Rumors That Ruined a Lady

by Marguerite Kaye

  She gave herself a little shake and got up from the window seat to stretch her cramped legs. Whether or not Sebastian could ever love her was rather beside the point. She remembered how she had felt, desperately trying to hold together her vision of her marriage as it disintegrated around her. So deeply ingrained was her sense of duty that it had been incredibly difficult to accept she had failed. It had been a slow process too, the falling apart of her dream, making it easy, so easy, to ignore it, to pretend it was not really happening, to hope against the odds that it would somehow un-happen.

  Only now, with the nadir of her opium overdose behind her, could she see how very far she had fallen in her efforts to contain, to shore up something she had known was irretrievably broken. She had spent much of the last two years trying to work up the courage to leave her husband. Her independence, such as it was, had been too hard won for her to contemplate surrendering it to any man, and especially not a man whose history categorically proved his determination not to commit to any woman for more than a few months. Besides, she was not truly independent. She was still married. If Sebastian ever did decide to reform his way of life, the last thing he would wish to be saddled with would be a married mistress.

  It was all very well to laugh about scandal and provocative behaviour, to speculate about thumbing one’s nose at society, but she suspected the reality of life as a social pariah would be anything but glamorous. Sebastian was a rake, but he was also an extremely eligible bachelor. She could not continue to contaminate Crag Hall with her socially toxic presence for much longer.

  Especially not after tomorrow. Just thinking about it made her feel quite sick. She doubted very much whether she would go through it, left to her own devices, for there was a tiny, shameful part of her that still hoped for some sort of reconciliation with her father. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to admit this to Sebastian. If she was honest, painfully honest, she knew it was a very forlorn hope indeed. One thing her father most abhorred was being backed into a corner. Tomorrow, she was going to do exactly that, and the consequences...

  She didn’t want to think about the consequences. She didn’t want to think about what happened afterwards either, because that entailed leaving Crag Hall and leaving Sebastian for ever. Oh God, she loved him so much.

  She threw herself down on her bed, but her mind would not cease whirling. Images of Sebastian, of their days here, kept playing over and over in her mind, interspersed with moments of frozen panic when she turned her mind to the morrow. She couldn’t sleep. If only she could stop thinking. She jumped out of bed again, and returned to the window.

  She thought he was a spectre at first, leaning against the paddock fence, his white shirt gleaming, his face a pale profile.

  He looked so lost and lonely standing there. She was lost and lonely too. Clad only in her nightgown, Caro made her way barefoot downstairs before she changed her mind.

  * * *

  He thought she was a ghost, flitting across the cobblestones to the paddock. Through the long white gown, he could clearly see the outline of her body. Her hair floated out behind her, a cloud of fire. Not a ghost, but perhaps a dream.

  ‘Sebastian.’

  Not a dream. Her face was pale in the moonlight, her eyes were dark pools. Since she had left him, alone in his mother’s mausoleum, he had been awash with feelings he could not understand, drowning in confusion as the certainties of his life buckled underneath him. ‘What if it was all a lie?’ he asked. ‘If what you say is true, then I have made myself in an image which—what if it was all a lie, Caro?’

  She slipped her hand into his. ‘Then you must do as I must do,’ she said softly. ‘You must start anew.’

  He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. ‘You put me to shame. All I have to deal with are ghosts, while you...’

  ‘While I resorted to overdosing with opium. And I am so terrified about tomorrow that I can’t sleep.’

  ‘I’ll be right by your side.’

  ‘I know, and I won’t let you down, but—Sebastian, you don’t have to compromise yourself with the county in this way. I am fallen irretrievably from grace, but you...’

  ‘You know what they say. Once a rake.’

  ‘The Heartless Heartbreaker who never broke a single heart.’

  ‘Save perhaps his father’s,’ Sebastian said bitterly.

