She quickly withdrew her hand. “I am very happy, sir. Thank you for asking.”
The cold grey eyes flickered, as if he was surprised at her answer. Smoothly, he said, “Of course you are. Like a cat in a cream pot. Happy as a clam.”
“Christian.” Vane’s tone was a warning.
Christian shrugged and turned away to pour himself a drink.
Sarah willed the flush to recede from her cheeks. She ought not to be surprised at Christian’s opinion of her. To outsiders she must seem like a scheming, designing woman intent on hooking her claws into the most eligible bachelor in the ton. She glanced at Vane and wondered how much Christian knew of the circumstances surrounding their marriage, whether he was aware Vane had been trapped, considered himself honor-bound.
If she were in Christian’s position, she’d be suspicious, too.
The relief that swept through her when dinner was announced spiked to apprehension when Christian was placed on one side of her and Gregory on the other. The vicar disapproved of her, but at least he remained civil. Christian was like a hornet, circling her and stinging until she wished she could swat him with her fan.
But she needed to make peace with Vane’s brothers. That was why she was here. She took a fortifying sip of Burgundy and turned to Gregory. “I met an enchanting young scamp this afternoon,” she said. “Your son, I believe. I took a great liking to him.”
Gregory flushed a little. “I trust he didn’t annoy you.”
“No, the boot was on the other foot entirely, for I imposed upon him to take me fishing. We had a marvelous afternoon by the lake.”
The vicar glanced down the table at Vane. “John sticks to his uncle’s side like a burr whenever he is here.”
Did she detect a note of wistfulness in Greg’s voice? Smoothly, she answered, “I’m not surprised. Uncles are so much fun, aren’t they? They just swoop in and take one on wild adventures without a care for everyday rules of behavior. I expect when you have nephews, they’ll think of you the same way.”
Arrested, Gregory paused with his cutlery in midair. He turned his head to consider her, and she noticed a distinct softening of his expression. “Perhaps.” He smiled. “It would be pleasant to simply enjoy children without having to worry about them all the time.”
“And your wife? What does she say?”
He reached for his wine. “My wife died two years ago.”
“Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t know.” Sarah’s heart sank. What a blunder! She ought to have kept her mouth shut. Why hadn’t Vane warned her?
“It’s quite all right.” There was a gentle dignity about Gregory, which did not invite sympathy. Sarah admired him for it. He sipped his claret, then set it down carefully. “I have two boys without a mother to raise them. I fear for them, my lady, indeed I do.”
“Please, call me Sarah,” she murmured, her heart aching for those little boys, and the sadness she saw in their father’s eyes.
“YOU are. You’re in love with her. I knew it.” Nick’s deep voice was laced with amusement. He drew on his cigarillo and shot smoke upward, coiling into the night.
Vane leaned against the balustrade behind him and finally surrendered to his fate. “Yes.”
“Does she know?”
Vane grimaced and stared up at the stars that sprinkled across the heavens. “I haven’t told her, if that’s what you mean. I’ve only just discovered it myself.”
It was true. Oh, he’d always loved her in some way, ever since that first evening he’d laid eyes on her at a mutual friend’s ball. He’d always found her maddeningly alluring, but the tug he’d experienced had never been confined to his nether regions. He’d never wanted to possess a woman, body and soul, in quite that way before.
But what he felt for her now was so all-encompassing, so profound, it dwarfed that earlier emotion, the longing that had been more than lust but less than true, deep love.
Nick tapped ash over the side of the balcony. “I’d say the feeling’s mutual.”
For one brief, dazzling moment, Vane allowed himself to believe it. Then he shook his head. Sarah’s love would be far too much to hope for just yet. But he was working on it. Her relationship with Brinsley had been a complicated one. He’d hurt her so deeply that she still hadn’t recovered, now he was gone.
If only he could find a way to free her from that sad history. If only the past would die.
