The likelihood of that was even more possible; afraid of what that might mean for Anna, Barrington gave his coachman the direction of Regent’s Park. He intended to keep a close eye on Hayle for the next few days. Anna might like to think her brother was guided by family loyalty, but having seen what loyalty meant to him, Barrington decided it was best to play it safe. Any man that twisted by jealousy and anger was a danger to anyone he came into contact with—and that included his only sister.
* * *
The carriage pulled into the darkened street a short while later. Barrington knew the number of the house, but even from this distance he could see that there were no lights on inside and that neither a private carriage nor a hackney stood outside. If Hayle had paid the house a call, he hadn’t bothered to wait around.
So where was he now—and in what state of mind?
Abruptly, Barrington remembered something Crew had told him during his last visit. As well as providing him with the surprising but very useful information regarding Cambermere and his relationship to Peregrine Rand, Crew had informed him that Hayle had taken to spending time with Lord Andrews. Apparently they were often seen heading in the direction of Andrews’s favourite hangout, a disreputable tavern close to the Thames, down a dark alley most decent men knew better than to travel. A place known to opium users needing a place to hide.
Barrington thumped the roof of his carriage and gave the driver the address. Whatever he was going to say to Hayle had to be said tonight. And if that meant following him into the mouth of hell, that’s what he’d do. But he’d go in prepared. He reached under his seat and pulled out the ebony cane. If he was to take Hayle on in an unfriendly atmosphere, the cane might well save his life. In places like the Cock’s Crown, he was only going to get one chance.
* * *
Anna walked listlessly into the drawing room as the clock on the mantel struck nine. She and Peregrine were expected at Lady Bessmel’s for cards, but the thought of having to spend an entire evening making light-hearted conversation and acting as though nothing was wrong was far from welcome. She perched on the arm of a high-back chair, only to get restlessly to her feet a few minutes later. She felt cold though the room was warm and even an extra shawl couldn’t banish the chill, nor was it likely to given the source of her distraction.
Was Peregrine truly her half-brother? Barrington certainly thought so. He would never have made the comment to her otherwise. But the only person who could give her a definitive answer to that question was her father and he had gone out earlier in the day. And even if she knew when he was coming home, would she have the courage to ask him such a question?
How did one go about enquiring if the young man now living with them, a man who had been introduced to them by their father as his godson, was, in fact, their half-brother?
Her father’s bastard.
No. Definitely not the kind of question a daughter asked. Because if Barrington was wrong, her father would be devastated by her questioning of his honesty. Indeed, of his very honour. And if he wasn’t wrong?
Anna closed her eyes, retreating from the thought.
Unfortunately, Barrington didn’t make mistakes. Everything he’d said to her from the moment they’d met had been proven true. What reason had she to doubt him now? His approach to everything he undertook was logical, unemotional and based purely on fact. Sentiment didn’t enter into it, whereas with her, everything revolved around emotion. People didn’t make mistakes because they were logical. They made them because they allowed their emotions to get the upper hand. Emotions like anger and jealousy and hate.
Having to listen to such accusations made against the members of her own family was horrible—but having to agree with them was even more so. It called into question the degree of loyalty she owed her family. A responsibility she’d never questioned until now—and Barrington was the one who was making her question it. Was it any wonder she had no desire to see him again?
Yet she did want to see him. Desperately, because he had become the only constant in her life, the one person she could count on. He consumed her every waking thought. Not an hour went by that she didn’t think of him. Not a minute passed that she didn’t remember every exquisite detail of the moments they’d spent together: the heady sensation of his hand caressing her breast; the warmth of his mouth on hers; the incredible eroticism of his body pressed intimately against hers.
But what was all that worth if love and tenderness weren’t present as well? Intimacy without love was the reason men went to prostitutes. Barrington might not be able to deny the strength of the attraction between them, but he was still reluctant to encourage anything more. He used the charges he had laid against the men in her family as proof of the destructive force he brought into her life.
