His Sinful Touch

by Candace Camp

  “The point is...Sabrina and Miss Holcutt can sit there and see everything that transpires, and the Dearborns will never know you’re there,” Alex told her.

  “Very well.” Sabrina nodded, giving in.

  “Good. Then, Con, if you will escort the ladies to the viewing room, we can begin the show.”

  * * *

  SABRINA FOLLOWED ALEX’S twin down the hall, thinking guiltily that she should have insisted on being present at the meeting; no doubt someone like Megan or Kyria would have. But the truth was, she dreaded having to face the Dearborns, that little nasty feeling twisting through her as it had last night, the helpless awareness that she could not remember who they were or whether they were telling her the truth.

  Unexpectedly, oddly, she remembered the dream she had tried so hard earlier to recall. Peter Dearborn had been in it. They had been standing together, and she had felt woozy and sick. It was hazy and vague and receding from her mind as suddenly as it had come. Holding on to the memory was like grabbing at fog.

  Was this a memory from her past? Had it slipped into her mind when she was asleep? Or had she just dreamed about Peter because she had seen him last night? Whatever the reason, the thought of it brought a sick feeling to her stomach again. She swallowed hard and struggled to pay attention to Con and Lilah, who were walking in front of her and bickering.

  Sabrina had the suspicion that bickering was the form of any conversation between Con and Lilah. She wondered if it would always be like this whenever Lilah and Con were with them. She realized, with a shock, that she was thinking of Alex and herself as being together. Having a future.

  That was foolish. Beyond foolish. She was grateful when they reached their destination, distracting her from her wayward thoughts.

  “This is it,” Con said in a low voice. “You’ll have to be quiet, for they will be able to hear you as well as you can hear them.”

  He opened the door onto a small windowless room, dark except for the light filtering in through an intricate wooden screen on the opposite wall. It was easy to be quiet here, for there was a hushed, secretive quality about the place. Con led them to the screen, where a narrow wooden chair sat.

  Con bent down and peered through the screen. “Good,” he said, still in a soft voice. “Phipps hasn’t put them in here yet. He will soon, though, so...” He held up his finger to his lips.

  “We understand,” Lilah assured him.

  “Mmm. I just wasn’t sure if you were able to refrain from talking.” He grinned at Lilah’s glare and crossed the room to pick up another chair and set it down beside the screen.

  With a final wink, he left the room, and the two women sat down to wait. Nerves danced in Sabrina’s stomach. The very silence of the room was oppressive, so that when the door finally opened in the neighboring room, the crack made Sabrina jump. She and Lilah glanced at each other, then leaned forward to peer through the screen.

  Niles and Peter Dearborn walked into the room and looked around them. Sabrina froze as Peter’s eyes turned toward her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  SABRINA COULDN’T BREATHE, her heart pounding—she was certain that Peter had seen her. But his gaze slid past the spot where she sat, and he turned, taking in the rest of the room.

  “Good God,” he said. “Damned gloomy place, isn’t it? Look at that old chap above the mantel. He looks like he could eat your liver for lunch.”

  “Sit down, Peter, and stop fantasizing.” Mr. Dearborn dropped into one of the stiff chairs. “No doubt they hope to intimidate us by making us wait.”

  Peter perched on the sofa at right angles to his father. They waited. Niles Dearborn shifted in his chair. After a moment, Peter got up and began to pace about.

  Sabrina watched, her nerves dying down under the weight of her increasing boredom. Peter’s nerves, on the other hand, seemed to be growing worse. It was no wonder Alex had put the men in this room; the place fairly reeked of power and privilege long held—it was huge and ornate, furnished in heavy, dark Jacobean furniture. The fireplace was massive, and though she could not clearly see the portrait of “the first duke,” which seemed to prey on Peter’s nerves, the black walnut paneling on either side of the fireplace was forbidding enough. Intricately carved with all sorts of animals and figures, the paneling was undeniably beautiful, but equally overwhelming.

  Peter finally stopped at the mantel, propping his elbow on it in a pose of casual ease. The picture was spoiled, however, by the way he kept shifting and glancing around, running a finger beneath the edge of his ascot.

