“Barker,” said Vane evenly, never taking his gaze from Sarah’s face.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Take those garments and burn them. And if there are any more where they came from, burn them, too. Undergarments, shoes, the lot.”
Mistress and maid gasped as one. Barker hesitated, throwing an indecisive look at Sarah. Sarah ignored her. She was rigid with fury.
“You may go,” Vane told the maid.
Barker bobbed a curtsey, her eyes brimming with excited triumph, and hurried away.
He raised his eyebrows at Sarah. “I trust I’ve made myself plain?”
Outrageous! How dare he make a fool of her in front of her servant? Somehow, the knowledge that his high-handed behavior was wholly to her benefit infuriated her all the more.
Tight-lipped, she gritted out, “Crystal clear. Do you want the gown off my back as well?” As soon as the sarcastic words left her mouth, she regretted them.
There was a pause. A long one, in which she could hear her own heartbeat, a strong tattoo in her ears.
His dark gaze traveled over her slowly, inch by inch. “Don’t tempt me,” he said softly.
Warily, she stepped back, acutely conscious of the frustrated desire that thickened the air. She could smell him, the scent of exertion and clean, honest sweat, a heady male musk. Memories of the night they’d spent flooded back, their bodies slick and glistening, moving together. . . .
Sarah swallowed hard, aware that he must have read her reaction. She put a hand to her cheek and felt it flame. Realized her hand trembled and hurriedly dropped it to her side. He noticed the movement and a frown snapped between his brows.
She forced out, “It seems you leave me no choice.”
“Order the carriage when you’re ready.” He paused, seeming to struggle with himself. “I take it you don’t wish for my company on this expedition.”
“I do not.” She didn’t blame him for the grim look about his mouth at her rudeness. But the thought of trying on gowns and selecting intimate apparel while he watched made her stomach clench with apprehension. It smacked too much of the relationship between protector and mistress, not husband and wife.
He appeared about to say something, to argue with her, perhaps, but changed his mind. With another quick, angry shake of the head, he turned on his heel and strode to his dressing room, slamming the door behind him.
“MILADY, I’m sorry, I couldn’t find her.” The handsome young footman stood before Sarah, looking worried.
“Perhaps she’d stepped out for an hour or so. You should have waited.”
His gaze darted to the clock and she realized it was nigh on two hours since she’d sent him. “Beg pardon but I did wait, ma’am. Then I asked about. They told me she’s gone. Packed her bags and left.”
Frowning, Sarah launched to her feet. “Where? Where did she go?”
“I don’t know, milady. I questioned her neighbors and the caretaker but no one keeps track of each other in places like that. She’d skipped out without telling anyone or paying the rent, so I understand.”
“Oh, God.” Sarah put her hand to her brow and sank to the sofa. Her head was pounding viciously. She couldn’t think what to do next.
Will cleared his throat, startling her. She’d forgotten he was there.
Sarah tried to collect herself. This behavior would create gossip belowstairs, and she could do without that, on top of everything else.
She thanked Will and dismissed him, then fell to pacing, biting the edge of her thumb. She couldn’t possibly return to such a rough neighborhood and investigate the matter herself. She’d be sure to land herself in more serious trouble than a picked pocket. If Will had been unsuccessful, how would she discover anything more?
Her father . . . Would he understand? No, he would say the child was not her responsibility, that she ought to wash her hands of the matter. All she’d achieve by involving him would be to increase his disappointment in her and highlight the sordidness of her former life.
“Vane,” she whispered. Could she summon the gall to enlist his aid? He had his own pride, after all. What would he say to the prospect of giving succor to Brinsley’s love child?
Sarah swallowed. She’d prefer not to find out. It hardly redounded to her credit that her husband should have consorted with another woman so soon after she and Brinsley wed.
Perhaps she’d do better to ask Peter Cole for help. She didn’t believe there was much of the milk of human kindness in Brinsley’s brother, but surely he’d appreciate where his duty lay.
