by Eva Leigh
Alarmed, Grace yelped and pushed at the arms surrounding her. At once, they let go. But she turned to berate their owner for his presumption.
“You’re insolent, sir,” she ground out.
“My apologies but you were on the verge of trodding on my foot and— Grace?”
Stunned, she asked, “Sebastian?”
She peered into the dark, and as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she could just make out his form. He was mostly made up of shadows, yet details emerged: his fair hair pale in the night, the width of his shoulders, the shine of his eyes. And . . . he was standing very near. Warmth from his body was as close as the darkness itself. He smelled of spice and expensive wool, with the faint hint of perspiration beneath that caused her senses to prickle. It thrilled her, his scent, even as she told herself that she shouldn’t feel anything from his nearness.
Shouldn’t. But she did.
“Where’s Fredericks?”
Sebastian’s question sounded almost indifferent—but a faint edge cut through his words.
“Inside, I imagine. I needed to take refuge from him.”
“Was he disrespectful to you?” The bite in his tone made it clear that if Mason had taken liberties, Sebastian would happily make him suffer.
“He was in all ways an exemplary gentleman,” she said quickly. “Only . . . he was there and my mother was there, and I desired a moment to myself.”
A pause. “I should take my leave of you.”
“Don’t.” To her own ears, her words were a plea. Only then did she realize that she still had her hands spread on his chest.
She dropped her hands and took a step back, putting needed distance between them. A handsome man, a shadowed balcony . . . It was all too easy to fall into the realm of fantasy, but those fantasies had no room in her reality.
“The night’s a success, then?” His voice sounded a trifle rough, as if he pushed words out from his throat, but that was most likely the result of being in an overheated ballroom.
“Thanks to you, a roaring success,” she said with far more cheer than she felt. Because her head was hopelessly muddled, and she had no answers for any of the questions that ricocheted through her. “You needn’t stay. If there’s somewhere else you’d rather be . . .”
After a moment, he said, “There’s a small village on the northern outskirts of London. The wanders that I go on from time to time? When I was in the middle of one, I learned about this place. Once a year, the village celebrates the springtime with customs that date back hundreds of years. As if the celebration has been trapped in amber and forever preserved. But I’ve never been to the place itself, not in all the years I have known of it.”
“Is it soon, this festival?” It comforted her to speak to him about his work, as if they could, somehow, return to the simpler time when they were merely friends. Before she’d gone and ruined things by having feelings for him.
“Tonight, in fact. I intend to go there after the ball. To observe the festivities.”
“Ah.” Of course his life would continue on without her in it. She was grateful that the ball hadn’t been too taxing for him. “It sounds like a wonderful adventure.”
A pause. And then, “Come with me.”
She went still with shock. He couldn’t have said that—could he? “Go with you to the village?”
“Why not? We used to go on excursions together, before all of this.” He gestured to his evening finery. “It will be like old times. Two friends having their own adventure.” His smile flashed in the darkness, and a pulse of responsiveness moved through her body.
“I . . .” She ought to say no, return to the ball, and spend the rest of the evening by her mother’s side. Ought to, but didn’t want to. She’d played the dutiful daughter, encouraging the right man to pay her attention. She wanted something entirely for herself.
And it would be so nice, so much less complicated, if she and Sebastian could go back to their original roles as friends. Well—she could pretend to feel only amity toward him, instead of this thorny desire.
She asked, “How do we get there?”
His grin was brilliant—she loved seeing this unexpectedly impulsive side of him. “We’ll require a carriage.”
“That can be arranged.” Her pulse hammered. She could hardly believe she was doing this. It felt wild and reckless and magnificent yet brought her back to those simpler times that now seemed so long ago.
“Make your excuses to depart on your own. Then wait for me at the north side of Hanover Square.” He rubbed his hands together. “This will be a lark. You’ll see.”
His excited enthusiasm was contagious, and offered relief from the constraints of the ball, and decorum, and all things proper. She stepped away from him and without his warmth, cool night air surrounded her. Moving into the light, she chanced a look behind her, yet the shadows were so complete at that corner of the balcony that anyone passing by would never have observed her with Sebastian.
Inside, life continued as it always had. Dancers filled the floor, and guests ringed around them, chatting and saying witty or dull things. She felt herself full to bursting with her plans to go to the village, but she couldn’t let anyone know. The secret belonged to her and Sebastian.
“There you are, my dear,” her mother said, nearing. “I couldn’t find you after your dance with Mr. Fredericks.”
“I required a little air,” Grace said.
From the corner of her eye, she caught movement by the French doors. She feigned interest in the ornamental plasterwork surrounding them, enabling her to see Sebastian as he reentered the ballroom.
Giddiness rose up within her on a tide of champagne bubbles.
He didn’t look in her direction—a disappointment, but she understood his rationale—as he walked to the Duke of Rotherby. Sebastian murmured something to his friend, who nodded in response, before he slipped from the ballroom.
The plan was in motion.
