by Ashley March
Something in her voice made Sebastian narrow his eyes. “Perhaps I should be concerned that you’ve accepted my proposal. I find I’m suspicious now that you agreed so readily.”
She shrugged. “It’s simple, my lord. Do you love me?”
Sebastian froze. What did she expect him to say? If he answered honestly, would she demand he return her to Mrs. Campbell’s?
They stared at each other, every wall securely in place at the same time every pretense was laid bare.
“No,” he said at last, the lie pushed stiffly from his lips.
She nodded, her expression relieved. “And that is why I decided to marry you, my lord. For I don’t love you, either.”
Chapter 17
I know, my darling. I cannot believe it myself. Soon!
As Leah stood before Sebastian on their wedding day, it was difficult not to think of her first wedding. It had been only a little over two years ago that she’d stood in front of a crowded church at St. Michael’s, pledging to love and obey her husband until death should part them.
Leah looked up at Sebastian. Although his hands held hers, he was watching the priest, his expression solemn. Was he thinking of his wedding to Angela? How strange it was, to realize she’d once thought she and Ian would grow old together, have children and grandchildren. Yet here she was, not three years later, marrying his best friend. A man whom she knew only little better than she’d known Ian at the time.
He was dressed in a dark charcoal jacket and trousers, his black waistcoat threaded with silver, his cravat black as well. His hair had been combed straight back from his forehead, leaving his eyes all the more intense.
No, he wasn’t as handsome as Ian, and he wasn’t as charming, but for some reason she felt secure as he held her hands. And although she should know better, the fact that he hadn’t lied about loving her made her trust him. She might regret that later, but for now it was a wonderful feeling, to look up at the man whose ring she would soon wear and realize that he deserved her faith.
The priest began reciting the vows and Sebastian held her gaze, his expression inscrutable. She tried, but she couldn’t look away. The moment felt surreal, that she should surrender to another marriage so quickly.
Then it was her turn, and all she could think as she looked into his eyes was that he desired her. Suddenly the security of his hands disappeared, the comforting warmth turning into a blistering heat which nearly scorched her skin. She felt her fingers tremble with the urge to pull away, out of his grip. Perhaps he felt it, for his hands tightened around hers, holding her in place.
Her voice wavered. “I take thee, Sebastian Edward Thomas Madinger, to be . . . my husband.” The last two words were nothing more than mere whispers. He squeezed her hands, and she looked down. How large his hands were; she’d never noticed before. Clad in dark gray gloves, they covered hers completely, his palms nearly twice the size of hers, the tips of his fingers brushing against the inside of her gloved wrists.
Leah took a deep breath and continued repeating her vows. With the rings exchanged, the priest announced them as wedded. Sebastian leaned forward, and Leah tensed; although they’d discussed this beforehand, talked about how they would make a show of it to convince their audience that theirs truly was a torrid affair, and although she’d tried to prepare herself for the past month, she still wasn’t ready.
She closed her eyes as she waited for his mouth to meet hers. And then it did, warm and firm. And quick. Her gaze flew to his face as he withdrew, but he’d already turned toward their guests, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm.
“Thank you,” she whispered, but she didn’t think he heard. Or, if he did, he ignored her. Instead, he drew her down the steps with him and through the church, to the carriage that would take them to the wedding breakfast prepared at his house. Once he’d helped her into the vehicle and sat across from her, she realized just how close a carriage could be. Much closer than this particular one had ever seemed before. She looked out the window.
As the carriage started toward his house, Sebastian glanced at Leah. He couldn’t help but feel like a voyeur as he studied her, the knowledge that she was now his wife something which seemed too far-fetched to be real.
She was indescribably beautiful in her wedding gown, a light gray which reminded him of the gleam of a pearl. Even though it wasn’t black like her mourning clothes, he wished she would have decided to wear another color instead. Blue perhaps. Something vibrant and joyful, something separating her from her life with Ian.
The gown accentuated her slender figure without making her appear overwhelmed by the yards of cloth. He longed to fit his hands about the curve of her waist, to see if she really would fit their span as it appeared. The bodice covered her chest so there was just a hint of soft flesh beneath, making it seem a mystery that waited to be discovered. And although he might have chosen a different color for her to wear, the shade complemented her fair skin, making her appear ethereal rather than fragile.
When he thought she would ignore him the entire drive to his house, she turned to him and said, “You didn’t kiss me.”
He lifted his brow. “Yes, I did.”
Her cheeks blushed prettily, but she held his gaze. “It was different than what we had discussed. I expected . . . more.”
For a moment, Sebastian allowed himself the fantasy of moving across the carriage and taking her mouth as he’d dreamed of doing ever since she’d first accepted his proposal. Without his permission, his eyes lowered to her lips, and he felt his heart begin to thud within his chest. “Tell me, Lady Wriothesly, is that an invitation?”
