Secrets of a Perfect Night (20 page)

Her father’s reasons had been altogether different. Still, it hadn’t been entirely untrue when he’d told Jason she was dead. In some ways she had died. And it had been George, dear kind George, who had restored her life if not her soul.

Rachael glanced around the ballroom, the gaiety and laughter a startling contrast to her own thoughts. The gathering here at Lady Bradbourne’s looked no different than it had last year or the year before or ten years ago. As if the hand of time had passed overhead, freezing the ball and capturing everyone present in one unending moment of frolic. Like a painting in a gilded frame.

She had changed, of course. The last years had taught her much. The lessons had started on this very night a decade ago. Lessons about the brevity of passion and the deceit of men. Lessons about the nature of affection and the gentle love that grows between a husband and wife. And lessons about loss.

Now she considered how many of the hard learned lessons that had shaped her life were based on lies.

“And what of you, Lady Lyndhurst?”

Too deep in her thoughts to notice, she’d joined a small cluster of guests. They were unaware she had no idea of the topic of discussion. That, too, was a lesson learned through the years.

“Oh, I really don’t—” she started.

“Come, come, my lady, we’ve all told our deepest desires.” A vaguely familiar gentleman with a pleasant smile laughed. “Now you must tell us your wishes for the coming year.”

“My wishes?” She drew a relieved breath. She could certainly bluff her way through this. “Very well, although I daresay my wishes are scarcely different from everyone else’s. I wish for peace, always, and
prosperity, I suppose, and happiness, of course…”

A new life. Freedom. And love
.

The words from long-ago wishes echoed in her head and she faltered for the briefest moment, then smiled. “I suspect, like the rest of the world, I wish for all of it.”

The group laughed and she excused herself.

She could have had all of it once. A new life. Freedom. And love. The thought pulled her up short. In truth, didn’t she have everything she had wished for? And hadn’t George been the one to give it to her? No, she couldn’t blame him for what she’d lost: he’d given her so very much.

And with his letters it appeared he now wanted to give her Jason.

Until now, Jason’s name had never passed between them. But he was there always. No doubt it was due to the difference in their ages that George failed to recognize his resemblance in appearance to his cousin, in height and figure and coloring. But more so in manner. In the tilt of George’s jaw when he was concerned or the look in his eye when he was intrigued or the sound of his laughter.

She’d learned to ignore it through the years. Learned not to catch her breath at a particular gesture or allow the flutter of her heart at a familiar inflection. Yet another lesson well learned of necessity and easier with each passing day.

But not the nights. Never the nights. On those occasions when George had come to her bed, Jason was there always. In the touch of George’s hand and the
heat of his body. And as hard as she tried, she tried, she could not vanquish that ghost from her bed even as she had banished him from her heart. Or thought she had.

Until today.

Four

It was wrong of me, Jason. I know that now as I did then. Even at this juncture, I find it difficult to believe I waited seven years to tell you that Rachael was alive and well. When you wrote from America and I understood you believed Rachael had died and understood as well you did not merely leave her ruined and alone, I should have confessed all. I should have known, in spite of your wild nature, you were an honorable man. Forgive me for thinking the worst of you
.

But even with the wisdom of hindsight, I well know I would do the same again. What good would it have done either of us to reveal the truth? By then Rachael was my wife and, God help me, I could not give her up. Not even to you
.

N
OTHING HAD CHANGED
. Jason gazed across the ballroom with a jaded eye. Not the dances, not the refreshment, not the people. No, he was wrong in that. He had changed. He was no longer a poor relation but a man who’d built a fortune out of little more than the
sweat of his brow and a shrewd mind. And he was now the Earl of Lyndhurst.

He smiled wryly. He’d returned to England less than a week ago and already it seemed all the hostesses and matchmaking mothers in the city had noted the arrival of an eminently eligible unmarried man with a sizable fortune and a respectable title.

