“Children often do.” She thought of all the excuses she’d made for Papa’s behavior through the years.
“But everything changed when he turned thirteen.”
Sudden awareness dawned as she put together what else she’d heard. She faced him, feeling her heart twist in her chest. “When he learned the truth about his mother.”
Mr. Pryce nodded. “Once he knew that his mother had left deliberately to escape his father, he could no longer excuse Edward’s actions. Nor could he stand by and watch the man destroy himself, his family, and his estate through a lack of character or sense of responsibility.”
“So Sebastian ran Charnwood himself,” she mused aloud.
He eyed her with interest. “You heard that, did you? Yes, he demanded it of Edward, and fortunately for the estate Edward agreed. By that point, my brother-in-law was so sunk into depravity he didn’t much care what happened at Charnwood.”
“Still, to leave his affairs in the hands of a boy of
thirteen
—”
“It was the only wise thing Edward ever did.” A half smile played about his rouged lips. “Sebastian at thirteen was more capable than the average man at twenty, I assure you. By the time he was seventeen, he’d reversed the dangerous downward spiral begun by his father. By the time
he was twenty-six and Edward died fighting a duel, Sebastian had restored Charnwood to its former glory. And he did it all alone. That’s the sort of man he is.”
Her throat constricted painfully. Not the sort of man who’d kidnap a young woman on behalf of smugglers. How could someone so responsible risk the family name he’d fought so hard to protect?
Yet she was as sure as ever that Sebastian had been the one to kidnap her. Indeed, Mr. Pryce’s attempt to engage her sympathies toward him only proved it.
“Why are you telling me all this about Sebastian?” She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “What does it have to do with Morgan’s kidnapping me?”
The question seemed to disturb him, just as she’d intended. He glanced away. “If you’ll recall, this conversation began when you asked me how Sebastian lacked control. I’m merely explaining that having spent half his life with no control, he now goes to extremes to exert it in every sphere.”
She laid her cards on the table. “You mean, by kidnapping a gentlewoman for some…purpose he won’t reveal?”
His gaze swung back to her in alarm. “Sebastian was not responsible for that.”
Drat him, did he not know the truth? Or was he simply being loyal? Either way, she’d get nowhere by pressing the matter. Like his nephew, he’d merely dig in his heels.
She tried another tack. “Morgan may have performed the act, but how do I know Sebastian had no part in the planning?”
Instead of answering that question, he posed one of his own. “Is that why you came here? To find some way of making my nephew pay for what his brother did?”
“No, I came here to learn the truth, that’s all,” she said fiercely. “I want to know why he did it. What it was about.
Why he didn’t just tell Crouch to leave me and my family alone. I want to know why, after it was all over, he just abandoned—” She caught herself before she could reveal more. Sucking in a harsh breath, she said, “I only want the truth.”
He looked visibly shaken by her words. “Perfectly understandable. And you deserve it, too. But sometimes the truth is complicated, and knowing it wouldn’t change anything.”
“It would for me. I’ve spent two years wondering how I could be so stupid as to fall into your nephew’s trap. But if I thought he’d done it for something more than a whim or a hope of monetary gain…” Her face brightened. “Could he have needed the money for Charnwood? Could he have done it for that reason?”
“Morgan?” he asked coolly. “Why would he care about Charnwood?”
She gritted her teeth. He refused to acknowledge the truth, even though she felt certain he knew it.
“Besides,” Mr. Pryce continued, “you said he didn’t take any money for it. Only information.”
“Yes, but perhaps that’s why he wanted the information, so he could go aboard the
Oceana.
Perhaps Crouch knew of some…I don’t know…rich cargo that would be loaded on July 17, one that would make it worth Morgan’s while to be aboard.” It made sense. Indeed, it was the only explanation that
did,
in light of the evidence.
His face closed up. “Morgan had no interest in money from that kidnapping. I am certain of that. It is not in his character.”
“Yes, but if his brother asked it of him—”
“It is not in Sebastian’s character, either. Have you not heard anything I told you?”
Oh yes, every word. He’d told her all the things calculated to make her want to forgive Sebastian, to forget his
deceptions and treacheries. But she refused to let him—or Sebastian—use her tender feelings against her.
