A Passion for Pleasure

chapter Fifteen


There was a regimen to Fairfax’s household. Clara had lived within its boundaries for most of her life, so she knew her father adhered to strict routines and behaviors. Both times she had gone to the Belgravia town house, in the late afternoon, Andrew and his tutor had ostensibly been on an outing to the public garden.

Clara would give herself three days to determine the schedule. She could afford to wait no longer than that. Fairfax might leave London at the end of next week, and if Andrew were once again confined to Manley Park or, God forbid, an institution in Switzerland, Clara knew she could never breach such impenetrable walls.

This was her only chance. The day following Fairfax’s threat, she hired a cab just before tea, making excuses to Sebastian that she needed to run some errands and would prefer to leave him the carriage since she didn’t know when she expected to return.

Not quite a lie, any part of it.

She didn’t dare venture close to Fairfax’s town house and instead instructed the cabdriver to stop at the edge of Belgrave Square Garden. If Andrew and his tutor walked to the park from the town house, they would likely take Chapel Street. Hands knotted together, sweat trickling down her back, Clara waited.

She watched birds pecking at bits of grass. Pedestrians strolled along the pathways. Smoke wafted from a coal fire at the meat-pie stand situated on the corner of the street. The vendor, a man with whom Clara had conversed that morning, caught her eye and gave a short nod.

A humorless laugh lodged in Clara’s throat. The man’s pockets bulged with the small fortune she’d given him in advance for his assistance. Never had she imagined she would be in league with a meat-pie vendor.

A wan-faced girl trudged past the cab, her thin fingers clenched around an open box of ribbons, scraps of fabric, and spools of snarled thread.

A thin stream of sunlight fell onto the box, sparking against the shiny waves of ribbons. On impulse, Clara pushed the door open. “Miss? Miss!”

The girl turned, regarding Clara through weary eyes. “Thread, ma’am?”

“The ribbons.” Clara dug into her pocket for the remainder of the coins. “How much are they?”

“A penny apiece, ma’am.”

“Give me all of them, please.”

The girl’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but she quickly gathered the trailing ribbons. Clara gave the girl several shillings, then closed her hand around the ribbons and shut the cab door. The ribbons slithered between her fingers, bright and shiny. She tucked the spilling mass into her pocket and returned her attention to the window.

Her heart stumbled over itself as a familiar figure rounded the corner.

Not Andrew. Not Fairfax.

Sebastian strode to the cab as if it were his intended destination, his steps long and determined, the breeze ruffling his dark hair beneath his hat. Clara shrank back and tried to dissolve into the shadows, but a spear of sunlight flared against her as Sebastian wrenched open the door.

Their gazes clashed for an instant before the driver shouted down at him.

“I’m her husband,” Sebastian replied curtly, tossing his hat onto the seat. “Leave off and there’s a crown in it for you.”

The driver fell silent. Clara’s fingernails dug into her palms as Sebastian entered the cab and slammed the door behind him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice edged with steel.

“I…I thought to catch a glimpse of Andrew again.”

Sebastian slanted his gaze to the window. “Here?”

“He seems to have a…a scheduled routine. I believe he comes here with his tutor at this time of day if the weather allows.”

Sebastian frowned at her, his wrinkled clothes and messy hair making him appear rough and dangerous in the dim confines of the cab. Clara pressed a hand to her chest to quiet the throb of her heart.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked.

“Followed you.” He folded his arms over his chest, grooves of displeasure bracketing his mouth. “Did you think I would believe your flimsy excuse? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She couldn’t look at him and lie, so Clara stared at the garden, the expanse of grass carpeted with fallen leaves. “I didn’t want to take your carriage in the event my father saw and recognized it.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

“I didn’t want to risk you thinking me a fool for attempting this again.”

“I would never think you a fool.” No softness cushioned the remark, but the words eased some of Clara’s trepidation.

She fought the sudden urge to confide everything to him. A black-edged dream bloomed in her mind—she would tell Sebastian her plan, he would help her, together they would take Andrew and flee far, far away…to the edge of the earth.

