Sebastian - Secrets

by Janey Rosen

  I limp behind my teammates, my knee finally saying enough is enough. As I lay claim to my cognac the pitiful looks by the winning team don’t go unnoticed and my mood worsens. It’s not improved by the further humiliation of De Montfort handing out winners’ medals to the other team and losers’ medals to my team.

  I stand in line, ripped trousers, bloody knee, caked in mud with leaves in my hair and a forced smile on my face as the Adonis places a ribbon over my head, adjusting the medal so that it rests on my sternum. He pauses and regards me, his amused eyes slowly drinking me in, his lips curled in a poorly concealed smirk.

  “I realise mud has untold benefits for the skin, Elizabeth, but I do wish you had left a little of it behind.”

  I could punch his conceited face but I hold back my twitching fist. He moves on down the line and I release the breath I’ve been holding as fatigue takes hold.

  We drift back into the house and locate our bedrooms. Mine is a sizeable room with high, decoratively corniced ceilings and it is furnished tastefully with antique pieces in dark oak. The double bed in the centre of the room is a two-poster with canopy and is dressed with a gold damask comforter and matching stack of cushions. At the foot of the bed stands a chaise upholstered in rich olive green fabric on which sits my overnight bag.

  I unzip it and remove a short cream silk nightgown, which I place on the cushions. Retrieving fresh underwear and carefully unfolding a silver crepe evening gown from the crushed confines of the bag, I lay out my evening ensemble before running a bath.

  The hot water feels so good despite the gash on my knee stinging fiercely and I sink down until the water level reaches my chin and reflect on the afternoon.

  I can’t seem to get Sebastian De Montfort out of my head, with his smouldering eyes and moodiness. ‘Sebastian’ is such a classy name, so much more impressive than ‘Alan.’ I decide I want to find out more about the mysterious man and this evening’s dinner will be the ideal opportunity so I determine to make an extra effort with my appearance after all, I have all the other women to compete with for his attention.

  The hot bath improves my mood and eases my aching joints. I’m excited about the drinks reception and dinner that awaits us, and am eager to discover more about the mysterious Sebastian. Moisturising my entire body and luxuriating in my sumptuous surroundings is such precious ‘me’ time.

  My trusty, magic support pants ‘tragic knickers’ as I like to call them, are a struggle to pull up but necessary for a smooth silhouette under my slinky silver dress. I slip the evening dress over my head and the whisper light fabric falls softly over my hips and ends just below my ankles and is cut low at my décolletage.

  I pad to the bathroom at the same time as reaching behind my back to pull up my dress zipper, pulling out the plug in the bath and then trying again to tug up the zip. The loud gurgling of the draining bath water through noisy old pipework drowns out the sound of the light knock on my door.

  I’m standing in the bathroom becoming flustered and hot as the zipper catches in the fabric of my dress, and I lean forward against the washbasin, arching my back in an attempt to free the snagged zip when a figure appears in the steamed up bathroom mirror. Gasping in shock I spin around and face Sebastian who is leaning against the bathroom doorframe, arms folded with a smile playing across his lips, his eyes crinkled in amusement.

  “Don’t worry about knocking will you.” I scold sarcastically, embarrassed once again at the state in which he finds me – hot, red faced and my gaping dress twisted and puckered.

  “Actually, I did knock, but you didn’t hear me. I bought you this.” He holds a sticking plaster between his thumb and forefinger and waves it in front of me.

  “For your knee. Would you like me to put it on for you?” he cocks an eyebrow and is clearly enjoying the spectacle.

  “No, I don’t want you to put it on for me, I’m a big girl.” I retort ungratefully. “But thank you… it was thoughtful of you,” I add as an afterthought.

  He steps toward me, reaches to my side and places the plaster on the marble countertop next to the basin. The closeness of him makes me tingle and I breathe in his manly scent as he lingers for just a moment, his fingers by my bare arm.

  He hesitates and then places his hand on my shoulder and the touch of skin on skin sends further tremors through my core.

  “Turn around,” he says, as his hand pulls my shoulder toward him and guides me so that I face away from him.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my redness deepening and my breath catching.

