The Earl's Perfect Match (Sebastiano series)

by Nee, Kimberly

  Damn it all. She felt so scandalous, and yet she couldn’t stop imagining the scenario. She closed her eyes. Bennett would be gentle, of course. Perhaps a bit shy with her—shy was endearing, wasn’t it? Perhaps he’d fumble a bit, kissing the corner of her mouth because he misjudged an angle, or he’d struggle with a tape on her stays. Either way, it wouldn’t matter. She would lie beneath him, gazing up into his beautiful eyes, losing herself in their depths. She would stroke his silky, soft hair, drawing it away from his face as her thighs parted and his hips fit perfectly between them. He would dip forward, his lips teasing and sweet as he slid a hand between them and—

  Heat flared through her, and she sat up straight, the image melting from her mind as she swallowed hard. Oh, my…

  She shouldn’t be thinking such scandalous thoughts. Besides, Lord Dunning would not be the man above her, for he wouldn’t ask for her hand.

  He liked her, he knew she liked him—and he refused to believe in the possibility that he was not about to drop dead.

  Infuriating, to say the least.

  The heat refused to abate, but kept swirling through her, and so she splashed a bit more water on her face. It didn’t help much, but it was better than nothing. Her bodice was spotted with droplets, but since she doubted there’d be anyone else in the breakfast room, she ignored them as she went down for breakfast.

  But as soon as she crossed the threshold into the breakfast room, she regretted leaving her room at all. Rounding the doorway, she ran straight into the man who had haunted her thoughts for the last nine hours. Dunning caught her easily, absorbing the shock with his body as he said, “Take care, Miss Sebastiano. You’re likely to bowl right over a lesser man.”

  “I beg your pardon,” she said, unable to meet his eyes at first. Then she braced herself and looked up at him. Which meant, of course, her gaze fell directly on his lips.

  His beautiful, perfectly kissable lips.

  His beautiful, perfectly kissable, skilled lips.

  Her imagination spun out of control. In flashes, she imagined him kissing her again. Only this time, his kisses weren’t confined to only her neck. He’d move down her neck. Into her décolletage.

  Down over her belly.

  She swallowed hard. She could practically feel the brush of his hair against her skin, the warmth of his breath on her as his mouth—

  “Are you all right?”

  “What? Oh…” She jerked her gaze back to his eyes and found him staring at her with a quizzical look. “I beg your pardon, my lord,” she murmured, trying to step around him. “I did not sleep well.”

  “Nor did I.” He caught her by the shoulders, halting her progress. “I said some terrible things last eve, Miss Sebastiano. And for that I can never apologize enough.”

  “I’m fine, Lord Dunning.” This time, when she met his gaze, she steeled herself for the jolt, absorbing it as easily he had the shock of their collision. It still left her mouth on the dry side and her breath difficult to catch, but at least the erotic images faded from her mind.

  For now, anyway.

  Then she spied the bruise on his face. Before she could halt herself, she asked, “What happened?” She brushed her fingers over the swelling.

  He sucked in a sharp breath and swatted her hand away. “I let Huxley know what I thought of his putting his hands on you.”

  “You did what?” This time it was her turn to shove his hand away, although she was much more careful when she touched him again. His cheek was rough, the bruise a bit on the doughy side. “Do you have any juniper? It works well for bruises. Or if you have some sage, that might work as well.”

  “Juniper and sage?” He eyed her suspiciously.

  She rolled her eyes as she brushed the bruise, more gently this time. “My brother’s wife, Vanessa, knows about herbs and their healing properties. I promise you, if she says it will work, it will work.”

  “It’s neither here nor there,” he told her, pulling away from her. “And stop doing that, it hurts.”

  She lowered her hand and cocked her head to one side. “I understand your hitting that—that animal. But did he hit you back?”

  “That he did. And I never saw it coming.”

  She winced, automatically reaching for him again. “Are you certain nothing is broken?”

  “No.” He backed up, hit his chair, and dropped into it. “I’m not at all certain nothing is. But please, don’t touch me again.”