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘And your father? Are you reconciled to being un-reconciled? For tomorrow will force him to nail his colours to the mast, you know that?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’ She sighed heavily and tightened her arms around his waist. ‘Let us not talk of tomorrow. When I saw you from my window, I thought you were a spectre.’

  He ran his hand down the curve of her spine, resting the flat of his palm on the curve of her bottom. ‘Flesh and blood,’ he whispered, ‘Just like you.’

  She shivered. ‘I know.’ She ran her hands up his back, twined them around his neck. ‘Flesh and blood,’ she murmured, so close he could feel the caress of her breath on his cheek. ‘Make it stop, Sebastian. I’m so tired of thinking.’

  ‘Oblivion. We tried that once before and look what happened.’ Why now? he wondered fleetingly. But her lips were too close to his. Her breasts brushed against his chest. He could feel her nipples harden through the thin cotton of her nightgown, and he realised he wanted it too. ‘Oblivion,’ he murmured, closing his eyes gratefully.

  Her kiss was different from before. No uncertainty, no waiting for him, she claimed him, her tongue sweeping along his lower lip, her mouth opening for him, passionate and utterly sensual. She drank from him, she ran her hands through his hair, urging him to a deeper, more possessive angle, her body pressed, pliant against his.

  He was immediately, throbbingly hard. She shuddered in response, her body arching against him, a tiny low moan escaping from her. He ran his hands down her back, up her sides, sweeping over the pert mounds of her breasts. She shuddered again, and tugged at his shirt. He needed no encouragement. They were already past the point of no return.

  Picking her up, he carried her swiftly to an empty stable. Setting her down, he summarily ripped his shirt off. Her hands were already on him. His mouth found hers once more, devouring the sweet, heady taste of her, his hands caressing her breasts, stroking the hard buds of her nipples, his erection stiffening, his blood singing.

  Her hands fluttered over his back, down his sides, back up to his nipples, in an echo of his touch, her tongue flicking, tasting, driving him into a frenzy of desire. He kicked off his boots, still kissing her, stroking her. She tugged at the waistband of his breeches, gave a sigh of exasperation then released him, not to undress him but to pull her nightgown over her head.

  The sight of her in the moonlight, a pale white goddess with a flame of hair, took his breath away. He would have folded her into his arms, only she was struggling with the buttons of his breeches. He had never, ever, wanted anything so much as to be naked beside her. Everything, every sense, every inch of skin, every nerve, was on fire. This was no oblivion. He felt completely and utterly alive, stretched tight, his entire body attuned to the woman beside him, wanting only to be inside her.

  There were no words. Their eyes spoke eloquently of their needs. And their hands. Tracing shapes, stroking, licking, touching. Her breasts. The dark pink of her nipples. The softness of her belly. The way she shuddered when he touched her. The way he shuddered in response.

  When she cupped him, where he was achingly heavy, when she held him, he thought he would come. The way her fingers circled his shaft, her touch so delicate and yet so sure. Her eyes on his, watching him, sensing his response. His on hers as he slid his fingers between her legs, into the hot, tight, wetness of her. Her eyes widened. Her fingers tightened around him. His thumb stroked the hard nub of her sex, and she stroked him in return, making him pulse, throb, clen
ch with the effort of holding back.

  She brushed her breasts across his chest. His fingers quickened. Her strokes quickened. If they did not stop, it would be too late, and he could not bear for it to be too late. ‘Caro,’ he said desperately.

  * * *

  Caro put her fingers over his mouth, keeping her other hand on his manhood. Velvet skin, solid muscle. She stroked him slowly, feeling his potency, relishing her power. He sucked hard on her finger, holding it in his mouth, his tongue flicking over her fingertip. Her senses were singing, screaming. Inside, where he thrust and slid and stroked, she was tightening.

  His eyes pleaded with her. She did not want it to end, but she could not stop it. She urged him backwards on to a bale of hay. When he would have rolled her under him, she straddled him, laughing, a low, husky laugh, at the surprise, at the delight on his face.

