Her senses evaded her. She heard white flames, and she saw his hand in her mind, touching her core, caressing what she perceived would be the center of her being.
For how long, she did not know. But she flew, she gave herself over to the sky, and then, in one glorifying rush of satiation, drifted back to the ground.
His fingers remained inside of her, but his hand had stilled. He’ rested his face on one elbow as he gazed down at her, an expression of awe on his face.
“You made me fly.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“You were meant to fly.”
She couldn’t endure the intensity of his gaze. Especially now, in this weakened state that he had caused. She closed her eyes and allowed her bones to melt into the ground, not even a little self-conscious that her breasts were bared in the daylight and that he was watching her.
“I’m not certain I can walk home now,” she mumbled after a few minutes. “You are… quite good at that.”
When she opened her eyes, he was shaking his head. “Not me. It is all you, Maggie.” He withdrew his hand slowly, and she had the oddest urge to cry.
But then he rested beside her. “You cannot marry him.” His words surprised her. They were not pleading or demanding, just a matter of fact.
He was right. Of course, he was right.
But that meant that she was going to be alone. Because this young man beside her had dreams that he must chase. Adventures to embark upon.
It made her feel sad but happy for him at the same time. He had his entire life ahead of him.
She, on the other hand… could not marry George Kirkley. She could not marry him because she did not love him, and she never would. And also, because she did not want him.
And because he was Sebastian’s uncle. That would be, oh, so very wrong.
And if she was not going to marry George, that meant she must put off the opportunity to become a mother. She must put off the opportunity to have a family of her own. She would put her dreams off, indefinitely, possibly forever.
She pinched her eyes together tightly. It hurt. Letting go of a dream.
It hurt.
“I told him that I would consider returning with him to London, when the party is over.”
“But you won’t.”
She opened her eyes to look at him. He wasn’t smiling and if she didn’t know better, she would imagine that he was falling in love with her. She wished...
What did she wish? That this man beside her wanted the same things she did. That he was a few years older and she was a few years younger and that he didn’t need to sail to another world?
Oh, but no. His dreams were part of what made him such a beautiful creature.
Margaret had not said she was going to break it off with George, but she would not marry his uncle. Sebastian had seen it in her eyes. He felt relief at that but also considerable physical discomfort as they walked together toward the manor. He could not remember any other time when he had ever wanted, so badly, to make love to a woman.
Except perhaps the night she’d come to his chamber.
But now…
He liked her. He wanted to make her smile, make her laugh. He knew some of what made her sad. By God, he’d watched her create a magnificent painting as she’d stood at the edge of a cliff.
And good God in heaven, she’d come apart in his arms.
He’d watched her relinquish all control, quite literally, at the touch of his hand. Her lips had parted, allowing soft gasps and moans to escape unchecked, her face had flushed, as well as her neck and breasts.
Breasts that were full and plump with the perfect pink tips. He licked his lips, imagining again what each had felt like in his mouth. She’d arched toward him when he’d grazed her with his teeth. And after…
Sebastian had very nearly broken his most basic of rules and taken her there, that very moment—without a French Letter.
She’d been quiet since he’d removed his hand from her, for the most part. They had simply lain together in the grass until twilight became all too apparent with the darkening sky and the cooler temperature. She had cuddled with him, for a few moments, and then suggested that they ought to return before it became dark, but he hadn’t immediately made any move to go.
“What are you thinking?” He’d never in his life asked a woman this question, and yet as he lay watching her, he wanted to know.
“I should be sorry,” she answered, meeting his gaze. “But I am not.”
He was glad. Her features softened, and her eyes shifted back to stare up at the sky. He wanted to make love to her properly. And he would. He touched the side of her cheek.
“Are you ever afraid?” She turned her head and asked, “Of the unknown? Of leaving England? Of what you will find? Of being on a small ship, in the middle of the ocean?”
He laughed at all the scenarios she’d listed. “A little. I don’t think about that.”
She stared back at him searchingly. “I am a little afraid of you—of this.”
“This is good.” He thought he understood. His attraction to her was a powerful one, unlike anything he’d ever known. “But perhaps a little like floating in the middle of an ocean.”
She nodded, looking far too serious. “Yes.”
Sebastian leaned forward and touched his lips softly to hers. “Try not to think about it.” He murmured, and then reluctantly sat up. But she would.
Because he was coming to know her, and he was almost certain she’d do just the opposite. “Don’t think, Maggie.” He assisted her to her feet, and they took turns brushing the grass and debris off one another’s clothes.
“I’m quite sure I don’t know how to do that. There is too much…” Her voice trailed off.
It seemed obvious to him, though.
“You will tell him tonight?” He wanted her reassurance. George would find some other lady. Some other wealthy widow, perhaps one who was closer to him in age. He was a handsome and respected gentleman of the ton and his connections could hardly be any better, what with his sister having married a duke.
“I will speak with him tomorrow.” She sighed. He’d drawn her hand through his arm as they walked, and she’d not resisted. “I hope he is not very angry… but I… cannot.”
