Rogues Rush In

by Tessa Dare

  She poked through her little collection with a fingertip. “Perhaps I’ll put them in the garden, with some silver bells and pretty maids all in a row. It would be a nice remembrance, wouldn’t it?”

  “I think he’d like that. A chance to tease you from beyond the grave.”

  “Henry did have a point. I’ve tried to temper my inclination toward contrariness, but it never seems to work. I’m my father’s daughter, and it’s in my blood. A bit of rousing debate was like a game for us. One we both enjoyed.” She gave him a cautious look. “But I know it’s not that way in everyone’s family.”

  It certainly hadn’t been that way in Sebastian’s home. No good-natured arguments between his parents. Only threats and accusations and the sound of china shattering against the wall.

  “I’ll try to be more patient,” he said.

  “I’ll try not to be right all the time,” she teased. “I suppose this means our first argument as a married couple is out of the way.”

  The knot in his chest unraveled. Apologies accomplished, just like that. He’d learned so much from his time spent in the Clayton house. It was in that house he’d learned to be a man.

  Henry had taught him what it meant to be a friend.

  Mr. Clayton had taught him what it meant to be responsible.

  Mary had taught him what it meant to yearn. To sense there was something more beneath the surface of a friendship. To wish he knew how to bring that into the light. To wonder if he could ever deserve it.

  She stopped to gather another cockleshell and turned it over between her fingers, inspecting it. Dissatisfied, she cast it away. “Imagine if I’d married Giles. I would have been ‘Mary Perry, quite contrary.’ How dreadful.”

  He pulled a face. “Dreadful, indeed. Why did you accept his proposal if you didn’t love him?”

  “Considering his political aspirations, I told myself I could do some good as his wife. That was before I realized he was only motivated by ambition. He didn’t truly care about serving the people. I’d have gone mad as his wife, trying to hold my tongue in company and support his bland political positions without expressing my own thoughts. I’m so relieved that I didn’t have to marry him.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes. In fact, I’m more than relieved. I’m happy.”

  Happy.

  The word made Sebastian’s brain spin.

  Naturally, he agreed with the assessment that she and Perry would have made a disastrous match. He’d known that from the first. Differences of opinion aside, the man simply wasn’t good enough for her.

  But could she truly be happy to have been jilted?

  That was too much to believe. In all likelihood, she was merely soothing her own feelings. Telling herself it was for the best, in order to ease the pain.

  In time, he’d do his best to make her happy in truth.

  “I have something for you.” He reached into his breast pocket, fishing around for his small gift. “I brought it back from the village, but I forgot about it earlier, what with all the—”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Surplus?”

  “Exactly.” He smiled a little. “While I was at the smithy with Shadow, I had the blacksmith make this.” He withdrew the tiny circle of polished silver and placed it in her palm. “It’s only temporary. You’ll have something much finer at the first opportunity. But for now, it’s the best I could do.”

  She regarded it wordlessly.

  Sebastian shifted his weight from one foot to the other. At the smithy, it had seemed a good idea. Now that he saw it resting in her delicate hand, the ring looked crude and paltry. “You don’t have to wear it.”

  She clamped her fingers over it, closing the ring in her fist. “Certainly I’m going to wear it. Don’t think I’ll give it back now.”

  He exhaled with relief.

  She slid the thin, humble band onto her third finger. “It was thoughtful of you to bring it.” She stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

  As she pulled back, he wrapped an arm around her, keeping her close. His gaze dropped to her pale-pink lips.

  Irresistible.

  He kissed her, and she leaned into his embrace. Her frock was wonderfully thin, and her breasts melted against him. He explored her mouth with possessive strokes of his tongue, taking more, and then yet more. She offered everything he asked, and then began to take from him, too. She laced her fingers together at the back of his neck and clung tight, making him her captive.

  Love, never set me free.