She looked up as the butler entered the parlor. “Your carriage is at the door, my lady.”
Oh, no. She closed her eyes. Shopping was the last thing she wanted to do now. But if she didn’t go, she wouldn’t have a stitch to wear, would she? Vane had not been making idle threats about her clothing. They hadn’t been burned, though. He’d changed his mind and given them to the poor. The fact that Barker made no protest at this showed exactly how far Sarah had sunk. The situation must be dire if even her maid disdained to take her castoffs.
She hoped her newfound status would move the modistes she patronized to work quickly. No doubt the Marchioness of Vane could command instant service as the genteel but impoverished Lady Sarah Cole could not.
With an exasperated sigh, she gathered her reticule and bonnet and went down to the awaiting carriage.
SARAH screwed emerald drops into her earlobes and allowed her maid to drape a fine Norwich silk shawl over her elbows. Vane had ordered her to beggar him. She hadn’t quite achieved that—she doubted she’d made a dent in his vast wealth—but she certainly hadn’t counted the cost of the extensive wardrobe she’d ordered today. She hadn’t spent a penny of her pin money—all the bills were to be sent directly to Vane.
This deep emerald green silk hugged her curves wickedly and revealed a larger amount of bosom than she usually showed. She suspected it had been intended for another, more daring female, but the modiste had insisted Sarah take it because it looked so ravishing on her.
Sarah scrutinized herself in the mirror. She was pale and she’d lost weight but she still had a decent bosom and her hip bones didn’t stick out, so that was something. Her maid had taken extra care over dressing her hair—as well she might after conspiring with Vane to get rid of all her clothes, the traitor.
There was nothing for it but to put a good face on things. She must admit, if only to herself, that Vane had been right. Amazing how dressing well could lift the spirits.
But spending all that money on finery while Tom suffered such poor conditions ate at her. She needed to find him, to take care of him. She’d called on Jenny and Peter Cole that afternoon, but Peter had refused to discuss the subject with her. She’d found an excuse to be rid of Jenny for a few minutes and quickly asked Peter to help her find the boy.
He’d flushed scarlet when she’d broached the subject and roughly snapped that Brinsley’s by-blows were none of her concern, nor his, either, come to that. She was furious at his callousness, but it was no more than she’d expected. She’d have to enlist Vane’s help to find the boy. There was no other way.
Absently, Sarah slid a gold bracelet up her arm as she went down to wait for him in the drawing room. She might use her pin money to mount an investigation and never say a word to Vane about it, but that would be wrong and deceitful. She owed him honesty, at least.
What if he refused her? Surely, he must see that a child’s welfare, perhaps his very life, was at stake. That was more important than any considerations of propriety or pride. He was a good man. He would help her. He must.
There was only one way to find out.
When she heard Vane’s step on the threshold, she whirled to face him. At the sight of her, he stopped short. A sharp inhale of breath, a clenched fist. Surprise registered on his face before he swiftly shuttered his expression and moved toward her.
“Good evening, Sarah.” His voice was deep but slightly strained.
“Good evening. Won’t yo
u sit down?” Her own voice trembled a little as she groped for a way to phrase her extraordinary request.
His brows rose, but he said nothing and chose a chair at a right angle to hers.
“Vane, I need to speak with you about a very serious matter.” She licked her lips, a sign of nervousness he observed with interest. She gripped her hands together. “Perhaps you recall a conversation you and I had at Peter Cole’s house about”—she took a deep breath, then expelled it—“about the fact that I cannot have children.” She barely glanced at him, but sensed that he nodded. “Well, a number of years ago, Brinsley fathered a son.”
She looked up. There was an arrested expression in Vane’s eyes and a hardening about his mouth. “Go on.”
Without waiting for her to continue, he stood and walked to gaze out of the window at the street below. Without his gaze upon her, it was easier to finish her request. She wondered if he’d turned his back to conceal his own feelings or out of consideration for her.
