A Passion for Pleasure(94)

Rushton studied the other man from beneath lowered brows. Dislike speared his chest, though he could not quite identify its source.

“Both my footman and Andrew’s tutor saw Mr. Hall seize Andrew outside the British Museum,” Fairfax said. “Then they boarded a train on the Great Western Railway, but I have no way of finding out where they might have disembarked. So I am here to ask you. Do you know where they might have gone?”

The Great Western Railway. Rushton was silent, his gaze fixed on a paperweight that sat at the corner of his desk. He knew where Sebastian had gone. Only one place in the world had served as a sanctuary for them all.

After a moment, Fairfax unfolded himself from the chair and stood.

“If you don’t help me retrieve my grandson, Rushton,” he said, “I will see your son arrested and hanged.”





Chapter Nineteen




Floreston Manor was as close as they would come to a tropical island protected by sea dragons, but it was enough. The property reminded Clara of Wakefield House, a refuge tucked away from the rest of the world, though still vulnerable to attack. She descended the stairs, her heart thumping against her corset. Fear gripped her, but the emotion was tempered by relief that Andrew was safe.

For now. It would not be long before Fairfax thought to look for them at the Halls’ estate.

She stepped into the drawing room, where Andrew sat curled in a chair playing with several chess pieces. Clara gazed at him for a moment, the persistent knot in her belly loosening at the sight of his tousled chestnut hair. He’d grown taller over the past year and his features had sharpened, but he was still every inch her son.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, pausing beside him to brush her hand across his hair. “You didn’t eat much for breakfast.”

Andrew shook his head.

“Would you like to read a book?”

Andrew shook his head again, his attention on arranging the chess pieces into a battle formation. Concern knotted in Clara’s throat as she tunneled her fingers through his hair.

“I know this has been a shock, Andrew, but I assure you Mr. Hall and I will allow no harm to come to you.”

She had hoped her revelation that she and Sebastian were married would prompt questions from Andrew, but his reaction appeared indifferent.

“Since I left Manley Park, I’ve been trying desperately to see you,” Clara continued. “You know that, don’t you? I never wanted to leave you, but I had no choice.”

Still no response. Clara tried to calm her rustling unease with the thought that the boy was exhausted. She bent to press her lips to his forehead. Her heart shriveled a bit when he withdrew.

“I’ll come and find you when it’s time for lunch, all right?” she said. “If you venture outside, please stay close to the house.”

She went to find the housekeeper and engaged in a brief discussion about when they would take lunch and dinner. She wrote a letter to Uncle Granville assuring him that she and Andrew were safe, although she made no mention of where they were.

Clara then tried to occupy herself with some reading in order to pass the time, though she could hardly concentrate on the task for the thoughts and worries swimming through her mind. After an hour of staring at one page, she went back downstairs in search of Andrew. As she neared the drawing room, she paused at the sound of piano music. Hesitant, slow, but definitely music.

Concealing herself within the shadows of the doorway, Clara peeked into the room. Sebastian sat beside Andrew at the piano, showing him something on the keys. He used his left hand only, his right tucked into the pocket of his coat, but the glide of his fingers produced a tune that resonated with light. Pleasure creased his eyes as he said something to Andrew and played the phrase again.

Clara pressed a hand to her chest. A memory glowed at the back of her mind—herself as a younger woman standing in the corner to watch Sebastian Hall play the piano. Delighting in the graceful way he moved his hands over the keyboard, the ease of his posture, the effortlessness of his creation.

She had loved him then. How could she not? He had embodied all that was good and beautiful in the world.

And now? The darkness that had encroached upon him only enhanced his appeal, painting him with nuances of shadows and light. This new chiaroscuro strengthened Clara’s love for him, as it seemed to mirror her own soul, the blend of hope and despair that had colored so many of her days.

You must love me without any conditions whatsoever.