Oblivious to Vane’s dark thoughts, Nick went on. “I like the way she looks at you, as if you’re her savior and all her wicked dreams rolled into one. Wish some woman would look at me like that.”
Vane laughed once he’d recovered from the shock of Nick’s description. “They all look at you like that. At least, the wicked dream part.”
Nick gave a leer that turned into a grimace. “Anyway, I like her. I like the way you are with her. I just wanted you to know.”
Absurdly touched, Vane grunted and clapped Nick on the shoulder. Then they lounged in companionable silence, watching the clouds drift over the moon.
Nineteen
VANE paused in the grey dawn light, watching his young brother sleep. Freddie was absurdly sophisticated for his years, but in slumber he looked innocent as a child. Vane watched that blameless slumber with a faint smile on his face. And waited a full minute before he upended the pitcher of water he held over his brother’s head.
Freddie gasped and roared upright with the shock of cold and wet. Still yelling, he shook his head like a dog, then launched himself at Vane. Laughing, Vane caught the human missile and wrestled him to the floor, with the voices of Nick and Gregory chanting and urging in the background.
“Come on, my son!” said Nick, in a fair imitation of Vane’s trainer, Finch. “On your feet, lad! We’re going for a run.”
Freddie groaned, wiping the icy water from his eyes. Blear ily, he pulled on some breeches and tucked his nightshirt into them, cursing his brothers and laughing as he did.
As they trooped downstairs, Vane outlined the course, which all of them knew like the backs of their hands anyway. It always ended at the local King’s Arms, where the men took refreshment after their exertions. Freddie groaned again and protested that no gentleman ought to hare around the place as if the Devil were at his heels.
Gregory ruffled his hair, pushing him along. “It’ll be good for you, boy. Put some spring in your step, get the heart pumping.”
“Papa! Papa! Uncle Vane! Where are you going?” Vane looked up as the small figure of Edward appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes. “Can I come?”
“You’re too little.” John pushed past his brother and ran down, taking a flying leap at Vane’s back.
Vane caught him under the knees and hoisted him onto his shoulders. He eyed Greg, who had stopped a few steps above him and cocked his head toward the small boy who was about to be left at home, too young to join in his elders’ fun.
Greg turned to Edward and held out his arms. Edward gave a whoop that must have woken the household, and skittered down the stairs to launch himself into his father’s embrace. Greg swung him up on his shoulders, remarking it was just as well he was knobbled, for Freddie needed all the help he could get to beat them.
They stomped outside, and the frigid air hit them like a slap in the face. With a few showy poses and stretches and catcalls, they took their marks on the gravel drive in front. Banbury, his dignity unimpaired, dropped the handkerchief, and they were off on their cross-country run.
LATER that morning, Sarah prepared to pay calls in the company of the dowager and Lord Christian. A sense of unreality filled her as she stepped into the carriage, dressed as finely as any lady of her station and with nothing to do this day but make herself agreeable to her neighbors. This was the mode of living she’d abandoned to become Brinsley’s wife. Or part of it. She would be fully occupied managing Vane’s numerous households once their life settled into its normal pattern.
There would be much for her to do once they retired to Bewley for the summer.
She wondered whether she’d find Vane’s principal seat as welcoming as Lyon Park. While it might be more fitting for the family to live at Bewley, she saw what drew them to this house. It was more than a handsome establishment. It was a home.
Sarah foresaw that she and Vane would spend a great part of the year here, too. She’d missed living amongst a large family. And a small corner of her heart rejoiced at having John and Edward to love.
She had not forgotten about Tom, of course. No, she could never forget that unfortunate child. She only hoped to God Finch would find the boy, and soon.
Sarah looked about her as their carriage entered the village. She’d only glimpsed it briefly as they traveled through it on their way to the house. Pretty shops with bow windows lined a wide street, overlooking a green that flowed up to an old Norman church.
