A Passion for Pleasure(107)

“Sebastian.” Rushton nodded at his sons. “Darius.”

“My lord.” Sebastian extended his hand to a chair. “Would you care to sit?”

“No.” Rushton’s gaze flickered to Sebastian’s hand, the finger bent at a right angle. A shadow veiled his eyes for an instant. “I’ve come to ask about your intentions regarding Andrew.”

Sebastian eyed his father warily. “We have no intentions. As you’ve proven, we have no further recourse.”

“And yet I do not for an instant believe you will not attempt to find one,” Rushton replied, folding his hands behind his back. “You’ve already gone to enormous lengths to reclaim Andrew, and I know there is nothing on earth that would stop either of you from continuing your efforts.”

“Why do you want to know what they are, then?” Hostility threaded Sebastian’s voice. “So you can relay the information to Fairfax?”

“No.” Rushton cleared his throat, looking from Sebastian to Darius and back again. “So that I might assist you.”

Silence fell again. Clara’s heart pounded inside her head as she struggled against the hope desperate to break forth. She met Sebastian’s gaze and saw the same struggle in the depths of his eyes before he turned back to his father.

“Why would you assist us?” he asked. “All you’ve wanted is to avoid scandal.”

“And up until now, I have had good reason to do so.” Rushton turned to Clara. His brows pulled together with a faint sense of confusion. “Your son spoke to me.”

Clara gasped, her hand going to her throat. “Andrew spoke to you?”

“He said, verbatim, she didn’t do it,” Rushton explained. “I assumed he was speaking of your hand in Mr. Winter’s death.”

Hope surged through Clara’s blood, filling her heart. Andrew had believed her. No matter what Fairfax had said to him, no matter what lies he had slipped into Andrew’s ear, her son believed her over his grandfather.

“Did he say anything else?” she asked.

“No. He had little time to speak at all.” Rushton frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I was given to understand that Andrew had been rendered mute by the shock of his father’s death. Yet if that is the case, why would he choose to make such a statement after all this time? And to me, no less? A stranger?”

“Perhaps he thought Fairfax would make the accusation public?” Darius ventured. “And sought your help in denying it?”

“If Fairfax had intended to make the accusation public, he could have done so months ago.” Sebastian raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “We must follow them to Switzerland. At least there, Fairfax won’t have the weight of British law behind him should he start tossing threats about.”

“Neither will we,” Clara added, a fact which might be to their benefit.

Sebastian looked at his father. “Do you know anything else?”

“Fairfax plans to leave by Monday for Brighton,” Rushton said. “He might already be gone. I’ve procured tickets for our own travel. Darius, you will remain in London in the event we need assistance here.” He gave Sebastian a firm nod. “Bastian, Mrs. Hall, I suggest we depart immediately.”





Chapter Twenty-Three


An amphitheater of green hills surrounded the town of Brighton, whose wide, paved streets enclosed the brisk sea air like the banks of a stream. Fashionable shops, theaters, and baths bordered the streets, and the royal gardens wrapped around the northern shoulders of the town like an ornamental cloak.

Sebastian procured two rooms at the York Hotel, an expansive hotel a short distance from the Chain Pier. After Rushton had gone to settle into his quarters, Sebastian pushed open the door to a clean, spacious room with a large bed, desk, and chest of drawers.

“There are refreshments in the coffee room,” he said, but Clara shook her head. She hadn’t been hungry for the past two days, her stomach tight with nerves.

She eased aside the curtain and looked out over the sweeping expanse of the ocean. Andrew could be out there already, carried away from her to a distant land where God alone knew what awaited him.

Sebastian’s warm hand settled on her nape, his fingers working the knotted muscles. “I’ve sent word to a hotel in Interlaken for the reservation of two rooms. It’s not far from the institution. We’ll contact the director once we’re there. I don’t want him to say anything to your father about our correspondence.”