A Wedding Wager

by Jane Feather

  “Thank you,” she said with a placid smile.

  For the next half-hour, it seemed to her that they were existing in a suspended bubble, or at least she and Sebastian were. They ate and talked over a range of unimportant subjects, Peregrine playing his part as congenial fellow diner admirably, but Serena was ever conscious of what was to come, even as she found herself enjoying the postponement that merely enhanced anticipation. And just what is to come? Serena knew Sebastian had some plan, but he gave no indication of it, seemed so relaxed, so completely comfortable, as if nothing could spoil his pleasure in the moment, that she allowed herself to be lulled into a most unusual feeling of careless enjoyment. What would be would be.

  Peregrine, if he was conscious of the current of suppressed anticipation in the room, didn’t show it. He had clearly decided to let matters run their course and made amiable small talk and discreetly failed to notice the covert glances, the half-smiles, that flew between his table companions.

  Finally, Sebastian sat back, replete, and drummed his fingers rhythmically on the table, watching Serena. She put down her fork. “Are you in a hurry to do something, go somewhere, Sebastian?”

  “When you’re ready,” he said. “Take your time.” His tone completely lacked conviction, and she laughed.

  “I am ready now … for whatever it is.”

  He sprang to his feet. “I ordered the coach for ten. It should be outside now.”

  “Coach?” Peregrine raised his eyebrows. “Where did that come from?”

  “Blackwater House,” his brother informed him succinctly. “Jasper was perfectly happy to lend me Baker and the coach for the day. You know how little he uses it himself.”

  Peregrine nodded. “Yes, he much prefers that curricle of his … can’t say I blame him.”

  “No,” Sebastian agreed. “And unfortunately, our esteemed brother, generous to a fault though he is in most things, is adamant that he won’t lend anyone his horses. So Baker and the coach it has to be.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Yes,” Serena said. “Where are we going?”

  “Oh, you’ll find out when you get there.” He seemed immensely pleased with himself. “Come along now.” He urged her into the hall, where he draped her cloak around her shoulders, fastening the clasp, then took up her gloves, carefully easing them over her fingers.

  “Oh, let me do it,” she said with a laugh, trying to take her hands back. “I’ve been putting on my own gloves since I was three years old.”

  “Keep still,” he commanded, tightening his grip on her hands. “There now. All done.” He opened the front door and stood impatiently holding it. “Hurry, Serena. We have quite a drive.”

  More than ever intrigued, she went past him to the street, where a rather old-fashioned coach and four stood, the Blackwater arms on the panels, a groom at the horses’ heads, a liveried coachman at the door.

  “Morning, Baker.” Sebastian greeted the coachman, whom he had known most of his life.

  “Morning, Mr. Sebastian.” The coachman touched his forelock, with a bow. “Morning, ma’am.” He let down the footstep and held open the door.

  Serena smiled her own good morning as Sebastian handed her up into the carriage. She settled into a corner, arranging her skirts becomingly on the rather faded, rather worn velvet squabs, while Sebastian had a lowvoiced conference with the coachman before climbing in to sit opposite her. The coachman closed the door, enclosing them in the dimly lit space.

  Sebastian leaned back, stretching his legs across the narrow aisle between the seats, and regarded Serena with the same possessively complacent smile.

  “I shall expire of curiosity, Sebastian, if you don’t tell me at once what’s going on.” Serena found the smile both unnerving and strangely thrilling. It made her feel as if Sebastian somehow possessed her. She couldn’t understand why she found the sensation thrilling, when ordinarily she would have fought tooth and nail for control of the situation. It was her own extraordinary response that unnerved her.

  “No, you won’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

  “A good surprise?” she asked cautiously.

  “Oh, Serena, for shame,” he chided. “Would I ever have an unpleasant surprise for you? That’s more your style than mine.”

  “You know why that happened,” she protested softly. “I explained it to you. Must it still lie between us?”