The dowager turned to Sarah. “I have some commissions to execute in the village, my dear. Would you like to wait in the carriage or would you prefer to look at the shops? Mrs. Foster always has a wonderful selection of ribbons and lace. Or the church is quite historical, if you like that sort of thing.”
Before Sarah could answer, Christian spoke. “Perhaps a walk on the green. Shall we?”
It would have been rude to refuse, much as Sarah would have preferred to be anywhere but strolling on a patch of bright green grass with Vane’s insolent brother.
She felt as if she were on display. The villagers, naturally curious about their landlord’s new wife, stared at her with unabashed interest as they walked past.
“Are you looking forward to living at Lyon Park, ma’am?”
Surprised, Sarah glanced at him suspiciously. It seemed an innocuous question but she rather thought that very little about Christian could be termed innocuous. She answered, choosing her words with care. “I had not thought we’d make Lyon House our home. We would surely live at Bewley, wouldn’t we? Isn’t that Vane’s principal estate?”
He sent her a sharp look. “Would you?”
“I am not sure. We haven’t spoken of where we would live. But I do love it here and mean to visit often, if your mother does not object.”
“Oh, well done! What a perfectly artless answer.” He halted and gripped her elbow. “But you and I know you are not artless in the least, don’t we, Lady Vane?” He let her go before she could protest at his manhandling. “I want you to know something. Vane might be blinded by your obvious charms, but I see you for what you are.”
Warmth drained from Sarah’s face. “You know nothing about me.”
Between his teeth, Christian snarled. “Then let us review the history of your association with my brother, shall we?”
Her hands began to tremble, but she would not retreat from this battle. She gripped them together and faced him squarely. “No, I don’t wish to do that. Whatever conclusions you have drawn, you are wrong. I never sought to trap your brother into marriage. I cannot expect you to believe that, I suppose, but it’s true.” She drew a deep breath. “I do not say, however, that he was right to marry me. I do not say that I am good for him.”
The change of his expression to arrested interest made her stumble on. “He believes I am the woman who can make him happy, so he forced this marriage. I think . . . I think he is happy now, but I worry that it is an illusion. I cannot trust it, most especially because . . . I am very nearly happy, too.” And why should she tell Christian this, of all people?
There was a long silence. Then Christian muttered something and proffered her a handkerchief. She waved it away. “I am not crying.” But her eyes had blurred. She blinked to clear them and took a deep breath.
When she looked up, Christian was staring off into the distance, his eyes calculating. “This might very well be a performance for my benefit. But I don’t think so.” He glanced down at her. “No. I do not think so.”
Her cheeks flamed as anger took hold. “Think what you like. I’m going back to the carriage.”
With her spine very straight, she stalked across the green toward the awaiting vehicle. As she approached, sounds of an altercation carried to her from across the street and a small boy’s voice rose above the rest in protest. She looked beyond the carriage and saw a familiar curly black head, apparently defending his honor and a bag of sweets from two older boys.
“Edward!”
The poor little fellow was putting up a gallant fight, apple cheeks rosy, his mouth set in a grimace of pain and determination. He was just a baby, only five, but he wanted to do everything his elder brother did. Fisticuffs were natural between boys, of course, but two against one was not fair. As Sarah started forward, she realized that one of the older boys was John.
She heard a deep shout and turned to see Vane striding down the street toward the small group, a look of thunder on his face. He was dressed only in his shirtsleeves and breeches and appeared even larger and more formidable than usual.
She switched her attention to the boys, who had stopped immediately when they saw who accosted them. Vane made a gesture that sent the third boy running, then turned to his nephews.
Sarah hurried across the street, dodging a farmer’s cart and a rattling gig before she gained the pavement that ran along the row of shops.
By the time she reached them, John was in tears and his brother white-faced.
But Vane’s tone never rose above a murmur and when she’d finally caught up to them he’d finished the short speech. Whatever he said, it had reduced both boys to silence, punctuated by John’s sniffles.
