Always Yours

by Cheryl Holt

  Yet if that was his opinion, what was he thinking?

  He had no idea. He was simply anxious to be with her again. She was unique and exceptional—like a white rose in a vase of red ones—and she had something he was desperate to receive from her. He wouldn’t stop pestering her until he ascertained what it was.

  It was late, probably close to eleven. She’d likely be in bed, and he suffered a rush of alarm at how delighted he was by the prospect. He went to the front door, and he didn’t bother to knock. Why should he? Hero’s Haven belonged to him. He could enter unannounced if he chose.

  Still though, he slipped in quietly, like a thief in the night.

  She was in the parlor, dozing in a chair by the fire. The flames had dwindled to embers, and they cast a pleasant glow around the room. From somewhere, she’d located a decanter of whiskey, and it was sitting on a table beside her, an empty glass too.

  He was intrigued by her penchant for hard spirits, and it was just one more way she fascinated him. She smashed every convention about female norms that had ever been established.

  She mumbled in her sleep, then frowned and reached out, as if she was trying to clasp hold of someone’s hand. She gasped with dismay, then jerked awake.

  For a moment, she appeared quite wild, as if she was confused as to where she was, but recognition gradually settled in, and she realized it had been a bad dream. She relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief.

  She poured some whiskey into her glass, and as she did, she saw him standing in the doorway. They stared for a lengthy interval, a thousand unspoken comments swirling, but none seemed appropriate to voice aloud.

  Ultimately, he came over, took the glass, and downed what she’d dispensed.

  “I didn’t offer you any,” she churlishly complained, “and I consider it completely typical that you’d help yourself.”

  “It’s my house, so I assume it’s my liquor. I’ll have some if I want.”

  “You’re obnoxious.”

  “Not usually. You simply bring out the worst in me.”

  “I have that effect on people.”

  He snorted his agreement, then plopped into the chair next to her. He filled the glass yet again and put it on the table between them. They turned toward each other, watching each other’s every move. They shared the beverage, sipping companionably, as if they were old friends.

  After a bit, he asked, “What were you dreaming about when I walked in?”

  She waved away his question. “It’s a recurring memory. I think it’s from my childhood.”

  “Before you were left at the orphanage?”

  “Yes. I’m always very little, and I don’t understand what’s happening, but everything is ominous and scary. I’m being forced from my home. There’s a ton of yelling and crying behind me, and a wicked witch is carrying me outside.”

  “My goodness.”

  “There’s another little girl with me—who I’m guessing is my guardian angel—and I reach out to her so she’ll protect me, but I can’t find her anywhere. I start to call out to her, and then…? I wake up.”

  “That sounds incredibly traumatic.”

  “It definitely feels that way.”

  “Were you ever told who your parents might have been?”

  “No. In fact, my adoptive father claimed he had no information about me, but after he passed away, I found my birth certificate.”

  “It means you learned the name of your real father. What a stroke of luck. Who was he? Is it anyone with whom I might be acquainted?”

  “Why would you suppose you’d be acquainted with my father?”

  “You’re such an imperious shrew. From your haughty demeanor, I’m sure he was very grand.”

  She chuckled derisively, and he didn’t know how he knew, but he was positive—when she replied—her answer would be a lie.

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “He was no one of any account.”

  “I doubt that. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover your father was a king.”

  She smirked. “He wasn’t a king.”

  “What was he then?”

  “He was just a…man.”

  Because she wouldn’t confide any details, his curiosity soared. Why would it be a secret? Was he a famous criminal or fiend? Sebastian was certain not. It had to be an elevated personage. He refused to believe she had a common lineage, and eventually, he’d pry the truth out of her.

  “How was your day?” he asked her.

  “It was very dull. How was yours?”

  “Mine was boring and busy.”

  “How could it be both?”

  “I had one group of guests leaving and another arriving. But the new group is much less amusing than the prior one.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s my father’s old chums. They’re telling stories about him and regaling everyone with tales of their glorious past.”

  “Did you love your father?”

  “Yes,” he admitted without hesitation. “He was the best father any boy ever had.”

  “Then you should cherish every memory his friends are willing to offer.”

  “You’re correct. I should.”

  “There will come a time when no one talks about him anymore, and you’ll be upset that he’s being forgotten.”

  “Sir Sidney was a larger-than-life character. I’m betting he won’t be forgotten for ages.”

  “Let’s hope not—for your sake.”

  “Why for my sake?”

  “A lot of your identity is wrapped up in being his son. If he fades from view, will you become invisible?”

  He scowled. “What a ridiculous thought.”

  But she’d raised an issue that constantly vexed him. It was difficult to step out of his father’s shadow. Would he succeed in his own right? Or would he merely coast on Sir Sidney’s coattails?

  What if he never mustered the temerity to return to Africa? At the moment, the notion of another expedition didn’t appeal at all. It was dangerous to travel, dangerous to mingle with native tribes, to interact and strike trade deals. When such disparate groups were congregating, misunderstandings could easily erupt. People could respond violently. People could even be murdered.

