Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone Sheriff\The Gentleman Rogue\Never Trust a Rebel (59 page)

‘Yes, thank heaven, and I can resume my life.' He gazed out over the wild and neglected garden, thinking it looked as bleak and unwelcoming as the existence he envisaged for himself. For an instant he weakened, needing to explain. ‘I am not free to settle down. I must travel constantly. It is not a life that would suit you, my dear.'

‘What you mean is that it would not suit you to make me a part of it.'

‘If you prefer to phrase it in that way.' He infused a note of boredom into his voice.

‘I am not asking you to l-love me in return—'

Dear heaven, he could not bear much more of this. He turned, bracing himself to face her.

‘Of course not. Absurd.' He kept on, inexorably cutting a chasm between them, too deep to cross. ‘There is no knowing how soon I should be bored with you. There have been many women in my life, Elyse. As Harry's daughter you are very special, of course, but...'

‘But not special enough.'

Dear heaven, if only she knew!

‘I told you once before, my dear, you should never trust a rake.'

She was staring at him, tears coursing down her cheeks and Drew looked away, unable to bear the sadness in her eyes. It reproached him, but not as much as he reproached himself for letting it go this far. He concentrated on brushing the dust from his breeches as he said with studied indifference,

‘Be thankful I left you a virgin. The delight of changing that state is something you can share with your husband.'

Almost before he had finished Elyse gave a low, shuddering sob and fled.

Chapter Eight

D
rew did not move until the sound of her footsteps on the gravel had died away and stillness had fallen over the garden again. He swayed a little and put his good hand against the nearest column to steady himself. His arm was hurting like the devil but it was nothing to the pain he felt inside. With a growl he turned and banged his fist against the column.

‘Oh, Harry why did I let you talk me into this?'

Only silence answered him. He waited a few more minutes and then made his way slowly back to the house. Tomorrow his guardianship would come to an end. He would escort Elyse to Bath and if he judged the viscount to be an honourable man he would put her into his care, if not he would hire a post-chaise and pack her off back to her aunt in Scarborough. Either way he would not see Elyse Salforde again.

* * *

After striding around the gardens while he cleared his head and regained some measure of control, Drew made his way back to the house. As he reached the terrace he heard someone call his name and turned to see Jed hurrying around the side of the house towards him

‘Master Drew, Sir Edward was looking for you, sir. He is in his study and said to send you to him as soon as you could be found.'

‘Very well, Jed. I will go to him directly.'

Drew's spirits sank even lower as he made his way through the house. What was it now? Did his father want to ring another peal over him? Possibly for disturbing his peace last night. Squaring his shoulders he knocked on the study door and went in. Sir Edward was working at his desk but he rose as Drew entered. His brows were knitted and the frowning look in his eyes did not augur well. Drew's nerves, already raw, stretched to breaking point. He said tersely,

‘If you sent for me to enquire how much longer you must endure my company, I told you last night. We leave here in the morning. It was Miss Salforde who insisted we must wait for one more day. If it had been left to me I would have quit Hartcombe by now.'

‘There is nothing wrong with my memory, damn you. I am well aware of your plans. I wanted to see you.' Sir Edward broke off as if startled by his choice of words. He went to the fire and added another log to the flames. ‘There is something I need to tell you.' He straightened and turned back, saying testily, ‘Don't stand there glowering at me, boy, sit down. But before you do you may pour us both a glass of claret. We may need it before this is finished.'

Drew wondered if he had heard these last, mumbled words correctly but he said nothing, merely walked to the sideboard where a decanter and glasses stood in readiness. He filled two glasses and carried them back across the room.

‘Well?'

Drew handed one glass to his father and lowered himself into a chair. For a moment Sir Edward hesitated and half-turned, as if considering returning to his desk. Then with a sigh he sat down opposite Drew, sipping his wine and watching him over the rim of his glass.

‘You have grown a great deal since I last saw you.'

This was so unexpected Drew almost laughed.

‘I was fifteen when I left Hartcombe. A boy. Now I am six-and-twenty.'

‘And just as hot-headed.'

Drew shook off the sudden spurt of irritation.

‘Believe me, sir, I am not the reckless, impetuous youth who left here over ten years ago. That is something else I told you last night. I very much regret what I did.'

‘And I regret that I did not come to fetch you home as soon as I heard the Pretender was in Scotland.'

This admission surprised Drew and he could not think of a suitable reply. Silence fell over the room.

