“Well, girl, don’t stand there gawking. Get on with it. What news do you have for me?”
Elizabeth stood before the earl, her eyes downcast, her fingers nervously plucking at the folds of her gown. “I don’t have any news. I’m sorry, Grandfather. All of our men have been searching since the blizzard lightened this morning, but as yet, there is no word.”
“Trevor is searching with the men?”
“He began the search, Grandfather,” she said, looking away from him, toward the open-draped windows.
“Just what does that mean?”
“Trevor is greatly affected by our severe weather. He was forced to return a short while ago. He is in his bedchamber, warming himself.”
The earl slewed his head about and stared silently for several moments through the bowed library windows onto the frigid white landscape. “Sabrina isn’t a fool,” he said, more to himself than to Elizabeth.
She’d always been the fool, Elizabeth thought, bitterness twisting in her belly. “But I didn’t run away,” she said aloud, “disgracing myself and my family.”
The earl’s grizzled gray brows drew sharply together. He said in a voice colder than the frozen pond in the east gardens, “Sabrina isn’t a slut, Elizabeth, even though it suits you to insist upon it. Your spite does you no credit. Sabrina throw herself at Trevor? Such a thing is nonsense, absurd.” He saw Elizabeth pale, but doubted he could bully her into telling him the truth. He’d believed, foolishly perhaps, that Elizabeth’s dislike of her sister would lessen once he’d secured her a husband, and not just any husband, but the future Earl of Monmouth. He had made certain that she would marry before Sabrina, even going so far as to deny a powerful nobleman Sabrina’s hand until after Elizabeth was safely wedded. He shook his head, knowing that he wasn’t being entirely honest with himself. No, the truth of the matter was that he’d wanted above all things to keep Sabrina with him for as long as possible. If only Clarendon had wanted Elizabeth instead of Sabrina. But of course, Richard Clarendon had been drawn to Sabrina the moment he’d seen her laughing with old Squire Frobisher as she’d helped him to his chair. He remembered seeing the look on Richard’s face and knowing, simply knowing, that Clarendon wanted her.
The earl looked back at Elizabeth’s pale face. “Well, don’t you have anything to say to me?” It was a meaningless question. He couldn’t begin to imagine what she would say, if she would say anything at all.
Elizabeth felt the old earl’s eyes on her face. “Why is it, sir, if Sabrina had decided to leave Monmouth Abbey—for whatever reason—that she didn’t come and discuss her plans with you? You have said yourself that her letter told you nothing. Does that fact not imply her guilt and shame in this entire matter?”
She’d shaken him. She wanted to smile. It took all her resolve to keep still, to keep all her triumph, her pleasure at her blow to herself. He appeared to shrink visibly in his chair, and his fierce blue eyes dimmed. Ah yes, she thought, your precious Sabrina, who’s always shared her fancies and problems with you, her doting grandfather—gone with only a meaningless letter to you.
The earl drew a deep breath. “I shall never believe the story you and your husband have tried to foist on me, Elizabeth. Leave me now.”
Her shoulders squared, Elizabeth turned on her heel and walked quickly from the library, without a backward glance. As she walked across the massive flagstone entrance hall, she wondered what would happen to her and Trevor if Sabrina hadn’t been consumed by the blizzard.
“Lady Elizabeth.”
She turned abruptly, her hand on the balustrade. “Yes, Ribble?”
“Forgive me, my lady, but the Marquess of Arysdale has come to call on Lady Sabrina. He is in the drawing room. I didn’t think it my place to tell his lordship that Lady Sabrina wasn’t here.”
Elizabeth felt a deep jolt of pleasure sweep through her. She licked her dry lips. Good God, Richard Clarendon was here. She saw that Ribble was watching her and nodded briskly. “I will see him, Ribble.” She felt both frightened and excited at the prospect of seeing Richard, the man she’d fallen in love with when she was sixteen and he, twenty-one. She had given him every encouragement over the years, had even blatantly talked of her dowry to him, one befitting the heir to the Duke of Portsmouth. When his young wife had died over two years ago, her hopes had soared. She remembered the shock of betrayal she’d felt when only six months ago she had overheard him tell the earl that it was Sabrina he wanted. Her humiliation was made all the worse by the fact that neither of them seemed to care that she was within earshot.
