TWO DAYS OF TEMPTATION: Brothers Mortmain Book 2 Page 8

  “Then why did you come back to me? Why travel all this way to find me?”

  “To say the things I should have said to you long ago. I can’t go through life with the past dragging me down. I need to escape my memories if I’m ever to make a new life for myself. I need to be at peace. That’s why I’m here, Sebastian.”

  And to hear him say he was sorry. But would he?

  His laugh mocked her. “Is that what you were doing in my bed, Hannah? Escaping the past? Do you expect me to believe that?”

  “Yes!”

  “Hannah, I thought you were dead! After the duel with Desmond I lost my sight, and for months I was an invalid. When I came to my senses I sent my father to find you. Your mother told him you were dead.”

  She didn’t want to hear his excuses. She didn’t believe them. “I don’t care. I’ve done what I came for. Now I can leave.”

  “And what about me?”

  She looked at him. “What about you? I thought I might hear you say you regretted what you’d done. But no, all you care about is yourself. Desmond said you were selfish and reckless. He said you and your brothers would all end badly.” She spat the words at him and stepped around him, toward the gate. “And he was right.”

  He must have heard her movement, because he tried to catch her arm. Suddenly she was sick with anger. She wouldn’t listen to him anymore. She wasn’t going to get the apology she’d wanted, but she’d at least unburdened herself at last. Now all that was left was to walk away.

  “It’s over, Sebastian. I’ve done what I came to do and now I am going back to my real life. I will never see you again.”

  She was leaving him. She wouldn’t even listen to him! Sebastian gave a roar of desperate rage. He heard the gate creak and her footsteps running away over the moor. In her slippers! He wrenched off his blindfold. The foggy conditions dimmed the light but it still pierced his eyes like a knife and he held his hands over them with another cry. But despite his disability he had to stop her from leaving.

  Sebastian took away his hands and forced his streaming eyes open.

  He could see the fog-swathed hills and suddenly there, in the foreground, was the dark figure of Hannah. Moving away. With a stumbling run, Sebastian flung open the gate and took off after her.

  “Hannah!” He called out her name over and over but she didn’t stop. He tripped but managed to right himself. “Hannah!” Why wouldn’t she listen? She had to listen, she had to stay...

  The fog was thicker now and soon he couldn’t see her anymore. She’d vanished into the mist like the ghost she was. The tendrils crept over him, smothering him with their clammy fingers and making him blind once again. She was gone and he could not find her.

  In despair Sebastian sank down on the path. Hannah was gone and he was alone. The pain he had felt when he woke in France returned in agonizing waves. The story she’d told, the experiences she’d been through, pummelled at his brain like fists, so hard that he put his arms over his head as if to protect himself from the blows.

  But there was no escaping what she had told him. Their baby had died before it was even born, and she had had to survive in a hostile world alone, all because he had abandoned her. And though he hadn’t intentionally done so, he had been reckless and had failed her. And now she had left him forever.

  Eventually Prentiss found him, sunk down on his knees on the path.

  “Master, you shouldn’t be out here. Come on now, come on,” he muttered, as he led him back to the manor house. Sebastian sent the old servant down to the inn, in the hope Hannah was still there, but when he returned he had only bad news. Hannah had taken the mail coach to London. As she’d told him she would, she had left Youlden Manor and its master far behind her.

  12

  Three months later

  Sebastian looked up as his father entered the library. “Did you find her?”

  The earl threw aside his cane and hat, remaining still with barely contained impatience while a servant removed his cloak. His face was lined and weathered from his years in the East India Company, but he was a fit man for his age. Once the garment was gone and the door closed, he came to join his son in the distinctly masculine room, with its leather chairs and smell of cigar smoke.

  Sebastian had been waiting, as impatient as his father.

  “No,” the earl said, but held up his hand to stop his son’s shout of disappointment. “Her mother died six months ago and the executors of her will have been searching for her as well. She’s the sole heir. Guilt, I suspect. Perhaps regretted sending the poor girl away.”

  “Or there was no one else,” Sebastian said bitterly, remembering what Hannah had told him about her mother.

  The earl sat down. “Family is important. No matter how often children may test a parent’s patience, they are still flesh and blood.”

  Was there a message lurking in there? With a shaking hand Sebastian reached for the decanter and poured them both a tot of brandy. “I appreciate your help in this matter, father.”

  “Do you now? Well, I am glad to see you in London at last. You’re my heir, Sebastian. One day you will be Earl of Mortmain.”

  “One day” seemed very far away. His father was a healthy man, and Sebastian would not be surprised if he outlived his sons just like Louis XIV.

  “I’m glad you have regained your sight, Sebastian.”

  Sebastian managed a smile. “It is something I’ll never take for granted again, Father, I assure you. I still have problems, as you know.”

  “Your vision still blurs?”

  “Only when I’m tired and my head aches. The doctors can’t promise that my sight won’t leave me again in the future. I have to make the best of each day.”

  Which brought him back to the true reason he was here in London.

  “You searched everywhere?”

  The earl lifted his brandy and tossed it back in one movement. “I had to call in a number of favours I was owed. I wish I could present her to you on a platter but I cannot.”