  He kissed her, hard and swiftly. She kissed him back, passionately, pouring all her love, all her longings, everything, into her kiss. His shaft was nudging between her thighs. She was throbbing inside, pulsing, tight, aching. She kissed him again, bracing herself by holding on to his shoulders. He lifted her, his hands on her bottom, and finally, slowly, deliciously, he entered her.

  She came as he filled her, clenching around him, fingernails digging into his skin, crying out over and over. He thrust as she came, and her climax intensified. Then he thrust again, and she twisted, clenched, arched back, so that he could thrust higher. He buried his face between her breasts, his hands cupped over her bottom, as she lifted herself again and he thrust again. Her nipple in his mouth. His lips tugging, sensation spiralling down, to the heat, the damp pulsing of her sex. Lift and thrust. Hands. Mouths. Lift and thrust, until she had no idea whether her climax had ended and begun again, or simply ebbed temporarily, and she did not care.

  Perspiration trickled between her breasts. Sebastian’s face was etched pale and taut in the moonlight. She felt him thicken inside her, heard the harsh cry drawn from his depths as he came, lifting her clear of him at the last moment. His kiss was ragged, his breathing fast and shallow. I love you, she thought, kissing him back, screwing shut her eyes to avoid the hot sting of tears.

  * * *

  Sebastian woke with a start from a heavy sleep, his heart racing. Pushing the damp sheets away from him, he staggered to the window and, not for the first time, cursed the broken catch which kept it permanently closed. Why did he persist in sleeping in this cramped and stultifying cubbyhole of a room, when he had a hundred others to choose from!

  His head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. Hastily pulling on a shirt, breeches and boots, he made his way out to the stables. A gallop in the early morning air would clear his head. The overturned hay bale pulled him up short.

  Caro. Sebastian groaned. These past two years, he felt as if he had been living underground, burrowed away in a cave, living a sort of twilight life, existing but not truly alive. So many emotions he had endured since her arrival, he ought to feel wrung out, but instead he felt—invigorated. She was not just fire, she was earth. Real. She made him realise how stultifying his life had become. She made him remember that he was flesh and blood. She had, quite literally, brought light and life back to Crag Hall.

  She had forced him into opening those damned rooms. It had been like lifting stones in a pool to discover what lurked beneath. He still had no clear idea what to make of it all. He was aware of the past reshaping itself, but as to the final shape it would take—he had no idea, but he realised, with some surprise, that he had already accepted that it would change. Quitting the stables, he made his way back to his room.

  Last night, there had been a new dimension to their passion. Their hunger for each other had been feverish. What had changed between them? Outside, the clock on the stable tower chimed the hour. Sebastian checked his watch. He realised had been sitting here for hours and resolved nothing. He had no idea what he thought or felt.

  Cursing, Sebastian resolved to have his things moved to another suite just as soon as it could be made ready. This cramped little space was smothering him.

  Chapter Ten

  Caro stepped down from the gig on to the gravel driveway. A manservant she didn’t recognise stood to attention in all-too-familiar livery at the open doorway of the gatehouse. She had dressed with care in a cream-silk day dress with leg-of-mutton sleeves. The tiny flowers which embellished the silk were the same cornflower blue as the lining of her bonnet. Her hair was ruthlessly pinned, her gloves spotless, and her heart quaking. Beside her, Sebastian was immaculate in a coat of dark blue with a dove-grey waistcoat. His black trousers fitted his long, muscled legs like a second skin. His shoes were buffed to a high shine.

  ‘You look so different,’ she said, trying gamely to smile.

  ‘I thought that my usual stable-hand garb might find disfavour with Lady Armstrong, given the importance of the occasion.’

  Caro paled. ‘I doubt very much that either my stepmother or my father will be too concerned with what you are wearing when they see who your companion is.’

  Sebastian tucked her arm into his. ‘You look perfectly ravishing and I am proud to have you on my arm.’

  ‘It is good of you to say so, but I know perfectly well that I have never in my life been ravishing.’

