Sebastian smiled his frowning smile. ‘No, you’re not.’
She couldn’t help but smile back at him. ‘I would be, if Burkan had been harmed by my poor horsemanship.’
Her hair had escaped its ribbon. She could feel it, hanging in long straggles over her face and down her back. Her hands were dusty. Her gown must be filthy. Caro was not usually aware of any of these things, but now she wished—she wished...
What she wished, she realised with a horrible sense of shame and excitement, was for Sebastian to kiss her. She’d never been kissed. She had never found the idea of kissing someone anything other than repugnant until now. The way he was looking at her though—was he thinking the same? It was absurd. ‘I should go,’ Caro muttered, blushing, hiding her blush beneath the fall of her hair.
Sebastian blinked and released her. It seemed to her he did it reluctantly, but she knew she must be wrong. She was not much more than a child to him—he had said as much—though she didn’t feel anything like a child just at the moment. ‘I’ll walk you back,’ he said.
‘No, thank you, I shall be...’
‘I wasn’t asking for permission.’
She had nothing to say to that and so, terrified of appearing gauche or worse still, betraying her shocking thoughts, instead simply shrugged in a very good impression of indifference, and began to clamber over the paddock fence, quite forgetting that she could easily have opened the gate.
They walked through the woods in silence. There was between them an awkwardness, an awareness which she could not describe. She did not want their walk to end, but it did, and too soon. ‘This is where I leave you,’ she said, pausing to the wall at the edge of the woods, waiting—for what?
Nothing, it seemed. Sebastian held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Caro.’
She took it briefly. ‘Goodbye, Sebastian.’ Without another word, she climbed over the wall and took off through the woods, refusing to allow herself to look back.
Chapter Two
Crag Hall—August 1830
Caro slowly came round to consciousness. She felt as if she had swum to the surface of a deep, dark pool, exhausting herself in the process. Her head was thumping. Her eyelids were gritty and sore, as if she had been rubbing sand in them. What was wrong with her? Pushing herself upright, she opened her eyes, wincing as the room spun sickeningly. The ceiling was ornate, with rococo gilding on the cornicing. The bed hangings were green damask, as were the curtains. Tulip wood, she thought distractedly, running her trembling hands over the bedstead with its gilt carving. A dressing table set by the window was draped in white lace. The walls were painted a pale green and hung with a number of portraits. A white marble mantel upon which a large French clock sat, was carved with cupids.
It was, or had been, an elegant room. As her senses slowly unscrambled Caro began to notice the shabbiness, the fine layer of dust which covered the furniture, the faded fabric, the musty air of neglect. Where was she?
Breathing deeply to quell her rising panic, she threw back the sheets and stumbled over to the window, pushing open the casement. Fresh country air flooded in. She was clearly not in London, then. Outside, it was dusk. There was a paddock. Gardens. Woods. And in the distance, the chimney pots of another house. A very familiar house. Oh, dear heavens, an extremely familiar house. Killellan Manor. Which meant that this house was...
She looked around her in consternation. She pinched her hand, something she’d always thought people did only in novels. It hurt, but she didn’t wake up because she wasn’t asleep. She really was here, in Crag Hall. Appalled, she tottered back to sit on the edge of the bed. How did she get here? Frowning hard, her head aching with the effort to concentrate, she tried to recall. Her memory came back in flashes. Her father shouting, then coldly formal. Her storm of tears followed by an urgent need to forget, to obliterate it all, just for a moment.
Who had told her of the room in Augustus St John Marne’s house? It didn’t matter. She remembered it now, the sweet smell, the bitter taste, and then the dreams. A great bear with yellow teeth and malevolent eyes. A fish with bleeding scales. An endless corridor with door upon door which led to a sheer drop. She had fallen and fallen and fallen and not once landed. Dreams. Nightmares. Visions. But how had she come to be here?
