The Sins of Sebastian Rey-Defoe

by Kim Lawrence

  In her head she could hear him saying, If it’s so bad, what’s keeping you here?

  Would she be brave enough to answer him honestly, admit that she stayed for him?

  To be near him.

  To hear his voice.

  Would she ever be brave enough to admit that she loved him?

  Well, she didn’t find out, because once again she had made the mistake of thinking she could anticipate his reaction.

  Lonely—the catch in her voice, all his internal debate, all his endless mental pro and con lists suddenly meant nothing, because he could see himself losing her. As he imagined her walking out of the door, out of his life, the knot in his stomach was fear. He called himself all the insults in his vocabulary, which was extensive, and still they didn’t begin to describe what an utter fool he’d been.

  His first mistake had been thinking he could take emotions out of marriage; on paper it had equalled no tensions. He had wanted his life to resemble the clear, uncluttered lines of his desk—neat rows, square edges, controlled, no mess—and it could. It had been, but as he looked into Mari’s stormy, beautiful face, he made a life-changing discovery—he no longer wanted it to.

  Love— He had avoided even thinking the word. Love was what had changed everything, had changed him.

  He didn’t want a suitable bride, someone who said the right things and agreed with everything he said. He wanted Mari. Not the Mari that said what she thought he wanted to hear, but the one who blurted out the first thing that came into her head and argued the hind leg off a donkey just for the hell of it—he wanted his Mari back!

  ‘You are totally wrong.’

  Hanging on the banister, she took two steps up then, unable to stop herself, one down, but she didn’t lower her wary guard as she struggled to read beyond the cool detachment of his manner, to read the expression in his deep-set eyes.

  ‘I am?’

  ‘About me and us... Your position is...’ He stopped, his dark brows twitching into a straight line as he framed his suspicious question. ‘Has anyone here treated you with less than respect?’

  The negative shake of her head lessened the explosive quality of his hard stare; the nerve in the hollow of his clenched cheek stopped jumping.

  ‘We should stay married.’

  ‘I know, because of the baby,’ she said dully.

  ‘Because you are you and I am...’ He sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly before saying in a voice that vibrated with emotion, ‘Lonely.’

  Mari watched in disbelief as, having dropped the unexploded conversational bomb at her feet, he turned to go back into the study, pausing to call casually over his shoulder, ‘Join me here for a drink when you’re ready—tonic, lime and lots of ice?’

  The door closed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHEN THE FEELING returned to her paralysed limbs, Mari flew on an adrenaline rush high up the stairs two at a time, her heart thumping against her rib cage.

  By the time she reached the bedroom where her clothes were laid out, ready, she had come back down to earth. He had waited to say this until after he knew about the baby—was that significant?

  And after all, what had he said— Lonely...? It might just mean he was at a loose end.

  Was she seeing and hearing what she wanted to?

  Fingers pressed to her temple, she closed her eyes and willed the inner dialogue to stop before her head exploded, which was not a good look for the perfect hostess.

  Her eyes shot wide as she pushed up the cuff of her sweater to see the time.

  ‘Oh, God!’

  She stripped off her clothes as she walked across the room. She entered the bathroom, where she proceeded to chuck half a bottle of some expensive bath oil in the bathtub and turned on the taps full. While the tub filled she piled her hair on top of her head, skewering in the pins carelessly before lowering herself into the water.

  By the time she had stepped into the black number that managed to be both classy and extremely sexy, Mari had managed to achieve a degree of composure, even if it was skin-deep. Underneath she was so wound up she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to wait for him to explain what the hell he had meant. She had a horrible feeling that the moment she saw him she was going to blurt out something terminally stupid like ‘I love you!’

  Well, he’d either run, laugh in her face or...anything was better than this terrible uncertainty.

  * * *

  Seb took the box out of his pocket. It should have been a ring, he thought, snapping it open to glance down at the string of sapphires that had caught his eye as he passed a shop. He could see them around her lovely neck, the colour a tribute to her eyes. He slid the box back into his pocket and pushed his head into the big wing-back chair that faced the fireplace.

  Some inner sixth sense made him glance up just as a figure appeared outside the open French doors. The overalls the man was wearing were emblazoned with the name of the catering company who had been brought in to bolster his own kitchen staff.

  The obvious assumption would be that he had lost his way, but his furtive manner told another story. As Seb made these observations, the man looked over his shoulder to check there was no one to see him before he stepped inside the room.

  ‘Very nice,’ he said softly as he looked around the book-lined room.

  Interesting, Seb decided—the mirror was angled in a way that made it possible for him to watch the man without the intruder being aware of his presence in the room.

  The figure in the overalls was moving with increasing confidence now; he even began to whistle a slightly off-key tune through his teeth as he walked around the room picking up objects, turning them over like an expert before replacing them or, in one or two instances—the man definitely had an eye or, as his grandmother would have put it, he knew the cost of everything and the value of nothing—putting them in his pocket.

  He spotted the cupboard containing Seb’s grandfather’s collection of Georgian silver, smiling broadly as he did so, and Seb had his first full-face look at the guy.

