A Wedding Wager

by Jane Feather

When he pushed off his underdrawers and stood naked beside her, she reached for his engorged penis, enclosing it between her fingers, feeling the corded veins pulsing against her palm.

  Sebastian knelt on the bed, straddling her as she continued to hold him. He caressed her nipples, making small circles with a fingertip until she groaned in need. Only then did he slide his hands beneath her bottom, lift her on the shelf of his palms, and enter her welcoming body one minute fraction at a time, until she thought she could bear it no longer, as the exquisite sensation filled her pulsing body, every sensitized nerve ending throbbing with delight as he sheathed himself within her.

  Much later, when pale afternoon sunshine shone through the bedroom window under the eaves, Sebastian disentangled himself from Serena, gently sliding his legs out from beneath hers, flung warm and heavy across his hips. He shivered a little. The fire in the hearth was burning low. He threw on kindling and watched as the fire caught again, before he threw on several larger logs.

  “What time is it? Must we go now?” Serena struggled onto an elbow, aware of a deep sense of impending loss. The prospect of leaving this sanctuary, going back to the life she had to live, filled her with desolation.

  “Not yet. I thought you were still sleeping.” Sebastian turned from the fire as the logs crackled. He came over to the bed, drawing back the covers, drinking in the sight of her body, naked, supple, glowing in the firelight. “Are you hungry?”

  “Ravenous.” She stretched, smiling up at him, determined that he should not see her unhappiness. “Something smells wonderful.”

  “Mistress Greene will be preparing something for us. I’ll go in search.” He pulled on his breeches and shirt and went barefoot to the kitchen, where the landlady was busy with pots and cauldrons over the black-leaded range.

  She turned, flourishing a ladle, as he entered the room. “Oh, sir, you startled me.”

  “I beg your pardon, Mistress Greene. Something smells delicious, and we find ourselves famished.”

  The landlady beamed. “Well, not knowing quite what you and the lady might feel like, I’ve artichoke soup, a nice roast duckling with juniper sauce to follow, and a good blackberry and apple pie. Apples from our own orchard, and I preserved the blackberries straight from the bush a month or so past. Will that suit?”

  “Admirably, Mistress Greene.”

  “Will I lay the table in the parlor, or will you dine abovestairs?”

  Sebastian thought of Serena, naked and languid in the feather bed, and said swiftly that they would eat abovestairs, but he would carry the tray himself.

  The landlady made no demur, piling cutlery, plates, and a soup tureen on a tray, which Sebastian carried with some difficulty upstairs. He’d left the door unlatched and was able to elbow it wide enough to give him entrance. Serena was sitting, still naked, on the rug in front of the fire, one elbow propped on a crossed knee, gazing into the crackling flames.

  “Shameless,” he chided with a chuckle. “Supposing Mistress Greene had brought up the tray.” He set his burdens on a table beside the fire.

  “She would have knocked,” Serena said, rising to her feet. She came over to the table and sniffed hungrily.

  “There’s a second course,” he said, momentarily distracted by the long, graceful curve of her naked body leaning over the table. He smoothed a hand over her backside. “For God’s sake, sit down, before you give me other ideas.”

  She chuckled and sat down, shaking out a square linen napkin, saying with a wicked smile, “I wouldn’t want to spill soup at the moment.”

  “No,” he agreed, ladling soup into a bowl and placing it in front of her. “That could be a little uncomfortable.”

  She smiled but said only, “How long do we have, Sebastian?”

  He took a mouthful of soup, covertly watching her expression as he said deliberately, “As long as you wish, Serena.”

  She looked at him, startled. “You know I must be back by seven at the latest.”

  “Today, yes,” he agreed. He passed her a piece of bread on the tip of a knife, his eyes still on her expression. “You should try Mistress Greene’s bread. ’Tis excellent.”

  Serena took the bread, saying thoughtfully, “I wonder if I can come up with a convincing excuse for spending the night away from Pickering Place one day.” She smiled, savoring the possibility. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful, a whole night here to ourselves?”

