by Cheryl Holt
“I swear.”
Dejection swept over her. “I don’t believe you, but I’m so pitiful that I’ll persuade myself to believe you. How nauseating is that?”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Don’t be angry with me. I had a terrible trip, and the whole way home, I thought about you.”
“You did not. Don’t pretend.”
“All right, I didn’t ponder you the whole time. I thought about you ninety percent. How’s that?”
“Your lies grow more exhausting by the minute.”
“I missed you,” he claimed. She didn’t reply with a similar sentiment, and he pinched her. “Tell me you missed me too.”
“I didn’t. I was occupied with fighting off your pompous sister and your obnoxious friends. I was too busy to miss you.”
“I’m sorry they were horrid to you. I’ll talk to them.”
“Don’t bother. If you mention it, matters will just get worse for me. They’ll be more intent than ever to badger me—merely to prove they can.”
“Poor, poor, Sarah,” he sarcastically murmured. “So pretty and so unhappy and so dreadfully abused.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “Would you leave? Please?”
“No.”
Her bed was behind them, and it was a narrow piece of furniture, little more than a cot really and certainly not large enough to hold two people. Before she knew what he planned, he lifted her, whirled her, and tossed her on the lumpy mattress.
She didn’t have a second to protest or scoot away. He stretched out on top of her so, in a trice, she was in a position she never imagined she’d be with a man.
As always when she was with him, she sensed no menace. For reasons she simply didn’t understand, she fascinated him, and he was anxious to fraternize in ways she should never permit. Unfortunately for her, but luckily for him, she was so lonely that she loved having him fixated on her.
He was handsome as a Greek god, like a hero in a storybook fable. How could she not fall under his spell? How could she avert disaster?
He kissed her, and when she refused to join in, he said, “Stop being a shrew. Kiss me back.”
“You’re a bully.”
“Yes, I am, but I’m a nice bully. Don’t be a grouch. I had a hideous day, and you make me feel better. Just be glad I’m here.”
It was such a sweet speech. How could she discount it? When had anyone ever told her she made them feel better? She didn’t think anyone ever had.
She moaned with dismay and pulled him to her, initiating a kiss of her own. He smirked, being completely convinced he could coerce her into illicit conduct, and he was correct. He likely could. Where he was concerned, she had no spine at all.
Their lips connected in a hot, searing manner, almost as if they were generating sparks. How heated could their embraces become? Might they ultimately set the world on fire? It definitely seemed possible.
He continued forever, tasting her, sampling her eager mouth, his hands roaming over her person, learning her shape and size.
Because she’d resolved to remain a spinster, she’d never tormented herself with dreams of marriage, so she’d never seriously contemplated what the physical side of matrimony might be like. Clearly, by forsaking that path, she’d missed out on something splendid.
In his arms, she felt young and beautiful, and she wondered—once she departed Hero’s Haven and never saw him again—how she’d manage without him in her life.
Eventually, he slowed and drew away. He slid onto his back and shifted her around so she was partially draped across his chest.
“Have I calmed you down?” he asked.
“I guess.”
“Vixen. Be kind to me.”
“I’ll try.”
“Thank you.” He sighed, his burdens heavy. “It’s so good to be home. My visit to Selby was awful.”
“That’s too bad.”
He’d called on her half-brother, Nathan Blake, who was Lord Selby, and she was desperate to pepper him with questions about their meeting. She was so accursedly curious about Lord Selby: what he looked like, how he acted, how he walked and talked, and if he resembled her in even the slightest fashion.
But she didn’t dare pry. If she begged for a single detail, she’d babble incessantly, and how would she explain such blatant interest? She couldn’t, not unless she was prepared to admit their relationship. She was silent, waiting for him to confide what he was content to share. If she was shrewd and cautious, she’d be able to dig out many intriguing facts.
“Why was it awful?” she asked.
“Have you read any of the accounts about what happened in Africa?”
“About your father, do you mean?”
“Yes, but about Nathan too. Sir Sidney was attacked by a group of natives during an…ah…disagreement. Nathan intervened, and he was struck down with my father.”
“You thought he died, right? Isn’t that the story that was in the newspapers?”
“Yes, I thought he’d died. At the time, matters were bloody and chaotic. I knew my father had perished, but I wasn’t sure about Nathan. I sent some men—it was your great chum, Judah Barnett—to find him, but they returned to camp and claimed he was dead. They claimed they saw him, that they checked, but that it was too dangerous to retrieve his corpse.”
“They were lying,” she said.
“Yes. After the murder, we had emissaries negotiate for the release of the two bodies. Sir Sidney was handed over, but they couldn’t locate Nathan.” He paused, then said, “We left without him.”
“How did he make it home on his own?”
“I have no idea. He’s never told anyone.”
“I can’t blame him. I’m certain it must have been grueling.”
“He can’t forgive me for leaving him behind.”
There was such remorse in the comment, and she scoffed. “I don’t suppose I can blame him for that either.”
“No.”
“How is he faring? Is he fit and hale? Is he crippled? Is he recovering his stamina?”