‘It was madness,' said Sir Edward at last, ‘to throw your lot in with the Stuart.'

‘I did not follow him to Paris. I wrote to tell you—'

‘I burned your letters.' Sir Edward interrupted him. ‘Never read them. I gave orders that your name was never to be mentioned again in this house. You were no longer a son of mine. I cut you out of my will.'

‘I was amply punished, then, for my folly.'

Sir Edward continued as if he had not spoken.

‘But I could not remove you from the entail. Now Simon is dead you will inherit Hartcombe when I die.'

‘Ha, much good it will do me, since I cannot return to England under my own name.'

‘That is not true.'

‘Of course it is,' Drew retorted bitterly. ‘Have you forgotten that I am traitor with a price on my head?'

‘I have forgotten nothing!' Sir Edward pushed himself out of his chair and stalked over to the sideboard. He carried the decanter to Drew and refilled his glass before charging his own.

‘She never gave up.' He resumed his seat and wrapped his fingers round his glass, holding it up so that he could stare into the blood-red depths. ‘Your mother. It was the only time she ever disobeyed me. She sold her jewels to hire lawyers to plead for you. Up until her death she wrote to everyone of influence, bought favours, petitioned anyone who might be able to help.'

‘I thought she was seriously ill.'

‘Not then. You were her son and she would not abandon you.' The faded blue eyes flickered over Drew and away again. ‘We never told you or Simon, but your mother had a weak heart. The news from Scotland distressed her, of course, but not as badly as I told you at the time. I wrote to you in anger. I wanted you to suffer, to believe she had collapsed because of your actions, but that was not the case. She was too intent upon obtaining a pardon for you to give in, at least for a long time. She fought hard for you, but it took its toll. By the time the letter arrived, the notice that you had been pardoned, she was dying. I read it out to her and by the end of the day she was dead.'

Drew sat very still.

‘Why did I not hear of this pardon?'

‘I loved her, yet it was only you she cared for.'

‘So you did not tell me.'

The old man bowed his head. Drew watched him, so many emotions rioting inside that it was impossible to make sense of them.

‘You did not tell me,' he said again, his voice deadly quiet. ‘I was pardoned four years ago and you did not tell me. I might have returned to England, taken up my life again. And you let me think her death was my fault.'

‘It
was
your doing. She fought for years, only waiting to know that you were safe, then she released her hold on life.'

Drew frowned. ‘But Mrs Parfitt—Jed—they still think I am in danger.'

‘I told no one. The letter came, I told your mother but no one else. It made her so happy.' His face contorted with pain. ‘How I envied you.'

Drew stared at him

‘You were jealous? Of me?'

The old man dropped his head in his hands.

‘Yes!
Oh, she loved me, too, and Simon, of course, but she showed such devotion to your cause.' Sir Edward slumped a little lower in his chair. He gave a long sigh. ‘Perhaps I should not blame you for that. It might well have been fighting for you that kept her with me for as long as it did.'

‘I am sure she would have done the same for any one of us,' said Drew slowly, his mind going over all he had learned. ‘But why did I not hear of it? There must have been some announcement.'

‘Possibly in London, but I made no effort to publicise your pardon, I put nothing in the local newspaper, hired no crier, posted no bills in the village square. All that mattered to me was the fact that my wife was dead.'

‘But Jenkins, our lawyer, surely he—'

‘Yes, he knew, but I forbade him to write to you. He has instructions not to contact you until I am dead.'

Drew was silent for a long moment. He said at last, ‘You must hate me very much.'

Sir Edward raised his head and for the first time Drew saw the haunting sadness in his eyes.

‘I did at that time. I blamed you for taking her away from me.'

‘I know. You wrote to tell me as much.' Drew held his breath. ‘And now?'

‘Now? I do not know. You are heir to Hartcombe, or what is left of it.'

Silence filled the study. Sir Edward sat up straight in his chair and pushed one hand through the white mane of hair. Slowly he rose and turned to face Drew.

‘If it is not too late,' he said, ‘I want to tell you I regret keeping the truth from you and—to ask if you can forgive me.'

Drew stood up. When he had left Hartcombe ten years ago he had been a head shorter than his father. Now they were of a height and he looked straight into his father's eyes, blue, like his own, but faded by age. He saw no anger in them, only pain, sorrow and anguish. And, underlying all the rest, loneliness.

His own bitterness melted away.

‘Can you forgive
me
, Father, for bringing such hardship to the family? If so, I would like to come home. I would like to help you rebuild Hartcombe.'