  Sebastian merely smiled, hiding his disappointment. He’d hoped … well, he didn’t really know what he’d hoped for. That she’d give him an opening, perhaps, to test her reaction to his grand plan? But it was early days yet. Better to take things one step at a time. “It would be,” he agreed. “Hurry with your soup, and then I’ll fetch the roast duck.”

  She ate her soup, pondering the question of how to escape Pickering Place for a night. There had to be a way.

  Sebastian went down for the second course. He brought up a bottle of burgundy and filled their glasses before carving the duckling, which came with crispy roast potatoes and a compote of mushrooms. They ate in a companionable silence, occupied with their own thoughts. Finally, Sebastian set aside his knife and fork, refilled their wine glasses, and asked, trying for nonchalance, “Is Burford one of those who paws you at the tables?”

  Serena looked at him sharply. It seemed such a non sequitur after the afternoon they’d spent. Of course, she remembered now that when she had turned from his kiss that time, she’d offered as excuse the overly free hands of the clients in Pickering Place. But why would he bring up Burford in particular? What could he know of how matters stood in that quarter? “That’s an odd question,” she said with a careless shrug. “Are you well acquainted with the earl?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “Not really, but I heard something … just a word here and there that seemed to imply he was particularly interested in you.”

  “Maybe he is,” she responded with a light laugh. “But he’s not alone. I seem to have that effect on a lot of men.”

  Sebastian felt a bitter anger suddenly. She seemed so nonchalant about the business, as if being the object of lust for a host of men was somehow perfectly normal.

  “I suppose,” he said, “in your line of work, it goes with the territory.”

  Serena frowned, a chill running up her spine. The warmth seemed to have vanished from the room, although the fire was burning fiercely. “I don’t understand what you mean, Sebastian.”

  “I mean, my dear, that as one of faro’s daughters, being propositioned by your clients must come as no surprise. Has Burford propositioned you?” He realized even as he spoke that he didn’t want to be saying these things. It was as if his uncle’s vile imaginings had worked their serpentine way into his brain and were infecting his thoughts and, by extension, his words.

  Serena shivered. Sebastian had changed; a stranger inhabited the familiar figure. There was a look in his eyes she had never seen before. “I’m cold,” she said. “I have to get dressed.”

  Sebastian got to his feet and went to the armoire, returning with a heavy brocade night robe. He draped it around her shoulders, then stood for a moment behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Has he propositioned you, Serena?”

  “What difference does it make to us whether he has or he hasn’t, Sebastian?”

  “How could you ask such a question?” he exclaimed. “If he did, would you accept the offer?”

  Serena felt sick. “If you can think that of me, Sebastian, why are we here?”

  “I need to know,” he said simply.

  She reached behind her and pushed his hands from her shoulders, rising to her feet in one fluid movement. “As it happens, he has made me a proposition, one that’s actually quite difficult to turn down. He holds the mortgages on Pickering Place and has offered them to me if I become his mistress. I’m sure you can imagine the pleasure it would give me to hold my stepfather’s life in my hands.”

  “So you accepted him?”

  “I didn’t say that
.”

  But you didn’t say you haven’t … or wouldn’t.

  Serena wrapped the folds of the robe securely around her as she looked at him, her lovely violet eyes ablaze with anger and something else, something he would swear was uncertainty in their depths. “I see no virtue in this discussion, or interrogation, rather. I need to get dressed and get back.”

  What the hell was he doing? he thought abruptly. It had seemed for a moment as if someone else was inhabiting his body. Serena was right, this interrogation was getting them nowhere. He knew what he wanted from her, and this was no way to get it. His anger melted like butter in the sun. “Oh, Serena, my dear, forgive me. I don’t know what came over me. I should never have doubted, ’tis just sometimes so … so difficult to see you in that place, to imagine the life you lead there. Please.” He reached for her, drawing her against him, burying his mouth in her hair. “Forgive me, love.”