She cleared her throat. “Now that Brinsley is dead, I am concerned that the child be cared for. I had made plans for his care myself, but . . .” She told him of her visit to Maggie and the theft of her money.
As soon as she’d finished, he said curtly, “I’ll see to it.”
Relief and gratitude flooded her. “Oh, but Vane—”
He turned back to her then, his expression a mask of fury. “What the Devil was Cole about, even mentioning the brat to you? Why should you have been scraping to support his love child?”
“It was either that or leave him in the most degrading conditions,” Sarah said quietly, neglecting to answer the first question. “The circumstances of his birth hardly mattered. I couldn’t allow the boy to suffer when something might be done for him.”
She saw Vane cock his head, watching her, as if he’d discovered something new, something that both puzzled and interested him. She stumbled on. “I-I realize it is beyond the pale to ask it of you, but I don’t know where else to turn.”
Vane stood very still for a moment. Carefully, he said, “I am glad you came to me. Undoubtedly, something must be done for the boy. Where is he now?”
“That’s the problem. He’s gone.” Sarah told him of her failure to meet with Maggie and her disappearance.
His brow lowered farther and it was moments before he spoke. Finally, he said, “Leave it in my hands. I’ll find him and see that right is done by the child.”
Sarah exhaled her first easy breath since the conversation began. She had no doubt in his ability to do as he said. Vane was the most competent man she knew. Competent and good. What a sorry shame that he should be tied to a woman like her.
There was silence between them, while she struggled for the courage to voice the longing in her heart. “Please. I would like to see him, if I may. If you do find him.”
Slowly, he nodded. “If that is your wish.”
“Thank you.” Impulsively, she rose and moved to take Vane’s hand in both of hers. “It was outrageous of me to ask you this. I do thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your generosity to an innocent boy.”
He looked down at their clasped hands and a stark expression swept over his face. He lifted his eyes to hers. “Don’t imagine I’m some kind of plaster saint,” he said. “I’m only doing this for you.”
Color flamed to her cheeks and she slid her hand free, stepping back. “Thank you. Whatever the reason. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
Rivers opened the doors into the dining room and announced dinner.
“Ah,” she said. “Let’s go in.” As he held out his hand to assist her to rise, she couldn’t keep the glow from her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered again, and placed her hand in his.
VANE grimaced and brushed the rain off his hat. Mere days after his wedding a man ought to be rolling between the sheets with his new wife, not searching for an urchin through the pitiful, damp streets of east London.
Spring rain was supposed to freshen the landscape, but in this area of town all it seemed to freshen was the ghastly odor of fish. He’d visited Maggie Day’s room and found a new family ensconced there with no trace of the woman left behind, not even a memory in the minds of her neighbors. Many who lived in that building were transient, the rest apathetic, disinterested. Or perhaps they did know something but weren’t about to spill their guts to a gent like him.
The caretaker of that tumbling wreck claimed not to know where Maggie had gone. Owed him rent, too, he insisted with a scowl. He didn’t know anything about a boy, but she’d probably kept him quiet, not wanting to pay for an extra body. Vane left with nothing more than disgust at Brinsley’s improvidence and anger that Sarah should have been obliged to visit such a place.
Not for the first time, Vane wondered what the hell Sarah had been about, getting herself shackled to Brinsley Cole. She was an intelligent woman. How could she have failed to see the rot that lurked beneath the handsome façade?
He was furious with her for showing such poor judgment, he realized, had been furious with her for years. That she’d submitted to Brinsley’s foul treatment all that time without seeking a formal separation was inconceivable. Intolerable. And yet, had she found someone steady and kind to marry in those years before Vane met her, he wouldn’t have her now.
But he would almost have forgone this chance with her if he’d never had to see the pain in her eyes that evening when she told him about Brinsley’s love child. He didn’t doubt the boy had been conceived while they were married, nor that Brinsley had maliciously flung the affair in her face, knowing how his betrayal must hurt her.