A tap on the door made her clutch foolishly at the bedcover, pulling it up over her nightgown. Her nightgown. Had someone then packed her clothes? And who had dressed her? She watched the door open with a heart which beat far too fast and a growing sense of dread.
‘You’re awake.’
Her heart plummeted. Sebastian hovered on the threshold. Caro froze, terrified to move lest her emotions boil over. She mustn’t cry, she must not cry. His frown was deeper than she remembered, and the shadows under his eyes were darker. He looked older. Sadder? No, but not happy either. Which was no concern of hers. She must remember the last time they had spoken, how disillusioned she had been, how hurtful he had been.
‘You said you never wanted to see me again,’ she said, opting for attack to cover her mortification and confusion, ‘so what am I doing here?’
He flinched, and she could not blame him for her voice sounded much more aggressive than she had intended, but she had to keep hold, she had to keep sufficient control of herself to get out of here. ‘The last thing I remember is Augustus St John Marne’s party.’
Sebastian closed the door and leaned against it. He was wearing riding breeches and top boots, a shirt, open at the neck. He was tanned. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. She had forgotten that way he had, of making her feel as if he could read her mind.
‘If I hadn’t stumbled across you there and rescued you, it would most likely have been the last thing you ever remembered. Or perhaps that was your intention,’ he said.
‘Of course not!’
‘You came pretty close, Caro.’
‘Nonsense.’ She swallowed uncertainly. Her throat was sore. An image of herself, retching into a bowl, popped into her head, making her face flame. ‘I am sure you exaggerate.’
Sebastian shook his head decisively. ‘If the doctor hadn’t given you a purge, I doubt you’d still be with us.’
Which answered that question, Caro thought, now thoroughly mortified. ‘How long have I been here? And more to the point, why am I here? I’d have thought I’d be the last person you’d want to keep company with, after our last meeting. In fact, even more to the point, where are my clothes? I suppose I should thank you for rescuing me, not that I believe I needed rescuing, but I am perfectly fine now, and will relieve you of my presence just as soon as I am dressed.’
She jumped to her feet, staggering as a wave of dizziness swept over her. Sebastian strode across the room, catching her before she fell. ‘Dammit, Caro, you have been at death’s door.’
How could she have forgotten how solid he was? And how quickly he could move. He smelled of fresh linen and soap and outdoors, hay and horse and freshly turned soil. She had an overwhelming urge to cry, and fought it by struggling to free herself. Not that she had to fight very hard. He let her go immediately. As if he could not bear to touch her. Caro sniffed. ‘Was I really so close to...’
Sebastian nodded.
She sniffed harder. ‘I truly did not mean to—you must not think it was deliberate. It was just—I was just...’ Her voice trembled. She took a shaky breath. ‘I merely wished to blot everything out. Just for a while. I don’t suppose you understand that, but...’
‘Oblivion. I understand that need very well. As I think you remember,’ Sebastian said curtly.
Oblivion. It was Caro’s turn to flinch. ‘I should go.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Sebastian, I know you don’t want me here.’ She tried to push past him, though where she thought she was going dressed only in her nightgown, she had no idea. He caught her
, pulling her firmly up against him. Heat of a very different sort flooded her, taking her aback, as her breasts were crushed against his chest.
For the briefest of seconds, she saw the same heat reflected in his eyes, then he blinked, his face set and he released her, taking up a post at the window, as far away from her as the room would allow, she noted without surprise. ‘May I ask where you plan to go?’ he asked.
Caro shrugged. ‘Back to my lodgings, where else?’
‘I took you there from St John Marne’s. I couldn’t believe it when I discovered you don’t even have a maid. I paid that vulture of a landlady to watch over you once the doctor had given you a purge, and when I came back the next morning she was nowhere to be seen. Your trunk was packed. She left me a note requesting me to leave the key in the lock.’