Every word spoken was still clear in her mind, the pain of them still bowing her in on herself. The earl had said in that deep smooth voice of his, his brows beetled together, “My little Sabrina is like her grandmother. She won’t tolerate a husband who isn’t faithful to her. She knows of your reputation even though she can’t begin to understand it. No, I would never give her over to a man who would betray her, and that’s how she would view a husband who bedded other women. Make up your mind to mend your ways, for I’ll not push her into a marriage that would make her unhappy.”
“Sabrina is young, my lord,” Richard Clarendon had said in that honey-smooth deep voice of his. “She’s spirited, a beautiful unbroken filly. As my wife, my lord, you can be assured that she will never desire for anything more than I can give her. And that, sir, includes other gentlemen.”
“So, Richard, you believe your charm and prowess will satisfy my granddaughter, do you?”
“Lady Elizabeth.”
She shook herself free of the memory and turned irritably to the butler. “Yes, Ribble?”
“If I may inquire, my lady. Is there any word of Lady Sabrina?”
Elizabeth knew that servants had their ways of discovering things. Surely this old fool of a butler knew that Sabrina had disgraced herself. Yet he had the temerity to approach her, the now undisputed mistress of Monmouth Abbey, to inquire after the little slut.
“I fear, Ribble,” she said coldly, “that my sister could not have survived the blizzard. The men are still searching, as you know, but soon his lordship will realize the futility of it and call them back. Her body will undoubtedly be recovered when the snow melts.”
She saw a spasm of grief pass over the old man’s smooth forehead.
“It’s naturally a tragedy,” she continued more coldly still, moving away from him, “and a loss to all of us. But life continues. We continue. You may follow me to the drawing room now, Ribble. I don’t wish to keep the marquess waiting.”
12
The marquess was standing by the windows, staring out at the snow. Elizabeth felt her belly muscles clench at the sight of him. She’d never wanted another man, just Richard Clarendon. He was magnificent, all strength and muscle, beautifully made, his face hard and cold, drawing her easily to him, and any other woman he wanted. She swallowed and stretched out her hands. “Richard, why ever are you in Yorkshire, now of all times? Surely London is a more pleasant place than Yorkshire at this time of year.”
The Marquess of Arysdale straightened from his negligent pose at the bowed windows. He strode across the room, his grace stunning her, making her hot and breathless. He raised her hand to his lips. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Elizabeth. Marriage appears to agree with you. I only regret that I wasn’t able to attend your wedding.”
Elizabeth trembled when his mouth touched her wrist. She couldn’t help it. She also knew that he was quite used to such a response. He was a rake, a womanizer, enjoying himself with any woman that pleased him at the moment. She had long known it, but she’d never cared. Now that she was married and knew well what men wanted of women’s bodies, she wondered how different lovemaking would be if Richard were her husband. A stain of red deepened on her cheeks as she pictured Richard naked over her. He wouldn’t be soft and smooth as Trevor was. He wouldn’t be cruel.
“Where is Sabrina, Elizabeth?”
Sabrina, he wanted to see Sabrina. She felt the heat cool in her bo
dy. She lowered her eyes and said in a shaking voice, “Please sit down, Richard. The news I have for you isn’t pleasant.”
“Damn you, woman, what the devil do you mean by that?” She felt more than saw the instant difference in him. The lazy animal grace had disappeared. He was alert now, ready to kill, if need be.
“Please, Richard.” She waved to a blue brocade settee.
“Enough of this. Where is Sabrina?” He took his seat unwillingly beside her. She felt the barely leashed energy in him. The violence so very close to the surface. It thrilled her and frightened her.