The number of invitations delivered to the suite of rooms he occupied at the Clarendon Hotel was impressive given the time of year, and a source of great amusement to him. Now that he was back in England for good, it was perhaps time to give the selection of a wife serious consideration. After all, one did not have to engage one’s heart along with one’s hand. Especially when one’s heart had been given long ago.

Would she be here tonight? It little mattered, he supposed. There was so much between them, so many years, so much pain. Still, he couldn’t suppress the glimmer of hope born with the reading of George’s last letter. Ironic that their reunion could well be on this particular night at this particular ball. Ironic as well how life had come full circle.

He was prepared to see her again, of course. Given his position as her husband’s heir, it could not be avoided entirely. He’d planned a cordial but aloof encounter, with most of the discussion conducted through a solicitor. Now George’s letter and its accompanying revelations made an impersonal meeting impossible.

God knew he’d tried to put her out of his mind. And thought he’d succeeded too. Thought it twice, in fact. Once when he’d come to grips with her death and then
again when he’d realized how very much she hated him…

1812

Jason stared up at the grand London house and steeled himself against a flood of memories. It was as much a home to him as Lyndhurst Hall in the country. Perhaps more. It was here George had first brought him after his parents died. Jason had not seen it since the night he left for America seven long years ago.

That night was as vivid in his mind as yesterday. He’d been beside himself with grief and guilt at the knowledge that Rachael had taken her own life. It made no difference that his failure to meet her was not of his doing. She was gone and nothing else mattered. So he’d fled. Too much of a coward to face the anguish of a life here without her. And very much a fool to have ever believed her father’s lies.

Lord Gresham. His jaw tightened at the thought of the man. He’d gone immediately to Gresham’s London home upon his arrival in the city, only to find the man was dead and the house sold. The footman who’d answered his inquiries had said he had no knowledge of the whereabouts of the home’s previous residents.

But George would know where to find Rachael. After all, George had written to tell him of Gresham’s deceit, although his cousin failed to mention why he’d waited so long to reveal the truth.

Jason had returned to England at once, not an easy
task given the continuing war with France and the uneasy state of relations with America. George’s disclosure of his illness alone was enough to bring Jason home. He owed George a great deal, not the least of which was the funding he’d sent to enable Jason to start his life in America and build a sizable fortune in the process. Beyond that, the earl was Jason’s only living relative, and the younger man cared for him deeply. George’s revelation that Rachael was alive only added to the necessity of returning home at once.

Jason climbed the short steps to the front entry and rapped on the imposing door. It swung open within moments and Jason bit back a smile: George’s servants had always been remarkably well trained.

“May I help you?” The imperious tones of Mayfield, George’s butler, rang out in the crisp morning air.

“I should hope so, Mayfield.”

Suspicion washed across the man’s dignified expression, then his eyes widened. “Master Jason?”

Jason laughed. “None other.”

“Do come in, sir.” What passed for a smile curved the servant’s lips. It had always been a point of great satisfaction for Jason to achieve the honor of a Mayfield smile. “We were not expecting, that is, we had no idea…” Mayfield stepped aside to let him enter. “His lordship will be very pleased indeed.”

Jason stepped into the foyer, for a moment reveling in the well-remembered scents of oils and waxes that spoke of a home cared for and loved. He handed the butler his hat and gloves. “How is Lord Lyndhurst?”

Mayfield’s expression sobered. “Not well, sir, not at all. We are all quite concerned. Lady Lyndhurst is—”

“Lady Lyndhurst?” Jason drew his brow together in confusion. “Who is Lady Lyndhurst?”

Mayfield stared at him in obvious surprise. “Why, Lady Lyndhurst is his lordship’s wife.”

“His wife?” Jason gasped. “Good Lord, George is married? I know we have not corresponded as regularly as we should have. Still, I should think he would have mentioned such a thing as marriage. When did this happen?”

“Shortly after you left England, sir.”