  Sebastian stood up abruptly. “I have to find her.”

  The earl waved a hand. “Sit down. You’ll listen to what I have to say first. No, sit down, Sebastian!”

  The last thing he wanted to do was listen to one of his father’s lectures, but Sebastian felt he owed his father the courtesy of hearing what he had to say. He returned to his chair, gripping the arms until his knuckles went white.

  “I know you were fond of this woman—” the earl began.

  “I was in love with her. I still am.”

  Another dismissive wave. “If you say so. But under the circumstances, she is hardly a suitable wife. She wasn’t suitable two years ago and she’s even less so now. Her mother’s estate isn’t enough to cover repairs to the house, which she allowed to fall down around her. You can’t mean to marry her, Sebastian. However, I would have no argument if you made her your mistress—”

  Sebastian felt his temper rise but he forced himself to be calm. His reckless days were over. He wanted his father to listen to him without prejudice, and to achieve that he needed to behave like a man and not a foolhardy boy. His father must accept, too, that his son was not going to be swayed from his objective.

  “This is my fault. Hannah wouldn’t have found herself in this situation if I hadn’t gone off to fight a duel without telling her. Without making arrangements for her in case I was hurt. I was selfish, so focused on pride that I didn’t even consider her.”

  “You feel guilty. Understandable.”

  “It is more than guilt! I have spent the last two years in hell and when she came back I knew I couldn’t lose her again. I don’t want to go back to the miserable existence I was living. I want to marry her and be with her for the rest of my life. If I can’t...then there’s nothing for it but to return to Youlden Moor.”

  The earl made a disgusted noise. “So this is an ultimatum, is it? What if you find her and she doesn’t want to marry you?”

  Sebastian considered the question. He rem
embered that first night with Hannah, in the chair before the fire, and the way she had clung to him, the way their bodies had moved together as if they were starved. He managed to smile despite his worries.

  “Oh, she will.”

  The earl reached for the decanter and poured himself another brandy. “I take it by your expression that you’re set on this course of action? I’m sorry to upset your apple cart, Sebastian, but what if you never find her? She could be anywhere by now.”

  Sebastian knew he was right but he couldn’t imagine his life without Hannah. He had to find her, and if anyone could then surely it was the man who loved her.

  Suddenly he was back at Youlden Manor and she was by his side, and he heard her voice in his head.

  I draw and paint. Landscapes mostly. I sell them in Matilda Street. I suppose you look down on trade, my lord, but I hope, one day, to escape the life I am currently living.

  “Sebastian?”

  His father’s frowning face swam into view and Sebastian realized he’d been lost in his own thoughts. Matilda Street. He grinned, causing the earl to look even more concerned, but he didn’t care. He’d remembered where Hannah sold her paintings. It was a place to start.

  * * *

  Hannah stood outside the store on Matilda Street and watched as the gallery owner placed her latest watercolour painting in his window. It was a landscape, a misty view of the moors with a black-and-white collie running along a path toward the foreground. Running, she thought, toward Sebastian, although he wasn’t in the painting. Not that she hadn’t committed his face and form to paper—the pile of sketches back in her room at the lodging house attested to that fact, and certainly were not for sale.

  So far she’d sold enough paintings to keep her belly full. But she hadn’t paid her landlord and it was more than likely, if she couldn’t wangle another week out of him, he would ask her to leave. What would happen to her then Hannah preferred not to think about.

  “Why don’t you paint something with a bit more sentiment in it?” Mr Delahunty, the gallery owner, had said just now. “Landscapes are all well and good, but yours are very, eh, solemn. A basket full of kittens, perhaps, for the ladies, or a hunting scene for the gentlemen to hang on their walls.”

  Perhaps it would come to that, Hannah thought with a wry smile, if it meant being able to pay for her lodgings. She turned away from the window and joined the passersby. They all seemed to have somewhere to go and something to do. Once Hannah would have thought longingly of her own future, wishing she had some special event to look forward to.

  And now she did.

  Her hand crept to her belly, hardly more than a swelling yet, and her smile widened, despite the uncertainty it also brought. A gentleman walking past, seeing her beaming face, nearly tripped over his own feet. She giggled, and then she laughed. It didn’t matter that people were staring because she was happy. She was with child, Sebastian’s child, and it was a miracle because the doctor who attended her miscarriage had told her she would never have another.

  What did it matter that she was alone, living from week to week in dingy lodgings, and often sitting up in the light of a candle painting pictures to sell? She was carrying Sebastian’s baby.

  But coming back to London had not been all roses—far from it.

  When Hannah had returned from Youlden Manor, shaking with exhaustion, Mrs. Parsons had not been pleased with her. It seemed that her kindness only extended so far. “I do not employ unreliable servants,” she’d said coldly. “You went off and left me without a word. I am too ill to be without a companion. You cannot expect to get your position back, Hannah. You are owed some wages and I will pay them to you, but collect your belongings. I want you gone by the end of the day.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry. I-I had urgent business.”