  “Don’t be a baby. Let me see.” She bent over him and narrowed her eyes as she focused on the bruise. It was an ugly purple, mottled with blue and yellow, and it looked terribly painful. But when she gingerly probed—aside from his sharp intake of breath—she found no reason to think he’d cracked the bone.

  No man had ever taken a blow for her and that he’d stood up for her cooled her irritation with him. Her hand curved against his cheekbone, her thumb lightly sweeping along the ridge. His gaze never wavered from hers, and she fought to keep his blue eyes from drawing her in. If they did, there was a good chance she would never leave.

  “Do you have either herb?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  “I don’t think so,” he whispered, his pupils dilating.

  She should step away, should break the contact before she did something silly, such as lean in and kiss him. But she couldn’t. Hints of orange and freshly scythed grass wafted from him. His tea, perhaps? It was a delightful smell and it made her lean closer still.

  His eyes grew heavy lidded, and she didn’t miss how his lips rose as if to receive her kiss. His breath was warm on her cheek. Her lips hovered above his, almost touching. She couldn’t resist, and brushed his ever so gently, feeling a hint of satisfaction as he sighed loud enough for her to hear.

  “Elena.” He said it so softly she almost didn’t hear him. “You must understand why we can’t do this.”

  Just like that, the spell shattered and she pulled back. “I do, my lord,” she replied with false cheeriness, forcing a smile to her face. “And I don’t think your cheek is broken, either.”

  “Good.” He sounded relieved as he straightened. Then he offered up a bit of a lopsided smile. “I apologize again for kissing you, for manhandling you, for what I said, and for whatever other egregious mistakes I may make during the remainder of your stay. I overstepped.”

  “You fought for me,” she murmured, the meaning of the phrase curling up inside her heart to offer her comfort. “I don’t think anyone other than one of my brothers has ever done that for me.”

  “I find that difficult to believe.” He rose from his chair. For a moment, she thought he was going to close the gap between them, but he didn’t. Instead, his expression changed, became somewhat pained. “I wish things were different, Elena.”

  “As you implied, I’m not a part of this world, and you would never be comfortable in mine. So, we shall go on as we have been. I will tell Lady Rosamund you’d like to speak with her this afternoon. I can’t imagine she won’t accept your proposal.”

  It almost hurt to say those words. That was nothing compared to the stabbing pain that came when he, after a slight hesitation, said, “That won’t be necessary, Miss Sebastiano. I will send word to her myself. And I thank you for your help.

  “I only ask that you say nothing about my meeting with Lady Rosamund to anyone. I will wait, of course, to announce our betrothal until after Claudia and Galen depart for their wedding trip. I certainly wouldn’t want to steal any of their thunder.”

  Her eyes stung, but she also nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

  He stepped around her, but paused in the doorway long enough to ask, “Will you be joining us for the ride this afternoon?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Very well. I will see you at supper.”

  With that, he was gone, his boot steps fading into the distance as she stood, a teacup in hand, and tried to control the tears gathering in her eyes. She was still there when Conn wandered in a short while late
r, remarking, “You’re up early,” as he reached around her for another cup.

  “Oh!” Her cup clattered from her grip onto the sideboard, and she didn’t care if it smashed into a thousand pieces as she hurried from the breakfast room before she burst into tears.

  Her first impulse was to barricade herself inside her room, but halfway there, she changed her mind and her direction. She always found the best method for dealing with unpleasantness was to get it over with as soon as possible.

  Lady Rosamund’s room was at the opposite end of the wing, overlooking the Dunning woods. Elena took a deep breath, then rapped on the door, wincing at the sting in her knuckles.

  The lady’s maid pulled open the door. “Yes?”

  “Is Lady Rosamund receiving?”

  “At this hour?”

  “Please, it’s important.”

  “Oh, very well.” The door closed in her face and she just stared at it with no little disbelief. She wasn’t accustomed to being treated like hired help by maids.

  A somewhat disheveled Lady Rosamund pulled open the door and frowned at Elena. “Yes?”

  “May I speak to you, my lady? It’s important.”

