by Gayle Wilson
Pilar had been living in Julián Delgado’s home for almost a year. Although she had never hinted at anything sexually inappropriate in her guardian’s behavior, now that Sebastian understood the depths of depravity of which the man was capable, he had begun to wonder what other horrors had been inflicted on her.
He hadn’t realized that particular fear lay so near the surface until he had put it into words. As soon as he had, he wished he might take them back.
Neither of his brothers, however, said anything in response to that litany of abuses. Finally, both of them seemed to be listening to, and more important, hearing, what he was saying about her situation.
“I took her away from him,” he said again. “I smuggled her out of Spain, despite the efforts of his people, who were looking for us. I tricked her into a marriage she didn’t want in order to get her out of France. And I promised her the protection of the Sinclairs. Believe me, Val, I don’t consider any of what has happened to be a prank.”
“Our first consideration must be what is best for the girl,” Ian said, his voice without any trace of censure.
“I have done nothing less than that from the beginning—at least, as soon as I fully understood her situation. I don’t need you and Val second-guessing my actions now. Believe me, they were well considered.”
That was only partially true, he admitted. After the abduction, however, her well-being had been his primary concern. There had been something about the act of carrying a helpless woman in his arms that had made him more aware of the proper role of a gentleman than he had ever been before in his life.
“What does she want to do now?” Dare asked.
That was a question Sebastian couldn’t possibly answer. They hadn’t discussed what she wanted. All along, they had only had time to discuss what had to be done.
“I don’t know. At least, not beyond wanting not to go back to her guardian.”
“Is he likely to try to force her to?”
“Perhaps. If he knew where she was. I don’t believe he does. Pilar seems to think that since he has gotten what he was after—her father’s lands and titles—he will be willing to let her go.”
“What do you believe?” Ian asked, perhaps recognizing from his tone that it wasn’t an opinion he shared.
Sebastian thought about what he really expected Delgado to do now. And although he had far less knowledge of the man than Pilar…
“I’m not sure he’ll give up so easily. She was his possession. He didn’t strike me as a man who will surrender anything that belongs to him without a fight.”
Her bedroom door opened soundlessly, and Anne Sinclair peered through the opening. When she realized Pilar was still awake, she smiled at her.
“May I come in?” she asked.
Reluctant to appear more rude than she already had, Pilar hesitated only a second before she agreed.
“Of course.”
“I thought you might like some warm milk. It will help you sleep,” Anne suggested, carrying a glass on a saucer as she came across the room. She stopped beside the high bed, looking down on her.
In a matter of minutes after she had led Pilar upstairs, the earl’s servants had provided a steaming bath, which they had set before the fire in this beautifully appointed chamber. She had also been provided with a maid—a smiling, freckle-faced girl, who had rhapsodized over Pilar’s now-clean hair as she had combed the tangles out. And, just as had been promised, she had been lent a nightgown to sleep in, one that was as fine as anything her father had ever bought for her before the war.
There had been nothing in anyone’s treatment that could be considered the slightest bit insulting or patronizing. She had truly been cared for like a cherished guest. There had been questions in their eyes, perhaps, but they hadn’t yet asked any of them. And she had been profoundly grateful not to have to deal with those tonight.
“I don’t believe I shall have any trouble sleeping,” she said truthfully, but she smiled to soften the denial.
“Just as soon as you are given the opportunity,” Anne suggested with an answering smile, as she set the milk on the table beside the bed.
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Then you should. I have no business bothering you. I just wanted to tell you that if you need anything during the night—anything at all—not to hesitate to send for me. Or for Elizabeth, if you prefer.”
Pilar knew very well that she wouldn’t send for either of them. But, she acknowledged, if she ever had to call on one of them for a favor, she also knew without any doubt which of them it would be.
“Elizabeth is really very kind,” Anne said, exactly as if she had read her mind. “And don’t be put off by the earl’s manner. I’ve discovered in the short time I’ve been a member of this family that it’s all bluff, at least as far as his brothers are concerned.”
“You haven’t been married long?” Pilar asked.
For some reason she was surprised by that information. Anne seemed perfectly at ease in the presence of her imposing sister-in-law, even teasing about the loan of her nightgown.
“Not so long that it isn’t still…” Anne hesitated, and then, her eyes smiling again, she finished softly, “Magical.”
“Magical?” Pilar repeated questioningly, not sure that was the word that had been used. It seemed strange in that context.
And then she realized that her mother and father’s marriage must have had that quality. She had never thought of the love they shared as magical, but she understood the concept, based on the devotion they had obviously felt for one another. She had always dreamed that one day—
Anne laughed, interrupting that memory. She reached down to take Pilar’s hand, which was lying outside the covers. She held it in her palm, her other hand almost absently stroking the back of it.
The gesture was again too familiar, just as when she had put her arm around Pilar’s shoulders downstairs. For some reason, now as then, Pilar wasn’t offended. Ian’s wife seemed to radiate an innate kindness, so that one was quite unable to take offense at her familiarity.