  A pathetic picture flashed in his mind, of himself as an elderly codger, still bragging about his antics when he was twenty. Would that be his fate?

  It didn’t bear contemplating, so he wouldn’t contemplate it. He changed the subject.

  “I spent the day, chatting with my father’s friends. What did you do?”

  “The children and I worked in the cottage, unpacking our bags and fixing it so we’re more comfortable.”

  “You’re making yourself comfortable? It sounds as if you think you’ll be staying forever.”

  “Yes, I plan to stay forever. I’m an optimist, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “You’re not an optimist. You’re a nuisance.”

  “That too.” She grinned. “How long was this place shuttered before you opened it for us?”

  “It’s been a few years. The previous tenant was a retired valet who’d served my father for decades. I can’t remember when he died, but it’s been vacant since then.”

  “It must be nice to be so rich that you can have an empty house and no need to fill it.”

  “It is nice to be rich. I can’t deny it.”

  She scoffed at that, and she noticed that they’d finished their drink. She rose, either to dispose of the decanter or to retrieve more of her secret stash, but as she scooted by him, he clasped her wrist and tugged her onto his lap. In a quick instant, her shapely bottom was perched on his thigh.

  She scowled like a fussy nanny. “I won’t sit on your lap.”

  “You already are, so I must point out that your comment is completely illogical.”

  “I realize we misbehaved last night, and I fear it’s given you the impression that we’ll misbehave again.”

  “I didn’t arrive with wicked intent.”

  “Liar,” she chided. “You
want something from me. I’m terribly afraid I know what it is, and I’m sorry to report that you can’t have it.”

  “I don’t want anything.” He stopped and frowned. “Or maybe I do. I haven’t decided what it is.”

  “I know what it is. Don’t you have some housemaids you can harass instead? Must you walk all the way across the park merely to harass me?”

  “Would you call me Sebastian?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re not on familiar terms.”

  “We’re not? I could swear you’re snuggled on my lap, and you haven’t tried to wiggle away. It seems awfully familiar to me.”

  At his remark, she made a feeble attempt to escape, but he wasn’t about to let her. He dipped in and kissed her, and she allowed a swift embrace, but that was it.

  “Why are you flirting with me, Mr. Sinclair? Please explain yourself so we can confront it in a sane manner.”

  “I missed you today.”

  She tsked with exasperation. “You did not.”

  “How about you? Did you miss me? Just a little?”

  “If I did, I’m not about to admit it. It would simply stroke your massive ego.”

  “My ego is quite massive, and it requires constant stroking.”

  He pulled her closer, and for a fleet second, she refused to relax, but in the end, she relented. Her cheek was on his shoulder, a breast pressed to his chest.

  He never cuddled with women. His encounters with them typically amounted to raucous carnal activity with doxies in port towns. He never carried on so tepidly, as if he had all the time in the world to nestle, and with her, he liked it very much.

  “You’re positively morose tonight,” she said.

  “You always assume you can read my moods.”

  “That’s because I always can. Why are you sad now?” He didn’t reply, and she said, “You can tell me. I’m very discreet.”

  “I’m sure you are.” He sighed with a bit of melancholia. “I miss my father.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “And I miss everything that went along with being his son. I miss our expeditions and our camaraderie and our wild adventures.”

  “You don’t have to relinquish it though. You can have your own expeditions, your own adventures.”

  He wrinkled his nose, reflecting on how the death of one man could bring so many futures to a screeching halt.

  “I can’t imagine going to Africa without him.”

  “It’s too soon for you to ponder it.”

  “Yes, and with how he was murdered, I’m overcome with regrets. My men are anxious for me to arrange another trip, but I can’t find the energy to proceed.”

  She laid a palm directly over his heart. “You’re grieving, Sebastian. You need to give yourself some time to figure out how to move forward. Your road will become clearer when you’re farther from the calamity.”

  “I think I might be…ah…scared to go back.”

  “You probably are, but after what you endured, it’s a perfectly normal reaction.”

  It’s how he’d convinced himself to view it, but he deemed himself to be a very brave fellow. He couldn’t bear to consider that his courage might have fled.

  “There’s an inquest next week,” he said. “The organization that funded our excursion? They have questions about what happened to Sir Sidney.”

  “Will it be hard to answer them?”

  “Very hard.”

  “What did happen?”

  He paused forever. It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt it out. If he revealed some of what plagued him, he thought she might absolve him for his failing to prevent the tragedy.

  He felt so guilty about what had occurred, as if he should have been able to avert the disaster. Logically, he knew he couldn’t have, but still, it seemed as if Sir Sidney’s death was his fault.

  “It’s too gruesome to discuss,” he murmured, “and I’d rather not describe it to you. There are some tales that should never be shared with an ordinary person.”

  “That’s fine, but if you’d ever like to confide any of it, I’m happy to listen.”

  “Once the inquest is over, I won’t be so forlorn.” Then he shocked himself by confessing, “My memories have been distressing me.”

