Gayle Wilson

by Lady Sarah's Son

  Except she had never been that, of course. Never his Sarah. That had always been his mistake, his fantasy—the thought that she cared for him. Not then and not now. And the sooner he got that through his thick head, the better off he would be.

  He would put a stop to what was going on, of course. Sarah was his wife, and whatever the situation between them, he wouldn’t play the cuckold. He would demand that for Andrew’s sake, if for no other reason....

  For Andrew’s sake. Despite the effects of the alcohol, those words impacted on his brain. And slowly Justin realized their significance. Why would Sarah jeopardize the very thing she had professed to desire so much that she was willing to pay off his enormous debts and refurbish his properties to accomplish?

  There was no doubt about what would happen to Andrew’s chances of acceptance if the district discovered what his mother was doing. If anyone found out about those meetings in the clearing, the gossip would begin anew; and it would be even more virulent this time.

  And eventually someone would find out. After all, he had. It seemed Sarah wasn’t very wise in carrying out her affaires. Or not very lucky, perhaps. This time her own husband had seen them. And the first time—

  The thought was sudden, swimming up into his consciousness out of the alcohol-induced haze. The more Justin considered it, however, the more sense it made. He supposed that during his absence, Sarah might have found a new object for her affections. It seemed much more likely, however, now that the idea had finally occurred to him, that the man in the clearing and the man to whom Sarah had given herself years ago were one and the same.

  Andrew’s father? Justin recreated the stranger’s features, which had been dimly visible in the twilight. And then, just as deliberately, he destroyed them. Andrew was a Spenser, through and through. He looked far more like Sarah than he did the stranger. And there was no way to prove Justin’s theory.

  Perhaps that was the reason he had seen the boy so infrequently during the last two weeks. Maybe Drew was busy reacquainting himself with his real father. Perhaps he and Sarah both were, welcoming the prodigal home.

  Apparently welcoming him with open arms, Justin thought, remembering the scene in the clearing. Unerringly, his hand found the neck of the bottle and poured another measure of brandy into his glass. In London he had drunk the port because thoughts of making love to Sarah had filled his head. And tonight...

  It was better not to think about the reasons he was drinking tonight. It was better not to think at all. Trying to arrange that, the earl of Wynfield raised his glass to his lips and then, closing his eyes against the images that would not stop haunting him, tossed down its contents.

  The house was so dark that Sarah wondered if Justin had dismissed his staff during the course of the renovations. Finally, however, someone opened the door and someone else was hurriedly dispatched to fetch Blevins. Sarah stood in the entrance hall, much as she and Drew had huddled together in the foyer of the London town house. It seemed she was destined to stand outside the earl of Wynfield’s doors, demanding admittance.

  “Lady Wynfield,” Blevins said.

  She glanced up to find the old man watching her from the end of the hallway. “I’m looking for my foster son, Blevins,” she said. “I think he has come to see the earl.”

  “I’m afraid you have been misinformed, my lady. No one has called tonight. No one but you, of course.”

  “Andrew isn’t here?” she asked. All the reassurances she had given herself began to crumble.

  “I’m afraid he is not, my lady.”

  “Then I should like to see the earl,” she said.

  “I believe his lordship is... indisposed.”

  The butler’s response seemed full of genuine regret. Sarah, however, was beginning to feel just as she had in London—out of place and very unwelcome. Perhaps the same solution she had employed there should be used here.

  “I’m afraid I really must insist that I be taken to my husband,” she said softly.

  Blevins considered her a moment before he inclined his head. “Then if you’ll come with me, my lady,” he said.

  Blevins had led her to the library, Sarah realized, standing beside him in the doorway. The room was lit by a single candle, which stood on a table beside a worn wing chair. Both were positioned invitingly in front of the fireplace. The grate was empty, however, except for a mound of cold, gray ashes.

  Her gaze circled the room, which appeared to be empty as well. She had already turned, intending to question Blevins about why he had brought her here, when he stepped back into the hall, closing the door behind him. Sarah released the breath she had taken, and again her eyes examined the room, searching the shadows more carefully. “Justin?” she called softly.

  The inflection was questioning, since she had already decided Blevins must have made a mistake. She had placed her fingers on the handle of the door when a hand reached out of the darkness and grabbed her wrist. Gripping it tightly, Justin pulled her around to face him. Startled by his uncharacteristic action, she tried to twist free. His fingers tightened.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice very low.

  He was so close she could smell him. An aroma compounded of starch and leather and the scent of the sandalwood soap he used. Completely masculine. Undeniably appealing, especially to her. And underlying those fragrances was a whiff of brandy. Justin had been drinking, which was probably what Blevins had meant by “indisposed.”

  “I guess it really doesn’t matter why you’re here,” he continued, before she had time to formulate an answer. “I’ve given up on the whys of you. They’re far too taxing. Too cerebral. Maybe that’s always been the trouble between us.”

  “The trouble?” she whispered.

