by Sara Bennett
She took a deep breath. “Your Grace—”
“Miss Belmont—”
Their eyes met in shock and then slid away, but in that moment of surprising contact Eugenie was certain she saw lingering in his gaze his previous hot passion. It occurred to her that it would not be very difficult to stir the coals to their former intensity, if she should wish to try.
What should have been a terrifying thought was actually extremely tempting.
“I must go back to the supper room,” she said, sounding breathless.
“Don’t go, Eugenie.” His voice was gruff, unwilling, as if he was speaking words he’d rather not speak.
“I think I had better.” She forced a shaky laugh. “You know me. I am liable to do something scandalous.”
His dark gaze was piercing. “You are a thoughtless little minx, I’ll give you that.”
“And you are an arrogant . . .”
He bent his head as if to kiss her. She was certain that was what he meant to do.
Would she kiss him back? Had she learned so little that she would fling herself once more into the chaos of his arms?
Luckily they were interrupted.
Someone cleared their throat.
Sinclair spun around, his face white, and found Major Banks standing in the doorway with a servant goggling behind him. Eugenie put a hand to her face, wondering if Scarlet Woman was written there in flaming letters. She began to slip around the duke, hoping to make her escape without anyone noticing, but the major’s next words brought her to a stop.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” he said stiffly, his face perfectly composed. If he was wondering what he had just interrupted then he hid it well. “An urgent message has just come for you.” He nodded to the servant, who held out a sealed paper on a silver salver as if it was an entrée.
Impatiently Sinclair snatched it up and tore it open without a word. Eugenie, watching his face change as he scanned the words, knew at once that something dreadful had happened. All her personal doubts melted away as her generous spirit compelled her to help him in any way she could.
“What is it?” she said. “What does it say?”
He looked at her as if he didn’t know her. “Leave us,” he said icily, jerking his head at the major and his servant. His rudeness was evidently to be excused on this occasion, because a moment later the library door closed and they were again alone.
“Sinclair, please, what is the matter?” she tried. If she hadn’t known better she might think this was another of her mistakes. She even searched her consciousness in case some new piece of reckless behavior had slipped her mind.
Sinclair was speaking in a clipped, precise voice that was as cold as winter.
“My mother arrived at Somerton this evening to accompany my sister to London in preparation for her wedding.”
“The wedding. Of course. Wish her well from me, won’t you?”
His look was baleful. “My sister was not there. She has left a written note saying she has run away to Scotland with your brother.”
Eugenie opened her mouth to refute his accusation utterly. “Terry would never . . . !” she squeaked, and then stopped. Certain conversations jumbled into her head, snippets of things Terry had said, secrets half disclosed, and suddenly she knew with a sinking heart that it was indeed possible. In fact it was more than likely Terry had run off with Lady Annabelle.
“Never fear I will bring them back,” Sinclair said with cold fury. “The rascal will not benefit from his base act.”
“I’m sure if Terry has taken your sister to Scotland then it wasn’t his idea alone,” Eugenie dared to argue.
“We both know who is the villain in this tale.”
He stared at her a moment more, as if there was more he wanted to say but could not, and then he walked out.
Eugenie stood as if turned to stone. She wanted to slump down into one of the leather chairs and cover her face with her hands. She wanted to lose herself in a storm of wailing. But it wasn’t possible. She had to tell her parents what their son had done, and then they must go home. Perhaps he had left an explaining letter for them; perhaps it was all a mistake.
Hope buoyed her up as she hurried from the room.
Sinclair sat slumped in the corner of his coach, seething with such a mass of contradicting emotions that he lurched from fury to rage to self-recriminations and back again. Of course he blamed himself. He should have seen what was happening and taken action to remove Terry Belmont from his sister’s orbit. His mother, in the brief and bitter note she’d sent to Major Banks, had informed him that Annabelle’s maid had known all about it. Of course the poor chit was no match for the dowager duchess, and soon told tearful tales of Annabelle’s evening meetings in the garden and the woods, of plans made and secrets kept, and finally, this evening, the flight north to Scotland with her lover.
As for Miss Gamboni, where was she in all this? Her part was, as yet, a mystery because they could not find her. She had disappeared. Perhaps, too afraid to face her charge’s family, she had fled to the safety of her home.
I blame you, Sinclair.
His mother had only written what he believed to be the truth. If he had never pursued Eugenie, if he had not become so obsessed with having her, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else, then the warning signals would have jolted him into seeing what was happening long ago. Instead, whenever he had felt a faint niggling unease, he had chosen to ignore it and continue on his merry way.
Bleakly, he stared ahead.
There was Somerton, windows ablaze, as though by lighting every candle and lamp in the house his mother could bring Annabelle home. The coach circled the drive and came to a stop. Grimly Sinclair prepared himself for what was ahead.
He would find her. He would redeem himself. No matter how long it took, he would bring his sister home.
Chapter 21
Eugenie was surprised her nerves weren’t shredded by the time they reached Belmont Hall. Her mother was already in a terrible state and when they found a letter awaiting them from Terry, she insisted Eugenie read it.
