by Laura Parker
Chapter Twenty-Four
London, December 3, 1740
“I’m feeling better, Bree, honest I am.”
The scowl deepened on Kit’s face as his sister continued to tuck a blanket around his legs. “What good is getting out of bed if I must sit on a moldy old chair?”
“ ’Tis a very nice chair,” Sabrina responded automatically and finished her last tuck. “You may sit here by the window for an hour and watch the carriages pass by.”
“ ’Tis not the same as going out to see them,” he mumbled. “For all I am allowed to see of London I may as well be in his lordship’s attic.”
“Darlington House is so splendid I’m certain even the viscount’s attic is spacious and warm. As it is, we must consider ourselves his honored guests.”
“I’d feel more honored if I were allowed to go freely about.”
Sabrina straightened and smiled at her brother. “You are better. I’m very glad for it. But you cannot expect me to allow you run amuck just when you are on the mend. Now eat your bowl of porridge.”
Kit wrinkled his nose at the steaming bowl set on a tray in his lap. He glanced up at his sister with a guileful appeal in his wide blue eyes. “I’d so rather have a chop and pudding.”
“Perhaps tomorrow, if you eat your porridge today.”
The sulk returned to his young face along with a gaze of reproach. “You were never so strict with me before.”
Sabrina laughed and tousled his hair. “That’s all you know. I’ve always been quite an ogre. Just ask Lord Darlington.”
“She is correct. Your sister is a veritable tartar.”
Both Lyndseys looked toward the open doorway to find the subject of their conversation standing there.
Sabrina pulled at her bodice and then put a hand to her hair because she knew it was in mad disorder. She was sweaty and damp with the sleeves of her bodice rolled and her skirts showing dark wet streaks. How infuriating and embarrassing that he had come upon them just as she had finished bathing Kit. It had been a lively affair. Now that he was feeling better her brother had been quite mischievous, laughing and splashing water and pelting her with his sponge. In brief, she was nothing short of disgraceful.
Darlington, on the other hand, looked quite splendid. He wore a dark red fitted coat with wide skirts and brocaded cuffs, cream breeches, white silk stockings, and black shoes. The tricorner he carried under his left arm was embellished with the same brocade as his cuffs. A frill down the front of his shirt replaced the more formal lace cravat of eveningwear. His own unpowdered hair was curled above his ears and tied back in a queue. He looked wickedly handsome while she felt every inch a dowd.
“You are going out, my lord?”
“As usual,” he answered carefully.
“I wish you joy of it,” she answered lightly but turned quickly back to Kit, who looked a bit forlorn. “We will make our own fun. I shall bring out the chessboard and we will play until you are drowsy.”
Beneath his flaxen bangs Kit’s expression was belligerent. “I don’t want to play chess. I want to get up and go out and see London.” He turned a conspiratorial gaze on the viscount. “Lord Darlington has promised to show me his horses and even take me for a ride in Rotten Row.”
Sabrina knew she should be grateful that her brother was hearty enough to be difficult but she was feeling quite contrary as well, though it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the gentleman on whom she had ungraciously turned her back.
She folded her arms but kept her voice even. “We must not tax his lordship’s hospitality to any greater degree than we already have.”
“ ’Tis no hardship.” Jack approached the bed, pleased to see that while Kit was still too thin, the unhealthy pallor had left his cheeks. The boy’s lopsided smile of greeting was all cockiness and charm. “Kit and I have had several discussions these last weeks about the sights of London.”
“He’s promised to take me to the menagerie.” Kit looked eagerly from his sister to the viscount. “You did promise.”
“I did,” Jack agreed. “Perhaps your sister will favor us with her presence as well.”
“ ’Tis December,” Sabrina countered, growing more peevish with every moment. “The days are chill and Kit can ill afford another fever.”
“You spoil everything!” Kit crossed his arms and subsided into a sulk.
Sabrina gave up her efforts to placate him, for this was clearly not a battle she could win at the moment. She smoothed her damp skirts out of habit rather than of any effect it might have. “I must go and see to my own dinner and then I promise I will come back. If you do not wish to play chess then I will read to you.”
“I am tired of books!” Kit turned his face away toward the window to hide the fact that his chin had begun to wobble.
“Very well, you shall chose what we do when I return.”
How quickly spirit reasserts itself, she mused as she turned to leave the room. On the one hand, she could applaud his show of temper. On the other, it had begun to weary her and make her fractious.
During the first week of their journey back to England, Kit had started or cringed at every new sight and sound. He had not been easily frightened as a small child but his experiences in the McDonnell household had all but crushed his spirit. Jack had insisted they stop awhile in Gretna Green in order that Kit might gain back his strength. He had even sent all the way to Edinburgh for a physician to treat the boy. The doctor was quick to point out that while Kit had a predisposition to weak lungs there was nothing essentially wrong with him that could not be righted by proper rest and nourishment. He was right. Once the fever had passed and the congestion in his lungs had eased, Kit had bounced back quick enough. Now three weeks after being reunited, they were in London, the very last place she ever thought they would be.
