Romancing the Countess

by Ashley March

  “What do you do?” she asked.

  She sounded distracted, the question more polite than interested. Still, if it would help her become better adjusted once they reached the Hampshire estate, then Sebastian would tell her everything.

  He smiled. “We play with blocks. We go on picnics and walks. He sits on his pony—”

  “He has a pony already?”

  “Yes, for him to get used to. If he wants to truly ride, he goes with me.”

  “Is he speaking yet?”

  Sebastian frowned, realizing that the last time she’d seen him was before the carriage accident, when he’d had only a few words in his vocabulary, and most of those weren’t clear. “A few sentences, nothing too complex. Let’s just say that he knows how to get his way.”

  “You spoil him,” she said, her tone indulgent.

  “Perhaps.” Sebastian set his spoon aside. Soon, a footman came to remove the bowl. “I suppose I find it difficult to be too harsh with him now.”

  He forced himself to remain still as she studied him, wondering what she saw when she looked at him. A man of strength or a man too easily given to sentiment?

  After a moment, she too put down her spoon and said, “I think we all shall get along wonderfully.” Then she added, “As long as you can keep up with mine and Henry’s adventures.”

  “Adventures?”

  “Oh, yes. I already have quite a few planned.”

  “I thought you said—”

  She waved him away. “That was in regards to myself. I’ve been thinking all month how best Henry and I might get along.”

  She leaned forward, the table pressing against her bodice and revealing the lithe curve of her chest. Sebastian looked away, then back, then away again, clearing his throat. He signaled to the butler, and the next course was brought in.

  “Of course I don’t have any brothers,” she continued, “so I might need your help in a few things, but I’ve always wanted to learn how to climb trees.”

  “It’s too dangerous.” The words spilled from Sebastian’s mouth before he could think them through.

  Her gaze narrowed. “I believe our agreement was that I might do whatever I wish.”

  Their first evening together, and they’d already begun arguing.

  “First of all,” he said, “Henry is my son, and if he’s too young to ride a pony, he’s certainly too young to start climbing trees.”

  “Well spoken, my lord. But if I still want to climb trees by myself?”

  The subject of the conversation might have been comical, if Sebastian didn’t think that she would do it just to prove a point to him. Still, even though he would try to restrain himself from giving her orders as much as possible, he couldn’t imagine any sort of relationship where he didn’t try to keep his wife from harm. “Your skirts are also a hazard. If they became tangled, or caught in a branch—”

  “As I said, I will need your help for a few things. Finding a pair of trousers is the first task.”

  Sebastian tapped his fingers against the table. “If I provide a pair of trousers for you to use, will you agree that I must accompany you? In this, and any other dangerous endeavor you have in mind?”

  “But you will have to suffer my company, my lord.”

  “I’m suffering it now, aren’t I?”

  She laughed, and Sebastian couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow passed a test. It was the same as before, at the country house party; the more he thought he understood her, the more he came to realize that each layer he peeled back revealed a deeper mystery beneath.

  He longed to ask her about the evening schedule with Ian that she’d alluded to earlier, to know every secret she tried so hard to keep hidden from him. But instead, he smiled along with her and attempted to think of another, easier topic of conversation. Then he realized that beyond the subjects of Henry, Ian, and Angela, there wasn’t much that they had in common. This wife that he desired, that he felt a need to protect, was still little more than a stranger to him.

  Leah shifted in her seat and pushed around the veal cutlet on her plate. “Why do you look at me so?” she asked.

  His mouth curved upward on one side, but the attempt at a smile did nothing to mask the frank intensity of his eyes. He stared at her as if she were a puzzle and he were trying to figure out how best to solve her. She could tell him there was nothing to solve; she was simple, plain. All she wanted was to have a chance to pursue her own desires, and even those were mostly ordinary.

  “I was thinking about how you would look in a pair of trousers,” he said.

  “Much like a boy, I imagine.”

  “No.” His gaze dipped from her face to her bodice, then back up again. “Somehow I doubt you could ever look like a boy.”

  Leah struggled not to blush. Reaching forward, she lifted her glass and swallowed a mouthful of sherry. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come down, after all. But something had seemed wrong with the idea of staying in her bedchamber all evening, almost as if she was ignoring him.

  If truth be told, she was as curious about her new husband as he seemed to be about her. That curiosity began with his relationship with Henry and the time he spent with him when other fathers would have simply consigned Henry to the nursery all day long. But she also found as she watched across the table that her gaze drifted to other, more masculine aspects of him. The wide breadth of his shoulders, the formidable wall of his chest—it was nearly incomprehensible how he sat in his chair and didn’t somehow make it appear as if he were a giant playing on a dwarf’s stool.

  Leah swallowed more sherry, determined to keep her eyes on her plate for the remainder of the meal. If nothing else revealed the awkwardness of their situation, it was this: the silence that descended over them, the realization that she didn’t know what to say to him now that they’d spoken of Henry. Apparently he didn’t know what to say, either, for he remained silent. Watching her, she assumed. She didn’t look up, but she could feel his stare on her, warming her cheeks.

