Alas, if life were different.
He wondered if Lizbeth was God’s joke on him. Had God created two people meant to be together, but with a sardonic twist of fate, ensured they would live estranged? If only Sebastian had been dealt a better set of cards, if his mother had lived, if he hadn’t let down his father so abominably, if she hadn’t died. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking the last memory, blocking her.
He needed to stop torturing himself. He needed to put an end to this blossoming friendship before he compromised them both, leaving him no choice but to drag Lizbeth into his hellish life.
She tempted him something fierce. Besotted. Smitten. Head over heels. All he wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and make love to her.
He was in so deeply he needed either to get on the first carriage out of town or ride hell for leather to speak with her father. If only he could offer her a man worth loving.
Not for a moment did he deceive himself that a life with him would be happy.
One sleepless night had been spent convincing himself he could make it work. With a bit of pretense, a few lies, some untold truths, he could keep her enough at arm’s length to make life livable between them for quite some time. Assuming she didn’t ask too many questions. He couldn’t see how such a life could be sustainable, though. There were aspects about himself he couldn’t hide. How would he explain some without revealing all? He couldn’t reveal all.
If he told her everything, she would leave him in a heartbeat. No one, not even the most tender woman on earth, could love a murderer, regardless of the circumstances in which he earned that title. Two deaths weighed on his conscious, even if not by his hand directly. Two people’s lives for which he would exchange his own if he had the power.
God, but he wanted her. If circumstances were different. If he were different. If his past were different, he would be courting her now without a second thought, making a grand showing to her and all the world that he wanted no woman but her.
Oh, Lizbeth. Oh, you wonderous woman.
She would be his undoing.
The more he revealed, the more she would see the war mural beneath the gilded wallpaper. The more he revealed to her, the more she would see the scarred man piecing together his life after a history of violence. The more he revealed…
He couldn’t survive her rejection if she left him. If he ended their friendship on his terms, all would be well, because he would add her to the list of his many regrets and move forward with life. But if he gave himself to her and she ran from him, as he knew she would, he could never move forward.
He slammed his fist on the table, rattling his coffee cup in its saucer and attracting curious stares from other guests in the coffeehouse. Stop thinking about her.
Flattening his palm against the wood, he ground his teeth. This would not do. This simply would not do. He had to stop. Everything was moving too quickly, too unexpectedly. He had to stop before he did something stupid, something rash, dooming her to the misery of living with him, a brooding devil steeped in sorrow and regret.
Chapter 12
Sebastian walked beside Lizbeth through Montagu House, the home of the British Museum. As fascinating as the exhibits, he concentrated on little else aside her.
She was a far rarer treasure than anything the museum offered. How was he supposed to resist her charms, charms she wasn’t the least aware of possessing? He watched her mouth when she spoke, observed her dilating pupils, and appreciated the tightness of her bodice when she breathed deeply.
His willpower teetered on the edge.
For the days they’d been apart since Vauxhall, he’d oscillated as to what should be done between them. By that morning, he’d talked himself into leaving her. It was for her sake. He didn’t deserve her. She didn’t deserve to be entrapped by him. The best decision for them both was his leaving London, or at the very least avoiding her until he could leave. But oh, such wasn’t so easy to accomplish.
He was a drowning man.
It didn’t help they were alone. Annick and Charlotte had abandoned them for the reading room when the pair stopped to examine the surviving copy of Beowulf. As scandalous as it was to be left unchaperoned, he doubted anyone noticed or cared given the few people milling about them were children and nannies.
Lizbeth paused to study a case, Sebastian hanging back to study her. With her back to him, he could openly admire her. Namely, her coiffure. He longed to undo it one hairpin at a time. Several strands of auburn fell loose from the coil, waterfalling over her ears, onto her shoulders, and down the length of her back. He marveled at how unruly she always managed to look, beautifully, naturally unruly, a freshly tumbled appearance even during the most mundane of activities. Mmmm.
“Sebastian?”
He started, unaware he had slipped into a daze. “Pardon. Woolgathering.”
“Obviously. Were you imagining pirates stealing coins on the high seas?” She turned to him, gesturing to the display of coins he hadn’t noticed until now.
“Not exactly.” He racked his brain for something to say that didn’t involve lips or bodices or how thoroughly he wanted to kiss her. “Those coins were from Sir William Hamilton’s collection, a Scottish diplomat who, among other hobbies, is a volcanologist.”
Hell and damnation. Was that really the best he could think to say? He might as well hold a sign above his head that read, I’d rather kiss you than talk about coins.
“He isn’t really. You jest!” The green flecks in her eyes twinkling with amusement.
“No jest. He sent reports to London from the Mount Vesuvius eruptions in Naples. Quite the daring adventurer, wouldn’t you say?”
“He sounds reckless.” She tutted.
“All in the name of science. Should I even mention his study of earthquakes? Musician, archeologist, politician—the list goes on. If only we were all so accomplished.”
“Don’t start.” She wagged a scolding finger. “You are accomplished and can’t deny it.”
“I most certainly can and will. Working myself ragged isn’t an accomplishment,” he protested.
