A Passion for Pleasure

chapter Fourteen




Clara descended the cab in front of Fairfax’s town house. The tall buildings concealed the descending sun, and a red-orange light glowed like fire on the horizon. Gas lamps burned, smears of yellow flickering through the smoky glass.

No fear compressed Clara’s body. Not anymore. For two days following her conflict with her father, Clara had battled overwhelming fear as she tried to formulate a plan. Now, weary of being afraid, she had woken that morning with the sharp, new intention to confront her father alone. Sebastian had been gone most of the day, apparently in a lengthy meeting with Mr. Findlay, his brother Alexander’s solicitor. Clara knew she had to resolve matters before her husband set plans into motion that would result in his inevitable ruin.

“Welcome again, Mrs. Hall.” The butler Davies reached to take her cloak.

“Hardly welcome, I’m certain, Davies,” Clara murmured.

His mouth turned down at the corners and a faint sorrow flashed in his eyes before he schooled his expression back to impassivity. After hanging her cloak on a rack, Davies ushered her into the study.

Fairfax sat behind his desk, his fingers pressed to his temple and his features lined with pain.

Clara waited for him to acknowledge her. She held her shoulders stiff and straight, forced emotion from her face, restrained the urge to tremble. Once again, she would prove herself dutiful and obedient, even if the effort killed her. Which seemed likely, given the speed at which her heart was racing.

Fairfax lifted his head. The sly malice that had colored his eyes during their previous meeting had faded, leaving a bleak, hollow look Clara had never seen before.

Momentarily startled, she couldn’t find her voice. Then, as if by the force of the man’s will alone, his look dissolved into hard irritation.

“If you are not here to accede to my wishes and agree to stay away from Andrew for good, then get out,” he said.

Clara could do neither, but she couldn’t very well tell him that. Her spine lengthened as she approached his desk, her skirts rustling softly, her slippers soundless against the carpet.

“I beg you to tell me why Andrew needs a physician. Why you want to send him away.”

Fairfax’s mouth thinned. “I told you. He has suffered prolonged shock over the death of his father. I am doing what is best for him.”

“Will you allow me to accompany him to Switzerland?” Not until the question left her mouth did Clara realize she had even thought of it.

“No.”

“I will go under whatever conditions you impose.” Clara placed her hands flat on the desk and leaned forward, a tremor of urgency threading her bones. She pushed aside thoughts of Sebastian, ignored the ache building around her heart.

“Andrew needs a mother,” she said. “I regret that my behavior forced you to cast me out when you did. I will no longer disrespect your upbringing of my son. I will obey your rules. No one will say an unkind word against me, for they will never again see such a dutiful and loyal daughter. All I ask is to be near my son again.”

“Why should I allow you to be anywhere near him after what you have done?”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t.” Clara struggled against a wave of cold. “But I beg you to give me another chance. Imagine what people will say. How kind Lord Fairfax is to shelter his aggrieved daughter and reunite her with her son. Look at what care he bestows upon her and her son following Mr. Winter’s tragic death.”

Fairfax studied her for a moment from beneath hooded lids. “The death for which you were responsible.”

She shook her head, unable to voice the denials that had boiled inside her for so long. She jerked back when her father slammed a big hand onto the desk, the resounding crash vibrating up her arms.

“Foolish girl,” Fairfax snapped, pressing his fingers against his temple again. “You think you are worth what your useless husband can beg from his father? You think I would take you over an earl’s fortune?”

No. She hadn’t thought that for one second. But she was desperate enough to attempt anything. The black pit of hopelessness inside her widened, threatening to pull her into its endless depths.

No. No. No.

“Sebastian won’t just give you a fortune, you bastard,” Clara hissed, anger exploding like a cannon inside her head. “Not without Andrew in return.”

“You will never have Andrew again.”

“And you will rot in hell.”

“Get out, Clara,” Fairfax said, his expression hardening to stone. “And mark my words. Should you interfere again, I will not hesitate to tell people exactly what kind of woman the Earl of Rushton’s son married.”

Shock filled Clara’s throat. In her desperation, she had not foreseen the danger of such a threat. Unable to counter it, she turned and fled, the door banging shut behind her.

Run.

The command pulsed like a heartbeat through her brain as she hurried into the safety of the carriage. She stared at her father’s town house as the carriage rolled away from the building’s thin, narrow reach.

Although no shadows blurred the windows, Clara sensed Fairfax watching her retreat with the grim satisfaction of a general driving back enemy forces. There would be no compromise.

Run.

No other solution took shape beneath the windstorms whipping against the walls of her heart and soul. She had to seize her son and flee as if the hounds of hell would tear after them. She had to rescue them all from the quicksand of Fairfax’s power or the man would choke the very breath from their throats.

A strange, brittle calm settled into her bones as she entered the Mount Street town house and allowed a maid to take her cloak. The door to Sebastian’s study sat half-open, his deep voice, laced with urgency, rolling into the foyer. Clara paused just outside the door.

Another male voice joined Sebastian’s. Clara recognized it as belonging to Mr. Findlay, who had been drawing up the ineffectual contracts.

Tension gripped her shoulders when she realized the two men were discussing Sebastian’s finances and the possibility of liquidating several assets, selling stocks, and draining a fund he had established to provide music scholarships to worthy students.

Clara closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cold wall.

What had she done?

In her desperation to have Andrew back, she had dragged Sebastian into a situation so tangled and fraught with peril that even the hope of escape was frail at best.

Clara pushed away from the wall and tried to draw air into her constricted chest.

She had to leave her husband. If she managed to seize Andrew and run away, Fairfax might turn his attention toward pursuing them and leave Sebastian alone.

Dear God, let him leave Sebastian alone. She could break the tenuous prayer with a breath, so thin and slight were its chances of being answered, but Clara had nothing else. She would succeed in this rash, dangerous escape for no other reason than to save her son and protect the man she loved beyond measure.

She pressed her hands to her eyes and allowed the strong, lovely pleasure of that admission to ease her simmering agony. Leaving the flow of conversation behind her, she went to her bedchamber and sat at the secretary.

A plan. She needed to sever her emotions and employ every particle of intellect and cunning she possessed in order to implement a plan. She dipped a pen into the inkwell and began to write.

She would defeat Fairfax. She had to defeat Fairfax, even if no one had ever done so before.