Compromising Kessen

by Rachel Van Dyken

  While Nicholas had been labeled as sinful, Sebastian had been labeled as beautiful.

  Far too beautiful, if you asked him.

  In fact if another woman called him beautiful, he was going to inflict pain on someone, or something. It was blasted hard being a beautiful man, not that it hadn’t given him some pleasure in his earlier years.

  While Nicholas walked around with his devilishly dark features, Sebastian had always strolled around with a glowing effect to his features. Add in his dimples and all around joyful attitude and voila, a perfect recipe for young debutantes and forward mamas.

  It obviously had never occurred to any of the females in Sebastian’s acquaintance how blatantly rude they were being when they literally could not find the strength to tear their eyes away. In fact, many women thought he wanted to be called beautiful, but as a man, the last thing he wanted to be labeled with was the same word he used to seduce women.

  Sebastian took a long sip of brandy and sighed.

  The sigh was not lost on Nicholas, who right away started pouring him another drink.

  "You do realize it’s not as if I have to marry for a purpose other than presenting an heir," Sebastian complained mostly to himself, although Nicholas gave him a head nod to acknowledge he was listening to the lamentation pouring forth from Sebastian’s lips. "Furthermore, I don't see why every single debutante has to be so stupid."

  "Here, here,” Nicholas said, lifting his glass. "I do understand."

  "Spare me." Sebastian shook his head in protest. "At least you have a beautiful wife to dote on whose voice doesn't shriek the way some girls do."

  Sebastian felt a sudden headache coming on. What he needed was an arranged marriage where he could get an heir and also have a mistress on the side, but those days, as he told Nicholas, were well behind him. And although he would die before admitting it, he did want to get married. Call it curiosity or maybe insanity, but he felt it was time to settle down and actually have a family, a real family. He owed his parents at least that much.

  Sebastian watched Nicholas as he went and looked out the window. The poor man probably had a terrible time keeping his hands off his wife. What would it be like to have a companion you both lusted after and loved? His mind was incapable of imagining it.

  A maid entered, carrying a note. Nicholas offered an apology before stepping out of the room, leaving Sebastian alone with his thoughts.

  Sighing, he leaned his head back against the chair, all the while swirling the amber liquid around his glass. It wasn’t that he considered himself an unhappy man. Indeed he felt content and overall satisfied with his life. Women often commented on his optimistic demeanor, thinking it a ruse to get them into bed. But to Sebastian it had always seemed that most men wasted valuable time being upset or angry when they had it within their capabilities to fix their situation in the first place. Was life not meant to be lived to the fullest?

  Most of his existence had been less than charmed. In fact, if anyone had anything to be bitter about, it was Sebastian. He had inherited his title at the early age of one and seven.

  Both of his parents had died in a carriage accident, leaving his grandmother to finish raising him on her own. If one could call bossing the staff around on how to treat the Duke of Tempest raising.

  He did love his grandmother. It wasn’t her fault his parents had died, nor was it his, as she had reminded him that fateful day.

  “Sebastian, my boy, you could not help what happened,” she had said, petting his yellow curls. “It is in the Lord’s hands, dear boy. Bad things happen, and we must trust in Him.”

  He still had trouble processing his grandmother’s wise words. He knew them to be astute, but that didn’t make them easy for him to put into practice. In fact, she had a horrible time dealing with him. It was no wonder she was constantly bossing everyone around trying to gain some semblance of control over her defiant grandson.

  But he had been mourning. Men struggle trying to understand why things happen the way they do. Adolescents who are not yet fully grown have an even more difficult time, especially when it’s their fault the people they loved the most in the world had to perish. He took another sip of brandy as a melancholy fog rested on his broad shoulders.

  He hadn’t thought about his childhood in a long while. He must have drunk more brandy than he originally imagined. Then again, Nicholas was good at refilling his glass when he was brooding. Something Sebastian was hardly ever guilty of.