It hurt, more than it should, for she should be accustomed to being an outcast by now. ‘One more place where I am persona non grata,’ Caro said with a fair attempt at nonchalance. ‘There are plenty other landladies. I must assume, from your decision not to return me to the bosom of my loving family, that you are aware that I have been cast out?’
‘I heard that you and Rider had separated.’
She felt her cheeks flame. ‘It is not like you to be so polite, Sebastian. I can tell from the way you hesitated that you have heard significantly more than that. You have not asked me how much of it is true.’
‘What difference would it make? Besides, whatever you may think of me, I am no hypocrite. My reputation is hardly snowy white.’
She smiled faintly. ‘No, but it is different for a man.’ This was such an incontrovertible fact that he made no attempt to answer, for which she was strangely relieved. Whatever he had heard, he had not judged her. It was the smallest of consolations, but it was a balm nonetheless. ‘My father came to see me earlier on the day you found me at St John’s. He was just back from the Balkans. He was so angry that I, the one dutiful daughter he thought he had, should be the cause of such a dreadful scandal. It is ironic,’ Caro said with a twisted smile, ‘that of the five of us, I am the only one to have gone through with a match of his making, if one does not count Celia’s first marriage, and it is that very match which is now the subject of every scandal sheet in London. He told me—he said to me—he said he was ashamed of me.’
She dug her nails into her palms. To cease feeling sorry for herself was one of her new resolutions. ‘He told me that I had brought disgrace to the family name. That I was not fit company for my brothers, and that—that I am no longer his daughter. I know it was weak of me, but at the time—for that to happen on top of everything else, it was the final straw. You must believe me when I tell you that I had no intention of doing myself any fatal harm, but I confess that for a few hours, I really didn’t care whether I lived or died. I am grateful to you for coming to my aid,’ she finished, blinking furiously, ‘truly I am, but I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.’ She ran her fingers through her tangle of lank hair. ‘I must look a fright.’
‘Yes, you do,’ Sebastian said, forcing her to laugh, for he never had been one for empty compliments. ‘What will you do, Caro?’
She got to her feet and joined him at the window, looking out at the paddock. ‘I don’t know, but I obviously can’t stay here.’
‘London is hellish uncomfortable in the summer months. Sitting alone in a dingy set of rooms with nothing but your thoughts for company isn’t going to solve anything. You’re not nearly as strong as you think, in body or mind. You need respite, a place to recuperate, a change of scenery.’
‘Then I shall go to Brighton, or Leamington Spa, or Bath. I don’t care where I go, and it’s none of your business.’
‘Why do so, when you can stay here?’ Sebastian dug his hands deep into the pockets of his riding breeches. ‘Tell me honestly, Caro, was it that night which caused the rift between you and Rider?’
That night. She had grown up in more ways than one that night. ‘That night was two years ago, Sebastian,’ she said coldly. ‘What came between myself and my husband was entirely my own fault. If you are offering me sanctuary to assuage your conscience, let me tell you there is no need.’
‘I’m offering you sanctuary because you need it! Why must you be so pig-headed!’
‘I am not being pig-headed, I am being considerate,’ Caro snapped, roused by his anger. ‘Very well it would look, for the Marquis of Ardhallow to give house to a fallen woman whose own family are his neighbours. I can see the chimney pots of Killellan Manor from this window, for goodness’ sake. The county would be in an uproar.’
To her surprise, he grinned. ‘You know my reputation. One more fallen woman is neither here nor there.’
She smiled reluctantly, trying not to remember how that upside-down smile of his had always heated her. ‘I could not even consider it. Papa would be mortified.’
‘Isn’t that all the more reason for you to stay? He has treated you appallingly, I can’t believe you’re going to lie down and take it.’
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again, much struck by this.
‘You don’t owe him anything, Caro,’ Sebastian urged, as if he could read her thoughts. Which he used to do, remarkably well.
‘Papa told me I had fallen as low as it was possible to fall,’ she said bitterly.
‘Then show him that he’s wrong.’