  Mrs. Parsons’ gaze was sharp. “With a man I suppose.” And then, when Hannah’s silence gave her away, she shook her head. “I took you in once when you had been abandoned by a gentlemen. I gave you the benefit of the doubt. But twice? I’m afraid I cannot allow you to remain with me after this latest indiscretion.”

  “But it was the same man!” she blurted out.

  The expression on Mrs. Parsons’ face had made it clear that this had only made the situation worse. Hannah had said no more, although the voice in her head was loud and strident: But it was Sebastian! And he isn’t just any man.

  She’d thought that once she’d poured out her heart to him that day on the moor she could begin afresh. How wrong she had been! Instead of putting his memory behind her it was as consuming as ever. She had loved him with all her heart then and she loved him still.

  But at least now she was carrying a part of him with her, a reminder of those two days in his arms. She was determined to bring this baby into the world, and to love and cherish it, for its own sake as well as its father’s.

  For the first time in a long time Hannah had a goal to strive toward.

  13

  There were two Matilda Streets in London, and Sebastian explored them both. The first one had nothing resembling a shop selling paintings along its length, but as soon as he made his way to the second one he spotted the place. The glass window looked out to the cobblestone road and any passing shoppers. After glancing up at the painted sign above— Delahunty Art—he turned his eyes to the watercolour displayed in the window.

  For a moment he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

  Nimrod? The dog was rendered so well he recognized him immediately, and then he saw the moorland and the fog, as he remembered it on the day Hannah left him. There was no doubt in his mind that this was her work.

  Sebastian opened the door and went inside.

  “You’re not the only one to notice that painting,” said Mr. Delahunty in answer to his inquiry, a short stout man with little hair. “The artist is quite popular.”

  Sebastian wanted to demand details immediately but could see that Mr. Delahunty was cautious. He thought it best to play along with him.

  “I wish to commission a painting of my house in Yorkshire. Do you think the artist would consider such an undertaking?”

  “I’m sure she, eh, the artist would.” In his excitement Mr. Delahunty made a slip. “I will speak to her on your behalf, Mr....?”

  “Lord Youlden. The Earl of Mortmain is my father.”

  He could see he had risen in the man’s estimation. “Indeed. Then I will certainly speak to the artist, my lord.”

  “Yes. Unfortunately I am only in London for a day. I wonder if I might trouble you for the artist’s address? I think it would be better if I made my inquiries face to face, Mr. Delahunty.”

  He made a dubious face.

  “Of course, I would be willing to pay a commission to you, for your help in this matter.”

  The man seemed torn between monetary gain and keeping his client’s identity private, but money soon won out. “I have her address here,” he said, and hurried toward his desk.

  A moment later Sebastian left with the scrap of paper in his hand.

  A watery sun had come out but it was enough to make his eyes ache. Although his sight had returned he still had difficulties, and the familiar headache now knocked a warning in his temples. Had he been at home he would lie down and rest, as the doctors had told him he must, but he was on Hannah’s trail and couldn’t stop now.

  The address was part of a rundown set of buildings, with narrow stairs running up to the various floors and cramped rooms within. Hannah’s room was halfway up and he hardly paused before knocking on the door. When no one answered he knocked louder.

  “Hoy!” A man with a beard peered up at him from the landing below. The fellow began to ascend and Sebastian could see by the tattoo on his arm that he had once been a sailor. “What’s all the noise, eh?”

  Sebastian wished he would go away. His headache was worse and he needed to sort out the misunderstandings between Hannah and himself, not explain his actions to a stranger.

  “I wish t
o speak to the occupant,” he said in the authoritative manner he’d inherited from his father.

  The bearded man raised an eyebrow. “She owes me rent. I was on my way to tell her to pay up or get out. Can’t be too soft hearted with these ladies, even if they’ve fallen on hard times. Sob in your shirt, they will, then spend the rent money on a new bonnet.”

  Sebastian leaned against the wall feeling dizzy and trying not to show it. “What does she owe you? I will pay it.”

  “You? Why would you pay her rent, sir, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I do mind. If you must know I am her friend. Now tell me the sum.”

  The man named it, and although Sebastian was fairly certain he had upped it by at least a guinea, he handed over what had been asked for. His head was worse and the landlord eyed him uneasily, as if he thought he might fall down and have to be carried away.

  “You’ve gone awful pale, sir.”

  “I am unwell. I-I need to sit down. Do you think I might wait in the lady’s room for her return?”

  He barely hesitated—Sebastian suspected the fellow was keen to go and spend the money—and took a master key from his pocket to unlock the door. A moment later he was alone in Hannah’s room.

  Through the blurring of his vision and the aching in his head, he could see a bed neatly made, a few sparse pieces of furniture, most of which were covered by painting paraphernalia. A pile of sketches sat on top of a trunk and he reached to pick them up as he sat down on her bed.

  His own face stared back at him, complete with blindfold. Hannah had drawn him and—he shuffled through the sketches—he was clearly a favourite subject. He didn’t know what to make of that but he hoped it meant she was having as much trouble forgetting him as he was her.

  His head throbbed badly, and he let the papers slide to the floor as he lay down with a groan. Hannah’s pillow carried her scent and he felt as though she was there beside him. Sebastian closed his eyes and after a moment he was asleep.