  Sabrina, watching him, felt strangely woozy, her stomach twisting within her. Another remnant of her dream last night crept into her brain. Peter had been acting the same way, nervous and jumpy, his forehead damp with sweat. She closed her eyes, her hand going to her stomach. She could feel the wool of Peter’s jacket as, dizzy and disoriented, Sabrina leaned against his arm. Another man was there, too; she could hear him droning on and on, though the words did not penetrate the fog in her brain.

  Where were they? Was this scene real, an actual memory? She felt as if her breakfast might come back up at any moment. Lilah put her hand on Sabrina’s arm, pressing lightly. Sabrina looked up to see her friend staring at her in concern.

  Lilah mouthed, Are you ill?

  Sabrina shook her head. The vision had faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind only a faint nausea and a lingering uneasiness.

  Peter moved from the fireplace to the window, then back again. Stretching his arm out on the mantel, he began to drum his fingers. At last his father snapped, “Peter, do stop that noise.”

  “Where the devil are they? We’ve been here twenty minutes at least.”

  “Yes, well, just possess yourself in—” Mr. Dearborn jumped up as the butler entered the room, followed by the Duke of Broughton.

  “His Grace, the Duke of Broughton,” Phipps intoned, as if announcing the queen.

  The duke glanced about vaguely in his usual way, and Dearborn stepped forward and bowed. “Your Grace.”

  Broughton peered at him and said mildly, “Hello. Do I know you?”

  “My name is Niles Dearborn, Your Grace, and it’s an honor to meet you. Pray allow me to introduce my son, Peter Dearborn.”

  “Yes, very nice, I’m sure.” The duke waved toward the chairs. “Do sit. Now, Phipps said this was important. You’re here about some artifacts, are you?”

  “Artifacts?” Dearborn looked blank, glancing at his son. “I don’t understand.”

  Broughton smiled in a kindly way. “I must warn you that I am interested only in ancient Greco-Roman matters. Not anything more recent or Egyptian—though, of course, that’s terribly important as well, just not my area, you see.”

  The Dearborns gaped at him.

  “I don’t think they’re here about artifacts, Father,” Alex said, strolling into the room, followed by Theo, Megan and Con. Surprisingly, even Uncle Bellard shuffled into the room behind them. “I believe they’re here to try to take Miss Blair, isn’t that right, gentlemen?”

  “Miss Blair?” The duke looked confused. “Who—”

  “Sabrina, Father,” Theo explained.

  “Oh, Sabrina! Yes, lovely girl. Now, she has a real appreciation for history.” The duke beamed. “Isn’t that right, Uncle Bellard?”

  “Yes, indeed.” The little old man nodded. He glanced around and saw Con. “My boy! When did you get back? I take it the world didn’t end, eh?”

  “No. It was something of an anticlimax.”

  Uncle Bellard cackled. “I bet it was. Who are you supposed to be?”

  Con said drily, “I have it on good authority that I am a music-hall entertainer.”

  Sabrina grinned and glanced at her friend. Lilah rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the twitch of her lips.

  Mr. Dearborn cleared his throat and tried t
o take charge. “Miss Blair is my ward, sir,” he said to the duke.

  “Is she, now?” The duke smiled. “How nice. Well, I must get back to my work. Sorry to run, but I have a good deal of cataloging to do.”

  “But, sir, Miss Blair—”

  “Miss Blair isn’t here,” Alex said firmly.

  “That’s perfectly all right. I didn’t come here to see my ward. I came to talk to the Duke of Broughton. Your Grace, I don’t know if you are aware that Miss Blair is married to my son, Peter.”

  Sabrina thought of her vision a few minutes earlier. What had the other man been saying? A thought teased at the edge of her consciousness, elusive and uncomfortable.

  The duke frowned. “My dear fellow, I think you must have that wrong. How can Miss Blair be married?”

  “She’s no longer Miss Blair, of course,” Dearborn said hastily, a faint flush starting on his cheeks. “She’s now—”

  “But you just said Sabrina was Miss Blair,” the duke pointed out mildly. “I confess, I am a trifle confused. Whether Miss Blair is married or not, I don’t understand why you wish to speak to me about it. And I really must get back to my work now. Pray excuse me, gentlemen.”

