A Passion for Pleasure(40)

The command fell through his mind like a stone into a lake, expanding outward in foaming waves. He slipped his hand to her neck. Her pulse beat strong and rapid. He eased his thumb to touch the soft, vulnerable hollow just beneath her jaw. He wanted to remove his glove, feel the softness of her skin against his thumb.

She still hadn’t told him everything. He’d sensed it when she’d first proposed, but he had told himself it didn’t matter, since the marriage would fulfill their practical goals. Now, seeing the distress written so plainly across Clara’s face, Sebastian wanted her to trust him enough to confide in him.

“Have you tried to see Andrew in Surrey?” he asked.

Clara shook her head. “Fairfax has banned me from Manley Park.”

“Why?” He wound a lock of her hair around his forefinger. “Why is your father so vehement about keeping Andrew from you?”

Clara’s eyes skidded to meet his. A dark red bloomed in their depths, like the molten heat of an incipient volcano. When she spoke, her voice was even, cold as glass in winter and edged with black.

“Because he thinks I killed my husband.”

Sebastian recoiled in shock. A thousand years passed in the instant between her utterance of the dark confession and his absorption of her words. He stared at her, knowing the falsity of such an accusation and yet unable to fathom the reason for its very existence.

“It’s why I was forced to leave,” Clara said. “Richard and I had argued about Andrew accompanying them on a hunting excursion. I didn’t want Andrew to go because the weather looked threatening, but Richard insisted. I accompanied them because I thought I could at least return to the house with Andrew if a storm approached.

“We were gone for an hour when I realized Andrew had forgotten his satchel. I went back for it, and when I returned I found Richard had fallen from his horse and hit his head. He was still breathing, but…”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. She looked away, the burn of despair darkening. “Neither my father nor Andrew was there. I didn’t know what had happened. I started shouting Andrew’s name, which is how my father found me. I don’t know what he thought at that moment, but he hauled Richard’s body onto his horse and rode back to the house to send for the constable. I think by the time he arrived at home, he’d already decided I was somehow responsible for Richard’s death.”

Sebastian’s heart thumped against his ribs. “He had no evidence that you were.”

“No. He also had no evidence that I wasn’t.” Clara dashed a hand across her eyes. “We found Andrew at the house when we returned. He’d ridden back on his own. He said he hadn’t seen what happened to Richard. Everything was a blur after that. The constable came. We had funeral arrangements. And a week after we discovered Richard had left custody of Andrew to my father, he threatened to send me away. That was when I left Manley Park. To this day, my father remains certain that I had a hand in Richard’s death.”

An ugly question rose to Sebastian’s mind. He didn’t want to ask, but for the sake of all that his family had endured, he had to. “Did he make a public accusation?”

“No.” Clara expelled her breath on a heavy sigh. “He knew there was no evidence, but he wanted to separate me from my son. And so he has.”

Sebastian grasped his right hand with his left, curling his fingers into a fist. Anger and tension knotted the back of his neck.

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“Because I was afraid you wouldn’t help me.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t marry me.”

“I’ve already agreed to your proposal,” Sebastian said. “More than that, I want to marry you.”

Clara’s lips parted, drawing his attention to the full line of her mouth. Heat twisted through his lower body, the urge to kiss her seizing his blood even as his mind wrestled with his blunt admission.

He wanted to help her beyond conducting the transfer of Wakefield House. He just had no idea what else he could do. Blackness swamped his chest, threatened to pull him under. He knew the feeling well and hated it as much now as he had the night he’d stood in front of the Weimar musicians and Franz Liszt to resign his position.

He lowered his head to her left ear, the one that was lost in silence.

“I will find a way,” he whispered, the promise made to himself and not her. Not yet. Only when he could confirm his ability to carry it through would she hear his vow.