How was she to tell him that she didn’t care about that any more? That all she cared about was loving him and of finding some way of getting him to love her in return?
How on earth did she tell a logical man something so thoroughly illogical?
‘Anna? Are you ready to go?’
She looked up to see Peregrine standing in the doorway—and the sight of him caused her heart to turn over all over again. Peregrine Rand. Country gentleman—or unknown half-brother? It was impossible not to wonder in light of Barrington’s stunning revelations.
And yet though she stared hard at Peregrine, she still couldn’t find the confirmation she was seeking. The knowledge that he truly was her father’s son by another woman.
‘Anna? Are you all right?’
‘Hmm? Oh, yes, of course.’ Don’t think about it. It won’t help you get through the evening. ‘Are you sure you want to go to Lady Bessmel’s tonight?’
Peregrine’s mouth twisted and, suddenly, there was no mistaking the hesitation in his eye. ‘I’m quite sure I don’t wish to go, but I can’t hide in the house for ever. I’ll have to show my face in public at some time.’ He walked into the room, hands thrust into his pockets. ‘If it was only the affair, I could bear it. But knowing that people are whispering about what I reputedly did to your father is a thousand times worse.’
Anna looked at him and saw how deeply he was suffering. The colour had gone from his face and his eyes were shadowed with despair. Even his attire was subdued: his cravat simply tied, his waistcoat plain, his collar points of moderate height.
‘I know you didn’t start the rumour about having found the necklace in Papa’s possession, Per,’ Anna said softly. ‘You wouldn’t have done that to him.’
His laughter had a hard, bitter edge to it. ‘Then you’re one of the few who believes it.’
‘How did you find out what people were saying?’
‘Lord Richard Crew was good enough to inform me.’
Hearing the name of the well-known lady’s man, Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m surprised he would be the one to tell you, given his own less-than-sterling reputation. Did he happen to mention whether or not he believed it?’
‘He didn’t say and I didn’t ask,’ Peregrine replied, his expression bleak. ‘Frankly, I didn’t want to know.’
‘Oh, Peregrine,’ Anna said, coming to stand beside him. ‘This really hasn’t been a very good visit for you.’
‘No, it hasn’t, but much of it’s been my own fault,’ Peregrine said ruefully. ‘Making a fool of myself over Lady Yew wasn’t the best way to start and this has certainly made matters worse. But I can’t believe people would think I would betray your father like that. Yes, I saw the necklace in his wardrobe. We both did. But I would never say so in public. Your father’s been good to me, Anna. He brought me to London and let me live here. He made it easy for me to enter society when my background lends nothing to my being there, and he even forgave me for the débâcle with Lady Yew.’
‘He did?’
‘He said it was the right of every young man to sow his wild oats.’ Peregrine gave her a lopsided grin. ‘I just picked the wrong field in which to sow them.’
In spite of the situati
on, Anna was actually able to laugh. ‘Yes, well, I suppose everyone must be forgiven one mistake.’
‘Would that it was only one.’ Peregrine said. ‘I wish I was more like you, Anna. I doubt you’ve ever done anything stupid or irresponsible in your life. You would never let yourself be compromised by your feelings.’
‘Oh, Peregrine,’ Anna breathed. ‘I am no more sensible than you when it comes to matters of the heart.’
‘Nonsense. You’re never out of humour. You don’t allow familiarity from gentlemen and you act with moderation at all times.’
Except when in the arms of the man I love, Anna wanted to tell him. Waiting for him to say the things I so desperately want to hear…and probably never will. But all she said was, ‘The young ladies I counsel would think me a poor example if I didn’t follow my own advice. Besides, we both know how destructive unbridled passion can be. Surely it is better to love moderately than to lose oneself completely.’
‘Perhaps, but I would never wish that for you. Or for myself. When I fall in love, I want it to be without reason or logic. I want to feel light-headed over it,’ Peregrine said. ‘Giddy with the excitement of it all. I want the woman I love to be all I think about—my reason for getting up in the morning and the motivation for everything I do during the day. I want her to be my queen. My Guinevere.’
