And the feel of him, so smooth and warm and strong and hard, made her insides soften and rush with heat. She’d wanted to give him the gift of her complete surrender. Yet, in the pleasure she gave him she felt more powerful than ever before. And when he quickened and pulled away from her with a hoarse groan of completion, she felt victorious, exultant.
As his shudders subsided, she pressed her face into his taut belly and ran her hands over his buttocks. The skin there was soft and damp and burning hot. She placed a kiss on his hip bone as he continued to tremble, panting as if he’d run many miles.
Finally, his hand touched her shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She looked up. “I wanted to.” A hard knot in her chest held her silent when she ought to have said more.
This time, when he raised her, she made no demur. He folded her in his arms and kissed her as if it were the last time, as if the world had fallen away and it was just the two of them, standing on a precipice, ready to throw themselves into the void.
She was scared of that unknown future. Terrified. But if he was with her, somehow, she would find the courage to face it.
She took the first step and flung herself into space. “I love you, Vane.” She whispered it against his lips. “So much that it frightens me.”
He tensed and held utterly still. She stopped nuzzling his jaw and looked up. “What is it?” Please don’t say you’ve reconsidered. Please say you love me, too.
She almost begged him out loud. She wasn’t altogether sure she wouldn’t beg, if it came to that.
“I’ve waited so long for you to say that,” he breathed, smoothing her hair from her forehead, searching her face. “It makes it that much harder, that much more imperative to confess I haven’t been honest with you.”
No! She didn’t believe it. Sarah almost swayed, the sensation of falling was so acute. His hands steadied her. His dark gaze entreated her to listen, to understand.
Disappointment and terror and a familiar, anticipatory rage swirled low in her stomach. “Tell me. Tell me now. What is it? What have you done?”
Gently, he disengaged from her. “Let me get something on first.”
Cold and shivering, Sarah clutched the damp folds of her silk peignoir closer. She’d come to him naked underneath, ready to surrender her body as well as her heart to him, ready to give him everything he wanted to take.
Now, he would confess his betrayal. That he had betrayed her, she didn’t doubt from the look on his face. Why had she gone onto her knees to him?
As Vane walked back from his dressing room, pulling on his dressing gown, ice enveloped Sarah like a shroud. Her heart was breaking into tiny pieces, but that didn’t mean she’d let him see it. She would hold her head up high and take this blow on the chin.
And then never, ever lay herself open to him like that again.
This is Vane, a voice inside her said. Not Brinsley. Vane was good, decent, honest. This revelation could not be so very bad. She couldn’t make such an error in judgment again, not after paying so dearly for her first mistake.
But he looked grave as death and she couldn’t afford to weaken. She’d abased herself before him, she’d given him her trust, spoken the words she’d vowed never to say. And now he would tell her how unworthy he was to receive these gifts. She wanted to be strong, to gather her pride around her, but her pride seemed a threadbare cloak this night.
“Will you sit down?”
Sarah shook her head. She wanted to get this over with quickly, and standing made her feel stronger. She would need to be strong for this. Her hands gripped together so tightly, she thought her bones might crack but she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t seem to make them relax.
“All right.” Vane cleared his throat a little, and ran a hand through his damp hair. He stared into space, as if bringing the past into his mind’s eye. “On the night Brinsley died, he offered me a bargain: one night with you in exchange for ten thousand pounds. As you know, I did not accept it.” He paused. “I did, however, offer Brinsley an alternative.”
Sarah couldn’t restrain a surprised gasp.
Vane’s eyes flickered, held hers. Then he looked away again, his jaw set. “I said I would pay him five thousand pounds immediately and make him a yearly allowance on top of that on the proviso that he left England and never saw you or contacted you again.”
All of the blood left Sarah’s head in a sickening rush. Sheer will kept her upright, though she had to steady herself with one hand on the chair beside her. “You would have paid my husband to desert me?”