  It had never been this way with Ian. He’d been talkative—but not in a manner where he dominated the conversation. He made observations about the weather, the latest society on dit, his own personal foibles—anything to put the other person at ease. He asked questions, eliciting information which the other would probably never have been comfortable telling anyone else. He had a way of making one feel like the only person in the room—whether there were a hundred other guests present or simply a footman waiting at the sideboard.

  At first, Leah had been grateful for Ian’s gift of conversation, seeing as how she was more comfortable listening and observing than participating herself. And when he concentrated on her, she’d felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. After a while, though, she saw his charm for what it was—an attempt to ingratiate himself to the other person, to make them feel charitable toward him. Above all, Ian always wanted to be liked.

  Apparently that wasn’t the case with Sebastian . . . her new husband. He engaged in conversation well enough, of course, but he didn’t seem to care that an uncomfortable silence had descended over them.

  Leah glanced up and met his gaze. From the way he looked at her, she almost wondered whether he used the silence to his advantage, just as Ian had used words to his. For even though he didn’t speak, the message in his eyes repeated what he’d said before, intimidating and arousing at the same time without one word being said: he desired her.

  She didn’t understand it, but she couldn’t deny it, either. And while she believed he would keep his promise not to try to consummate their marriage unless she asked him to come to her bed, how soon until he began to chafe at their agreement, to resent her for refusing him? Better to be straightforward now and repeat her requirements, than for him to hold to the mistaken hope that one day she might weaken and go to him.

  “Would it be possible to have the servants excused for a moment?” she asked.

  He made a gesture, and soon they were alone in the dining room.


  “I would make a request of you, my lord,” she said.

  “Sebastian,” he corrected.

  “Sebastian, then.” Though she’d said it aloud before, he hadn’t been her husband then. It felt different now, heavy and thick upon her tongue, almost exotic.

  “Yes?”

  “Sebastian,” she repeated, simply to be able to say his name again. “As I said, I wish to make a request of you.”

  “Yes? Go on.” He smiled, as though amused by her dawdling.

  “I would like to expand my earlier condition of a marriage in name only to include that you will not look at me or speak to me as you’ve done today. It is—” Disarming. Terrifying. “Offensive.”

  Sebastian sat back, his gaze shuttered. “I apologize if I’ve offended you, my lady.”

  She opened her mouth, paused, then shut it again.

  “No, please,” he said. “Tell me what you were you about to say.”

  “If I call you Sebastian, shouldn’t you address me as Leah?”

  “I’m not certain,” he said, and although his tone was polite enough, there was an undertone of emotion she couldn’t identify. “We are married, yet it seems that you would have us remain as strangers. Should we not address each other as such, as well?”

  “All I ask—”

  He planted his hands on the table and rose to his feet. “I know what you ask, and I will respect it. You agreed to the marriage. We will each keep to our end of the bargain. However, I would ask your forgiveness in advance, my lady. I will attempt to control my speech and the way I look at you, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to control my thoughts. Would it offend you if I admit to fantasizing about stripping you bare, even here on this table, and kissing my way across the length of your body?”

  Leah stood, lifting her chin though flags of heat emblazoned themselves on her cheeks. “Now you mock me?”

  “No, I don’t mock you,” he said, a self-derisive smile curling his lips. “I mock myself. I loved my wife, more than I’ve ever loved anyone else. She betrayed me. She died. I should be raging at the heavens, cursing her name, wallowing still in the misery that you first saw me in. Instead, it is you I can’t stop thinking of, you who haunts my dreams, you who have somehow managed to erase her face from my memory. By all rights I should despise you—not only for that, but also for your behavior which risked so much for Henry—and yet I married you.”

  He paused, and she watched as he appeared to collect himself, drawing his arms to his sides and straightening to his full height. He stared down at her, his eyes hooded, no emotion betrayed in their depths.

  “I married you,” he repeated, his tone dull. Weary. Then, inclining his head slightly, he pivoted and left her standing there alone.

  Chapter 18

  I can’t help but think America is too far. It might be more difficult for him to find us, but my heart aches at the thought of Henry living an ocean away.

  They arrived at Sebastian’s country estate in Hampshire late the next afternoon, tired, dusty, and wrinkled. However, looking at the estate, which she’d visited only once before, Leah still felt an overwhelming sense of awe.

  It wasn’t that the house was much grander than Linley Park; indeed, they appeared to be about the same size. No, it was the surrounding grounds that took her breath away. From the front circular drive, she could see a garden maze to her right, the greenery and shrubs interspersed with autumn flowers. To the left, a large rolling meadow. And all around, in every direction beyond, trees. Towering up to the sky, encroaching upon the civilized landscape, there were trees.

  Viewing the estate as a visitor was entirely different than viewing it as Sebastian’s wife, with the realization that this was her home now, too.

  “Come,” Sebastian said in a low voice. It was the same polite tone he’d used throughout their journey, the same brevity. Since the previous evening, he’d spoken as few words as needed to communicate with her.

