Clara shook her head. “I’m…I’ve somewhere I need to be. Please, would you…when you see Sebastian again, tell him I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“He’ll know.” Clara grabbed her hat and shoved her arms into her cloak. “Please, just tell him.”
“Mrs. Hall, I must say you don’t look as if you ought to go anywhere at the moment.”
“I have no choice, Mrs. Fox.”
Clara wrenched open the door and ran.
H
ow dare you put our family in peril again?” The very air around Rushton vibrated with anger. “After what she did?”
“She leaves London on Friday,” Darius said, his tone unapologetic. “And never did she intend to inform anyone else of her return.”
“As well she shouldn’t,” Rushton snapped, swinging his hard gaze to Sebastian. “I knew it was a mistake to leave things in your hands, to expect that you would make the right decisions as to your future. Have you any idea of the damage Fairfax could wreak with his accusations against his daughter? When did you learn about this?”
“Before we wed,” Sebastian admitted. He stepped back to the door, pulled by the urge to race after Clara. Unease coiled in his gut. “But we had no suspicion that he would make such accusations public. What has he to gain by doing so?”
“His motives do not concern me.” Rushton paced to the hearth, his shoulders rigid. “The accusation does.”
“We could very well turn this back upon him,” Darius said. “Fairfax has creditors to appease. He needed money from Sebastian, so if he were granted enough funds…”
“I have no intention of putting myself at the mercy of a man who is strengthened by the accusation of murder,” Rushton retorted. “I could give such a man my entire fortune and would still have no guarantee that he would keep his silence.” Rushton glowered at Sebastian. “Not to mention that I have no evidence as to the falsity of his claim.”
Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “Clara did not murder her husband.”
“Of course she’d tell you that,” Rushton snapped. “You have no evidence to the contrary, do you?”
“I don’t need any.”
“And
you.
” Rushton spun to confront Darius, anger tearing through him as he pointed a finger at his other son. “You could be considered an enemy of the state owing to your residence in Russia. And now Mrs. Hall tells me you sought plans for a cipher machine that could be used in wartime? Your loyalties would be called into grave question should the Home Office discover you are in possession of such plans. And what defense would you have should they accuse you of wanting to use such a machine against British troops?”
“They could not do so if you, my lord, finance the construction and testing of the machine for the Home Office.”
“Why in the love of God would I finance anything with which you are involved?” Rushton snapped.
“Because it is the most innovative and expedient way of transmitting coded messages between British troops. Granville Blake and I can prove the codes are unbreakable.”
Rushton stared at him but before he could respond, a knock came at the door. Sebastian turned as Mrs. Fox poked her head into the room, blinking at the heated tension buffeting the air.
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen.” She delicately cleared her throat and looked at Sebastian. “Mr. Hall, may I speak with you for a moment?”
Sebastian strode to the foyer with her. She held out a folded note. “A delivery boy just brought this for Mrs. Hall. He said it was a missive from Lord Fairfax’s butler. I thought you should know. Mrs. Hall left in such a hurry, and she did not look well at all.”
Foreboding seized him. Sebastian grabbed the note and unfolded it. His heart plummeted.
“Mr. Hall?” A twist of alarm crossed Mrs. Fox’s sedate features. “Is everything all right?”
“Tell my brother and Granville.” Sebastian threw the paper into the bin and yanked open the door. “Davies says Fairfax has made plans to take Andrew to the Continent. They’re leaving tomorrow.”
Rain pounded on the roof of the cab. Only a few pedestrians hurried past, umbrellas blooming like mushrooms over their heads and puddles splashing around their feet. Clara peered through the carriage window at the façade of Fairfax’s town house, two windows burning with light. No movement shifted behind the water-streaked glass.
Please,
she thought.
Please let him come out. Please let them go somewhere, anywhere, just get Andrew away from Fairfax and I’ll think of something…
She slid her gaze to a carriage that rattled over the street and came to a halt at the curb. Her heart stumbled when Sebastian descended and walked toward Fairfax’s house with a long, determined stride.
If he intended to confront her father…
Alarm ripped through her. Without thinking, Clara shoved open the door. “Sebastian!”
He stopped and turned, rain streaming off his hat to drench his shoulders. Two seconds later he was pushing her back into the cab, his expression taut with anger and…fear?
