Authors: The Enigmatic Rake
‘I don’t believe it!’ stated Judith unequivocally after discussing the outrageous suggestion with her mama. For once the teacups sat neglected between them, the elegant little plate of macaroons abandoned.
‘No. Of course not.’ The far-from-doting mama might believe much of her son but not murder. ‘It is impossible to even contemplate so disgraceful a possibility.’
‘But where would such a rumour begin?’
‘I have no idea.’ Lady Beatrice fixed her daughter with an expression of deep concern. ‘And you must admit, Judith, there are some difficult areas here for the family.’
‘What? Surely, Mama, you will give no weight to this terrible accusation? You might suspect Sher of being too thoughtless with the family name and we know for a fact that he has had any number of mistresses under his protection—there is no need to frown at me! Everyone knows it—but
murder
!’
‘Of course not, Judith! Try not to be foolish. But think. A sudden disease to strike down a healthy young woman. We were not there. Have we ever seen the grave? No, we have not. Does Joshua ever talk about it? No, he does not. The whole affair gives me an uneasy feeling.’
‘Sher would never murder his wife. He would not murder anyone! I will accept no truth in it.’
‘Neither will I. But I wish your brother would not play his cards quite so close to his chest!’ Lady Beatrice could envisage her next meeting with some of her fashionable associates over a glass of ratafia and did not enjoy the prospect. ‘It is difficult to know what to say when one is as much in the dark as the town tabbies.’
‘A ridiculous suggestion!’ was the only opinion given by Nicholas when he and Theodora called at the Painscastle resi
dence and were drawn into the discussion. ‘You cannot possibly give it any credence.’
‘Will you talk to Sher?’ Theodora asked of Judith. ‘It would seem to be the obvious next step.’
‘Not willingly,’ Judith admitted. ‘You could talk to him, Nick! But there is one person who must be told, if she has not heard it already.’
‘Sarah, of course.’ Thea’s mind ran along the same lines. Her lips curled in grim humour. ‘Better that she hear it from us that her husband is a murderer than from deliberate malice on the grapevine.’
So Thea and Judith immediately took themselves in the barouche to Hanover Square, where Sarah welcomed them with delight, no notion of their intent. Until she saw their concerned eyes, their obvious discomfort. And listened aghast to the lurid picture laid out before her. They spared her no details. She must know what was being said.
Murder!
Sarah would have denied that such damning and unjustifiable gossip was being spread through the fashionable haunts of London. But once knowing, she quickly became aware of the widespread comment. The hushed voices as she came into the room when paying an afternoon visit. The covert glances. Everyone seemed to be discussing Lord Joshua Faringdon’s implication in a deed as foul as any she could envisage. And as completely unbelievable. Of course she did not believe it. Dismissed the whole thing as nothing but malicious mischief-making. But why? And who had seen fit to plant the seeds?
And then, as is the nature of such things, it brushed her consciousness again that she was without doubt being followed. Joshua might have denied it unequivocally, but she knew in her heart that it was true. Were the two events connected? Her mind immediately began to consider and weave the possibili
ties. Joshua might deny the existence of the shadow, but she was certain that it existed. The worries stayed with her and gnawed at her peace of mind. Who could possibly be expected to enjoy peace of mind and the unexpected delights of a new marriage when secretive eyes followed her, when her husband was accused of dispatching his first wife and hiding her body?
Well, there was only one solution to this. She would ask Joshua to tell her the truth.
She accosted him on his return from Brooks’s.
‘Sarah…’ He took her hand, would have saluted her cheek, but was brought to a halt by something in her demeanour. If he was surprised by the reserve in her response to him, he did not show it.
‘I need to speak with you.’ He saw her lips set in a firm line, little lines of strain—signs of concern that had now been absent for some little time—between her brows.
‘Of course.’ He led her into the library. Closed the door. Turned to face her.
‘What is it that disturbs you? Do you still see phantom followers?’ He tried for a light response to the tension that swirled around her.
‘Yes. And so does Beth.’ His brows rose, but before he could find suitable words, she continued. ‘But that is not it…’ She might as well ask outright. ‘Joshua—have you heard the rumours?’
