Gayle Wilson

by Lady Sarah's Son

  And he had no regrets, he thought, looking down on Sarah. Unconsciously, his lips tilted, remembering her unladylike sprawl last night as she had pulled off his boot. Of all the women he had known, only Sarah would have had the mettle to make that offer. And the courage to carry it out.

  He should not be surprised, of course. It had taken incredible courage to do what she had done so long ago. After an absence of several months, Sarah Spenser had brought a baby home to her father’s house, an infant who looked enough like her to be her son. She had to have known what the gossips would suggest. When they did, she had written him, breaking off their engagement. Then for four long years she had kept her silence, enduring scorn and scandal she had never deserved. And she would never have to endure it again, he vowed.

  His eyes found the telltale bloodstains that marked the tangled sheets. Not that he needed their evidence. Until he had taken her virginity last night, Sarah had been as untouched as when he had left for Spain. Pure and unsullied, just as her love for him had always been. And he wouldn’t stand by and let Osborne drag her name through the mud again.

  One day she might be willing to tell him the secret of Drew’s birth. To explain why she had begun this long deception. One day. But for now...

  For now Justin had realized there was one other thing he needed to do. One other chasm that must be bridged, as he and Sarah had managed to span all of those that lay between them last night Because, of course, there was another person who was involved in what he planned.

  Someone who had thus far had little say in the events that had unfolded around him during his short life. And who, if asked, might not approve of the decision Justin had come to after those long dark hours of holding Sarah against his heart. In spite of the bitterness that had once choked it, Sarah had found her way there again. Against all his defenses. And so, he acknowledged, had her son.

  Who was not her son at all. Not by any of the standards the world understood. Only by those too infrequently recognized was Drew Sarah’s child: the love they shared, the hours she had devoted to his care, and her unending concern for his happiness. Judged by those, Drew was Sarah’s son, far more than those children who were given over to the care of servants at birth.

  Sarah’s son, he thought again. And his. That last realization had been a shock. But when he had made it, he knew how true it was. Osborne wanted to use Drew for his own benefit. Justin, like Sarah, wanted only to love him.

  And to be loved in return. It had seemed in London that he might have accomplished that. Then, in his preoccupation with what was between him and Sarah, Justin had let his relationship with Drew wither for lack of attention. Drew’s father had stepped willingly into that breech, which would never have been there for Osborne to take advantage of if Justin had treated the child’s adoration with the respect it deserved. He hadn’t, and now he would have to pay for that failure. Something else to face. Another duty to be performed.

  But not all duties turned out to be unpleasant, he thought, his lips relaxing into a smile. He bent to press a kiss against Sarah’s bare shoulder. She stirred in her sleep, .breath sighing out of parted lips. He stepped back, away from the bed, waiting for her to return to the deeper slumber from which he had unintentionally awakened her. Tonight, he promised silently, his lips again curving, and then he turned away from the bed and slipped out of the room.

  He entered the nursery as quietly as he had left his bedroom and found Drew still asleep. After the late night the little boy had had, it wasn’t surprising that Justin’s entrance hadn’t awakened him. And he didn’t choose to wake him now.

  Instead, he stood looking down on the sleeping child, just as he had looked at Sarah, feeling the same rush of love. Sarah’s son. That was one reason it was so important that what he had planned be successful. For Drew. And for Sarah.

  And for himself as well. His eyes lifted, unconsciously seeking the location where the crop he had given Drew for Christmas had hung above his own bed at Wynfield for all those years. He realized he hadn’t seen the whip in several days. But then he hadn’t really seen Drew, either. Not for almost two weeks. The same two weeks Osborne was enticing the child with promises of trips to India, irresistible for a boy like Drew.

  Something on the table by the bed caught his eye. It was a pocket watch, gold case reflecting the light beginning to filter in through the narrow windows. Justin picked it up, wondering idly if it were Brynmoor’s, since it was obviously old.