  “It is your concern, sir, because your son is holding Miss...Mrs. Dearborn here.”

  “No, no, I’m sure you must have that wrong. I’m sure Miss Blair is quite free to come and go.” He turned toward his eldest son. “Theo, perhaps you should talk to these gentlemen.”

  “I believe this is Alex’s concern.”

  “Is it? Excellent. There, you see, Alex will take care of you.” Looking pleased he had discharged his duty, the duke turned toward the door. His gaze fell on his wife as she entered the room, and his face lit up. “Emmeline! My dear. I’m so happy to see you.” He walked over to her, beaming.

  Behind the screen, Sabrina couldn’t keep from smiling fondly. The duke always acted as if he had received a wonderful gift whenever Emmeline appeared, no matter how recently he had seen the duchess—in this case a few hours ago at breakfast.

  “Henry,” the duchess replied, looping her arm through Broughton’s. And if her expression was less surprised than her husband’s, her gaze was equally warm when it rested on him. “Alex told me we had guests whom I should meet.”

  “Oh. I see. Allow me to introduce you to...” He looked toward their visitors. “Mr., um...”

  “Dearborn, Your Grace.” The man stepped forward and bowed. “And my son, Peter. We are here regarding my son’s wife, Sabrina.”

  “His wife?” The duchess raised her eyebrows expressively. “I didn’t realize Sabrina was married.”

  “We don’t know that she is,” Alex said quickly. “Unless, of course, you gentlemen have brought some sort of proof?”

  “Proof? I give you my word as a gentleman, sir,” Dearborn responded indignantly.

  “Yes, well...”

  “Didn’t I tell you about the men who accosted Sabrina at the gala last night, Duchess?” Megan asked.

  “We did not—” Dearborn said hotly.

  Megan plowed on over him. “Peter Dearborn claimed to be Sabrina’s husband. He told us that Sabrina belonged to him.”

  “Did he, indeed?” The duchess turned her sharp blue gaze on Peter. “You view a wife as chattel, sir? Subject to your whims and orders?”

  “I, um, I meant to say that she belongs with me,” Peter said carefully, obviously having learned his lesson the night before. “Where I can take care of her.”

  “I would say that Sabrina belongs wherever she chooses to be,” Emmeline retorted.

  “She is my wife.”

  “But not your slave,” the duchess shot back.

  “Peter...ma’am...please, let us not exchange hot words that we will all later regret,” Mr. Dearborn said in a conciliatory manner. “Please, let’s sit down and discuss this civilly.”

  “I rarely regret my words, hot or otherwise,” Emmeline assured him. “However, I am always willing to discuss matters in a civil manner.” She swept forward and sat down on the sofa, Henry settling down beside her. Hands folded in her lap, she looked at Mr. Dearborn regally. “Now, then, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I told your family last night that Sabrina had wandered off after a carriage accident, but that wasn’t true.”

  “Indeed? That seems an unusual way to start your argument.”

  “I made it up because I was trying to protect Sabrina. I don’t know what sort of wild stories she may have told you about us, but I can assure you that Peter and I have Sabrina’s welfare at heart.”

  “Interesting that you should think Sabrina would have told us otherwise,” Alex pointed out.

  “Of course she would not, if she were feeling herself. But the truth is...she is... Well, she’s not in full possession of her faculties.”

  “She’s lost her memory, yes, I know,” Emmeline said. “But that hardly makes her unable to make her own decisions.”

  “No, ma’am, I fear she is not.” Mr. Dearborn gazed somberly at the duke and duchess. “She is... What I mean to say is that Sabrina is a bit mad.”

  Sabrina’s jaw dropped, and beside her Lilah gasped, then clapped her hand over her mouth guiltily. The sound of her gasp was covered, however, by the exclamations from the occupants of the other room.

  “How dare you!” Alex took a quick step forward, his face so fierce it took Sabrina aback. Con was beside him in an instant, his pugnacious stance making it clear he was not there to restrain his twin but to join him.