She barely heard her mother as she talked of the gossip heard at the ball. Grace made herself nod and look attentive while time inched by. Sebastian needed a head start, since they could not be seen leaving the ball together, yet she felt each minute like the slow progress of moss growing on a stone wall.
After she’d counted a full five minutes, she made certain that her mother noticed her wincing.
“Are you well, child?” Her mother frowned worriedly.
“I must own that my head aches.” She made herself look regretful. “Much as it pains me to leave, my head hurts me more. I believe I’ll go home for a nice lie down.”
“I’ll accompany you.” Her mother stroked a hand across her forehead.
“Oh, no,” Grace said quickly. “I’d hate for you to miss the rest of this delightful ball.”
“Take the carriage,” her mother said. “Viscount Marwood said his carriages were at his guests’ disposal. Go straight to bed and if your head is too sore, tell Katie to mix you a tincture of laudanum.”
“I will.” Grace inwardly winced in guilt at deceiving her mother, but the lure to slip off with Sebastian to have a friendly adventure was far too enticing to refuse. “Please tell Lord and Lady Marwood goodbye for me. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Before she could think better of it, she hurried away, though she was conscious of keeping her step light and expression slightly pained as would befit someone suffering from a headache.
The ball ceased to exist for her as she went down the stairs, its music and laughter fading with each step. When she reached the foyer, where more guests were arriving, she collected her wrap from a footman. A tremor of excitement made her hands shake as she adjusted the silk’s folds around her shoulders.
“Please have my carriage brought out front.” How calm she sounded.
“Yes, my lady.”
Moments later, the family carriage pulled up to the curb outside. She strode to it, hardly able to believe what she was about to do. Yet the lure Sebastian had offered was too good to resist.
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“Home, my lady? And shall I wait for your mother?”
“Dennis,” she said to the coachman, “do come down here for a moment.”
Too well-trained to look puzzled, the driver secured the reins before clambering from his seat to stand before her. The footman had already alit from his perch behind the carriage, so both servants regarded her with professional expectancy.
“My mother will find her own way home,” she said in a low voice. “What I’m asking of you now, it can never be revealed to anyone. Especially my parents. I promise you,” she added urgently, “your silence will see you handsomely rewarded. Can I rely on you?”
No going back now.
The footman and coachman said together, “Yes, my lady.”
“Very good. Take me to the north side of Hanover Square. We’ll wait there until I give additional direction. We must leave now.”
Wordlessly, the footman opened the door to the carriage. With her blood rushing in her ears, she climbed in. The door shut with a click.
The vehicle swayed as both servants climbed back onto their seats. There was a slight jolt, a sway forward, and then they were off.
It would be something to share with Sebastian, this trip to the village. Something that might turn the hourglass back to who and what they were before everything changed. She hoped—but a grain of doubt lodged itself in the furthest corner of her heart.
It was all Seb could do to keep from running to Hanover Square. His legs pumped beneath him at a somewhat measured speed, though the pace was far too sedate. It was barely ten o’clock on a relatively balmy spring evening, and people and carriages continued to fill the streets of Mayfair. He’d surely attract attention to himself if he ran flat out.
Yet, God above, how he wanted to race at top velocity. He wasn’t entirely certain what had possessed him to suggest that Grace accompany him to the village. Only that it seemed right, and he wanted to share something with her. If she was willing to spend time with him, as a friend or something else, he was happy to oblige—but he expected nothing from her in exchange. This was about being with her, away from the narrow world of society.
He hurried past elegant houses and town houses, many with windows blazing as they, too, hosted large gatherings for Britain’s elite. He wove through crowds of partygoers in their finery, managing a nod here and there when someone tried to hail him.
That was still new, being the object of attention. He’d forgotten, and cursed his negligence. He could leave no footprint tonight. No one could know where he’d gone, or with whom. Bond Street had to be avoided, so he cut down an alley, and exhaled in relief when he could finally break into a run.
At last, he reached Hanover Square. And there, on the north side, stood Grace’s carriage. His already thundering pulse became the boom of cannons. Yet he forced himself to a relatively sedate stroll as he approached the vehicle. The curtains within had been drawn.
A footman waited beside the carriage, but as Seb neared, the servant opened the door.
“Give directions to Williams.” Her voice sounded breathless with exhilaration.
Seb shot a glance at the footman. “Are they—?”
“Their silence is assured.”
Seb turned to the patiently waiting footman, and relayed the route to their destination. The servant nodded, and in a low voice conveyed the directions to the coachman. With their course settled, Seb climbed into the carriage.
After smothering his envy for Fredericks, joy came tumbling out of him—anticipation of the adventure, and pleasure that this was for him and Grace.
The carriage shuddered, then rolled forward. He realized then that they were alone in a closed carriage, and sudden awareness of her filled him. The dim light from the curtained window turned her skin to soft pearl, and he could feel her breath, rising and falling, and God help him, how he wanted to kiss her. He wanted everything.