“What?” Clara gasped, clutching at the damp sleeves of his greatcoat. “What happened?”
“He leaves tomorrow for Switzerland. With Andrew.”
“No.” All the strength drained from Clara’s bones, pooling into terror. She sank onto the seat, still gripping his sleeves, trying not to shake. “He can’t.”
“He won’t.” His mouth set in a grim line, Sebastian eased himself away from her and grasped the door handle. “Wait here.”
“No.” She tightened her grip. “You can’t see him.”
“I will—” His voice stopped as he looked to the door of the town house.
Andrew, his tutor, and a footman descended the steps toward a waiting carriage. Sebastian snapped an order at the driver and slammed shut the door of the cab. The cab rattled after the carriage at what seemed an exceeding
l
y slow speed—the dappled mare no match for Fairfax’s fresh gray pair. Thankfully the rain had slowed the pace of traffic, and the cabdriver was able to keep the carriage within his sights.
When the carriage pulled up to the entrance of the British Museum, Clara tried to dart out before Sebastian, but he curved his gloved hand around her wrist and forced her back. Panic clutched her.
“You can’t…”
“Wait here,” he ordered, then vaulted from the cab just as Andrew and his tutor climbed out.
Clara’s breath stopped. Like a blade slicing through cloth, Sebastian ran across the street. Rain streamed down, splashing against mud-slick cobblestones. He dodged a wagon and a water cart, swerved between two phaetons, and skidded onto the steps of the museum before Andrew.
The boy and his tutor recoiled at the sight of the water-drenched stranger, then the tutor reached for Andrew’s shoulder to draw him aside. Sebastian lunged forward. In one movement, he hauled the boy into his arms and ran.
The driver shouted. The white-faced tutor stared. Andrew kicked at Sebastian, twisting and flailing to escape. The footman leapt off the bench and pursued Sebastian, his boots sliding on the slippery stones. Sebastian held fast, darting in front of a ragpicker’s cart to reach the cab.
A burst of hope cracked open Clara’s shell of terror. She threw open the door. “Andrew!”
He twisted in Sebastian’s grip at the sound of her voice. And then he was
there.
With a cry, Clara clutched her son as Sebastian pushed him into the cab and followed.
“Go,” he shouted at the driver. “Paddington station.”
The driver hesitated. The footman neared, face slashed with determination. Sebastian pounded on the roof. The cab lurched forward just as the footman grabbed the door handle. His foot skidded on the slimy gutter, his grip loosening. The cab clattered down the street, picking up speed as it rounded Great Russell Street and headed toward the train station.
Clara hugged Andrew to her chest, hardly daring to believe she was again holding her son. Tension wove through his slender frame before the fear dissipated, and then he sagged against her. His arms crept around her neck. Clara buried her face in his dark, wet hair and sobbed. Fairfax would have to rip her in two before she’d let her son go again.
Time compressed to nothing when the cab halted in front of the railway station. Sebastian urged Clara and Andrew out before him, handing several coins to the driver before he strode toward the ticket booth.
Clara pulled away from Andrew, cupping his face in her hands. She brushed her thumbs across his damp cheeks. “Are you all right?”
He nodded but didn’t speak. The train steamed into the station, disgorging clusters of passengers before the conductor called for embarkment. Clara turned to see Sebastian coming toward them, tickets in hand. He handed her two and guided her toward the door.
A sudden shout pierced her like an icicle. She whirled around, pulling Andrew closer. The footman and a police constable pushed through the crowd behind Sebastian. People gasped, parting to give them way.
Clara edged toward the train, her grip tightening on Andrew’s shoulder. The constable came closer. A wall of people closed between Clara and the train door. Air squeezed from her lungs. Sebastian’s hand slipped away from her.
Her heart slammed against her chest when he pivoted and shoved toward the approaching men. Before Clara could speak, he lunged toward the footman and sent them both to the platform floor. A woman screamed. People scattered.
“Sebastian!” Clara shouted. Panic flooded her as the crowd surged, pushing her toward the train.
She gripped the bar beside the train door. Her breath lodged in her throat when the constable edged around the struggling footman and started toward Clara.
The train started to move. Sebastian gripped the footman’s arm and twisted it behind his back.
