Peter’s story did bear the ring of truth, however, particularly the part about begging Brinsley to support him. Well, Brinsley was dead now, but no doubt a diligent investigation would support or disprove Peter’s insistence that he’d been absent at the time the child was conceived. On the whole, Vane thought he did believe Peter, but he wasn’t going to commit himself either way until he had proof.
His companion blew out a frustrated breath. “Listen, Vane. No matter what you think of me, you must believe me when I tell you that my sister is unhinged. She is dangerous. My God, do you know how she stopped me coming after them? She drugged my tea. Having that child, the disgrace of it, the pain, the protracted illness afterward—I think it affected her brain. She tried to kill the babe soon after he was born. I had to take him away.”
“You knew Maggie Day, then.”
Peter nodded. “Brinsley found her for me. Said he’d make sure she kept her mouth shut. And she did, until he died.” Peter gave a grimace of disgust. “She came to see me at Brinsley’s funeral. Told me Sarah had barked up the wrong tree and thought the child was Brinsley’s, and Maggie had played along. Maggie wanted me to pay her to keep her mouth shut.” Bitterly, he said, “I had to pawn some family heirlooms, but I paid her.”
Vane frowned. So that was it. That’s where he’d seen the woman before. At the graveside with Peter.
There was a pause. “I fear Jenny is going to St. Alban’s because she means to harm the boy.”
Vane sucked in a breath as the truth slammed into him. “She killed Brinsley, not you.”
Peter bowed his head and said nothing. It was admission enough.
Finally, in a low, trembling voice, he spoke. “I went there that night. I thought I knew where she’d gone. She’d found out about Brinsley blackmailing me. He’d bled me until I had nothing more to give, and then he asked me to feed him State secrets instead.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do it. I could pay him money, but I could not betray those I worked for, or my country. I was so distraught, I made the mistake of confiding in Jenny.”
“And she decided to remove the threat, once and for all.”
“Yes.” Peter’s mouth worked and he blinked rapidly as if he tasted something bitter. “I was there, you know, earlier that night. Jenny went missing and I thought I knew where she’d gone. She must have given me the slip or gone somewhere else first, I don’t know. When I knocked on Brinsley’s door, there was no answer. I thought I must have been mistaken. But it seems she came back later when Sarah wasn’t there.”
“That would explain why Brinsley didn’t name his murderer,” said Vane. “He must have retained that much family feeling, at least. But tell me, why are you so certain it was your sister who killed him? Do you have proof?”
Peter shook his head. “There is no proof. I made sure of that. Nothing exists that would link my sister to Brinsley’s death. There is only her confession to me, which I will deny if anyone asks.”
Vane looked at him sharply. “If what you say is true, your sister is deranged and a murderer as well. You must think what is to be done with her now. She cannot be allowed to go on this way, you know that.”
Peter stared, unseeing at the road ahead. “She is obsessed with me. She tries to portray me to the world as her jailer, but it is more the other way around. I cannot court any woman for fear of what she’ll do. I think she only took up with that unknown blackguard to spite me. Then she blamed the child that came from the liaison for my rejection of her. She still does. I think she believes that if she can eliminate the boy, she will have me.”
Revulsion shivered down Vane’s spine as he drove his horses at breakneck speed. He hoped Sarah would stay out of the woman’s way but he knew the hope was futile. She wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t fight.
He prayed to God she’d win.
THE boy was outside, playing soldiers under an apple tree laden with blossom. He was fair and slightly chubby and the expression in his soft brown eyes was grave and intent. The game seemed a complicated one, and he muttered to himself as he positioned his tin soldiers around the grassy battlefield.
With an illogical shiver of anticipation, Sarah glanced about as she and Jenny approached. Surely, someone would stop them to ask their business.
But there was no one. Only birdsong and the soft rush of a nearby stream disturbed the silence.
With a growing sense of unease, Sarah glanced sideways at her companion.
And saw the pistol too late.
Terror lent Sarah unprecedented speed. She screamed a warning and tackled Jenny as the shot ripped the peaceful scene apart. Birds exploded from the boughs overhead and flapped madly into the sky, shrieking.
Sarah knocked Jenny sideways with the full force of her body, and they hit the ground, writhing and struggling for the pistol.
“Run!” she screamed at the boy. She thought Jenny’s shot had gone wild but she couldn’t be sure. “Get help, quickly!”
Frantic to overpower Jenny before she could attack again, Sarah didn’t look to see if Tom had obeyed her. She fought tooth and nail to subdue her sister-in-law, but Jenny seemed possessed of a crazed strength and a driving sense of purpose. She didn’t even seem to register pain.
They fought madly, desperately, and Sarah was tiring. She knew she couldn’t win. Her one hope now was to keep Jenny focused on her until help came. The breath flew out of her when Jenny slammed her onto her back, and she whimpered in agony. Jenny struggled to stand, but Sarah dug her fingers into the folds of her gown and held on, desperate to stop her going after Tom.
Muslin ripped as Jenny tore free. She turned and fell on Sarah again, straddling her and pinning both of Sarah’s arms to the ground with her knees.
