She stifled a little sob and hid her face in her hands.
“Clara. Do not…”
Sebastian gently helped her to her feet as she pulled her disheveled dress tight around her. When he would have drawn her down to sit with him on the sofa she resisted, deliberately choosing a chair that set her apart from him.
“I am sorry.” This time she realized that he sounded wretched. “I should not have done it.”
“You should not have done it?” Clara’s fingers scored the arms of the chair. “Do not take responsibility for something that I wanted as much as you! Indeed, if you had not stopped me…” Her voice trailed away as she realized she would have given herself to him totally, without reservation. But even then he had not been so emotionally engaged as she. He had known what he was doing. And he had stopped it. She bit her lip to stifle her anguish.
“I should never have sent for you yesterday,” she said tonelessly.
“No.” His word was uncompromising. “And I should never have come to you.”
“It took me such a long time…” Clara gulped. “I thought I no longer had such strong feelings for you.”
He was shaking his head but said nothing. She felt desolate.
“What are we to do?” she said. She looked at him properly for the first time and her heart turned over at the misery and self-loathing in his eyes. “I know that you cannot offer me what I want, Sebastian.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. The pain was etched deep on his face. “Clara, to make you a promise and then break it would be intolerable.”
She knew what he meant. He did not wish to have the responsibility of loving her. He could not swear to be faithful to her for the rest of his life. She remembered what she had thought the previous night: he could not love her as she wished to be loved, as she deserved to be loved.
“So what do we do?” she said again.
He did not pretend to misunderstand her.
“About this perilous attraction between us?” He smiled faintly and Clara’s heart clenched with a combination of misery and longing. “There is nothing we can do. You are not a woman I can have by any means other than marriage. I accept that.” His voice was calm but there was an undertone of emotion that seared Clara. She knew he wanted her and wanted her desperately.
The words fell into the silence. Despite the warmth of the room, Clara shivered. A little while ago, a mere half hour perhaps, she would have believed she was truly a woman bound by convention. Now she had tasted passion and her body ached for it. It would be fulfilling, overwhelming, to make love with Sebastian Fleet. She had sampled desire and it made her hungry.
“Sebastian.”
He read her tone and she saw the leap of fire in his eyes. He came to his knees by her chair, taking her cold hands in his. “Clara…”
For a long moment they stared at each other, but then Clara shook her head. “I cannot do it, Sebastian. If it were only for myself I…” She broke off, unable even now, after all that had happened between them, to confess to what felt such an unmaidenly desire. She looked up again and met his eyes. “But you would lose my brother’s friendship and gain nothing but the censure of those who had been your friends.”
“It would be worth it for you.” The sincerity in his tone was beyond question. His hands tightened on hers. “It would be worth it and more, a hundred times over, to have you even for a little while….”
For a moment, Clara’s world spun on the edge of a different existence. She was a woman of independent means. There was no one else she would rather marry. She could not imagine there ever would be, for she loved Sebastian Fleet with all the stubbornness in her character. Yet upbringing and principle ran so deep. To lose her good reputation, to lose her family and friends, all the things she had once taken for granted, and to gain what? Not Sebastian’s love, for he had sworn himself incapable of that. What was he really offering her? A few months of bliss perhaps, but with everlasting darkness at the end.
He released her suddenly and stood up, turning away. “No, I know it would not serve. I could not ask it of you, Clara, even if you were willing. You are not the kind of woman who could be happy with such an arrangement.”
He was right. They both knew it. Clara felt her spirits sink like a stone. So this really was the end.
“So what do we do?” she asked hopelessly, a third time.
“We do not see each other again. It is the only way.”
Clara shook her head. “That will not suffice. We are forever in the same company. We cannot avoid it. It will be unbearable.”
The shadows made the planes of his face even more austere. “Then I will go away.”
“No!” The cry was wrenched from Clara. That she could not bear. Not to see him again would be painful enough, but to think that he had exiled himself because of her…
“Perhaps,” she said, after a moment, “it will become easier in time.”
