A Wedding Wager

by Jane Feather

  “Devil take it, why is this so difficult?” he exclaimed abruptly. “I need to be alone with you like this, with no fear of interruption. I know exactly what I want to say, but now I feel like a schoolboy, all big red hands and huge feet that won’t go where they’re supposed to.”

  Serena made a move to stand up, but the door opened, and the boy who helped the housekeeper stuck his head around. “Yes, sir?”

  “Fetch tea, Bart.” Sebastian welcomed the interruption. It gave him a moment to compose himself. He hadn’t expected this sudden yearning, but he probably should have done. All rational thought was blocked by the overwhelming need to feel her against him again, to explore that glorious body, find again the little nooks and crannies that had once been so familiar to him. It had been so long, so many bad feelings had soured the loving memories, that he had thought he would be impervious to the old longings. He should have known better.

  “’Tis unusual to find tea in a bachelors’ establishment,” Serena remarked, searching for a neutral topic. The tension was like a high wire stretched taut between them, thrumming with unspoken memories and the need to speak them.

  “Perry drinks tea on occasion.” Sebastian bent to poke the fire. “I confess I find it an insipid drink, not worth the trouble.”

  “I enjoy it on occasion,” she returned, wondering how long they could keep up the inanity of small talk before Sebastian finally got to the point.

  The lad returned with a tray with a small casket of tea, two shallow dishes, a porcelain teapot, and a copper pot of hot water. Without instruction, he set it down on a table beside Serena. “Water’s just boiled, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled at him and opened the casket. “So you won’t drink tea, Sebastian?”

  He shook his head with a grimace. “No … no, thank you. I prefer claret.”

  Serena measured tea into the teapot and poured on hot water. She let it rest while Sebastian poured himself claret, then she poured the pale liquid into the shallow cup. She raised the cup to her lips and sipped, aware of his searching gaze.

  “I have ached for you, Serena,” he said in a low voice.

  And slowly, Serena felt the tension loosen, felt herself slide into peaceful acceptance of what had to be, of what she had known had to be from the moment she’d received his summons. They were not done with each other yet.

  “When you came to Pickering Place, you gave me such a look of contempt, I thought you could never forgive … never understand,” she responded as softly as he. “I had no choice, Sebastian. I thought …” Her voice faded.

  “You thought what?” His voice had sharpened a little, his eyes still searching her face.

  She shrugged. “That I had hurt you so deeply three years ago that there could be no going back.” She sipped her tea, then set the dish back in the saucer. “It was what I had tried to make happen, so I should have been glad … instead, I was even more miserable than I had been on that dreadful afternoon.”

  “I was angry,” he admitted. “Furiously angry, dreadfully hurt, because I didn’t understand. I still don’t, Serena. I know you weren’t speaking the truth, so why … why?”

  She hesitated, her little finger tracing the embroidered pattern in the silk of her skirt. How much could she safely tell him? The degradation of the full truth was more than she could ever confide to anyone. But she owed him some part of it. Something genuine.

  She took a deep breath and spoke slowly, picking her way through the tellable and the untellable. “When the general married my mother, what she did not know … indeed, neither of us knew … was that he was a mere heartbeat away from debtors’ prison. He needed my mother’s fortune, and as soon as he had it, he took us both off to Paris, where he lost nearly every last penny at the tables. He dragged us to Brussels, and with the small sum he had managed not to lose, he set up his own gambling hell. When he fell afoul of some players who didn’t like the odds at his tables, he dragged us to Vienna, to Salzburg, anywhere where the play was high. And in each place, we were obliged eventually to flee in the middle of the night a step ahead of those he had cheated.

  “My mother could not endure such a life. She faded day by day, and the weaker she became, the more demanding he was, until finally she just faded into nothing.”

  Serena turned slowly from the fire to face Sebastian. “There you have it. The whole sordid story.”

