A Passion for Pleasure(75)
Sebastian slanted his gaze to the window. “Here?”
“He seems to have a…a scheduled routine. I believe he comes here with his tutor at this time of day if the weather allows.”
Sebastian frowned at her, his wrinkled clothes and messy hair making him appear rough and dangerous in the dim confines of the cab. Clara pressed a hand to her chest to quiet the throb of her heart.
“How did you know I was here?” she asked.
“Followed you.” He folded his arms over his chest, grooves of displeasure bracketing his mouth. “Did you think I would believe your flimsy excuse? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She couldn’t look at him and lie, so Clara stared at the garden, the expanse of grass carpeted with fallen leaves. “I didn’t want to take your carriage in the event my father saw and recognized it.”
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
“I didn’t want to risk you thinking me a fool for attempting this again.”
“I would never think you a fool.” No softness cushioned the remark, but the words eased some of Clara’s trepidation.
She fought the sudden urge to confide everything to him. A black-edged dream bloomed in her mind—she would tell Sebastian her plan, he would help her, together they would take Andrew and flee far, far away…to the edge of the earth.
They would find a tropical island canopied with a crystal-blue sky, enveloped by water, and abundant with trees bearing ripe fruit and coconuts. A place where sea dragons and monstrous creatures would billow from the sea to protect them forever.
Her very blood ached with the wish that such a dream could come true. And that its fulfillment would not mean the utter destruction of Sebastian’s family.
Clara clenched her teeth. If Sebastian escaped with her—and she knew with a churning mixture of longing and sorrow that, should she confess, he would accept no other course of action—then news of his departure would spread like a virulent infection.
God alone knew what havoc Fairfax would attempt to wreak upon the Earl of Rushton and his family. Powerful though Rushton was, the earl had been crushed by scandal before and might not withstand it again. And if Sebastian left London with Clara under such circumstances—by law, the kidnapping of her son—he could never return.
Just like his mother.
Clara’s resolve steeled. She would protect both her husband and her son or die trying.
There. She straightened, eagerness crackling along her spine as a slender young man approached one of the garden’s pathways. Andrew walked beside him, dressed in a dark blue jacket and short pants, his thick chestnut hair hidden beneath a cap. Both man and boy walked with sedate, measured strides, the tutor turning or gesturing with an occasional remark.
Sebastian leaned forward, as if anticipating Clara might dash heedlessly toward her son again. Though the urge to do so shook her to the bone, Clara dug her fingers into the seat cushion and watched as Andrew and his tutor paused to watch a flock of birds rustle through the hedges.
The tutor appeared to speak for a few minutes, then they continued walking along a different path. Clara didn’t take her eyes from her son until he and the gentleman rounded a corner and disappeared behind a row of trees.
She drew in a shuddering breath and unclamped her fists from the cushion. Sebastian had shifted to sit beside her. Wariness flashed in his expression as he looked from the garden to her.
Clara pulled a faint smile to her mouth. “So. I didn’t lose my reason this time.”
“No one would blame you if you had.” He rapped on the roof and the cab lurched into motion. “When do they leave London?”
“At the end of next week, I believe, though I don’t know if they are returning to Manley Park or leaving for the Continent. My father had planned to stay in London for a fortnight.”
There was still plenty of time for Fairfax to concoct and then present further demands. But not nearly enough time for Clara to construct all the details of her plan, save for the most skeletal framework. Staying with Uncle Granville during the past year had allowed her to save the jointure funds from her marriage to Richard. Clara needed the money now more than ever.
Armed with breath, desperation, and a prayer, two days hence she would intercept Andrew in the garden while the meat-pie vendor diverted the boy’s tutor by whatever means necessary. Clara would hasten Andrew to a cab and speed into the maze of streets before the tutor had a chance to follow or even bear witness to which direction they’d gone.