Satisfaction that her strategy had worked tempered the pain, gave her courage to face whatever came next. She tried to buck and kick but she couldn’t shift her sister-in-law’s weight. Above her, Jenny’s sweet face contorted with rage and madness. Those brown eyes held no pity and no remorse. At that moment, Sarah didn’t doubt her sister-in-law would kill her.
With a shrill, animal cry, Jenny raised the pistol to strike.
Sarah couldn’t get away. All she could do was suffer the blows and hope help came before she lost consciousness, or worse. She braced herself, then jerked her head to the side as the pistol came down. The glancing blow to her temple shot pain through her skull but still she clung on. Surely, Tom must have found aid by now.
She heard a distant shout and a bloodcurdling cry. Another blow made Sarah’s vision blur, sent pain ricocheting down her body. Fading fast, she tasted earth as she was rolled over, her face ground into the dirt.
Footsteps thumping over the turf. Large ones. Vane’s furious roar.
Vane. Thank God.
The world spun away, fading to nothing.
Finally, she let go.
ON the second day, Sarah sat up gingerly in bed. Her headache had receded and she no longer felt dizzy and sick. She stayed in the house where Jenny’s son had grown up. It had been a shock to discover that the boy she’d sought for so long wasn’t named Tom at all, but David. Of course, Maggie had not only lied about the child being with her, she’d lied about his name, too.
It was a pretty cottage, neat and comfortable rather than luxurious. A rambling house, suited to a large family. Dimly, she recalled she’d displaced one of the daughters of the house from this bedchamber. That wouldn’t do.
She must not importune David’s people any longer. She must go home.
Home. Where was that, exactly? Had Vane drawn up that settlement he’d mentioned? She didn’t want to face any of it, but she must contend with it some time. She might as well do so now.
Sarah made an effort to smile as the boy she would always think of as Tom ran into the room and thrust a ragged bunch of spring flowers beneath her nose.
“Oh! Thank you.” She took them and made a show of breathing in their fresh scent.
“Mama made me pick the flowers,” he told her
. “She said to ask if you need anything, ma’am.”
“No, please tell her I am very comfortable. And about to rise from my bed and take myself home, actually. You have all been so kind.”
She would have liked to have talked with him longer, but she saw that young David thought waiting on an invalid very poor sport. She smiled. “Run along and play, now you’ve done your duty.”
Melancholy touched her as she watched him go. She’d keep herself informed of David’s progress, but she wouldn’t tell him who she was, nor reveal his origins to him. He was happy here, as Vane had said. And nothing but sorrow could come from knowing the circumstances of his birth. Perhaps, one day, his adoptive parents would tell him the truth, but that wasn’t for her to do.
Jenny had been taken away and confined under the strict but gentle care of a couple related to the Coles. Sarah was relieved they hadn’t decided to lock the poor wretch away in one of those dreadful asylums. Perhaps if Jenny had succeeded in harming David, Sarah might have thought differently, she wasn’t sure. She still couldn’t comprehend that it was Jenny who had killed Brinsley.
She shivered. She wanted Vane. She wanted to go home.
“Sarah.”
She looked up. “Mama!” Relief and gratitude broke over Sarah like the warmth of the sun, where once she would have been instantly on her guard. She glanced toward the doorway, couldn’t help but ask. “Where is Vane?”
The countess’s gaze lowered. “He’s gone back to town, dear. He asked me to fetch you.”
Sarah’s heart plummeted like a stone. “Oh.” She blinked a few times, then forced her lips to form a smile. “Well, then. Shall we go?”
TWO weeks later, Sarah returned to Vane’s house at a time when she knew he’d be out, engaged in his usual training regime.
Rivers greeted her without the slightest spark of knowledge in his eye. Either the man was very discreet or Vane hadn’t informed his servants their mistress would be leaving them soon.
She found herself strangely reluctant to step over the threshold. Memories, too powerful and poignant to banish, flooded back. She recalled the first time she’d entered this house, so full of righteous indignation, so certain in her fury and pride. He’d undone her with kindness. Even when she believed him guilty of trying to coerce her into his bed, she’d been powerless to resist.
Drawing an unsteady breath, Sarah moved through the entrance hall and up the stairs. On this same staircase, she’d followed him to his bedchamber. Against all sense of propriety, all sense of reason, she’d done what she’d vowed never to do.
As she passed through the masculine sitting room that had been the site of so much tension and yet so many comfortable, cozy evenings, Sarah took one last good look around. This room, more than anything, symbolized who Vane was. Intelligent, forceful, more fully male than any man she’d ever known, yet with the finest sense of honor and restraint. Careful and gentle with her.
Sarah ran her fingertip around the framed print that had embarrassed him when she first arrived. She’d never dreamed that her present situation would come to pass. That one night of folly and boundless passion would end with her married to, but separated from, the Marquis of Vane. It was everything she’d longed for at the beginning of their marriage, everything she’d worked to achieve.
Perhaps, in time, she would relish this separation as much as she’d expected she would. Life would move along at a more even keel without this constant worry and pressure to find a way through the tangle of her feelings. He had been as patient as a man of his temperament could be but she needed more time—a lifetime, perhaps—to unravel her emotions, to live down her guilt.
