabrina glanced around, while her feeling of suspicion grew. She had expected to see Tenbroeck pacing the floor, and yet she was alone. “Hello?” she called, and walked in.
The door slammed behind her with a suddenness that made her jump. “Hello, Cousin,” Reginald said, his voice sounding lazy. Sabrina whirled, in time to see him turning the key in the lock. “How kind of you to visit me.”
Chapter 32
Oliver pulled his curricle up before Bainbridge House and jumped down, taking the stairs two at a time as he ran in. He had been a fool, he told himself again, blinded first by his love of Sabrina, and then by his anger and hurt. He should have known she could not have done what she had been accused of.
“I want to see Miss Carrick in my study,” he said to a startled Hastings. “Now!”
Hastings bowed and then, rather than sending a footman, climbed the stairs himself. A few moments later, looking shaken, he walked back into the study, holding Letty by the arm. She, too, appeared frightened. Oliver, seated behind his desk, looked from one to the other. “Well?” he said.
“She isn’t there, Your Grace,” Hastings said unhappily.
“What?” Oliver jumped to his feet. “Where the devil is she, then?”
“I couldn’t say, Your Grace. But I suspect her maid knows.” He thrust Letty forward, and she, after one scared glance at Oliver, lowered her head.<
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“Well, girl? Speak. Do you know where your mistress is?” Oliver demanded.
“No, Your Grace,” Letty whispered.
“I will question the girl myself. You may go.”
Hastings shot Letty an angry look, and then bowed. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
Oliver watched the door closed behind the Butler, and then slowly set again. “Well, Letty?” he said, his voice somewhat more friendly. “Do you know where Miss Carrick is?”
Letty shook her head. “No, Your Grace.”
“Hm. I wonder.” He rose and came around the desk, tilting Letty’s chin up with a finger. Alarm flared in her eyes, and then died; His Grace was not one to trifle with his servants. “Once before you came to me when she was in trouble, do you remember? Why not now?” Letty looked up at him, her face so miserable that he moderated his tone. “Come, Letty. If you know anything, you must tell me. I promise I will not turn you off.”
Letty glanced quickly up at him and then down at her hands. “I don’t rightly know where she is, Your Grace.”
“Well, why did she go?”
“There was a note delivered for her. She was powerful upset, Your Grace.”
“Was she? And you have no idea what it was about?”
“No, Your Grace. I can’t read.”
“I see. But there must have been some clue, Letty, something Miss Carrick said, perhaps?”
“I heard her tell the hackney Hans Town, Your Grace.”
“Hans Town,” he said blankly. “Who the devil is in Hans Town? My God!” His face hardened as knowledge and suspicion struck them together. Reginald Hailey’s lodgings were there. “Thank you, Letty. You may go.” His voice was grim, and Letty looked frightened again as she curtsied and scurried out of the room.
Damn it, it was Reginald, Oliver thought, and suddenly the rage rose in him, hot and fiery. Sabrina and Reginald, after all. Oh, he had been blind, though he had been warned. He remembered, now, Moira speaking of a cousinly kiss she had seen between Sabrina and her paramour. At the time he had been too distracted to pay much heed to Moira’s words. He remembered, too, Sabrina’s defense of the man, her friend, she had called him. Oh, yes, her friend. Well, they would see about that, he thought grimly. She and her lover would see.
At the door though, he paused, closing his eyes. No. He would not do this, not again. From the first he’d suspected Sabrina, and from the first he’d been wrong. She had not been an impostor or a fortune hunter, and if she had spied, he suspected she’d found herself in an impossible situation. He had been too quick to judge her in the past. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
In the hall, he sent a footman to call him a hackney, and then called for his driving coat. It was much too warm for the weather, but had deep, capacious pockets. Then he strode back into his study. From a desk drawer he withdrew a long leather box, and opened it to reveal a pair of dueling pistols, their handles elegantly tooled and etched in silver. Though rarely used, they were clean and in prime condition. Since they had been specially made for him by Joseph Manton, he knew they were accurate. When he had finished loading them, he sighted down each barrel and then nodded, satisfied. He slipped one into each pocket as he strode, grim-faced, from the house. Reginald Hailey, having this time gone too far, was about to meet his Maker.
Sabrina, facing Reginald as he turned the key in the lock, frowned. “Mr. Hailey? I don’t understand.”
“Ah, Cousin, are we back to such formality, then?” Reginald said, turning. His smile did not reach his eyes, which were cold, and yet avid on her, so that she drew her cloak tighter about her.
“Where is Mr. Tenbroeck?”
Reginald stared at her and then began to laugh. “Oh, Cousin, so you believed the note, did you?”
“Then he is not here?”
“No, haven’t you heard?” he said, sounding genuinely amused. “They say he got into some sort of trouble with his legation and had to leave the country. I don’t know why.” He eyed her suddenly white face with interest. “Ah, but you do know, don’t you? Well, no matter. Whatever your connection was with him, it is past. You are with me, now.”
“But, the note said— Bainbridge wouldn’t be embarrassed—”
“Ah, is that what brought you? A happy turn of phrase. I wonder what I meant? Well, no matter, it served its purpose.”
