Secrets of a Perfect Night

by Stephanie Laurens

  In spite of her determination to give her father no credence, his charges haunted her thoughts. Doubt was present with every step she took, with every breath she drew. And with every moment that passed without word from Jason, it grew ever stronger, insistent in its demand to be faced.

  And that, she could not do. She’d discovered an odd sort of courage when she’d stood up to her father, but it was a new and still weak quality and far too fragile to accept the possibility of betrayal. Until she knew for certain, she’d cling to the belief that sprung from deep in her heart that her father’s words were lies with no more substance to them than shadows in the dusk.

  Then where is Jason?

  A knock sounded at the parlor doors and a footman poked his head in without waiting for Rachael’s response.

  “You have a caller, miss.”

  Rachael’s heart leapt. “Show him in. At once.”

  The servant nodded and retreated behind the door. A moment later, it swung open.

  She started toward the door. “Jason?”

  “I’m afraid not, my dear.” The Earl of Lyndhurst smiled apologetically and stepped into the room.

  Disappointment, deep and hard, flooded through her. “Oh, my lord, I wasn’t expecting…” She pushed aside any pretense at propriety. “Did you get my note? Does Jason know where I am? Have you spoken to him?”

  The earl shook his head. “I wish I had, but he seems to have vanished.” He hesitated for a moment as if choosing his words. “I made a few inquiries and his disappearance coincides with the sailing of a ship he booked passage on.”

  “How many passages?” She held her breath.

  Lyndhurst frowned. “I would assume one.”

  “But you don’t really know?” Hope sounded in her voice.

  “No, I don’t. Miss Gresham, as much as I hate to say it, it scarcely matters at this point.” Sympathy sounded in his voice. “Regardless of his original intent, my cousin appears to have sailed for America. Alone.”

  The despair she’d held at bay since the night of the ball washed through her, unrelenting and all-powerful. She would never believe her father, but the earl was a different matter. He’d always been more of an older brother to Jason than a cousin and he’d always been unfailingly pleasant to her.

  She wrapped her arms tightly around herself in an effort to keep her emotions in check and stared unseeing at a frayed spot on the edge of the carpet. “That is that, then.”

  “I could be wrong,” he said slowly.

  She jerked her head up and met his gaze. “But you don’t think so, do you?”

  “No, I don’t.” Concern shone in his eyes, and the compassion there nearly undid her. “Jason’s always been a bit unruly, but I never imagined he could do anything dishonorable. I am truly sorry.”

  “As am I,” she whispered. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered that she hadn’t gone to pieces at his words. Perhaps she’d known all along that this would be the ultimate outcome.

  “Are you quite all right?” He stepped closer.

  She smiled wryly. “I’m not entirely sure what I am.”

  “Miss Gresham—”

  “I’m not falling apart,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “A week ago I would have.” A week ago she would not have talked back to her father. Did courage then grow from betrayal? Strength from adversity?

  Lyndhurst took her arm and steered her to a sofa. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, allowing him to lead her. She sat without protest, her mind intent on trying to determine where this odd sense of bravery came from. And why she hadn’t succumbed to the most devastating emotions she’d ever known.

  Perhaps she was far too stunned to fully comprehend all that had happened. Or perhaps it was indeed that she had nothing to fear because she had nothing to lose.

  Or perhaps the depth of her despair was as great a fear as the despair itself, and succumbing to her grief would destroy her.

  “What will you do now?” the earl asked quietly.

  Rachael looked at him in surprise. She hadn’t realized he had seated himself beside her. Or that he still held her hand in his.

  She started at him with confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “Your future, Miss Gresham, have you thought about your future?”

  “My future?” What an odd idea. She’d never thought about her future, but only their future. A future shared with Jason. “No, I suppose I haven’t. My plans are rather uncertain at the moment.”

  “I’m not entirely sure how to ask this. And please forgive me if I am too presumptuous.” His brows drew together. “I may be assuming too much, but given your note and your plans, I thought, that is, I suspected—”

  “That Jason and I were—”

  “Yes, well, precisely,” he said quickly, a rather endearing note of embarrassment in his tone.

  “We were.” She gently pulled her hand from his. “I suspect that settles the question of my future. It’s apparent, my lord, that I have none.”

  She rose to her feet and paced the room, absently chafing her hands together against a chill that had pervaded her. “I have neither the training nor the temperament to be a governess or companion. And marriage is no longer possible.” At once a remarkable sense of calm settled around her, as if choosing her own fate made it not merely palatable but preferable. “I will never marry a man of my father’s choosing, even if he were able to find someone willing to accept…damaged goods—”

  “Miss Gresham.” Lord Lyndhurst jumped to his feet and stepped toward her. “I daresay you are nothing of the sort. Why, any man in his right mind would count himself fortunate to have you as his wife.”

  “Come now, my lord,” she scoffed. “No man in his right mind would want a woman who has been with another without benefit of marriage.”

  “I would.”

  His firm, quiet words rang in the room. Her breath caught and she stared, too stunned to respond.