  ‘You are quite wrong, you know.’ He lifted her hand to his lips, and brushed a kiss on her gloved palm. ‘Of course, I think you look most ravishing with your hair down and your pink stockings on display, but even a hardened rake such as myself would admit that it would be inappropriate to attend a christening party in such attire.’

  ‘Sebastian! You must not say such things when I am about to confront my father.’

  He gave her a wicked smile. ‘That is precisely why I said those very things. Aside from the fact that they are true, they have given you the most delightful flush. Now you look like a woman who has just been complimented in the most intimate way by her lover. Let us enter the lion’s den before my handiwork fades.’

  She still wore the remnants of her smile as they entered the drawing room on the first floor. Her father’s butler was halfway through announcing the arrival of Lord Ardhallow and companion when he recognised her, and broke off in mid-sentence.

  ‘Egad! Is there no end to the fellow’s brazenness!’ Sir Timothy Innellan’s shocked exclamation drew the attention of the very few people in the room who had not been alerted by the butler’s actions.

  Caro’s knees began to shake. Were it not for Sebastian holding her firmly by his side, ushering her just as firmly forwards, she would almost certainly have turned tail and fled.

  Sebastian paused in front of his neighbour. ‘Allow me to present Lady Caroline Armstrong,’ he said with a polished smile.

  ‘Lady Caroline Rider,’ Sir Timothy’s mother hissed, making her son drop Caro’s hand with some haste. ‘I confess,’ Lady Innellan continued, ‘I am surprised that even you have the nerve to bring that woman into polite company.’

  ‘Oh, we rakes have the nerve for anything,’ Sebastian said icily. ‘As I recall, there was a time when you were happy to welcome Lady Caroline into polite society. In fact, the last time we three were together, it was at a ball hosted by your good self.’

  ‘Lady Caroline’s circumstances, as I am sure you are perfectly well aware, my lord, have changed significantly since then.’

  ‘Indeed, I am perfectly well aware, and would have thought that polite society would rather credit her for having had the good sense to escape those circumstances than turn their backs on her. But then, as you have already pointed out, I am not a member of polite society myself. I trust, if one must forfeit common decency to be admitted into such hallowed portals, that I never shall be.’

  ‘Common decency should prohibit your flaunting your mistress at a family function,’ her ladyship said waspishly.

  ‘I wonder, is it
common decency that motivates you when you provide those cosy little rooms at your own parties,’ Caro said with a smile every bit as sweet as Sebastian’s. ‘Rooms where guests may conduct their liaisons shielded from the beady eyes of society. How ill mannered of me to have failed to sweep my indiscretions under the carpet.’

  ‘I think your crimes go far beyond indiscretions. In any event you would be better served directing your apology to your father.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not apologising, Lady Innellan.’

  ‘Lady Caroline has nothing to apologise for,’ Sebastian said tightly. ‘You will excuse us now, I’m sure. We wish to pay our compliments to the new arrival. My felicitations,’ he added for Caro’s ears alone, ‘you set her down beautifully. You see, you can face down such small-minded hypocrites with ease.’

  ‘Not with anything approaching ease, Sebastian. I feel sick.’

  ‘Remember, you are not at fault or on trial here, and I am right by your side. Courage, ma belle, your father is approaching. Lord Armstrong, may I congratulate you upon your new arrival. As you see, I have brought your daughter to meet her new sister.’

  Sebastian made his bow. Caro was incapable of moving. Her father was as immaculately turned out as ever. He had always looked younger than his years, with a full head of grey hair and a distinguished countenance. His eyes, which were the same colour as her own, met hers for the briefest of moments. She flinched at the iciness apparent there. He was far too much the diplomat to make his outrage apparent, but she had no doubt that he was none the less utterly livid.

  ‘Lord Ardhallow.’ Her father made the stiffest of bows, taking great care not to look at her. ‘I do not hesitate to tell you that your father would have been appalled by your presumption.’