  His eyes were very dark, shadowed by long, thick lashes. As her vision adjusted to the room’s dimness, however, his features became more distinct. His smile was as mocking as David’s had been—an expression she had never before seen on his face, not in all the years she had known him. And it made her afraid.

  “I’ve never understood what you wanted from me,” he said.

  She shook her head, having no idea what he was talking about. She held his eyes, wary of what was in them, but compelled to stillness by the depth of emotion in his voice.

  “But if this is what you want, Sarah...if this is what you’ve wanted all along...”

  He had leaned so close his breath was warm against her cheek. And she found the aroma of the brandy heady. Exciting. As was the feel of his hand, his fingers rough and slightly callused as they encircled her wrist, demanding and possessive. She had never known Justin in this mood. He had always been the perfect gentleman, except that one night in London. She had run away from him then, and she had regretted her action ever since.

  “If it is, then there isn’t any reason why I can’t be as accommodating as the next man,” he finished softly.

  She couldn’t remember exactly what he had said before, but these words seemed out of context, their tone almost accusatory. He caught her other wrist, holding both shoulders high as he pushed her against the door. He was still watching her intently, almost daring her to resist. Except she had no desire to resist. No desire but to let this play out, as she had so often wished she had that night in London.

  Then his head began to lower, the downward sweep of his lashes hiding the indictment that had been in his eyes. With the first touch of his lips against her throat, Sarah lost any sense of unease. Her own eyes closed, and her head fell back, resting against the door behind her. Her breathing deepened.

  His tongue trailed languidly over the soft skin under her jaw and then down her throat until it encountered the barrier of the high neck band of her cloak. He released her right wrist and, one-handed, untied the strings, pushing the cloak apart with his fingers. She gasped as his thumb touched her skin, slid down into the neckline of her gown. His hand was warm in contrast to her coldness, its movement so knowing.

  Her free hand cupped th
e back of his head, fingers spreading through his hair. It felt like silk, and it curled around them just as Drew’s did. As warm and alive as Justin’s mouth, which had somehow replaced the slow caress of his thumb.

  “Is this what you want?” he whispered. His lips were so close that the words left a trace of moisture on her skin. She couldn’t reply, lost in the flood of sensation.

  “Answer me, Sarah,” he demanded. “Is this what you want from me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, knowing now that it was. The fear she had felt in London was gone, burned out of her by this terrible longing and by her need.

  She needed Justin’s touch, just as she had needed his strength. The fiasco of this afternoon’s confrontation with Osborne had reinforced what she had known when she made her offer of marriage. She needed Justin. So she had buried her pride and proposed to a man who had every reason to despise her. And now, finally, she knew that he didn’t.

  His mouth had moved into the valley between her breasts. No man had ever touched her like this. Her knees were trembling, and a searing heat curled through her body like flame, flickering over nerve endings that had slept, unawakened, her entire life. Until this moment. Until Justin’s touch.

  His fingers found her breast, enclosing its softness. Still demanding. Their hard strength seemed almost as erotic as his trailing tongue. Daringly, her own hand touched the front of his shirt, the starched lawn slightly abrasive under the sensitive tips of her fingers. She moved them over the hard contours of underlying muscle and bone, recognizing their powerful contrast to her own body. Her fingers explored until they encountered the small, pebbled nub of his nipple.

  She heard his intake of breath. She liked hearing it, she realized. So she moved her fingers back and forth, feeling the nipple begin to harden under their stroke.

  He released her other hand, freeing it as suddenly as he had grasped it. Before she understood what was happening, he leaned back, his upper body moving away from her even as his hips pushed hers against the wall, holding her prisoner as effectively as he had before. He stripped his shirt over his head in one quick, fluid motion and dropped it to the floor.

  He took her hands and placed them on his chest, inviting the exploration she had thought so daring. He wanted her to touch him, and that was almost as exciting as had been the movement of his lips against her bare skin.

  She obeyed, her palms slowly moving over the hair-roughened strength of his chest. Moving in unison. His face was hard, almost set. His eyes were closed, his head tilted slightly back, his breathing irregular.

  The same thing she had felt happening to his body in London, which had sent her running in panic, was happening again. And this time there was no fear. Justin wanted her. Despite what he believed about Drew. Despite what everyone had told him. Despite the gossip and the lies, he still wanted her.

  From there it would be only a small step to what she wanted. To the relationship she had always dreamed of. She knew she could eventually make him love her, because she loved him so much.

  She leaned forward, putting her mouth against the smooth muscle of his shoulder. She pressed a kiss into the heat of his skin, and then ran her tongue along the protrusion of bone. More daring now, her lips found the hollow of his collarbone, and she caressed it, too.

  In response, his hand pushed aside the fabric of her crossed bodice. His fingers began to slip inside the opening he had created, moving over the bare, highly sensitized skin of her breast. And then, suddenly, they hesitated.

  It took a moment for her to understand why. A moment to realize his hand had fastened around the strand of pearls he had given her for Christmas. She felt him lean back, away from her, and when she looked up into his face, his eyes were open, fastened on the worthless necklace she had worn against her heart since she had returned to Longford.