“Why do you do this, Sebastian? Why are you always so harsh on yourself?”
Her tone wiped the half-smile from his face.
Their conversation lapsed into silence.
When she pressed her nose against the glass of the next case, a fog of breath formed. “I think you have much to recommend yourself,” she said in half whisper. “When you told me at Annick’s dinner the deplorable state your father left the lands when he died, I knew you were a man to be admired. You’ve worked so hard to rise from poverty. How can you say that isn’t an accomplishment? Not every man can rebuild five earldoms and a barony, you know. Most can’t turn a profit with one!”
Sebastian lumbered to the nearest wall and leaned against it, arms crossed. “Change topic, Lizbeth. Business isn’t the subject for mixed company.”
She pivoted to face him. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed. “Do you still understand me so little? Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t know ledgers, accounting, or investment correspondences. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about what is important in your life. Just because—oh.” She exhaled, exasperated.
“Oh, forget it.” She turned her hands palm out. “Sometimes conversation with you is beyond enriching. Other times it is impossible. You’re edgy today, and I don’t appreciate it. Why did you bring me here if you were going to be edgy?”
“I’m not edgy. I simply don’t want to talk about myself. I’m sorry for snapping. Truly, I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for the world.”
Unsure what else to say, he remained silent. He didn’t want to talk about himself.
The work he’d invested over the past decade to save his lands from poverty, to build trust amongst abused and financially raped laborers, was a source of pride for him, but it was
a modest pride, a humble pride, an embarrassed pride. He hardly deserved the accolades he knew she would shower on him. All he had done was fulfill an obligation to the people and give meaning to his otherwise empty life.
He was not a hero.
It had started with his grandfather, and then continued with his father. After his great-grandfather depleted the family coffers on a dream to turn a pile of ruins into a livable castle, the heir was left penniless. In an attempt to replenish funds, Sebastian’s father and grandfather grew greedy. They dropped wages below livable percentages and refused any improvements to the villages. Several of the towns didn’t have proper water or sewage systems when he inherited, and none of them had resident physicians. He was not surprised by the state of affairs, but he was certainly appalled.
This had been his plight for a decade.
Lizbeth touched his arm, sending tendrils of heat racing through his veins. He hadn’t noticed her approach him. Her touch, however brief and light, made him quiver despite the gravity of his thoughts.
Acquiescing, his lips twitched into a smile.
“Let’s not quarrel. I brought you here because I knew you’d enjoy it. Don’t let me spoil the day,” he said, taking her by the elbow to lead her to the next exhibit.
Absently, without forethought, he added, “If you must know, what I want to do is speak with your father.”
Not until her eyes widened did he realize what he said.
Hell and damnation.
Before she could respond or misconstrue words further, he clarified, “You wanted to talk business, didn’t you? Well, I’m considering coal mining, as either an investor or sole proprietor. Distant future, mind you. Given your father’s experience, a conversation with him is warranted, don’t you think?”
She stared, digesting what he said, he supposed.
After several minutes, she responded, “It was my grandfather’s tin mine, my mother’s father, that is. Papa was his apprentice. He’s quite proud of the mine.”
He raised a quizzical brow.
They continued their exploration of the exhibits as she explained how her father, of landed gentry, came to apprentice at a tin mine.
He said nothing after she finished her story, feeling her eyes on him rather than the cases.
Clearing his throat to dislodge the lump forming, he said, “I’m not accomplished, you know, just strategic. Coal mining is just such a strategy. I’ve learned how to maximize profits, generate income, and invest wisely. Originally, the key was in finding ways on the outset to minimize costs. Bargaining, repurposing tools, and greasing elbows, namely. Are you bored yet? Are you ready to concede I’m not as accomplished as a volcanologist?”
She laughed heartily and shook her head.
Sebastian struggled between how she made him feel with her reverence and how he felt about himself. In his estimation, he didn’t deserve her respect. Yes, he had worked hard, but no more than any man in his position. Lizbeth was only seeing the man he was trying to become, not the man he had always been.
Liz said, “I think everything you’ve done is admirable. Your heart is with the people and the lands, where it should be. You’ve complained before of what all you haven’t repaired, but look at what you have done instead!”
Chagrined, he glanced away, realizing they had walked through three exhibits without pausing. Vases from the orient sat empty on shelves in whatever exhibit they walked through now. He didn’t much care. All he cared about was this woman on his arm.
“But even the castle is in disrepair, Lizbeth. It is far from finished. Well over half the curtain wall remains in rubble, along with the old towers. Thankfully, most of the keep’s renovation was completed before my time, but it did sit empty for two generations.”
“No more berating yourself! You act modest, but I know this is your passion.” She sighed wistfully. “Oh, I wish I could see the castle.”
He resisted saying he too wished she could see it, could roam the halls with him, make love under a blanket of stars in the courtyard. He ground his teeth to blot out that vision and held his tongue before he said something they would both regret. If he gave too much credence to how she made him feel, he would take her into his arms and make a clod of himself in the middle of Montague House.
