Brushed by Scandal (24 page)

‘Why would I do that?’

‘I don’t know.’ Anna wrapped her arms around her chest, as though to stop herself from shattering into a million pieces.

‘You once told me that people lie to protect themselves or someone they care about, but we both know those aren’t the only reasons. People lie to influence others, or to make them feel better about themselves. They lie to inflict hurt.’

‘So you believe I’m deliberately trying to hurt you by lying to you about your father’s relationship to Peregrine Rand?’

Anna shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to do. All I know is that my father is an honourable man. He would never have done something like that. It would have destroyed our mother. And he would
never
bring a child he’d had with another woman to live under the same roof as Edward and me. It would be too painful for all of us.’ Her chin came up. ‘If Peregrine
is
my father’s child, he would have told us. I
know
he would.’

Barrington said nothing. What could he say? She was a daughter defending the father she loved. She trusted him, as she’d trusted her brother, believing that she knew the ways of the world. The ways of love.

Yet she didn’t know how love could twist and warp until it was unrecognisable to anyone who saw it. She didn’t know how it could wound with a single word, or destroy with a single glance. For what was jealousy but love without trust? What was obsession but love without reason?

Hayle was jealous of Rand because he was the product of his father’s love with another woman. Elizabeth Paisley had stolen for the man she loved because she believed it would strengthen their bond and allow them to start a life together. And the earl had lied to his family in an effort to protect them from a devastating truth. He probably
had
been faithful to his wife while he was married to her, but Peregrine was his child by a woman he’d met
before
he married Isabel. Likely before their marriage had even been arranged or the two of them had met.

Sadly, none of that mattered now. Anna was looking at
him as though
he
was the serpent in the Garden of Eden. As though he was the source of all the rumours and lies. There was nothing he could do now but finish his investigation and walk away. Out of the case, out of her life.

‘I will call upon your brother this evening, Lady Annabelle,’ Barrington said quietly.

‘Not at home!’ she gasped.

He shook his head. ‘Lord Hayle spends Thursday nights at his club. I shall speak to him there.’

‘What will you say?’ she asked, not looking at him.

‘That is between your brother and myself. But when the interview is over, I shall send word to your father of the outcome.’

‘And what about me, Barrington?’ Anna said, finally raising her eyes to his face. ‘What would you say to me?’

He stared down at the blotter, knowing there was only one thing he could say. ‘I will say goodbye. Because after what’s happened between us today, I can’t imagine there possibly being anything else appropriate.’

C
ontrary to what he’d told her, Barrington did not find Hayle at his club that evening. He called in at White’s on his way to another society event, only to be informed by the manager that the earl’s son had not yet put in an appearance.

Thanking him, Barrington left and climbed back into his carriage. Where did he go next? There were any number of hells to which Hayle might have gone, but it would take the entire night to investigate them all. Had he gone to see his mistress? Possible, Barrington reflected. And if so, he would have found the house in darkness and Eliza gone. How would he react to such a development? With anger? Or with fear? Would he suspect Eliza of having revealed the part he’d played in the theft of the necklace and realise that information now existed that could connect him to the crime, thereby exonerating his father?

The likelihood of that was even more possible; afraid of what that might mean for Anna, Barrington gave his coachman the direction of Regent’s Park. He intended to keep a close eye on Hayle for the next few days. Anna might like to think her brother was guided by family loyalty, but having
seen what loyalty meant to him, Barrington decided it was best to play it safe. Any man that twisted by jealousy and anger was a danger to anyone he came into contact with—and that
included
his only sister.

* * *

The carriage pulled into the darkened street a short while later. Barrington knew the number of the house, but even from this distance he could see that there were no lights on inside and that neither a private carriage nor a hackney stood outside. If Hayle had paid the house a call, he hadn’t bothered to wait around.

So where was he now—and in what state of mind?

Abruptly, Barrington remembered something Crew had told him during his last visit. As well as providing him with the surprising but very useful information regarding Cambermere and his relationship to Peregrine Rand, Crew had informed him that Hayle had taken to spending time with Lord Andrews. Apparently they were often seen heading in the direction of Andrews’s favourite hangout, a disreputable tavern close to the Thames, down a dark alley most decent men knew better than to travel. A place known to opium users needing a place to hide.

Barrington thumped the roof of his carriage and gave the driver the address. Whatever he was going to say to Hayle had to be said tonight. And if that meant following him into the mouth of hell, that’s what he’d do. But he’d go in prepared. He reached under his seat and pulled out the ebony cane. If he was to take Hayle on in an unfriendly atmosphere, the cane might well save his life. In places like the Cock’s Crown, he was only going to get one chance.

* * *

Anna walked listlessly into the drawing room as the clock on the mantel struck nine. She and Peregrine were expected at Lady Bessmel’s for cards, but the thought of having to
spend an entire evening making light-hearted conversation and acting as though nothing was wrong was far from welcome. She perched on the arm of a high-back chair, only to get restlessly to her feet a few minutes later. She felt cold though the room was warm and even an extra shawl couldn’t banish the chill, nor was it likely to given the source of her distraction.

