A Passion For Pleasure (27 page)

W
akefield House presided over the land like an aged matron who still retained vestiges of a youthful beauty. The sun cast a burnished glow on the rustic brown stones and the expansive gardens. Red and orange leaves carpeted the grass, and the wind carried a fresh tinge of salt. The hills of Dorset rolled toward the sheer cliffs that plunged into the sea, foaming waves crashing at their base.

Sebastian took Clara’s hand as she descended the carriage. He lowered his head to brush his lips across her cheek, pleasure warming his chest when she smiled at him. He then turned to help Andrew down the carriage steps.

“You’ve not been here before?” Sebastian asked.

Andrew shook his head. Since their return from Brighton two weeks ago, he still favored gestures over speaking, but slowly his confidence in speech was beginning to return. More important, the haunted look in his eyes was lessening, eclipsed now by the curiosity and happiness every seven-year-old should possess.

Together they walked to the house, where a line of five servants stood waiting for them. Sebastian had arranged for the staff and the opening of the house prior to their arrival, though as he glanced at the cracks spreading through the window glass and the weeds in the neglected garden, he realized the extent of the work still to be done.

Anticipation lit inside him at the notion of restoring and repairing this property that meant so much to Clara. He would do it for her, but also for himself and Andrew, because he wanted Wakefield House to be more than a place for them to escape London. He wanted it to be their home.

Inside, the furniture and floors were worn but clean, the curtains parted to allow the late autumn sunlight to stream through the windows. Sebastian stopped at the entrance to the drawing room. “Oh, no.”

Clara paused to peer around his shoulder. She laughed. Strewn about the tables were machine parts, gears, and wires. Automata lined the walls—birdcages, mechanical animals, acrobats. A creature that appeared to be an elephant sat atop the piano.

“Did I forget to tell you?” Clara asked. “Uncle Granville spent a great deal of time with us when we stayed in Dorset.”

“Yes, you forgot to tell me.” He glowered at her. “And I neglected to consider the fact that your uncle is a consequence of marriage to you.”

She shot him a smile. “Too late now, isn’t it, husband?”

Too late, indeed. To his great good fortune.

Andrew darted forward to pick up a mechanical turtle, the shell a gleaming design of green metal. He turned the key and grinned as the creature plodded forward on thick legs.

“Oh!” Clara went to a large, closed trunk that sat near the windows. “I didn’t think it would have arrived yet.”

“I had Giles bring it directly from the museum,” Sebastian said.

“Andrew, these are all for you.” Clara unlatched the lid and opened the trunk to reveal the myriad of toys and automata inside. “Uncle Granville made most of them, and others were sent by fellow inventors.”

Andrew hurried to peer into the trunk. Clara took out a wooden acrobat and demonstrated how it flipped into an intricate spin. Andrew laughed.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Clara handed the toy to her son.

Andrew dug into the trunk and began removing wooden trains and boats. Sebastian watched as Clara straightened and approached him again, a smile curving her mouth and a light glowing in her eyes.

His heart swelled, all the shadows of the past slipping away. The loss he had once considered so dire had become insignificant in the face of all he had found with Clara and Andrew. Although he still could not fathom the extent of his mother’s betrayal, he now understood both the strength and fragility of love. He would do anything to protect it, to ensure that nothing ever again came between him and his family.

He wrapped his arm around Clara’s shoulders and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to the top of her head. She softened against him, one hand sliding over his back. For a moment, they watched Andrew as he began setting up the toys on the floor.

“Andrew, I’m going to talk to the housekeeper,” Clara said. “We’ll have supper in about an hour, I imagine.”

Andrew nodded. Clara gave Sebastian another smile before she headed toward the kitchen.

Sebastian crouched next to Andrew. He picked up a mechanical duck and set it waddling across the floor. He and Andrew both chuckled as the creature emitted a squeaky
quack
every step or two. Sebastian glanced at the boy.

“Would you like to continue your piano lessons while we’re here?” he asked.

Andrew nodded, his assent bringing a welcome warmth to Sebastian’s heart. After reviewing the charges against Fairfax, a judge had returned custody of Andrew to Clara and Sebastian, a situation that would be permanent as soon as the papers were drawn up.

“I want to make balloons again too,” Andrew said.

“And I’ll also show you how to make crystals using alum and hot water. Let’s see if we can upset the housekeeper here as successfully as we did Mrs. Danvers.”

Andrew grinned. Sebastian reached out to tousle the boy’s hair before he pushed to standing and went out to the garden. A fresh, cold wind swept through the trees. Sebastian breathed in the sea air, felt it swim through his veins and cleanse the dirt of the city from his lungs.

“It was once lovely,” Clara said from behind him. She reached out to pluck a weed from a flower bed.

