The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London 3)
“Oh, he was so kind to me, Fabian. We talked for hours about music and poetry. There are not many men who value a lady’s opinion.”
He sipped his brandy, all the while watching her over the rim of his glass.
“Obviously, he stole a kiss whenever the opportunity arose. But one night, he asked me to meet him in the summerhouse at the bottom of the garden. He said he needed a commitment from me, a token gesture to cement our alliance.”
Fabian gritted his teeth. “What you speak of is a common ploy of a seducer.”
“Indeed.” Oh, what a naive fool she’d been. It pained her to think of it now.
“I trust Vane knew nothing of the lord’s plans.”
“No, not at the time.” She sighed. “And I’m sure I don’t need to explain what happened.” She’d been out of her depth, floundering in uncharted waters. When one swam with sharks, one rarely surfaced unscathed. “The next day Lord Martin broke our engagement and boarded the first ship to France.”
Fabian’s countenance darkened. “And so Vane chased him all the way to Italy and put a ball in his chest. One can hardly blame him.”
“No. Well … yes. We followed him. Oh, Vane wanted to string him up from the nearest bough, wanted to put a ball between his brows. But I begged him to show clemency. They fought a duel. Lord Martin fired and missed and so Vane shot him in the leg.”
Fabian straightened. “One rarely dies from a leg wound.”
“Lord Martin died from a fever, as a result of the wound.”
“Vane was too accommodating.”
She’d wanted to see Lord Martin suffer, too. Nonetheless, she could not let Vane kill a man for her mistake.
“We stayed in Italy for obvious reasons.” This was the part she needed to say quickly. “Vane rented a house overlooking the bay in Naples. A pretty place with an abundance of lemon trees. Charlotte was born. She was two months old when she passed peacefully in her sleep. We stayed for some time afterwards, but Vane wanted to come home.”
In truth, she had found it hard to leave. She bent her head and kissed the locket. It was a silly gesture that eased her pain.
Fabian sat motionless in the chair. His intense, unblinking stare unnerved her. “If Lord Martin were alive, I would gut him like a pig and trail his innards around Berkeley Square.”
“Then I’m thankful he is not. The stench from the river is bad enough.”
A heavy silence hung in the air.
“I need another drink.” Fabian stood, refilled his glass and returned to his seat. “The question is what does Lord Cornell have to do with it all?”
This was where she really had been a blind fool.
“Someone bribed Lord Martin to ruin me,” she said coldly. “Apparently, someone tricked him into gambling away his home and fortune. In return for blackening my name, all vowels were destroyed.”
“But why would someone do that?”
“To hurt my brother. I’m afraid Vane’s love for me is his only weakness.” She gestured to the room. “A fact you have also used to your advantage.”
He flopped back in the chair, almost spilling his brandy. A haunted look marred his handsome countenance. “Do not compare me to those men.”
She hadn’t meant to, but when one behaved selfishly, one had to be held to account. “I am merely demonstrating that I am Vane’s Achilles heel. In that respect, he will always be vulnerable.”
The glow of the fire’s flames went some way to banishing the sudden chill in the air. Fabian stared at the amber liquid in the glass, swirled it around and watched it settle. Eventually, he looked at her.
“There is one vast difference.” The words were slow and measured. “Lord Martin cared nothing for you, that much is clear.”
“And you do?” She could not keep the cynical edge from her tone.
Fabian drained the glass and stood. He offered her his hand. “Come, the hour is late, and you’ve had a tiring day. You need sleep. We will discuss Lord Cornell’s involvement once we have more facts.”
Lillian gripped his fingers and came to her feet. “I cannot drink this.” She offered him the glass. He took it and finished what remained before placing the empty vessels on the side table.