  “But I don’t have your story,” Sebastian said. “I understand you could not leave your mother while she was alive, but after her death…? Surely there was someone you could turn to for help …”

  “An obvious solution, of course.” She sounded bitter, and Sebastian winced a little. “But not as easy as it sounds. I had no confidantes of my own by that time; the general made sure of that. He had also spent my own fortune, my mother’s jointure, so I was, and am, penniless and utterly dependent upon him. When he decreed that our London venture on Charles Street was failing and we had to run again, I had no choice but to follow him. I didn’t feel able to tell you the truth.” She blinked away inconvenient tears. Now was not the moment to show her vulnerability. She didn’t want Sebastian’s pity.

  Sebastian was standing by the fireplace, one arm resting along the mantel. He looked down into the fire’s glow. “I wonder why you didn’t feel you could tell me the truth. Why was it impossible to confide in me? I can’t say I would have known what to do to help you then …” He gave a small, reluctant laugh. “I was so young, so naïve in so many ways, I probably would have protested and exclaimed in a positive flurry of sound and fury, but I would have achieved nothing. I understand that now. But at least, if you had told me, I would have known that you had not suddenly become another person. I would have known that the love we had shared was true, that I had not imagined the feelings we had for each other.”

  “Oh, Sebastian, I thought that if I gave you a disgust for me, you would be less hurt,” she said with a helpless smile. “We may have had all sorts of superficial sophistication, but we were each other’s first love. We didn’t have a chance when a fantasy of perfect love came face-to-face with the harshness of the real world.”

  “I disagree,” he said quietly, raising his eyes from the fire. “We knew how to love. That was no fantasy.”

  And Serena bowed her head in acknowledgment. “Yes,” she agreed as softly as he. “We knew how to love.”

  Sebastian set aside his glass. “And we still know, Serena.” He came towards her, hands outstretched. “Could we try this again?” A tiny smile touched his mouth.

  Silently, she put her hands in his and let him draw her to her feet. There was a sense of inevitability now, but more than that, an overwhelming need for him, for his touch, for his body, for the power of his desire that shone bright and dazzling as a desert sun as his blue eyes seemed to devour her. He would make her whole again. Only Sebastian’s love, his passion, could do that, and her own would rise to meet his, and she would find her true self again, the violations vanquished.

  He kissed her, gently at first, a kiss of rediscovery, his tongue exploring her mouth, sliding along her lips, dipping into the corners of her mouth. She inhaled his scent, tasted his mouth, remembered with a piercing sweetness how it had been, and with a surge of joy realized that it was still as wonderful, as sensual, as lustful as it had ever been.

  His hands moved to her hips, cupped her buttocks, pulling her against the hard jut of his loins, and Serena reveled in the full flood of desire, sliding a hand between them to caress the wonderful bulge of his penis pressing against his breeches. He moved her sideways without taking his mouth from hers, easing her back onto the chaise, coming down with her. His mouth moved from hers to kiss the fast-beating pulse in the hollow of her throat as his hand slid upwards beneath her skirt, caressing her silk-clad thigh. She moved against him, her own hand pressing into the hard-muscled backside. She shifted slightly, putting one leg over his hips, pulling him closer as he pushed down the neck of her gown, lifting her nipples for his lips. Sh
e murmured with delight as he flicked her nipples with his tongue, suckled, grazed the sensitive crowns with his teeth, and she was lost for the first time in an eternity in the glorious swirl of lust.

  She lifted her hips as he pushed her skirts up to her waist. She felt for the laces of his breeches, tugging impatiently as his hand found her core, a finger rubbing urgently against the little nub of flesh, sliding within her moist cleft. His penis sprang free, as hard and muscular as she remembered, and a laugh of delight escaped her as she ran her closed fist up and down the corded, pulsing shaft.

  For a moment, he drew back, looking into her face with a slightly startled expression, as if he’d discovered something he hadn’t expected. She stroked his cheek, reading his thoughts correctly because they were so much like her own. “Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose, my love. ’Tis always reassuring to discover that the more things change, the more they stay the same.”

