The Sins of Lord Easterbrook

by Madeline Hunter

  She watched the flourish with which all was made ready. The house had come alive this week. The servants all stepped quickly.

  “They are happy that you are here,” she said when they sat at the table.

  “Who?”

  “The household. The servants. Your visit gives them purpose.”

  He glanced to where a man swept the hearth. “I trust they do not expect it to become a commonplace now.”

  “You do not care for Aylesbury Abbey?”

  “I used to hate it. Now.…” He shrugged.

  She wondered why he hated it, but that shrug discouraged any questions on the matter.

  He turned his attention elsewhere, but eventually it returned to her.

  “This was not a pleasant home when I was a boy. My mother feared my father, and had cause to.”

  “Did you fear him too?”

  “As a child I did. Later I pitied him and, by the time he died, despised him. Now I just ignore the memory of him.” He gestured at the bedchamber. “For years I refused to use these rooms. Then I realized that was a perverse form of sentimentality. So I banished his presence by imposing my own on the spaces he commanded. But, yes, I still dislike Aylesbury, although I have not thought about that this last week.”

  “The housekeeper said your mother spent much time here, though. Writing poems, she said.”

  “She retreated here the last few years of her life. The rest of us lived in London. We would visit her, and she would pretend to care. But she rarely left that library, or the chambers of her own mind. There were others who suspected my father of a serious crime. She unfortunately knew it was true.” He paused. “She just knew.”

  The way he said that, so similar to how he described his own curse, made Leona blink. He thought this was inherited.

  Was that why he physically withdrew at the end of their passion? Not only to spare her the common consequence of an affair, but also to ensure no child would live what he had lived?

  Her heart clenched at the evidence that he assumed he must avoid being a father. She had not dwelled on his revelation the last few days. It did not directly affect her, and no one else shared this time with them. Yet here it was, inserting itself again, affecting her understanding of him and the choices he made.

  “Was she correct in her knowing?” she asked. “Were you perceiving the same thing?”

  “Guilt saturated him. Hardened him. Frightened him.” His jaw squared. “He killed a man over her. Not with any pretense of honor either. Not a duel. He had a man murdered.”

  The revelation stunned her. She had not imagined that a shadow like this hung over his family.

  “Are you certain? Do you just know, as she did, or have you sought the facts?”

  “I am certain, but I have chosen not to confirm it with facts.”

  “Then you could be wrong. She could have been wrong too. Perhaps the guilt came from something else. You said you do not read minds and must interpret what you sense. I would want to confirm such a thing before I damned a person. The truth is you only believe this, Christian. You do not really know.”

  “Perhaps you are right. I count on the chance that you are. If I seek confirmation, that corner of ambiguity ends. I would rather leave the worst parts of his legacy unclaimed.”

  Mail arrived with the coffee, the bread, and the fish that he favored in the morning. He glanced through the letters.

  “My visit to the county has been noted. Invitations are pouring in.” He started a stack of them to one side while he flipped through the mail.

  One letter received more than a passing glance. He handed it to her, and continued with the rest.

  She held the letter, but only looked at him. His expression had cleared. There was absolutely nothing in him that she could see to indicate things were amiss. Yet his displeasure was like a mist escaping his soul.

  This is what he meant, she realized. We all possess this perception with our intimates. He was only unusual in that he also did with strangers and casual acquaintances.

  He was not nearly as odd as he thought. She would explain that to him. It would not change what he experienced, but he might find it good to know just how much in common he had with other people.

  “Aren't you going to read it, Leona?”

  “Of course.” She turned her attention to the letter. The bright day instantly lost its innocence.

  Lady Lynsworth had written.

  A sad note sounded inside Leona's heart. It so affected her that she could not read the words in front of her eyes. She knew, just knew, that the letter meant the end of this idyll. The man across the table knew it too.

  She read the letter. Lady Lynsworth expressed excitement and gratitude. Tong Wei had worked wonders with Brian. So much that Tong Wei would be returning to London in two days. The letter closed with a long paragraph of heartfelt relief and declarations of eternal friendship.

  Another letter suddenly appeared on the table in front of her.

  “That is an invitation to a county assembly next week,” Christian said. “Would you like to go?”

  The invitation was to her specifically. He held an identical one in his own hand.

  “Is this appropriate? To invite your paramour?”

  “They are inviting my houseguest. As for your relationship to me—This house is very big, the servants are very discreet, the gossip cannot be proven, and I am Easterbrook.”

  She held the two letters. Once more he was allowing her to make a decision. Only there were times when a person could not ignore the world and choose to follow her heart.

  The confusion returned, more horrible than her first night in Aylesbury. She resented Lady Lynsworth for writing, even if it had been in response to her own letter sent her first day here. She did not want her obligations interfering with the closeness she experienced with Christian.