“I agree that your nephews have had difficulties in their lives. But if you expect me to excuse their actions because of what you’ve told me, you don’t know me very well. My father was a scoundrel, too. He brought great shame on his children at one point in our lives, yet my sisters and I have never used that as an excuse for behaving badly.”
“You are a hard case, Lady Juliet.” He brushed a speck of dust from his immaculate coat. “Nonetheless, although my nephew enticed you away from your family, you are the one who ignored all propriety and good sense to go with him. So what excuse do
you
use for ‘behaving badly’ two years ago?”
She flinched, but his question was fair. “None. The difference between me and your nephew is that I don’t make excuses. I don’t wish to avoid the consequences of my foolishness. I recognize that I made my own bed, and now I must lie in it. But if I should have to pay, so should he.”
“And if he’s dead and cannot pay, you will seize on Sebastian for your revenge?”
“This isn’t about revenge!” Striding up to the settee, she sat down and grabbed his hand. “This is about justice. Please, Mr. Pryce, you must understand. Soon I’ll return to London to face the effects of this gossip. It doesn’t matter who started it or who’s spreading it—someone will eventually dig deeply enough to realize it’s true. No one will believe I was kidnapped—my family didn’t prosecute it. So society will note only that I eloped with a man and came home unwed. When that occurs, no man will marry me.”
“I have trouble believing that.” He patted her hand with a fatherly concern that made her want to scream. “A lovely woman like yourself, with so much to offer? I am sure that when your family explains the situation—”
“My family wouldn’t be here if they thought they could simply explain everything away.” She leaned toward him imploringly. “And you know what happens to women who are ruined. They’re scorned by other women, shunned by respectable men, and sought out by those scoundrels who consider any such woman an easy target.”
“Perhaps in some cases, but—”
“Do you think it’s fair that the man who wronged me should walk freely in society while I suffer the attentions of every rogue who wants to ravish me?”
“Of course not!” Sweat beaded on his forehead. Looking uncertain, he drew out a handkerchief with a shaky hand and mopped his brow. “But I don’t know what you want from me. Morgan is…dead. What could I possibly offer—”
“The truth, curse it! It’s the least I deserve! If I have to endure the groping hands and improper advances of unfeeling blackguards thanks to this gossip—”
“You will not!” boomed a voice from the doorway. She looked up to find Sebastian standing there, his face alight with anger. “You won’t suffer any of that ever again. I give you my word.”
Let my heart be wise.
It is the gods’ best gift.
Euripides’
Medea,
worked on a handkerchief by Juliet Laverick
S
ebastian stepped into the room, her words ringing in his ears—
the groping hands and improper advances of unfeeling blackguards.
By thunder, men were treating her in this barbarous fashion? Because of him? He’d thought from her inexperienced kissing and naiveté that she’d never endured such improprieties, but it seemed he was wrong.
How could Knighton have let it continue so long? Why hadn’t he come here before? If Sebastian had possessed any idea of what was going on in London…
But he hadn’t known, of course. Mentions of her in the papers had always been respectful: “Lady Juliet Laverick was seen at the opera house” or “One member of the party was Lady Juliet.” Never a bad word was spoken of her.
All the same…“I’ll make sure no one harms you, do you hear?” he repeated. “I’ll put an end to any gossip, I swear.”
A flush of anger darkened her features as she leaped to her feet. “Oh? And how shall you do that?”
By marrying you, by laying claim to you so no man ever dares touch you or speak ill of you again.
He didn’t dare say it aloud. Yet. “You needn’t worry how. I will, I promise. There won’t be the tiniest breath of scandal attached to your name when you return to London.” When his uncle rose and seemed about to speak, Sebastian shot him a quelling glance. “I’ll take care of it personally. You have my word.”
Uncle Lew’s gaze met his, no doubt trying to determine Sebastian’s intentions. There’d be plenty of time later to explain how things had changed.
In the meantime, Sebastian had much to say to Juliet privately, much to learn after her astonishing comments to his uncle. And the only way to do that was to whisk her off. His gaze snapped back to her. “You’d best come along.”