  Sebastian realized that he was in danger of losing everything he had worked so hard to achieve. And it was entirely his fault. He should never have alluded to the past. It was just that the hurt was still never far from the surface, even when they were as close as they were now. Or maybe especially then.

  He leaned across the aisle, taking her hands, pulling her onto his lap as the carriage slowed, the groom’s horn blowing up for a toll gate. Fleetingly, Serena wondered where on earth they were, but the question slid from her mind without a trace.

  “Mea culpa, sweetheart.” Sebastian tilted her sideways so that she lay across him, looking up as he gazed down into her face. He ran his tongue over her eyelids in a moist caress that banished all bad feelings. She reached her arms around his neck, lifting her head to kiss the corner of his hovering mouth.

  “It is over,” she murmured. “It is behind us now. We have to go forward. Somehow we have to let the past go.”

  “We are,” he promised. The coach lurched into motion again, the horses lengthening their stride. He slipped a hand beneath her head and kissed her, his free hand sliding beneath her cloak to cup the swell of her breasts, to trace the line of her rib cage, the curve of her hip. “I can’t wait to get this wretched gown off you,” he grumbled. He moved his hand down, sliding it up her leg beneath her skirt and petticoat, over the silk-stockinged calf, and up, smoothing over her thigh, reaching higher. She shuddered with pleasure as his fingers probed in a wicked, knowing caress. She shifted, her body lifting to his touch, which increased in pressure as she responded, until she gave a cry, muffled instantly by his mouth, as her body became taut on the verge of orgasmic delight. When the wave broke, it engulfed her, finally washing her to shore, limp and spent.

  Sebastian gathered her against him, holding her steady as the carriage rocked around a corner. He smiled down into her flushed and glowing countenance, and after a moment, her eyes opened and she smiled back.

  “You always were a wicked lover,” she said, running a finger over his lips. “But that, I have to tell you, was particularly wicked. I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “Did you wish to expect it?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “No … no, that wasn’t what I meant. You know what I meant,” she protested.

  “Well, I’ll tell you something, my adorable Serena. I have decided that treating you to the unexpected shall be my mission from now on. You’re tight as a coiled spring, my dear, and for today at the very least, I shall make it my business to unravel you. I promise you will never know what surprises I have in store until I spring them upon you.”

  This time, she made no mention of good or bad surprises.

  Sebastian helped her up and back onto the opposite seat. Then he sat back, resting his head against the squabs, smiling as she straightened her skirts and tried to put herself to rights in the confines of the carriage. Her hair had escaped in wisps from the knot on top of her head, and her side curls were in disarray. She tugged her fingers through them, but it was fairly futile.

  “What do I look like?” she groaned. “What will people think when I step out?”

  “There won’t be any people to think anything at all,” he said with a lazy smile. “You look entrancingly disheveled, which is a completely new sight. I like it, so do me a favor and leave everything as it is.”

  She gave up. “Oh, well, if you say so.” She rested her head against the back of the bench and regarded him through half-closed eyes, reflecting that he was very different these days, and she found the difference only exciting.

 
; After a few moments, she sat up and drew aside the leather curtain at the window aperture. As she had assumed from the toll, they had left the busy London streets behind and were now driving through a rather pretty village of thatched cottages lining the rutted lane on both sides. Green fields stretched behind them, cows grazing peaceably under the trees.

  “Where is this?”

  Sebastian sat up and looked out. “Oh, good, we’re nearly there. ’Tis the village of Knightsbridge. Very quiet, very sleepy.”

  “So that must have been the Knightsbridge toll we passed. I didn’t realize we were going into the country.” She sounded as surprised as she felt. Sebastian had always struck her as the quintessential London denizen.

  “You weren’t supposed to realize anything,” he said with another complacent smile. He leaned out of the window, calling up to the box, “The last cottage on the right, just before the Bear and Ragged Staff, Baker.”

  “Right y’are, sir.” The coachman drew rein outside the cottage, and the groom hurried to open the door and let down the footstep.