  “That crease, the one on the left side, is the mark of a bullet,” Drew said.

  Justin’s eyes came up to find that Andrew, propped on one elbow, was watching him. Drew was wearing his own nightshirt and seemed none the worse for his misadventure last night.

  “A bullet mark?” Justin repeated doubtfully. His gaze fell again to examine the case lying on his open palm. He turned it over, but there was no mark on its surface that looked to him as if it might have been put there by a ball, not even a spent one.

  “It saved my father’s life,” Drew said.

  “I see,” Justin said. He was beginning to. One of Osborne’s colorfully entertaining stories. And Justin was fairly certain that’s all it was. A story. Of course, its truthfulness wasn’t relevant. Drew’s reaction to it was what was important. Justin laid the watch back on the table, allowing none of his skepticism to show in his face.

  “It’s very special to him,” the little boy said.

  “And it meant a great deal that he gave it to you.”

  “Yes.” The single word was very soft, almost hesitant, but Drew’s eyes seemed as clear and open as Sarah’s had last night.

  “Is that why you decided to go away with him?”

  “He is my father,” Drew said, his voice still subdued. “I have always wanted a father, you know.”

  Justin nodded, understanding that if he had been more forgiving—or more giving, he amended—he might have fulfilled that longing, so that when Osborne showed up with his charm and his tales of derring-do, Drew would not have been so easily seduced away from the people who really loved him.

  “I know,” Justin said. “I know you have.”

  “I thought that perhaps...” The childish voice faltered, but Drew’s eyes were still on his face.

  “What did you think, Drew?”

  “When you married Sarah, I thought you might want to be my father. And when you didn’t—”

  “Whatever made you think I didn’t want that?” Justin interrupted, his tone sharper than he’d intended.

  “You never said you did. I had hoped you might say it to me for Christmas. Saying it would have been just like Sarah says presents should be.”

  Something of you in them. He remembered what Drew had told him, and now he knew he hadn’t really understood, after all.

  “But you never said it,” Drew said.

  “And it’s too late, I suppose,” Justin said softly.

  The blue eyes, which were so much like Sarah’s, considered the question. And then they clouded with anxiety. “I have a father. A real father,” Drew said softly.

  Justin nodded, acknowledging a truth that neither of them could ever change, no matter how appealing it might be to try.

  “I’m sorry I fought with your father last night, Drew. What we did...what I did was wrong. Fighting isn’t the way to settle disputes. It isn’t the way a real gentleman does things.”

  “Because you hit him with that bottle?” Drew asked. “Because that isn’t the way a gentleman fights?”

  “Yes,” Justin admitted.

  He couldn’t afford to criticize Osborne to Drew, no matter what David had done, even if it were totally unacceptable by the unwritten code that governed such activities. He couldn’t mention that gentlemen also did not kick their opponents when they were down. Or deliberately trip them to make them fall.

  “That’s one reason,” Justin said simply, not voicing any excuse for what he himself had done.

  He was not responsible for Osborne’s behavior, of course,
but he was responsible for his own. Hitting an enemy in battle with any weapon that came to hand was one thing, especially if you did so to save your life. He knew very well, however, why he had hit Osborne with that bottle. And it had more to do with the woman he had left sleeping downstairs than with a fear of death. And more, of course, to do with this child. Both of them had been watching as Osborne tripped him and then kicked him like a stray cur when he was down.

  “He didn’t fight fairly, either,” Drew said.

  Perhaps the weeks he had spend with Sarah’s son had not been in vain, Justin thought in relief. Some of those lessons he had tried to instill had apparently had an effect.

  “It was like the boys from the village,” Drew continued. “You said they didn’t fight fairly. And what he did—making you fight him...”

  The child’s voice faded, and the silence stretched, the accusation unspoken. Justin was afraid he knew, however, what Andrew thought had been unfair, and it had nothing to do with Osborne trying to break his ribs or his skull by using his boots.

