The Secret to Seduction (36 page)

Still, there the church was, and as she rode home from Margo Bunfield’s house with Mr. Croy behind her, she saw Geoffrey in the doorway of it. He began to lift a hand, then seemed to think better of it and dropped it to his side, and the aborted gesture tugged at Sabrina’s guilt.

But she had, she decided, enough room in her bubble of happiness to extend a little of it to Geoffrey. She would visit him.

“We shall stop in at the vicarage, Mr. Croy.”

Mr. Croy touched his cap and nodded.

The first thing she noticed was how terribly thin he’d become. Those striking Gillray bones were more prominent in his face now, his dark eyes more hollowed.

“Sabrina.” He kissed her hand, a courtly gesture no doubt bred into him by the Gillray blood, and one not typically associated with a vicar. “I’ve missed you.”

She could not truthfully say the same, so she merely said, “It’s a pleasure to see you. But, Geoffrey, are you eating well enough? Perhaps you need a wife to fatten you up.” She was teasing, all but giddy with happiness.

And it was all Geoffrey could do to keep from snapping:
Eight thousand pounds would fatten me up, you fool.

He regarded her silently. The unhappiness that had dimmed her light weeks before, that had weakened her resolve so that he could sense imminent triumph, that had very nearly enabled him to convince her to donate her no doubt formidable allowance to his cause and leave the country with him…had become radiance.

She was beautifully, obliviously, fully happy. Geoffrey suddenly knew panic.

“You look very well, Sabrina.” He heard the accusatory tone in his voice.

She blushed. “Things are wonderful, Geoffrey. Rhys is . . .” She paused, as if she was embarrassed to confess the source of her glow.

As if Geoffrey didn’t already know.

“Rhys
is
at La Montagne, then,” Geoffrey said musingly. Though of course he knew his cousin was in.

“Yes, he’s been here for a few weeks now.”

And of course, three weeks ago had been the last time he’d seen her at the vicarage. And if Rhys had stayed in the country—if Rhys had decided to give up
London,
the source of all his pleasures previously—then it was because of Sabrina.

And the blushing, radiant happiness of this girl he’d barely given any thought to was suddenly an affront, and a symbol of everything wretched about Geoffrey’s life. Even this girl, this marriage that Rhys had clearly never wanted and had stumbled into, had turned out brilliantly for him.
Everything
always turned out brilliantly for Rhys.

And the pressures of the secret Geoffrey held and of his fear of ruin and of struggling with his own nature finally imploded.

He turned away from her for a moment, abruptly.

“Geoffrey, is aught amiss?”

Her voice grated. So soft with genuine concern.
Is aught amiss? Every bloody thing is amiss.

He turned slowly back to her, and with cold resolve, began.

“I cherish our friendship, Sabrina. As such, you should know that your happiness is my own.”

“Thank you, Geoffrey.” She sounded tentative. He’d made it sound like the beginning of a story, so she waited.

He continued. “Two young ladies visited the church a few days ago asking to see it, as it reminded them of another church with which they are familiar. They were very fine, these young women, of quality; I’ve seldom seen a finer carriage in these parts. They said they had been to visit La Montagne.”

Sabrina frowned a little, puzzled. “How odd that they would say so! We didn’t have any visitors.”

Geoffrey went on. “Sabrina…I was struck by how much these young ladies…well, they looked very much like you. One of them could have been your twin.”

Sabrina sucked in her breath. “Oh, Geoffrey, you mustn’t tease me in such a way. Could it be true? But why would they say they had visited La Montagne?”

“Perhaps you weren’t in when they visited. Or…perhaps Rhys
chose
not to tell you of the visit.”

Sabrina frowned a little. “Why on earth would he do something like that?”

Geoffrey reached for her hand and gripped it in his, and she gasped, a little startled, jerked away reflexively. He held her tightly.

“Why don’t you ask Rhys, Sabrina. Ask him why he sent these two young ladies away when they came to your home, for that is indeed what he did. Ask him why he never told you they’d been to see him. Ask him how he came by his money so many years ago, and how he managed to restore this fortune, and who gave him the home and money so many years ago, and why.”

The blood left Sabrina’s skin. “Geoffrey…you’re frightening me.” She attempted to tug her hand away from him. Geoffrey continued to hold it fast.

“Ask him . . .” Geoffrey paused. Inhaled deeply, and decided he might as well finish it. “Ask him if he knows who Anna Holt is.”

Sabrina backed a few steps away. Her voice was faint. “But I did ask and . . .”

She trailed off. She gave her head a shake. She was breathing quickly now.

“Ask him, Sabrina, or risk living a lie. I tell you only because your happiness is as my own. I tell you so that
you
may decide what you need to do with your future. Ask him.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

S
ABRINA GALLOPED THE brown mare home, causing Mr. Croy to struggle to keep up with her. She dismounted and threw the reins to him, and all but ran for the house. She found Mrs. Bailey in the kitchen speaking with the cook. They both turned with a start, and made swift curtsies.

“Good afternoon, Lady Rawden. We were discussing whether you might wish to serve fowl or pork for dinner.”

Dinner was the last thing on Sabrina’s mind at the moment. Indeed, at the moment, she suspected she might never eat again.

“Mrs. Bailey, can you tell me: Did two young ladies visit La Montagne recently?”

“Why, yes, Lady Rawden.”

Sabrina’s eyes closed briefly; she prayed, but somehow she knew her prayers would not be answered. “Did they by any chance inquire after me specifically?” She kept her voice light, gave it a lilt. She didn’t want to arouse suspicion in her astute housekeeper.

“Yes, Lady Rawden. That is, Lady Grantham and Mrs. Shaughnessy sought a Miss Sabrina Fairleigh. Lord Rawden told me to tell them that the woman they sought was not at La Montagne.”