“I doubt it.” There was a smile in Sebastian’s voice now. “Not when I cannot even look at you without wishing to kiss you senseless and strip all your clothing from you and make love to you until you are exhausted in my arms.”
Clara made a small sound of distress, squirming in her chair with a mixture of remembered desire and unfulfilled passion. “Do not!”
“I am sorry.” She knew he was not only speaking of what had happened between them. He was speaking of his inability to give her what she desired.
The library door opened with shocking suddenness. Both Clara and Sebastian spun around like a couple of guilty schoolchildren. Engrossed in their own passions and anxieties, neither of them had heard the front door open or the sound of voices in the hall, or footsteps approaching.
Segsbury, Juliana and Martin were all poised in the doorway. Segsbury looked genuinely startled to see the Duke of Fleet in the house a full half hour after the man’s supposed departure. Juliana looked shocked and Martin merely furious.
Clara felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rising inside her. She was seated; Sebastian was standing a good few feet away. There was nothing remotely compromising in their demeanor. And yet she wondered what on earth was showing on their faces.
“A curious time of the night to be making calls, Sebastian,” Martin said, and although his voice was perfectly pleasant it held a distinct undertone of menace. “Segsbury implied that you had brought some gifts for the children.”
“I did.” Clara saw Sebastian pull himself together with an effort. “Excuse me. As you say, it is late. I should be leaving.”
For a moment it looked to Clara, frozen in her seat, as though Martin were not inclined to let his friend go so easily. Then Juliana drifted forward. “Dear Sebastian,” she said, putting one hand on Fleet’s arm, “how thoughtful of you to bring presents.” She steered him toward the door and after a moment, Martin stepped aside, though there was still an ugly look in his eyes. “Segsbury will show you out,” Juliana continued, “and we shall see you soon, I am sure.” She relinquished his arm and Segsbury stepped forward, perfectly on cue, just in case the duke had once again forgotten his way to the front door.
“This way, your grace.”
Clara waited. Sebastian half turned toward her and Martin made an unmistakably threatening movement.
“Good night, Miss Davencourt,” Sebastian said. There was nothing but darkness in his eyes. He inclined his head. “Davencourt, Lady Juliana…”
The library door shut with an ominous thud and Martin took a purposeful step toward her. Clara shrank in her chair.
“Martin, darling,” Juliana said clearly, “I wonder if you might check on the nursery? I would be relieved to know that all is well.”
Clara saw the tiny shake of the head that Juliana gave her husband and, after a moment, to Clara’s inexpressible relief, Martin went out. She was so thankful not to have to explain herself to her brother that she almost burst into tears.
“Oh, Ju!” She hurled herself into Juliana’s arms and clung tight, careless of what her sis
ter-in-law would think. And after a moment Juliana hugged her back fiercely, with no words until Clara had slackened her grip a little.
“I am sorry, Ju.”
“Do not be.” Juliana caught her hand and pulled her down to sit beside her on the sofa. “What happened, Clara?”
“He is to go away,” Clara said, in a rush. “We think it is the only way.”
“Yes,” Juliana said quietly, “I think that may be true.”
They sat for a moment in silence. “Perhaps you could go away for a little, too,” Juliana said thoughtfully. “When your sister Kitty and Edward return to Yorkshire after Christmas.”
“Yes,” Clara said rapidly. “A change of scene. Perhaps that might serve.”
“Clara—” There was anxiety in Juliana’s voice now. “Forgive me, but did you…I mean, surely you did not…”
At another time, Clara might have laughed at her notoriously outspoken sister-in-law being so timid at confronting her. She shook her head. “We did not.” She knitted her fingers together. “I would have given myself gladly to Sebastian tonight,” she said, “but he was not so careless as I.”
“Thank God,” Juliana said, and there was a wealth of relief in her voice.
“I suppose so.” Clara stood up. Her heart felt as bleak as winter. “I must go to bed. I am so tired. Thank you, Juliana.”
