A Passion for Pleasure(84)

God in heaven. Two weeks ago, she could have granted him such assurance. But now? If Fairfax were to approach Rushton…

Fear gripped her nape. She took a breath and tried to think past the looming sense of hopelessness.

“May I inquire as to what Sebastian told you?” she asked.

“Nothing beyond that,” Rushton replied. “That is the reason I am here.”

The sound of the rain filled Clara’s head. She looked to where water cascaded in sheets over the windows, the clouds a blanket of gray overhead. Thin, pallid light filtered into the room.

“The estrangement involves my son, Andrew, my lord,” she confessed, her gaze still on the windows. “I…my deceased husband, Mr. Winter, granted my father custody of Andrew upon his death.”

“Is this the reason you have not seen the boy recently? I recall you asking Lord Margrave about him.”

Clara nodded, her breath burning her throat. She paced to the hearth and back, crushing the folds of her skirt in her fists.

“I love my son, my lord,” she said, desperation coloring the words. “Not being able to visit him has broken my heart. I would…I would ask that you please believe me when I tell you I love him more than anything.”

“I do not doubt it, Mrs. Hall,” Rushton replied. “Yet I fail to understand the reasons for your distance from him.”

“My father keeps Andrew from me, my lord.”

The earl studied her for a moment, his brow creased into furrows of displeasure. “How is it, then, that Bastian can assure me this separation will not affect my family?”

He can’t. The admission clawed at Clara’s throat.

She searched frantically for another solution, an escape, but her thoughts ran through a maze and hit one barrier after another.

Until, like a window opening, a possibility appeared.

She turned to stare at the earl. Her heart began to beat faster. The storm had thwarted her first plan, but Lord Rushton would surely have an idea of what she might attempt next. He was the only person she knew who was more powerful than her father.

If she confessed all, would he help her?

“Lord Rushton.” She lifted her chin, fighting to keep her voice steady as she plunged into the unknown. “I…I am aware of the scandal your family has suffered. I did believe that the earldom would not be touched by my difficulties. But now I must caution you that my father might approach you in an attempt to circulate false rumors.”

Rushton frowned. “Involving you?”

“Yes. It’s the reason he forced me to leave Manley Park, though few people knew about it outside of me and my father.”

The earl waited, implacable, the very air around him motionless. Clara cast her gaze to the shelf behind him and struggled to gather her courage.

“What is the reason, Mrs. Hall?” Rushton asked.

“I…my father believed I was responsible for my husband’s death.” Still unable to look at him, she spilled out the whole story—how she’d knelt beside Richard lying on the ground, blood still pooling beneath his head, and how her father had found her there. She told him about Wakefield House, about her proposal to Sebastian, and her hope that Fairfax would surrender custody of Andrew.

“Sebastian…he knew marriage was the last chance I had to regain custody of my son.” A knot congealed in Clara’s throat. “Unfortunately my father has rejected our proposition and, further, threatened to spread lies should I fail to leave Andrew alone.”

“And you did not anticipate such a reaction,” Rushton said.

“No, my lord.”

“Then, Mrs. Hall,” Rushton said, his voice leveling out like a hard piece of wood, “I suggest you do as your father requests and leave your son alone.”

Clara’s heart squeezed into a tight, hard ball at the note of finality to his words, as if he were verifying that she had no option but to capitulate.

And yet she would never do that. She could never be fully happy with Sebastian, never allow herself to love him as she truly wanted to, all the while knowing Andrew remained under Fairfax’s control.

She gripped the back of a chair and fought not to think of Sebastian, of his determination that they would not approach his father. “My lord, the reason I married your son was to try to regain custody of Andrew. You must understand that I cannot surrender that aim.”

He peered at her again from beneath his black eyebrows, his features set like those of a king studying a vassal. “If that is the reason you married him,” Rushton said, “why did Sebastian marry you?”