  A shaft of startled recognition turned Seb’s curiosity into something far more personal—something cold, very cold. Ironically at one point the man had picked up the file that told Seb all he needed to know about his intruder and a lot he didn’t want to know about George Laxton...Francis...Richie...Griffiths, a small sample of the aliases that this moderately successful conman went by.

  The contempt etched on Seb’s face gave way to alarm; his eyes went to the door that Mari could walk through at any moment.

  That was one introduction he didn’t want to make.

  If ever he felt a twang of conscience about his decision to keep her in the dark, he reminded himself that if Mari had wanted to know her parentage she would have put the wheels in motion herself, so what she didn’t know... It would hurt her.

  When he’d decided originally to look into her parentage he had debated the ethics of it, but had gone ahead despite his misgivings, tempted ultimately by the idea of producing the loving mother he knew Mari secretly longed for.

  When he’d got the information back it had turned out to be no fairy-tale ending: her mother had died from an accidental overdose after she had abandoned her children.<3

  But Amanda was a victim, too, in a way. Her married lover, Mari’s father, had served time for bigamy, and was the true villain of the story. So what was that villain doing here in his home?

  It was a question for another time. Right now, the priority was to make sure that his and Mari’s paths did not cross.

  He was halfway to his feet, unnoticed by the figure, who was now efficiently emptying the contents of the silver cabinet into his capacious pockets, when the door did open.

  Pausing, Seb sank back down into his concealment. It was hard to watch and wait, but if he wanted this man out of Mari’s life forever it would be useful to have a bargaining chip. A pocket full of valuables and the threat of a prison term could be that lever.

  * * *

 
Mari paused outside the door. Should she knock? No, she decided, boldly pushing it open, that would be too ‘schoolgirl at the headmaster’s office’.

  ‘Oh!’

  It was a massive anticlimax—the library was not empty, as a middle-aged man, one of the caterers, was there, but of Seb there was no sign.

  The last thing she wanted to do was hang around, as she wanted to find Seb, but politeness made her linger. As she did the oddness of this man’s presence struck her. Why was he here, in the room that was Seb’s private sanctum?

  The man, who was staring at her a little too intently for comfort, showed no sign of filling in the blanks without a push.

  ‘Hello, can I help you...?’ She stopped, her smooth brow furrowing as she scanned the stranger’s face. She was pretty sure she had never met him but...

  ‘Have we met already? You look a little familiar...’ The likeness almost in her grasp, it slipped away.

  The man grinned, and for no reason at all a frisson of unease slid down Mari’s spine. Struggling against a growing antipathy, she smiled weakly back, but also took a cautious step back towards the door.

  ‘Now, that is nice—early Georgian. A real collector’s item.’

  To Mari’s utter amazement, without even trying to hide what he was doing, the man slipped the miniature he had held out to admire into a pocket in his overalls, one that she noticed was already bulging...with other stolen items? The bold thief was either mad or... Actually he was obviously mad, but not, she hoped, violent.

  ‘That’s stealing. Put it back immediately and we’ll forget all about it!’

  ‘Stealing...?’ The man rubbed his hand along the goatee he sported. ‘Now, me, I like to call it a redistribution of wealth.’ He bared his yellowy teeth in a cold smile. ‘I’d know you anywhere, darling—you’re the living spit of your mum.’

  Mari, who had moved towards the door to call for help, froze; the colour drained from her face as she spun back. She could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears. It sounded like the waves crashing on a distant seashore. ‘You know my m...mother?’

  ‘Knew. Amanda is no longer with us, sadly.’

  ‘She’s dead.’ Her thoughts whirled, an unrelenting flow of question marks running through her head.

  Was he telling the truth? What reason did he have to lie? ‘My mother was called Amanda?’

  ‘You’re a lot bigger than her. She was a tiny little thing, except of course when she was carrying you and your brother.’

  For a few moments she’d had a mother. It was crazy to feel bereft, but Mari did. A solitary tear slid down her cheek. While she hadn’t known, there was always the hope that one day their mother would come looking for them... She would explain why she’d had to abandon the babies she loved. It had been a childish game she had played, one she should have put away with her dolls, and yet she had clung to the comfort the possibility offered, even though she knew deep down that it was never going to happen.

  Now she knew for sure it was never going to happen.

  ‘Don’t look so sad, sweetheart.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  White-knuckled hands gripping the leather armrests, Seb closed his eyes. Keeping his anger in check was taking every ounce of his energy. He knew what was coming and he couldn’t stop it. He had to let it run its course and then be there for her. He ached for her pain—as if she hadn’t had enough pain in her young life.

  ‘I’m hurt you don’t recognise your old dad.’

  Mari’s eyes, very blue in her paper-white face, widened. She stood still as a statue, and she shook her head in a slow negative motion of denial; he couldn’t be her father.

  ‘I think you’d better leave now,’ she said firmly. ‘Before I call Security. Just put the miniature down and walk away.’

  ‘My, quite the little princess, aren’t we? But you’ve done well for yourself,’ he conceded. ‘It has to be said you’ve really fallen on your feet.’ He looked around the room and gave an approving nod.