  “Come in.” She pulled the door open wide enough for Elena to pass, then shut it with a loud bang. “What is it, Miss Sebastiano? It’s not even nine.”

  “I wanted to ask you why you thought it would be funny to make me look like a trollop?”

  Lady Rosamund’s maid, busy gathering her mistress’s garments from the previous evening, snorted inelegantly, while the lady herself merely shrugged. “I meant no harm.”

  “Is that so? Did you mean for Lord Huxley to paw me, then?”

  “Of course not.” Lady Rosamund pulled her flowered wrap tighter about herself as she moved to sink onto the edge of her unmade and very rumpled bed. “But I must admit, I was trying to keep you away from Lord Dunning.”

  This Elena hadn’t expected. “What did you say?”

  Lady Rosamund nodded. “I’ve seen how he looks at you, Miss Sebastiano. And he seems so at ease with you, so comfortable. I suppose I felt a little…jealous.”

  “Well, we have gotten to know each other fairly well.” Elena tried with all her might to keep the image of being in his arms from sliding into her mind. “Miss Santa Cruz and her family have been so occupied with planning this wedding. I’ve done all I could do for my part and to be honest, I think the earl was a bit lonely until we arrived. And, well, when my family is in residence, there isn’t a moment’s peace or quiet.”

  Lady Rosamund didn’t look any happier to hear that, so Elena hurriedly added, “I’m certain Lord Dunning thinks you’re very…suitable, my lady. Why wouldn’t he? You would make a perfect countess.”

  Rosamund nodded. “I would, if I do say so myself.”

  Elena nodded as her spirits grew more leaden. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he asks to speak to you.”

  “Did you hear that, Molly?” Lady Rosamund practically sprang from the bed, whirling across the room in a flutter of blue-and-green silk. “I’m going to be the Countess of Dunning!”

  Not I’m going to be Bennett’s wife. Not I love him so! But I’m going to be the Countess of Dunning.

  A sour taste rose in Elena’s mouth and she swallowed hard against it. Bennett Markham made it very clear he did not want a wife who loved him, and it looked like he was going to get exactly that.

  She only hoped he didn’t regret it for the rest of his days, no matter how many remained.

  Chapter Fifteen

  By noon, the dreary skies had parted to allow the sun’s rays to touch the earth and they did so with great abandon. Servants hurried about to throw open windows and shutters to welcome in the fresh spring air.

  With nothing better to do, Elena found herself in the game room, perched on one of the benches built into the window, where she propped her hand on her fist and stared moodily through the glass at the brilliant sunshine splashing the rolling green hills of Dunning Court.

  The house was empty, save for the staff, as everyone else had gone on the daily ride. At one time, Lord Dunning had seemed eager to ride with her again.

  Well, that was all in the past now. He had his Lady Rosamund to ride with, and the lady was all smiles as she swept out into the courtyard to make her way to the stables. From her vantage point in her room, Elena had seen the riders gathering at the stables, and had spotted Lady Rosamund almost immediately. Dressed in a habit of brilliant scarlet, she was difficult to miss.

  She would complement Lord Dunning perfectly. Beautiful. Blooded. Completely acceptable. Exactly what he wanted in a wife. Or so he thought. And unlike her, a lady in every sense of the word. A perfect match to be the Countess of Dunning.

  Tears had pricked her eyes at that, and she’d had to tear herself away from the window before she went mad. That was how she had found her way into the game room. The windows overlooked no horses, no riders.

  No Bennett.

  She turned away from the window. On the bar, next to the rosewood box containing the Spanish cards, was another box. This one was larger—mahogany polished to a brilliant shine. A cigar box, most likely. Her father had one like it, as did Claudia’s father. It seemed a rite of passage, owning such a thing, although why anyone would want to smoke so foul-smelling a thing was beyond her. But then, men didn’t always make sense.

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought there’d be anyone here.”

  Elena jumped as Cordelia paused in the doorway, not looking at all happy to find her there. “That would make two of us. Why didn’t you go on the ride?”