She was surprised when a hand caught her by the elbow to detain her.
“I should like a word with you.” Jack’s tone was clipped and impartial, yet it made her heart quicken.
“Of course.” She said it automatically, without even looking up at him. “If you will but allow me to freshen up first.”
“There is no time.”
She did look at him then and saw in his aloof expression the aristocratic presumption that she would alter her wishes to conform to his.
She supposed this reminder of their differences in rank should have wounded her pride but she was much too weary to care. “Very well.”
He indicated that she was to go before him and then followed her to the small salon at the end of the hall.
Lines of consternation informed Jack’s expression as he followed her petite figure down the hallway. Her disarray did not disturb him but he was appalled by her appearance. He knew she had had very little sleep during the past three weeks and had never spent a single night in any of the beds at the coaching inns he had provided for her. She had kept a constant vigil by her brother’s side, sleeping with her head on his mattress when she could no longer remain awake. Now that they were back in London nearly a week, and despite the fact that Kit was plainly on the mend, she continued her regimen. In short, her life had shrunk to the size of a bedchamber.
His thoughtful frown deepened as his gaze remained on her. Her usually lively step was sluggish. There was not an ounce of provocation in the movement of her hips. Even the hair tumbling from its pins had lost its deep blue-black gloss. Kit might be on the mend, but his sister was very close to making herself ill. He missed the heated words they had often shared and, more than that, their heated embraces.
His golden brows lowered ominously over his silver eyes. This abuse of her beauty annoyed and angered him. She was needlessly punishing herself.
He had not forgotten her stricken look of horror in the moments after she shot the intruder. It had haunted him as surely as the act haunted her. If he had been a fraction quicker or chosen the other man as his first target, she would not now be wrestli
ng with her conscience over a life he would have taken without a second thought. He suspected she was attempting to make amends through her devotion to her brother, and by freezing him out.
A rare tender smile touched his lips. She was, for all her natural wantonness in his arms, a traditional girl at heart. Perhaps she thought they had sinned together. And, of course they had, delicious, delectable sinning that had only to be recalled to have him standing in his breeches. That full swelling spurred his thoughts.
They had shared few private and certainly no passionate moments since her brother joined them. He was unaccustomed to celibacy and eager to end what he considered to be an unnatural state for both of them. She was meant to be in his bed, naked and flushed from his attentions. It was time she remembered it.
When she halted a few steps inside the room and turned to him, he said without preamble, “How are you?”
“Perfectly fine, thank you.” It sounded like the lie it was.
He walked up and put a hand to her chin. She was as pale as her brother, and nearly as thin. There were dark circles under both eyes and her lush mouth had lost its rosiness.
“You look dreadful,” he replied dryly.
Her black lashes fluttered down over her violet eyes as if in great fatigue. Yes, my lord.”
The humble reply disappointed him. This new subdued Sabrina annoyed him. “Come, sweeting. Have you no better barb?”
When she did not answer, he released her chin and took a step away, offended. “Is there something I have or have not done to please you?”
She looked across at him with surprise. “No. How could there be? You have done so much more than I could ever have hoped for, nay, dared ask of you. It is my one regret that I have no way to repay you.”
“Have I asked for repayment?” His voice crackled with affronted pride.
“I did not mean to suggest—”
“God above, Sabrina!” Jack checked his next words. He never shouted, never raised his voice to women. There had never been any cause. They all knew better than to rouse his wrath. Yet Sabrina Lyndsey bedeviled him as no other woman ever had.
He touched a hand to his brow. “ ’Tis clear I’ve ill-timed this conversation. You are exhausted and I am late for an—”
“Assignation?”
He glanced sharply at her. “An appointment,” he finished mildly. So that was where her thoughts lay. She believed he was off to see another woman. Jealousy was an emotion he understood. If she were jealous, it meant she still cared. The anger died out of him. “I shall return for supper. I expect that you will join me.” His gaze ran meaning fully over her attire. “ ’Twill be a private evening.” He started for the entrance, calling over his shoulder, “Do not be late.”
“One matter, my lord.”
He stopped short, biting off a nasty comment about her reversion to the formal “my lord.” Before the night was finished he would have her singing his name in ecstasy. “Yes, what it is?”
Sabrina clasped her hands tightly together, braced for renewed hostilities. “You must not make promises to Kit that you shall not be able to keep.”
His expression did not change but for the marked lift of one golden brow. “What makes you think I do not intend to honor my promises to Kit?”
“We are in hiding, my lord, though the matter seems to have slipped your mind.”
“Not a bit.”
That had been the bargain between them: if she came with him to London so that Kit could fully recover, no one must ever learn her whereabouts. She had not even dared write Lotte with the news of her success. Only when they were away from England would she feel safe.
“It is all very well for you to go about London. After all, no one would think to connect us.”