  “Your zip, Elizabeth. Unless you prefer to come downstairs as you are? Those large pants would cause quite a stir I’m sure.”

  Could this be any more humiliating?

  His finger touches the small of my back as he tugs at the waistband of my tragic knickers, pinging the fabric against my skin and the mortification is unbearable. Yes it can be more humiliating, damn him.

  “Just do the zipper up.” I bark at him. “Thank you.”

  My curtness increases his enjoyment and the irritating man sniggers as he releases the fabric and pulls the fastener half way up … oh so slowly.

  He takes my long hair in his hand and drapes it over my shoulder before gliding the zip home and his fingers brush the back of my neck as he gently tugs my hair back into place. Such tiny touches and yet the electricity that passes between us is incredible and I feel sure he senses it too.

  As I turn back to face him he lowers his eyes quite shamelessly to the ample cleavage on display and only averts his gaze when I tug the fabric up as I tut my disapproval.

  “Is there anything else?” I ask brusquely.

  He crosses his arms again and places a finger on his lips as he stares pensively into my eyes.

  “I think you’ll do. Be downstairs in ten minutes,” he replies and with that, he turns and leaves the room, closing my bedroom door firmly behind him.

  I let out a deep sigh. That went well, I scold myself.

  It’s a delicious meal of venison followed by a warm pear tart with cream. The wines are divine and I feel my mood lifting with each glass.

  Dinner is served by the pretty young girl who I saw earlier. In addition there are three other, equally pretty young ladies waiting the table. All are wearing fitted black dresses, which sit above the knee – demure but sexy, their hair tied back into a neat chignon. Curious. I make a mental note to ask the handsome but arrogant Mr De Montfort about his choice in staff. Clearly he hasn’t recruited solely on the basis of curriculum vitae!

  I sit through a series of speeches and clap politely when an award is given to the woman seated to my left, who has been judged to be the highest achieving woman in business.

  By eleven thirty, the evening draws to a close. Tired ladies make their way to bed, and I sit alone in the now empty dining hall. The lights are dimmed and the remnants of candles flicker on the long elegantly dressed table. I sip my fifth or sixth glass of red wine feeling deliciously mellow and survey my surroundings. The high ceilinged room is papered in rich ruby damask, and gilt framed oil paintings adorn the walls, suspended from ornate picture rails. Many are of hunting scenes while others are, I presume, De Montfort’s long dead relatives. They look down at me with reproachful stares.

  The dying embers of a fire still offer a warming glow from the oversized fireplace. I take my glass of wine and sit in front of the fire, my legs curled under me on a deeply piled rug. I close my eyes and imagine I am sitting in my own castle, while my prince waits for me in our bedchamber. I imagine what he will do to me when I retire to bed and a sense of longing encompasses me.

  I jump as I hear movement behind me. I turn and look up and see Sebastian De Montfort standing over me. He has a half smile and his eyes are studying me curiously. I am suddenly consumed by a feeling of guilt, at how attracted to him I am, and embarrassment that I am so relaxed in his home.

  “Elizabeth, don’t let me disturb you, I’ve been watching you,” he says.

  Before I ca
n stand, he places a hand firmly on my shoulder and tells me to stay seated on the floor.

  He pours himself a glass of red wine and sits down beside me - his legs crossed and his right knee touching my leg. I shiver at the touch of his limb through the silky fabric of my silver evening gown.

  “Let me see your wounded knee,” he demands firmly. My mouth drops open and I look aghast at him. He wants to look at my bare leg! My scuffed, sore knee.

  I shake my head and tell him that it’s nothing, I have the sticking plaster on it, and it really isn’t painful. I look at him and he is looking deeply into my eyes, a frown etched across his brow.

  He doesn’t speak for the longest time and then, when he does he says only “show me.”

  It is not a request, I realise, he is insistent. I hesitate but he leans forward, gently grasps the hem of my dress and slides the fabric up my legs, above my knees.

  I’m blushing deeply now but to my amazement, he kisses his fingers and softly lays his fingers onto the covered wound. I feel a thousand sparks coursing through my body and have an overwhelming and totally irrational desire to feel his fingers on my skin.