It might have been a seductive moment, if the sound of her new title hadn’t stunned both of them. Lady Wriothesly. The name no longer belonged to Angela, but Leah. This time, Sebastian was the first to look away. But he heard her repeat the words she’d said inside the church.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t paint me as a good man for not kissing you as we’d planned. You simply appeared as if you might faint were I to do anything else.”
“I wouldn’t have fainted,” she protested, sounding so much like the Leah he’d grown to know at the house party that he smiled.
He looked at her. “You went completely white, even your lips. Your hands were shaking in mine.”
She lifted her chin, defiant. “And you weren’t nervous at all?”
“No.” Well, only to the extent that he’d feared she would turn and bolt out the church door. After her hands had trembled, he’d made sure to keep a tight grip on her.
Her mouth turned downward. “It occurs to me that I forgot to take your flaws into account before I agreed to marry you.”
“Ah, but now it’s too late, Lady Wriothesly.” He said it again, purposefully, testing the sound of her name on his tongue. Somehow, it felt . . . perfect.
She stared at him for a moment, then looked down at her gloved hands, clasped together in her lap. “What will you do if the rumors about Ian and Angela don’t abate now that we’ve married?”
“They will. I find it hard to believe that the gossipmongers would continue with that line when we’ve proven to them their first speculation about us.”
“But if they don’t?” she pressed.
“I don’t know,” he bit off, then immediately regretted his tone. “I don’t know,” he said again, softer this time. “We’ll ignore them, I suppose. After all, there’s no evidence to confirm that they were having an affair.”
“The letters.”
Sebastian shook his head. “You have the ones from Angela, and though I searched for any from Ian in her room, I couldn’t find any.”
Leah didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she lifted her gaze. “Will we be leaving for Hampshire after the breakfast, or will we be spending the night and departing in the morning?”
She asked so many questions. And God help him, he never knew what the right answer was. “Do you have a preference?”
“I . . . No. But if we do
stay in town for the night, I’d like to know that I won’t be staying in her room.”
He’d spent the past month readying for the wedding once she’d accepted his proposal. This included finally venturing into Angela’s room, looking for any letters from Ian, sorting through things he thought Henry might want later on. He’d instructed the maids to pack everything else and distribute her clothes as they saw fit. The room had been painted, new furniture purchased, aired out until he could no longer smell any trace of lavender and vanilla.
“Don’t worry,” he told Leah. “I planned to have you stay in one of the other rooms, the largest guest bedchamber.”
“Oh. Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”
Sebastian smiled. “So you see, some of my flaws are balanced by my better attributes.”
Leah tilted her head and returned his smile. “That, my lord, remains yet to be seen.”
The carriage arrived shortly afterward at his town house, and they entered to a fete where all of the people who had once whispered about a supposed affair now celebrated their marriage.
Sebastian was aware, of course, that all of the whispers hadn’t yet been silenced. Many of the guests sent them sly looks during the breakfast—probably confirming to one another their original suspicions. But that was as he’d expected, and as it should be.
To assist with the idea, he made sure to stay by Leah’s side as much as possible. Although he never touched her, he would lean in toward her and murmur in her ear. He said things to make her blush while knowing his suggestions might never come to pass. These earned reproving glances from her, which pleased him to no end, as her eyes seemed to sparkle brighter and she laughed as a defense to her embarrassment. When her mother and sister approached them with their congratulations, she blushed even brighter. By the time the breakfast reception ended, Sebastian was certain most—if not all—of their guests believed the newly married couple to be shamefully in love. Or, at the very least, gloriously in lust.
As the guests made their way out four hours later, Lord and Lady Elliot approached, the last ones to leave. Lady Elliot wore a smile of knowing satisfaction. “Lord Wriothesly. Lady Wriothesly.”
“How glad we are you could come to the wedding,” Leah said warmly.
Sebastian glanced at her, but her expression seemed sincere.
“Of course. I wouldn’t have missed it.” Lady Elliot paused to look at her husband. “Even if it is close to fox hunting season.”
She edged closer to Leah, and although she made a pretense of lowering her voice, Sebastian could still hear every word she spoke. “Do you remember at the house party when I asked if you imagined Lord Wriothesly on your target?”
Leah nodded. Sebastian raised a brow.
“I see I was correct,” Lady Elliot said, peeking at Sebastian from beneath her lashes. “There’s not much difference between anger and passion. Is there, my lord?” she asked her husband, elbowing him in the side.
Sebastian followed the man’s gaze to a nearby plate of apple tarts. Lord Elliot started, disrupted from his reverie. “No, my dear, not at all. Anger and passion are very good things.”
Lady Elliot sighed and gave Leah and Sebastian an exasperated look, then smiled fondly at her husband. “Let’s go, my lord, and leave the newlyweds to themselves.”
As they withdrew from the banquet room, Sebastian turned to Leah. “Target practice, was I?”
She shrugged. “At the time it seemed the most use I could make of you.”
“Hmm. Perhaps I shouldn’t allow you to spend too much time with Henry when we reach Hampshire.”
Her lips curved into a mischievous smile before she turned away.
“Where are you going?”