Sarah put a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. “Vane.”
At the word, he turned, and his severe expression lightened a little. How glad that subtle change would have made her under normal circumstances.
“What’s amiss here?” she said.
Vane looked from one brother to the other. “A matter between men.” He raised his brows at John and said in a biting tone, “I trust we understand one another?”
John nodded. There was no glimmer of the bright, happy boy of the day before. “Yes, sir.”
“Go. And take your brother with you. I shall see you in the library this afternoon.”
The boys moved off sluggishly, heads hanging.
Vane looked down at Sarah, then at himself. “Forgive me.” He rubbed a hand over his bare head.
“Training?” she said, smiling faintly.
“Uh, no. A race.”
“Need I ask who won?”
His lips quirked upward and he bowed.
She went to take his arm, but he stepped back. “I am not fit company at the moment. I must stink to high heaven.”
“Not at all,” she answered. “Or at least, whatever scent you give off is one I like.”
He grunted, clearly bemused, and she took his arm while he hesitated.
As they walked, she said, “I never told you how much I admired you that first night, did I? There’s something so thrill ingly primitive about seeing a man fight. I can’t explain it.”
She didn’t look at him, but she felt his astonishment. “Little Edward gave a fair account of himself just now,” she went on. “You would have been proud of the way he weighed in.”
“He weighed in?”
“Why yes. John and that village boy were fighting over a bag of sweets, then Edward joined the fray and somehow came up trumps. Then of course, the larger boys started on him. Which wasn’t right, but I’ve noticed even the best of men lose perspective once a melee is in progress.”
She stole a look at Vane. He seemed surprised, but then his mouth thinned. “Still, it was an unfair fight. Whatever the circumstances, John should not have—”
“Of course not,” she said soothingly. “No doubt his papa will punish him for it.”
Vane said nothing, but she could tell she’d disconcerted him.
“Of course you’ll let Gregory deal with it, won’t you, Vane?” She said it as if confident he would do just that. “He is their father, after all.”
She turned the conversation to other subjects, al
lowing her final words to sink in. Vane strolled with her to where Christian awaited them, having watched the scene from a distance.
Curtly, Vane bowed. “I’m not fit for paying calls, so I’ll see you back at the house.”
Sarah bade him farewell and turned to Christian.
“Mama has been delayed,” he said. “She cannot decide between two shades of ribbon that look to me precisely the same. Would you care to join her?”
Sarah shook her head. “No, but I wish you will tell me something. Why was Vane so irate at that little scene?”
Christian’s eyes sharpened, but he gave a small shrug. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“I suppose I will,” she said. “Eventually, when the time is right. But you know, don’t you? And I suspect it would be less painful for him if you told me the story.”
“Why do you want to know? Do you think the information will give you the upper hand?”
Sarah gasped. “You are the most cynical, detestable man! I can scarcely believe the two of you are brothers.”
Christian gave a smile that wasn’t wholly unpleasant. “You are right, that was uncalled for. Well, I suppose one of them will tell you, so I might as well. You have seen how my mother is, the most affectionate creature. When my father died, she was grief-stricken and lonely, and a blackguard of the first order called Horrigan wriggled his way into her good graces. She married him. And he made her life hell.”
Christian’s features harshened, if that were possible. “We were too young to stop it and none of the servants dared. Then one day, Vane—he was only ten years old, you know—loaded one of our father’s shotguns. He said if Horrigan didn’t leave Mama be, he would shoot him.
“Well, Horrigan laughed and kept laying into her, and Vane pulled the trigger. Only the powder was wet or he hadn’t loaded it properly, so the gun didn’t fire. Horrigan came for Vane then, took the gun, and beat him to within an inch of his life. I didn’t see all this, but I heard about it. That was when Mama finally applied to one of our kinsmen for help. He ran Horrigan off the estate, and we didn’t hear from him again until we received notice of his death three years later.”
Wicked Little Game Page 24