  “He shouldn’t have made you fight,” Drew said finally. “It was...one-sided.”

  ‘.‘Because of my leg,” Justin said, his voice almost without emotion. Almost. Because the blue eyes that had fallen, perhaps in embarrassment over what his father had done, quickly lifted again to Wynfield’s face. The child said nothing, sensitive enough to recognize that what he just said had not been well received.

  Drew was only repeating the lessons about fair play that he himself had taught, Justin realized. Repeating them with the flawed understanding of a four-year-old. An understanding that, left uncorrected, made Osborne as guilty as Justin felt himself to be. For some reason, however, Justin couldn’t leave Drew’s impression uncorrected.

  “I never wanted that to make a difference to him,” he said.

  “Then it was all right for him to make you fight?”

  “Fighting is not the way gentlemen conduct their affairs,” Justin said again, “but one has nothing to do with the other.”

  The blue eyes were puzzled. “Then...”

  “It doesn’t matter, Drew,” the earl said quietly. “That isn’t why I came. Not to discuss what happened last night.”

  The boy nodded, his eyes still on Justin’s face.

  “I was wrong at Christmas,” Justin said. “I thought I understood what Sarah meant about presents, but I didn’t. I gave you something that had belonged to me. Something I had loved. I thought that was the right kind of present, but I know now that all along what you really wanted was my love. I had already given you that, but I’d forgotten something very important.”

  “What did you forget?” Drew asked, his eyes unwavering.

  “I forgot to tell you. I forgot to say how much I love you. And sometimes that’s the most important gift of all. Just saying the words aloud. Even if you think someone understands.”

  Drew took a breath, the depth of it lifting his narrow shoulders. “And you do?” he asked. “You do love me?”

  “More than you can ever know,” Justin said. “Until one day you have a little boy of your very own.”

  “But...I am not your very own boy.”

  “Perhaps not,” the earl agreed, “but if you ever want me to be then... I would very much like to be your very own father.”

  Drew nodded, his eyes wide.

  “Because I love you very much,” Justin added. “And I have loved you for a very long time. Long before I told you. And whatever happens, I want you to promise that you will always remember that. Will you promise me, Drew?”

  “I promise,” the child said.

  Justin smiled, and then, turning, limped across the room and opened the door. Before he stepped through it, he stopped and looked back at the child, who.was still watching him from his bed.

  “And Drew?” he said softly, smiling at him again. “Merry Christmas.”

  “The deed to Wynfield Park, which is unencumbered and free of debt,” Justin said as he laid the paper on the desk. “The deed to my London property.” Justin laid another sheet on top of the first. “Our agreement would include everything that is within them, as well. However, there are a few family mementos I have listed here....” He placed a third sheet on top of the rest. “They are without monetary value, I assure you, but with your permission, I should like to keep them, along with my personal mount. Other than those exclusions, it’s all yours. Everything I own. According to the terms I outlined, of course.”

  The earl of Wynfield looked up from the stack of documents and into the eyes of David Osborne. Into one eye, at least. The other was swollen shut. For some reason Justin had been pleased to find Osborne’s face as heavily marked by their encounter last night as his was.

  “And all you want in exchange is the document Sarah signed in Ireland?” David asked.

  “And your signature on a statement saying that Drew is not your son.”

  “Drew is my son,” Osborne said.

  “And if Drew is what you want...” Deliberately, Justin let the rest of that sentence trail off. He had already made Osborne’s choices quite clear to him.

  He could have Drew and press the child’s claim to, Brynmoor’s fortune in the courts. Even if he won recognition of Drew as the marquess’s illegitimate grandson, however, he would probably receive nothing for his trouble. Brynmoor was incompetent to name Drew his heir, and Sarah, who had not yet inherited and would not do so until Brynmoor died, owned nothing.