They would find a tropical island canopied with a crystal-blue sky, enveloped by water, and abundant with trees bearing ripe fruit and coconuts. A place where sea dragons and monstrous creatures would billow from the sea to protect them forever.

Her very blood ached with the wish that such a dream could come true. And that its fulfillment would not mean the utter destruction of Sebastian’s family.

Clara clenched her teeth. If Sebastian escaped with her—and she knew with a churning mixture of longing and sorrow that, should she confess, he would accept no other course of action—then news of his departure would spread like a virulent infection.

God alone knew what havoc Fairfax would attempt to wreak upon the Earl of Rushton and his family. Powerful though Rushton was, the earl had been crushed by scandal before and might not withstand it again. And if Sebastian left London with Clara under such circumstances—by law, the kidnapping of her son—he could never return.

Just like his mother.

Clara’s resolve steeled. She would protect both her husband and her son or die trying.

There. She straightened, eagerness crackling along her spine as a slender young man approached one of the garden’s pathways. Andrew walked beside him, dressed in a dark blue jacket and short pants, his thick chestnut hair hidden beneath a cap. Both man and boy walked with sedate, measured strides, the tutor turning or gesturing with an occasional remark.

Sebastian leaned forward, as if anticipating Clara might dash heedlessly toward her son again. Though the urge to do so shook her to the bone, Clara dug her fingers into the seat cushion and watched as Andrew and his tutor paused to watch a flock of birds rustle through the hedges.

The tutor appeared to speak for a few minutes, then they continued walking along a different path. Clara didn’t take her eyes from her son until he and the gentleman rounded a corner and disappeared behind a row of trees.

She drew in a shuddering breath and unclamped her fists from the cushion. Sebastian had shifted to sit beside her. Wariness flashed in his expression as he looked from the garden to her.

Clara pulled a faint smile to her mouth. “So. I didn’t lose my reason this time.”

“No one would blame you if you had.” He rapped on the roof and the cab lurched into motion. “When do they leave London?”

“At the end of next week, I believe, though I don’t know if they are returning to Manley Park or leaving for the Continent. My father had planned to stay in London for a fortnight.”

There was still plenty of time for Fairfax to concoct and then present further demands. But not nearly enough time for Clara to construct all the details of her plan, save for the most skeletal framework. Staying with Uncle Granville during the past year had allowed her to save the jointure funds from her marriage to Richard. Clara needed the money now more than ever.

Armed with breath, desperation, and a prayer, two days hence she would intercept Andrew in the garden while the meat-pie vendor diverted the boy’s tutor by whatever means necessary. Clara would hasten Andrew to a cab and speed into the maze of streets before the tutor had a chance to follow or even bear witness to which direction they’d gone.

They would catch the Brighton line at the London Bridge station and take the train to the coast, then procure two tickets to cross the Channel to Dieppe. There, by God’s will, she would be able to purchase tickets on a passenger freighter before Fairfax discovered where they had gone.

And then she and Andrew would sail across the sea to where the vast wilderness of America would enclose them in long, sweeping arms and hide them forever.



Something was wrong. Very wrong. Something even beyond the catastrophic failure of their strategy.

Sebastian watched Clara as she entered the morning room, looking lovely with her hair gleaming in a smooth coil, her dark blue gown sprigged with flowers.

“Good morning.” She smiled at him and took her seat, arranging her skirts on the chair, her back stiff. She lifted her coffee cup to her lips, then set it back on the saucer with a rattle that betrayed the tremble of her hand.

Sebastian’s gaze narrowed. Hovering on the clouded edges of Fairfax’s threats, Clara had been unnaturally brittle since their confrontation with her father, as if she held herself together with only glue and string. Her observation of Andrew the previous day had further diminished her, casting a haunted shadow over her brilliant eyes.

What was she plotting?

The question slithered with unpleasant implications into his mind. He hated the idea that his own wife hadn’t told him the full truth yesterday of her attempt to see her son. Had she thought he’d try to prevent her from doing so?