“It still is. And we’ll restore it to its former glory.” Sebastian tucked a stray lock of hair back behind Clara’s ear. “Darius has promised to visit prior to his return to St. Petersburg. And after he and Granville finish constructing the cipher machine, which they ought to do soon now that they have Rushton’s patronage.”

“When is Lord Rushton scheduled to present it to the Home Office?”

“Next month. Darius is certain that the committee members will be highly impressed by the machine and Monsieur Dupree’s unbreakable code. And if the Home Office uses it to further the British efforts in the war, then such an attainment will greatly enhance Rushton’s political standing.”

“And further diminish the effects of my father’s disgrace upon the earldom,” Clara added, a shadow darkening her eyes.

“As Darius recently reminded me, the earldom is locked tight and secure,” Sebastian said. “And trust me when I say that people are already talking about your courage in the face of your father’s cruelty. Not to mention Andrew’s.”

“I can’t believe we have him back.”

“I can.” Sebastian brushed his lips across her temple. “Nothing would have stopped you from saving him. Nothing. You have no idea how strong you are. Not even I could withstand you.”

Clara smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yet I surrendered my heart to you.”

“And I will not return it.” He turned her toward him and lowered his head for a proper kiss, heat coursing through his blood at the touch of her soft lips. “But you are welcome to keep mine in exchange.”

“Gladly.”

Clara’s body arched against his, her arms sliding around his waist. Another gust of salt-fresh air glided in from the ocean, winding long strands of hair around Clara’s neck. Sebastian lifted his right hand and curved it around her nape.

Hope filled his veins alongside the realization that she had been right when she told him the core of his being would never change. He had just needed her to remind him how much joy there still was to be found in the world.

Although Rushton had settled Sebastian’s medical debts and begun investigating possible doctors and treatments that might be able to help with his infirmity, Sebastian knew he would never regain full use of his hand. The thought didn’t distress him nearly as much as it would have even a month ago, because so much more had filled the void of his loss.

And he was beginning to find his way back to music. He would find pleasure in teaching piano again. He would also continue his efforts to create compositions for the left hand only, a challenge that was already generating interest and speculation among his fellow musicians. Another pianist had requested a demonstration of the composition, but Sebastian had declined. Soon enough he’d share his findings, but for the moment he wanted only to work alone and to be with Clara and Andrew.

He pressed his mouth to Clara’s again, breathed in her orange-spice scent, and let her remind him of all they had together. All they would continue to have.

The rest of the world could wait.

H
e was leaving. Again.

Lady Talia Hall watched from her bedroom window as James Forester, Baron Castleford, crossed the gardens of Floreston Manor. Waning sunlight gleamed on his dark brown hair. He moved with a long, easy stride, his body relaxed, at home in the glow of late afternoon with bluebells, daffodils, and lilacs blooming at his feet.

A faint hope lit within Talia at the sight of him. She allowed a deep-rooted, precious dream to surface. Perhaps when James returned to London six months from now…or a year…or, God forbid, two years…he would look at her and finally see the woman she had become. A rich, powerful love would surge through his heart, startling him with its intensity. In that wondrous moment, he would dare to unleash the desire he had suppressed for so many years. He would take her in his arms and kiss her with tumultuous passion…

Or not.

Very likely not.

Talia sighed when the certainty of that thought broke the dream apart, as it always did. She watched James climb the terrace steps and enter the drawing room, disappearing from her view.

Gone again.

Talia pressed a hand to her aching chest. At least this time, he was just downstairs. Far less comforting was her recent discovery that this summer, James would board a ship destined for Australia. And when he returned to London—
if
he returned—he would do so with a warm smile lighting his eyes, full to bursting with tales of stormy seas, snapping crocodiles, dangerous floods, and mosquito-laden treks along muddy river passages.

He would embrace Talia with brotherly affection, inquire after her health, her friends, her charity work, and then he would saunter off to a ball or a dinner party. There he would enchant the numerous guests, particularly the ladies, with more riveting accounts of his adventures.

He would swoop in and out of Talia’s life for a few weeks or a few months, entirely ignorant of her abiding love for him. And then he would leave again.

That was what had happened countless times before. That was what would happen this time as well, unless Talia dared to tempt the fates into creating a different outcome.

Unless
she
dared to create a different outcome.

Her stomach tightened with nerves. She turned to study her reflection in the mirror. Her dress flowed over sweeping petticoats that emphasized the tapered curve of her waist. The rich, green
crêpe de chine
matched her eyes and contrasted well with the paleness of her skin and brown hair.

The bodice, however, dipped around her bare shoulders and showed an expanse of skin that Talia was unaccustomed to revealing. She had always worn modest evening gowns, particularly after her mother’s scandalous affair had prompted gossips to doubt Talia’s own virtue.