  “And it doesn’t help that you’ll have to divulge them all at an open hearing.”

  “It will be extremely difficult.”

  They were quiet for awhile, and he couldn’t abide the tension in the air. There were too many things he wanted to tell her—things he didn’t dare mention—and he was eager to walk a more enjoyable path.

  There was a reason he’d visited her, and so far, she hadn’t furnished what he’d hoped to receive.

  He dipped down and kissed her again, and this time, she didn’t balk. She participated with an enormous amount of vigor, and it was so enlivening to trifle with a pretty girl. She enticed him as no female ever had. It made no sense, but perhaps it didn’t have to make sense.

  They continued for an eternity, long enough that the embers in the hearth burned out, and the room grew dark and chilly. A hint of moonlight shone in the window and supplied the only illumination. And still, they didn’t halt.

  He sampled, nibbled, feasted, exploring her mouth, her taste, his busy fingers roaming over her body, imprinting her size and shape in his curious hands. He didn’t slow until she shivered, and he realized it wasn’t from passion. She was cold, but too polite to admit she was uncomfortable and needed a shawl.

  He broke away and buried his forehead on her shoulder. He stayed there, inhaling her delicious scent. There was an essence about her that reminded him of flowers and sunshine and woman all rolled into one. It tempted him on an elemental level that was too thrilling to ignore.

  “Take me to your bed,” he suddenly urged, the reckless suggestion popping out before he could tamp it down.

  She chuckled, but miserably. “I can’t.”

  “You can,” he insisted. “Take me there. I should depart, but it seems wrong.”

  “I know, but a relationship between us is impossible to fathom. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but let’s proceed anyway.”

  She snorted with disgust. “You would say that.”

  He sat back and studied her. When she shivered again, he said, “You’re freezing. I can warm you under the covers.”

  “No.” She flitted off his lap and stepped out of reach. “You have to go now, Sebastian. Please?”

  He gazed at her, wondering if he looked as glum as he felt. “I don’t want to go.”

  “You can visit me tomorrow. We’ll chat more then—about the inquest and your father. You need some healing, and I’d like to provide it.”

  “I need something from you, but it’s not healing.”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can give you.”

  He’d never been the sort to tumble his servants or force himself on lower classes of women as some men of his station were wont to do. She was a guest in his home, a destitute female who was experiencing great personal difficulties. He shouldn’t have been bothering her at all, but he couldn’t resist.

  She was driving him mad, and he had to cease acting like an idiot. He wasn’t a besotted boy who couldn’t control his lust, but humiliating as it was to accept, that’s precisely how he conducted himself around her.

  He stood, hating how she was hovering across the room—as if he’d frightened her. He extended a hand. “Walk me out, would you?”

  “As long as you promise you’re about to say goodnight.”

  “I’m about to say it.”

  She came over and clasped hold, as if they were adolescent sweethearts. They went to the foyer together, and as she pulled the door open, Petunia spoke from up on the stairs.

  “Miss Robertson, are you all right? It’s so late, and I heard voices.”

  “I’m fine, Pet. Mr. Sinclair stopped by to see how we’re settling in. He’s just leaving.�
��

  “Hello, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Hello, Petunia.”

  “Go to bed, Pet,” Miss Robertson said.

  They were locked in place as she tiptoed away, then they chortled like guilty miscreants who’d escaped punishment.

  “I keep forgetting there are children in this house,” he whispered.

  “You have siblings in this house, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “I could claim it will make me behave better toward you, but it probably won’t.” He stole a final kiss, and as he drew away, he said, “I’ll be away for a few days. I have to call on my friend, Nathan Blake. He’s Lord Selby. Have I talked about him?”

  She stiffened, then blandly inquired, “Isn’t he one of your African partners? The one who was thought to have died?”

  “Yes, that’s him. He and I had a falling out, and I have to mend my quarrel with him before the inquest.”

  “I’m sure you’ll work it out. Haven’t you been friends with him forever?”

  “Yes, forever. Swear to me you won’t cause any trouble while I’m away.”

  “I never cause trouble,” she ludicrously insisted.

  “That, Miss Robertson, is a bald-faced lie.” He shook a scolding finger at her. “I’ll sneak over once I’m back.”

  She hesitated, then replied as he’d hoped she would. “I can’t wait. Be careful on the road.”

  He stepped outside, and she shut the door.

  He dawdled, staring up at the moon. He was already desperately missing her. But that was insane, and he couldn’t figure out why she had such a potent effect on his miserable sensibilities.

  He’d been away from the party for hours. No doubt his guests had given up on him and traipsed off to their beds. In the morning, how would he explain his absence? Ophelia would demand to know where he’d been, and Veronica would glare and fume, but not be able to interrogate him.

  Good thing! For a man who people expected was about to become engaged, he was acting like a man who was free to philander.

  He started for the manor, thinking how he would hurry to Selby to confer with Nathan. Then, apparently, there was a reason to hurry home. Sarah Robertson would lure him back. What was he to make of such a stunning development?