He threw out a hand in a frustrated gesture. “Believe me, if I’d seen any other alternative, I would have taken it. But he threatened you, threatened to hurt you if I didn’t agree to his scheme. I didn’t doubt he meant to make your life intolerable, more so than it already was. I gave him a bank draft for five thousand pounds, but the draft went missing that night. As soon as I’d seen you, I searched your rooms but it was gone. It wasn’t on Brinsley’s person. It’s my guess that whoever killed Brinsley has the draft.”
“What made you decide to tell me now?” Sarah was amazed at how calmly she spoke. “Is it because you haven’t been able to recover the incriminating document, is that it?”
Vane sighed. “I won’t lie to you. I thought—hoped—I wouldn’t be obliged to tell you. But once I’d demanded that you confront your feelings for Brinsley honestly, it seemed unfair of me to keep the truth from you.”
Sarah tried to think rationally, calmly, over the faint buzz in her ears. Her throat felt sore, her chest tight. She’d never in her life longed so much for a quiet corner in which she might burst into tears. A fine time to give her honesty—after she’d gone on her knees to him, after she’d told him of her love. Irrevocably committed herself to him, body and soul.
Could she believe him? Deliberately, calmly, she said, “A cynical person might accuse you of fabricating this story to explain the existence of the bank draft. You are worried that whoever has it will come to me with this evidence of conspiracy between you and Brinsley and that I would think the worst: that you did pay for my services that night. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes. I’ll admit, I was afraid you’d leap to the wrong conclusion. But I’m telling the truth, damn it.” He threw up a hand in a frustrated gesture. “After all we’ve been to each other, how can you doubt me?”
When she didn’t answer, he muttered a curse beneath his breath. “If you refuse to trust this so-called love you have for me, just think about it logically, Sarah. Why would I pay for a night with you and not come immediately to claim you? Do you think I could have waited five minutes, much less a day or more? Do you think I would have allowed Brinsley to poison your mind first? Do you think, if I had paid for you, I would have insisted you await me in my drawing room when you came to my house? None of that makes sense. If you hadn’t been so distraught, you might have seen that at the time.”
He made it so easy to believe. A hard voice inside her whispered that they always sounded so reasonable when they lied and used your love to make you doubt your instincts and your intellect. “I don’t see that paying my husband to run out on me was in my interests, either. Did you think to step into his shoes when he was gone?”
He sucked in a breath, as if she’d winded him. “My one thought was to protect you. It was the only way I could see to stop him. If I’d considered beyond that, I would have expected you’d return to your family.”
Everything was awry. She couldn’t trust him; she couldn’t trust her own judgment. Her head pounded viciously and she felt bone-weary, sick to her stomach. Too raw to do battle with him over this.
She touched her fingertips to her temple and whispered, “I can’t talk about it. I need to think.” She hugged herself against the insidious cold. “I-I can’t think with you near.”
He turned away from her and braced his hands on the writing table at the window, his head bowed in a gesture of forbearance, or perhaps it signaled defeat.
The temptation to go to him tugged at her. She truly hated to see him like this and know that she was the cause, yet she simply could not bring herself to weaken. There’d been too many times in the past when she’d accepted excuses and made them on Brinsley’s behalf, all for the love she bore him. He’d wielded her love like a weapon against her, finally forging it into hate.
Yes, she’d loved Brinsley. Hated him, too. And that hate had turned her into a hateful woman. A hard woman, who didn’t know how to love someone as good and noble as Vane.
The truth was, she believed Vane about the bank draft. It was just the kind of forceful, protective, interfering thing the man she’d grown to love would do. She believed he loved her as much as any man could. She knew she loved him. Why, then, was it so hard, so very hard, to let down her defenses, to let him in?
“Sarah.” His low voice made a chord of longing vibrate inside her. “I would have given my life to spare you pain. What would you have done in my place? He was going to hurt you.”
“He wouldn’t have hurt me. Not physically.” There were so many other ways. . . .