  Serena made no move to draw away, but neither did she cling to him as he so wanted her to. She said almost wearily, “Of course, I forgive you. I can’t really blame you in the circumstances. But they are what they are, Sebastian. And until I can leave him, they won’t change.”

  “Then leave him now. This evening,” he pressed.

  “Not yet. I will not stand aside while he traps Abigail. He’s charmed Mrs. Sutton, and even Mr. Sutton finds his company congenial. If I’m not careful, he’ll have slipped under their guard, and Abigail will be Lady Heyward in the blink of an eye.”

  “How could any sane woman be charmed by that brute?” Sebastian stroked her hair.

  “Oh, you have no idea how charming he can be if it suits his purpose.” She gave a short, mirthless laugh and moved away from him, back to her seat at the table. She traced a pattern in the linen cloth with her fork as she spoke so that he could no longer see her expression.

  “I watched him insinuate himself inch by inch into my mother’s affections. It started just after my father died. Mama was distraught. She’d always relied on my father to take care of everything, and suddenly she was alone. She’d loved my father and was absolutely bereft. There was nothing I could do. I was still really a child, but I think …”

  She shook her head with a sad little smile. “I think I was more grown up than my mother even then. But Mama couldn’t imagine not having a man to manage her life for her. I would not do, even though I was fairly competent with accounts and household management. My father had encouraged me to take an interest in such affairs. I think perhaps he had a premonition that he would not be around to take care of us forever.

  “The long and the short of it was that the general stepped into the void. He was all charm and consideration, and my mother fell into the trap. She ceded all her property to him on their marriage, even though I begged her to keep some in trust.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I was trying to protect myself at that point, but it didn’t work. My inheritance went to the general, too.”

  Sebastian had resumed his own seat at the table and watched her closely, wishing he could see her eyes. When she fell silent, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs under the table, crossing his ankles. Now was the moment for his own proposal, and yet something held him back. If Serena wasn’t prepared to leave her stepfather and her present existence of her own accord, perhaps there was something about it that did please her, maybe something she enjoyed.

  He was doing it again, he realized, allowing the venom of his uncle’s imagination to infiltrate his own. And yet … and yet, did he really know her? He didn’t … not enough to be sure that he could read her aright, to trust his own judgments. She’d betrayed him once before without warning and without discussion. What was to prevent her doing so again if she felt it necessary?

  “So let us turn our attention to young Abigail,” he said, his voice once more brisk. “I take it young Mr. Wedgwood is not invited to this dinner party at the Suttons’.”

  “I doubt it.” She looked across the table at him then, as if it was no longer dangerous to make eye contact.

  “In the face of Mrs. Sutton’s opposition, how do we go about promoting this marriage?”

  She considered, relieved to be able to turn her thoughts to something that could eventually be solved. “Jonas Wedgwood is putting up at the Queen’s Head in Henrietta Place. I think you should pay him a visit as soon as possible. Find out what his intentions are, and be as encouraging about his prospects as you can. I will gently work upon Abigail and will try to plant the seed in her mother’s mind … maybe suggest that she invite him to the dinner. He’s such a personable young man, after all.”

  “What if Abigail does not have a tendre for Jonas?”

  Serena smiled a little. “Oh, trust me, Sebastian, I know she does. It’s as clear as day, just looking at her.”

  “Maybe to a woman,” he conceded. “Men find it quite difficult, you know, to gain a correct reading of women they wish to court. With every attempt, one entrusts one’s pride and self-esteem to the fickle humor of the female.”

  “Is that so?” Serena queried, her eyes suddenly lively and amused. Teasing was safe ground, a gift horse she was not prepared to look in the mouth.

  “In my experience,” he said with a lofty gesture. “But still, my question remains. How to overcome Mrs. Sutton’s opposition?”

  “Simple enough. By removing all other suitors from the arena. Once Abigail’s mama realizes that Jonas Wedgwood is not only her daughter’s choice but also her only one, she will capitulate. The Wedgwoods are a respectable, highly regarded family in the Potteries. I’ll lay any odds Mr. Sutton will be overjoyed at the prospect of such a match. It would keep his beloved daughter close to him, apart from anything else.”