By now all the family were gathered about, uncharacteristically silent, wide-eyed and waiting.
“My dear mother and father, forgive me for my haste in leaving. I was not planning to go for several days, but Annabelle’s mother sent word she was returning early and we had no choice. We are traveling to Scotland. Loving her as I do, I have no option but to help her. Your fond son, Terry.”
The silence was broken by a shriek from Mrs. Belmont, who promptly threw herself upon the sofa, prostrate. Her husband hovered over her, useless in an emergency, while Jack stared on. Even the twins were subdued, huddled together near the door, ready to bolt to safety.
“He’s eloped!” she sobbed.
Mr. Belmont gave a nervous chuckle. “I didn’t think the boy had it in him. A duke’s sister, eh? That should raise our family’s fortunes.”
“How can you?” His wife turned on him. “The duke will go after him and then what will happen to our son? He will be gaoled, I know it! Locked up for the rest of his life! Or—or challenged to a duel and killed. Oh dear Lord, my son, my son . . .”
Eugenie let their histrionics roll over her. Her last hope was gone. It was all true. Terry really had run off with Annabelle to Scotland. There was no doubt that Sinclair would go after them. With his position and his power he would be able to cover up his sister’s situation, quash the gossip, and marry her off to the man they had already chosen for her.
And what of Terry?
Would he really be thrown into prison, as her mother said? Or would Sinclair shoot him and leave his cold body to be buried somewhere far away from home? Eugenie knew she was becoming hysterical herself, but she couldn’t help it. She kept remembering the duke’s expression as he stood in Major Banks’s library and she wouldn’t put it past him to
revenge himself upon Terry. And, possibly, through him her? Was he still so angry with Eugenie that he would use Annabelle’s elopement as an excuse to punish her in so awful a way?
Don’t be ridiculous, a calming voice warned her. But the emotion was building inside her, panic and a desperate need to do something. Anything! To save her brother from Sinclair’s wrath. And as usual Eugenie felt that this was probably all her fault. If she hadn’t been distracted by her own problems she would have realized what was happening. She could have put a stop to it before the situation reached these catastrophic proportions.
The fault was hers; it was up to her to put things right.
“Don’t worry, Mama,” she said in a voice that betrayed little of her inner turmoil. “I won’t let the duke hurt Terry. I will go with him and bring Terry home.”
“Such a terrible calamity to befall my family,” Mrs. Belmont moaned. “I will never recover from it.”
But Eugenie’s quick mind was already busy, putting plans in place. She looked about her, fixing each member of her family with a serious look. “None of you must mention this, not to anyone. Do you understand? If no one knows and we can get them back home again then there need not be a scandal. As long as no one knows.”
They all nodded and gave their promises in somber voices, even the twins. Eugenie tucked Terry’s letter into her pocket. “Good. I’ll go and quickly pack a bag. I must hurry to Somerton before the duke sets off.”
It said something for their shocked condition that no one thought to protest or point out that Eugenie’s own reputation would be ruined beyond repair by setting off on such an adventure, alone, with the duke. They had simply accepted that Eugenie would step in and make everything all right.
Just as she always did.
Only Jack followed her out of the room to the foot of the stairs. “Do you want me to come with you, Genie?”
Eugenie didn’t want to linger, but he looked so worried. She gave him a reassuring smile. “No, Jack, I’ll be fine. The duke is likely to be cross and you won’t like that.”
“Somerton won’t be cross with you,” Jack assured her confidently. “He likes you. Are you riding the mare? You know what she’s like, and it’s been raining. I’d better come, too.”
Practical as always, Eugenie thought, as she hastily threw a few belongings into her bag, hardly knowing what she was doing. Wrapping her warm wool cloak about her, she hurried back downstairs and followed Jack to the stables.
“You knew about Terry and Lady Annabelle, didn’t you, Jack?” she said, as he saddled the mare.
“He told me not to tell.” He gave her an anxious sideways glance. “I didn’t know he meant to run off with her. He said they were friends, that was all, and he was going to help her out of her pre-predicament.”
“What was her predicament?”
But he just shrugged.
“Didn’t he mention it at all?”
“Well, he asked me once if it was right to do something to help someone even if it meant you’d get into trouble.”
“He asked me something similar.”
So Terry must have had his doubts but he’d gone ahead anyway. Run off with the duke’s sister! Eugenie sighed. Terry really had set a new Belmont standard for harebrained behavior.
On the ride to Somerton she clung to Jack and tried to be calm despite the maelstrom of panic in the pit of her stomach. Jack, misreading her tension, assured her they’d reach the estate before Sinclair left. “And if we don’t then I’ll follow on until we catch up with him.”
Eugenie’s angst was more about coming face-to-face with the duke. The thought of being on the receiving end of his icy anger yet again was making her feel nauseous.
