A Passion for Pleasure(16)

“My uncle should be back in the morning. If you’d like to speak with him, you are welcome to return.”

“My card.” His composure again intact, Sebastian removed a card from his breast pocket and placed it on the table. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Winter.”

Clara nodded and watched him leave. Her heartbeat began to calm. She moved closer to the door so that she could hear his voice rumble from the foyer as he exchanged a few words with Mrs. Fox, and then the front door closed.

Clara hurried to the window, ducking into the shadows as she watched his tall figure descend the steps. He moved with ease and a masculine grace, as if he were comfortable in his skin. He spoke to the footman, then clapped the man on the shoulder before climbing into the waiting carriage.

Odd behavior to bestow upon a footman, but such familiarity seemed suited to a man like Sebastian Hall. He’d never appeared to be the sort concerned with propriety or the opinions of others—though clearly something had happened in recent months to fray the edges of his character.

He is still the son of an earl. Powerful, surely, in his own right.

Anticipation flared in Clara’s heart, burning away the shame of the thought. For so many years, she had tried so hard to be good, to be the woman her father and husband wanted so that, God willing, their lives would be free from turmoil.

She had agreed to marry Richard Winter, a man thirteen years her senior, because her father wanted to seal a business partnership and because her father’s status would aid Richard’s bid for a parliamentary seat.

And while the marriage had allowed Clara to escape her father’s house, she remained firmly within his domain. Only by being an exemplary wife and daughter—quiet, practical, polite—could she avoid inciting her father’s anger.

But when Andrew was born Clara discovered how love could overwhelm all practical thought, like a waterfall thundering over a rocky cliff. She learned how emotion could fill her heart to bursting, how joy and fear could tangle her soul into inextricable knots. She knew what it meant to love another person without condition, without thought. She knew what her own mother had felt.

For the sole purpose of being with her son again, however, Clara would suppress even the memory of such emotions and be as calculating, as shrewd, as was necessary.

If she dared.





Chapter Three




All has gone well thus far with Lady Rossmore?” Granville Blake asked. He opened the cherrywood case of a clock whose face was decorated with a landscape scene and a moving windmill.

“Indeed.” Perched on a nearby stool, Clara watched her uncle fiddle with the springs and chronometer contained inside the clock. Having Uncle Granville back at home restored Clara’s sense of balance and purpose, which had been so askew since Sebastian Hall had reentered her life.

“Tom and I brought Millicent and the bench to the Hanover Square rooms,” she continued, “so it’s just the harpsichord now. Lady Rossmore said you could assemble the rest on Friday afternoon.”

“Good, good.” Granville pulled at a pinion wire and picked up a small lathe. Tufts of blond hair fell over his forehead as he frowned at an uncooperative mechanism.

Warmth spun through Clara’s heart as she watched him. Her love for her uncle was stronger than ever, unstained by anger and bitterness. For many years he had tried so hard to protect her and her mother from Fairfax. Granville had kept Wakefield House out of Fairfax’s hands. He had hired solicitors to wrestle Fairfax in the courts and written countless letters to her father pleading her case.

All to no avail, but Clara knew her uncle would pound a stone wall until his hands were broken and bleeding if it meant she would have her son back.

A delicate cough came from the doorway. Mrs. Fox stood there with her ramrod shoulders and cold, elegant face.

“Good morning, Mrs. Fox.”

“Mrs. Winter.” She nodded at Granville. “Welcome home, Mr. Blake.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, Mrs. Fox.” Granville wrenched at a part inside the clock, tossing her a quick glance over the tops of his glasses.

“How is Monsieur Dupree’s family?” Mrs. Fox inquired.

“Grieving, but well,” Granville replied. “Monsieur Dupree’s son is shipping several more crates of machinery and supplies to me. Should arrive within a week or so. He thought I could make good use of them.”

“Kind of him, especially considering the circumstances,” Mrs. Fox murmured. She glanced at Clara again. “You’ve had no visitors yet?”