  He stepped to her and once again took her hands in his. He was as tall as Jason and she stared up into eyes she’d never before noticed were hazel. She’d only known that they were kind.

  “Miss Gresham, Rachael.” His gaze locked with hers. “I would consider it a great honor if you were to agree to become my wife. I know I am more than twice your age, but I have always been fond of you. If you could but overlook my failings—”

  “Your failings?” She laughed softly. “You may well be the nicest man I have ever known. But, my lord—”

  “George.” A slight smile settled on his lips. “You should perhaps call me George.”

  “George, have you considered the possibility that I could be”—she drew a deep breath—“with child?”

  “All the more reason to wed at once.” His grip on her hands tightened. “I have no heir and I would raise such a child as my own and never consider him to be anything but my flesh and blood.”

  “Why?” she whispered, searching for the answer on his face. “Why would you be willing to do something like this? What of your own future?”

  “I have not been particularly concerned about my own future since the death of my wife, more than a dozen years ago. But I am concerned about yours.” He pulled her hands to his lips and kissed first one, then the next. “I do care for you, Rachael. I have always cared for you.”

  “But I…” She shook her head.

  “You don’t love me. I know that. But you do like me? At least a little?” The tentative note in his voice caught at her heart.

  “More than a little.” How could anyone not like a man of George’s character? For the first time in days, her smile was genuine.

  “I know many marriages that start with far less than that.”

  “As do I.” She sighed, once again pulled her hands from his, and stepped back.

  He was a handsome figure of a man, with a bit of gray at his temples and eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He had a gentle smile and a gentle manner and
a faint touch of sadness about him. She’d always wondered if he’d never quite recovered from his wife’s death. If he’d loved his wife with the same passion with which she’d loved Jason.

  Will there be a touch of sadness about me too someday?

  “George.” She chose each word with care. “I am fond of you, but you must realize if we wed, my reasons are nothing short of selfish. I would save my reputation and avoid scandal, although in truth it does not seem very important at the moment. And I would wish never to have to step foot in my father’s house again.”

  “And that is extremely important.” George reached out and ran his fingers lightly over the side of her face. The bruise left by her father’s blow was now a faded yellow and she’d hoped it was no longer apparent. But George noticed. His voice was cool. “He did this, didn’t he?”

  She shrugged as if the answer were of no significance. “I would do nearly anything to escape my father.”

  “Nearly anything?” He shook his head in mock dismay, but a twinkle lurked in his eye. “That’s not exactly what a man wishes to hear when he proposes marriage.”

  “Oh dear, George.” Her eyes widened in horror. “I never meant to offend you. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s quite all right.” He chuckled, then sobered. “You will never have to see him again if you so choose.

  “Rachael, I am under no illusions as to why you would agree to be my wife. I am happy enough to know that you are fond of me. I do promise you will want for nothing. I will spend the rest of my days trying to make you happy.” His eyes reflected the sincerity in his voice. This was a man who would never betray her. Or cause her pain. Or abandon her.

  She shook her head. “You are the answer to any girl’s dreams. But it doesn’t seem at all fair.”

  “I know it’s not what you’d wanted, but—”

  “That’s not what I meant. It doesn’t seem fair to you. You deserve better in a wife.”

  “I am not dissatisfied.”

  “I pray you never are.” She drew a deep breath. “May I have until tomorrow to consider my answer?”

  “Certainly. Longer if you wish.” He nodded with a resigned air. “There is still a possibility that Jason could—”

  “No,” she said sharply. “He is not coming. I am certain of that now. It’s simply that my life has changed a great deal in a few short days and I need a bit of time to come to grips with it all.”

  “I understand. Until tomorrow then.” He looked as if he was unsure what to do next, then nodded, strode to the door, and pulled it open.

  “George?”

  He turned back. “Yes?”

  “I…thank you.”

  “No, my dear.” He smiled. “It is I who should thank you.” He left, shutting the door behind him.

  For a long time she stood and stared at the closed door. George had just offered her a way to resume her life. A life free of her father. Not the life she had dreamed of, but a good life nonetheless with a man with a very good heart.

  If it was a life without love, perhaps that was as it should be. She’d given her heart to Jason with a fierce all-consuming passion, and borne a pain equally fierce when he’d broken it. She would not love like that again. She would make certain of it.

  Still, it was likely that she and George would share a certain amount of affection. After all, they would spend the rest of their days together. He already had her respect and she did like him, more than a little. George was her savior and her friend and a truly good man. She would not give him cause to regret his decision. She would do all in her power to be the wife he should have.

  If she could not give him her love, she could at least give him that. He deserved nothing less. There was no need to wait to inform him of her decision. In truth she had very little choice. Even so, she was lucky: it was not a bad choice.

  Rachael crossed the room to a delicate lady’s writing desk and sat down before it. She pulled open a drawer and studied its contents. Amidst the sheets of vellum and scattered pens was a small packet wrapped in linen and tied with a silken ribbon. She picked it up and shifted it in her palm. The delicate wrapping belied the solid weight in her hand. The weight of half a gold coin.