She hesitated, her gaze flying to his uncle in mute appeal. It irritated Sebastian that she’d tried to attach Uncle Lew as her ally. And deuce take it, what had they discussed before he came?
“Knighton was standing outside Charnwood Hall when we rode up,” Sebastian added. “He was furious.”
Instantly, her hesitation turned to alarm. “Oh dear, Rosalind didn’t tell him where we’d been, did she?”
“No,” Sebastian answered, “but—”
“Where
had
you been?” his uncle asked.
Sebastian figured he’d best let Juliet answer that.
“It’s…complicated.” She flashed Uncle Lew an apologetic smile. “I have to go. Thank you for the informative discussion. I do hope we can finish it some time.”
He looked uncomfortable. “I’ll show you out,” he murmured and started forward.
With a scowl, Sebastian took her arm. “Don’t trouble yourself, Uncle.”
Wise man that Uncle Lew was, he knew better than to go against Sebastian’s wishes in this devilish situation. “Very well,” the man said curtly, then sank down on the settee.
Sebastian led her into the hall as he considered which room would suit a private discussion. He’d rather have it here at Foxglen, where she couldn’t easily escape him.
As soon as they were out of earshot, she tried to remove his hand from her arm, but he wouldn’t let go. “So what did Griff say?” she snapped. “Did he demand to know where we’d been? How did Rosalind respond? Is he waiting for me to confirm her claims?”
He spotted the door to the conservatory at the other end of the hall and quickened his pace. “He doesn’t even know you were with us. She told him you were sick.”
They’d reached the conservatory. When he opened the door, a blast of fecund warm air hit them. He hurried her inside. “The last time I saw them, they were heading in to breakfast, and he seemed satisfied by her tale that we’d ridden over to visit my uncle.”
She stared about her in confusion at the riot of flowering hibiscus, ferns, and potted palms in the round, glass-ceilinged room. As he closed the door behind her, she whirled around. “You said Griff was furious—”
“He
was.
But he isn’t now. I merely wanted to talk to you.”
It took a second for his words to register, and a second more for her to realize they were alone together for the first time since yesterday. Then her eyes widened to panic. Without pausing to berate him, she darted around him and reached for the doorknob. He planted his hand against the door before she could even open it.
“Let me out!” she demanded, rattling the knob.
“Not until we’ve had our discussion.”
She faced him, flattening herself against the door. Her lilac scent misted over him, delicate and fine. He wanted to grab her and hold her close, but she’d likely throttle him if he tried. Still, with his arm braced against the door over her shoulder, she was so close only a breath separated them. As he stared down at her face, his every muscle went taut.
Ah, but she was lovely, especially here. Like Aphrodite, the goddess of spring and beauty, she belonged in warm Cyprian groves, dripping flowers from her fingers as she danced through the moonlight. She did
not
belong amid the treacherous forests of London society, that was certain. He should never have left her to wander them alone.
The sudden quickening of her breath showed she was aware of him, too. She dropped her gaze to stare into his cravat. “I have nothing to discuss with you just now.”
He leaned into her. “Tell me about the scoundrels in London, the ones who put their ‘groping hands’ on you. When you said you wanted to learn about rakes so you could avoid them, I didn’t realize it was because they’d made ‘improper advances.’”
A tiny frown of confusion creased her smooth brow. “What in creation are you talking about? Men in London may have courted me, but none of them ever—” She broke off suddenly, and her expression cleared. “That’s what you get for eavesdropping. Heard something you didn’t like, did you?”
“Devil take it, I want to know who they are!”
“Oh, for goodness sake, you misunderstood what I told your uncle. I wasn’t speaking of what had already happened, but what
could
happen if this gossip continues.”
Relief nearly brought him to his knees. What had he been thinking? From the beginning, she’d shown herself to be nearly as innocent as a woman her age could be. Jealous anger had so overtaken him that he hadn’t stopped to consider what he’d seen of her character. Of course no one had put his hands on her.
He’d been right all along about the gossip. If there was any, it was minor. She only spoke of it when she wanted to tug at someone’s sympathies—like his uncle’s. “You needn’t worry about such nonsense. It won’t continue if I have anything to say about it.”