The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex) (33 page)

William turned, the blustering wind stinging his eyes. Chalk cliffs. Not the firmest of ground. “The precipice.”

Had Sir Ambrose heard him? William didn’t want him to tumble into the ocean.

Sir Ambrose frowned at William. “Don’t worry, I know when to make an exit. I shall anticipate joining Dorothea’s mother in the afterlife. That sweet, innocent creature.”

William watched in horror as Sir Ambrose stepped closer to the edge of the cliff. Perhaps he had always seen himself as invincible, greater than everyone else despite his dangerous activities.

“The precipice,” William repeated as Sir Ambrose stepped back farther still. This time William stepped forward to warn him, blinded by the raging wind.

“The precipice,” he repeated again before he suddenly felt Sir Ambrose’s hands on him, clutching him, as they both toppled together. The next thing William felt was air beneath his feet.

*

Sebastian’s heart plummeted.

William fell.

His body toppled to the side. Sebastian blinked, hoping he had not seen correctly. That William’s body falling was an eyelash dropping or his mind imagining what it would look like if the horrible had happened.

For the horrible had happened.

Sir Ambrose was triumphant. William and the baronet had plunged off the cliff. Sir Ambrose had clutched him in his arms, and they had vanished. Sir Ambrose had killed William, just as surely as he had killed himself.

The others cried. Sebastian did not wait to make out their words. They should have tied Sir Ambrose up better. He should not have been allowed to stand there, pistols pointed or not. Sebastian should have said something, and he had not, too paralyzed by Sir Ambrose’s caustic tongue.

Sebastian rushed to the edge, crouching down as the wind hit him, ignoring the warnings of the others. He slid on his stomach, peering down the cliff.

His heart leapt as he spotted William, motionless, on a narrow ledge eight feet below. The man’s face shone, reflected by the moon. His hands and feet were flung out at awkward angles, splayed on the edge. Sir Ambrose was nowhere to be seen. The dark waves continued their rhythmic thrashes against the rocky wall. Sebastian gulped, conscious of Sir Ambrose’s fate, of how close William had been to having his body swept into the massive, moving, moss-colored grave.

He might still be dead.

Sebastian searched William’s face for a glimmer of movement, hoping for his eyelids to tremble or his mouth to open. How could he have wasted the moments he had with William? Why had they argued? Why had they not spent every night together?

Why had they not planned to spend their lives together?

He darted his eyes across the terrain. He needed to take William back. If there was a chance the man would survive . . . He wiggled back to the clearing.

Reynolds, Dorothea, and Penelope gazed back at him. He wondered where Lewis had vanished to.

“Your shawls,” he said, pointing at the two women.

“Of course.” Penelope slipped her shawl off and removed Dorothea’s from her shoulders. She handed them to Sebastian. “Will they be strong enough? Have you found him? Will he live?”

“We can only hope.” Sebastian took the colored fabric, tying the Oriental patterns together. The shawls were thick cashmere wool. He sighed in relief. They would not break.

“Will their length suffice? We have petticoats . . .” Penelope began walking to the precipice, as if to spot William’s body.

Reynolds was at Penelope’s side at once. “It is dangerous, my love. Go back to Dorothea.”

He kissed her head, the display of affection stabbing Sebastian’s heart.

“How can I be of assistance?” Reynolds said solemnly as Penelope hurried away.

Sebastian smiled tightly. “You can hold me.”

Reynolds’s eyes flickered in confusion. He had no secrets from that man.

“Not that way,” Sebastian grumbled, flinging one end at Reynolds. “You hold one end and lower me down.”

Reynolds nodded, wrapping his end around a tree near the cliff’s edge. “We can’t have you disappear as well. Be careful.”

Sebastian blinked in gratitude. He grabbed the other end of the shawl, lowering himself down slowly, moving his feet along the slippery surface of the rock. He would give up everything if William lived. He would return home and never engage in another illicit act. He would be good.

Sebastian sighed with relief as his feet hit the ground. Limestone. That should hold them. If not, it was a risk worth taking. He crouched down, crawling toward William. His eyes filled with tears as he saw him lying so rigid upon the hard surface.