  He escorted her up the front steps and inside the great door, where the servants had lined up in the entrance to greet them. Sebastian moved Leah along the row, introducing each servant by their name and position in the household. She nodded her head and murmured words which she couldn’t remember a moment later.

  Once they completed the line of servants, Sebastian directed a few of the footmen who were bringing in her things to take them to the southernmost guest chamber.

  “I assume you do not wish to take Angela’s bedchamber here, either?” he said when she raised her questioning gaze to his.

  “No. Thank you,” she answered, and looked quickly away. He’d held true to his word. Nothing today in his expression or his comments had made her believe he desired her—had ever desired her. Rather, he addressed her with as much distant courtesy as if she’d been a relative to the queen, and he a lowly courtier.

  “May I see Henry now?” she asked. If there could be no middle ground between Sebastian and herself, then at least she could seek out the little boy’s company.

  Sebastian inclined his head. “As you wish.”

  Turning, he strode up the stairs, Leah only a few steps behind him. Henry’s nursery was on the third floor. Rather than the narrow room which she’d been expecting, Sebastian guided her to a chamber which was at least the same size as her guest chamber at the Wriothesly town house in London, if not larger. The room was painted a bright, cheery yellow, and toys stacked end upon end littered two sides of the room. The other side was devoted to the boy’s bed, a small table with childrensized chairs, and a rocking horse.

  In the middle of the room, seated amidst a wrecked wooden train, was Henry.

  Her son now.

  Leah found it difficult to drag her gaze away from him as Sebastian sought to introduce her to Henry’s nanny, a Mrs. Fowler.

  “He seems to play very well by himself,” she said a few moments later, admiring the short blond crop of his hair, which made him appear a little gentleman. His legs were tucked beneath him, his hands sure as he guided the wooden train around the tracks with an enthusiastic imitation of a train whistle.

  It was the expression of stern determination on his face as he played that made Leah smile; except for his coloring, he was almost an exact miniature of Sebastian.

  Leah was loath to disturb him, so absorbed was he in his play, not even glancing up to see who had entered.

  But then Sebastian called to him. “Henry,” he said, and the boy looked up, his concentration broken by a wide smile of delight, and hurtled toward his father’s legs.

  Sebastian picked him up and spun him around, then set him down and crouched before him. “Do you remember how to bow like I taught you?”

  Henry nodded, sneaking a glance at Leah, his blue eyes wide.

  “And do you remember Mrs. George?”

  Again, Henry nodded, but this time with a pause of hesitation.

  “Please say hello, then, and give her your best bow.”

  The boy turned toward Leah. “How do you do?” he said, his voice small and more than a little uncertain, and gave a short bow. Then he turned back to his father, almost hiding behind his shoulder.

  Leah’s heart gave a quick, hard thump in her chest.

  She smiled. “Very well, thank you.”

  Sebastian smoothed his hand over the boy’s hair. “Would you like Mrs. George to stay with us? She can play with you, and sing you songs.” He looked up at Leah and gave her a wink, then returned his attention to Henry. “I’ve also been told that she has quite an affection for frogs.”

  Leah’s brows lifted. Affection might be too strong a word—she was fondest of frogs and any other nonmammalian creatures when they stayed far away from her.

  But then Henry peeked up at her from behind Sebastian’s shoulder, his blue eyes round with awe, and she decided that she might be able to learn to like frogs a little bit more.

  Henry looked at his father and nodded.

  “Very good, then,” Sebastian said, standing. “I’ll see you after your dinner. Go
along.”

  Henry wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s neck, then turned and ran back to his trains. Leah watched him for a moment, then smiled at Mrs. Fowler and followed Sebastian out of the room.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t tell him we’re married yet,” Sebastian said as they walked down the stairs to the second floor.

  “No, not at all. I imagine that might be a bit much all at once.”

  Sebastian didn’t say anything, and they turned down the stairs to the first floor. At the landing, he stopped and looked at her. Only, he didn’t quite look at her, but somewhere above the top of her head.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I must see to some business. You’re welcome to explore the house at your pleasure. The gong will be sounded when it’s time for dinner.”

  Leah hesitated, then reached out to touch his sleeve. “Sebastian—”

  She could feel him tense beneath her fingertips, and his gaze flew to hers. “Yes?”

  “I . . .” She didn’t know what she meant to say. That she wished he wouldn’t treat her like some honored guest? That she wished they could return to the familiarity they’d achieved when they were at the house party? That she admired him and wanted . . .

  She shook her head and removed her hand. “Never mind.”

  His mouth flattened, and he turned around. As he walked down the final set of stairs, he called back to her, “Your chamber is down the hall, fourth on your left.”

  She stood at the top of the steps, her hands clutching the banister, and watched him disappear from sight. As she turned around to find her room, she realized what she’d meant to say.

  She wanted him to stay.

  In the following days, Leah didn’t see much of Sebastian. At each meal, she went down to the dining room hoping to find him there, only to be informed by the butler that he was eating while he worked in his study.

  Neither was she invited by Sebastian to spend time with him and Henry. Twice she ventured to the nursery in the afternoon, when she knew he was free to play, only to be told by Mrs. Fowler that Henry had gone with Sebastian.