Lady Asherton—but she was Margaret—took a deep breath and then seemingly came to a decision, meeting his eyes at last. “We must talk, I suppose. About our, er, unfortunate—“ Before she could finish her sentence, the sound of other guests climbing the stairs had her clamping her mouth shut in what he surmised to be utter frustration.
Surprising him, she grabbed hold of his wrist. “I cannot risk anyone hearing. This way.”
He offered no resistance when she dragged him in the opposite direction than the housekeeper had gone.
Again, she glanced left and right and then opened a door that was barely discernable from the wall and molding. Sebastian tugged himself backward to examine the clever design until she increased the strength of her pulling and jerked him inside.
Sebastian barely noted that it was some sort of linen storage room before she closed the door behind him, surrounding them in darkness, alone, for the second time in less than twelve hours. And although they had just enough room so as not to be touching, a pulsating energy emanated from her.
“I am so very sorry, My Lord.” Her whispered voice in the confined space immediately took him back to the previous night—throaty, emotional, and intimate in the darkness. “I needed to explain why… I’m not, I mean. I’ve never—” She halted in her explanation, seemingly at a loss for words.
“You’ve never…?” Sebastian was quite enjoying this.
“I beg of you not to tell anyone. It was a mistake. I never intended…”
“To climb into bed with me? But you did intend to climb into my uncle’s bed.” He wasn’t yet ready to take pity on her. “And, I believe, he would have been quite unsuspecting.”
“Mr. Kirkley, George, your uncle, that is… has asked me to marry him.”
Sebastian took a half step closer to her, eliminating all but a few inches between them. “Crowded in here, don’t you think?” In all honesty, he wasn’t that interested in talking about his uncle.
“I merely wanted to…” She drew in a frustrated breath. “Would you please do me the courtesy of taking me seriously? I am not the sort of woman… I…”
“Yes?” Surely, she hadn’t believed she must offer herself to Uncle George to secure his suit?
“I needed to make certain that he was able… that he was capable.” She exhaled loudly. “I needed to be certain he was not impotent.” And then she groaned.
Sebastian’s brow lifted at this revelation. “Uncle George?” It truly was an incredible notion.
“He is the kindest of gentlemen. Always considerate and treats me with the utmost respect—too much respect. I simply needed to be certain.”
“And you could only obtain such information by seducing him? You required physical proof?” Sebastian couldn’t help but wonder how his uncle would have responded.
And then he recalled how her naked body had felt pressed up against his own. Uncle George would have responded enthusiastically. If he didn’t, then he would have been a damned fool.
“It is not something a lady can simply ask a man outright, now is it?” She was beginning to sound more than a little irritated by his lack of cooperation.
“I suppose not,” Sebastian conceded, grinning in the dark.
“I realize now, how inappropriate such an errand seems. In my defense, I can only say that knowing the truth about him is extremely important to me. But I shall find another way. I promise...” She sounded so utterly dejected and embarrassed that Sebastian couldn’t allow her to go on worrying that he would expose her.
“I will not tell him. Or anyone else.” He couldn’t help but add, “It’s not as though I was an unwilling victim.”
She moaned and her hands brushed his chest as she lifted them, presumably, to cover her face. The sound, again, was all too reminiscent of the ones she’d made last night. More specifically, the noise she’d made when he’d covered her breast with his mouth.
Sebastian placed his hands on her upper arms but resisted the urge to pull her against him. He leaned forward and inhaled, speaking by her ear. “I have a question for you.”
“Ask,” she responded in a clipped voice. “I’m in no position to withhold an answer.”
That she didn’t trust him bothered him. “Did I not just promise that I would keep your secret? I don’t remember putting any stipulations on it.”
“Of course, I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t know you at all, and I’ve—“ A small cry escaped her. “I did not mean to question your honor.”
He set his hand on her shoulder and then edged it toward her neck until his thumb grazed her skin.
“Do stop.” She jerked her head but within the confines of the closet had no real escape.
“Your pulse is racing.” His voice, more gravelly than usual, nearly caught on his comment.
“All of this is quite unsettling.” She made an attempt to sound proper and dignified. A lady indeed.
“It is,” Sebastian agreed. “I’ve been feeling rather… unsettled, myself. You should not have run away from me last night.”
At this, she jerked backward. “I’ve been nothing but honest and I do not appreciate your mockery.”
“You think I am not serious?” He reached out but she eluded him this time.
“You are a flirt and a tease, and you’d do well to direct your energies toward one of the younger ladies, someone closer to you in age.”
This comment surprised him. “You think me too young?”
“That and you are my intended’s nephew.”
Sebastian was more than a little stunned. “You aren’t really going to marry him?” It would be a damned shame if she did. She was far too… vibrant for a man such as his uncle. George would never take the time to discover all of the intricacies of such a woman.
She paused only a moment. “I intend to do so, yes.” Not a resounding declaration though. When it was all over, Sebastian wouldn’t mind stepping in so they could finish what they’d started the night before.
“We’ll see about that.” He laughed.
