The duke’s face transformed. Immediately, he looked like a beast who desperately wanted to devour his wife.
Huntsdown cleared his throat. “It seems my wife is feeling a trifle faint. I shall escort her back to the house, if you feel all is well here, Gray.”
“One must always take care of the ladies,” Gray quipped.
“Indeed,” the duke agreed, sweeping his wife up into his arms.
Olivia cast a hand dramatically over her brow but couldn’t quite suppress a giggle.
The duke then headed with remarkable speed away from them . . . But surprisingly, not necessarily in the direction of the house.
“Whatever are they doing?” Marabelle asked, staring after the couple.
Sebastian coughed. “I do think she may have pointed out that he can prove his manliness to her in other ways than the fetching of a Yule log.”
She nodded. “Oh. Oh!”
Her cheeks flushed as she realized the implication of Sebastian’s comment.
“But it is so very cold out,” she protested.
Sebastian’s grinned, a wolf’s grin. “I do think they shall find a way to stay warm.’
“How fascinating,” she said, for lack of knowing what else to say.
His brows shot up. “Is it?”
“I know so little, really,” she confessed softly.
“You’ll have all the knowledge you need, soon enough.”
She looked up at him through her lashes, feeling a heady dose of daring. “Do you promise?” she asked.
Chapter 8
Being a rogue, Sebastian wasn’t a stranger to making love to a woman out of doors.
However, Marabelle wasn’t any woman. She was a wife. His wife. And a virgin. For once, he felt entirely at sea with regards to his situation.
Oh, he could pull her aside, out of the notice of the servants. He could press her up against an ancient tree and begin her education. But that didn’t seem like something he should do with a virginal countess.
Surely, sheets and a bed should be involved.
He’d avoided young ladies like her his entire life. And now that he had to interact with her and intimately, he was at a small loss. It was the strangest feeling.
So, somehow, after a long, silent walk, they found themselves back at Northly. Not a single kiss or bit of wisdom had been bestowed.
Marabelle’s passion had been replaced by what seemed to him to be a forced grin. A grin that was on the verge of being a grimace.
He’d made a mistake. And after he’d clearly done so well with the selection of the Yule log.
Marabelle had wanted to be kissed and mussed out of doors.
With each passing moment in her company, one thing was becoming clearer and clearer to him. She was not like other ladies.
Still, there had been much celebration. The staff had come out and veritably trouped in the massive log that would burn all tomorrow night.
In fact, though it wasn’t Christmas Eve, the Duke and Duchess of Huntsdown were throwing parties and dances every night now until the new year. Of course, Sebastian had been informed that he and his wife would attend tonight.
He had no idea how it had all happened. How he’d been lured into such gatherings. But there it was.
Sebastian glanced out the window to the snow-blanketed surroundings. He wondered what the devil he could do to feel at ease in all this, to please Marabelle, and ease her grief.
It seemed a monstrous task. Especially, given that he’d come here strictly out of duty and to begin the task of making an heir.
As he looked out to the parkland, he spotted something. Something in one of the trees at the bottom of the terraced hillside.
A smile pulled at his lips.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect. And without even bothering with a coat, he strode to the door, ready to go. He would make his wife’s Christmas very merry, indeed.
*
The ballroom was full of laughing individuals. There was clapping and dancing as fires roared in the twin fireplaces in the cavernous but beautifully decorated room.
Chandeliers glowed with hundreds of beeswax candles. The polished mirrors hanging from the walls reflected the golden beams, bathing the room in a warm glow.
Holly, ivy, and juniper decked the room with red ribbons at every conceivable surface and corner.
Laughter exploded from a group of people playing Snap!
A girl was blowing on her delicate fingers having just missed a raisin in the flaming pot of brandy.
Marabelle swayed to the music. She wished to feel the magic that she felt every Christmas at the Duke of Huntsdown’s gatherings.
Instead, she felt a heavy melancholy. Oh, everything was beautiful. She couldn’t ask for a room more inclined to good cheer.
Yet, she missed her father and her brother. She missed dancing with them as she did at every gathering. She missed singing carols with them. And eating sweets. And playing games.
Though surrounded with familiar faces, she felt alone.
She drew in a shaky breath and held her head up high.
She wouldn’t darken anyone else’s Christmas.
That wasn’t how her family did things.
Oh no, they kept on, smiles on their faces, hearts open to the world.
Only. . . Only, they’d always had each other.
“May I have this dance?”
She blinked and gasped as her husband slipped his hand around hers. He easily guided her to the ballroom floor packed with couples ready to dance until the last star had faded into dawn.
The swell of the small orchestra drifted about them as Sebastian encircled her waist with his hand.
She scooped up her trailing lace overlaid skirt and gazed up at him. Before she could think twice, he swirled them around to the lilting cadence of the waltz.
The warmth of the fire and the crush of the guests somehow buoyed her spirits. Amazingly, so did the way he held her.
Sebastian’s command was undeniable.