  His hand began to wander of its own accord, sweeping down her spine and over the flare of her hip, coming to settle on the curve of her bottom. He flexed his fingers, claiming a plump handful of flesh and drawing her body to his with a firm, swift motion. His cock grew and stiffened, pulsing against the softness of her belly.

  He bent his head and kissed his way down her neck. Her little gasp of pleasure made him swell with triumph.

  More. He wanted more.

  He stroked her breast through the thin muslin of her frock, palming and kneading her softness. Her nipple tightened. He strummed the sensitive peak, brushing his thumb back and forth in a teasing caress. She moaned faintly, and he covered her mouth with his own, drinking in the sound of her pleasure.

  When the kiss ended, he readied an insincere apology.

  I was carried away, didn’t mean to press you too far, we’ll go as slowly as you please, et cetera…

  But she spoke first.

  “Sebastian.” She wet her lips. “Make love to me tonight.”

  *

  Mary held her breath as she gazed into his eyes.

  Sebastian was silent for so long, she began to grow self-conscious. And confused. He’d just explored her body as shamelessly and thoroughly as a Viking plundering a medieval village. How could he be shocked by her request?

  He shook his head. “It’s too soon.”

  “We’re married. This is our honeymoon,” she said. “Once we leave, you’ll have your business affairs, I’ll be settling into a new home. There seems no better opportunity than now.”

  In fact, she worried that this might be the only opportunity. If they didn’t forge a strong connection before leaving Kent, she might be waiting a very long time for another chance.

  “It’s only been one day,” he said. “You’re not over your disappointment.”

  “I told you, I didn’t love him. Perhaps I ought to be heartsick, but I’m not. I’m relieved.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re ready to leap into bed with me.”

  “No doubt it will be awkward the first time. But that’s always going to be the case, no matter how long we wait.” She turned her gaze around the empty beach. “Besides, there’s little else to do for amusement. Unless you’d rather play cards all night.”

  He groaned. “Playing cards with you is like trying to hold back the tide—there’s no way to win.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. “No cards. Which brings us back to bed.”

  He stared into the distance.

  “Sebastian, even though I wasn’t expecting to wed you, I’ve always found you attractive.”

  In fact, she’d never grasped the strength of that attraction until she realized how her feelings toward Giles paled in comparison. Giles didn’t make her hot all over with just a simple glance. He didn’t even make her lukewarm.

  She hesitated. “Of course, I don’t expect you to say you feel similarly about me.”

  He caught her chin and tilted her gaze to his. “You,” he said darkly, “make me ache with wanting.”

  Oh.

  Sweet heavens. She’d known he’d say something kind. He’d compliment her eyes, maybe, or possibly her complexion. Call her pretty, perhaps. But his intense confession of desire had caught her entirely unawares.

  She’d gone fishing for a few small compliments, and somehow she’d harpooned a whale.

  He took her by the arms. “I know you enjoy arguing, but this is one matter where I will not be moved.
We had a rushed wedding, but we’re not going to rush this. I’ve too much pride to make it a hurried, joyless affair. I’m going to learn every inch of your body, and you’re going to learn every inch of mine. And when I know you’re ready…when you’re aching for me every bit as fiercely as I’m aching for you…that’s when I’ll make love to you. Not a moment before.”

  Oh, Sebastian. That won’t require nearly so much effort as you think.

  Her own body needed no further coaxing. But how was she going to convince him?

  “We’d better go back.” He turned them in the direction of the cottage and offered his arm. “Dick and Fanny are preparing us a proper dinner, I’m told. Four courses, to be served in the dining room.”

  “Oh, my. I think they’re scrambling to please you so they can remain in your employment.”

  “As well they should be.”

  As they neared the cottage, they spied a coach coming up the lane.

  “It’s here. Thank God.” Sebastian strode toward the house with renewed vigor.

  “Whose coach is that?”

  “It’s mine. I sent an express from Canterbury, telling my housekeeper I’d be here. I asked her to send the carriage with some of my belongings from Town.”