“You!” Sabrina stared at him, and then suddenly wheeled toward the dog, scrambling for the key. It twisted in her hand and then dropped to the floor, as her wrist was caught in a bruising grip. Desperate, she flailed out with her free hand, and her nails raked down Reginald’s face.
“Bitch!” he exclaimed, and dealt her a blow across her face that rocked her head back. “Damn you, we could do this without force.” He caught her other wrist in the same punishing grip and suddenly pushed her back against the wall, pinioning her there with his body.
“Why?” She asked breathlessly. “Why did you—”
“Don’t be naïve, Sabrina. For the money, of course. It’s no good struggling, you know. I must have you. It is the only way I can get what is rightfully mine.”
Sabrina’s eyes stared at him, wide and serious, and then to his complete surprise, she put back her head and began to laugh.
“Why do you laugh?” he demanded. “Stop it this instant!”
“Oh, but you don’t know—” she gasped.
“Stop, I say!” He exclaimed, and shook her. It sobered her, but the eyes that regarded him help no trace of fear
“What a fool you are,” she said pleasantly, as if they were discussing the weather. “In such circumstances, I’m not likely to give you a thing.”
“Ah, but as my wife your property will be mine. And you will have to marry me, after this.”
“No, Mr. Hailey, I will not.”
“I think you will. I intend to have you, Sabrina, so you may as well stop fighting.”
Her gaze on him was unblinking. “You fool,” she said again, still in that pleasant voice. “Bainbridge will kill you for this.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. That would make you a widow.”
“I don’t think such considerations will weigh heavily on him—Cousin,” she said, her voice filled with scorn, and began to laugh again. “Oh, you fool. Don’t you realize I’m likely to be disinherited, too?” She watched the consternation creep into his eyes. “You’ll get nothing from me, Reginald.”
“Nothing?” A smile spread across his face. “But you owe me, Sabrina. Yes. You owe me for Vauxhall. At least I’ll have my revenge,” he said, and brought his mouth grindingly down on hers. She struggled, as much for air as anything, and then suddenly went limp. It was the same way she had reacted at Vauxhall, and with the memory of his sufferings on that occasion all too clear, he twisted away. When she stayed limp in his arms, though, he cautiously relaxed. Probably she had fainted, he thought, and eased back from the wall.
Sabrina’s foot, shod in Letty’s sturdy brogue, came down on his instep. Involuntary he hopped onto his other foot, and Sabrina was quick to take advantage of his unguarded position. She brought her knee up, quick and hard. His grip on her suddenly loosened, and she pushed him away.
“Pah!” She spat the taste of him out of her mouth, watching him dispassionately as he hunched over.
“You—bitch—” he ground out, and at that moment, someone pounded on the door.
“Oh, thank God!” Sabrina fumbled on the floor for the key. It twisted uselessly in the lock for a moment until she pushed it in, muttering desperate prayers. At last it turned and the door was thrust open—and Oliver walked in.
They stood in tableau for frozen seconds: Reginald, still hunched over, clinging to a table to pull himself up; Sabrina, hand to her mouth, staring at Oliver; and Oliver, surveying the room with a sneer. He was right. This was no lovers’ meeting.
“Oliver!” Sabrina gasped, and he turned to her. His eyes narrowed as he took in her disheveled appearance, and his fingers reached out to touch the patch of red,
shaped like a hand, imprinted on her cheek. Her eyes, clear and utterly defenseless, met his, opaque steel, and for a long moment they regarded each other. The rage rose within him again. Hailey would pay for that.
Reginald groaned, and Oliver turned, a sardonic smile on his face. Perhaps he had already paid. “So, Hailey. She did you again, did she?”
“The—little—bitch—” he groaned, raising his head. The sight of Oliver’s pistol, leveled at his nose, made him freeze. He stared into a moment and then waved irritably. “Oh, for God’s sake, Bainbridge, you don’t need that.” Painfully he levered himself upright, and shuffled to a chair. “God,” he said feelingly. “You can have her. She ain’t worth the trouble.”
“Brought so low by a woman, Hailey?” The amusement in Oliver’s voice was plain as he turned to Sabrina. “Must you always get into scrapes?”
“I—I’ll try not to in the future,” she said, staring at him.
“I should hope not. This little escapade has taken several years off my life. It might be wise of you, Hailey to leave the country. England might be—shall we say—unhealthy for you.”
Reginald’s head rose, his eyes glittering oddly. “Damn you,” he hissed. “I’ll get you for this.”
Oliver turned from examining the mark on Sabrina more closely. “I doubt it.”
“Oh, do you?” Reginald stared at him. “Well, I wish you joy of her, Bainbridge. Do you know, she’s not what she seems?” he said, taunting. “Your little ward is a bastard.”
“No?” Sabrina cried, and Oliver’s gaze met hers again, before going back to Reginald. She stood very still, numb with surprise. Oliver knew. Perhaps he always had.
“It makes no difference, Hailey.” Oliver’s hand came up, and Reginald found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol again. “I shall give you two days to leave. And if I hear one whisper of what went on here today, or what you just said, I’ll come back and finish what she started.”
The look on his face made it quite plain that he meant every word, and Reginald slumped back. “Damn you,” he said again, without heat. “What choice have I?”