She never would have thought that such a rogue, who had no desire for English society, could so excel at something as proper as a ball.
Though a Christmastide ball was really one great frolic after another.
“You looked most melancholy just now,” he said softly.
Her shoulders drooped for a moment. “Did I? I didn’t mean to show my feeling with so much transparency.”
“I like you better for it Marabelle,” he said frankly. “The quality that has become entrenched in English life, the quality of reticence, is one that is not always admirable.”
“You have mastered it,” she protested, all the while savoring the closeness of his body and the strength of his arms. “I admire your collectedness.”
“Just because I appear thus doesn’t mean my insides aren’t a raging storm.” His eyes darkened to the shade of the storm he spoke of. “Perhaps it would be better if I allowed myself to be effusive. Perhaps I’d be. . .”
“Yes?”
He looked away for a moment. “I’d be happier.”
“In truth?”
Nodding, he met her gaze again. “You know, everyone admires Field Marshal Wellesley for his wit and sense of noblesse oblige.”
“They do,” she agreed. “We all read about it in the news sheets.”
“Do you know who I secretly admire?” Sebastian twirled them around and away from a less adept couple.
“Who?” she asked, in awe of his skill on the floor.
“Admiral Nelson.”
She blinked. The nation had mourned for the admiral. But some had deemed him wanting as a man.
“Oh yes,” he continued. “My father was appalled by the man’s sentiment. By his emotion.”
This piece of news was completely unexpected.
Of course, Admiral Nelson had been written about often. His relationship with Lady Hamilton was legendary. His death, too. He had been a man who hadn’t been stoic at the end, but rather had wished to die in his friend’s embrace.
Sebastian’s revelation truly surprised her.
She tilted her head to the side. “You long to be like him?”
“Perhaps not so entirely, but I wish I could express my feelings with better skill.” He sighed, appearing to search for the right words. “With more openness.”
Slowly, she lowered her lashes then ventured, “You could always practice.”
“With you?” he added so quietly it was little more than a whisper.
She nodded. “With me.”
Silence fell over them as if they were, for the moment, one. Their mutual desire to be understood, to be cared for, suddenly collided and they gazed into each other’s eyes. She felt something astonishing take root in her heart.
Love.
The first tendrils of love coiled for her husband. It didn’t matter how little they had known each other. Fate was taking hold. Of that, she was certain.
That feeling, that strange, new, wondrous feeling stole her breath as it slid through and filled her whole body with a deep wish to be close to him. And it terrified her.
For, he was a stranger.
Even so, it was undeniable.
Love was now coming over her. Was it the way he had so ardently thrown himself into the getting of a Yule log? Or the way he had just now taken her hand and embraced her at the sight of her melancholy?
It was impossible for her to put her finger on it. But at this instant, she felt that, perhaps, the greatest gift she might receive this Christmas would be the beginning of something marvelous with her husband.
Only . . . Only, what if he never felt the same?
Such a thing almost didn’t bear thinking on. Yet she knew, even from his own words, that he was not a man given to affection.
The strains of the waltz came to a close and propriety dictated that he should lead her off the floor. Yet, he held her in his powerful arms, still.
“Come away with me,” he whispered against her ear. “Come away with me now and let me make you mine.”
Those words were the most thrilling she’d ever heard. And without question, she followed him out of the ballroom, into the isolated hall and down to their coach.
This Christmas, Marabelle realized, her present was a future, waiting to be opened.
Chapter 9
The coach drew up to the steps of Northly. It felt as if Sebastian had not taken a breath from the moment they’d left the Duke and Duchess of Huntsdown’s ball.
He had no idea how he had managed to stay on his side of the coach. To keep himself contained. Every fiber of his being had desired to take her hands in his and pull her onto his lap. To kiss her senseless, to peel her clothes from her lithe body then make love to every inch of her.
All within the confines of the brocade-lined vehicle.
But that isn’t what one did with a lady. With a virgin, at that.
No, he needed to wait for a bed. For the warmth of a fire. That was what he had instructed himself before and he must be true to that thought. Moreover, he needed to control himself. After all, to unleash his full passions upon an inexperienced young lady seemed a barbaric thing to do.
So, as soon as the door to the coach opened, he bounded down from the conveyance. He gave his hand to Marabelle, hoping she’d take it.
She did.
Her slender fingers slipped into his palm. He clasped her hand, the acceptance burning through him like liquid fire.
Just her simple touch was enough to set him ablaze. How had that happened?
How, in a matter of such short time, hours really, had she managed to seize ahold of his body and, yes, spirit?
Shakespeare surely would have claimed it perfectly natural. Admiral Nelson would have, too. But Sebastian wasn’t accustomed to the complete surrender of one’s mind and heart to anyone or anything.
Surely, it would take years for such a passion to grow.
It seemed not. For at this moment, he knew without a doubt that he would do anything for Marabelle’s good opinion.