  “I assure you, sir, that I do not say this lightly.” Mr. Dearborn rose to face Alex, his manner grave and dignified. “Sabrina’s father was my dearest friend his entire life. For Hamilton’s sake, I took on the responsibility of his daughter after his death. It was his express wish, for he knew that she was not able to live on her own.”

  Sabrina stared, aghast, as the man continued to tell his story.

  “Hamilton was one of the brightest minds in the country, but his wife, Claudia, was...odd, I guess you’d say. She was excessively concerned about Sabrina and insisted on keeping Sabrina close to her, yet she allowed the poor child to do whatever she wished, with no guidance at all, really. She was herself somewhat given to the same sort of fits and starts that Sabrina is.”

  “Fits and starts?” Alex said. “Sabrina is not given to fits and starts—in fact, she’s bloody calm about a number of things that would make most people scream.”

  Dearborn fixed him with his heavy gaze. “Don’t you think that in itself is rather peculiar? What sane person would be calm when she could remember nothing, including her name? The truth of the matter is, this is not the first time Sabrina has had one of these episodes. She has done it many times. She does some wild, outrageous thing, then bolts. We have no idea where she’s gone or what she’s doing.”

  “So you’re saying this isn’t the first time you’ve mislaid her?” Theo asked.

  “We didn’t mislay her, sir, and I resent your implication. Sabrina is cunning in her madness. She appears to lose all idea of who she is, where she lives, everything. Yet she cleverly does all she can to make it difficult to follow her. She climbed out of her window on the upper floor—it was foolish of me, I see that now, but I could not bear to put bars on her window—and she stole a horse, not to mention a bag full of money. We managed to track her to Newbury, but as I said, she is clever, and she bought a ticket to Bath, just to deceive us. When we could not find her there, we had no idea where to turn, but finally we came here in hopes that she might have fled to Miss Holcutt, who is her friend. It was a shock to us to see Sabrina there last night.”

  “I am sure it was,” Alex agreed grimly. “Especially when you found that she had friends to protect her.”

  The other man’s mouth tightened. “I told you, I have no desire to harm Sabrina. When she is herself, she is a sweet and biddabl
e girl, charming, really.”

  “As is proper for a woman, no doubt,” the duchess added.

  Dearborn flushed. “I assure you, madam, that I have done nothing but try to help Sabrina. Peter even married her so that she would have someone to take care of her and protect her the rest of her life.”

  “My, Peter must be a saintly man, indeed,” Alex drawled. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with Sabrina’s fortune.”

  “Did she tell you she was wealthy?” Dearborn shook his head, letting out a sad little chuff of a laugh. “Oh, dear, no, Sabrina has next to nothing. I provide for her. I fear that Sabrina spins all sort of pretty stories about herself. Things that make her life more exciting. Sometimes she is an heiress. Once, I believe she was a spy for the Home Office in France. Sadly, I often figure as the villain in her tales because, you see, I am the person who must tell her no, who must see that she is kept safe. When this episode is over, she won’t remember any of whatever she’s made up this time, any more than she will remember you, Lord Moreland.”

  Dearborn gazed at Alex pityingly. Sabrina’s stomach clenched. What if the Morelands believed him? What if Alex did? Dearborn was so grave, so certain, so reasonable. And Sabrina, not knowing anything of her past, could not even dispute him. Anyone would trust him over some girl telling a mad tale. It was almost enough to make Sabrina question her story herself—what if she did do this all the time? She wouldn’t know because she couldn’t remember anything.

  “I know that it is difficult, sir,” Mr. Dearborn went on. “Sabrina is a winsome girl—it’s easy to feel affection, even pity, for her. But it’s clear that she needs help. I promise you that if she stays, one of these days she will have another of her episodes and you won’t be able to contain her, and she’ll be off again. Let us take her home where she belongs. We’ll take good care of her, see that she’s well cared for.”

  “And make certain that she is locked up more securely?” Alex asked in a mild voice.

  Fear flooded Sabrina’s throat, and she felt about to choke. Did he believe him? Was he about to let this man have her? They were going to lock her up somewhere, tell everyone she was mad.