  Sebastian jumped down, disdaining the step, and reached in for Serena’s hand, helping her down to the lane. She stood looking around. The cottage sat in a pretty garden, ablaze with chrysanthemums and dahlias. A small gate opened onto a narrow path that wound its way between two small patches of lawn to the front door, which had bay windows on either side.

  “How pretty,” she observed, fascinated by this bucolic retreat. What on earth did Sebastian have in mind?

  “Take the horses to the inn, Baker. They’re expecting you. We’ll be ready to leave again at four o’clock.”

  The coachman nodded, touched his forelock, and drove the coach the few hundred yards to the inn.

  “Does it please you?” Sebastian asked softly, watching Serena’s face.

  She smiled. “Yes, indeed, but what is it for?”

  “Oh, Serena, can’t you guess?” he exclaimed. “I had really thought you sharp-witted. How could I have been so mistaken?”

  She pulled a face. “I am sharp-witted, more than you’ll ever know. But how could I possibly know what you have in mind?”

  He merely looked at her in silence, and slowly she realized that she was, indeed, being dim-witted. “Oh,” she said.

  “Precisely. You expressed a wish for somewhere private of our own. Well, here it is.” He made an expansive gesture to the cottage. “I have taken a lease for six months. That should be long enough to settle Miss Abigail’s future.”

  Serena shook her head in wonder. “How could you afford it, Sebastian?”

  He shook his head in mock reproof. “That, my dear girl, is no concern of yours.” He unlatched the gate. “’Tis a most indelicate question. Now, let us go in.” He put a hand at the small of her back and propelled her unceremoniously ahead of him up the path to the door, where he banged the shining brass knocker.

  It was opened by a plump, smiling lady of middle years. She curtsied, smoothing down her apron. “Ah, there you are, sir. And this is the young lady you mentioned.” She looked Serena up and down, a searching but not unfriendly scrutiny. “I trust you’ll be comfortable, ma’am.”

  Serena, still slightly bemused, looked around the small hall. Everything gleamed, and the air was scented with beeswax and dried lavender. “I’m sure I shall, Mistress…?”

  “This is Mistress Greene, Serena. She is our landlady and will look after us when we’re here,” Sebastian explained.

  “I daresay you’ll be glad of a little refreshment after your journey.” The landlady opened a door onto a parlor whose bay window looked onto the garden. “I’ll fetch you up some of my cowslip wine and a few little cakes. Just baked ’em, I have.”

  Serena could smell the aromas of baking mingling with the beeswax and lavender. She went to the fire, pulling off her gloves. The fender was polished to an impossible shine.

  Sebastian came up behind her, reaching over her shoulders to unclasp her cloak. He slipped it away from her, dropping it onto a wooden settle. “We have all day to ourselves,” he told her. “No one will disturb us. No one apart from Baker knows where we are.”

  “’Tis perfect, love.” She turned into his embrace, smiling up at him. “How clever of you to find it.”

  “Oh, ’tis only one of several things I have found,” he declared with a chuckle, stroking the curve of her cheek as he loved to do. But he was not yet ready to reveal his pièce de résistance. Not until he was sure of Serena’s response. This time, he was taking nothing for granted.

  Mistress Greene knocked discreetly on the door and then came in with a tray. She set it down on a gate-legged table in the bay window. “When you’ve refreshed yourself, ma’am, I’ll show you around.”

  “Oh, no need for that, Mistress Greene,” Sebastian said swiftly. “I know my way around. I will show Lady Serena myself.”

  “Very well, sir.” The landlady curtsied and left them alone.

  “How did you find this place?” Serena took a sip of cowslip wine and broke a little sweet cake in half. Suddenly, it seemed important to prolong this moment, to let the suspense build between them, the longing, soon to be satisfied, to grow until they could bear it no longer.

  Sebastian regarded her with his head to one side. “Small talk, my sweet?”

  “Polite discourse,” she amended with a wicked smile.