If only he had called off the wedding sooner. Why had he not? Why had William attempted to defeat Sir Ambrose by himself? Or had he wandered into Sir Ambrose’s plot by accident? With Joshua?

Sebastian’s heart clenched, knowing the last thing William had done was leave the pub with another man.

“Please live. Lord, please let William live.”

He clutched William closer to him, pulling his limp body against his chest. He placed his hand over William’s mouth and was relieved to find William was still breathing. The man’s clothes were in shambles. Sebastian saw no blood, and he prayed the man would survive.

He regarded the man in his arms and ran a finger over William’s chiseled face. He would have to attempt to carry him up the mountain soon, but now he could not resist giving him a soft kiss on the lips, bending down to touch his face, saying sadly, “I love you.”

“Sebastian?”

Sebastian turned and saw the stricken faces of Penelope, Lord Reynolds, Lewis, and Dorothea standing on another ledge. Penelope’s mouth fell open, and Lord Reynolds elbowed her. Even after she closed it, attempting to seem less shocked, her surprise was evident. Lord Reynolds looked at him with pity.

Sebastian unwound himself from William, pushing him away. He removed his fingers from William’s coat reluctantly, realizing he was shaking. He swallowed, but his mouth felt dry.

How vile it must seem! They did not know what to say. Nobody knew what to say. He was a vile creature, doing unnatural things in William’s time of need.

It was not as if he did not know any better: he did. He read the Bible and went to church. He was not a heathen, whom missionaries needed to explain life to. It was definitely not appropriate to fall in love with another man, yet that was what he had done. He loved William. Loved him with all the power and emotion supposed to be reserved for a woman.

He was depraved. Even now he yearned for William.

“We found another way down,” Reynolds said apologetically.

“We were worried it was taking so long,” Penelope said, her face darkening. “I mean, you cannot hoist him up by yourself.”

“I’ve gotten to know this cliff well,” Lewis said. “William was lucky to fall where he did.”

“I suppose Sir Ambrose is dead,” Reynolds said, grimacing at the waves.

“I’ve sent Sam out to get a search party going for him. If the man had helpers, we’ll want to catch them.”

Lewis stepped onto the ledge, lifting William easily into his arms. The man was strong. Lewis passed William’s body to Reynolds.

“He’s breathing,” Reynolds said. “I think he’ll live.”

“Thank the Lord,” Dorothea said.

The others expertly handled William, bringing his body to safety. They chattered quickly amongst themselves, and Sebastian was grateful at their confidence in William’s survival.

He followed them up the cliff. They laid William on the ground.

“Sam will be back here soon with help,” Reynolds said.

“With the general,” Lewis said.

He had forgotten the general. The general had introduced Lewis to Sebastian. Lewis had gone to Lyngate first to contact him. If the man had witnessed Sebastian’s caresses, he could have ruined William’s career. If he lived.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said, addressing Penelope, Lord Reynolds, and Dorothea. “I’m so sorry.”

He could not look at William. He could not bear to look at that handsome figure. If he did, he might stay. And that would be terrible. Completely terrible.

“I must go.” Sebastian trudged toward his horse.

“Stay,” Lewis said.

Sebastian had given into his emotions already, and now everyone—everyone important—knew. This was no way to live life.

“I must go,” Sebastian said, looking at Lewis. He gulped, his heart shattering. “You will be the new duke. I am sure you will be happy to take on the role you always prepared for. And I will return to my estate in Yorkshire. I am sure I am not needed here anymore.”

“I think,” Lewis said, looking at Dorothea, “I think you are still welcome here.”

Sebastian gave him a tight smile. “Thank you for thinking that.”

He felt like the world had come to an end, and perhaps his world had: he was not sure how he would ever face these people again, and he was giving up the only person whom he had ever loved.

He could not leave now, not like this. There was one thing he needed to say.

“This was an accident. Please try and forget it. And this is my fault. Not William’s. He was innocent. He does not share my inclinations.”

He blinked back tears, grabbing hold of the horse he had borrowed from the general, swinging himself up onto it. He was not going to wait to hear what they said. He could not stand the thought he had disappointed them.

Sir Ambrose was dead. At least that was good.