“A strange word, I suppose. And I would believe that marriage is magical only between Ian and me, except I know that it is for Dare and Elizabeth as well. Perhaps it’s only Sinclair marriages that are magical,” she said, smiling at Pilar. “Except that’s too narrow, too, of course. It’s not only the Sinclairs who make such marriages. I’m sure any marriage based on true love shares that quality. Ours simply happen to be the only marriages with which I have an intimate acquaintance.”
An intimate acquaintance. Intimate. It was the same word Sebastian had used to describe their relationship. Too intimate for titles, he had said. Yet during the time that had passed between then and now…
If the Sinclairs had a tendency to marriages that might indeed be characterized as magical, then something had gone very wrong in this one. She and Sebastian were married, and there was nothing of love or intimacy involved.
He treated her almost exactly as Malford did. And almost, she acknowledged bitterly, exactly as he treated Malford.
“What is it?” Anne asked softly. Her smile had faded, possibly because of whatever was reflected in Pilar’s face. “Have I said something to upset you?”
“Of course not,” Pilar lied.
“Well, I shan’t keep you from your rest,” Anne said. “I just wanted to make sure that you have everything you need. And to wish you pleasant dreams.”
She smiled again, laying Pilar’s hand back down on the coverlet. Then she crossed the room, closing the door behind her.
As soon as she was alone, Pilar took a deep breath, thinking how much her life had changed. And thinking, despite her intention not to—at least not tonight—about what lay ahead.
She was at last free from Julián’s hated domination. She was in England, under the protection of a family that had powerful connections. And she was married, not to her despised guardian, but to a man…
To a man who had been forced into that marri
age by their circumstances. There was no other alternative. His words had been unequivocal; the opinion they expressed undeniably accurate.
Sebastian had never misled her about why he was doing what he had done. He had married her to rescue her. To protect her. To get her away from Julián.
He had married her, but at no time had he ever indicated that he desired to be her husband. If Anne really thought that all Sinclair marriages were magical, then it would probably be painful for her to learn exactly how far from that ideal this one fell.
Not nearly so painful, Pilar acknowledged, as that realization had been for her.
Chapter Nine
“Quite the loveliest émigré London has seen in a very long time,” Anne Sinclair said admiringly.
She was sitting in the center of her bed, her skirts rucked carelessly around her, as she watched the abigail put the finishing touches on Pilar’s toilette.
“Refugee, I should think,” Pilar corrected absently, adjusting the sleeve of the morning gown she had been given.
The shade of green was not one she would have chosen. However, with the current darkness of her complexion, it was unexpectedly becoming. Very becoming, she amended, unable to prevent turning a small pirouette before the cheval glass to admire the dress from every angle.
“Of course,” Anne agreed, unembarrassed over the mistake. “You could hardly be an émigré, could you, since you aren’t French.”
“I believe that will do, thank you,” Pilar said, smiling a dismissal at the hovering maid.
When she had turned back to consider the image in the glass, she thought that it—and she—would do very well, indeed. Even wearing a hastily altered gown that had been created for someone whose coloring and figure were very different. It was almost miraculous what a bath, a good night’s sleep and a fashionable dress could accomplish.
When the maid had gone, Pilar turned away from her own reflection to face the girl on the bed. She had never met anyone less pretentious or kinder than Anne Sinclair.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, gesturing toward the dozens of other dresses, which were spread, it seemed, over every available inch of space in the room. Not all of the ones Anne had tried to give her could be adjusted to fit, but there were at least four or five that had proven to be quite suitable.
More than suitable, she acknowledged, resisting the urge to glance back at her reflection.
“You’re very welcome. In truth, this isn’t nearly the sacrifice you seem to think. I have far more than I can possibly wear, and by next year I fear they will be sadly out of date for London. This was to be my Season, you see. You can’t imagine the sums Ian spent.”
“Ian spent?”
“He was my guardian before he was my husband. Oh, dear,” Anne said, her eyes still smiling, “I’ve managed to shock you quite thoroughly.”
“Please believe me when I tell you that I am not so easily shocked,” Pilar said truthfully. After all, this was no different than her own situation. “It’s just that I had thought…” She paused, unwilling to judge a relationship or a society about which she knew nothing.
“No, it isn’t the ‘accepted thing’ in England for a guardian to marry his ward. And especially not accepted when his ward is also heiress to a considerable fortune.”
“And you were.”
“I’m afraid so,” Anne said. “Ian was as reluctant as any man of honor could be, but…” For a second or two, the smile seemed forced, and that strange hint of melancholy was again in her eyes.
“But you overcame his scruples,” Pilar suggested, watching her face.
The brown eyes came back from wherever they had been, and the smile expanded, becoming almost mischievous. “How can you be so certain it wasn’t the other way ‘round?” she teased.