He’d refuse to take her. Of course he would. He would leave her standing on the road while he drove away and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
When they reached Somerton the house was brilliantly lit, bizarrely, as if the St. Johns were about to host a grand gala. They cantered up the side of the driveway, keeping to the few shadows thrown by shrubs and a trellis of vines, and Eugenie saw the duke’s coach waiting outside. A pair of burly servants were busy strapping luggage to the back, while a coachman in a great coat, an old tricorn hat over his grizzled gray hair, held steady the four horses.
Behind them were the doors to the house, wide open, light spilling over the curve of the stairs. As if daring her to climb them.
Her heart began to thump harder than ever. She knew what would happen if she climbed those stairs and demanded to speak to Sinclair. He would refuse to have any conversation with her. And if she insisted, then he would refuse to take her with him. She couldn’t win, not on his terms. And she had to win, for Terry’s sake.
Eugenie needed a better plan; she needed to hand Sinclair a fait accompli.
“Jack,” she whispered, “will you do something for me?”
While she explained her idea he nodded seriously, but there was a twinkle in his eye. He was only a boy, after all, and to him this was probably a great adventure. Eugenie slipped from her mare, taking her bag with her, and made her way as close as she could to the coach without revealing her presence. Jack waited until she was in position, and then dug his heels into the mare’s flanks. The silly creature darted forward, kicking up gravel, and flew past the coach, servants, and the waiting coachman.
The sudden commotion made them all jump and shout. The burly servants started after Jack, waving their arms, while the coachman followed a short way, then seemed to remember that it was his job to look after the duke’s horses and turned back. But the distraction gave Eugenie time enough to reach the coach, quietly open the door and slip inside.
Creeping into the farthest corner, she curled up and made herself as small as possible. There was a neatly folded travel rug which she spread over herself, hoping she resembled some lumpy piece of luggage that had not fitted onto the back of the coach. She could not hide here for long, she knew that with a stark sense of inevitability, but perhaps it would be long enough for her to persuade him it was easier to let her stay than to waste time turning back.
Sinclair drew on his gloves as he strode down the steps. He didn’t feel cold, although his breath was white in the night air. The urgency of the situation was keeping him warm. Behind him in the doorway his mother stood with a stiff back and a white face, watching him go. As he’d expected she blamed him for the entire dire situation, and because he felt it was justified, he’d bowed his head and accepted her anger.
“I will bring her back,” he swore, when she was spent.
“I never did trust that Gamboni woman. She is behind all this, you can be sure of it. Annabelle would never do such a thing without encouragement. She is at heart a sensible girl, Sinclair.”
They had still not found Miss Gamboni, although the clothing in her bedchamber was untouched and her luggage was still in the box room.
“What of the scandal?” His mother’s eyes were red-rimmed with grief. “How can that be dealt with?”
“The scandal can be managed. Once she is married to Lucius and living in London all will be forgotten. You will see, Mother. We will get through this without too much tarnish attached to our name.”
“You do not understand, Sinclair. Her life will be ruined. She may think she wants to be free of all this,” she waved a hand about her at the pomp of her home, “but she will soon come to realize her mistake. When it is too late.” She took a deep breath, trying to quell what she would see as too much emotion. In his mother’s world one did not display one’s feelings in front of others, not even one’s son.
“I promise you it will not come to that.”
“And what of this boy? His family will crow from the rooftops when they know he has secured himself such a prize.”
“They may well crow but no one of any importance will listen to them. I will make sure the boy never spe
aks of what he has done and we never set eyes on him again.”
His mother opened her mouth and then closed it again. Perhaps something in his voice, his face, made her think it was wiser not to ask how he was going to achieve that.
“Very well,” she said instead. “Remember who you are and what you represent, Sinclair. The family is relying upon you to set this matter to rights.”
He kissed the cold cheek she turned to him, and hurried down the steps. The coach was ready and waiting and he climbed in, calling for Robert the coachman. He’d decided against any other servants or outriders, thinking the less people who knew what was happening the better. And then there was a question of speed. A large retinue would slow him down and he needed to catch the runaways as soon as possible.
Sinclair had barely settled back against the leather seat when the vehicle lurched forward and then began to roll across the gravel, swinging around the circular drive and heading out between Somerton’s grand gateposts and their stone lions.
Deep in thought he did not notice the shape in the corner, or if he did, it did not strike him as anything to be concerned about. He knew that time was of the essence and according to Annabelle’s maid the eloping couple was heading northward, so they should be easy to trace. Sinclair had the advantage. He kept horses at some of the inns along the way, to enable his mother to visit her family in the north whenever she wished. He could travel with speed and would not have to deal with inferior horseflesh. No, this nightmare would soon be over and Annabelle would be back, safe in the dowager duchess’s care.
A question niggled at him. How could his sister have done such an insane thing? He knew she was unhappy and anxious about her coming marriage—she had spoken with him about it—but he never for one moment imagined she would behave with such deceit. Such wanton recklessness. He’d believed that she was simply betraying her youth and inexperience, and once she married Lucius all would be well. That was the way of their world and in time she would come to accept it.