Anna smiled. ‘You’re a poet and a dreamer, Peregrine, but I have no doubt that you will find your Guinevere one day.’
‘And what about you, Anna? Do you think you’ll ever find your Lancelot?’
Anna stood up. She already had…and his name was Barrington Parker. But he was lost to her, the bitter words they’d thrown at one another severing the tenuous connection that existed between them. ‘I doubt it. There just aren’t that many knights in shining armour left.’
* * *
As expected, walking into the Cock’s Crown was like descending into the dungeons of hell. The dimly lit room was thick with smoke, the cloying scent of opium burning the eyes and addling the brain. Pictures both dark and disturbing hung from the walls and there was a sense of desperation and despair about the place.
It took only a moment to locate the figure of Viscount Hayle. Sitting at a table in the corner, he appeared to be well into his cups, though in truth, he was in better shape than many of his companions. Lord Andrews was sprawled out on the table next to him and a younger man Barrington recognised as the heir to a dukedom lay face down on the floor. The humid air was rank with the smell of booze and fear.
Hayle looked up as Barrington approached. His eyes were bloodshot and, in the dim light, his skin had a decidedly greyish tinge. ‘Well, well, if it isn’t the admirable Parker,’ he drawled. ‘A little out of your area, aren’t you?’
‘It’s not one of my favourite haunts,’ Barrington said, resting his hands on the knob of his ebony cane. ‘But something told me I might find you here.’
‘And why should you wish to find me?’ Hayle said, enunciating each word.
‘You and I have business to discuss.’
‘Really? I can’t imagine what manner of business would be so important that you would need seek me out here. As you can see, I am with friends, and friends would resent me speaking to you on matters that do not concern them.’
It was hard to tell if Hayle was foxed or drugged, but either way, Barrington knew it was going to be a difficult conversation. ‘Your friends can listen if they wish, but we will have a conversation.’
‘I think not.’ Hayle closed his eyes and rocked back on the legs of his chair. ‘You take yourself far too seriously, Parker. You should learn to relax and enjoy life, as I do.’
‘What, by viewing it through a veil of opium? Thank you, but I prefer reality to hallucinations.’
‘Obviously, you’ve never tried it.’
‘No, but it would no more be my idea of fun than forcing a helpless young woman to do my dirty work, then hold her prisoner for fear of her exposing me,’ Barrington said contemptuously.
Hayle’s eyes opened, the chair slowly righting. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I think you know. I’m sure the name Elizabeth Paisley rings a bell.’
‘Eliza?’ To Barrington’s surprise, Hayle actually laughed. ‘I’m not holding her prisoner. She came to me willingly. She loves me, don’t you know.’
‘She may believe herself in love with you, but you and I both know it was fear that kept her from running away from you.’
Hayle’s smile slowly disappeared. ‘And I suppose I have you to thank for her unexpected departure. And for that of my housekeeper?’
Not even the most unholy of tortures would have prompted Barrington to tell Hayle it was his sister who had orchestrated Eliza’s escape. ‘The young lady was too afraid to leave on her own, so it was necessary that I assist her in that regard,’ he said quietly. ‘Once I realised she was the one who’d stolen the baroness’s necklace and given it to you, I had no choice but to speak with her.’
‘Gave the necklace to me? What a bizarre notion. And entirely wrong, of course.’ Hayle unsteadily picked up his glass. ‘My father is the thief, Parker. Surely you’ve figured that out by now. The much revered Earl of Cambermere stole the baroness’s necklace and it was none other than his godson, Mr Peregrine Rand, who made it known to society. Were you aware that it was Rand who found the necklace amongst my father’s things?’
‘I did hear something to that effect,’ Barrington remarked, ‘though it seems a bit strange that you would ask him to fetch something from your father’s room…a watch, I believe…when you were the one who was supposed to take care of it.’