“I’m glad you find all of this so amusing.” She moved closer to the door as though preparing herself for escape. “And I appreciate your promise to... forget that last night ever happened. It was simply… a colossal mistake on my part.”
He’d made no such promise. Only that he would not tell anyone about it. Forget it happened? Not something he was prepared to do. “As I said before, I was not an unwilling participant,” he reminded her.
“Well… I supposed there is some… consolation in that.”
Sebastian burst out laughing until her small, warm hand covered his mouth.
“Won’t you please be quiet? Anyone could hear you and then…”
But he was not laughing now. Damn but he enjoyed her touch. Before she could remove her hand, he parted his lips and touched the tip of his tongue to her skin.
She inhaled sharply and removed it.
“You’re hopeless.” She huffed. “Wait here a few moments. I’ll go out first. Dear God,” she muttered, “if anyone were to see the two of us emerge from a closet together…”
Sebastian caught at her wrist. “I won’t tell anyone, My Lady,” he growled. “But this isn’t finished. I won’t be forgetting last night for a very long time.”
“You are wrong. It is over. And best you set to forgetting it, just as I have.” She jerked her wrist away from him. “Enough.”
The sounds of rustling skirts only just preceded the door flying open as his uncle’s betrothed swooshed away from him yet again.
Ah, no. This, whatever this was, had only just begun.
6
Wading Into the Deep
Over half of the house party guests presented themselves outside the grand entrance first thing in the morning in order to make the short hike and then the mildly harrowing climb down the cliffs to the beach.
Margaret had almost decided to forgo the more vigorous exercise in order to keep George appeased but in the end, was unwilling to deny herself somethi
ng that gave her great enjoyment simply to please his sensibilities. Especially if she intended to marry him, it was best to set out in the manner she intended to proceed indefinitely. And although Penelope had had a few barouches brought around to convey some of the guests to the actual path, Margaret preferred to travel the distance on foot, as she normally would.
“I hope this wind dies down.” Abigail Cross, the young Duchess of Monfort, was retying her bonnet as they awaited Penelope, who was corralling the guests who considered punctuality to be an unrefined trait. “You might lose your hat, Margaret, if that is the case.”
Margaret reached up to push down on the straw hat she’d decided upon. Lord Rockingham had not spoken to her at dinner the night before or later in the withdrawing room. In fact, he’d managed to avoid her very successfully. Of course, she’d been of a mind to avoid him as well. But she would have had to be blind to miss that most of the young and unmarried women had demanded his attention most persistently and that he had done nothing to discourage any of them.
It was good that he’d not sought her out.
George, who had been sitting beside her, commented on Lord Rockingham’s popularity. “My nephew has the benefit of looks, charm, a lofty title, and an even loftier one in the future. Ah, to be young again.”
“You are not all that old, George,” Margaret had reassured him.
He’d laughed. “Nor are we as young.”
Lying in bed later, she’d resented the comment.
And so that morning, rather than wear one of her more conservatively colored gowns, she’d selected a buttery-colored muslin with chartreuse trim and embroidered flowers. And she’d had Esther return the bonnet to her wardrobe in favor of a lovely straw hat adorned with silk daisies and butterflies.
Margaret grasped the top of her head, unwilling to part with the whimsical accessory as a gust of wind whipped all of the ladies’ dresses against them. She would be most disappointed in herself if she lost it merely because her intended had made an innocent comment that she’d taken offense to.
“I should have known better, Abigail.” Margaret smiled at the petite duchess beside her. “It’s likely to be worse once we reach the cliffs.” She was contemplating running back inside just as George emerged from the house, and then Penelope and Hugh behind him.
Penelope, wearing a more practical hat that tied beneath her chin, but looking lovely in a mint gown with three-quarter-length puffed sleeves, garnered everyone’s attention as she waved from the top of the steps. “It’s a gorgeous day! Shall we be on our way then?” she shouted in a most un-viscountess-like manner.
Several of the younger people cheered and a few took off running along the road leading to the cliffs.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” George stepped beside her and bowed in Abigail’s direction. “My dear Lady Asherton, you look very pretty today.”
Appreciation warmed his eyes, which were the same gray as his nephew’s but not quite as bright and with deeper creases at the edges. George was truly quite a handsome man, not even for his age but handsome in his own right. Margaret reminded herself again that she was lucky to have captured his attention.
“Thank you.” George never failed to comment on her appearance. “I’m looking forward to spending time outdoors. Before moving to London, I walked beside the cliffs all the time.”
“I forget that you spent most of your childhood here,” Abigail volunteered. “Ah, there’s Monfort. I was beginning to think he had changed his mind about coming. He tends to get distracted by business, even at house parties.”
Monfort had been known as the Duke of Ice before he’d married Penelope’s cousin. Their union had surprised all of the ton as Abigail had been ruined beyond all hope when she’d first come out. And although pretty in a simple way, she was not at all considered a beauty.
She possessed a particular quality that managed to be even more attractive than superficial looks. Even before she’d become a duchess, she had shown kindness and empathy for those around her. She exuded… comfort. As the aloof-looking gentleman joined them, placing a hand at his wife’s back, Margaret considered that Abigail’s gift had been exactly what the tragic duke needed to melt his heart. With one infant in their nursery, it was rumored another might be on the way.