“He’s fine. He’s thinner than he used to be. Mostly, he’s just bitter and very, very angry.”
“I can imagine.” His heart was directly under her ear, and as she listened to it beating, she decided it was the most precious interval of her life. “Can I ask you a question?”
“I can’t guarantee I’ll answer, but you can ask.”
“If you’re positive Mr. Barnett lied about Lord Selby being dead, why is he still a member of your crew?”
“My only excuse is that I’ve been distracted by family issues surrounding my father’s death. The inquest is next week, and I’ve been getting ready for it, so I haven’t had the energy to worry about Judah.”
“After it’s over, you’ll deal with him?”
“Yes. I have to cut him from our merry band of explorers, but it will be very hard. He’s been with us for over a decade, and it will cause a huge rift among my men. I never like to quarrel with them.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, both of them lost in thought. She wouldn’t be sorry to have Mr. Barnett sent away, but he wouldn’t relinquish his spot without a fuss. Also, the men earned money with the Sinclairs. She didn’t understand how it was generated or how it was divided, but the loss of it would enrage him.
She didn’t like or trust him, and she wondered if she should warn Sebastian to tread carefully in letting him go. But he probably didn’t need advice from her on how to handle his affairs.
His breathing had slowed, and she peeked up, stunned to discover that he’d dozed off. Right in her bed!
She didn’t wake him. Obviously, he’d had a long, unpleasant trip to Selby, and he was exhausted. She snuggled with him for an eternity, absorbing every detail of the encounter, until finally, a bird chirped outside. She glanced out. It was still dark, but there was a hint of light over on the eastern horizon.
“Sebastian,” she whispered.
He roused with a start and jerked to a sitting posit
ion, an arm outstretched, as if he was warding off an assailant. A moment of terrified confusion flared in his eyes, then he gazed at her, and reality sank in.
“Was I sleeping?” he said as he dropped onto the pillow.
“Yes, it’s been hours now.”
“I never sleep.”
“Well, you did with me.”
“Aren’t I lucky? Were you watching over me?”
“Every second.”
He sighed with what sounded like contentment. “What time is it?”
“I believe dawn is about to break.”
“I better tiptoe out before people are up to observe me sneaking away.”
“Yes, you’d better.”
Yet he didn’t move until that stupid bird chirped again, a potent sign they couldn’t ignore.
He kissed her, and she participated with an unbridled amount of joy, then he pulled away and staggered to his feet. He was swaying and off balance.
“Can you walk to the manor on your own?” she asked. “Should I escort you? I’d hate for you to be lost in the woods.”
“I’ll be fine,” he claimed. He straightened his hair and clothes, then he grinned. “I was in your bed all night, and I’m such a cad that I didn’t bother to take off my boots.”
“You’re forgiven.”
“I have to go to town tomorrow. Or is it today?” He scowled. “Today, I mean, but I’ll stop by once I’m back. It will be late.”
“I’ll wait up for you.”
He bent down and stole a last kiss. “Don’t you dare lock me out.”
“I won’t.”
“I miss you already,” he murmured, then he vanished like smoke.
The front door opened and closed, and she heard him striding away.
She relaxed onto the pillow, her mind awhirl as she tried to fathom what had happened, what she’d allowed, what she’d relished. He missed her already, and she felt exactly the same.
No doubt about it, she was in desperate trouble. How would she ever get herself out of it?
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Sit down, Ophelia.”
Sebastian glared at his sister and struggled to tamp down his fury.
They were in the library in his mother’s London home, which was actually his home. She and Ophelia lived in it, but Gertrude considered it her own, and he was happy to let her. He didn’t bother her and rarely stopped by. Usually, he wasn’t even in England, and he much preferred Hero’s Haven anyway.
Yet occasionally he used it, such as at the present moment when he had business to handle. It ruffled female feathers to have him on the premises and throwing his weight around. It reminded them of who was really in charge, who controlled them and all the money.
They crossed him at their peril.
He had an odd relationship with them and had never spent much time with them. His parents hadn’t liked each other in even the smallest manner, and his father had dealt with the problem by never being in his wife’s company.
Ophelia had been born when Sebastian was eight, so she’d been a toddler when he’d initially flitted off with Sir Sidney. He’d scarcely seen her after that. On each encounter, there were huge jumps as the years had sped by. First, she was a baby, then a little girl, then an adolescent, then a young lady. He’d missed all the periods in between where they might have established a sibling bond.
Now, Sir Sidney was deceased, and Sebastian had inherited everything, most particularly the diamond mines they’d accumulated during their many travels. His father’s Last Will had left it all to Sebastian, with an admonition to take care of his mother and sister, but he hardly knew them, and what he did know, he didn’t like.
His mother, Gertrude, was especially fussy and cantankerous. As for Ophelia, she was at a spot where she could continue on as she was, an unlikable version of Gertrude, or she could grow up a bit, garner some interesting life experiences, and become a better person.