Struggling not to blurt out his thoughts or to look at her lips, luscious and inviting, he walked to a shelf of decorative vases, none of which interested him nearly as much as the thought of unleashing her passion.
Their solitude was momentarily disrupted by a gaggle of screeching toddlers leading their nanny a merry dance. The children whisked by without a second glance to Sebastian or Lizbeth, but the nanny bowed her head in embarrassed apology as she chased after her wards.
When he glanced at Liz, she stared back at him in rapt interest. What had they been discussing? The only image in his mind was of her standing in his gazebo, arms open in welcome embrace.
He was a drowning man.
She laid a hand on his coat sleeve, a sensation incredibly intimate for such a simple touch, not to mention such a public place. Did she want to ruin her reputation? Did she want to compromise them? Did she know how hard he fought his desire for her own benefit?
“I’m no different than a common laborer, Lizbeth. You see that, right? Beneath the titles, I’m just a laborer. It began in my attempt to build trust with the field hands and villagers, people who had only known a wrathful employer. It began that way, but I liked the work. To prove I was as good as my word, I built the new houses myself, repaired cottages myself, all with my own hands. And I enjoyed it.”
For effect, he removed his gloves to reveal callused hands, hardly the hands of a gentleman, much less an earl. “I plowed fields alone. I scythed alone. I didn’t do these things once, you understand. I did them every day. I still do them, but now I work alongside my men. I enjoy the work.”
“And here I’ve always thought peers hosted fox hunts and played lawn bowls for entertainment.” Lizbeth teased, making light of his words. He replaced his gloves, as she continued. “You are accomplished. I wish you could hear yourself, really hear yourself, see yourself through my eyes,” she said with a beguiling smile.
The smile disarmed him.
Sliding his hand over hers, public place be damned, he led her to the next room with a collection of busts.
Thankfully, not another soul was in sight. Sophocles stared at him from a shelf, judging Sebastian as if the plaster bust knew his reserve slipped with each step, each smile.
“I’ve done nothing special or unique, only ungenteel,” he insisted. “Every landowner, be they peer or gentry, must work to keep their lands profitable. I merely took the task literally.”
“But how many gentlemen would do this on their own? They would go into further debt to hire estate managers to do it all, trusting the expertise of the steward the man’s moral compass not to swindle the estate or the people. No, Sebastian, whether or not you wish to take my compliments to heart, I mean them, and they are true. You are the smartest man I know and a man to be respected and admired.”
Sunrays shown through the window panes, dancing light across her features.
The look she gave him from beneath long, sooty eyelashes, burning with intensity and curiosity, caused him to misstep, his hand reaching instinctively for her arm, pulling her against his chest as he steadied his footing. Not sure if he should kiss her or apologize for being a colossal klutz, he held her to him for a moment too long, searching her expression.
Her eyes laughed up at him as he cleared his throat, regained composure, and pressed forward in their walk.
His body alive from the brief but intimate touch and his heartrate quickening, he cleared his throat twice, then thrice, before carrying on as though nothing happened.
Sebastian slowed their gait among the sculptures, stopping in front of a scowling man in plaster. “I enjoy t
he freedom physical work offers, even if it does tan my skin and thicken my muscles in ways civilized society finds grossly unattractive.”
“I don’t find you unattractive, not in the least,” Liz replied coquettishly. “Quite the contrary.”
He would have expected her to say it with a blush and downcast eyes, but not Lizbeth. Not this woman who melted his resolve. Her eyes met his, communicating boldly her attraction to him. He studied her for longer than was polite, counting the sun-kissed freckles dotting the bridge of her pert nose and both cheekbones just under her long eyelashes.
A drowning man, treading water.
“So, they trust you now?”
“Who?” He searched his memory of their conversation, recalling only her confession of attraction.
“The laborers,” she prompted. “You said you did all this in the beginning to build their trust.”
“Ah. Yes. Them. Aye, partly. After a lifetime of abuse, trust doesn’t come easily. It takes time to earn and maintain trust. Assuming it ever can be earned.” Only after he spoke the words did he realize he was talking about himself.
“Oh, I see,” she said cryptically. “Yes, I understand now.”
Lizbeth trailed her fingertips down his forearm until she reached his hand, then slipped her palm into his, lacing their fingers. “I want to earn your trust, Sebastian, as you earned theirs. I want you to open up to me. I want… I want you.”
Before he could stop himself, reacting instinctively to the acceleration of his pulse and the earnestness of her words, he reached for her cheek with his free hand and leaned in to kiss her. Only when he felt her breath against his face did he hesitate.
Sebastian searched Lizbeth’s eyes for a reason to pull back but saw only longing, her eyes pleading with him to finish what he started. It was his undoing.
He leaned the remaining inches to press his lips firmly against hers.
Warm. Moist. Tender.
Oh, Lizbeth.
He relaxed his mouth, relishing the softness of hers. Never had such a chaste kiss felt this sensual. He breathed in deeply through his nose to inhale her scent, to fill himself with her, her lips hot and wet against his own. A growl vibrated the back of his throat.
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