Sir Edward's eyes misted. He put out his hand.

‘Come home, and welcome, my boy.'

They gripped hands and moved closer to embrace each other briefly. Drew found his throat constricting. Home. He could return to Hartcombe as its heir, invest the fortune he had made in the estate, perhaps buy back some of the land they had lost.

‘You will need to see the accounts,' said Sir Edward, as if reading his mind. ‘We must sit down together and discuss what needs to be done.'

‘Of course. We will do so as soon as I return from Bath.'

‘Ah yes. Miss Salforde must be delivered to her fiancé.'

Must she? Drew remembered how passionately she had succumbed to his kiss, how right she had felt in his arms. He had hurt her, pushed her away but if he explained that he had been trying to protect her...

‘Delightful lady, Miss Salforde.' Sir Edward was refilling their glasses. ‘She upbraided me for cutting you out, showed me what I was giving up for the sake of stubborn pride.'

Drew looked up. ‘Does she know, then?'

‘That you are pardoned? No, her concern was that we should not lose one another.' The old man smiled. ‘We owe her a great deal.'

Drew nodded. A plan was forming in his mind. Perhaps it was not too late. They must go to Bath, of course, but he could tell her that now there was an alternative, if she found she did not love William Reverson, after all.

* * *

Finishing his wine Drew excused himself and set off in search of Elyse. He went first to her bedchamber, but there was no answer when he knocked on the door. Quickly he ran back down the stairs. Could she still be outside, wandering the grounds, distraught? What a devil he was to cause her such pain, even if he had thought it was right to protect her, to put himself beyond reach. He must find her, quickly, and repair the damage. If he could!

He saw Jed coming in from the garden and asked him if he had seen Miss Salforde in the grounds.

‘No, Master Drew, she be in the kitchen with Mrs Parfitt.'

Drew made his way towards the kitchen. The door was open and light spilled out into the dim passage, along with the sound of voices. And laughter. He stopped and drew back into the shadows. Surely that was Elyse laughing, a clear, joyous sound as if she had not a care in the world.

* * *

The meeting with Drew in the pavilion left Elyse confused and distraught. She fled from his presence, tears streaming down her face. The gardens were so overgrown that everywhere was a wilderness and she had no idea where she was going, merely following any path that was still passable. Eventually she found herself in a small walled enclosure that might once have been a flower garden. It was wildly overgrown but she picked her way to a wooden bench in one corner and sank down to give way to her distress.

Drew had roused such wonderful feelings in her, brought her body alive. It had positively thrummed with passion and, yes, with love. She had come very close to saying
I love you
as he kissed and caressed her, at least until she had become incapable of saying anything or controlling the waves of giddy exhilaration that had rolled over her, leaving her shocked and drained and not a little frightened by the experience.

Then Drew had destroyed the new-found wonder in a stroke.

He had not kissed her out of love, but lust. He had told her so. He was so well practised she had not known the difference and had responded, surrendering herself fully, prepared to give him her heart and her body, but it seemed he wanted neither. And he expected her to thank him for the consideration he had shown in leaving her a maid.

She searched for her handkerchief and mopped her eyes. So this was how it felt to be seduced by a rake. Oh, he might not have completely taken her virtue but he had totally destroyed her happiness. How could she now give herself to any other man?

‘Oh, do not be so
weak
.' She blew her nose defiantly. ‘You still have William and if you go to him a little older and a little wiser, surely that can only be a good thing?'

She remembered Drew's arms drawing her close, his lips on hers, and hungry desire leapt again, tearing at her insides. How could she endure another man's touch now?

Angrily she thrust aside the thought and drew on her pride. She was no milk-and-water miss to sink into a decline. Papa had been an adventurer, loving and leaving her while he went off to pursue his own life. What was it Drew had said of him? He had laughed at adversity. Well, she would do the same. Not laugh, perhaps, but she would not cry any more.

‘You must pull yourself together, Elyse Salforde.' She rose and shook out her heavy skirts, straightened the fichu over her shoulders. ‘You are not the first maid to be seduced by a rake and you will not be the last.'

She made her way to the house and slipped in through the garden entrance. As she passed the kitchen she paused, gazing in through the open door. Mrs Parfitt was sitting at the kitchen table, an array of vegetables spread out before her.

‘Oh, pray do not get up,' said Elyse quickly, when the housekeeper saw her. ‘I have just realised I have not yet broken my fast and—'