  Mary lingered behind him as he went to greet the coachman. Together, the two men unstrapped a trunk from the back of the carriage. Sebastian carried it inside, undid the latches, and opened it.

  “It’s a miracle. I am now in possession of clean shirts, a razor, shaving soap and tooth powder… All the modern necessities of a civilized life.” To her, he added, “And we have a coach and driver. We can go wherever you like. If Ramsgate doesn’t suit you, you may have your choice of destination. Bath. The Wye valley. The Lake district. The Cotswolds. Hell, why not Paris?”

  Mary laughed at his last suggestion. Inside, her feelings were conflicted.

  She was running out of excuses to stay in this cottage. She loved this place, but she had to admit she would love it better after a few months of repairs and deep cleaning. And to be truthful, she’d always wanted to see the Cotswolds.

  But what she wanted more than anything was to prevent Sebastian from pulling away. He’d made it clear that he felt compelled by honor to observe an irrational, indefinite waiting period before they consummated their marriage. And yet he’d confessed to desiring her, just now.

  You make me ache with wanting.

  A shiver traveled from her scalp to her toes.

  Knowing Sebastian as well as she did, Mary could easily guess what self-sacrificing compromise he’d arrived at to ease his conscience. He’d keep his distance from her, in whatever way he could. Sleeping in separate beds. Pursuing different interests. Burying himself in whatever work he could find.

  “We can’t leave until after dinner,” she said. “Dick and Fanny will be sorely disappointed, after going to all that work.”

  “The horses need to be watered and fed, as well.”

  Mary gathered her courage. “You’re now in possession of evening attire. And I have a full trunk of gowns I’ve never had the chance to use. Since Mr. and Mrs. Cross have promised us a formal dinner, why don’t we dress accordingly?”

  “If you like.” He scratched his jaw. “I need a bath and a shave, anyway. Shall we say dinner in an hour, then?”

  “Perfect.”

  Chapter 8

  While Mary disappeared upstairs to bathe and dress, Sebastian adopted the study as his own dressing chamber. He took more care with his appearance than he had on the day he’d been presented at Court. He scrubbed, lathered, shaved, combed, brushed, dressed, and buttoned. He even polished his boots to a mirror gleam. Beau Brummel he was not, but he didn’t want to let Mary down.

  He’d always thought it a shame that she never had a proper Season in London. It wasn’t something her father could have afforded, he supposed. The Claytons were an established and well-respected family, but the second son of a fourth son of a landed gentleman didn’t come into much, if any, inheritance. So no social debut for Mary, and now she’d missed her own wedding day—which was meant to be a bride’s chance to shine.

  She deserved to have been admired by scores of gentlemen, on any number of occasions. Life and circumstance had prevented it. So Sebastian was going to smarten up, stand at the bottom of those stairs, and admire her enough to equal a hundred men put together.

  Almighty God.

  Perhaps a thousand men put together.

  She descended the stairs in a shimmering gown of sapphire blue that precisely captured the brilliant hue of her eyes. Pearls studded the elegant upsweep of her auburn hair, in much the same way that charming freckles dotted the pale shelf of her décolleté.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, stating it as a simple fact. Because it was.

  Her blue eyes widened with surprise. But she shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “I’ve always thought you were beautiful. From the first time I saw you.”

  “Oh, come now. I won’t believe that. I was your best friend’s irritating older sister.”

  “You were my best friend’s irritating and beautiful older sister. And I was the typical adolescent boy, unable to think about anything else. There were summers when just being in the same room with you nearly drove me out of my skin.”

  Her eyes softened. “I never knew you admired me like that.”

  “Oh, I admired you.” He looked her over. “I admired you a great deal, and often. Sometimes more than once a day.”

  She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “Se-bas-tian Lawrence Ives.”

  By God, he was a selfish bastard. She’d spent more than an hour readying herself for his eyes alone, and all he wanted was to turn her about, lead her straight back up to the bedchamber, and give her a ravishing that would undo all her effort in a matter of seconds.

