A Most Sinful Proposal

by Sara Bennett

  “We must assume that was pretense,” Valentine said grimly.

  The man rubbed his hands over his face. “No one has ever escaped from this house before. Our record is impeccable. I don’t know what will happen now. I suppose we will see a withdrawal of our more important patients. And I can’t blame them. Who wants their lunatic relative turning up on their doorstep without warning?”

  “You will continue the search?”

  “Yes, of course, but I doubt we’ll find him. If he has the wit to change his clothes then he must be capable of planning a route away from here. Indeed, he could be anywhere.” He cast Valentine a shamefaced look. “He took some money, too.”

  Valentine stood up. “Thank you. We’ll take up no more of your time. You will let me know if you find him?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  As they climbed back into the coach, Marissa was startled to hear Valentine say to the driver, “We are going home to Abbey Thorne Manor. We’ll stop at the house in Mayfair first, but we need to set off from there as quickly as possible.”

  The coachman cracked his whip over the horses’s heads and the vehicle lurched forward.

  “Valentine—” Marissa gasped, falling back against the seat.

  He turned to her urgently. “Where else would he go, Marissa? He’s gone to find Bo-bo. And we must find them both as soon as possible.”

  He was right. This was their chance to discover the truth about the spy and to capture Augustus before he was able to vanish into the wider world.

  Her parents were at first amazed and then irritated by Marissa’s determination to go rushing off with her intended for reasons she would not disclose.

  “We were looking forward to seeing more of Lord Kent,” the professor said. “This is very aggravating, Marissa.”

  Marissa could not help but remember her tenth birthday party, when her parents’ plans took precedence, but she bit her lip and said nothing. Such ancient hurts no longer mattered to her.

  “Is it proper for you to be entirely in Lord Kent’s company?” her mother asked. “Perhaps you should remain in London until he returns.”

  Marissa had no intention of remaining in London. For the first time she admitted to herself that where Valentine went she would follow, no matter where that might be. Did that mean she was prepared to stand on rainswept hillsides with him? Or up to her knees in snow? The answer came loud and strong: Better that than waiting safe at home, frittering away her days with domestic duties.

  At least they would be together.

  “Marissa will be perfectly safe,” Lady Bethany had come to her rescue, “because I am going, too.”

  “As am I,” Jasper announced.

  Professor Rotherhild threw up his hands.

  George decided to remain in London and make certain Augustus didn’t turn up on their doorstep. “I hate to mention it, brother, but you’ve been wrong before,” he told Valentine.

  In no time at all, the four of them were back in the coach and setting off on their impromptu journey.

  As they traveled through London gradually the houses grew less and the fields and trees took over from the city, until they were in the countryside again.

  Marissa closed her eyes, and let her thoughts drift. She remembered the list Valentine had asked her to make and spent some time thinking up dos and don’ts, but after a while it seemed silly to concern herself with what may never happen. Valentine wasn’t the professor and she wasn’t Eleanor. Just because she feared her life repeating itself did not mean it would happen.

  Valentine might become distracted by his work, in fact she’d seen him just like that, but he would never neglect her. She was more precious to him than anything—he’d told her so. And she believed him. Marissa knew she must not confuse her future with memories of her childhood. Surely any doubts she had could be easily resolved? Valentine would listen to her; he’d already asked her numerous times what was wrong. It was her own fault she had refused to tell him.

  Soon, feeling soothed by her own reasoning, she drifted into sleep. When she woke she was lying clasped in Valentine’s arms, her head resting upon his chest, her face buried in his coat.

  She lifted her head, wincing at the stiffness of her neck, and saw that his eyes were closed, his mouth slack. A glance at the other occupants of the coach showed that they were also asleep, Lady Bethany snoring faintly from within the hood of her cloak, while Jasper twitched in the throes of a dream.

  Sitting up, Marissa peered out of the dusty window. The world was beginning to lighten with dawn and she knew they must be close to home.

