A Promise of More

by Bronwen Evans

  He’d been in a foul mood before their encounter; now he loathed his own company even more. This inaction would drive him mad. At least Arend, Maitland, and Hadley were carefully and discreetly making inquiries.

  One of Clarice’s men had learned the note was delivered in an expensive black coach with a coat of arms on the side. The problem was the man could only remember about one quarter of the design. Arend was working with Clarice’s man, going through as many books as they could find with pictures of coats of arms, but still no result.

  Perhaps he should stay in bed for another few days and put some space between Beatrice and himself. Just thinking about her sent need, hot and hard, ripping through his veins stronger than ever before. This urgent lust made no sense. Beatrice didn’t even come close to fitting the description of the women he normally found attractive. She was too intelligent, too bossy, too outspoken, but still he wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in his life.

  This was what came from spending too much time with one woman. They messed with your mind. Her forced proximity was compounding these feelings, making him want things he refused to face. In his previous dealings with lovers, he could walk away. How did one walk away from one’s wife?

  Once he was mobile once more, then he’d find her and pretend that nothing had happened. He’d try to go back to the way it was—polite friends.

  Beatrice avoided Sebastian over the following two days. She could not face him. Actually, for the first time since they’d married, she didn’t want to see him. She refused to be the one to offer the olive branch.

  Aunt Alison mentioned that no man valued a docile beast, preferring the challenge of a spirited thoroughbred. She’d decided she was no longer going to put Sebastian’s needs first. She would not become his docile, tame beast. If he wanted them to be friends, then he’d have to earn her friendship. At the moment she didn’t particularly like him.

  His sisters, however, Beatrice was quickly coming to love. After chaperoning Lord Rothburg and Marisa in the drawing room for an hour that morning, Beatrice had just retired to the library with one of her latest Gothic novels and was having some quiet time to herself, when Roberts entered with a note on a tray. “A messenger is waiting for a reply, my lady.”

  Beatrice hurriedly grabbed the note. Who could have sent it? She thought for a moment it might have been from Arend, telling her he’d found something and wished to talk to her about it. But her face dropped and her hand shook as she saw the note was from Monica. Henry was very ill and Monica needed her to come at once.

  “I’ll give him my message personally—tell the lad I’ll be there in a minute.” At the butler’s stare she added tersely, “That will be all, Roberts.”

  He bowed before leaving the room.

  She sat for a moment clutching the note, almost crushing it in her hands. How was she to leave the house unnoticed? She couldn’t very well go and tell Sebastian she had to leave the house without explaining about Henry. Given their current estrangement, now was definitely not the right time to add more kindling to the fire, so to speak. She would have to sneak out and try to hail a hackney. The servants’ stairs would be the best track to take.

  She went to the desk and wrote a note. Then she rose and made her way to the front door, where a young boy stood patiently waiting. Conscious of being overheard, she took him outside to the front steps and crouched down to eye level. “Tell Mrs. Devoroux I’m on my way, but first, please take this note to Dr. Jamieson over in Andover Street. Can you do that?” she asked as she pushed coins into his little palm.

  “Aye, madam.”

  “Good boy. Off you go.”

  She stood, biting her lip, watching him race up the street. Now for the hard part. Sneaking out of the house without anyone seeing her.

  Beatrice reentered the house and called to Roberts. “I’m having a rest in my room for a few hours. I don’t wish to be disturbed,” and she hurried upstairs to change.

  That morning Dr. Jamieson had given his approval for Sebastian to be up and about. He still had to be careful and walk in short, stiff steps, but at least he was on the mend.

  He had a pile of correspondence awaiting him in his study and he was glad of it. He could avoid the conversation he must have with Beatrice. She’d surprised him with her estrangement. He had thought she’d come round but she’d not stepped a foot into his room in the last few days.

  Roberts had discreetly placed a cushion on his chair, and within thirty minutes of sitting he was grateful for it.

  After he’d finished up his morning’s correspondence, Sebastian’s mind once more turned to Beatrice and a conversation he’d had with Marisa over breakfast. Marisa was concerned about the fact Beatrice did not appear to be spending any money. He’d just been through his accounts and she had not ordered any new gowns, nor spent any money on any other goods or services.

  Yet Marisa told him that Beatrice had asked her for a loan of her pin money for a book she wished to buy. So what had Beatrice spent her very generous pin money on? Was he not taking care of her family’s expenses? He knew, due to the lack of goods being sent to the house, that she wasn’t buying anything.

  He limped into the drawing room and she wasn’t there. Cursing the stairs as he limped up them, he went to her bedchamber and she wasn’t there either. He looked in all the usual places where he might find her, and to his horror it dawned on him that she was not in the house. Goddamn it to hell, he’d ring her neck. Fear gripped him tightly at the idea of her going out alone. She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t disobey him so openly. Perhaps she was with one of his friends, but why? Why not come to him if she needed to go out?

  Because she’s still mad at you, and you haven’t apologized.

  Spying her maid, he asked her, “Do you know where Lady Beatrice went?”

  She gave him a curtsey. “I thought she was resting in her room, my lord. She asked me not to disturb her.”

  “I’ve checked her room, she is not there.”