But he couldn’t have everything. He could only have this time with her because there was no doubt in his mind that Fredericks would call on her soon—and then it would all fall neatly into place. He didn’t fool himself into believing that their friendship could continue as it had. It would change irrevocably.
These moments with her were precious, fleeting. He would grip them tightly until they slipped from his fingers.
“This is mad, isn’t it,” she said and laughed. “What we’re doing?”
“Entirely.”
There was a rustle of silk as she shifted. He bit back a growl, picturing her legs beneath her skirts, before she reached across the carriage, and clasped his hand. They both wore gloves, yet the feel of her was another delicious torment.
“I’m happy,” she said, urgent. “I’m happy that if I’m to be mad, it’s with you.”
Chapter 19
As the carriage rolled to a stop, sounds of merriment rose above the wheels’ clatter. Unlike the sedate and refined ball, the music here was uninhibited and wild. A fiddle and a drum sent notes careening into the night. Raucous laughter tumbled like acrobats.
It was impossible for Grace to know what made her stomach feel tight and fluttery—the possibilities the night held, or the fact that she’d be alone with Sebastian this evening, in a place where no one knew them. As if anything that happened here was freed from consequence.
Nothing is free from consequence.
She pushed the thought from her mind.
The footman opened the door and helped her down. Sebastian also alit, and together, they took in the spectacle.
A cloudy sky obscured the stars, but torches illuminated everything. Sand-colored brick structures as well as low stone buildings formed the majority of the village, which clustered around a large grassy square. A church spire rose up beyond the high street, and ancient elms spread their branches over rooftops. It was not unlike many little settlements dotting the English countryside, with the revelry at the center of the village a timeless sight.
Women wearing crowns of flowers danced in the square, the ribbons tied to their wrists fluttering with their movements. They made complicated figures as they spun and reeled. Villagers with ribbons pinned to their clothing clapped in time to the music, while children held hands and turned in circles. Nearly every adult held a tankard, and even the men wore floral diadems. Torches illuminated everything with gold-and-red flickering light, making the scene look straight from a medieval tapestry.
A few villagers cast curious looks at Grace and Sebastian, warily eyeing the fine carriage that was so unlike the heavy drays and wagons nearby that held casks.
“Dare me to empty that,” Grace said, pointing to one of the casks.
“Oho, a drinking contest?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll have you know that at Oxford, I bested Rotherby every time he challenged me to a drinking battle. He either passed out or cast up his accounts whilst I was still bellowing tavern songs.”
She eyed him, but her lips quirked. It felt so good to be back to their old teasing ways. “I’m not certain that’s anything to boast about. I’m exceptionally good at drunkenness.”
“You were the one who begged me to dare you to drink.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Dare me to do something else.”
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a barrel-chested man approached them with a hint of wariness. Sebastian held up a bottle of wine.
“Fine claret for your celebration,” Sebastian said cheerfully.
The man took the bottle, cradling it carefully with his thick fingers. “Thank ’e, sir. Join us, there’s a lad. And your lass is welcome, too.” He strode off, holding the bottle over his head. A resounding cheer went up from the crowd.
Astonished, Grace eyed Sebastian. “You sneak! I didn’t even see you holding that. Where did it come from?”
“Nicked it on my way out of the ball.” He flashed her a grin. “Lord Marwood’s known for his hospitality. I doubted he’d mind missing one more bottle.”
She shook her head. “Dancing, being a rake. N
ow we add larceny to your list of abilities.”
He winked at her, a very wicked wink that made him into the veriest golden-haired rogue, and a surge of awareness coursed through her. She realized at that moment that scholars didn’t just read, they knew things, naughty things.
Sebastian was a very good scholar.
Her body heated with understanding. Sebastian was in all things very thorough. She’d no doubt that, as a lover, he would shake his partner’s world to its very foundations.
Oh, gracious.
Attempting to distract herself, she focused her attention on the continuing festivities. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“As you said, if we’re to be mad, we can be mad together.” He held out his hand, and she noticed that he’d removed his gloves. “Time to join in.”
Dare she? When it was so difficult to remember that they were only friends.
But the temptation was too powerful to resist. She tugged off her gloves and let them fall to the ground before weaving her fingers with his.
Palm to palm, they touched. His hand was so much larger than hers, and while it wasn’t rough like a laborer’s, it was strong and capable. Heat coursed through her like a river of fire.
She looked at him in the torchlight, which made golden planes of his face and cast dangerous shadows along his jaw. He looked back, his eyes gleaming.
The moment held.
They moved as one, striding toward the festivities. The drumbeat grew louder as they neared, but her own heart was loudest of all.
A young woman skipped toward them and wordlessly set a crown of flowers onto Grace’s head. Fresh and floral scents enveloped Grace.
“And one for the gentleman,” the young woman added as she placed a floral circlet on Sebastian. With that, she capered away.
The dance came to a close, and as the women left the green, a group of men took the field. They carried staves tied with ribbons that they spun and knocked together in time with the music. Each knock of the staves together sounded deep in Grace’s chest, resonating with the profundity of an ancient rite.