  “You’re flinching. Is it sore?” He asks.

  “A little,” I reply although it was the spark from his touch rather than pain, which made me flinch.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” The conversation is awkward.

  “Having a lovely time, yes thank you,” I reply.

  “You did make me laugh, Elizabeth. You were a picture, covered in mud with leaves in your hair.” He has that ridiculous smirk on his face.

  “I’m glad I entertain you,” I huff. “Be sure to book me next time you need a good laugh.”

  He leans forward and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

  “Your hair is so much prettier without the foliage,” he is still mocking me and I cast him a frosty glare in return, trying not to let him see the profound effect his touch has on me.

  “Perhaps if we hadn’t been subjected to the wrath of the old bat that led our team, I wouldn’t have fallen,” I suggest, much to his amusement.

  “Old bat?” His eyes are glinting roguishly.

  “Yes, old bat,” I say defiantly.

  He throws his head back and laughs, a deep rasping laugh and I love the way his eyes crinkle.

  “You’re laughing at me again!” I protest.

  “Not laughing at you, no. It’s a long time since I laughed. You light up the room.”

  “What a lovely thing to say.” I put my hand on his tentatively and I swear a spark crackled as our skin touched.

  He stares at me until I look away.

  “Come with me, I promised to show you a little more of the house but it’s late. The grand tour will have to wait until another time, but I will show you the heart of the house. Come.” He takes my hand, pulls me to my feet and leads me from the dining hall. For a moment I wish he would take me upstairs and have his wicked way with me, but in fact he leads me past the vaulted oak staircase and through a door into a vast kitchen.

  There are flagstones on the floor and a double range stove. I immediately love this room, it feels so homely and welcoming and I imagine laughter and conversation around the refectory style oak table, which sits in the middle of the room. It is indeed the warm, beating heart of the house.

  He directs me to sit on one of the two heavy church pew benches, which are placed either side of the table and he lights a candle, which gives a soft ambient light.

  I notice there are no staff around and presume they have finished their duties for the night.

  He offers me coffee, and puts a heavy copper kettle onto the range to boil. Leaning against the wall next to the range, his dark hazel eyes fix on mine. It’s so hard to read what is going on behind those darkly lashed windows to his soul.

  Feeling emboldened by the alcohol, I decide to interrogate my mysterious host.

  “Tell me about your staff Mr. De Montfort, it’s clear that you haven’t hired them for their brains” did I really say that?

  “Elizabeth,” his repeated use of my full name reminds me of my childhood. “That’s a strange question. I like to surround myself with beautiful things. Does that make you uncomfortable?” His answer takes me by surprise but affirms my belief that he beds these women.

  “Not uncomfortable. No. However, it seems strange to only hire attractive young girls… unless you expect additional benefits than just waitressing.” It must be the alcohol really fuelling my confidence, but I can’t stop myself.

  He regards me more coolly, and I see hardness in his eyes that I haven’t noticed before. “And would it shock you if I did?” he asks.

  What does that mean? Is that ‘yes I do fuck them,’ or ‘no I don’t’? I want to ask. I rarely know when to keep quiet and I never think before I speak and I simply can’t let this go - I want to know more. I match his stare and reply curtly.

  “Naturally, it wouldn’t bother me - I don’t know you. I’m simply curious as to how you treat these poor staff of yours Mr. De Montfort”. That told him. Gosh how much have I drunk? His retort cuts me to the quick.

  “Firstly, Elizabeth, I am not Mister De Montfort. I am Lord Sebastian James De Montfort, 9th Earl of Trevissay. You may call me Sebastian – even though, as you rightly say, you don’t know me”. Oh please. A LORD!

  “Secondly, Elizabeth, those ‘poor staff of mine’ elect to work for me. It may be that the financial incentives are considerable, or it may be that I am a fabulous lover, either way it’s really not your concern is it?” Geez that told me!