The man gave a non-committal shrug. ‘My father asked me to attend to it, but I was busy, so I asked Rand to do it for me. I thought him competent enough to undertake a trifling matter like that.’
‘So you had no idea he would find the necklace lying right next to the watch when he went in search of it,’ Barrington said blandly.
Again, the shrug. ‘Had I known, I would have gone myself. I have no desire to see my father humiliated in the eyes of society, Parker. Or to see our family name tarnished by such a dishonourable act.’
‘No, I’m sure you do not,’ Barrington murmured, impressed by the man’s ability to lie so convincingly when under the influence of the drug. ‘And, of course, it makes no sense that your father would steal anything from the woman he has asked to marry him.’
It wasn’t the truth, but it got the response Barrington was hoping for.
‘He hasn’t asked her to marry him,’ Hayle snapped. ‘Julia would have told me!’
‘You wouldn’t have heard it from your father first?’ Barrington probed.
‘My father doesn’t confide his plans to me any more. He hasn’t for some time.’
Barrington heard the note of resentment in Hayle’s voice and knew the loss of his father’s confidence, and perhaps his respect, rankled. ‘Still, it can’t come as a great surprise that he wishes to marry her,’ Barrington went on. ‘He’s made no secret of his affection for the lady. Your father is, in all ways, an honourable man. If he was in love with the baroness, he would naturally offer her marriage.’
‘Oh yes, just like he offered Rand’s mother marriage,’ Hayle said contemptuously. ‘But he didn’t, did he? He married my mother and ignored his bastard for the first twenty-seven years of his life. Hardly the behaviour of an honourable man.’
‘It’s possible your father didn’t know of Rand’s existence,’ Barrington said. ‘It may have been brought to his attention only a few months ago.’
‘He knew he’d bedded Rand’s mother,’ Hayle said with contempt. ‘And the consequences of that are all too easy to predict.’
‘As I said, the relationship may have ended without his knowledge of there being a child,’ Barrington said reasonably. ‘Rand is older than you, so the association between your father and his mother was an early one.’
‘I don’t give a damn when he had the relationship or what
they were to one another!’ Hayle burst out hotly. ‘What bothers me is that the moment my father learned of Rand’s existence, he brought him to London without so much as a by your leave.’
‘What did you expect him to do?’ ‘He could have asked me how I felt about it. I am his legitimate son and heir, after all!’
‘Perhaps he didn’t think it concerned you. Rand is his son by a woman you don’t even know. It’s hardly surprising that he would be suffering feelings of guilt—’
‘If my father was stupid enough to rut with a woman of low birth and then have feelings of guilt, he should have gone to the country, made his apologies to the family and left it at that,’ Hayle bit off. ‘He should never have brought his bastard to London and tried to pass him off as his godson so I might be made a laughingstock in society!’
‘And that’s what really bothers you, isn’t it, Hayle? That you have a brother you never knew anything about and whose existence is an embarrassment. A brother who shares your bloodline—’
‘He is nothing to me! Less than nothing!’ ‘He is your half-brother. And because you sensed that the moment he set foot in your house, you set out to humiliate Rand and your father by showing them both in the worst possible light,’ Barrington said mercilessly. ‘You had your mistress steal a necklace from the woman your father loved and then you tried to pin the blame for the crime on him, knowing that by exposing him, you would be humiliating your father as deeply as you felt he had humiliated you.’
If Barrington was hoping for a confession, he was destined for disappointment. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Parker. All I know is that the baroness’s necklace was found in my father’s possession and that he must bear the consequences for his actions.’
‘And Miss Paisley? Would you see her hang for a crime she didn’t commit?’ Barrington pressed.
‘Why should I care? She’s a whore. She made her interest in me plain enough the first time I saw her and I wasn’t about to pass up the invitation. Unlike you, I have hot blood running through my veins,’ Hayle sneered.
Brushed by Scandal Page 24