She wished she could tell him what Sabrina had done, tell him that the little princess was nothing more than a trollop, that she’d disgraced herself and run away from home, but she wasn’t stupid. Richard was unpredictable. It was very possible that he’d go into a rage, perhaps even kill Trevor. If that happened, she wouldn’t have anything. No, she had to be calm, to think clearly. “Sabrina has vanished,” she said. She lowered her head and waited in silence.
“Sabrina’s not a damned witch. I have never seen her with a broomstick. What the deuce do you mean, she’s vanished?”
“It’s just as I said, Richard. She fled the Abbey last Sunday, before the blizzard. She left Grandfather a vague letter telling him she intended to go to Aunt Barresford in London. But, of course, we have heard nothing. We fear that she could not have survived.”
The marquess roared to his feet and stared down hard at her, his dark eyes hard and dangerous. “Damnation, Elizabeth, what is this idiocy? Sabrina knew that I was coming to visit her. Indeed, there is no doubt in my mind that she knew the reason for my coming.”
Elizabeth kept the smile hidden. He didn’t realize that he’d just given her immense power, and all so very innocently. She raised her pale eyes to his harshly beautiful face. “Perhaps, Richard, you have just provided us with the reason for her running away.”
If she’d been a man he would have struck her. She knew it and gloried in it. He had to rein himself in. “That’s a damned lie, Elizabeth, and you know it.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the door.
Elizabeth jumped to her feet, alarmed now. “Where are you going, Richard?”
He said over his shoulder, not even turning to face her, “I’m going to see the earl. It appears I won’t get a sensible answer from you.” He turned then, to look at her fully. “You know, Elizabeth, you haven’t changed at all.” Then he was gone and she was left standing there, alone, in the middle of the huge drawing room. She rubbed her arms. She was cold. What had he meant?
Sabrina was running down a long, narrow room. People were staring down at her, yet they made no move to help her. She whirled about in her flight at the sound of footsteps closing behind her. Trevor was coming toward her and she saw lust burning brightly in his eyes. She backed up. Something sharp dug into her back and she cried out as she turned. The people’s eyes were watching her, uncaring and cold. He was nearly on her. He stretched out his hand. She screamed as a hand clutched her shoulder.
“Sabrina, wake up.”
But her terror held her back in that room with all those faces staring at her. The hand shook her again, harder this time.
“Wake up, you’re having a nightmare. Come, sweetheart, you can do it.”
Her eyes flew open and she stared up at Phillip’s face. She felt such tremendous relief that she didn’t think. She reared up and threw her arms about his back. She said against his chest, “The faces. There were so many faces and none of them said anything, they just stared at me. They didn’t care. None of them would help me.”
Phillip held her tightly against him, smoothing tangled hair back from her forehead. “It’s all right now, Sabrina. There’s nothing to fear now. You’re here and I’m here and I won’t let that damned nightmare get close to you again. What faces did you see?”
She drew a deep, shuddering breath and leaned back in the circle of his arms to look up into his face. “Yes, the faces. They must have been the portraits in the gallery. So many of them, all long dead, they couldn’t have helped me.”
As calm as a vicar, he said, “So you fled to the portrait gallery to escape from Trevor?”
“Yes,” she said, then gulped. She didn’t say another word, just concentrated on getting a hold on herself.
“Who are you, Sabrina? And who is Trevor?”
She wanted to tell him everything, she truly wanted to, but she couldn’t. So long as Trevor and Elizabeth stood together at Monmouth Abbey, she could never return, nor had she any wish to. She could well imagine Phillip’s reaction were she to pour the whole sordid story into his ears. He would take her back and undoubtedly force a confrontation with Trevor. God only knew what her grandfather would do, what would happen to him. No, she couldn’t allow it. She had made her plans and as soon as she gained her strength back, she would leave Yorkshire and go to her aunt Barresford. She never wanted to return to Monmouth Abbey for as long as Trevor and Elizabeth were there. And that would be always. She thought of her grandfather, of him not knowing if she was alive or dead, not understanding. She felt tears sting her eyes and shook her head. Crying wouldn’t help and it would just make Phillip question her more. She forced herself to pull away from him.