Was Peregrine truly her half-brother?
Barrington certainly thought so. He would never have made the comment to her otherwise. But the only person who could give her a definitive answer to that question was her father and he had gone out earlier in the day. And even if she knew when he was coming home, would she have the courage to ask him such a question?

How did one go about enquiring if the young man now living with them, a man who had been introduced to them by their father as his godson, was, in fact, their half-brother?

Her father’s bastard.

No. Definitely not the kind of question a daughter asked. Because if Barrington was wrong, her father would be devastated by her questioning of his honesty. Indeed, of his very honour. And if he wasn’t wrong?

Anna closed her eyes, retreating from the thought.

Unfortunately, Barrington didn’t make mistakes. Everything he’d said to her from the moment they’d met had been proven true. What reason had she to doubt him now? His approach to everything he undertook was logical, unemotional and based purely on fact. Sentiment didn’t enter into it, whereas with her,
everything
revolved around emotion. People didn’t make mistakes because they were logical. They made them because they allowed their emotions to get the upper hand. Emotions like anger and jealousy and hate.

Having to listen to such accusations made against the members of her own family was horrible—but having to
agree with them was even more so. It called into question the degree of loyalty she owed her family. A responsibility she’d never questioned until now—and Barrington was the one who was making her question it. Was it any wonder she had no desire to see him again?

Yet she
did
want to see him. Desperately, because he had become the only constant in her life, the one person she could count on. He consumed her every waking thought. Not an hour went by that she didn’t think of him. Not a minute passed that she didn’t remember every exquisite detail of the moments they’d spent together: the heady sensation of his hand caressing her breast; the warmth of his mouth on hers; the incredible eroticism of his body pressed intimately against hers.

But what was all that worth if love and tenderness weren’t present as well? Intimacy without love was the reason men went to prostitutes. Barrington might not be able to deny the strength of the attraction between them, but he was still reluctant to encourage anything more. He used the charges he had laid against the men in her family as proof of the destructive force he brought into her life.

How was she to tell him that she didn’t care about that any more? That all she cared about was loving him and of finding some way of getting him to love her in return?

How on earth did she tell a logical man something so thoroughly illogical?

‘Anna? Are you ready to go?’

She looked up to see Peregrine standing in the doorway—and the sight of him caused her heart to turn over all over again. Peregrine Rand. Country gentleman—or unknown half-brother? It was impossible not to wonder in light of Barrington’s stunning revelations.

And yet though she stared hard at Peregrine, she still couldn’t find the confirmation she was seeking. The
knowledge that he truly was her father’s son by another woman.

‘Anna? Are you all right?’

‘Hmm? Oh, yes, of course.’
Don’t think about it. It won’t help you get through the evening.
‘Are you sure you want to go to Lady Bessmel’s tonight?’

Peregrine’s mouth twisted and, suddenly, there was no mistaking the hesitation in his eye. ‘I’m quite sure I
don’t
wish to go, but I can’t hide in the house for ever. I’ll have to show my face in public at some time.’ He walked into the room, hands thrust into his pockets. ‘If it was only the affair, I could bear it. But knowing that people are whispering about what I reputedly did to your father is a thousand times worse.’

Anna looked at him and saw how deeply he was suffering. The colour had gone from his face and his eyes were shadowed with despair. Even his attire was subdued: his cravat simply tied, his waistcoat plain, his collar points of moderate height.

‘I know you didn’t start the rumour about having found the necklace in Papa’s possession, Per,’ Anna said softly. ‘You wouldn’t have done that to him.’

His laughter had a hard, bitter edge to it. ‘Then you’re one of the few who believes it.’

‘How did you find out what people were saying?’

‘Lord Richard Crew was good enough to inform me.’

Hearing the name of the well-known lady’s man, Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m surprised
he
would be the one to tell you, given his own less-than-sterling reputation. Did he happen to mention whether or not he believed it?’

‘He didn’t say and I didn’t ask,’ Peregrine replied, his expression bleak. ‘Frankly, I didn’t want to know.’

‘Oh, Peregrine,’ Anna said, coming to stand beside him. ‘This really hasn’t been a very good visit for you.’

‘No, it hasn’t, but much of it’s been my own fault,’ Peregrine
said ruefully. ‘Making a fool of myself over Lady Yew wasn’t the best way to start and this has certainly made matters worse. But I can’t believe people would think I would betray your father like that. Yes, I saw the necklace in his wardrobe. We both did. But I would never say so in public. Your father’s been good to me, Anna. He brought me to London and let me live here. He made it easy for me to enter society when my background lends nothing to my being there, and he even forgave me for the débâcle with Lady Yew.’

‘He did?’

‘He said it was the right of every young man to sow his wild oats.’ Peregrine gave her a lopsided grin. ‘I just picked the wrong field in which to sow them.’