He hoped William would survive the fallout. William was a soldier, stronger than he was. The risks if anyone found out about him were so much greater for William. If someone were to find out about him . . . Sebastian shuddered. William could be dismissed from the army, or even worse.

He would go back to his old home. He would not have a new wife. He had failed in every sense. He hung his head. Shame permeated him. What must the others think of him?

He rode up to Somerset Hall. This was not his home any longer. The sooner he could leave, the better everyone would be. Dorothea could return with her husband.

He would disappear to Yorkshire. He wished it was not so far away. He longed to return home. Hopefully he could forget his friendships with Penelope and Lord Reynolds. Hopefully Dorothea could forgive him. Even though she now had Lewis to look after her, and that was in itself a miracle. Had that not happened, he would have been an abysmal husband. He had not known that passion could be so strong, or so destructive.

Chapter Twenty-five

Sebastian sat in the library of his Yorkshire home, ensconced with his leather-covered books in his familiar landscape. His return fulfilled a months’-long dream, though his arrival lacked the joy he once imagined the homecoming would bring as he awaited the scandal of his inclinations to surface.

Only luck kept the news from splattering the newspapers Grayson brought him, freshly ironed. Each morning he grabbed them from his manservant, hastily searching the large sheets for his and William’s names. Lewis’s name appeared in the newspaper on a few occasions in articles commending the duke for his bravery.

Sebastian had received an official letter announcing his right to the title of duke would disappear because of the rightful heir’s return, hoping he would understand.

Sebastian read that Lewis and Dorothea had married a few days after his departure. No doubt they had only waited for the archbishop to issue a special license for them. He imagined them happily exploring Somerset Hall together, grateful for Dorothea’s near escape from marriage with Sebastian.

He was happy for them but conscious of being replaced so completely.

He peered out his window, gazing at the dark green dales, rising in steeper, more dramatic forms than the South Downs. They resembled the turmoils of his life. Perhaps the soft rise and fall of the hills neighboring Somerset Hall had lulled him into thinking his problems could be solved easily, that he might imagine a life together with somebody who brought him joy.

He sighed. He needed to resist comparing his life with what could have been. These past months, he had lain in bed for hours each day, breakfasting there, attempting to read, the black and white letters melding together as his thoughts returned over and over to what might have been.

A fire blazed in the library, causing moisture on the window to cloud the view. He stepped up from his leather armchair and wiped the glass with a cloth.

But it was always cold outside, and the view would be fogged again soon.

Somebody knocked on the door. Grayson entered the room, lifting his eyebrows at seeing him. The knock was cursory, not one expected to be answered. “Excuse me, sir. It is nice to find you about.”

Sebastian gave him a strained smile. Last year at this time, he would have been tramping about the grounds with his fishing pole slung over his shoulder, oblivious to the calls of his heart.

Sebastian shook his head. He longed for the ache in his heart to vanish. He wanted to see William again, to know he had not ruined his career.

And his utmost desire was to really be with William, forever.

Sebastian sighed.

“You have a visitor, sir.”

“A visitor?” Sebastian thought of his neighbors, wondering who it could be. Sebastian had had sufficient middle-aged mamas come through his door during his first month back. They had clucked with sympathy about his failed engagement, murmuring about the dreadfulness that his fiancée’s dead fiancé was not dead after all and that he did not even have the title of duke to comfort him. They reminded him that their daughters were still eligible and were unlikely to have a dead fiancé to throw off the wedding.

And so Sebastian began feigning headaches, telling his manservant he was not home to callers, even though the whole neighborhood knew he was home. They would have seen his carriage or his horse if he left. The whole neighborhood knew everything.

“Is it Mrs. Hughes?” Sebastian asked, taking a deep breath. Mrs. Hughes had four unmarried daughters.

“Oh, no, sir,” Grayson said.

Sebastian sighed with relief until another thought occurred to him. “Surely it cannot be Lady Matilda?”

Her ladyship had been blessed with merely one daughter, but she campaigned her merits with vigor. Sebastian suspected her ladyship could not bear the thought of her child moving far from home. Had Sebastian not met William, perhaps he would have agreed it was for the best for them to marry, though the prospect of entering into a constant friendship with her ladyship hardly pleased him.