Page 76 of His Sinful Touch

“Lilah was right—I was shy. After Papa died, Mama and I spent all our time together in the country. She knew I didn’t like to meet people, that I preferred to sit at home and read. I was like Papa that way—I loved books and learning. She was very protective of me. I imagine most would say she coddled me. And after Mama died and I went to live with the Dearborns, I was happy to be sheltered, away from the world. I didn’t want to make my debut. I didn’t want to go to London. I was timid.”

“Timid? Bashing someone over the head and climbing out a window hardly sound timid.”

She smiled self-deprecatingly. “I was rather frantic at the time. Looking back, I’m amazed I did those things. All my life, I’ve done what everybody wanted. I was obedient and afraid of upsetting anyone. My clothes, for instance. I didn’t like my dresses—they’re too frilly and flouncy. But I wore what Mrs. Dearborn wanted. I couldn’t bear to disappoint her because she was generous, and she wanted so much for me to like them. I felt I would be an absolute ingrate to complain about them. She was very kind to me—they were all kind to me.” She paused. “Or at least I thought they were.”

“I’m sure they did care for you,” Alex said quickly, wanting to banish the sadness in her eyes. “How could they not? But greed overtook them, and it seemed the easy solution—keep you and your money.”

“I suppose.” She gave him a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Anyway, that is the person I was—shy and scared and bookish. But now I look back and think how silly it was to wear clothes I didn’t really like. Why was I so scared I would upset other people? Why did I let other people decide everything for me? I wouldn’t do that now—at least, I think not. But how do I know? How can I be sure which person I really am?”

“Sabrina, you’re the same person inside. There aren’t two Sabrinas. There’s only the one brave and determined woman I know. You were young—it’s not unusual for a young person to be unsure. Ladies are raised to be sweet and compliant and unsure. It’s only natural that you felt grateful to the people who had been kind to you. But when you were faced with a dreadful situation, you responded. When you found out the Dearborns weren’t the people you thought they were, you didn’t crumble. Of course you were scared—who wouldn’t be in that situation? But you overcame your fear. You took control of your life. You did that before you lost your memory, not after. You didn’t change. You simply realized who you were.”

Tears glittered in her eyes, and for an instant he feared he’d wounded her, but he realized she was smiling, as well. She leaned forward and kissed him softly. “Thank you.”

He cupped her face with his hands, and their kiss lingered. He pulled back reluctantly and turned his attention to the table. “Now, I suppose we’d better eat before I forget everything else.”

Her low laugh was like a finger running delicately up his chest, and he wondered how quickly he could get through teatime.

However, before they had finished, a maid brought up the map Alex had requested, and, much as he preferred to spend the rest of the evening in bed with Sabrina, he gave in to duty. Shoving aside the remnants of their repast, he spread the rolled map out on the table, anchoring it all four corners with a sugar pot, creamer and two saucers.

“Now, where exactly is the Dearborns’ house in Wiltshire?”

“It’s north of Salisbury. It’s near the village of Clemstock, though I’m not sure it’s on that map. It’s quite small. Ah, here.” She pointed her finger to a spot on the map. “It’s not far from Lower Dunford.”

Alex’s eyebrows rose. “There are a lot of churches between here and there. I wish I knew why...” He turned to her. “Sabrina, I know it’s painful for you, but anything you could remember about that day might help us find the truth about what happened that night. What’s the last thing you do remember before you awakened at the inn?”

“When Mr. Dearborn locked me in my room.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“HE LOCKED YOU in your room?” Alex’s brows drew together thunderously. “Did he do this frequently? Did he—Did he harm you?”

“No. He never hurt me. He’d never locked me up before this or threatened me. He was always quite pleasant. Even paternal. He didn’t need to be. He just manipulated me. Doing all the things they did for me—it was to make me feel obligated. Dependent on them. Even Mrs. Dearborn buying me those girlish dresses—they wanted me to seem young, to feel young and naive. I was shy, but I can see now that they encouraged that in me. They could have taken me to London. I didn’t have to make my debut or call on many people. I could have just gone to plays and museums and art galleries. Libraries.” Her eyes shone. “All the things you took me to see.”

“But they didn’t encourage you to visit.”

“Just the opposite. They never suggested I go when Peter or Mr. Dearborn traveled to London. The only traveling I did was to my own house in Somerset when Mr. Dearborn went to see if it was being managed properly. And even then, I didn’t always go with them. It was a given that I would stay with Peter’s mother in the country, seeing the same people, doing the same things.”

“You were bored.”

“Yes. Much as I love books, I wanted to do other things. Over the years, I grew less shy. Lilah’s letters about all the things she did...the parties, the dresses, the people, the opera—it all sounded so lively and fun. I wanted to go visit her. Indeed, I would have liked to return to Carmoor to live. But Mr. and Mrs. Dearborn discouraged that. Whenever I wanted to accept one of Lilah’s invitations, they would remind me how much I disliked crowds and meeting new people, how I’d never wanted to go to London before. Mr. Dearborn would say how much he feared I would regret it and would want to come back home right away. And I feared he was right, that I would hate it and I would look foolish to have insisted on going.”

“So you would give in and not go.”

She nodded. “Mrs. Dearborn would worry and fuss, and she has always been so very kind to me. She didn’t like London, but she insisted on accompanying me if I went. A young lady couldn’t make such a journey on her own, and, anyway, I wouldn’t know what to do or where to go. It would have meant burdening her, which I hated to do, when she had been so good to me. I believed they were concerned for me, wanted the best for me. Once or twice I resisted because I wanted so much to see Lilah, to do something different, and those times, he would agree, but then one thing or another happened—some crisis arose on my land and of course he had to go there, and it was unthinkable that I travel to London without his escort. Or it was too cold or hot, and we should wait for better weather. Or Mrs. Dearborn became ill, and we had to delay, until finally the idea just died. I can see now that they purposely made it difficult. That they wanted to keep me there.”

“Where Dearborn could control you. He kept you away from your friend, kept you from making new acquaintances, emphasized every fear or concern you had, painted dire consequences if you left there. Played on your kindness and your regard for Mrs. Dearborn.”

“I was such a fool,” Sabrina said bitterly. “I never questioned anything he did. I never asked to look at his accounting of the money my father left me. Never made a move on my own.”

“You weren’t a fool. You were young, and you’d lost both your parents. He was your guardian, your father’s friend—you’d known him all your life. Of course you trusted him and depended on him. And when you made any attempt to move away from that dependence, he thwarted it. My guess is his main concern was that you might meet someone in London, might fall in love and marry someone other than his son.”

“He was always hopeful that Peter and I would make a match of it. So was Mrs. Dearborn. She would talk about how wonderful it would be, how I was a daughter to her, and when Peter and I married, I would be her daughter in fact. She would tell me romantic tales of other couples who had known each other all their lives and gradually grew into loving one another or suddenly realized that they did. I didn’t say much to dissuade her, I’m afraid. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But I knew I would never marry Peter. He was—He was like a brother or a close cousin. Part of my family. I had no desire to marry him.”

“What about Peter? Did he pursue you?”

“He was attentive whenever he was home. We talked a great deal. Once or twice he seemed to be working around to a proposal, but I managed to wriggle out of it before any damage was done. He never...” She cast a sideways glance at Alex. “He never said the sort of things you have. Or did the things you have. But he could have just been gentlemanly.”

“I’m very glad he’s such a gentleman. Such a foolish gentleman.” He wanted quite badly to pull her up from her chair and kiss her, but he forced himself to stay focused on the issue at hand. “I’m sure Dearborn was getting worried as your birthday approached. You would come into your estate, and he would no longer have any legal hold on you.”