  Or, if he so chose, Osborne could have everything Justin owned, which was, thanks to Sarah, free and clear of debt and in much better condition than it had been when the earl had taken possession of it. Justin had agreed to have both properties sold immediately, the money to be given to Osborne. All he had to do in exchange was give over the document Sarah had signed at Drew’s birth and deny in writing any paternal claim to Andrew.

  “You could live like a king in Ireland,” Justin said softly. “Or at least like a prince,” he added, when Osborne’s still functioning eye came up from the stack of documents to meet his.

  He was thinking about it, Justin realized in relief. David’s mouth began to purse, and then he winced, obviously feeling the soreness of the dark bruise that marred his jawline.

  “What do you stand to gain?” Osborne asked.

  “Probably nothing you could understand,” Justin said.

  “My understanding is as great as anyone’s.”

  “Apparently... not about this.”

  “You’re doing this to keep me from taking Drew from Sarah?”

  “You don’t want Drew. You never have. So it shouldn’t matter to you what my motives are. I haven’t questioned yours.”

  “When a man does something I don’t understand, it makes me suspicious. As this does. Did she put you up to this?”

  “Sarah has nothing to do with my offer. This is between the two of us. You accept it or you do not.”

  “What offer?”

  Sarah was standing in the doorway of the estate office, in which Wynfield had chosen to conduct the interview because it was away from the rest of the house. Not, evidently, far enough away, he thought in disgust.

  Sarah walked across the room, stopping at the end of the desk on which the documents Justin had written were spread out for Osborne to read. Sarah scanned them, obviously seeing quite enough in that assessment.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice expressing shock.

  I’m buying Drew. The words formed in Justin’s head because they were the essence of this. He couldn’t say them, of course, since he didn’t know his opponent well enough to be sure what effect they might have. He only knew what Sarah had told him. And he had trusted her insight. Osborne didn’t want Drew. He wanted money. Which was exactly what Justin was offering him. A great deal of money. Everything he owned, to be precise.

  “I’m trying to reach an agreement with Mr. Osborne.”

  “What kind of agreement?” Sarah demanded. Her eyes fell back to the papers, again qu
ickly looking over each of them.

  Justin waited until she had, and when her eyes lifted, he said, “An agreement that he will give up any claim to Andrew. Now and in the future.”

  “In exchange for these?” she asked softly.

  All she had not said was in her eyes, and so he smiled at her. “A fair exchange, I believe.”

  “Justin,” she whispered, but it was not a protest.

  “Mr. Osborne?” he said, pulling his gaze from Sarah’s face and back to the battered one before him.

  “No tricks?” Osborne questioned.

  “You see the documents yourself. I have written out the deeds, as well as the instructions, which I have already signed. My banker will sell the properties and give the proceeds to you. What trickery could there be in that? I have also written out the statement you are to sign. When you have done that, and have given me the proof you showed Sarah, I will arrange for you, and my instructions, to be conveyed to my man of business in London. He will handle the sale and have the money turned over to you.”

  “And that’s all?” Osborne said, his tone still skeptical.

  “That’s all,” Justin agreed. One small boy in exchange for everything he owned. Everything he had once thought important.

  Without another word, Osborne picked up the pen that lay by the well and dipped it into the ink. He scrawled his name across the bottom of the agreement and pushed it across the desk toward Justin. In almost the same motion he reached toward the deeds. The earl’s hand came down on top of them.

  “Mr. Samuels has agreed to convey you and the documents to London,” Justin said. “When the sales are complete, he will then escort you on board ship, at which time he will hand you a bank draft for the full amount.”

  David’s eyes met his and held for a long moment. Then he nodded and stepped back, away from the desk. “When do we leave?”

  “As soon as you’re ready. Unless, of course, you wish to say goodbye to Drew.” Justin had thought a long time about making that offer, wondering if it would be better for Osborne to disappear out of Andrew’s life or to give them some time together. Finally, he had decided to leave that up to Osborne.