  Maybe his grandmother could shed some light on his marriage situation. After all she was the one breathing hot coals down his neck about reformation and forgiveness. It wasn’t even as if he had lived such a terribly rakish life. In fact he was known as the angel duke by quite a few of the gentry. It wasn’t necessarily his heavenly and joyous demeanor, though it did seem to help. No, in truth he had been given the title after rescuing a small girl from near death. It also didn’t hurt that people had a hard time attaching any sort of scandal to his name. Oh he had done his fair share of taking mistresses and sowing wild outs across the continent, he was just remarkably talented at keeping people quiet, giving more credence to his reputation that no woman could seduce him.

  He’d like to see them try.

  The one woman ever close to succeeding only did so because she was foolish enough to make it her goal for an entire year, and even then he knew what she was about, finally giving in just so the poor thing wouldn’t run headfirst into the nearest street.

  Unfortunately it was becoming clearer as he aged that women were easy to read and extremely similar in their dispositions. Having a wife would be, in his mind, akin to having a nice pet. A creature you dress up when it was time for fancy dinners and reproduce with to gain an heir. Anything outside of that was relatively pointless. He had his gentleman friends for lively conversation and his grandmother for nagging.

  Yes, although part of him was jealous of Nicholas’s good luck, another part of him was terrified he would find someone who had the ability to take such a strong hold on his heart that he would be in constant terror of losing her. Such a woman did not exist, and even if she did, she was probably boring and ugly, leaving him to feel again quite good about his decision to let Nicholas help him pick out a bride.

  Although Nicholas had been joking, it was quite like picking out a horse. He needed to leave his heart out of it and use his head. What he required was a young happy woman who would bear his children and be a good duchess.

  What he should do was write a list. Yes, a list explaining the characteristics he required of his future bride. Surely it would help Nicholas out.

  Getting up, he walked around to the large desk and sat in the chair. He heard a tiny giggle. Pausing, he looked around the room and shrugged. Must be his imagination.

  And then something grasped his leg. A loud curse escaped his mouth, echoing through the room.

  “My father says that’s a dirty word. Is it a dirty word, your grace?” interrupted a smaller version of his old friend, hiding beneath the desk with mud on his face and some sort of jelly on his fingers.

  Perfect, he only hoped he wasn’t acting as the child’s napkin.

  “Does your dad use that word?” Sebastian fired back with a question of his own.

  The little boy giggled then crooked his finger for Sebastian to lean closer. Like an idiot, he fell for the trick just as the little boy’s hands firmly grasped the crisp folds of his cravat. “My daddy says not to tell my mama. Sometimes he says it when he is angry. Like the time I brought a frog to church. That was fun!”

  You know what else is fun? Washing one's hands.

  “There you are!” Nicholas said from the doorway.

  Samuel sunk behind the desk again. Sebastian closed his eyes, hoping the jelly stains on his perfectly white cravat would somehow disappear as well.

  “Samuel.” Nicholas’s voice took a warning edge, making Sebastian feel the need to adjust the cravat for more air. Devil take it, even he started to sweat when he heard Nic
holas’s voice turn threatening. Sebastian stole a glance at Samuel, who shook his head and crossed his arms.

  Not the wisest of choices, young fellow.

  Instead of taking the smart option of apologizing, the boy decided to take the road less traveled and ran.

  Bless him, he didn’t get far. Nicholas’s trained hands darted out and grabbed the boy’s shirttails just as he was passing the doorframe. He let out a screech so mind-blowingly loud that Sebastian was convinced hearing loss would soon follow.

  Fully caught red handed, or in Samuels case jelly handed, he did what any young boy of his age would do.

  He smiled.

  And Sebastian’s heart clenched.

  How Nicholas could even punish the young cherub was beyond him. Yet Nicholas did just that, giving the boy a firm, yet loving, sit down. At the end of the lecture he demanded Samuel apologize to Sebastian.

  Just don’t turn those giant blue eyes on me.

  And the boy circled toward him. Alligator tears slowly dripping down his red cheeks.

  Deliver me, Lord.

  “Y-y-your grace?”