The constable shoved aside two men, his expression dark and determined. Clara pushed Andrew ahead of her onto the train. A woman bumped into her from behind.
Then, quick as a cat, Sebastian leapt to his feet. He threw a punch at the footman. The man stumbled back. Sebastian ran for the train, dodging the constable. He grabbed hold of the pull-bar with his left hand and vaulted into the car just as it picked up speed. He slammed the door closed.
Clara clutched his arm. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, his chest heaving as he guided her and Andrew to a seat. He sat across from them, bracing his elbows on his knees as he caught his breath. Clara hugged Andrew closer, a shiver racing down her spine.
“Sebastian, what happened?” she whispered.
“Your father’s butler sent a note about their departure.” Sebastian sat up, pulling a hand through his hair. “It seems he realized Fairfax had planned nothing good.”
Beside Clara, Andrew tensed. She looked at her son, brushing his chestnut hair away from his forehead.
“Did you know about this?” she asked. “Why did your grandfather want to take you away?”
Andrew didn’t respond. He turned to look out the window, all emotion concealed behind a shield of wariness. A frown tugged at Clara’s mouth. She didn’t press him for a response, but kept her arm around his shoulders.
“Where can we go?” she asked Sebastian, keeping her voice low to avoid being overheard.
“Our family seat in Devon. We’ll stay there while we determine what to do next.”
They fell silent as the train rumbled over the tracks. Rain pounded on the windows, blurring the darkening view of the crowded London streets as they gave way to the expanse of the countryside. Shivers continued to ice Clara’s skin. The hum of conversation rose from other passengers. A porter came by with tea and biscuits.
When Andrew dozed off, lulled by exhaustion and the rocking motion of the train, Clara looked across at Sebastian again. She dreaded to know the results of his conversation with Rushton, so instead she asked, “Did you see your mother?”
He nodded.
“Will you tell me what happened?”
Sebastian sighed and dragged a hand down his unshaven jaw. “Apparently she surrendered all for the sake of love.”
“Love?”
An image of Catherine Leskovna came to Clara’s mind, the calm and unrepentant woman who seemed at utter peace with her decisions. Had love been the balm that mended the wounds of her infidelity?
“Will you tell me her story?” she asked Sebastian.
He turned his gaze to the window, but told her about his meeting with Catherine and how a single encounter with a young soldier eventually led her to a love strong enough to pull her from her entire family.
Clara had no response when Sebastian fell silent. She, too, had deceived Sebastian. She had betrayed him. But she had done so with Andrew at the forefront of her mind. She had done so because she wanted her son back. Catherine Leskovna’s deceit and betrayal had separated her from her children, and that Clara would never understand.
Gazing across the distance between the seats, at once a space both too close and inaccessibly remote, Clara loosened her suppressed emotions and allowed them to fill her chest. She looked at the sharp, whiskered planes of Sebastian’s face, the wide slash of his mouth, and his thick-lashed eyes, which seemed capable of penetrating all the layers of her soul.
She had committed those acts because she wanted to protect him from her father’s wrath. Instead he had joined her on the very pursuit she feared would result in his ruination.
“Do you forgive her?” Clara whispered in a voice so soft she thought he would not hear her.
Sebastian slid his gaze to her, his eyes lacking the warmth to which Clara had become so accustomed.
“I forgive her,” he said, “but I do not expect to ever see her again.”
By the light of the moon, the grounds of Floreston Manor spread around the house like an ocean surrounding a ship. Trees stood around the property like soldiers guarding the land, pointing forked branches toward the dark sky.
Upon their arrival after the long train ride, Sebastian explained to the resident servants, a housekeeper, and a cook, that he, Clara, and Andrew would be staying for the next couple of days. The housekeeper hurriedly arranged for two maids to come from the village and help with the preparations. After a flurry of activity, even Sebastian managed to sleep a bit in the early morning hours following their hasty flight.
He woke to sunlight glistening on the still-damp grounds and windowpanes. He washed and dressed, then descended the stairs. Clara’s voice drifted from the dining room, where she was apparently in conversation with the housekeeper.
Sebastian diverted his steps to the drawing room. Her betrayal coiled inside him, hard and tight, seething beneath his simmering anger. Not even the familiarity of the manor, the place where he had passed many happy hours with his brothers and sister, eased the pain of her disloyalty.