  Sebastian set his glass down with a definitive click. “Enough. My patience is done. ’Tis time for business.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Serena set down her own glass. Sebastian’s blue gaze seemed to hold her, pull her to him, as if they were connected by an invisible chain. She stepped forward slowly until she stood close enough to feel his breath on her cheek, the warmth of his body. She lifted her face and saw that he was looking at her with a grave intensity that had banished his usual lighthearted, smiling gaze.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “I love you,” he responded. “I love you so much it hurts. I do not know what I would do if you were not here.”

  She bowed her head, feeling suddenly the weight of an enormous responsibility. She had failed him, failed the power of their love once, she must not, could not do so again. But she could not, not yet, give him the unconditional declaration of an undying love. She could only give him what was safe and in her hands to give. She raised her eyes again. “I love you, too, Sebastian, more than I can say.”

  If he was disappointed, he gave no indication. “Come.” He surprised her by swiftly lifting her off her feet, holding her against him.

  “I’m too heavy,” she murmured in faint protest as he carried her to the door.

  “You weigh nothing,” he responded, and his voice was once again light and amused.

  “I know that’s not true.” But she put her arms around his neck, resting her cheek against his shoulder, and allowed herself the indulgence of feeling delightfully helpless in the face of this masculine show of power. What was love play, after all, but an arena for games of make-believe?

  Sebastian carried her up the short flight of stairs to a door on a small landing. “Lift the latch, love, my arms are full.”

  Serena raised the latch on the door, and Sebastian pushed it open with his foot, carrying her in and dropping her on the quilted bed cover with a barely concealed sigh of relief.

  “I told you I was too heavy,” she said, laughing up at him as he caught his breath. “You could probably carry Abigail with one hand, but you forget I come from the blood and bone of a Scottish clansman. We’re made tall and broad.”

  “I’ll give you tall,” he said, “but I dispute broad. However, I’ve a mind to have a proper look.” He bent over her, deftly removing her shoes, before taking her hands and hauling her upright. “You have to stand up. I can’t undress you lying down.”

  Serena obliged, sliding to her feet beside the bed. Sebastian unbuttoned her gown, slipping it off her shoulders to fall in a rose velvet puddle at her feet. He untied the tapes of the hoop, tossing it a
side, and turned his attention to the laces of her corset, unthreading them with experienced ease.

  “You have the touch of a lady’s maid,” Serena murmured with a soft chuckle. “It seems you’ve put the three years of our separation to good use, my dear.”

  “That is a thoroughly indelicate comment,” he chided, tossing the corset to the floor. He unfastened the tiny pearl buttons of her chemise and lifted it over her head, so that she stood naked, except for her gartered stockings.

  He stepped back, looking her over, an appreciative smile on his lips. “Magnificent. I always forget between times how glorious your body is.” He moved his hands over her sloping shoulders in a leisurely caress, flattening his palms along her ribcage, smoothing over the curve of her hips, before caressing her belly, pressing his thumbs into the sharp points of her hip bones, moving up to cup her breasts, flicking lightly at her nipples with his forefingers.

  Serena stood very still, only her skin rippling with sensation, the little pulse at the base of her throat beating faster than usual. He turned her wrists and pressed his lips against the soft, blue-veined skin, where the same pulse beat rapidly against his mouth. Then, with a soft chuckle, he pushed her lightly so that she fell back on the bed.

  He bent over her, unfastening her garters before carefully unrolling her silk stockings, easing them over her long legs. He lifted her feet in turn, kissing her toes, watching her face as she lay on the bed.

  “Hurry,” she whispered as he ran his tongue over her arched instep. Her body lifted on the coverlet as lust, urgent and imperative, swept through her.

  Sebastian dropped her foot to the bed, stepped back, and began to take off his clothes, each movement tantalizingly slow and deliberate. Serena rolled onto her side, resting her cheek on her elbow-propped palm as she drank in every inch of his body so slowly revealed.