Chapter 33
Sebastian felt like he was going to throw up.
Still seated behind his desk, he watched where Helena had just fled as if she were being chased out of the room by rabid dogs. He was holding his stomach and clenching his jaw tight as he fought against the urge to go after her.
It had been a short conversation. It had been brief and to the point. It had also been necessary, finally driving that nail into the coffin that confirmed what this marriage was and where it was going. It had also been the hardest thing he had ever done.
She doesn’t deserve this. She has done nothing wrong. In no way did she trick me. In no way did she lure me with false promises. She was nothing but honest and open, and the chance she took to be that way with me was even harder for her than it was for me. And yet…
His stomach lurched, and he groaned as if in pain.
And yet I hurt her, and for that, I will never forgive myself.
How could the right thing feel so wrong? After all, was that not why Sebastian was doing this?
Now, he wasn’t so sure. To remember the look of utter disgust and hurt on her face as he spurned her just now was to confirm how wretched a human he was. And it was an image that would sit with him forever, haunting him to his grave because he did not deserve respite.
Sebastian shook his mind clear and tried to get back to work.
He picked up his quill, bent over the desk, and attempted to finish the bill he was drafting. That was what mattered. That was why he did this. The children… they needed him.
But doesn’t Helena need me too? How can I so willingly throw her out into the cold as if she does not matter? How can I claim that I want to protect those who need it when I can’t even protect the woman I care for?
Still, his stomach knotted. Still, he felt ill. Still, he could not scrub her from his mind, and the study spun around him so it was all he could do not to collapse into a pitiful heap.
It took little time before he decided that there was no point in working tonight. He stood and strode across the study, pausing because he did not know where to go or what to do.
He wanted to check on Helena. To apologize, perhaps try to soften the blow, if such a thing were possible. But he had to stay strong, for her and the children.
Nonetheless, Sebastian found himself approaching her room soon after. The door was open, and he crept toward it, listening for the sound of tears. Yet he was greeted with silence, and when he peered around the corner, he saw that she was not there.
A few minutes of investigating confirmed that she had left the estate on horseback. Not a single member of staff could say where she went, just that she took a horse and rode into the night.
I should go after her… for her own safety. A woman should not be out riding in the dark. She needs me.
It was impossible for Sebastian to make sense of his feelings.
He knew what he should do, just as he knew what he wanted to do—what he needed to do.
He found himself in the foyer soon after, staring at the spot they had stood not so many nights ago.
When he had confessed his feelings and pulled her into a kiss.
He could still feel that kiss on his lips.
The smile she had worn was seared in his mind.
The laughter she shared with him. How wonderful he felt when he realized that she felt for him what he did for her.
That brief moment where the world started to make sense, and he knew that his life was about to get better.
He groaned and stumbled.
He clutched his stomach, the sickness growing.
The argument that he had done the right thing grew weaker in his subconscious, a pitiful thing that sounded nowhere near as convincing as it once had. He wanted to protect Helena more than anything, but he ended up hurting her. And that, he decided, could not be allowed to stand.
So it was that Sebastian came up with a plan.
In truth, he could not believe he had not considered it sooner. But once the plan struck, he felt a surge of energy sweep his body.
For the first time that evening, he did not feel sick with guilt. Rather, he felt a strength surge inside him because finally, he was doing the right thing.
Sebastian wanted Helena back. He also wanted to protect her. But so long as Mr. Ramsay was in the picture, that was impossible to do. Thus, he needed to take care of Mr. Ramsay in a way that would ensure he could not hurt her or the children ever again.
Yes, a risky move. A damn dangerous one. But it is the only way.
He hurried through the manor, the idea burning hot inside him. He reached his study, snatched a piece of parchment, dipped his quill in ink, and got to penning the letter. And as he worked, he smiled to himself, because he knew he was doing what he should have done days ago.
He just hoped it wasn’t too late.
“He’s late,” Giles said from behind him.
“He’s always late,” Sebastian scoffed. “I think he likes the idea of keeping me waiting.”
“Always? How many times have you done this?”
“Just the once,” Sebastian admitted. “But he was late that one time. And clearly, he is late this time. There is no need to panic.”
“Who is panicking?”
“He will be here,” Sebastian said sharply. “And stop talking. If he walks in, I don’t want him seeing you.”
Giles snorted. “Likely, he will just think you’re speaking to yourself.”
“And that is better how?”
“At least he won’t suspect a trap,” Giles chuckled. “He’ll just assume you’ve lost your mind.”
“Quiet,” Sebastian snapped. “You know what to do, and this isn’t it. Sit still, pay attention, and wait for my signal.”
“As you say,” Giles sighed. “I just hope this works.”
“As do I,” Sebastian agreed. “As do I.”
He was sitting in the same booth in the same tavern where he had met Mr. Ramsay earlier this week.
This time, Sebastian positioned himself such that his back was facing the neighboring booth.