  He had wrapped the string of misshapen pearls around his fingers, pulling them out into the light. He didn’t meet her eyes, although they were still fastened on his face. The silence grew and expanded until finally he broke it.

  “Who is he, Sarah?”

  His voice was very soft. Almost too soft. She was disturbed by the tone of the question, although she hadn’t understood it. It seemed to have nothing to do with the pearls he had given her. His mother’s pearls.

  His eyes, cold and infinitely distant, despite the very intimate positions of their bodies, were on her face at last. Waiting for her answer.

  “Who...is he?” she repeated hesitantly.

  “The man in the clearing,” he said, stepping away from her without releasing his hold on the pearls.

  Her heart stopped. She honestly hadn’t known what he was talking about. She had separated the problem Os-borne represented from her feelings about Justin for so long that there had seemed to be no connection between them. But of course, there was. There always had been.

  Justin had seen them together. She should have thought of the possibility, but she had agreed to the meeting because she had been so eager to get rid of David. Eager to find out what he was demanding and then put an end to his threats. So confident that she could do that simply by offering him enough money. And instead...

  If only David had been on time, she thought. But there had been so many if only’s. If only Amelia had never eloped... If only her father had been in time to stop them... If only she had not been given the responsibility of caring for Andrew...

  Instantly, Sarah dismissed the bitterness of that regret. No matter what it had cost her, she could not regret having Drew as part of her life. Not even if protecting him cost her Justin.

  “His name is David Osborne,” she said, her voice low, her eyes bravely meeting the coldness in his.

  She had lied to Justin once. Lied to free him from the scandal that had broken her heart and stained her reputation. Lied to him because she loved him too much to hold him to an engagement that would bring him that same disgrace.

  “Drew’s father?” Justin asked.

  A simple question, which required only one word to answer. The truth or another lie? She didn’t make that decision, however, because finally, finally she remembered why she was here. “Where’s Drew?” she asked him instead.

  It wasn’t what he had been expecting. She could see the puzzlement in his eyes. Which meant Blevins had been right. Andrew wasn’t here. And Justin had no more idea where the little boy was than she did.

  “Drew?” he repeated.

  “He’s not at Longford.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “He’s not there. I came here because I thought he would be with you. I thought he had waited for you, and when you didn’t come home... Why didn’t you come home?”

  As soon as she said the words, she knew. That’s what Justin had been doing when he had seen her with David. He had been coming home. Never once had she even considered that he would ride through the darkened woods rather than take the road that connected the two estates. Never once, although she knew that crossing the brook was Drew’s preferred route of travel between the two estates.

  “Home, Sarah?” Justin questioned bitterly.

  “What you saw... It wasn’t what you thought.”

  “Then tell me what it was,” he suggested coldly.

  She hesitated, trying to decide what she could tell him. Before she had, however, he freed his hand, unwrapping the necklace with a quick twist of his fingers, and took a step backward. He bent and picked up the shirt he had dropped. Then he turned away from her, walking over to the fireplace.

  He’s tired, she thought, not even conscious that she had learned to gauge the depth of Justin’s fatigue by the severity of his limp. She watched as he put his hands on the mantel, long fingers gripping the edge, still holding his shirt in one hand. He leaned forward, his head lowered as if he were looking down into the nonexistent flames.

  “If Drew’s not here—” she began.

  “Maybe he’s with his father,” Justin said bitingly.

  And with his w
ords, everything fell into place.

  “Oh, dear God,” Sarah said softly.

  He turned at her tone, and she watched his face change, his eyes reflecting the fear she knew must be in her own. David had told her he wanted Drew, and she hadn’t believed him. But if Drew wasn’t at Longford, and he wasn’t here...

  “You think that’s where he is?” Justin asked. “With Osborne?”

  Slowly, she nodded. “He said he wanted Drew. I didn’t believe him because...” Her voice faded, as she thought about everything she knew about David Osborne. Justin waited through the silence. “He doesn’t care about Drew. I think somehow he found out about my father’s illness and saw his chance to blackmail me.”

  “You’ve been paying him money?” Justin said disbelievingly.

  “I intended to. He said Drew was entitled to a share of the estate. Because he was Brynmoor’s grandson. He threatened to take his case to the courts. I knew that if he did that, there would be more scandal. At least a revival of the old one. And Drew...”

  “Would be at the center of it;” he finished for her.

  She nodded. There was so much more that she hadn’t told him. Not only would Drew be at the center of any case Osborne brought, but so would Amelia. David would show the priest’s document to the court, and it would destroy Amelia’s reputation, which Sarah had tried all these years to protect.

  More importantly, of course, it would destroy any claim Sarah might have to guardianship of Drew. Even if David didn’t succeed in getting control of her father’s money, he would still have control of Drew. “He doesn’t really want Andrew,” she said, almost to herself. That was one thing she had held on to in the midst of David’s threats. No matter what else happened, he wouldn’t really want to take the little boy with him.

  “He wants your father’s money.”

  “That’s all he’s ever wanted,” she said bitterly.