So, clutching to the reserve that had been drummed into him since he could sit upright in the nursery, he held her hand. He escorted her up the sprawling front stairs and into the foyer.
The anticipation he felt hummed through him so fiercely, he could scarcely stop himself from sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her. But Marabelle was an independent woman. He knew what he needed to do to make her feel at ease. It would take her power away, wouldn’t it?
As he drew her into the foyer, he was astonished to see it had been lavishly decorated with juniper boughs and holly while they had been absent.
It was almost a fairyland of Christmas.
It was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as she.
The scent of winter and the soft glow of the candelabras filled him with a nearly overwhelming nostalgia for something he had never had.
Love. A loving home.
Maybe now, he would have that.
*
Excitement raced through Marabelle’s veins as her husband whispered an instruction to the butler. Sebastian then led her quickly up the stairs.
The dark of night had fallen again on Northly. Only the soft yellow fire of the candles lit the long hall.
With each step, her slippers nearly silent on the Oriental rug, her excitement deepened. It felt as if all her life she’d been waiting for this moment. This man.
Still, even in her certainty that this was right, that all her life had been guiding her to this Christmas, she wasn’t altogether certain as to what would occur.
He paused before his bedroom door. The faint light of the hall bathed him in a half-shadow. Her breath caught at his chiseled features. Her husband was a dark angel, longing to be saved.
She knew that.
He had such a good heart and, yet, his loneliness was palpable. Loneliness was something she’d only just come to understand in the last months and she longed to free him from that prison.
Gently, he squeezed her hand. “Are you certain?”
Her breasts rose and fell in quick breaths. She nodded.
“I want to hear you say it,” he replied. His voice was that low seductive rumble she loved so much.
“I’m certain,” she said. Her own voice was barely more than a wispy shiver.
His shoulders seemed to relax. Only then did she realize he had been preparing himself for her denial.
It would have been harder to feel more affection for him in that moment than she already did. He cared so much about her wishes.
Opening the door, he guided her in, his hand grazing the curve of her hip.
The swish of a servant’s skirt caught her eye at the back of the room.
But before she could bid the maid good night, the girl whisked through the discreet side door.
The tray of wine and two glasses by the fire indicated why she’d been present.
“Is that what you asked for downstairs?” she asked.
He nodded. “I think a cup of wine would do wonders for both of us, do you not?”
“I do.” Though she’d never been one to let nerves get the better of her, she felt them just now.
So, she eagerly took the full glass that he poured for her.
The warm flames of the fire danced in the cut crystal goblet. It seemed as if she were staring into the deepest rubies as she studied her wine.
“I don’t know what to do,” she finally said before she took a shockingly deep drink of the rich wine.
“It all depends,” he replied.
“How so?”
He traced a finger along the rim of his glass. “It depends on if you wish to be an active or passive participant. Many young ladies, as I understand, believe the gentleman should be all action. But. . .”
“But?” she forced herself to bravely ask.
“I do not see how the lady could enjoy such a thing.”
She cleared her throat, wishing she understood his meaning. “And you think I should enjoy it?”
“If you do not, I will conside
r myself an utter failure as a man.”
The intensity of his words very nearly flustered her. “I see.”
The lines around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I’m not certain you do.”
She lifted her chin, drawing on her own self-confidence to reply, “Then you must make certain I understand.”
“With pleasure.”
Sebastian crossed to her and slipped her glass of wine from her fingers. “I don’t wish to make love to you.”
She blinked. “No?”
Shaking his head, he took her hand and placed it just over his heart. “I wish for the two of us to make love. That’s a very different thing.”
There was no need to urge him to explain.
Just by the way he lowered his hands to his sides and waited, she took his meaning.
Her whole body raced with shock that he was giving her permission to proceed. Still, she bit her lower lip then took a step closer to him. She leaned in, tucked her face towards his shoulder, and drew in his spicy scent.
Oh so slowly, she lifted her other hand and then worked his evening coat from his shoulders. Then, she slipped his buttons free from his waistcoat and dropped the brocade to the floor.
He stood stock still as she pulled his cravat loose and unwound it from his neck. Then, still a little unsure, she took his shoulders in her hands and pulled him down and commanded, “Kiss me.”
He smiled; a slow, wolfish, satisfied smile. “Whatever you wish. Whatever you desire, Marabelle.”
And he took her mouth in a hot kiss. After he’d wound his arms about her back, he paused and she grew frustrated.
“Why have you stopped?” she demanded.
“I’m waiting for you to kiss me,” he teased.
To kiss him? Then she understood. He was giving her power. He wanted her to be an equal participant and so she embraced his words.
She cupped his jaw, tilted his head to the side, and then kissed him in turn. She traced her tongue along the crease of his lips.
He groaned, yanked her hard against his chest, and took her before the fire. As he laid her back, sliding her skirts up her stockinged thighs, he gazed upon her with adoration.
In all her life, she’d never felt so admired or so powerful.
’Twas the Night Before Scandal Page 14