  Sebastian dragged his thoughts back to proper gentlemanly behavior. He should not, would not make love to her tonight. He would banish the thought entirely.

  Naturally, the next words from her mouth were, “I notice you assembled the bed.”

  So much for banishment.

  He took her hand, bowed over it, and kissed her fingers. “Lady Byrne. May I have the honor of escorting you in to supper?”

  “Thank you, Lord Byrne. You may.”

  *

  Mary sent up a quiet prayer as he led her into the dining room, where the table had been set with the finest chipped plates and mismatched cutlery the cottage had to offer.

  Please, let this work.

  The gown seemed to have been a good start. If Dick and Fanny had managed a dinner that was the tiniest bit romantic, and if she plied him with a few glasses of wine, perhaps he would set down those shields composed of misplaced duty and loyalty, just for the night.

  To the side of the room, Dick stood at ramrod-straight attention, holding a rather shabby-looking towel draped over his left forearm. His coat was buttoned, and he’d tied a red kerchief about his neck as a cravat. A severe part divided his hair into unequal halves—save for an errant cowlick that bounced with every mild stirring of the air.

  He bowed deeply at the waist. “Milord. Milady.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Cross,” Mary said, as Sebastian helped her into her chair. “This all looks so lovely. You and Mrs. Cross must have worked very hard.”

  “Oh, aye.” Dick poured wine into their glasses. “But we’re not afraid of hard work, milady. Never did you meet such devoted servants as me and my Fanny.”

  Sebastian reached for his wine, clearly sensing the theme of the dinner unfolding. One-Hundred-and-One Reasons Not to Sack Your Caretaker.

  Dick brought out a tureen and a woven basket, over which had been draped a small square of linen. “Yer first course, milord and milady. Soup and pain.”

  “Soup and what?” Sebastian echoed.

  “Pain.” Dick ladled soup into Mary’s bowl.

  Mary looked at the greasy beef broth. Then she met Sebastian’s inquiring gaze and shrugged in
response. I have no idea.

  “Don’t make no sense to me either, milord. But the missus says everything’s French tonight.” He waggled his fingers in a mocking gesture. “La-di-dah.”

  As he left, he whisked the cloth off the basket between them, revealing the contents.

  Bread. Or, as the French would call it, pain.

  “Oh, dear.” Mary pressed a hand to her mouth. “This does not bode well.”

  “Let’s just eat.” Sebastian raised his spoon and sipped from it once, then set it down. “On second thought, let’s not eat this.” He nodded in her direction. “How do you find the pain? Tolerable?”

  “Stop,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me laugh. They’ll hear it.”

  Once the soup had been cleared away, Dick returned with a covered oval platter, which he placed on the table with a flourish. Mary crossed her fingers and her toes, hoping for better this time.

  “Second course, milord and milady. Poison.” He bowed. “Enjoy.”

  After Dick had retreated, Mary stared at the covered platter. “Tell me he didn’t say ‘poison’.”

  “I believe he did.” Sebastian tilted his head. “Do we dare lift the dome for a peek?”

  “I’m not looking. You look.”

  “Maybe we should just ask for more pain instead.”

  “Oh, you.” She plucked a roll from the basket and lobbed it at him. “I’ll give you pain.”

  He lifted a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

  In the kitchen, Dick and Fanny could be heard having a squabble of their own.

  “Woman, what do ye have me sayin’ out there? Servin’ poison to his lordship.”

  “I told ye, ’tis right here in the cookery book. P-O-I-S-S-O-N. Poison. That’s what they call it.”

  “Oh, aye. That’s what the Frenchies want ye to believe. That’s how they get you.”

  Sebastian lifted the lid from the platter, revealing precisely what they both now expected: a steamed fish.

  “Voila,” he said. “Poisson.” He reached for the fillet knife. “Shall I serve you some, my lady?”

  “You try it first.”

  “I am known for living dangerously.” He took a bite. Chewed. Sat a moment in thought. “It’s not poisoned. But it’s also not good.”