Juliana’s expression was sad. “If you wish to talk to me tomorrow, Clara, you will, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Clara managed a smile. “I love having you for a big sister, Juliana.”
Juliana’s answering smile was vivid and bright. “Thank you, Clara. I will see you in the morning.”
As she went slowly up the stairs, Clara worried she would not be able to sleep, but when she finally came to lie down she was so exhausted that she remembered nothing from the moment her head touched the pillow.
There were no stars that night.
CHAPTER FOUR
SEB FLEET RAN DOWN the steps leading from his lawyer’s offices and out into the cold street, pulling on his gloves as he did so. Today was a perfect, clear, frosty winter’s day with the air as sharp as a knife. It was the ideal day on which to leave London, the ideal way to remember the city, dressed in bridal white, its dirtiness hidden at least for a little beneath a blanket of snow.
It was two weeks since he had announced he was leaving England for an extended period of travel abroad. He had had no notion of the complexity of arrangements that would follow. Perch was attending to all the travel preparations, but Sebastian needed to settle his business affairs, from the authorizations needed to keep his estates running efficiently to a meeting with his anxious cousin and heir, who wished to know what would happen in the event of his untimely death abroad. It had reassured Seb to see Anthony, even if his cousin’s thoughts were taking a morbid turn. It was good to know that with his passing, the Fleet succession would still be in safe hands. For half of Seb wished passionately for precisely that untimely death to which Anthony had alluded.
He felt trapped, and he hoped that different climes and fresh scenes might help him regain his perspective. All he had been able to think about in the fourteen days following his last meeting with Clara Davencourt was the sheer torment of wanting one thing and yet feeling incapable of gaining it. It was not so simple or so selfish as wanting Clara physically and being denied. He needed Clara in some deep sense that frightened him to analyze, and to tear himself away from her was to wrench out part of his soul. Yet to have her love and her trust felt such a huge burden and one of which he was not worthy. He would let her down; he would desert her. He could never meet her expectations or be what she deserved. The responsibility was too great and the image of Oliver was before him always. He had let Oliver die. He had let his parents down and caused them such a grief that could never be assuaged and he would never, ever, do that to another person again.
Sebastian had been walking with no fixed intention, so deep in thought was he. Now he found he had come out into the street by one of the pleasure gardens, the Peerless Pool. In summer it was the haunt of bathers who came to swim in the fresh spring waters. Now, the frozen lake was full of skaters. They circled beneath the high blue sky and their excited cries mingled with the cutting sound of skates on ice. The frozen branches of the lime and cherry trees seemed to catch the sound and send its echoes tinkling back.
Sebastian paused. It was a pretty scene and in the center of it skated a girl in crimson. He recognized Clara at once. She was surrounded by her family and friends. These were the very people with whom he would once have felt so comfortable. He found himself automatically moving to the marble steps that led down to the pool, then stopped. He had barely seen or spoken to Clara in the past fortnight, and to force himself on her party now felt awkward and wrong. Besides, now he looked more closely he saw that Lords Tarver and Elton were both in attendance, like twin ugly sisters waiting for Cinderella to choose between them. It made Sebastian feel ridiculously angry. Yet he knew that Clara might well be married by the time he returned from the continent and that he should feel relieved at the prospect. It was unfortunate that he was not even noble enough to want for her the thing that would achieve her greatest happiness. He did not want Clara enough to risk everything for her—the thought petrified him—and yet he did not wish her to find her happiness with anyone else. The tug of it was like an agonizing seesaw inside him. Risk all to gain all…he was so very close to it. And yet he turned aside to leave instead.