  “I-I don’t ride w-w-ell. Horses m-make me sn-sneeze. And I’ve h-h-h-ad enough of m-my s-s-sister and her snideness.”

  Elena sympathized. For sisters, they certainly didn’t appear to be close. Christina seemed to take a perverse pleasure in mocking Cordelia’s impediment, which was beyond cruel, as far as she was concerned. She couldn’t imagine Serena treating her the way Christina treated Cordelia. “Do you play cards?”

  Cordelia shook her head. “Not well, I’m afraid.”

  “Me, neither. I only really know the one game.”

  “The one you taught us?”

  Elena nodded. “We play it a lot back home. My father has won and lost several small fortunes over Aluette.”

  “I imagined your f-family plays it often. Y-you’re sailors, aren’t you?” As she spoke, Cordelia came completely into the room and gestured to the cushion on the bench beside Elena. “May I?”

  “Of course.” Elena tucked her feet up beneath her to make room. “Yes and no. About the sailing, I mean. My father was a pirate—or a privateer, as he liked to correct people—but after he and my mother married, he went into legitimate business. Shipping and distilling.”

  “A pirate? How exciting.”

  “I wouldn’t know. He rarely speaks of those days. And since my mother died a few years ago, there’s no one else for me to ask. Well, my soon to be sister-in-law’s father sailed with him, but I’ve never been able to figure out a good way to ask Tio Diego, either.”

  “I’m sorry. About your m-mama, that is.”

  “Thank you.” Elena sighed softly, then drew her knees up to prop beneath her chin. “What about you? Why do you travel with people who mock you?”

  “It’s all about w-who you kn-kn-know. My father and Rosamund’s are old chums, and she and I have known each other since birth. My papa always hoped some of her grace would rub off on me.” Cordelia let out a rueful laugh. “He was disappointed. I think he just despairs of ever marrying me off.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying,” Elena said slowly, carefully watching for Cordelia’s expression to change, “you are hardly stammering at all now.”

  “It’s worse when I’m nervous.”

  “And Christina makes you nervous?”

  Cordelia shook her head. “No. But her mocking d-does.”

  “You shouldn’t let her get to you.”

  “It’s difficult not
to.” Cordelia paused, then drew in a deep breath to ask, “Tell me, is your brother married? Does he have someone waiting for him on St. Phillippe?”

  “Conn? No. Most definitely not.” Elena tried to be as gentle as she could as she added, “Nor is he likely to do so any time soon. Conn usually has someone waiting for him in every port. Several someones at times.”

  Cordelia’s face fell just a tad and although she’d expected it, Elena felt a twinge of sympathy for her. Conn would be beyond blessed to have a woman like Cordelia as his wife, for Elena had the feeling she would accept him for who he was and not try to mold him into someone else’s idea, as many ladies on St. Phillippe were wont to do. All thought they could tame him, could bend him into their idea of acceptable, and with Conn that only made him struggle even harder to get away. He was more like their mother in that regard, determined to walk his own path, conventions be damned.

  “He’s a good man, but he isn’t the marrying sort, I’m afraid,” she added, reaching out to pat the back of Cordelia’s hand. “I know that’s not what you wished to hear, but it’s the truth.”

  Cordelia’s gaze grew wistful and she slowly shook her head. “I know. It’s never what I wish to hear.” She sighed. “Have you ever just wanted something so…so very much, that your heart hurt because you knew you could never have it, no matter how hard you tried for it?”

  “Yes.” Elena nodded slowly. She most definitely knew. Not twelve hours earlier, she’d been on the verge of obtaining it, only to have it slip through her fingers. “I do.”

  “That’s how it always is for me when it comes to men,” Cordelia said, her eyes taking on a faraway look, much like when she had spoke of the Markham curse. “They never see me. They hear my stammer. And that bloody stammer won’t ever go away.”

  “It did just now.”

  “Because I’m talking to you. If you were Lord Dunning, or the marquess, or Captain Sebast—” She cut herself off, her cheeks flushing almost scarlet. “It would take me an hour to say my name.”