  Sebastian got down on one knee and put out his hand for Samuel to shake. It seemed even at a young age boys knew how often things were fixed by the firm shaking of one’s hand. His face immediately brightened as he shook Sebastian’s hand then saluted him as if he was royalty.

  He had no option but to salute back.

  Samuel ran off, leaving Sebastian’s face still in a smile, until he met Nicholas’s brooding gaze.

  “Uh, it was nothing.” Sebastian dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

  “He shouldn’t be spying,” Nicholas clipped.

  “He’s a boy.”

  “Don’t encourage him.”

  “Don’t discourage him from being so carefree. Boys should grow up to be—”

  “I’m sorry, it sounded as if the Duke of Tempest, sworn bachelor, was just contemplating giving me parenting advice.” Nicholas lifted an eyebrow in shock.

  Sebastian scowled and crossed his arms. “I was merely going to say he deserves room to grow.”

  Nicholas snorted.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’ll just enjoy rubbing this conversation in your face when you produce a tiny replica of yourself and that replica decides to hide frogs in your bed.”

  You have no idea how tired of waiting I am. Sebastian dismissed the thought, feeling suddenly uncomfortable that it was in his head in the first place. Something was seriously wrong with him. Taking a mistress, getting foxed, and gambling, those were the things that should be in the forefront of his mind. Not chasing jelly handed children around the house.

  Being surrounded by married friends was obviously playing with his normally calm and cheerful demeanor. He needed another drink. Or had he already had a few? Obviously his memory had been affected as well. The sooner he wrote the deuced list and chose a bride, the better.

  As if reminding himself, he announced rather loudly, “I’ve decided to write a list of things I would like in a wife. Then you and Sara may choose the best fit.”

  “Why is that not surprising?” came the sarcastic remark from behind him. Only the words did not come from a male voice, no. They came from a voice that would haunt him for the rest of the night. Slowly he turned to see what defiant creature belonged to such an irresistible voice.

  Sweet Lord.

  Also from Astraea Press and Rachel Van Dyken

  Prologue

  Oh no. This is not happening, not happening!

  I wipe my hands over my pleated skirt, a nervous habit. Sweaty hands aren’t attractive, or so Brad Macintosh said when he held them during couple’s skate my seventh grade year.

  It’s my first choir solo ever. Why couldn’t it be our fall concert instead of our Spring Spectacular? I feel ridiculous standing in front of the entire school with my mouth gaping open trying to find a middle C. Not to mention the fact that my mother, who is standing up in the front of the audience waving with video camera in hand, forced me to wear a pleated skirt. Thus the outfit is now screaming “uncool” on my lanky body.

  Never am I this mean. But when I get nervous, I tend to snap at people. All week I’ve been at odds with my mom for taking pictures of me. She was literally documenting every day of my life up until the big solo or as she puts it, “my discovery!” Leave it to my mom to turn a junior high solo into the performance of a lifetime, which will not only get her daughter discovered, but will make her a best selling artist all before her eighteenth birthday. Somehow I don’t think MTV is going to be knocking on our door anytime soon for the professional footage my mom shot in order to do a “diary” on my life before I was famous.

  Nervous and sweating, I begin my solo, praying I remember the words. When I finish, I felt like I’d run the fifty-yard dash the way my heart is hammering, but then I realize everyone is clapping. They’re all clapping for me. I did well!

  In fact, people are beginning to stand up and clap. I actually feel famous, like I’m a pop star giving my first concert and people love me. THEY LOVE ME!

  I bow and do a little curtsy just so they know I’m still humble then wave like Miss America all the way back to my seat with the rest of the choir. Blushing, I try to avoid eye contact with the rest of the choir as they whisper, “good job”. I look humble, but I’m actually soaring because of how proud I am. I actually did it! Now if only my mom would turn off that dang camera and sit down. My dad gives me a thumbs up, and oh yes, my mom is wiping a stray tear from her eye. Looking at them you’d assume I’ve never done anything exciting in my entire life.