“And he never wrote a word.” Jason shook his head. Perhaps he shouldn’t be quite so surprised. George was never one for long rambling missives. His letters were routinely sparse and tended to ask more questions about Jason’s life than reveal much of his own. Still, one would think marriage would be worth confiding. Jason leaned toward Mayfield in a confidential manner. “So what do you think of her, Mayfield? Did George choose well?”

“Oh, that he did, sir.” Mayfield’s restrained enthusiasm was the highest praise the butler could bestow. “Since his illness, she has taken charge of matters regarding the estate and other affairs in a way that could be considered most improper for a lady were it not for the grace of her manner. And she has always treated us fairly. Indeed, sir, we care for her as deeply as we care for his lordship.”

“I see,” Jason murmured, and thoughtfully stepped past Mayfield and into the parlor. George’s failure to disclose the existence of a wife was disquieting. Perhaps his cousin thought Jason would be upset by the possibility of disinheritance should George have a son.
No, George would know better than that. Besides, Jason had no need for George’s fortune or his title. There was something about George’s omission that made no sense. Indeed, George’s silence on a number of matters was disturbing and not at all like his candid cousin.

“My lady,” Mayfield said in the hall behind him. “His lordship has a visitor.”

“Thank you, Mayfield,” a feminine voice answered, firm and pleasant in tone and oddly familiar.

“Good day, sir. I understand you are here to see Lord Lyndhurst. My—”

He turned with a smile and froze.

Rachael
?

“—husband…” Her eyes widened in shock and the color drained from her face. “Jason?”

“Rachael!” Time itself seemed to stop and he stared, unable to believe his eyes. She was as lovely as he remembered, but his memories were of a girl. This was a woman with an air of maturity about her that could only come from the experiences of life. And she was very much alive. His heart swelled with emotion and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms.

“Mayfield.” Her voice shook slightly. Her gaze fixed on Jason, but she directed her words to the butler behind her. “Please see if his lordship needs anything and close the doors when you leave. Mr. Norcross and I have some matters to discuss in private.”

Mayfield’s gaze shifted from Rachael to Jason and back. Obviously he was aware of the razor-sharp tension that hung in the room, although he’d never comment on it aloud. He nodded silently and left. The
quiet closing of the doors behind him was the only sound for a long moment.

“Rachael.” He moved toward her, joy sweeping aside caution.

“No!” She stepped back, thrusting her hands out to ward him away. “Don’t come near me!”

“Rachael, I—”

I understand you are here to see Lord Lyndhurst
.

The import of her words struck him like a fist to the chest and he sucked in a hard breath.

My husband
.

“
You’re
Lady Lyndhurst?
You’re
George’s wife?”

Her chin rose and her eyes flashed. “Does that surprise you?”

“Surprise me? Surprise is far too mild a word.” He stared stunned, his mind, his heart, grappling to comprehend what she was saying. “How? Why?”

“What did you expect me to do?” Cold anger colored her words.

The look in her eye chilled his blood. Was there more beyond her marriage that he didn’t know? Jason chose his words with care. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” She stared in disbelief. “How can you ask me that? What choices did I have? I was alone. Ruined. Left to whatever fate my father had in store for me.” Her voice rose. “You never came for me!”

Good God, she still didn’t know why he hadn’t met her! Why hadn’t George told her years ago? What other secrets had George kept from her? From them both? Anger, deep and unremitting, rushed through him. “You must let me explain.”

“You forfeited the right to explain seven years ago
when you left me without so much as a note. Left me to wait for hours on a cold night in a dark garden like a pathetic, unwanted dog from the streets. I have no need for your explanations now.” She wrapped her arms around herself and stalked across the room. “I no longer wish to know the reasons why you abandoned me.” She turned and glared. “I did once. I did for a very long time.”

“Please, Rachael, I tried to come. You must allow me to—”

“I must allow you nothing! Nothing you can say will change the past.” A shadow of pain so intense it tore at his soul flashed through her eyes. She turned her gaze away as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. “Regardless of why you didn’t come that night, I never heard from you again. Never! Not a message, not a letter, nothing. It was as if I no longer existed! As if I were dead!”