  Home.

  She smiled. The word had never meant much to her until now; the home of her childhood was not a warm and welcoming place. But Abbey Thorne Manor was different. Valentine had given her a wonderful gift when he made her a part of his family and his past, and she knew that awful sense of isolation, of not belonging anywhere, had finally gone.

  She did not expect everything to be perfect and wonderful from this day forward—Marissa was too sensible to believe that. They would argue and they would find things to dislike about each other, they might even hate each other…briefly. But they would make it up, they would compromise, and in the end it would all go to making their relationship stronger.

  That was love, the sort of love Marissa had been searching for all her life. And Valentine was her love.

  At Abbey Thorne Manor the servants were only just waking up and beginning their daily household tasks. The coach had barely come to a stop when Valentine jumped out and ran across the inner courtyard into the manor through the back door. One of the housemaids stepped out of a side room, then shrieked when she saw him and leaped out of his way.

  “M-my lord…” she wailed.

  But Valentine didn’t have time to apologize or explain himself.

  Something had come to him during his fitful sleep in the coach. He’d remembered a long forgotten moment from his childhood, when his mother was still alive. He’d gone running up to her room to tell her about the caterpillar he’d found in the marigolds, only to be scolded for waking her and “frightening me half to death with that disgusting grub.” Eyes filled with tears, biting his lip to prevent the unmanly moisture from falling, he dragged his feet back down the stairs to the kitchen.

  “Poor little chap,” a kindly voice had said, handing him a biscuit still warm from the oven. “Never mind. Your caterpillar will be happier outside anyway. In a moment we will go and put him back in the marigolds, so he can find his way home.”

  Valentine remembered the hurt dealt him by his mother fading, as they went off hand in hand to return his treasure to its home.

  “I have a little boy just like you,” the kindly voice said. “He isn’t really mine. I am his nanny whenever he visits England. He is always finding creatures in the garden—he has quite a collection. He calls me Bo-bo, because he can’t say my name properly. What do you think of that, Master Valentine?”

  Valentine pushed open the kitchen door.

  Mrs. Beaumaris looked up from the oven, her face flushed from the heat. She was startled by his sudden entrance, but there was something else there, some expression in her eyes that told him that he was right.

  “Master Valentine, you did give me a fright,” she declared, wiping her hands on her apron.

  She came to stand before her scrubbed pine table. There were various ingredients laid out on its surface, ready to be put together and served for breakfast. Valentine could smell the mouthwatering aroma of bacon and sausage already sizzling. There was no doubt Mrs. Beaumaris was queen of her domain.

  “We thought you’d be in London for a week or more. Is there something amiss?”

  Her eyes held his, searching, making up her mind how she could throw him off the scent.

  “It’s too late for that,” he said, and strode toward her. The table was between them and he rested his hands on it and leaned across eggs and cheese and milk, his gaze never leaving hers. “Where is he, Mrs. Bea
umaris? I know he’s here. He’s a danger to himself and others. You know that. Tell me where he is so that he can be returned to the safety of the sanatorium.”

  “I don’t know what you’re—” she began automatically.

  “Oh please, don’t play games with me,” he cut her short. “Give me some credit, Mrs. Beaumaris. I know the truth and I won’t be fobbed off with fairy stories.”

  She wavered. He saw the indecision in her plump, good-natured face. And then she crumpled, dropping back into a chair as her legs seemed to give way, covering her face with her hands. “Oh, my poor boy,” she sobbed. “My poor lad. What will become of him, Master Valentine, without his Bo-bo?”

  Marissa was slower to climb out of the coach. She was stiff and sore from the long journey and the uncomfortable position she’d been in. Lady Bethany was moaning as she tottered about the yard, and Jasper was declaring he was ready for a roaring fire and a nice hot breakfast.

  “Mrs. Beaumaris will accommodate us, I am sure,” he said, with a greedy gleam in his eyes. “I wonder if she has some of that delicious bacon I had last time?”