“You care for him? Do you love him?” The possibility, strange as it might seem, just then came over him.
She didn’t answer right away. She waited for so long, in fact, that he wondered if she was going to answer at all. “I care for him, but I could not do this… I could not allow you to… If I loved him.”
But it was not really an answer. “Why then? Why were you going to marry him?” Had she simply been lonely since her husband’s passing? She possessed her own home; she was independent. If all she’d wanted was sexual fulfillment, he was more than willing to oblige.
“Each October…” She squeezed his arm beneath her hand. “A rather unfortunate series of anniversaries come to pass.”
“Your birthday,” he prompted, realizing that she was going to explain her non-answer.
“Yes.” She exhaled loudly. “Lawrence was ill for a long time. He was very ill, bedridden, for several months. He passed on the day I turned six and twenty.”
“Ah...” And yet her sister-in-law and brother had expected her to be celebratory. Margaret had been a good sport about it. She’d laughed and smiled and done her best to encourage frivolity.
“No. I told Penelope this, but she and Hugh have been trying to encourage me to be… happier, I suppose. She is a person who, when she wants something, simply takes it. Not in a bad way, but my brother’s wife is very driven. She always has been. She believes that if a person simply acts as though they are happy, they will become happy. And it is partially true. But…”
“You had no choice but to go along with all of it.”
“No.”
But she had told him that October brought a series of unfortunate anniversaries. “What else?” he prompted her again. She was trying to explain so
mething to him, and the manor was coming into sight.
“I told you that I was born a twin.” Again, she surprised him with what seemed to be a non-answer. So, he simply waited.
“Andrew was much smaller than I was, but he would have been my father’s heir. He passed one week after we were born, on the twenty-first. The physician said that he had not developed properly. My mother told me once that my birthday was bittersweet for her. At the time, I didn’t really understand, but I do now. One week after Lawrence died, I lost our child.”
Sebastian swallowed hard. Four years ago, both her husband and her baby had died. But she had lived.
“My mother was with me at Glynde Place through it all and she kept me from losing myself. She refused to allow me to wallow. I don’t know what I would have done without her.” She turned to look at him, and he caught her grimace. “I am not telling you all of this to have your pity. It is because of your question. Why did I want to marry your uncle? Because I want to have a baby—or a chance at one, anyhow.”
Sebastian inhaled a deep breath. He’d assumed this was part of her motivation but not that it had been most of it. Ah, and George had mentioned it to him today as well.
He had touched her intimately. She was thirty years old. George could very likely give her exactly what she wanted. She was an intelligent woman. She would know that all of her wealth would become the property of her husband. Had it been a trade she’d been willing to make?
Because he could not give her what she wanted: a child—a family.
“Have I ruined all of it for you?”
But she was shaking her head. “No… Yes… Maybe.” She gave a rueful laugh. “I’ll admit that I viewed him differently after… After the night you arrived. But there is more to it than that.” She looked away from him.
He was not going to father another child. Ever. If she had expectations of him, she would only be disappointed. “Margaret, I—”
She laughed, a brittle sound. “I do not expect a proposal of marriage so dismiss the panic that has beset you.” She slid her hand out of his arm. They had arrived at the manor and she seemed suddenly anxious to be away from him.
“Thank you.” She turned. “For caring to see that I was not in any danger—although I really was not—walking on my brother’s property. I expect I shall see you later this evening.”
“Margaret. Maggie, I—”
“Thank you, Sebastian.” And with that, she strode purposely away from him.
Sebastian wished there was something nearby that he could punch aside from a stone pedestal. She had no expectations of him. The knowledge ought to please him but instead, it irked him. He’d thought she needed saving. Was he the villain in all of this, after all?
He picked up a stone and threw it into the distance. Surely, he wasn’t jealous of George. Of course, he was not. He picked up another stone and threw it even farther.
“Are you coming in, My Lord?” Milton was holding the door at the top of the steps for him. “Dinner will be served within the hour.”
15
Where, Indeed!
“Which gown would you prefer to wear this evening? The forest silk? I’ve also laid out the violet taffeta.” Esther returned from the dressing room carrying evening gowns that held zero appeal.
Margaret did not want to make herself presentable for the evening’s entertainment. Nor did she wish to sit down for a long drawn out evening meal or make inane conversation. On any other occasion, she was more than happy to listen to Mrs. Spencer’s plans for redecorating her parlor or the cloak Miss Drake was having made up for the holidays. But on this particular evening, she dreaded it.
She must speak to George.
She didn’t quite know what to do about Sebastian.
He had been all that was affable and considerate—affectionate, even— until she’d expressed her deepest desire. The moment he realized that she wanted, more than anything else, to have a family… His expression might haunt her for years to come. Because he had been horrified. Fear had entered those normally laughing eyes of his.
And she had known. Of course, she had known that he did not see her that way or that he had any desire whatsoever to attach himself to any one woman permanently. She was a dalliance, nothing more. And they were friends.