It was better this way. She would be useful and well cared for. She would want for nothing. She would repay Vane for his care by fulfilling her duties as his chatelaine to the best of her ability. She’d been brought up to this life. She’d no doubt she’d make a good job of it.
As Sarah directed her maid to begin packing, she thought with a pang of John and Edward, those two scamps! If she and Vane truly lived separate lives she wouldn’t see them often, if at all. She would miss the rest of his family, too.
She needed to talk with Vane about more than bare legali ties, set the boundaries, try to work out a compromise. That conversation would be a difficult one. Perhaps she might instead take the coward’s way and write a letter suggesting terms.
Finally satisfied all was in train for her departure, Sarah called for her carriage and donned her bonnet and pelisse.
“I didn’t think you’d come back.”
Sarah’s head jerked up. Her gaze snapped to the doorway, where Vane leaned against the jamb.
“I didn’t think you’d be here,” she said.
Greedily, she drank in the sight of him. Her first impression was that he didn’t look as well turned out as usual, but a closer examination revealed that his clothes were precise as always. The wildness was in his eyes.
She ached to touch him, to smooth the crease between those straight, black brows.
Softly, she said, “I would come back for good if you wished it.” She tried not to sound eager. She tried not to make the words a plea.
When he didn’t reply, she added, “But I had your letter. I returned merely to collect some of my possessions.”
There was another silence. She waited, but when he opened his mouth to speak she forestalled him, frightened of what he might say. “I am driving down to visit David today.”
She didn’t know why she needed to tell him this. In less than a week, her daily movements, her thoughts and dreams would be nothing to Vane. She’d write to him, of course, but she’d confine her reports to matters concerning the estate. And when he visited, he would occupy apartments in a different wing from hers.
They’d be like strangers. That was what she’d wanted.
Yes.
“You are not still thinking of taking him,” said Vane. It was a statement, not a question.
She shook her head. “But I want him to know that if ever he needs me, I will come.”
He nodded, as if she confirmed what he’d thought himself. Did he know her so well, then? When last they’d spoken about the boy, he’d doubted her motives. Made her doubt them as well.
And he’d been right, hadn’t he? She’d painstakingly picked apart the threads of protectiveness and self-interest and plain loneliness that wove through her determination to take David under her own wing. She’d realized her plan would benefit her more than him, and wasn’t that a lowering reflection?
“When will you come down to Bewley?” she heard herself ask.
He glanced away. “I’d thought to escort you down there. Introduce you to the staff. Show you the place.”
So civilized of him. She forced down the hurt. “Thank you. I’d be grateful.”
“We need not be complete strangers.”
Her throat constricted. She could barely speak. “No. Of course we need not.”
“Well, then.” He made a vague gesture encompassing the trunks and bandboxes her maid had packed. “When will you be ready to travel?”
“Tomorrow, I think.” The words scraped her throat. She cleared it with a small cough. “Tomorrow, I should be ready.” She would spend the night at her parents’ house. No sense in enduring more torture like this, having him so close in the dark, lonely reaches of the night.
“I must go,” she said. “I ought not keep the carriage waiting.”
“Of course.” He bowed and stepped back to allow her to pass. She walked by him, felt his heat and the pull of him, too, that magnetic force that always drew her. Compelled herself to resist it and kept on, conscious that those hot dark eyes drilled into her as she walked away.
It took all of her strength, but she didn’t look back.
And then she was walking down the stairs, those same stairs she’d climbed on that first night, rising toward her destiny, where now she descended into cold and lonely hell.
Something snapped, unraveling inside her.
She didn’t want to leave him. She wouldn’t go.
He’d been there, all along. Since they’d first met, he’d been there, waiting for her. And even when she’d finally done the unforgivable and made him wash his hands of her, he’d come for her once more. He had never, not once, let her down. Perhaps, one day he might, even without intending to, but that was what one risked for love, wasn’t it? In this life, there were no guarantees.
What a terrifying thing love was—one risked so much. But when had she become such a coward? Hadn’t she always preferred to accept a challenge, to stand and fight?
She would fight for Vane. It might be too late to win him back. Part of her still cringed away at the thought. But they were married. She had the rest of their lives to convince him to let her stay. If it took that long, she’d keep trying.
She turned on her heel and flew back, up the stairs, through the sitting room, and into his arms. Automatically, Vane closed them around her and kissed her with a passion so violent their teeth clashed. But even as her heart swelled in her breast, he tore his mouth from hers, gripped her upper arms, and set her roughly aside. He flung away from her, pacing to the other side of the room.
The shock of his rejection when she thought he’d forgiven her was like a blow to her chest. She pressed a hand to her ribs, barely able to draw breath into her lungs. Looking into his face, she saw her agony reflected there.
“I can’t,” Vane ground out the words, his hands fisted by his sides. “Don’t come back to me now, when I’ve . . . Sarah, I can’t go through all this again.”
Guilt at the way she’d treated him whipped her like a lash. She wanted to argue and cajole and persuade, but she recognized all too well that he needed to protect himself. She’d done too much damage to him while she’d wrestled with her own demons.
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