She was absurdly tempted, but still she shook her head. ‘It is very kind of you, but...’
‘Kind! I am never kind,’ Sebastian broke in harshly. ‘I thought you knew me better.’
She looked at him wonderingly, playing for time as she tried to make sense of his motives. Though they had known each other for more than ten years, the time they had spent together had been fleeting. Though they had shared the most intimate of experiences, that night if nothing else should have proven to her that she had been wholly mistaken in him. ‘I barely know you, Sebastian, any more than you know me. We may as well be strangers.’
He looked hurt, but covered it quickly. ‘Not complete strangers. We are two renegades in the wilderness with nothing to lose, we have that much in common.’
‘I am not—you know, I think you may be right. I have lived my entire life bending to other people’s will, perhaps now it’s time to live my own life. Whatever that may be.’
‘Then you’ll stay?’
Her smile faded. ‘Why, Sebastian? Truthfully?’
‘Truthfully?’ He stared out of the window. ‘I don’t know. I swore I’d have nothing to do with you again, but when I saw you at St John Marne’s—no, don’t bridle, you were pathetic then, but you are not pitiful. I suppose, despite all, I don’t think you deserve the bad press you have received...’
‘And that feeling resonates with you?’
She knew she should not have said it, that it was deliberately provocative, but he had always had that effect on her, and to her surprise he smiled ruefully. ‘Perhaps.’
It was this rare admission that decided her. ‘Then if you mean it, I will stay. For a little while. Until I have recovered my strength and am in a better position to decide what to do.’
‘Good.’ Sebastian nodded. ‘I—good.’
The bedchamber door closed softly behind him. What on earth had she done? Caro looked out the window at the rooftop of her family home, and discovered that her strongest emotion was relief. A lifetime’s obedience to the call of duty had backfired spectacularly. She was done with it! The shock of coming so close to death made her realise how much she valued her life. Whatever she would become now, it would be of her own making.
London, Spring 1824
The room in which the séance was to be held was dimly lit. Sebastian’s knowledge of séances and mediums was confined to one slim volume. Communication with the Other Side it had been titled, written by Baron Lyttleton. He had come across it in the
vast library of Crag Hall on his latest—brief as ever—visit. The tome described the author’s conversations with the departed. Arrant nonsense, Sebastian had thought derisively. He had not changed his view.
Kitty, however, seemed genuinely to believe in the whole charade. His current mistress had, to his astonishment, become sobbingly sentimental upon the subject of her dead mother from whom she had parted on poor terms when she had first embarked upon her fledgling career as a courtesan. Kitty had resorted to tears in her efforts to persuade Sebastian to escort her here tonight. ‘If I could just talk to Mama once, Seb, I know I could explain, make her proud of me,’ she had said.
The fact that she was naked at the time save for her trademark diamond collar, having just performed expert, if somewhat clinical fellatio upon him, made Sebastian somewhat sceptical of the point Kitty was making. He had gritted his teeth at her use of the diminutive of his name, something he had always loathed, but there was little merit in constantly correcting her. He was already bored with Kitty, and under no illusion about her feelings for him either. His rakehell reputation made him a desirable catch for her, but there were so many other fish swimming in her pond that it was only a matter of time before her avarice overcame her promise of exclusivity, and exclusivity was one of the very few principles to which Sebastian held true.
He had already purchased the diamond bracelet which would be her farewell gift after tonight’s entertainment. Though he had no doubt it would prove to be a clever hoax, the séance had at least the merit of being a novel experience. God knows, after more than four years in the ton, there were few enough of those left to him.
They were a strange collection, the other guests in the room, some surprisingly well-heeled. He recognised at least two grand-dames, bedecked in black silk and lace, who turned quickly away from him, though whether it was because they were ashamed to be caught dabbling in the black arts, or ashamed to be seen in the company of the notorious Earl of Mosteyn, Sebastian could not say. More likely the latter, though.
Rumors That Ruined a Lady Page 3