  “Who’s left the house?” Helen asked as she and the butler approached.

  Roberts interrupted. “If I may, my lord, a missive arrived for her earlier, but I did not see her leave the property. She merely gave the young lad a reply.”

  Sebastian was becoming more confused. “Who was the note from? One of the Libertine Scholars?”

  “She did not say, sir. I did see her write a note, and not that I was eavesdropping but I heard her ask him to deliver it to Dr. Jamieson.”

  Helen flashed a concerned look at her brother. “You are well? There is not anything you are hiding from us?”

  He hugged her close. “I’m perfectly fine.” However, his stomach clenched; Beatrice wouldn’t be foolish enough to go after a lead on her own, would she? She was headstrong but she definitely was not stupid. Surely she would have come to him if she’d found the information they’d been hunting?

  Fool. Why should she come to you? He ran a hand through his hair. Think …

  “If she’s left the house, perhaps one of her family is ill,” Helen suggested.

  “She knows she’s not supposed to leave the house without an escort. Are Gerard and the carriage still in the stables?”

  “I’ll send someone to check,” Roberts said, and left them standing on the landing.

  “Helen, has Arend, Maitland, or Hadley called this morning?”

  She shook her head.

  Sebastian began to pace the floor. Roberts hurried toward them. “Gerard has not taken the carriage out today but one of the girls in the kitchen saw her ladyship leave through the servants’ entrance about an hour ago.”

  “Was she accompanied?”

  Roberts merely shook his head, looking duly concerned.

  “Beatrice went out? Oh dear,” Helen said, looking at her brother.

  Just then the doorbell rang, and Sebastian didn’t wait for his staff; he hobbled as fast as he could down the stairs just as the footman opened the door to Dr. Jamieson.

  The doctor sm
iled at Sebastian. “Good to see you up already and moving so well, my lord. I was wondering if your good wife was here. I thought we might as well go in the same carriage.” At Sebastian’s apparent confusion he added, “Unless she has already left.”

  “Left to go where?”

  Dr. Jamieson handed him Beatrice’s note. “Why, to Old Kent Road to the little boy.”

  “Roberts, get Gerard to ready the carriage. Quickly. I want to leave immediately.” Turning to Helen, he said, “Neither you nor Marisa is to leave the house. Do I make myself clear?”

  Helen took one look at her brother’s face and simply nodded. “I’ll make sure Marisa and I behave.”

  He nodded and with his hand indicated to the doctor to precede him out of the house.

  Once they were on their way, the doctor had the nerve to ask him about the little boy. “How old is he?”

  Sebastian cleared his throat. “I have no idea. I have never met the child.” He was too embarrassed to admit this was the first he’d heard of any child. More worrying was, whose child was it? If the child were a member of Beatrice’s family, they would not be going to this less-than-salubrious area of town.

  No. There was something else at play here and his gut knew it wasn’t good. Secrets never were, and Beatrice had definitely kept the existence of this child a secret.

  The silence in the carriage grew more ominous the closer they got to their destination. The doctor had picked up on Sebastian’s dark mood and had stopped trying to converse several miles ago.

  The carriage drew to a halt and Sebastian walked to the door. He hesitated. Everything inside him wanted to simply barge in, but instead he beckoned the doctor and suggested he knock.

  The door was opened by a woman Sebastian did not know, but the look of relief on her face at seeing the doctor and his bag was evident. “Thank God you’ve come. Please hurry,” she said, and stood back to let the doctor in. Only then did she spy Sebastian, and her face drained of color.

  “Not expecting me, I see,” he said, and without an invitation he pushed past her into the house.

  He followed the doctor up the rickety stairs with the woman following close behind. He entered a small bedchamber and saw Beatrice holding a child, probably no more than two years old. The child looked flushed with fever, obviously ill. Beatrice was rocking him and gently cooing to the wee boy. She looked up in shock at his entry.

  But it was not her face that drew him. It was the boy’s face. He recognized the child. Thunderstruck, Sebastian stood in the doorway and stared. The air left his lungs in a whoosh.

  “I can explain,” Beatrice said as she handed the boy to the doctor.

  He threw up his hand to ward her off. “I think I understand perfectly. Dunmire. No wonder he wanted to marry you.”

  How had he ever imagined two strangers could instantly be friends? They never really even knew each other. She was a stranger to him.

  “Sebastian, it’s not what—”

  “What I think. Is it not? Is this not Dunmire’s child?”

  Her mouth closed and she nodded.

  The first word that turned over in his mind was fool.

  The second thought that materialized was that she had been planning this from the day he hauled her from the Thames.

  And he went cold inside.

  “Well played, Beatrice. You fooled me and no other woman has ever been capable of that.”

  He stepped back out into the hall. He had to escape, had to get outside, away from the lies and treachery.

  She followed him down the stairs. He ignored the pain in his buttock, holding himself tall and erect while inwardly reeling. He refused to acknowledge her pleas and stalked back to the carriage.

  He was almost safely inside when her hand landed on his arm. “Don’t walk away. You owe me the chance to explain. I should have told you the day we married. Before we married …”

  “I don’t know why you did this to me when clearly Dunmire would have you, or was that a lie too? He refused to marry you after you bore him a child out of wedlock. So you took the opportunity to trap me instead.”