He almost missed it, had almost turned back through the gates where the doorman was still demanding his entry fee, when out of the corner of his eye he saw Clara fall. She had skated away from the others to the edge of the pool, where the ice ran beneath the branches of the bare trees. She was weaving her way under the trees, a snow queen all in red against the frosted white of the trunks. Then there was a harsh, horrible cracking sound and Sebastian saw the dark water run between the cracks in the ice, saw Clara clutch and miss the branch overhead, and did not wait to see more. He ran. The park keeper was still shouting for his money, unaware of the accident. The other skaters were still spinning and drifting on the other side of the pond. Sebastian scrambled down the bank, careless of the snow and the branches that tore at his coat and his face, and came down onto the ice near where Clara lay.
Someone else had seen now, and was shouting for help, but Sebastian reached her first. She was lying half on the ice and half in the icy water. She did not move. The ice cracked and shifted beneath his feet, but he ignored it. He caught a fold of her skirts and pulled fiercely.
“Clara!”
She moved then and tried to pull herself up out of the ice, but it broke beneath her hands. He grabbed one flailing wrist. There was a pain inside him so immense and a panic so smothering that he could not speak. Her wrist was wet and he could feel his grip slipping. She was sliding from his fingers and he was powerless to stop her. There was an immense crack as the ice gave beneath her and she tumbled from his grasp. Seb saw the water close over her head.
The dark images that he had thought buried forever flashed across his mind with vividness. Oliver struggling against the ice, slipping away from him, disappearing from sight, his face white, his mouth open in a soundless scream…For a moment he was still with the horror of it and then he was lunging forward to seize hold of Clara before it was too late. His grasp met nothing but ice and air. He reached for her again and this time, to his inexpressible relief, he touched the material of her gown; he grabbed it and pulled. There was resistance, a ripping sound, and then her skirts were free of the clutching water and he was drawing her to him fiercely. They both tumbled backward onto the snowy bank, Clara held tight in his arms. He pressed his lips to her hair and tried to pull her closer still, until she made a muffled sound of protest.
The others were arriving now, full of questions and anxiety. Juliana and Kitty plucked Clara from his arms and fussed over her. Martin was shaking his hand and saying something, but Seb was not sure what it
was. He felt sick and shaken and afraid. Martin carried Clara up the bank. Seb could hear her protesting that she was quite well and he felt breathless with relief. They were calling for a carriage to take her straight home. Clara turned to look at him and held out a hand in mute appeal, but he turned away. He was too dazed to speak to her, both by what had so nearly happened to Clara and by the tragic memories it had stirred for him. He did not want her thanks.
The fuss and bustle gave him the chance to escape. He went to a nearby coffee house and, although he could see them looking for him out in the street, he stayed in his own dark corner until the last of their carriages had rolled away.
The coffee warmed him and gradually soothed his shaken emotions. He was able to force the fearsome images of the past back into the dark recesses of his mind where they belonged. Nevertheless, he knew that this was not the end. It could not be, now. For in those moments when he’d held her, he had confessed to Clara that he loved her. Not in words, perhaps, but in the expression in his eyes and the touch of his hands as he clutched her so fiercely to him; he had known it and so had she. And he knew she would seek a confrontation now, stubborn girl that she was. He would have to be ready.
CLARA CAME TO HIM that evening, as he had known she would. He could have gone to his club and avoided the confrontation, but he planned to leave first thing in the morning, as soon as it was light, and so he settled upon a final evening at home. Now he knew it would be a final reckoning, as well. When he left, it would be with the truth between them. He would tell Clara about Oliver and explain once and for all why he was not worthy of her. He sat in his study with a glass of brandy untouched on the table beside him and he stared into the fire and thought of Clara. Who had he been fooling when he pretended not to care for her? She had stripped away all but the last of his defenses now. He loved her. He loved her desperately and he had done so for a very long time.
“When Miss Davencourt arrives, please show her into the study,” he told Perch, and he was on tenterhooks as the clock ticked on toward midnight. Perhaps she had been injured more than he had realized; perhaps she had taken a chill. It might be better if they did not meet. He could slip away in the morning and ask Perch to arrange for a message and a bouquet of flowers to be sent, wishing her a speedy recovery….
The Heart of Christmas Page 15