  “Jasper, really, is your stomach all you think about?” Lady Bethany declared wearily. “Here I am, almost crippled, and you’re worrying about your bacon.”

  “Now, my dear, that’s not true.”

  Marissa was only half listening to their gentle bickering, her thoughts otherwise occupied with the baron and Valentine. It was chance that made her glance up at the gatehouse. It stood silhouetted against the dawn sky, a dark mass of stone with narrow windows like eyes. There was a figure standing on the square tower at the very top. Surprised, she raised a hand to shade her eyes against the glare of the rising sun, and realized that whoever it was had pale hair.

  “Augustus,” she breathed.

  Lady Bethany jumped. “Where?”

  “Up there!” Marissa cried, and ran toward the steps that led up into the gatehouse tower.

  She didn’t stop to think that what she was doing might be dangerous. The baron was here and she would face him and demand to know what he thought he was doing at Abbey Thorne Manor. She had bested him once and she would do so again. How dare he come and try to ruin her wedding and all her happiness? How dare he threaten Valentine?

  Her shoes tapped on the stone steps, echoing the quickening beat of her heart, while her skirt and cloak brushed against the sides of the narrow stairwell. It was gloomy and dank, smelling of age, but she kept climbing toward the square of light at the top. When she finally reached it, stepping out onto the narrow stone balcony, she was out of breath. She clung to the stone balustrade with one hand, a brisk breeze tugging at her clothing and hair, as she gazed around for Augustus.

  “Miss Rotherhild.”

  He was behind her, and she spun around, nearly falling backward down the stairs in her haste to confront him. Augustus was not a man she wanted to have at her back. She was remembering Lady Longhurst and the look on her face when she told them what Augustus had done to her. Shivering, she drew her cloak closer around her, as if it might protect her. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to come rushing up here alone.

  As if he was perfectly aware of her state of mind, the baron smiled.

  “I knew you’d come,” he said, his pale gaze fastened unnervingly on her face. “As soon as I saw you I knew it was meant to be.”

  Meant to be? Before she could ask what he meant, he went on, his face blazing with purpose in a way that was beginning to terrify her.

  “This is all mine, you know. I am the eldest son. I will marry you and we will live at Abbey Thorne Manor. There will be children, of course. I will need an heir.”

  Marissa tried to make her voice sound calm and reasonable, when all she wanted to do was scream. “I think Valentine might have something to say about that. I am engaged to him, not you.”

  He smiled at her as if she was flirting with him. “Valentine understands. He owes me so much. He can never repay all his father’s debts but he will try. I know he will. We are brothers, after all.”

  Marissa knew then it was useless to argue with him. The fantasy in his mind had grown to even more bizarre proportions and whatever she said he wouldn’t be capable of believing her.

  “Will you come down and talk to Valentine? You can discuss the—the running of the estate. You will have a great deal to learn.”

  He frowned. Practical matters had no place in his dreams of the future. “He has a manager, does he not? There will be no need for me to rub shoulders with the workers.”

  “You will need to give instructions. I think you’d better speak to Valentine.” She was edging toward the stairs, drawing him with her. If she could get him down to the ground then there was a chance he could be recaptured, or at least Marissa would be able to escape.

  Augustus shook his head. “Stay where you are, Miss Rotherhild. There is no need to talk to Valentine. He understands everything. He told me himself that he was giving you to me.”

  Goose bumps rose on her skin, and suddenly she felt icy cold. Augustus was so convincing she almost believed him, but in her heart she knew Valentine would never do such a thing.

  “I am not about to be given to anyone,” she said firmly. “I make up my own mind who I want to marry, not Valentine, and not you.”

  The baron looked amused, as if a piece of furniture had suddenly begun to air its opinions.

  Marissa turned and took a step downward.

  The next moment he had hold of her by the shoulders, pulling her backward, his fingers bruising her flesh. She struggled, kicking back at his shins, although her skirts impeded her efforts to escape.