  She closed her eyes and immediately the intimacy bathed her, just remembering it. The perfect silence as they lay together—the freedom they shared and the way her heart swelled in the best way while she lay in his arms. She had tasted rare emotions here, and she believed that he joined her in them. He could be both Easterbrook and Edmund if he wanted. He did not have to hide the storms in his soul all the time.

  She looked up and found him watching her.

  He reached and took her hand. He held it for a few moments. Then he tugged gently. Her body rose in response to the silent command. He drew her around the table and settled her on his lap.

  He knew how to obscure the confusion. He knew how to seduce her away from all thoughts. She surrendered quickly. She wanted to forget for a while longer that of course this would not last. Except she did not entirely forget. Her throat burned even while her passion soared.

  He stripped off her nightdress and turned her so she faced him. Her legs dangled and her thighs flanked his waist. He loosened his trousers, lifted her, and lowered her so they were joined. He teased her breasts until she swayed in a rhythm of desperate need.

  It took a long while for her to find fulfillment. The sorrow wanted to intrude. He waited for her, and subdued his own ferocity to the sweet longing that imbued this morning's pleasure.

  There was no cataclysm this time. The peace broke in her slowly, releasing a stream of bliss. She held his head and shoulders in a wrapping embrace so his breaths warmed her chest. She accepted everything her heart and soul experienced, even the ache flowing within the beauty and purity of their intimacy.

  It occurred to him, as his mind cleared, that he might put off the reckoning forever if his body did not betray him.

  God knew he was trying. They were back in bed and the breakfast remained uneaten. He had used pleasure as ruthlessly with her as he ever had, to defeat the reminder of her responsibilities that had intruded with that damned letter.

  He still floated between oblivion and the world, entwined with her. It was much like the state achieved in meditation, only his self did not disappear. Instead his consciousness filled the dark peace. And, i
t appeared, another's self could be there too.

  Not only her self, but her essence. Her worries. Her sadness. In these moments of serenity, he knew her better than he had ever known anyone, even himself.

  He guessed what was coming even before she withdrew into herself. He sensed her retreat, and knew.

  “I need to return to London, Christian.” She spoke quietly, right near his ear.

  “No, you do not.”

  “I would be vexed by the commanding way you said that if I were not so sated. I have little will for this argument now. You knew I would not.”

  She still embraced him. Outside the window he could hear the gardeners toiling away. Had she been correct about that? Did the master's visit give them purpose?

  “Nothing is being accomplished here,” she said.

  “I would say a great deal is being accomplished here. You are learning enough about pleasure to last a lifetime.”

  “I do not need reminders that it might have to.” Her embrace loosened. She rose up on her arms so she could see his face. “Lady Lynsworth writes that Tong Wei will be back in London in two days. I will be safe in town with him there. I no longer have an excuse to dally here.”

  “You have the best excuse.” Except she really didn't. This was not a woman who would let pleasure decide her path. She had made that very clear when she came to him.

  He would try a different tack, for all the good it would do. “You should consider why you go back to London and what you plan to do once you are there.”

  “I do not have to plan it. I already know. I will see the shippers that you told me your brother arranged for me to meet. I will also visit with Denningham, the way you promised.”

  “I told you already that you will learn nothing of value from him. Your scribe erred, or lied.”

  “Your certainty carries more weight now, of course. It no longer stands as a mere opinion. However, I still want to meet him so I am certain too.”

  She was relentless. It was time to distract her again.

  He tried to rise to the occasion, as it were. He failed. Damnation.

  “I had hoped to put off this conversation today, Leona.”

  She smiled mischievously. “You succeeded magnificently for hours. However, even the great Easterbrook cannot keep it up forever.” Her gentle finger traced down his torso until it skimmed the object of her joke.

  That touch was all he needed. It turned out he could keep it up one more time after all.

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  He managed to delay the conversation, but it waited for them. Its cloud shadowed the day. By nightfall Leona concluded that if she did not force the issue, it might be months before she left Aylesbury.

  She thought about Gaspar for the first time in days while she prepared for the evening. She felt guilty for the degree he had dropped from her mind. She saw his confidence in her when they parted. Their business desperately needed the alliances she had come to forge, and he assumed she would be successful. He trusted her judgment more than was reasonable and depended on her more than was wise. She might want to dally at Aylesbury forever, but she would fail him if she did so.

  She went down to Christian's apartment earlier than normal that night. She found him still dressed in shirt and trousers, sitting in the dark. His stillness told her that he was meditating.

  She wished she had learned how herself. Her heart thickened with dread about the row to come. It would be useful to escape to the peace that Tong Wei said could be found in that loss of self, where one relinquished desires and ambitions.

  She set her lamp down as she always did, then sat in a chair. He emerged from his retreat and saw her. The abstraction lifted almost immediately. His attention centered on her.

  “I will be leaving tomorrow,” she said. “If you will not send me in your coach, I will hire one for Isabella and myself.”

  She braced herself for lightning. None flashed. No heat. No turmoil. He calmly considered what she had said.

  “You must know that you are not going to go anywhere, Leona, in my coach or any other, unless I permit it.”