  “The child is not mine. Surely you must know that? I was a virgin on our wedding night.”

  “That too can be faked. Take your hand off my arm.”

  He shook her off harshly, rage locked in his throat. He entered the carriage and closed the door. She stood watching him, tears marring her face. He wanted to hurt her the way she’d hurt him. He pushed down the window. “You know the funny thing? I would have still married you, child or no child, if you’d told me the truth.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she cried.

  He tapped the roof, ordering the carriage to move on. He could barely see, let alone think, for the sickness invading his soul. She’d lied to him. Not a little lie either. She’d tricked him and used him.

  Thank God he’d never given her a piece of his heart, for he’d have been an even bigger fool.

  It wasn’t until several miles later that he noticed he was rubbing his chest, trying to soothe the pain there.

  Sebastian stood swaying on the bottom step, looking up at the door above him. He knew he was two sheets to the wind and was not in any condition to pleasure a lady, having spent the afternoon drinking at his club to dull the pain of Beatrice’s betrayal. She had driven him to this point.

  He had made a promise to himself the day he had married Beatrice that he would be a good husband to her. He hadn’t been upset at the position he’d found himself in—leg shackled. He enjoyed making love to his wife. Perhaps enjoyed it too much, for feelings were starting to creep in and that was why her betrayal cut so deep.

  He had promised in his marriage vows to forsake all others, promising he would never be unfaithful to his wife. He wanted to hold to that vow. It was his parents’ faithlessness that had started their war, and he didn’t want to ever be put in that position.

  So why was he here? Why was he at Christina’s door at one o’clock in the morning?

  He suddenly realized how his mother had felt when she heard of his father’s betrayal. It hurt to know that the person you shared your life with, the person you wanted to trust more than anyone else, had betrayed you. But did Beatrice’s betrayal give him the right to betray her back? Wasn’t that how a war started? He should rise above her faithlessness and set an example.

  Even so, it didn’t stop him from continuing to walk up the stairs. Maybe he just wanted to hurt her a little.

  He didn’t really know at this point what he wanted. Yes, he did. He wanted another drink. He wanted to drink himself into oblivion so he could forget the fact that the child looked so much like Dunmire, the man Beatrice obviously had had a previous relationship with.

  The image of Henry’s little face looking so much like Dunmire’s as Beatrice held the child in her arms, with the love obviously shining out of her eyes for the little boy, was what made Sebastian continue up the stairs.

  With heavy heart and pain slicing every inch of his body, he knocked on the door.

  He was ushered into Christina’s drawing room and there was great comfort in the familiar escape of self-indulgence. He wanted to escape the pain of Beatrice’s betrayal, and like any injured soul he went where he knew he’d get a warm and soothing welcome.

  He noted Christina’s surprise at his arrival on her doorstep, and for a moment he thought how bloody arrogant he was, expecting her to receive him.

  Christina’s eyes, however, welcomed him with sultry knowing. She certainly hadn’t expected him to remain a faithful husband. Little did she know, he had due cause to be here.

  “You look as if you’ve had too much to drink, my love. Come,” and she took his hand and led him to the fire. “Sit and let Christina take care of you.”

  “I think I need more—dull the pain, you see.”

  She sat down at his feet, her hands resting on his thighs. “Whatever’s wrong, darling, you know I’m here for you, anything you desire.” The way she said “desire” sent heat licking to
all the right places. He shuddered.

  She noticed. She noticed everything. A mocking smile of triumph flickered in her lovely blue eyes and he looked away. She leaned up and brushed a kiss to his lips. “Let me help.”

  He looked at her ruby red lips while drinking in her hungry stare, and—Christ,—nothing.… He shouldn’t be here, but pain beat at him until he couldn’t bear it.

  “I can make the pain go away,” she whispered as her hands caressed his thighs through his trousers.

  He halted her hands before they reached his groin, hating himself for being here and despising Beatrice for driving him to this. Now he understood his parents’ games. The grief of betrayal drove one to lash out and fight back. To blanket the pain.

  Christina’s fingers stroked his thighs and he gave in and dropped his head back on the edge of the chair and closed his eyes.

  “Does your wife know you are here?”

  Instead of ignoring her goading comment, he stupidly replied, “I doubt she’d care.”

  “I’m pleased you came to me, darling. I care.”

  As if sensing his mood, Christina did not hurry. She merely continued to stroke his thighs, inching ever closer to his groin.

  He kept his eyes closed, wishing the images of Beatrice holding the child would leave him.

  Finally Christina’s clever fingers found their prize. She stroked him through his trousers and he let out a groan of relief. Just make me forget …

  Nothing. Her touch elicited no response. He felt nothing at all and for a moment he embraced the nothingness.

  Christina frowned at his lack of response and took his hand, placing it on her bountiful breast, then she trailed her fingers down to stroke between his thighs, her nails digging into him through his clothing.

  Sebastian cursed under his breath and let his hand fall from her body. Beatrice. His soul broke in two as his body understood he wanted only one woman. His wife. His betrayer.