  That made him laugh, too. He slid down her body, burying his head between her thighs. “How right you are,” he murmured, his voice muffled, his teeth nibbling, his tongue stroking, his breath hot and then cool on her inflamed center. “How wonderful it is to find that the memories were not the fantasies of inexperienced passion.”

  He parted her thighs, moving up her body, holding her hips on the shelf of his palms. As he entered her, he gazed into her eyes in the way she remembered so well. It was as if he would connect with her very soul, engage every part of her in this passionate union. And her own spirit rose to meet his as the joyous waves of pleasure peaked and broke, and it was as if the past three years had never existed.

  They lay together for long minutes, before Sebastian moved indolently, kissed her mouth, and knelt up, fumbling with the laces of his breeches. He smiled down at her as she lay sprawled on the chaise. “I love you. I have always loved you. Since before I was born, I have loved you.”

  Serena smiled, reached up a hand to run her fingers over his mouth. “You are absurdly extravagant, but I love that in you.” She struggled onto her elbows. “Let me up, now.”

  Sebastian slid off the chaise, standing up, adjusting his clothes. He held out his hands to her, pulling her to her feet and then drawing her against him. He held her tightly for a moment, then, as she drew back a little, released her but still held her hands, looking her up and down.

  “What shall we do now? Are you hungry? Making love always used to make you hungry.”

  Serena considered as she straightened her skirts. “I could drink a glass of that claret and nibble on a little bread and cheese, but first I would like to refresh myself. A bowl of water and a towel.” She passed a descriptive hand down her body.

  “Of course.” Sebastian hurried to the door. “Come to my bedchamber.” He led the way up a flight of stairs to a narrow landing with two doors on either side. He opened one and with an exaggerated bow ushered Serena inside. “I’ll fetch water and a towel.”

  He disappeared, leaving Serena to look around the square bedchamber. It contained a canopied bed, a dresser, a basin and ewer, and an armoire. A small fire burned in the grate. Again, it was a room that, while adequate, had no personality to it. A rather grimy window looked down onto a back garden, where a few desultory chickens pecked at the dirt below.

  Sebastian reappeared with a jug of steaming hot water and a towel over his arm. “Madam, allow me …” He poured water into the basin and turned back to her with an unmistakably lascivious grin. “Where would you wish me to start?”

  “Nowhere,” Serena stated definitely. “Leave me alone, Sebastian, and find bread and cheese and claret. I will not be above ten minutes.”

  He looked disappointed but acceded with good grace. “One kiss before I go?”

  “One kiss,” she agreed. She resisted his attempt to kiss her on the mouth, turning her cheek so that his lips brushed her cheek.

  He took her face between his hands, holding her head steady, and made to kiss her full on the lips, but she pulled violently away from him, rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand. “No … never do that. If I don’t wish to kiss you, I will not.”

  He looked at her, distress and confusion in his eyes. “I didn’t mean … we’ve just made love, Serena. I … what did I do wrong?”

  She took a deep breath. In the old days, she would have responded playfully. But she could no longer do that. “Nothing. You did nothing wrong. I just don’t like anyone to hold my head.” She tried for a smile, a light laugh. “It’s been so long, Sebastian, I have to get used to you again.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “As you wish … always as you wish, Serena. I’ll do something about refreshments.” He left her, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Serena closed her eyes. She had to learn to forget that night, and she thought for the most part she had done so. That violent reaction had shocked and surprised her as much as it had shocked and surprised Sebastian. But he was not to blame. And she could never explain it to him.

  Chapter Eight

  “Mrs. Croft, have you been baking? What have you in the pantry?” Sebastian entered the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively at the wholesome aroma of fresh-baked bread.

  The housekeeper straightened from the kitchen range as she withdrew a golden loaf from the bread oven, balancing the paddle as she slid it onto the kitchen table. “Why, ’tis hardly time for your dinner, sir. ’Tis barely five o’clock.”

  “I know, but I have a guest who is sharp set. That bread looks wonderful and smells even better.” He picked off a piece of hot crust and popped it into his mouth. “Delicious. This will do very well. All that remains is to find something toothsome to accompany it.” He went into the pantry, peering at the offerings on the cold marble shelf. He selected a round of cheddar, half a cold chicken, and a pat of butter. “This will do very well. Where will I find a tray?”