“Upstairs,” she said. “I believe I shall read for the rest of the day.”
“The library’s down the hall,” he called after her.
“I brought books of my own.”
Sebastian watched her stroll down the hallway and turn toward the stairs, realizing that she meant to exert her independence immediately. Wishing that she would have preferred to stay and talk with him.
Leah tried to read. But every time she began a sentence, the memory of Sebastian whispering inappropriate words in her ear returned, and she couldn’t focus on the meaning, the construction of the sentence, let alone the spelling of the next word. The text was nothing more than black lines and dots, the memory of his voice much more real, as if he were there in her room with her.
She tried to take a nap. She convinced herself that if her mind could drift off into sleep, at least then she would escape him. But as soon as she lay upon the mattress, she began to remember his words about how he would lie her down on his bed, how he would undress her and cover her with satin sheets, how he would enjoy watching her move beneath him.
Even though she knew he’d said such things only for the benefit of their guests, to provoke blushes that would help solidify belief in their alleged affair, that knowledge didn’t matter.
No more than two minutes passed before she leapt from the bed, her breathing heavy, her heart racing, and went to the window. She pressed her palm against the glass, then her forehead. Her cheek. Slowly—eventually—she could feel the flush on her skin begin to fade.
Who was this man that she’d married? When she believed him to be the gentleman earl, he defied her expectations and showed her another man, one who wasn’t so refined, one who insisted on invoking passions she sought to keep buried. Yes, she knew she was attracted to him, and he’d made it clear he desired her, but to think that he had such power over her, that he could speak only a few words and leave her wanting, then desperate to escape him for fear she’d turn to him in need . . .
Leah sat on the settee before the hearth, holding the book once again. She started to read aloud, trying to force her mind to focus on the words that came from her lips.
Tonight would be their wedding night.
Although they both knew there would be no consummation, she couldn’t help the image that came to mind of Sebastian lying in bed that evening, only a few steps down the corridor. Would he be thinking of her? Would he be imagining all those things he had said?
He desired her.
Of all the love words Ian had ever murmured in her ear, none had ever been as powerful as Sebastian’s declaration.
Leah pinched the next page of the book between her fingers, watched it shake as she turned it. One thing was certain: she must never let him know how much his words affected her. If he continued speaking to her in such a manner as before, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself with him again.
Sebastian resigned himself to the fact that he would be eating alone at the dinner table that evening. He hadn’t seen Leah all afternoon, and she didn’t come to the sitting room before the meal was served so he could escort her inside.
He sat down at the table, alone, as he’d eaten nearly every meal since Angela’s death. A footman placed a bowl of soup in front of him. Sebastian picked up his spoon, not even caring that he couldn’t identify most of the contents. It was warm and it was good. That’s all that mattered.
Then the door to the dining room opened and Leah swept in. “My apologies for being late,” she breathed, smiling as the butler held out her seat.
Sebastian stared. No longer was she wearing black, or even the gray she’d worn as a wedding dress that morning. Instead, she was dressed in a dark blue evening gown. Finally free of Ian. Finally his.
“You’re forgiven,” he said, and ate another spoonful of soup. “Is that from your new wardrobe?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t say anything else as she, too, began eating the soup, and Sebastian alternated between watching to make sure his own spoon made it to his mouth and sneaking glances at her.
“Do you like it?” she asked a minute later. “I must admit, it feels a bit odd to be wearing something not so dreary. I almost feel guilty. Perhaps I should have waited a little longer—then I might have actually become
accustomed to the role of widowhood.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said, wishing he could say more, hating the fact that so much uncertainty existed between them now that they were more than simply Ian’s best friend and Ian’s wife.
But she wasn’t Ian’s wife any longer. No, she was his.
“Tell me, my lady, what does an independent married woman long to do with her time? Do you have any specific plans yet for when we reach Hampshire?”
She smiled at him over the table. “I don’t know. I think that’s part of freedom—not knowing what the future holds, but realizing that so many possibilities exist for you to take advantage of.”
“How do you mean?”
“For example, when I was younger and living with my parents, Mother had every minute of the day planned for us, down to the exact hour. Getting dressed. Breakfast. Tutoring lessons—only the subjects varied from day to day. Lunch. Practice at the pianoforte. Singing. Dancing. Knitting. Afternoon calls—”
“But surely that must have changed after you married.”
“It could have, I suppose. And the actual activities were altered. But the pattern of plotting out my day to the last detail had become so ingrained that it seemed easiest to continue it. After I found out about Angela, I even scheduled each evening to include—”
She cut herself off and stared down at the soup.
Sebastian’s grip tightened on the spoon, his jaw clenching. If it had to do with Ian at night, there could only be one thing she was referring to. “You don’t have to tell me if you prefer, but I’d like to hear what you have to say whenever you’re ready.”
She nodded, glancing up at him briefly, then continued eating.
“As for routines,” Sebastian said, “the only person who has a regular routine is Henry, and that’s only for the mornings and the evenings. In the afternoons, he and I usually spend time together.”