Sabrina was numb now. Her fingertips had gone cold.

Such a clever way for Rhys to put it. But then, he was always clever.

“Ah. Very good.” Her own voice came to her as though through a distance.

She remembered his face when she’d shown him the miniature of her mother. How still he’d gone.

She could hardly feel her limbs as she went to find him, and she went slowly. Because she sensed somehow that when she did find him that this precarious happiness she’d known for so short a time would be over.

“Rhys.”

The tone of her voice started a cold prickle of warning against the back of his neck. He looked up from his work and saw Sabrina standing before him.

And the expression she wore was one he’d never before seen on her face. She was very still, her face white and guarded. Her eyes too bright and staring. She was regarding him as if he were a stranger. She was still wearing her pelisse, her mittens, her scarf, and tendrils of hair clung to her temples with perspiration, as if she’d had a hard gallop or a hard run.

So she’d come directly in from Buckstead Heath to him without changing her clothing. Which was his second warning that something was amiss.

And then she moved forward and very gently placed the miniature of her mother in the middle of his desk.

He stared down at it, and suddenly felt as though he were plummeting into a chasm.

“What aren’t you telling me, Rhys? You’d best tell me everything now, because I assure you I will find out on my own, if you do not.”

He stood suddenly, reached out his fingers to touch her arm. “Sabrina . . .”

She backed away a few steps, just out of his reach. “Please, just tell me the truth.”

He could feel that the color had left his own face. His fingertips were cold; his limbs had gone numb.

“Very well, then.” She sounded unnervingly emotionless. “I will ask the questions. Did two women come to visit a few days ago?”

He hesitated. “Yes.” A soft word.

“You knew those women must be my sisters. Lady Grantham and Mrs. Shaughnessy.”

And once he made the admission, he would never be able to unmake it, but he didn’t ever want her to hear him lie outright. “Yes.”

“And you knew when I first showed this to you that the woman in this miniature is Anna Holt. My…my mother.” Her voice faltered over that last word. And he saw the spasm of anger in her face.

He hesitated. “Yes.” His voice still soft. As though to cushion her from the blow of his own betrayal.

“
How
did you know?” She was breathing more quickly now.

He inhaled deeply, seeking strength, breathed out again. “Because I’ve seen her before.”

“But why didn’t you tell me so when I first showed her picture to you? You knew even then. Your face went so…odd. But you didn’t say anything. You
never
said anything.”

Ah, his astute girl. Rhys stared at her, trying to decide what to say. But there was nothing he could say that would make it better.

“Rhys…
why didn’t you tell me?
”

Oh, God. She sounded so frightened.

He took in another long, fortifying breath, exhaled every bit of it. “Sabrina…please sit down and—”

“No.”

She stood before him, spine rigid, her eyes pinning him motionless.

Rhys didn’t know where to begin. He only knew that he must. He was about to tell her a story he had never in his life told a soul. And telling her was his only prayer of making Sabrina understand why he’d done what he’d done . . .

He glanced about the room. Remembering it as it had been just a few minutes ago, when he’d been happier than he’d ever been in his life.

He returned his gaze to his wife’s implacable face.

“I’ve told you before how…well, how, Sabrina, my father lost everything. There was a series of bad investments, and he lost everything. We were so poor. And poor in a way difficult for those born of modest means to understand, because it came with a…a wrenching shame. My father sold off everything that wasn’t entailed, and then he gambled away the earnings from those sales. The only Rawden home not entailed was small, decaying . . .” He looked up at Sabrina.

“We burned furniture for heat,” he said flatly.

She gave her head a rough shake. “Rhys—just tell me what you’ve done.” Her voice was a tight, thin thing.

He took a breath and continued. “When my father broke his neck jumping a horse—while drunk, mind you—it was left to me to care for my mother and sisters. And my mother became…seriously ill. And then my sister. There was no money at all, Sabrina. I was so afraid…things had never been more desperate. And a man came to me and told me…he told me . . .”

Rhys remembered that moment vividly now. He’d prayed as only a boy could pray, promising all manner of rash things to God if only his life didn’t collapse about his ears.

It seemed only the devil had heard his prayers. But by then, he’d no longer cared who answered them, as long as they were answered.

“This man told me simply that he would pay me a sum of money and deed a home in Yorkshire to me, and that I could do whatever I wished with the home—sell it for profit, live in it, rent it to someone else. It would all be very discreet. In exchange, all I had to do . . .” He took a deep breath. “All I had to do was to tell the authorities that I had seen Anna Holt fleeing Richard Lockwood’s town house.”

He’d never said those words aloud to anyone in his entire life, though they had formed the foundation of everything he now had.

“So you knew he’d been…was going to be . . .”

Murdered,
the unspoken word.

“No,” he said quickly. “I didn’t know. But of course…when Richard Lockwood was killed…I knew what had happened. And when it became clear what the consequences would be if I did
not
carry through with my end of the bargain…I carried through with my end of the bargain. My name was never in the papers; because of my title I was never publicized as a witness. But I was such a credible witness, with my title, and my manners, and my family history—as was my uncle, Geoffrey’s father, who was offered the same devil’s bargain—that the authorities became convinced Anna was their culprit. And so they hunted for her.”

Ceaselessly,
he might have added.

Silence. Then:

“Oh.” It was a sound of pure heartbreak from Sabrina.

Rhys carried on, saying the horrible words aloud. “And I was indeed paid. I was indeed given a house, an estate in Yorkshire. And my mother and older sister died, for it was too late to save them, but my other sister lived. And with the money I bought a commission, and I rebuilt the family fortune, and she made a good marriage. And she’s safe and alive today.”