‘Rumours?’ The epitome of innocence. She could not deny his lack of comprehension. Or could she? She suspected that Lord Faringdon’s ability to dissemble was supreme.
‘Obviously not. Perhaps the gentlemen at Brooks’s are less inclined to gossip than their wives. Or more discreet when their members are present. Thea and Judith warned me—and then I saw it, felt it,
heard it
for myself. The hush from those present when I walked into the withdrawing room, when I took tea with Lady Stoke. The conversation came to a remarkably abrupt end.’
A cold fear inched its way down his spine. So she had heard. Well, of course she had. Had he expected her to live in blissful ignorance when the whole town was talking? Yet he kept his composure. ‘What conversation?’
‘About you. And your first wife. About Marianne.’
He preserved all outward calm, his face bland, his gaze level. ‘And so, according to Thea and Judith, what are the gossip-mongers saying?’ He knew exactly what they were saying, in every salacious detail. But he must do all in his power to reassure.
Sarah kept her voice calm, as if discussing a matter of no moment that could easily be remedied. As if her heart were not thudding against her ribs. ‘They…they are saying that Marianne did not die a natural death. That you were responsible.’ Her fingers gripped the edge of a gilded bergère chair at her side. ‘That you murdered her, from jealousy over her taking a lover.’
‘And do you believe it?’ A hint of frost over the calm now.
‘No. Of course not. It is beyond belief.’ She lifted her hand, almost in a plea. ‘But I find it very uncomfortable to have the
ton
discussing my husband’s so-called crimes.’
‘Sarah—’
‘I don’t believe it,’ she repeated in a firm voice. And indeed she did not. But she would continue. ‘I should tell you that, whatever your denials, I
am
being followed.’
‘I see.’ He strode to the window, then whirled round to face her, fighting to keep a firm hand on the reins of temper as all his control came close to obliteration by a wave of sheer anger. At himself. At fate. At the perpetrator of the vicious scandal. He coated the fire in ice. ‘And you think that I am having you followed, to discover if you too have a lover, with the intent of murdering you also.’
‘I think no such thing!’ Never had she seen his self-control so compromised, but she stood her ground. ‘And, no, I do not have a lover as you must know, so there would be little point to it. I would merely wish to know who would start so cruel a story if there is no truth in it. Do you know?’
Oh, yes. I know very well who will have created this particular pattern of pain and disgrace, to hurt both of us, to carve a rift between us that can never be mended. And I am so tightly woven into a web of deceit that I cannot tell you of it. Or extricate myself without untold repercussions. Oh, yes. I know without doubt who is responsible, driven by revenge and bitter hatred.
He walked toward her. Slowly and with deliberation. Until he stood close, his eyes searching her face. Whatever he saw there, he lifted his hand to touch her cheek with light fingers, the tender gesture at odds with the passion in his eyes. A passion that would burn and destroy if he allowed it.
‘I will never cause you harm, Sarah. I will never willingly hurt you. Do you believe that? I find that it is important to me that you do.’
‘Yes.’ Caught up in the moment, she closed her hand around his wrist. ‘I do.’ His blood throbbed beneath her hand, echoing the beat of her own pulse.
‘The rumours. I cannot say—simply ask that you trust me, even when it seems too hard to do so.’ He bent his head to touch her mouth with his, a mere brush of lips over lips, then suddenly fierce and demanding. He could not tell her the truth, but neither would he deliberately lie. He framed her face with his hands. ‘As for the shadows that follow you, they must not be allowed to disturb you. Neither can I tell you of them, but I will take steps to stop them.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘I think it is possible.’
‘Will you not tell me who?’
‘No.’ He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her soft bottom lip. ‘It is best that you do not know. I know that is no answer—but I can give no other.’
‘Tell me the truth, Joshua.’ She held his gaze, more demand than plea.
But he shook his head. ‘It is not in my power to do so at this time.’
And with that she had to be content. But never content! Secrets, secrets! Sarah could do nothing but accept her lord’s word when all her instincts shrieked within her head to demand that he tell her the truth. Could do nothing but accept his kiss when once again he claimed her mouth, now with a deliberate tenderness. But her thoughts remained in turmoil. She had lived her life with lies and deceits. Now even her marriage was prey to them.