Perhaps she’d longed for a child of her own. Hearing of her husband’s creating a babe with someone else—what a cruel blow that must have been. He devoutly hoped Brinsley was roasting in the hottest fires of hell for that piece of arrant cruelty.
How had her parents accepted this match? They should have seen what the young, impressionable Sarah had not. Straghan was a man of the world and a powerful one. Why had he given his daughter to such a blackguard? The countess was no fool, and it was clear she detested her late son-in-law. Why hadn’t they put a stop to it?
Vane sighed. He could do little more himself to find the boy. He wasn’t familiar with the rookeries and doss-houses where a woman and a small boy might hide themselves, but he knew someone who was.
Vane visited Finch at the fight club and gave him directions to take up the search. Finch had friends in every stratum of society. If anyone could find the boy, Finch could.
The signs didn’t look auspicious, though. In a place like London, it was far too easy for a woman like Maggie to disappear.
Sixteen
SARAH sat at her dressing table clad in her night rail and wrapper, rubbing a cream she’d prepared from goose grease and beeswax and rose oil into her damaged palms. She tended to her hands every morning and night in a ritual that was both restorative and a poignant reminder of her former existence. She didn’t know if the cream would ever erase the scars of the past, but at least it made her skin softer, smoothed the rough patches away.
She glanced at the clock as she drew cotton gloves over her hands to protect the bed linen from the lotion on her hands. It was late and Vane still hadn’t come home. She’d asked to accompany him on his search for Tom, but he’d refused to take her, saying she’d only get in the way. Given her previous experience, she didn’t doubt that was true, so she’d agreed to remain behind. He’d promised to send for her if his search bore fruit.
But he’d been a very long time and it had been raining in sheets all afternoon. He would be cold and wet and hungry. Besides ordering her staff to be ready with a meal and a hot bath upon his return, Sarah had no means of easing his discomfort. Shame flooded her at the task she’d set him, all the trouble she’d given.
Judge a man by his actions, her mother had told her. All that Vane had done in recent weeks showed him to be an honorable man. Even that first night she’d come to his house, he’d tried to
conduct their interview in less charged surroundings. He hadn’t touched her until she broke down. And when she’d treated him cruelly, he’d still insisted on protecting her. His behavior since had been exemplary.
Her mind turned over his conduct, then contrasted it with her own. Her cruelty, the lies she’d dealt him. The pain she’d caused.
He’d given her everything, in spite of it. All he wanted in return, all he’d ever asked, was that she share his bed. How could she continue to refuse him? Regardless of what it cost her, how could she fail to repay him for the bounty he’d given her?
Pure, cold terror squeezed her heart.
Images of herself in Vane’s bed that fateful evening returned, images that would be forever entwined with visions of Brinsley on that couch, covered in blood.
She had betrayed Brinsley, and in that betrayal, she’d shown herself to be no better than he was. A weak, lustful individual with neither restraint nor self-respect. Looking back, she couldn’t believe that she’d forsaken her principles, the rules she’d lived by for ten years, in exchange for one night of passion. Believing Vane had paid for her to service him like a whore.
She’d given herself to him anyway, body and soul. But in the morning, she’d reclaimed them both. Or thought she had. She hadn’t counted on leaving a little piece of her heart behind.
Vane had been right; she’d shown the worst possible taste and lack of judgment in marrying Brinsley Cole. She’d seen that soon enough, but far too late to do anything but endure. And she’d taken perverse pride in her endurance, hadn’t she? Anything he’d thrown at her, she’d deflected with cool derision. Until at last he found a vital weakness and exploited it to the fullest.
She burned with anger at that final twist of the knife. Yet guilt and shame left her no choice but to refuse the happiness Vane offered her. How could she rebuild her pride if she weakened before Vane?
Her thoughts were tangled with violent emotion. All she knew was that if she let Vane become her lover in truth as well as her husband, she’d no longer call her soul her own. He would own her as surely as if he’d bought and paid for her all those nights ago.
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