  “Lord love us, Mr. Sebastian, you go on back to the parlor. I’ll send Bart through with this.” Rather distractedly, Mrs. Croft tucked a strand of gray hair back into the pins that held the fat bun at the nape of her neck. She was unaccustomed to seeing either of her employers in her kitchen and wasn’t at all sure that she cared for the visitation. She fetched plates from the Welsh dresser.

  “No, I can carry it,” Sebastian protested. “Knives, we need knives.” He looked around vaguely.

  “I’ll send Bart with the tray.” The housekeeper shooed Sebastian as if he were a buzzing fly. “You go back to your guest now, sir.”

  Sebastian, somewhat surprised at how his presence in the kitchen discommoded the housekeeper, yielded with good grace. “Very well, Mrs. Croft. I’ll just fetch up a bottle of claret from the cellar.” He headed for the cellar door before she could object to that, too.

  “You’ll need the lantern, Mr. Sebastian.” She shook her head. “’Tis black as pitch down there.”

  “Oh, yes, I suppose it is.” He looked around. “Where d’you keep the lantern?”

  “On the wall, sir. By the back door. And there’s flint and tinder on the dresser.” It would have been a lot quicker to have done it herself, she reflected, assembling food, knives, and plates on a wooden tray.

  Sebastian carried the lantern high and made his way down the steep steps to the cellar. He examined the wine racks by the light of the lamp, frowning. Why had Serena reacted to his kiss like that? It seemed such an extreme response, particularly in light of the previous half-hour. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said her response to him at that moment was revulsion.

  Still frowning, he selected a bottle from the rack, dusting off cobwebs as he returned to the kitchen.

  “Bart’s taken the tray through,” the housekeeper informed him. “I’ll pull the cork on that bottle.”

  “No … no … I’m quite capable of uncorking a bottle, Mrs. Croft.” He looked around. “Just point me in the direction of the corkscrew.”

  Mrs. Croft sighed and pulled open a drawer in the kitchen table. “Here you are, sir.”

  “Thank you
.” Sebastian bestowed his most dazzling smile upon her and left the kitchen with bottle and corkscrew.

  Bart was arranging the contents of the tray on the small table at the window when Sebastian returned to the parlor. “Will that be all, sir?”

  Sebastian cast a quick glance at the table and nodded. “Just put some more logs on the fire, if you would.” He drew the cork on the bottle, sniffed it, then poured a small measure into one of the glasses.

  “Will it do?” Serena’s light tones came from the door.

  “’Tis one of your favorites,” he said. He was smiling as he turned to look at her, but the smile was shadowed with a question. “Un bon Bordeaux from Nuit St. Georges.” He poured a glass and handed it to her.

  She took its scent with an appreciative nod, sipped, and smiled. “Fancy you remembering.”

  His eyes took on a smoky hue as he said quietly, “I remember everything about you.”

  She glanced with quick warning at the boy making up the fire, and Sebastian turned aside to the laden table. “What may I offer you, ma’am? A little cold chicken, perhaps?”

  Bart finished with the fire and scurried from the room. Sebastian cut a thick slice of still-warm bread, buttered it lavishly, and put it with a slice of chicken breast on Serena’s plate. He looked the question at her again, and she gave a rather tentative smile.

  “Forgive me, Sebastian. I don’t know what came over me. I suppose it’s because men are always pawing me at the tables. ’Tis as if I am as much an attraction as the cards, and they have as much right to me as they do to play.”

  He paled, a white shade around his mouth. “Heyward lets them do that?”

  If you only knew, she thought. She said with a careless shrug, “He sees nothing wrong in it, as long as it brings them to the tables. I just find it annoying.” She picked up the plate and took it to a fireside chair, sniffing hungrily. “Why is it that the simplest food always tastes the best?” She piled chicken on the bread and took a hearty bite. “This is so good.”