For Joshua, the only certainty was that he must not speak, no matter how forcefully his heart urged him to do so. Because to speak of the past and his relationship with Marianne would reveal a whole host of lies and untruths, enough to swamp their fragile relationship beyond hope. And mayhap put others in danger of their lives. All he could do was call on Sarah’s intrinsic fairness and loyalty, wrapping her round in soft trappings of consideration and care. Until, despite the nagging suspicions, she should never contemplate his involvement in so wicked an act as murder. With all his skill and finesse, he hoped that he would have the power to seduce her into giving him her trust. His hands clasped her shoulders, to draw her firmly against him. Bending, he pressed his lips against the soft, almost transparent skin at her temple and, as he felt her shiver beneath his hands, a bright flare of desire surged through him, to carry her off to his room and show her that he was not beyond redemption.
At the thought he lifted his head to smile down into her face—and froze as he caught the ghost of an emotion in her eyes, before she swiftly veiled it from him with her downswept lashes. Distrust, fear, despair? He could not guess. Even more, he dare not ask. And suddenly the notion of seduction, of submerging her misgivings beneath the pleasures of her body and his, drained from him. He could not. Not when she was being hurt through his own actions, his own inability to be honest. It would be a betrayal of everything he had hoped to offer to her in their marriage. A wicked destruction of her contentment and
her peace of mind. What a cruel outcome it would be if his selfish actions wilfully led Sarah to give him her utmost trust. Perhaps even caused her to fall in love with him. Would that not make the hurt and pain the greater, when she finally learned the truth about his life, past and present? Because he had no doubt that it would be impossible for him to keep the truth from her for ever. How much less painful if he let her go now. Stepped back from her. It would make her unhappy. She would see it as a bitter rejection, all the more cruel since Sarah would find it difficult to accept rejection in so personal a matter. But at least it would not tear her emotions to shreds, bright silk rent by the sharpest of blades, as might happen if he allowed her to grow too close to him, to expect too much from him.
Joshua knew what he must do. He must distance himself from her so that the hurt should not be compounded. Until his own loyalties were no longer an issue to divide them. If that could ever be.
So Joshua’s fingers tightened on Sarah’s shoulders, but not to draw her close, rather to push her away. The smile died from his lips. He let his hands fall away. Stepped back. And again and again until the width of the room separated them. Despite the intense longing, it would be so wrong. And perhaps, after all, Sarah was only playing the role of obedient wife. How little he still knew of her. Did she hate and despise him for bringing this dark spectre of death and murder into her life, despite her protestations of belief and trust? So he must reject her, for both their sakes. He drank the bitter lees of the cup, of self-condemnation and contempt for his lack of choice.
‘Forgive me…’
‘Joshua…’ Disbelieving, Sarah held out her hands, aware of nothing but the distance that had suddenly opened between them and the cold weight of fear within her breast.
‘I have matters to attend to.’ Tall and straight, her lord continued to face her, face shuttered and cold, refusing to acknowledge her plea, resisting every need to close the space and enfold
her once again into his arms. Better that she hate him, heap blame on his head, than that he take her to his bed with such issues between them.
‘Please.’ Soft, little more than a murmur, her voice reached him. ‘Don’t leave me like this. Do I mean so little to you?’ Never during their short marriage had she been so outspoken of her feelings, so uncertain of his response.
‘I must.’ He fought the temptation to rake his fingers in desolation through his hair, fought against the pain in his heart. How difficult it was to turn her away. But he would do it to protect her from further anguish. ‘Don’t look so tragic, my dear. Scandals always die a death when the next one surfaces to replace it. You will soon become used to the taint of scandal, now that your name is coupled with mine.’
The bitterness in his words scorched her. ‘No. I will not accept that.’
‘You were aware when you took my name that it was a tarnished commodity.’ He heard his cruel words, wincing at their power to hurt. But to fuel her anger would lessen her pain.
‘How can you do this? I do not believe it…’