She pulled a silk shawl around her shoulders to conceal the swell of her bosom, which seemed rather prominent due to the heart-shaped neckline. She took a breath and gave her reflection a firm nod.

While she had questioned the wisdom of her bold approach numerous times since learning of James’s impending departure, the time was long overdue for him to see her as a desirable woman rather than the Hall brothers’ younger sister.

She glanced at the clock. She had to do this before her father and Sebastian came in for supper, and before Alexander and his sweetheart, Lydia, returned from their excursion to the village. Talia couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Alexander, her rigid eldest brother who had so obviously been conquered by Lydia and still didn’t know it yet.

Talia was determined to have the same effect on James Forester, except he would most certainly
know
she had conquered him.

Spurred by the thought that this was her last chance to be alone with him, as they were all returning to London tomorrow, she hurried downstairs. The housekeeper emerged from the drawing room and gave Talia a pleasant smile.

“Lord Castleford missed his tea, my lady, so I left a fresh pot and a platter of cakes.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Danvers.”

The older woman nodded and puffed toward the kitchen. Talia stepped into the drawing room. Her breath caught in her throat.

James stood beside the fire, glancing through a sheaf of papers. The crackling flames cast his tall, muscular figure in brilliant illumination. His overlong brown hair curled around his ears and the top of his collar, the dark strands etched in reddish-gold light. Shadows danced over the masculine planes of his features, the slanting cheekbones, sharp nose, and thick-lashed eyes that Talia saw in both her waking and nighttime dreams.

“Hello, poppet.” James glanced up and smiled, the warmth in his eyes mitigating the hard edges of his jaw.

The nickname, which Talia had always enjoyed due to its affectionate undercurrent, now reminded her all too forcefully of his indulgent view of her.

“You’ve passed a pleasant afternoon, I take it?” James asked.

His deep voice rolled over her like sunlight. “Yes…yes, thank you, James.”

Talia moved to sit on the sofa, ensuring her shawl sufficiently covered her bare skin. She poured the tea, then watched as James walked to put the papers on the desk.

She would never tire of looking at him. She had memorized all his unconscious movements over the years—the way he rubbed the back of his neck, folded his long body into a chair, curved his hand around a teacup or glass of brandy.

A restless energy radiated from him, evident in his utter lack of idleness. He paced when he spoke, tapped his fingers on his knee when he was seated. He smiled often, laughed, and made broad gestures with his hands as if words alone could not express everything he wanted to say.

No one except Talia knew all the subtleties of how James Forester moved and behaved. She was certain of that.

“Lists of the expedition members and transportation plans,” he explained, nodding toward the papers.

Unease knotted through Talia. James sat across from her and studied the tea tray, which was filled with a variety of breads, cakes, muffins, and tarts.

“You’re leaving in the summer then?” Talia asked, handing him a cup of tea.

“Next month, actually.”

“N-next month? So soon?”

He reached for a slice of plum cake. “I thought we’d be delayed because we had to secure a new medical officer, but we’ve managed to book passage on board the
Ballarat,
which leaves from Southampton in mid-June.”

“Alexander said you were going to New South Wales.” It sounded like the end of the world.

“Yes. The Royal Geographical Society requested a survey of the territory, including several rivers. I submitted a plan of exploration in November, but didn’t receive word until recently that the governor had sanctioned it. So preparations have been a bit hasty.”

“I thought you’d planned a trip to Asia in the fall.”

“It hasn’t been funded yet, so this one takes precedence. With any luck, we’ll finish the survey before summer’s end and be able to journey directly to the Malay Peninsula.”

Talia’s heart sank at the thought of having to worry about him traveling from Australia to Asia. Every time he left England’s shores, she worked herself into a frenzy thinking he would end up dead, or that he would decide never to come home, or that he would return and announce that he’d married a beautiful princess from some exotic land.

Thus far, saints be praised, none of those lamentable circumstances had occurred, but time was running short for both of them. Even if James returned from this particular expedition whole and hale—a year from now? two years?—Talia could wait no longer.

“Well.” She forced a smile to her lips. “Won’t you need to return to London soon?”

A frown creased his forehead. “The estate manager handles things in my absence.”

“Yes, but he can't be in charge forever, James. Surely you’re expected to carry out your duties and even to…marry soon.”

“There’s a distant cousin somewhere, I’m certain.” James shrugged and picked up a wedge of pound cake. “As long as there’s an heir, the lineage is secure regardless of what happens to me.”

Talia curled her fingers around her shawl, disliking his indifferent view of his own future. She’d often thought of little else in recent years, clinging to the hope that James’s future would inevitably merge with her own.

At twenty-three years of age, she had thus far avoided marriage owing largely to the scandal of her mother’s affair and the subsequent divorce of her parents. While a few men had pursued her during the past two years, she’d found it easier to remain within the circle of her trusted friends rather than venture into society.