Jack said nothing, though there was one person, Lotte, who knew exactly the nature of the connection between them. Nor did he think it politic to tell her that handbills were now circulating through London with the news that “The Lyndsey Woolen Heiress” had been kidnapped by the “Infamous Highwayman ‘Blackjack’ Law” and that a hefty ransom was being offered by her guardian for his capture. A month ago she might have shared his amusement that a price had been set on his head. Now he feared she would bolt.
Unaware of his thoughts, Sabrina continued with her own.
“I am certain the McDonnells will have informed my guardian by now that I have taken Kit. We cannot, therefore, so much as set foot outside your door for fear someone will recognize me and inform my cousin that we are in London. Therefore, no matter how kind your intentions, promises to take Kit abroad in London are wrong.”
“You are perfectly right.” His voice was again coolly polite. “Does that satisfy you?”
Sabrina blushed. “I know I may seem difficult, but it is only that Kit has not had much joy in his life. I do not want anything ever again to make him despondent.”
“No further disappointments?”
“Yes.” She looked away from him. “It is often better to have no hope than to have one’s hopes raised by whim and thwarted.”
He doubted she was still talking about her brother but he let it pass. “Very well, then I will bid you a good afternoon.
“You are gambling this afternoon?”
“No.” He knew he could have eased her trepidation and salved her curiosity by telling her he was going to a shipping office, but some spur to devilment held him back. Thwarted hopes, she had called them. He would soon put to rest her unhappiness and cheer himself considerably into the bargain.
He left quickly and Sabrina did not try to stop him. In fact, but for one matter, she might have been perfectly content to remain forever in the viscount’s lovely London house. The one matter, unfortunately, was the continued presence of the owner.
She hurried to the window to watch as he left the house. He descended the steps and then strolled off in the direction of Pall Mall, looking every bit a rakish member of the Beau Monde off for an afternoon’s assignation.
Her heart gave an odd lurch.
He had told her shortly before their arrival in town that he would not stay in London and that she might therefore remain in safety and at her leisure in his home. Yet a week had passed and he had shown no inclination to depart. That might have seemed a promising sign had the case between them been other than it was.
When he had disappeared from view, Sabrina let the curtain fall closed. For all the attention he had shown her since that harrowing night in Scotland, she might as well be Kit. He had not even kissed her since they arrived in London. Their affair was at an end. He had not told her so but she doubted he ever explained himself to his mistresses. So why did he remain, his presence a tormenting, tantalizing reminder of all that she had lost and could never recover?
“Because this is his home and London his realm. He may do exactly as he chooses with whom he chooses,” she said bitterly to the empty room.
With whom he chooses.
She did not know the women who now occupied his mind and his body, nor did she care to guess. He had once told her she did not have the disposition of a whore. At the time she had thought it a compliment. Now she was not so certain it was not a lack he found unfortunate.
Perhaps he had refrained from mentioning his current mistress out of consideration for her feelings, but that did not make it any less difficult for her to deal with the fact that he had deserted her bed.
She had lost him.
The pain that she had been carrying around inside her like the dull throbbing of a sore tooth erupted. She let it wash over her this one last time, let tears form in her eyes and run unchecked down her cheeks.
For several minutes the only sounds in the room were her sobs, and the intermittent hum of servants’ voices too far away to be deciphered.
She did not hear the stealthy footsteps of Zuberi who soon stood just beyond the door, watching and listening in perfect sympathy with her. He too mourned a loss. Lord Darlington’s order to leave
Alvy behind in Bath had pained him greatly. He had pledged himself to the viscount and a pledge was not a matter for revision. Yet there were things the viscount could not order to his liking, like the sympathy of another’s heart.
Eventually Sabrina took a deep bracing breath and stripped the bitter moisture of tears from her cheeks with both hands.
“Tears are all very fine but they don’t earn a wage,” her father, ever a practical man, would say when, as a child, she lamented a matter she could not alter.
She held no hard feelings for Jack. He had been more than good to her. He had been a true savior where Kit was concerned. But she could not go on hiding in shadows, waiting for the impossible.
She had heard about a place where friends of Countess Lovelace went when they needed to pawn their jewels. As soon as Kit was abed for his afternoon nap, she would go there and make her own arrangements for the purchase of her pearl necklace.
Sabrina moved away from the window, her lips compressed to still their trembling. She had been warned that Jack Laughton possessed a devastating charm. To be fair he had even warned her against loving him. She thought she had listened and heeded him. Now she knew the truth. She had made a most foolish mistake at the start. She thought her wager with the viscount had been for her virtue and reputation. Now she knew she had gambled with her heart, and lost. All she had left was a very little pride, and if she had any sense of self-preservation, she would leave, and quickly.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Can you do no better?” Sabrina sat in the cramped space of the pawn brokerage while the owner peered at her necklace under the light of a candlestick fitted with a copper fender that amplified its flame. “This is a very rare piece.”
“I see that, miss, but I am a pawnbroker not a jeweler. My clients more often recover their pieces when their fortunes rebound.” The elderly man smiled slyly at her, revealing one front tooth in his lower jaw. “You will doubtless find it easy enough to persuade your next beau to redeem the baubles of the last.”