She bragged about how she wouldn’t ever marry, but should he start pushing her toward it? Should he arrange a match whether she consented or not? It was unnatural for a woman to shun matrimony, and he was acquainted with many honorable men who would love to have a connection to his family.
Then again, if she never altered her habits, if she remained a paltry imitation of their mother, he wouldn’t foist her off on any man. Look at how miserable his father had been!
She appeared very pretty, her hair braided and curled, and she was wearing an expensive gown, as if she might be off to attend a musicale or theatrical play. Her expression was serene, as if she couldn’t imagine that they might be about to quarrel. Had she forgotten her behavior with Sarah? Had it occurred to her that he might not appreciate her butting into his private affairs?
She’d overstepped her bounds so egregiously that he couldn’t figure out where to begin in chastising her.
“I don’t mean to rush you, Brother,” she said, “but I’m off to an appointment. What is it you need?”
“Who are you meeting?” he asked, thinking he should learn more about her.
“Just…ah…some friends. You wouldn’t know them.”
“I have a difficult topic to address with you, and I have to be very clear about it.”
“All right. What is it?”
“I’m not engaged to Veronica.”
“You will be very soon though, won’t you?” she cheerily inquired.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
His irked retort gave her pause. “But…but…she’s counting on it. Mother and I are too.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“Are you claiming it won’t happen?”
“I’m not claiming that. I’m apprising you that if and when I betroth myself, I will decide it. Not you or Mother.”
“Of course you’ll be the one.”
“Since you understand that fact, would you like to explain your conversation with Miss Robertson when you were staying at the Haven?”
Her cheeks reddened. “None of my comments were improper.”
“Nice try, Ophelia, but did you—or did you not—tell her I was engaged?”
“She had to be informed,” she mulishly insisted.
“Why would you feel compelled to lie about my situation?”
“I saw the two of you together.”
He was taken aback. “When?”
“When you were riding off to Selby. I was in the village, and you stopped to chat with her. It’s obvious she’s smitten, but you shouldn’t encourage her.”
He scoffed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You’ll only raise her expectations, and she’s a completely inappropriate female to have glommed onto you. It seemed a word of warning was required. She had to realize you’re promised elsewhere.”
There were so many infuriating remarks buried in her statement that he had to inhale several deep breaths so he didn’t lash out verbally.
“First off, Miss Robertson and I are merely friends.”
She snorted. “If you say so.”
“And second, she doesn’t believe I’m all that grand, so I could never raise her expectations.”
“If that’s what you assume, then you are clueless about how women view these matters.”
“Third, she’s not inappropriate. I consider her to be quite extraordinary, and I won’t listen to you denigrating her.”
“She’s a homeless shrew who’s prevailed on your generous nature. I fail to comprehend why you deem her to be so marvelous.”
“Ophelia!” He slapped a palm on the desktop. “Cease your disparagement.”
“I’m sorry that you can’t abide the truth. I was helping her, Sebastian. I was making her see sense so you don’t break her heart.”
“We don’t have a romantic relationship,” he lied. He couldn’t deduce what sort of relationship they did have, but he wasn’t about to call it romantic.
“She’s distracting you, so you don’t focus on important issues.”
“Such as…?”
&nb
sp; “Such as your betrothal to Veronica! You flirt with the likes of Miss Robertson, so it means you ignore your responsibilities to our family.”
“Miss Robertson has no bearing on whether or not I betroth myself to Veronica. I won’t bother trying to convince you, but you should understand this: You are to stay out of my private business. I hope to never have a discussion like this with you again.”
She didn’t react to his admonition, but asked, “Who are those children living with her? Who is their father?”
“Who do you think their father is?”
“According to Miss Robertson,” she snottily said, “their father is Sir Sidney.”
“Yes, he is. Don’t sit there and pretend you couldn’t tell.”
“If her story is true, then they’re our half-siblings.”
“Yes, they are.”
“Why are they residing with her? How is it she has custody of them?”
“She previously ran an orphanage.”
“Are you sure? Have you any proof that she ran one? A woman—all on her own?”
“I visited her there, so yes, I have my proof. She’s extremely accomplished, and it’s why I won’t have you castigating her. She took care of the children at her facility, but the building was sold, and they were evicted. I’ve been assisting them until they can make other arrangements.”
“You shouldn’t have assisted them.”
“I won’t dignify that comment with a reply, and shame on you for uttering it. Like it or not, they are Father’s children. Should we have left them to starve in the streets? Pardon me, but I’m not that horrid, and I pray you aren’t either.”
“Does Mother know about them? Does she know they’re being lodged at the Haven?”
“No, and we won’t inform her. The news would be needlessly upsetting.”
“She wouldn’t like it.”
“So?” He shrugged. “She doesn’t like anything.”
Ophelia stared, her expression defiant, and her attitude was so exasperating. If she’d been a boy, he’d have whacked her alongside the head and told her to stop being so insolent. But she wasn’t a boy, and he had no experience dealing with girls.
“I want to hear from you,” he said, “that you won’t accost Miss Robertson again. She’s destitute and muddling through in difficult circumstances. As are our half-siblings. We should be more charitable toward them.”