In that booth, directly behind him, sat Giles, his back facing Sebastian so that to an observer, it would appear as if the two men did not know one another. Certainly, they had not come together.
The tavern was not quite as empty as the last time. There were the same drunks peppered across the various tables, heads bowed, drinks in hand, keeping to themselves as they drank away their sorrows. But they weren’t who mattered.
Sebastian scanned the bar, taking note of the five new faces he had brought with him. They were dressed plainly, also with drinks in hand, also appearing to the casual observer as little more than drunks. Only, they were anything but.
He caught the eye of the one closest to him, a large man with dark hair and severe features. He nodded once when he saw Sebastian watching him, indicating that he and his men were ready.
This had better work. Although I can't imagine how it won’t. Mr. Ramsay has dictated terms until now, moving the pieces as he needs them because, in his mind, he has all the power. It’s time I take control of the game and put an end to it once and for all.
It was a brilliant plan, or so Sebastian thought. And so simple was it that he could not believe he hadn’t considered it sooner.
Mr. Ramsay was a problem. But it wasn’t enough to simply tell people what he was doing, to try and smear his name so that his word would hold no sway.
After all, who would believe such things were he to deny them? And even if some did, there would be many others who might consider the truth of his accusations and thus lend credence to the filth he threatened to spew.
If Sebastian were to stop Mr. Ramsay in his tracks, he needed witnesses. He needed proof that Mr. Ramsay was a no-good charlatan whose word could not be trusted. He needed to cut the legs out from under the vile man, crippling his image and putting an end to his schemes once and for all.
Hence, the plan.
“Hang on…”
The door to the tavern opened suddenly, and Sebastian straightened, certain it was Mr. Ramsay. He was already ten minutes late, and despite his assurances that nothing was amiss, Sebastian was starting to grow nervous.
Through the door waddled an overweight urchin who limped toward the bar and fell into a stool. Certainly not Mr. Ramsay.
“Bastard!” Sebastian cursed.
“Not him?” Giles asked over his shoulder.
“Not yet,” Sebastian hissed. “Any moment now. Stay ready.”
It was just last evening when Sebastian sent the letter to Mr. Ramsay, requesting another meeting at once. In the said letter, he claimed that he found new pages written by Helena, revisions of the manuscript that Mr. Ramsay now held.
Knowing how eager Mr. Ramsay was to publish the work, not to mention his insistence that the novel would become the stuff of legend, Sebastian had no doubt the publisher would want these new pages for himself. Thus, he requested this meeting, demanding it be taken care of as soon as possible.
Once that letter was sent, he rode into London and commissioned a meeting with the Bow Street Runners. They were a private police force of high reputation, and when he told them of the blackmail attempts by Mr. Ramsay, they were only too happy to help.
Five of them were sitting across the bar, waiting for Sebastian’s signal to make the arrest. And another five were waiting outside, in case Mr. Ramsay tried to flee.
As to Giles’s involvement? He was to bear witness, as having a fellow lord corroborate the story could only help confirm Sebastian’s claims.
And once Mr. Ramsay was taken care of, Sebastian would explain to Helena why he said the horrible things he had and hope that she forgave him.
She will forgive me. She will see that I did what I did for the right reasons. She will understand, and all of this will be a bad memory.
Sebastian had to believe that. The only problem, as he saw it, was how much he hurt Helena. Since fleeing the estate the previous evening, she had not returned, and he had to assume that she had gone to her parents’ to spend a few days away from him.
She was clearly furious. Clearly heartbroken. But that would change. It had to change.
“Your Grace…” one of the undercover officers whispered to him from across the tavern. “It looks like your boy won’t show up.”
“He will show up,” Sebastian snapped. “And stay in character. If he sees you speaking to me, he will likely turn and run.”
“It doesn’t look good,” Giles agreed. “He’s over ten minutes late now. What if he doesn’t come?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Sebastian argued, his body tense, nerves mounting because he was starting to think the same. “He has no reason not to.”
“Maybe he suspects a trap?”
“No,” Sebastian said. “He is too arrogant for that. He thinks he has won. There is no reason for him not to turn up.”
The minutes dragged on. The tension rose. The undercover officers shifted nervously, and with mounting frustration and boredom. Ten minutes became fifteen, which soon became twenty.
Sebastian stared at the doorway as if he could will Mr. Ramsay to walk through it. Twenty minutes turned to twenty-five, and once they hit the thirty-minute mark, even Sebastian was forced to admit the truth.
For whatever reason, Mr. Ramsay had chosen not to come.
Was it merely a case of bad timing? Or did he suspect what Sebastian was up to? And if he did, what was a man like Mr. Ramsay likely to do?
“I will write to him at once,” Sebastian muttered as he and Giles exited the tavern. “Surely, there is a good reason.”
Sebastian needed to believe it. He had to believe it. For his sake, for Helena’s sake, and for the children’s sake. They were all relying on him, and he could not fail them. He had failed enough already.