  “Thirdly Elizabeth,” there’s a thirdly? “Do you take cream and sugar in your coffee?” A wry smile touches his lips and I notice how his eyes smile too. He could melt me with those eyes.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve no right to pry. I think I’ve had way too much to drink.” I apologise profusely and the atmosphere lifts a little.

  “I forgive you. Actually, it’s not as bad as you seem to think. Three of the young women were hired for the event this weekend. Only one lives in permanently.” That makes me feel a little better. Why do I care?

  “I see.” I fiddle with a thin silver bracelet.

  “That’s pretty,” he is by my side now. Admiring my wristlet, he lightly runs his index finger along its circumference, his thumb brushing across my skin as I hold my breath. Abruptly, he resumes his position by the range, taking the simmering kettle from the hob.

  “It was a gift from my children last Christmas,” I tell him, missing Joe and Bella badly.

  Sebastian hands me a steaming cup of coffee and sits on the bench opposite me, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hands.

  “How old are they?”

  “Joe’s seven and Bella is seventeen.” I sip the coffee gingerly.

  “That’s quite an age gap,” he observes.

  “Yes it is,” I reply. “We had difficulty conceiving. Primarily because sex didn’t happen very often.”

  “I see. I’d like to know more about you,” he prompts. “Tell me why I see sadness when I look into those beautiful blue eyes.”

  He takes me by surprise yet again. He seems so intuitive and yet I feel angry at his bluntness when he’d been so protective of his own privacy. I consider my reply.

  “Not much to tell. Married, two children, my own business, busy life.” I sum up my life in one brief sentence. He frowns at me and his lips form a stern thin line.

  “Thank you for the brief synopsis Elizabeth, now please tell me about you.”

  “Everything?” I ask incredulously.

  “Everything.” He confirms, resting back against the pew, his arms crossed.

  I find myself telling this man, this stranger, my life story. There is something compelling about Sebastian and I feel safe, in danger, lustful, all of those feelings but mostly I feel compelled to do as he says.

  He listens intently without interrupting and with an expression on his face that is unreadable. After I have finished, and my coffee is cold, he
sits back and sighs deeply. I wonder if I should have told him about my marriage, my loneliness and my feelings of rejection. He is not saying anything. Say something.

  “Why do you stay with him? You deserve to be cherished Elizabeth.” He reaches across the table and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear again, and it is such a gentle yet sensual gesture that I blush once more.

  “It’s not that easy to leave him. I don’t think I’m the perfect wife either.” Yawning, I begin to succumb to fatigue and the alcohol.

  “Because something is a challenge, does not mean that one shouldn’t rise to it, Elizabeth.”

  “You have no idea …” I begin, but he interrupts me.

  “You’d be surprised. It’s late,” He says. “You are tired. Go to bed now. When you leave tomorrow morning, I want you to give me your business card and we’ll meet again soon.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me anything about you? I’m not that tired.”

  He shakes his head. “Not yet. Get some sleep.”

  He is infuriating.

  “Ok,” I agree meekly. “Goodnight Sebastian. Thank you for a lovely night.” Sebastian proffers his hand, which I take in mine.

  “It’s I who should thank you,” he whispers. “You are an intriguing woman, Elizabeth Dove. I’m very glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.” Still holding his hand, I stretch up and kiss him gently on the cheek. He touches his cheek with his fingertips and closes his eyes. When he opens them I see pain in his eyes – a bleakness that makes my heart ache for him, and I long to hold him tightly and kiss him properly.

  “Good night.” He steps away, my fingers slip from his and the moment is gone.

  Feeling exposed to him, and regretful, I go to bed. My emotions are jumbled and I scold myself for letting my guard slip. Tomorrow is another day – a line from my favourite movie ‘Gone With The Wind’ - and it’s my mantra now. I’ll think about these feelings tomorrow.

  Climbing wearily into bed, it crosses my mind that I’m doing as I am told for once in my life. I’m going to bed and getting some sleep because I’m tired and because Sebastian told me to. Sebastian has a manner about him, which makes me want to obey him and to make him happy. I realise how refreshing it is for a man to make simple decisions for me. It is truly what I long for, what I need. Sleep comes easily.