  She swallowed hard. “I am trusting that you will permit it.”

  “You have more faith in me than I do.”

  “I have faith that you will keep your promise.”

  “I promised to allow you to return to your brother. Not to London.”

  “You know that I cannot go back to China until I return to London first.”

  “That is not true.”

  “Do you intend to make me a prisoner? To create a new choice, this house or a ship to Macao? I can either stay with you or I can return home having failed in my purpose?”

  “Purposes.” He emphasized the plural, firmly. Tightly.

  Every part of her stilled. This was not about keeping her here. Perhaps it was not even about wanting her. He kept her from the second purpose, and would make her sacrifice the first if necessary in order to do so.

  “If you are worried about my safety in London, Christian, the sooner I finish my questions, the quicker I will be safe.”

  “It is not worth the risk. Even with Tong Wei to protect you, even with me—I have told you to give this up. Now I do again. Even in victory you will gain little, and you risk your safety and your brother's business with those questions.”

  She hated how he sat there, so damned sure of his judgment. She glared down at him but he still dominated the chamber and her. He did not even have to move to do that. Nor did he have to compromise. He wore his power quietly, but it still cloaked him. He knew he could stop her.

  It dismayed her that he wanted to. She walked away from him. Her heart urged her to capitulate, to do anything so this night would not end in sorrow, but she had to know now.

  “Christian, our first night here, I said that I had questions. You offered to answer one. I am thinking I chose the wrong one. I forgot who I was after all. I must ask another now.”

  He did not respond. His silence sapped her courage. The lord waited to hear the petition.

  “My father had a notebook. A leather half folio in which he wrote down the patterns he saw and the names he learned in his efforts to expose the smugglers and their masters. I never saw it after the night that you left Macao. I did not find it in his private belongings after he died. Did you take it when you left?”

  “Yes.”

  She closed her eyes so she might contain what his admission did to her. Disappointment so pained her heart that it affected her physically. Her stomach sickened. She feared that if she looked at him again she would see a different man from the one she had been holding. She might suddenly notice all kinds of aspects of face and character that excitement had blinded her to before this.

  Her eyes burned. Her better sense had always warned that his interest had ulterior motives, or indifferent ones at best. These last few days, however, she had allowed herself to believe differently.

  “Don't you wonder why I took it, Leona?”

  His voice, so close, made her startle. She opened her eyes. He had left his chair and now stood right in front of her.

  “Think back to that night, Leona. To the danger you saw and felt. You took refuge in anger and action, but I could see your terror. Even your father, who had suffered other attacks and losses, could not believe they had been so bold as to fire that ship right there in Macao.”

  She let her mind drift back. To the smoke and the vain attempts to stop the blaze. She saw her father, ashen-faced and stunned. He had been on that ship just an hour earlier, showing her brother how to check a bill of lading against a cargo. It was mere luck that they had disembarked earlier than expected.

  “They tried to kill him.” Her fury from that night flashed through her again now. “They failed, but they broke him just the same. And all the evidence that he had, all the proof, was in that notebook that you stole. Damn you. I looked for it. I was going to do what he could no longer do, and end it all. I would have gotten word to the emperor's viceroy in
Canton. I would have—”

  “You would have gotten yourself killed. And him. And maybe your brother too. I took the notebook so you could not.”

  “I think that you took it for other reasons.”

  “There was no other reason. That night proved it was bigger than your father could fight. Bigger than you could fight. I took the notebook to protect you.”

  She wanted to believe that, but she was beyond believing anything now. “Do you still have it? You do, don't you? I want it.”

  “No.”

  Frustration ripped her composure and set her teeth on edge. “I need to finish this.”

  “You will finish nothing. You may prove your father was correct. You may discover the names of men here in England who profit from that trade. You may even expose them to the world's scorn. But even if you are successful, it will not stop. Your family's business will once more be punished, and you will again be in danger. You already are.”

  She could not believe he was so implacable. So unsympathetic. He wanted to do more than protect her, too. She just knew it. He had had possession of that notebook for years. He had read it. He knew it would help her, but he did not want to allow it for his own reasons.

  She looked back at the last week, at the emotions and the discoveries. This conversation made her doubt everything she had perceived and believed about him.

  “I want the notebook, Christian. You said in Watlington that I could have whatever I wanted.”

  His anger finally showed. His hand sliced the air, in a lord's gesture of finality. “I did not mean this.”

  “No, you meant jewels or silks or gifts. Distractions, so I would not ask any other questions, or make a request that inconvenienced you.”

  “Most women would be content with jewels and silks, damn it.”

  “If I were any woman, you would not have wanted me. What will it take for you to give me that notebook? You said you wanted whatever I will permit. If I say I will permit anything at all, will that sway you?”

  He considered it. She could tell. He looked at her in a way that made her tremble. Shaking inside, hiding the way his darker mysteries could still lure her, mourning how much he had become a stranger again, she managed to face him down.