A Passion for Pleasure(51)

Darius sat back, his gaze flickering to Clara before settling again on Sebastian. No satisfaction over the proof of his deductions appeared in his expression. Rather he appeared dispirited, a shade of sorrow veiling his eyes.

“And that,” he said, reaching for the tankard, “also led me to believe our mother’s suspicions were correct.”

Anger over his brother’s duplicity churned in Sebastian’s gut. He hated the idea that Darius had approached the harshest crisis of Sebastian’s life with logical calculation, as if he were a puzzle that required solving.

Yet still Sebastian was unable to prevent himself from voicing the question that had burned in all their minds for nearly three years.

“What happened to her?” he asked.

“After her affair came to light,” Darius said, “she fled first to France with her…paramour…then returned to Russia.”

“So she did go back.” How often had Sebastian wondered that?

“Yes. She lived on her father’s estate in Vyborg when her lover was deployed to the Urals.”

“Who was he?”

“A common soldier,” Darius said. “Alexei Leskov. They met during one of her visits to St. Petersburg. They married shortly before he left for the Urals. Her family opposed, of course, and insisted she remain at their country estate so as not to cause talk in the city. Leskov returned for a time, but last spring was sent to the Baltic Sea. This time, rather than remain confined to the Vyborg estate, Catherine accompanied him.”

“She went with him to war?” Good Lord. Had Sebastian known nothing at all about his own mother?

“She volunteered to assist the nurses. She had no training, but wished to learn because she wanted to help the Russian troops in whatever way she could. At the Battle of Bomarsund against the English and French forces, her husband was killed.”

Darius paused, as if waiting for that revelation to sink into the quicksand of Sebastian’s soul. Sebastian downed another swallow of ale to conceal his reaction of surprise and, to his confusion, sorrow.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Then what?”

“She returned to Russia to live with her sister in Kuskovo,” Darius said.

“And where is she now?”

Darius looked at him for a moment, appearing poised to respond, and then his gaze landed on Clara like a hornet seeking a vulnerable place to sting. He finally spoke in English. “She is in London.”



Clara’s courage had faltered as currents of Russian arced between the two men. She sensed Sebastian’s growing agitation, a simmering pot close to boiling over the course of a half hour, but she began to question her own heedlessness in forcing her presence on him.

Her justifications to herself had seemed so rational and significant not two hours ago—Monsieur Dupree had sent the plans to her uncle, so they were entitled to know the details of the exchange. She wanted to know as much as possible about her soon-to-be husband. She needed to know more about him, because God knew she had laid bare every raw fold of her soul to him…and still she remained bewildered by his incongruities, his restlessness and unease.

But this she had not anticipated.

In the strained hush following Darius’s revelation about their mother’s whereabouts, Clara sought Sebastian’s hand beneath the table. His fingers gripped his thigh, and she splayed her hand across his and pressed. Tension vibrated through his long frame, a violin strung too tight, and before Clara could speak a word Sebastian lunged to his feet and clenched his left fist around his brother’s collar.

“You lied to me.”

“I did not lie.” Darius met his gaze unflinchingly. “What would you have done had I contacted you just to tell you our mother wants to see you?”

Sebastian loosened his grip slightly, pulling back. Even Clara knew he would have ripped the letter up and tossed it to the flames.

Darius unclenched Sebastian’s fingers from his collar and pushed his hand aside. “If anyone is lying, Bastian, that person appears to be you.”

Clara’s throat closed. Sebastian hadn’t told his brother about his disability. Had he told anyone besides her?

Darius caught her gaze. “My apologies for bringing you into this, Mrs. Winter. Bastian, Catherine Leskovna is staying at the Albion. I ask only that you consider a meeting.”

Sebastian shoved away from the table and strode to the door, pushing aside obstacles in his path and leaving behind a chaotic maze of overturned chairs and displaced tables.