But she could not hide much longer. Not if her eldest brother had anything to say about it. Not if James was leaving again. She tightened her grip on the shawl and took a breath.

“Speaking of marriage,” she said, “did you know that Alexander, the big loon, indicated to Lord Fulton that I would be amenable to a marriage proposal?”

She expected James to react with horror—Fulton, after all, was a man twice her age and as rotund as a hogshead. Though Talia had told her brother in no uncertain terms that she would never marry Fulton, she hadn’t confessed that she would never marry
anyone
except James Forester.

Since girlhood, she had known James would one day be her husband. He just needed her to finally tell him that, since he was clearly too thickheaded to figure it out on his own.

“Fulton, eh?” James frowned, a flash of darkness on his handsome face. “Pity North couldn’t set his sights higher on your behalf.”

“It isn’t his decision, in any case.” Talia set her cup down with a restless movement and walked to the hearth. Her stomach rolled with anxiety as she turned back to face him. “And I’ve set my own sights for marriage much higher.”

“Have you now, poppet?”

“Yes.” She twisted the fringe of her shawl. “My decision is what matters.”

“Indeed.” James reached for the plate of tea cakes yet again.

For heaven’s sake.
If she were a tart, he would fall to one knee and declare his undying love.

Talia glanced at the clock. Now. She had to do this
now.

“James.”

“Hmm?”

“I…I’ve a confession to make.” She gripped her shawl close to her throat. The heat of the fire filled the air around her. A bead of perspiration rolled down her spine.

“What sort of confession?” James peered at a slice of fruitcake, then exchanged it for a muffin.

“You already know a great deal about me, considering we’ve been friends since childhood.” Talia wiped her brow with the back of her hand. The sound of her heartbeat filled her head. “But there is…there is one thing you do not know about me. One thing you haven’t yet discovered.”

“What might that be, poppet?” James bit into the muffin and glanced at her.

Now.

Talia released her shawl and let it fall to the floor behind her. Hot air cascaded across her already-flushed skin.

“I want to marry you,” she said.

The muffin dropped to the carpet. For one awful moment James just stared at her. All the blood rushed from Talia’s head as she waited with heart-stopping fear for his response.

Then it happened. His eyes flickered to the creamy swell of her bosom. And lingered.

A surge of triumph filled Talia. She steeled her shaky courage and pressed forward with the speech she had rehearsed.

“I couldn’t a-allow you to leave yet again without knowing the truth of my…my feelings for you,” she stammered. “I love you, James. I’ve loved you since I was a girl, back when we used to climb trees and play hoops and ride horses. I loved you when you went off to university, and every time you set forth on one expedition or another. I’ve waited for your letters, longed for your return, and…and when I heard you were leaving again, I knew I had to tell you the truth. By rights I ought to have married already, but I’ve never…never wanted to marry anyone except you. Because I love you.”

He managed to pull his gaze from her bosom and look at her. Shock rather than desire filled his eyes.

Talia grasped the mantel with one hand and tried to pull air into her tight lungs. “I know this is sudden, that you’ve always looked upon me as a friend, but I—”

“Talia.”

The strangled tone in his voice caused a resurgence of fear. Her fingers tightened on the mantel. Words crowded in her throat.

James pushed to his feet and approached her, his boots soundless on the thick carpet. For an instant, Talia dared to believe her long-held dreams would come true, that he would gather her in his arms, confess to his mutual love, and then press his mouth to hers...

“Talia!”

The stench of burning silk filled Talia’s nose the second James grabbed her shoulders. Instead of crushing her passionately against his chest, he yanked her away from the mantel. Talia stumbled, her heart catching in her throat. James cursed.

She spun around back in horror. Flames leapt from the hearth and ate through her discarded shawl, the fringed edge of which had fallen perilously close to the fire.

James ran to the sideboard and grabbed a flower vase. He dumped the water, flowers and all, onto the shawl while stamping out the flames beneath his boots. Blackened water spilled over the carpet. Smoke billowed from the scorched fabric.

James coughed. He picked up another vase and doused the material again, then hurried to ring the bell pull.

“My lord?” The footman, Hamilton, opened the door, alarm crossing his features at the stench of smoke and burnt silk. “My lady?”

James stepped in front of Talia, blocking her from the footman’s view. He gestured to the sodden, smoldering wrap. “Hamilton, fetch Kemble and attend to this, please.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Embarrassment scorched Talia’s cheeks. She turned away as another footman hurried into the room, though James remained standing as her shield. Male voices conferred as the servants cleaned the mess and ensured there was no further danger.

Then the door clicked shut again. Silence as loud as thunder filled the room. Talia pressed her hands to her face and wished she could disappear. She felt James’s presence behind her but could not turn to face him. Cold shivers racked her body.