  Tomorrow she would throw it in the river and be done with it—and him—forever. For now, she set it aside and penned a note to George. She’d have a footman deliver it at once. There was no need to delay. They could be married as soon as he could procure a special license.

  That night, alone in her bed, the misery hope had held in check until now overcame her. She wept until tears would no longer come and silent sobs racked her body.

  And vowed she would never cry again…

  1815

  It was not until some months later that I received a letter from Jason and learned the truth. He had indeed been on his way to meet you when he was waylaid by thugs we believe were hired by your father. They released him miles from London and it was several days before he managed to make his way back to the city.

  Jason confronted Lord Gresham, who told him you had taken your own life. Jason tried to find me in the city, but by that time I was with you at Gresham Manor. How I wish he’d had the presence of mind to wait for my return. Instead, he carried out your plans alone and departed for America. He left only because he thought you were dead, and further thought it was his doing. He could bear neither the thought of living here without you nor his own guilt.

  God help me, Rachael, I wanted to tell you at once. I wanted to ease the heartache I well know you bore for years even as you tried to hide it from me. But I am in essence a weak man, and I could not bear the thought of losing you. As you well know, our fears as to the possibility of a child were ill founded. There was nothing to truly bind you to me. So I kept still.

  I sent funding to Jason to help him start a new life and fully intended to continue doing so, but he was a clever young man and built a fortune of his own with little further assistance from me. And I did all I could to make your life happy.

  George had made her happy, and she believed she had made his days happy as well. Even now, even knowing what he’d kept from her, she couldn’t find it in her heart to blame him. What he’d done, he’d done out of love. How could she fault him for that?

  Her father’s reasons had been altogether different. Still, it hadn’t been entirely untrue when he’d told Jason she was dead. In some ways she had died. And it had been George, dear kind George, who had restored her life if not her soul.

  Rachael glanced around the ballroom, the gaiety and laughter a startling contrast to her own thoughts. The gathering here at Lady Bradbourne’s looked no different than it had last year or the year before or ten years ago. As if the hand of time had passed overhead, freezing the ball and capturing everyone present in one unending moment of frolic. Like a painting in a gilded frame.

  She had changed, of course. The last years had taught her much. The lessons had started on this very night a decade ago. Lessons about the brevity of passion and the deceit of men. Lessons about the nature of affection and the gentle love that grows between a husband and wife. And lessons about loss.

  Now she considered how many of the hard learned lessons that had shaped her life were based on lies.

  “And what of you, Lady Lyndhurst?”

  Too deep in her thoughts to notice, she’d joined a small cluster of guests. They were unaware she had no idea of the topic of discussion. That, too, was a lesson learned through the years.

  “Oh, I really don’t—” she started.

  “Come, come, my lady, we’ve all told our deepest desires.” A vaguely familiar gentleman with a pleasant smile laughed. “Now you must tell us your wishes for the coming year.”

  “My wishes?” She drew a relieved breath. She could certainly bluff her way through this. “Very well, although I daresay my wishes are scarcely different from everyone else’s. I wish for peace, always, and prosperity, I suppose, and happiness, of course…”

  A new life. Freedom. And love.<
br />
  The words from long-ago wishes echoed in her head and she faltered for the briefest moment, then smiled. “I suspect, like the rest of the world, I wish for all of it.”

  The group laughed and she excused herself.

  She could have had all of it once. A new life. Freedom. And love. The thought pulled her up short. In truth, didn’t she have everything she had wished for? And hadn’t George been the one to give it to her? No, she couldn’t blame him for what she’d lost: he’d given her so very much.

  And with his letters it appeared he now wanted to give her Jason.

  Until now, Jason’s name had never passed between them. But he was there always. No doubt it was due to the difference in their ages that George failed to recognize his resemblance in appearance to his cousin, in height and figure and coloring. But more so in manner. In the tilt of George’s jaw when he was concerned or the look in his eye when he was intrigued or the sound of his laughter.

  She’d learned to ignore it through the years. Learned not to catch her breath at a particular gesture or allow the flutter of her heart at a familiar inflection. Yet another lesson well learned of necessity and easier with each passing day.

  But not the nights. Never the nights. On those occasions when George had come to her bed, Jason was there always. In the touch of George’s hand and the heat of his body. And as hard as she tried, she tried, she could not vanquish that ghost from her bed even as she had banished him from her heart. Or thought she had.

  Until today.

  Four

  It was wrong of me, Jason. I know that now as I did then. Even at this juncture, I find it difficult to believe I waited seven years to tell you that Rachael was alive and well. When you wrote from America and I understood you believed Rachael had died and understood as well you did not merely leave her ruined and alone, I should have confessed all. I should have known, in spite of your wild nature, you were an honorable man. Forgive me for thinking the worst of you.

  But even with the wisdom of hindsight, I well know I would do the same again. What good would it have done either of us to reveal the truth? By then Rachael was my wife and, God help me, I could not give her up. Not even to you.