“How was I to know that, Sarah? How could I take the chance? God knows I never expected him to be greedy enough to take the money I offered him and still try to coerce you into spending the night with me. He must have reconsidered leaving.”
“Perhaps he never meant to leave. He loved me, Vane. In a perverted, selfish way, he loved me. I realize now that’s why he wanted so much to hurt me that night. He’d seen us together, sensed what we felt for one another.”
Her throat was parched and aching. Her voice rasped. “He said he’d made a mess of things. We both did, I suppose.”
Vane simply looked at her and held out his hand. “Are you willing to try again with me, Sarah?”
Well, here was the choice. She could take Vane at his word, trust him, and step out into the void. Trust was like that. You risked everything you had, everything you were for love. She imagined herself with Vane, loving him with a whole, trusting heart, and shuddered with fear and longing.
But mostly fear.
Her head told her Vane would never betray her the way Brinsley had. He was too good, too honorable. Even knowing he’d hidden the truth about the bank draft from her, she believed that. She believed he’d acted in her best interests all along.
Yet, her heart could not make that final leap. She’d thought it could. She’d thought all was resolved. But one small reversal, one setback, and her heart was doubting again.
WHEN Vane went down to breakfast the following morning, the butler handed him a letter. “The messenger said it was urgent, my lord.”
Vane ripped open the letter and despite himself, his heart sank. “He’s found him. He’s found the boy.”
He didn’t hesitate, but immediately ran up the stairs to Sarah’s bedchamber. With a crooked finger, he tapped one knuckle on the door and walked in.
She sat on the window seat looking out at a fine new day. Her hair rippled down over her shoulders, the way he loved. She was wearing a prosaic linen nightgown, not one of the sheer silk and lace garments he’d bought her. That, as much as the slight stiffening of her body when she heard him enter, told him she didn’t want his touch.
He cleared his throat. “Apologies for disturbing you, but I thought you’d want to know. Word has come from Finch. He’s found Tom.”
Her head snapped around, surprise and relief and pleasure breaking over the pallor of her face like sunlight on snow. Her eyes seemed very deep and green.
She started up and rushed toward him, snatching the letter he handed her and smoothing the edges. Vane watched the flicker of her thick dark lashes as she scanned the note. “He says Tom is in good health and spirits.” A hand went to her breast. “Oh, that is wonderful news! Finch has more information and asks if he might call on us at ten. Well, of course he might! What was he about, to delay? Vane, tell him to come at once.”
Pain sliced through his chest at her glowing looks for a boy she hadn’t even met.
“You will eat first,” he said. “The boy will not evaporate if you delay to break your fast.”
She looked at him closely then and a shadow fell over her face, perhaps as she recalled the previous night. “Yes, of course. You are right.” She glanced at the door. Clearly, she couldn’t wait to be rid of him. She wouldn’t invite him to assist her to dress in place of her abigail. He was not forgiven.
She crossed to the bellpull and rang for her maid, then stood by her dressing table and fiddled with the little silver-topped pots there.
“Are we going to speak of last night?” he said eventually.
A rush of breath. “I-I can’t think about it now.”
I have more important things to do.
The words, unspoken, hung between them. Even as he knew she was pushing him out, perhaps unwittingly using the boy as a shield to protect herself, jealousy surged within him.
It made him say, “You know from Finch’s letter the boy is happy and cared for. Surely that is an end to it.”
She turned, wide-eyed with surprise, a glint of disappointment in those brilliant depths. “Do you think I would search for him this long without seeing for myself that he is happy? I mean to go there, of course. I mean to bring him back.”
Vane’s brows slammed together. “You will do no such thing.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I’ve gone along with your quest until now, my lady, but this is the end of it. You were concerned for the child’s welfare—we both were. But he is no kin of yours. You wouldn’t even know of his existence if Brinsley had done the decent thing.” He rolled his eyes. “What am I saying? If Brinsley had done the decent thing, the boy wouldn’t exist.”