  “Let me go!” She struck back with her elbow, catching him in the stomach and he howled in pain. Marissa had forgotten his wound, but now it had the required effect, and he let her go.

  Panting, her hair tangled about her face and shoulders, she stumbled away from him. Although bent over, his hand to his aching stomach, Augustus was watching her. His face was white, his mouth a rictus smile. He was standing between Marissa and the stairs. There was no other way off the tower, unless it was to jump.

  She looked down and saw Lady Bethany’s face turned up to her, her voice a thin sound, her words inaudible. There were others there, too, watching, horrified, as the drama was played out. She couldn’t see Valentine and wondered in despair where he was.

  “Let her go.”

  She thought she was imagining his voice, but when she turned Valentine’s fair head appeared over the baron’s shoulder as he climbed the last few steps to the top of the tower.

  “Valentine,” she whispered, too frightened to move. What if the baron attacked him and threw him over the edge?

  But Augustus was beaming. “Brother. I’m so glad you’ve come. She is like a savage. I am going to have to teach her obedience. Tell her she is mine now. Tell her what we decided.”

  Marissa met Valentine’s eyes and gave a little shake of her head, trying to make him understand that Augustus was not to be reasoned with. But Valentine must have seen that for himself.

  “Refresh my memory, brother. What did we decide?” he asked in a calm voice.

  “That I would marry Miss Rotherhild and live at Abbey Thorne Manor, because I am the eldest son. I am the heir.”

  Valentine paused and then shook his head, slowly, regretfully. “No, Augustus, I didn’t decide that. I am marrying Marissa, not you. You need to go back to the hospital. You’re not well.”

  “Please, Augustus,” Marissa added, now that Valentine had chosen to be honest and no longer play along with the baron’s fantasies. “They can help you there. Let us take you back to London.”

  He stared back and forth between them. To Marissa’s relief he didn’t try to argue or insist his own version of matters was the true one. Instead he went still, his expression solemn, as if he’d known all along.

  “No, I am not going back,” he said matter-of-factly. “I can’t go back. Bo-bo understands. She says she’ll look after me, just as she u
sed to. She was my nanny, you know, when I stayed at Beauchamp Place. She’s the only one who ever loved me.”

  I should hate him, thought Marissa. He was going to hurt me. He’s hurt others.

  But something in his voice, in his face, inspired pity, too. Augustus had been hurt, he had suffered, and perhaps the madness had more to do with that than anything else.

  “Bo-bo can come to see you, when you’re settled,” Valentine said. “I can arrange that. Come down with me now and we’ll talk to her.”

  “Augustus!” The voice was a cry from the heart, and when they looked down they could see Mrs. Beaumaris below, hands clasped to her bosom, gazing up.

  The sight of her seemed to stir something in him. Perhaps he saw how much he’d lost and would never have again. And perhaps he realized he didn’t want to be locked up in London and it was better to be free.

  Before either Valentine or Marissa could move, he took two strides to the stone balustrade and swung his leg over the edge. A moment when everything was still, even the breeze seemed to have stopped, and then he stepped into nothingness.

  His coat floated outward, like dark wings against the soft pink of the sky, and Marissa remembered the first time she’d seen him on the hillside above Montfitchet. She turned away before he struck the ground, not wanting to see. There was a scream from Mrs. Beaumaris, shouts from the others, and then Valentine’s arms came around her, pressing her close, and she wept.

  Chapter 37

  The little church was resplendent. Sunlight was shining in the stained glass windows onto the polished benches and pews, groaning with well-wishers. Aristocrats rubbed shoulders with plant enthusiasts who were squeezed next to the villagers. Enormous bunches of roses were everywhere, filling the air with their lush scent. Valentine stood before the altar, spick-and-span in his groom’s clothes, while George and Jasper waited beside him. As the organist began to play the bridal march, everyone turned, craning their necks for a first glimpse of the bride.