Mary was wrong. He couldn’t begin with the present and move forward. He had to first conquer the past.
He’d let her win. Mary was fairly sure of it as she arrived at the blackened abbey ruins only a few gallops ahead of Sebastian. Time had taken its toll on the abbey. Weeds had reclaimed much of it. Two of the walls were so worn that one could easily step over them. She suspected farmers or villagers had taken off with some of the bricks and stone.
“I should have known you’d come here,” Sebastian said as he brought his horse up beside hers.
“I would like to walk around for a bit.”
After dismounting, he assisted her from her horse and tethered both beasts to a low-lying bush. He offered her his arm, and they strolled slowly around the remains of the medieval structure. They stepped over a low outer wall. Most of the ceiling and roof were gone. It had been a tall structure, as though it had once housed giants. “That first night at the ball, when you made your grand entrance back into Society, you mentioned that Rafe knew the dark side of London. When I was caring for you, it became quite obvious that he doesn’t live at Easton House. What does he do?”
Walking away from her, he skirted the edges of what might have been the sanctuary and stopped at a window that looked out over the hills. All that remained was the frame. Above it was nothing except sky. He sighed deeply. “You mustn’t tell anyone.”
“I’m not going to gossip about my family.”
He glanced back at her, and she could tell he was surprised by her words. She was astonished that he was. “You’re my family now,” she said by way of explanation. “You, Rafe, Tristan.”
“My apologies, Mary. Even if we were not married, I know you’d not gossip about us.” He removed his hat, turned it in his hands as though he needed to concentrate on something besides the words he’d speak. “He owns a den of vice.”
She heard the displeasure in his voice. Not that she blamed him. “You mean like gambling.”
“Among other things.”
“Well, surely now that you’ve reclaimed your title, he’ll give it up.”
“He says not.”
“And you’re not happy about that.”
“Of course I’m not happy about it. But as I left him twelve years ago, he has decided it is a bit late for me to care about what he does with his life now.”
“Where did you leave him?”
He crushed his hat, straightened it. “At a workhouse. I knew Uncle wouldn’t look for him there.”
“From a workhouse to a den of vice? Rather odd going. How did that come about?”
“I don’t know. Somehow he ended up on the London streets. Maybe he ran away. He survived. I don’t know the particulars. He won’t talk to me about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
He released a brittle laugh. “It’s not your fault. If not for you, we’d all be dead.”
She crossed over to him, studied the strong lines of his face. She realized it was far more than the scars that had changed his features. It was remorse, regrets, burdens. She touched his jaw. “You did what you had to do. And what courage it took.”
“There was nothing brave about it. I was terrified.”
“Isn’t that what courage is? Doing something even when you’re frightened?”
He studied her for a moment. “I was frightened the day you kissed me here. Do you remember it?”
She welcomed the change of subject. She had hoped that coming here would remind him of better times. “My first kiss. I’m not likely to forget.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Because I saw you kissing the silly milkmaid.”
His eye widened and he laughed. It wasn’t a large laugh, but neither was it bitter or harsh. It filled her with hope that more laughter awaited them. He shook his head. “I never kissed a milkmaid.”
“Yes, you did. I saw you.”