Friends!
“Your ring, you were able to remove it!” Esther exclaimed. Margaret glanced down at her finger and pictured it with a ribbon spiraling the length of it, masculine hands carefully unwinding the silk in a way that removed the ring painlessly.
At least her finger was free now, even if she herself, had not broken the engagement off.
And then she blinked rapidly. What had she done with it? The ring!
She’d retrieved her bonnet from the ground—after—but nothing more. Had Sebastian put it into his pocket after he’d removed it from her hand? He must have.
“Forest or the violet, My Lady?”
“Excuse me?”
“Which gown would you prefer?” Esther held one in each hand. It didn’t matter. The color of her gown, dear God! Where was the ring?
“The violet,” she mumbled. She needed to speak with Sebastian. She needed to get the ring back. If he had it, that was. How could she break her engagement if she couldn’t give back the ring? It was a family heirloom. Black crept around the edges of her vision.
She needed to find Sebastian and speak with him!
“And gloves.” She would wear her gloves all evening long. Dear lord, he had to have it. Surely, they hadn’t left it sitting in the grass?
Margaret resisted Esther’s fussing, insisting on a simple chignon and then put on her slippers and left her chamber hastily. No way could she sit having her hair pinned and curled all the while not knowing if the ring was safe or not!
Sebastian was not in the withdrawing room having drinks and socializing nor did he appear for dinner either. Margaret wanted to strangle him but also would have likely kissed him if he would only appear and hand over the ring.
Where was he tonight? Of all nights?
She could hardly concentrate on the conversation around her.
And naturally, George had turned out to be particularly attentive this evening. He’d sat beside her throughout the meal, asking her about her likes and discussing a particular opera performance he thought she might enjoy and had not left her side once the men rejoined the women after taking their port.
“I’m eagerly anticipating escorting a wife about town next spring. I shall be the envy of London, the luckiest of men.” And he did not keep the respectable distance between them that he had before. In fact, he sat on the settee directly beside her, his thigh touching hers.
Margaret could hardly think straight. The diamond had been larger than any stone she’d ever owned, not to mention the rubies that surrounded it. She would not be able to relax until she knew Sebastian had it in his possession.
She managed a smile. “Indeed.” He was watching her curiously, anxiously almost. This afternoon, he had asked her to return to London with him rather than remain at Land’s End for the holidays. Would he be so inclined even if she did not break off their betrothal, if she were to tell him that she’d lost his ancestor’s ring?
It was no wonder she’d forgotten all about it. After Sebastian had lain beside her, his hand… Dear Lord. She could hardly keep herself from dashing from the room to go in search of it.
She forced herself to steady her breathing and focus on George. “Your nephew, it seems, has disappointed all the young misses with his absence this evening. I do hope he has not taken ill?” Margaret sipped from the glass of madeira George had brought to her and did her best to sound as though she cared not at all what his roguish nephew was up to.
“He went into the village, I believe. I think all of this is rather dull for a boy such as my nephew.” George laughed and then reached into his jacket and pulled out a small leather packet along with his handkerchief. He quickly stuffed it back into the coat and frowned. “I mus
t have left my snuff in my chamber.”
The village? Why did young men visit unsophisticated villages if not to find entertainment at the local tavern? Of course, he’d only satisfied her that afternoon. Margaret was not so naïve as to have not realized that he might have been left wanting.
His heart sank. She was not this person, was she?
She’d heard of some ladies of the ton who had entered into relationships with younger men. After providing their husbands with heirs, they were quite free to pursue their own entertainment, so long as they acted discreetly.
Was that what Sebastian thought she was doing? But he’d told her she ought not to marry George.
Which she didn’t intend to do… if she could only get her hands on that dratted ring!
“Would you mind, my dear, if I joined a few of the other gentlemen outside to take a puff or two?” He held a cigar between his fingertips.
Margaret shook her head vaguely. Why did George suddenly have the urge that they should live in one another’s pockets? Did he think that it was what she expected?
She stared out the terrace door and watched as George, Lord Riverton, and a few other gentlemen stood outside in the dark, breathing in the foul tobacco smoke.
What had happened to make George change his behavior so suddenly? Margaret raised a shaking hand to her forehead. All of these unanswered questions had set her head pounding. Likely she was being paranoid, but his inconsistencies, if nothing else, ought to have given her pause.
Penelope chose that moment to drop onto the settee beside her. “You seem preoccupied this evening,” she said and then leaned in closer to whisper, “Is it because you are going to break things off with Mr. Kirkley?”
Margaret frowned at her sister-in-law.
“Hugh told me that you might.” Penelope flicked her emerald gaze toward the terrace, quite unapologetic.
It was no use trying to keep secrets from either Hugh or Penelope. They might as well be sharing the same brain.
“I need to—” Margaret bit her lip. “I admit to having a few… qualms.”
Lady and the Rake (Lord Love a Lady Book 6) Page 14