  ****

  Our choir director grabs the microphone and clears his throat. The entire audience falls silent like he’s the president of the United States about to make his State of the Union address.

  Our town is small. Just because our choir director used to be a somewhat famous Christian artist doesn’t mean he should be elected mayor or given the key to the town; however, few agree with my practical assessment. After all, he did give me my starring solo, so I should probably act a little more thankful. So I, like everyone else, put the stars in my eyes and listen intently for what he is about to say.

  “Now, I know we normally end after the starring solo.” He turns and winks at me while I feel my face turn hot as people start chanting my name. “But,” he says, holding up his hand, “we have a little treat for all of you today. Preston, why don’t you come down here?”

  Preston? Weird, I didn’t know he was in choir. Poor boy. He’d be more attractive if he traded in the Star Wars t-shirts for some button-ups. He’s the only member of the local Star Wars fan club; he refuses to acknowledge that George Lucas did, in fact, make more films. He says it’s blasphemy to even speak of it, thus why he’s the only member of the club.

  Rather than his usual uniform sporting R2D2 or Luke Skywalker, he’s wearing an over large sweater vest and pants way too short for his height. As I’m assessing his wardrobe, my eyes land on Austin Macintosh, a pretty boy.

  Good looks and talent on the basketball court don’t hurt his popularity with the ladies either. Hopefully, he’ll ask me to prom. I mean it’s only natural for the starting point guard to ask out the soloist of the year, right? Deciding to be bold, I wink at him and notice a faint blush stain his cheeks and his eyes shift downward in nervousness. When he looks up he lifts his hand in a friendly wave and winks. Yes!

  “Amanda Lewis!”

  I hear my name. Why do I hear my name? Turning, I see Preston staring at me, and the entire audience seems to be waiting in suspense.

  “What?” I ask in hushed tones.

  The girl next to me tells me Preston had asked me to approach the front. Strange, but maybe I won an award? Without further hesitation, I walk up and smile brightly as people clap. The temptation to wave again is overwhelming, and I succumb, beaming as I receive another round of applause. Wow, I could get use to this kind of attention. Finally I reach Preston, but there’s no trophy. Bumm
er.

  He grabs for my hand, and before I can pull it away, it’s already stuck in his grasp. He’s rubbing my thumb. This is awkward. “Will you go to prom with me?”

  He’s kidding. I’m getting pranked. This can’t be real. Is this Candid Camera? Looking around, I notice that everyone in the audience is dead silent. Even my friends in the choir are sitting there with their mouths gaping open. This is social suicide.

  As I take the microphone out of his hands, I feel the collective hush of people holding their breath. Somehow I manage to press on as gracefully as possible. “Wow, that’s so sweet to offer,” I say cheerfully. I see my mom has turned the video camera back on. We’ll have words later.

  “But,” I say unsure, “I already promised I’d go with my cousin. Maybe if you had asked sooner…” This is my peace offering, a pathetic one.

  “Prom’s in two months,” Preston replies, defeated.

  “I know,” I say quickly. “But I wanted to get an early start. So sorry, Preston.”

  He grabs the microphone and tries to smile. “It’s okay. You’re right. I should have asked sooner. Hey, let’s give another round of applause to the soloist of the night!” He backs up and claps for me, but I can see tears in his eyes. Humiliation, and it’s all my fault.

  All I want right now is for the floor to swallow me alive. That isn’t an option, however, so I wave with little enthusiasm and find my seat.

  A girl next to me nudges my knee. “That was close, huh?” Her eyes are laughing, like she’s making a joke, but I just want to cry. How cruel can a person be? People around me are muttering words like, ouch, harsh, bummer, and I fight the tears threatening to stream down my face. My throat constricts with a sudden onslaught of emotion as I watch Preston slowly move back to his seat and hang his head in his hands. I silently pray for him to lift his head and look in my direction. Instead all I see a single tear slide down his cheek then nausea overwhelms me. I just shot Bambi, and the worst part is, I can’t seem to find the strength to get up, walk over to his seat, and apologize.