“Because there’s something about your husband…”
Unconsciously, Pilar shook her head, unable to put into words the feeling that of all the Sinclairs, Ian was the one who lived his life most strictly by the rules. Or, she amended, by the dictates of honor.
Sebastian was governed by his emotions, of course. Everything he had done since she had known him had been based on how he felt about a particular situation. Everything except their marriage.
She wasn’t sure yet what the guiding principal of the earl’s life might be, but like the youngest Sinclair, there was a bit too much devil-may-care in those eyes to believe the world’s opinion mattered. His opinion of himself was quite high enough to make up for any lack of respect society might offer.
“You’re right again, of course,” Anne said, her voice no longer teasing. “Someday, when I know you better, I shall tell you why, despite those quite formidable barriers to our relationship, Ian was persuaded to ask me to marry him.”
When I know you better… Despite her doubts that she would be here long enough to earn Anne’s friendship to that extent, Pilar said, “And why you accepted, perhaps?”
“But you’ve met him,” Anne responded, smiling again. “I’m sure you can see for yourself why I accepted.”
Since Anne had described her marriage as “magical,” she probably couldn’t imagine anyone who would not fall head over heels in love with Ian Sinclair. And Pilar found that she was almost jealous.
“Do you think it’s possible that if two people marry, but it’s not for love…” She hesitated, regretting, despite Anne’s kindness, having begun the question.
“If they didn’t marry for love,” Anne said after a moment, “then why did they marry?”
“Perhaps because one of them felt there was no option other than marriage in the situation they had found themselves in.”
How ridiculous that sounded. And how melodramatic.
“It seems to me that there are always options,” Anne said, “no matter the situation. We tend to choose those that make the most sense to us. So that if love is involved—”.
A knock on the door interrupted whatever she had intended to say. Although Anne could not possibly understand what it felt like to have the man you’d fallen in love with offer to marry you out of expediency, Pilar had found herself listening avidly to what had sounded like a promising beginning. She would be extremely disappointed not to hear the end of it.
“Come in,” Anne called, without troubling to scramble off the bed.
The door opened to reveal Watson, Dare’s dignified majordomo. He nodded to Ian’s wife before he turned to address Pilar.
“The earl asks if you would join him in his study, madam.”
“Now?”
“I believe he’s waiting for you there. However, if you wish me to take a message to him…”
“Never mind,” Pilar said, giving in. The earl’s questions were inevitable. Buoyed by a new dress and a night’s rest, she felt now was as good a time as any to try to answer them. Besides, there were a few things she wanted to ask Dare as well.
“If you would follow me,” Watson suggested.
“Of course,” she said.
She glanced at Anne, grimacing. She was careful, however, that the face she’d made was hidden from the butler.
“Remember what I told you,” Anne advised.
About the earl, Pilar realized. It’s all bluff.
Anne meant his arrogance, she supposed. Or the aura of unspoken authority that surrounded him. Since she wasn’t his family, however, no matter what Anne had meant to reassure her about, it wouldn’t apply to his treatment of her.
“You sent for me,” Pilar said.
“I hope I should never be so gauche as to ‘send’ for a guest,” the Earl of Dare protested.
He had risen when she’d entered the room, and he was standing now as if he expected her to walk across and present her hand. She didn’t. If pressed, she could not have explained why she had chosen not to.
“I merely asked if you would agree to see me,” her host continued, willing to overlook her reluctance. “If my messenger implied anything other than that, I apologize for his ineptitude.”
&nb
sp; “Your messenger delivered your summons impeccably, Lord Dare,” Pilar said.
Dare’s lips moved slightly at the corners, almost a tilt. Other than that, he ignored the gibe, gesturing her to the chair opposite his instead of pursuing her interpretation of his request.
It was early enough that she had not yet seen Sebastian. She had no idea, therefore, what he had told his oldest brother about what had occurred in Spain. Or, more important, in France.
If he had told him anything at all, she suspected it was the latter events about which the earl was concerned. If Sebastian had mentioned their marriage, there was no doubt that Dare, as head of the Sinclair family, intended to determine with whom its youngest member had gotten himself entangled.
“Would you care for coffee?” he asked as soon as she had settled herself in the chair.
There was no tray in sight, so she supposed he intended to ring for one to be brought if she said that she did. And since that might have the effect of unnecessarily prolonging this interview…
“Thank you, but no. I had tea in my room.”
She didn’t add that it had been accompanied by what had seemed, even for a household of this size and obvious wealth, a vast array of food. Having avoided dinner the night before by pleading exhaustion, she had partaken of a hearty meal this morning, although some of the English dishes had seemed strange fare for breaking one’s fast.
There was a silence after her refusal, but thankfully it didn’t take the earl long to come to the point. She imagined he was as anxious to get this awkward business out of the way as she was. Just for different reasons, of course.
“Sebastian has told me that he promised you the protection of this family. I assure you that we shall do everything in our power to fulfill that pledge.”
“Thank you,” she said, the pause he had allowed seeming to indicate he desired some response to that promise.