  Sebastian nodded. “I see your point.”

  “But you have to appear to find Abigail of some interest,” Serena pressed. “Just so that her mama won’t press the general’s suit.”

  “If he’s capable of being as charming as you say, can you be certain he won’t overwhelm Mrs. Sutton with his attentions?”

  “No, I can’t,” Serena said somberly. “Which is why I have to be on the alert and on the spot.”

  He nodded slowly. “Arguing that point with you is futile, I understand that now.” He stood up, came around the table, and pulled her to her feet. “But we have a short time before we must leave. Can we try to put the bad moments behind us?”

  “Yes, please,” she said, her voice rather small.

  He pushed up her chin, kissing her before sliding his hands beneath the brocade robe and pushing it away from her.

  They left their hideaway an hour later, aware in their hearts that their lovemaking had merely papered over the cracks that the earlier quarrel had opened, but neither was willing to express such a thought or reopen the old wounds. They sat close in the warm darkness of the carriage, and Serena allowed the swaying motion to act as a lullaby, sending her into a trancelike doze until they were once more rattling over the city cobbles.

  Sebastian sat up to draw aside the leather curtain, letting the flickering lights of link boys and candlelit windows illuminate the carriage. The carriage slowed as they turned onto the Strand and then drew up alongside a stand of chairmen, waiting for custom. The groom opened the door and let down the footstep.

  “I told Baker to leave us here,” Sebastian explained as he stepped down to the street. “I could hardly leave you at your door.”

  “No,” Serena agreed, taking his hand to step beside him. Two chairmen trotted up to them, setting down the sedan chair.

  “Take the lady to Pickering Place,” Sebastian instructed.

  Serena gave her hand to Sebastian. He held on to it for a moment, then raised it to his lips.

  “Until soon, Serena.” He stood aside as she stepped into the chair.

  She smiled up at him as he leaned forward into the chair. “I’ll try to bide my time in patience.”

  He blew her a kiss, then stepped back, waiting until the chairmen had hoisted the sedan chair and were trotting do
wn the Strand. Then he climbed back into the coach.

  Serena felt increasing dread as the chair approached Pickering Place. The prospect of the evening ahead now seemed unendurable. Whenever she escaped from the house and the man who kept her there, she found it harder and harder to return.

  The chairmen stopped outside the house, letting the chair to the ground. Serena stepped out, paid the men, and walked up the stairs.

  Flanagan opened the door for her. She stepped into the hall and found herself face-to-face with her stepfather. He was incandescent with rage, his face scarlet, a vein beating in his temple, and he seemed for once to be having difficulty finding the words to express himself.

  “Is something wrong, sir?” she inquired, her bland tone disguising her flicker of alarm. She unclasped her cloak, glad to find that her fingers were quite steady.

  “Wrong?” He seemed to gobble for air. “I want you in the library.”

  He made a move towards her, as if to grab her arm, but she sidestepped neatly and went ahead of him into the library. Her heart was beating rather fast, but she would not show him any fear.

  “Where the hell have you been all day?” The door crashed shut behind him.

  Serena was slowly taking off her gloves, desperately trying to think what could have provoked the general’s fury. She thought of saying she had been with the Suttons, something that should placate him, but decided it was too easily proved a lie.

  She said instead, “I had some errands to run, a fitting at my dressmaker, and I ran into an old friend of my mother’s. She pressed me to visit her, and I thought it only courteous to do so.” That was a lie he would never disprove, since he had no contact with any member of her mother’s previous life and, indeed, had obliged her to sever such contacts herself as soon as they were married.

  He stared at her, as if trying to decide whether she was telling the truth, then shook his head as if dismissing the matter. “How dare you refuse Burford’s proposition against my direct orders?”

  “I have already told you, sir. I am not to be bought and sold.” She spoke evenly, anxious to keep all indication of fear from her voice or demeanor. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to change my dress before dinner.”