Margaret hated the pang of envy that shot through her.
“We best be on our way!” Hugh announced as he and Penelope strode across the lawn. “Otherwise, it will be nightfall before we even get to the path.”
Penelope slapped his arm, but everyone laughed and began walking along a route that was nostalgically familiar to Margaret.
“Have you missed living in the country? Near the sea?” George took her arm and led her at a modest pace, allowing many of the others to proceed ahead.
Margaret averted her gaze away from the gentleman walking a few yards ahead of them with a pretty girl on each arm. She would not notice how his thighs filled out his breeches nor how he moved with devil-may-care ease.
“Margaret?”
“Oh. Oh, yes. I love living in London and having my own residence.” She chastised herself for becoming so easily distracted… by the hills and the sunshine. “And I refuse to impose myself upon my brother and my sister-in-law for more than a few months out of the year.” She inhaled deeply. The air was never this fresh, this clean, however, in London. “But, yes. I do miss it.”
George patted her hand. “Cragg House is not far from the sea, and it is much closer to London. I am anxious for you to become my wife, so that you can take it in hand.” He described some of the aspects he liked about his home and many that needed updating or repairs. “The decor requires a woman’s touch. I shall give you carte blanche with my bank accounts.”
“I will not spend all of your money.” Margaret laughed, a sense of unease flickering in her mind. “I hope that is not the only reason you would take me for your wife.” She lowered her voice, hoping to draw some sort of romantic declaration from him.
“Of course not, my dear.” He glanced down at her. “I admire a great deal about you, Margaret, and above all, I look forward to the day you become my wife.”
Looking into his eyes, Margaret couldn’t help but believe his sincerity. She squeezed his forearm beneath her hand and added daringly, “And the night.”
This time, his glance was more curious. “But of course.”
What did that mean? But of course. She would be encouraged by it if he’d spoken with even a hint of ardor in his voice or if he’d touched her with anything other than a grandfatherly pat.
“Do you—”
“Oh, look! There it is!” Miss Drake shouted from ahead. And indeed, the sea had come into view. Some of the younger people skipped and even the other couples who’d been walking more slowly increased their pace.
“It is closer than I imagined,” George commented.
“It is too steep to descend here. The path itself is farther along the cliffs.” Margaret sighed. Every time she made an attempt to discuss the particulars of what marriage between the two of them would entail, something or someone effectively interrupted them.
She would find another time, when they were not in the company of all the other guests. She was a widow, not an innocent, so it would not be considered extraordinary in any way.
She studied those walking ahead, feeling oddly left behind. Off to her right, standing near one of the steep drop-offs, Danbury had one arm draped around Penelope and the two of them gazed off into the distance together. Penelope tilted her head to rest it on her husband’s shoulder and he pulled her closer.
Margaret tried picturing such a scenario between her and George but despite taking considerable license in her imagination, she could not. A certain, almost animalistic spirit glinted in Hugh’s eyes when he was with Penelope. He spoke of her with emotions much stronger than fondness.
Had Lawrence looked at her that way? She thought that perhaps he had, in the beginning. Their marriage had relied greatly upon friendship.
>
None of this had mattered before she’d crawled into bed with George’s nephew. She’d been quite content to only hope her marriage to George would allow her another chance at becoming a mother.
And that was what she wanted above all. Of course, it was. She ought not to push George to be someone he was not. She did not require romance or passion, or great intimacy. She’d been happy to accept George’s proposal in the hopes of entering into a comfortable and affectionate relationship.
And motherhood.
She swallowed hard, conflicted by her thoughts.
“You are still intent upon hiking down?” George frowned down at her. But it was not a disapproving frown. It was a concerned one.
“The path is not overly steep. I beg of you not to worry. I’ve done it hundreds of times before.”
“I enjoy worrying after you.” He glanced at the group sauntering ahead of them. “I suppose the younger people will benefit from our chaperonage, then. Someone needs to keep them from running along the beach like a group of banshees.”
“Oh, but isn’t that the purpose of going down?” The thought had her itching to remove her boots and stockings and dig her toes into the warm sand. But she would not. Not today. She was not one of the young people, and she would be expected to set a dignified example for the young ladies in mixed company.
Perhaps she would venture down the cliff on her own some other day, while the other guests were involved with some other activity or perhaps after they had all returned to their own country estates for the winter months. If the weather remained unnaturally warm, she would run along the sand, even venture into the water barefoot.
She’d not actually waded into the sea for a very long time.
Since before she’d married, in fact. And certainly not after Lawrence had taken ill.
Nor after she’d become a respectable widow.
She and George walked the remainder of the distance in silence, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. It ought to have been a comfortable silence, but it was not, on her part anyhow.
Upon arriving at the edge of the cliff, where the path dropped into the cove, Margaret extracted her hand from George’s arm and moved away to stand by herself. “You mustn’t feel you need to come down simply because I am doing so.”
Lady and the Rake Page 5