  ‘If you don’t leave now, I’m afraid I’ll have to report you to your employer.’

  He gave a hoot of laughter; the sound was not pleasant. ‘I’m not on the payroll, but this—’ he touched the logo emblazoned on his chest with a touch of smug pride in his voice ‘—made it a lot easier to get in here.’

  ‘You’re not my father.’ Say it often enough and you’ll believe it, Mari. Silencing the voice of her subconscious but not the quiver of uncertainty in her voice, she lifted her chin. ‘I don’t have a father.’

  ‘Look again, my lovely.’ He pointed to his face, watching hers, his narrow eyes no longer smiling.

  Startled as much by his change of accent as the invitation, she allowed her eyes to rest on the face of the man who claimed to be her father, which was ridiculous. He was nothing like any of the visions she had of her parent. She and Mark had always... Mark. Pressing a hand to her stomach in an effort to counter the sick churning inside, she understood why his face had seemed so familiar. It was no individual feature, nothing was identical, similarities were blurred, but it was there in the slant of the eyes and the curve of the lips, though her brother’s was fuller and inclined to petulance and not meanness.

  She lowered her lashes in a protective shield, but not, it seemed, before the man—she couldn’t even think of him as a father—read her expression.

  He gave a crow of triumph.

  Pride came to her rescue. She lifted her chin and looked at him levelly. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘To see my daughter.’

  ‘After twenty-four years?’ She eyed him warily, struggling not to show the fear that was building inside her, focusing instead on her anger. ‘You know nothing about being a father, a parent,’ she flashed, smiling as she realised that her child would have a father, the sort of father who would give his life for his child.

  ‘Don’t worry. I don’t want to hang around any more than you want me here,’ he snarled, visibly unsettled by the change in her manner. ‘It’s just I’m a bit short of cash at the moment and you’re... We could call it a loan.’

  Mari felt physically sick. This man was her father... She gave a shudder of revulsion and wondered when this nightmare would stop. ‘I don’t have any money.’

  ‘But your husband does—pots of the stuff.’ He rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation of the luck that had come his way.

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Saw your picture in the paper, knew you the moment I saw who you were—amazing. You were an ugly little thing when you were born, red and screaming.’ He gave a shudder of distaste.

  ‘I have no money,’ she repeated flatly.

  ‘But you can get it. I don’t think your posh husband is going to be quite so keen if he finds out your dad has a prison record. Can’t you see the headlines now?’

  This overt attempt at blackmail took her breath away. She looked at him in utter disgust. It was not often that you came across someone without a single redeeming feature, but it seemed that her biological father was one of those people. It was hard to face, but it was the cold, stark truth, and better to face it and move on.

  A great sentiment, but at that moment all she wanted to do was weep until she had no tears left.

  ‘Go to hell,’ she said conversationally.

  ‘I don’t think you quite understand—’

  The sound of a chair scraping the floor made parent and child spin around.

  ‘No, it is you who do not understand. How long did you go away for the last time—five, out in two? I think you’ll find that the law is less sympathetic to blackmail... With your record what are we talking, fifteen...?’

  ‘Now, hold on, I came here to see my little girl,’ he blustered.

  Seb took a step closer, towering over the older man not just in his physical presence but his character. ‘Not your little girl, my woman. You will empty your pockets, you will leave now and you will never come back. Believe me, you’ll live to regret it if you don’t.’
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br />   Looking visibly shaken, the older man began to back towards the door. Once there he raised his fist and shook it at them both. ‘You’ll be sorry when I sell my story.’

  * * *

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Seb turned, the pallor of her face causing him a spasm of alarm.

  ‘What if he does?’ she said, struggling to control the bubble of hysteria she could hear in her voice. ‘The royal deal.’

  ‘Forget him...’ he roughed out. It was Mari he was worried about. ‘Forget the bloody deal.’

  She blinked, misunderstanding him. ‘Of course, the dinner.’ She took a deep breath. ‘People will be arriving. We need to greet them. Don’t worry, I won’t let you down.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter...’

  He was talking to air, as she had whisked out of the room and straight into the royal party.

  Jaw clenched in frustration and left little choice, Seb painted on a social face and followed her.

  * * *

  Ironically, after dreading it Mari found herself dealing with the dinner without even a flicker of nerves, because she had bigger things to worry about now than using the wrong fork or forgetting the name of a famous guest.

  She knew it was only delaying the inevitable, but as far as she was concerned it could go on forever. There was zero point pretending—she’d seen the seething contempt in Seb’s eyes when he had given her father his marching orders. In Seb’s eyes she was tainted. Where did that leave them?

  Nowhere good.

  The royal prince seated to her right said something and she smiled and nodded, not having a clue what he had said, but glad of the opportunity to look anywhere but at Seb. Normally at ease in any social situation—she had always envied him his poise—he had barely said a word to anyone all night.

  ‘You are a lucky man, Seb.’

  Seb tore his eyes from Mari and wondered why the hell it had seemed like a good idea to have her seated at the opposite side of the table. This damned meal was just going on and on forever.