“I told you that my name’s Sabrina Eversleigh. Trevor is someone who is of no concern to you.”
“That may be true, but I know he’s a bastard and that he hurt you. I do wish you’d just tell me the truth, but if you still wish to keep it all inside you, well, then, I still have some time on my hands. A little mystery always amuses me. Yes, I have both patience and time on my side.”
He eased her back onto her pillow. She immediately reared up again, balancing herself on her elbows. “My money. What did you do with my money?”
“I suppose you mean the three pounds and some odd shillings I found in your bodice?”
“You know very well that’s what I mean. Where is it?”
He’d meant to embarrass her. Not well done of him, but he wasn’t feeling all that much charity with her at the moment. He rose from her bed. “Obviously there isn’t a gaming hall hereabouts where I could dissipate your fortune. Your three pounds are quite safe, I assure you. Since you are awake, I must insist that you eat some more of my soup. You don’t wish to go home looking like an orphan from the workhouse.”
She felt hated, useless tears burn her eyes. She said, as if by rote, “My home is in London. And it is to London that I must go when I’m well again.”
“I suppose you’ll tell me that you were out for a nice winter’s stroll and got lost in your Eppingham Forest.”
She shrugged. It infuriated him. “I was here visiting acquaintances of my family. I live with my aunt in London. Please, Phillip, you must help me return to her.”
“Who are these acquaintances you were visiting?”
She just looked at him, that stubborn chin of hers up.
“What’s your aunt’s name?”
Her chin went higher, but he saw that it was costing her. She looked fixedly at a point just above his left shoulder. “She’s married to a London merchant and lives in the city. Her name would mean nothing to you.”
“Ah, I understand now. You are an orphan.”
She was taken aback and he saw that she was. Actually she’d never thought of herself as an orphan, even though both of her parents were dead. She remembered her mother’s face when she’d received word that her husband had been killed in the battle of Ciudad Rodrigo. Her mother had died shortly thereafter. Yes, she was an orphan. She nodded and was silent.
“God, but you’re stubborn. How can you expect me to get you back to your aunt, if you will not tell me who she is?”
“I’ve told you that I was on my way to get the London stage that stops in Borhamwood. That was where I was going when my horse went lame. I didn’t realize that it would snow; well, I did, but I thought it would hold off longer.”
The viscount rose, giving her a look of acute dislike. “Enough, Sabrina. If
you continue with these unbelievable tales when you’re better, I just might be tempted to beat you.”
“A man’s threat,” she said, eyeing him with contempt. “None of you think anything of threatening someone smaller than you are.”
He just grinned at her. “Spare me your indignation. You know very well that you pulled those words out of a hat. Except, of course, for this Trevor fellow, who, when I discover his identity, I will kill with no hesitation at all. Now, calm yourself down, my lady. I’m going to fetch your soup now.”
“Don’t you dare call me that.”
A very strong reaction, one that gave him the truth. And she knew she’d spilled it. Her face was frozen. He said easily, “Even though you’re not wearing a signet ring, it doesn’t matter. I’m not altogether ignorant of the ways of ladies of quality. And despite your spurts of impertinence, that’s exactly what you are.”
She shook her head back and forth on the pillow and fell into a spasm of coughing. Phillip leaned over and clasped her against him, gently rubbing her back until the hoarse coughs subsided.
“I feel so wretched.”
He felt her warm breath against his shoulder. “I know.” He pressed her gently back down and covered her. “No more inquisition for now.”
Phillip paused at the doorway, then turned back to look at Sabrina. She was lying there stiff as a sapling, her hands fisted at her sides. What the devil would happen to her? And to him, if she didn’t tell him the truth? Or if she did, for that matter?
13
“Your visit is poorly timed, Richard. It would have been better if you’d but come a week ago.”
The marquess was pacing back and forth in front of his chair. The earl found the young man’s energy exhausting.
The marquess whirled about then, saying, “I couldn’t get anything from Elizabeth, my lord. Perhaps you will tell me where Sabrina has gone so that I may go fetch her.”
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