“I have more responsibility toward him than some unknown people in St. Alban’s!”
“Unknown? He’s been living with them for ten years! Sarah, if Brinsley, his father, saw fit to give the boy into the care of these people, if he is being fed and housed and treated well as Finch writes that he is, then you have nothing more to do.” He set his jaw. “Let it go, ma’am. I was willing to mount a search. . . . Damn it, I was willing to provide for the boy, if necessary, much as it stuck in my gullet to do so. But it’s not necessary. He is safe and well. Let him be.”
“He belongs with his family.” Folding her arms, she turned her back on him to stare out the window.
All of the pain and fury boiled inside him like lava in a volcano, ready to erupt. “You’re not his family,” he said, dangerously quiet. “He is the child of the woman your husband betrayed you with. And what if he is perfectly happy where he is? Are you going to step in and tell him the truth of his origins, take him away with you? What will that achieve? Is that something he will want or something you do purely for yourself?”
Her back stiffened, then her shoulders heaved with suppressed emotion.
Reaching out, he gripped her by the arm and jerked her around to face him. “You keep chasing after love from people who are never going to give it to you, and ignoring the ones who already do.”
When she bowed her head, he took her chin and forced it up so that her eyes locked on his, hurting, defiant. “I am here, Sarah. I’m right here. But I won’t be forever. Do you want us to go our separate ways now? Think carefully about your answer. Because I’m not going to wait for you while you chase after that boy.” He forced out the words. “I never thought I’d say it, but I’ve finally had enough.”
The planes of her face seemed to harden, and her lips grew white. “I’m going to find him. You will not deter me from that resolve. After all I’ve done, I can’t give him up now. I wonder that you’d think I could. You ought to know your jealous ultimatums won’t work with me. You ought to know that child’s needs come first.”
“His needs or yours?”
There was a shocked silence. It seemed to stretch for minutes, and Vane had the sensation of falling. Falling, without even the hope of landing on solid ground.
He waited for an etern
ity for her to retract the words, to tell him he was right, or at least to suggest a compromise. But nothing came. She was more afraid than he’d suspected, then. More distant than he’d known. Colder, too, if she could so easily turn her back on all they’d been to one another, all they’d become.
But he couldn’t see the profit in running after her while she chased this impossible dream of love. It hurt him inex pressibly that she sought another man’s child when he could not give her one. In all, there was only so much battering a heart could take before it gave up the fight. His was nearly counted out.
Finally, he said, “Very well. I’ll draw up the terms of our separation. You won’t find me ungenerous, I hope.”
“Vane, don’t—”
“I must go,” he said brusquely. “I’m late for an appointment.”
“Vane!”
He never knew how he managed to walk across that room and get himself out the door.
VANE. What had she done? Sarah was still trembling with horror and fear as she tried desperately to concentrate on the facts Finch laid before her. He’d traced one Polly Lawson all the way to York and back and finally discovered her in St. Alban’s of all places, still employed as nanny to the younger children of the Martins, who’d taken in Brinsley’s son all those years ago.
“I watched the family for a couple of days, my lady, going to church and playing in the garden. I picked up all the gossip I could and it seems to me they’s a nice, middle-class family. Happy as larks, they are. Don’t treat young Tom any different from the rest of the brood. One thing I found out from that Polly, though. It wasn’t Mr. Brinsley Cole who placed Tom and Polly with the Martins. It were Mr. Peter Cole.”
The shock of it snapped her out of her daze. “Peter,” Sarah breathed. All this time, he’d known.
Anger swirled in her chest, hot and stinging like a desert storm. She thanked Finch for his efforts and dismissed him, then made ready to set out for the Coles’. She would give Peter Cole the trimming of his life for this! How dared he lie to her, send her on a wild-goose chase? Letting her think the worst, when all the while Tom had led a perfectly respectable life in St. Alban’s, of all places!
Wicked Little Game Page 27