In spite of the situation, Anna was actually able to laugh. ‘Yes, well, I suppose everyone must be forgiven one mistake.’

‘Would that it was only one.’ Peregrine said. ‘I wish I was more like you, Anna. I doubt you’ve ever done anything stupid or irresponsible in your life. You would never let yourself be compromised by your feelings.’

‘Oh, Peregrine,’ Anna breathed. ‘I am no more sensible than you when it comes to matters of the heart.’

‘Nonsense. You’re never out of humour. You don’t allow familiarity from gentlemen and you act with moderation at all times.’

Except when in the arms of the man I love
, Anna wanted to tell him.
Waiting for him to say the things I so desperately want to hear…and probably never will.
But all she said was, ‘The young ladies I counsel would think me a poor example if I didn’t follow my own advice. Besides, we both know how destructive unbridled passion can be. Surely it is better to love moderately than to lose oneself completely.’

‘Perhaps, but I would never wish that for you. Or for myself. When I fall in love, I want it to be without reason
or logic. I want to feel light-headed over it,’ Peregrine said. ‘Giddy with the excitement of it all. I want the woman I love to be all I think about—my reason for getting up in the morning and the motivation for everything I do during the day. I want her to be my queen. My Guinevere.’

Anna smiled. ‘You’re a poet and a dreamer, Peregrine, but I have no doubt that you
will
find your Guinevere one day.’

‘And what about you, Anna? Do you think you’ll ever find your Lancelot?’

Anna stood up. She already had…and his name was Barrington Parker. But he was lost to her, the bitter words they’d thrown at one another severing the tenuous connection that existed between them. ‘I doubt it. There just aren’t that many knights in shining armour left.’

* * *

As expected, walking into the Cock’s Crown was like descending into the dungeons of hell. The dimly lit room was thick with smoke, the cloying scent of opium burning the eyes and addling the brain. Pictures both dark and disturbing hung from the walls and there was a sense of desperation and despair about the place.

It took only a moment to locate the figure of Viscount Hayle. Sitting at a table in the corner, he appeared to be well into his cups, though in truth, he was in better shape than many of his companions. Lord Andrews was sprawled out on the table next to him and a younger man Barrington recognised as the heir to a dukedom lay face down on the floor. The humid air was rank with the smell of booze and fear.

Hayle looked up as Barrington approached. His eyes were bloodshot and, in the dim light, his skin had a decidedly greyish tinge. ‘Well, well, if it isn’t the admirable Parker,’ he drawled. ‘A little out of your area, aren’t you?’

‘It’s not one of my favourite haunts,’ Barrington said,
resting his hands on the knob of his ebony cane. ‘But something told me I might find you here.’

‘And why should you wish to
find
me?’ Hayle said, enunciating each word.

‘You and I have business to discuss.’

‘Really? I can’t imagine what manner of business would be so important that you would need seek me out here. As you can see, I am with friends, and friends would resent me speaking to you on matters that do not concern them.’

It was hard to tell if Hayle was foxed or drugged, but either way, Barrington knew it was going to be a difficult conversation. ‘Your friends can listen if they wish, but we
will
have a conversation.’

‘I think not.’ Hayle closed his eyes and rocked back on the legs of his chair. ‘You take yourself far too seriously, Parker. You should learn to relax and enjoy life, as I do.’

‘What, by viewing it through a veil of opium? Thank you, but I prefer reality to hallucinations.’

‘Obviously, you’ve never tried it.’

‘No, but it would no more be my idea of fun than forcing a helpless young woman to do my dirty work, then hold her prisoner for fear of her exposing me,’ Barrington said contemptuously.

Hayle’s eyes opened, the chair slowly righting. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘I think you know. I’m sure the name Elizabeth Paisley rings a bell.’

‘Eliza?’ To Barrington’s surprise, Hayle actually laughed. ‘I’m not holding her prisoner. She came to me willingly. She loves me, don’t you know.’

‘She may believe herself in love with you, but you and I both know it was fear that kept her from running away from you.’

Hayle’s smile slowly disappeared. ‘And I suppose I have
you to thank for her unexpected departure. And for that of my housekeeper?’

Not even the most unholy of tortures would have prompted Barrington to tell Hayle it was his sister who had orchestrated Eliza’s escape. ‘The young lady was too afraid to leave on her own, so it was necessary that I assist her in that regard,’ he said quietly. ‘Once I realised she was the one who’d stolen the baroness’s necklace and given it to you, I had no choice but to speak with her.’

‘Gave the necklace to me? What a bizarre notion. And entirely wrong, of course.’ Hayle unsteadily picked up his glass. ‘My
father
is the thief, Parker. Surely you’ve figured that out by now. The much revered Earl of Cambermere stole the baroness’s necklace and it was none other than his
godson,
Mr Peregrine Rand, who made it known to society. Were you aware that it was Rand who found the necklace amongst my father’s things?’