“What are your plans for the day?” he asked in a conciliatory tone.

“Oh.” She swept a ribbon of hair away from her neck. “A visit to Uncle Granville, perhaps. I’ve been remiss in my duties at the museum, though I don’t imagine Mrs. Fox laments my absence.”

She picked at a muffin, leaving her plate littered with crumbs, then took a delicate swallow of coffee. “Are you going out? Do you have time to leave me at the museum?”

Sebastian nodded. “Will you try to see Andrew again today?”

Clara fumbled again in the movement of setting her cup on the saucer. The cup tipped, spilling a few drops of coffee onto the pristine tablecloth. “Oh! I’m so sorry.”

“Never mind.”

Clara grabbed a napkin and began pressing on the stains. “Silly of me, wasn’t it?”

“Clara, leave it.” With a mutter of irritation, Sebastian pushed his chair back and went to her side. He grasped her wrist to stop her ineffectual wiping. Her skin was cold, her pulse beating rapidly against his fingers.

“Clara.”

She turned to him, a faint wildness darkening her eyes to purple. “I’ll just finish getting ready then.”

“Will you try to see Andrew again today?” Sebastian repeated.

Her throat rippled with a swallow. She lowered her gaze from his and shook her head. “It was foolish of me to go yesterday. I’m afraid Fairfax will learn of my presence, so it’s best if I stay away.”

Sebastian tucked his forefinger beneath her chin and lifted her face. He searched her eyes for signs of deception and found none. He found nothing. A transparent shield permitted the colors of her eyes to gleam as vividly as ever, but it concealed the emotions usually storming in their depths.

He stepped away from her. Irritation flared. “All right, then. I’ll leave you at the museum before my appointment at the bank.”

“Don’t do anything foolish.” A plea threaded her words. “We’ll think of another arrangement, come to different terms.”

And yet they both knew Fairfax would accept no other terms. Clara swallowed. For an instant, fear shone in her expression.

“I don’t know how much time we have left,” she whispered.

Sebastian cupped her face with his left hand and willed her to believe his next words. “I will fix this, Clara. You must trust me.”

“But if we don’t have the resources to contest my father…”

Her words faded as the doorbell chimed to announce his brother’s arrival. Clara stepped away from him and turned to hurry upstairs.

Sebastian watched her go. The resolve that had taken root when he’d first learned of Clara’s dilemma now flourished into something permanent and unyielding.

He strode to the foyer as Giles opened the door to admit Darius.

“I’ve made the arrangements for your meeting with Catherine Leskovna,” Darius said as they entered the drawing room. “The day after tomorrow at the dining room of the Albion Hotel.”

Sebastian sighed. “I should never have agreed to help you find those bloody plans.”

“If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have met Clara,” Darius replied mildly.

Sebastian lifted his head to meet his brother’s keen gaze. It was an odd sentiment coming from a man ruled by his head rather than his heart.

“Neither would I have put the earldom in jeopardy,” he said. “Again.”

Darius shrugged, as if that matter were of no more consequence than a fly in the jam jar. “The earldom is locked tight and secure.”

“For now.”

“Bear in mind that Fairfax has his own sphere, which I’m certain he wishes to keep free of rumor,” Darius said. “A peer who cast his own daughter from his estate and is effectively holding his grandson hostage while battling back creditors and potential foreclosures…imagine what polite society might have to say about such circumstances.”

“I’d tell a reporter to print it in the Morning Post if I thought Andrew would emerge unscathed,” Sebastian said. “As long as Fairfax has the boy, he has the whiphand.”

“You don’t have to print it in the papers to use the threat as leverage,” Darius pointed out. “Who else knows about this?”

“Findlay. Some of it, at any rate. I’ve an appointment at the bank later this morning.”

“I’ll come along,” Darius said. “Fairfax’s weakness is your advantage. He needs money. You have money now. And if you dangle it before him, he might very well stumble over his own feet in his haste to seize it.”

One could hope, Sebastian thought.