“Is that what we’re having? An affaire?” she asked, unable to keep the French pronunciation of the word from slipping out.
Luckily he hadn’t seemed to notice her error, a curiously arrested expression settling on his face. “Yes, I suppose we are.”
Aware she’d frittered away far too much time as it was, she nodded, then slipped off the bed to dress. To her surprise, Drake stood and came to aid her, lacing her stays but leaving them loose enough for her to slip easily out of them again once she reached her bedroom. Next, he helped her into her gown, brushing her hands aside when she moved to fasten the buttons that ranged along the length of her bodice. Finished, he took her hand and pressed a warm kiss against her palm. “Until tonight.”
“Yes, tonight,” she murmured.
Walking as silently as she could, she stole from the room.
Chapter 19
For the second time that morning, Sebastianne came awake with a start. Unlike before, she found herself alone in her own bed, inside her room on the third floor. Sunlight streamed through the dormer windows, filling the small chamber with a crisp, translucent yellow light. Too crisp and far too bright for early morning—or even midmorning. Sitting up abruptly, she wondered exactly how long she’d slept, or rather overslept, she thought with an inner cringe. A glance at the small timepiece on the fireplace mantel confirmed her worst fears.
Noon!
Oh, dear heavens, how could she have slept so late? When she’d lain down after returning from Drake’s room, she’d promised herself she would only close her eyes for a few minutes, then awaken again in time to begin her duties along with the rest of the staff. Instead, she’d fallen asleep, deeply asleep, clearly worn-out from the night just past.
A tingling quiver of remembered pleasure chased over her skin, her pulse picking up speed as memories swept through her.
Of lying in Drake’s arms.
Of sharing his kisses.
Of touching and being touched in ways that still burned in her blood and seemed branded into her bones.
She’d thought nothing could surpass her first time with him—it had been that good—but last night had been even better. She’d been his to take, his to command, and she’d reveled in his possession. The fact that she loved him only made their intimacy that much sweeter, that much more intense. Greedy in her need, she wanted more.
More time.
More lovemaking.
More Drake.
For in addition to loving him, she liked him as well. He was brilliant and inventive and astonishingly sharp-witted beneath the absentminded façade he frequently wore. Even more, he was kind and compassionate, gentle yet strong, the sort of man in whom a woman could put her unqualified trust and devotion. And then there was his sense of humor, a wry and irreverent turn of mind that he generally kept hidden from all but his closest companions. The fact that he’d chosen to share that side of himself with her spoke volumes. He hadn’t said he cared for her and yet . . .
Do I want him to love me?
It would be easier if he didn’t, better for him if he could turn his back and forget her and everything but the sting to his pride when she went away. As for that, she didn’t know how she was going to bear it when the day arrived for her to depart. She’d lived with loss before, but she wasn’t precisely sure know how she was going to live through this, live without him.
For the sake of her own sanity, though, she knew she had to put such thoughts from her mind. Until the inevitable break came, she promised she would enjoy each day with Drake to its fullest—or rather each night since that was all they could truly have. Prudence dictated that she keep their affair a secret. She must, if her mission was to succeed. For in spite of the guilt that churned in her stomach like curdled milk, she had no choice but to proceed; her brothers and her father were depending on her.
If only she hadn’t overslept. Despite the sanctioned late start for the household, she wasn’t entirely certain how she was going to explain sleeping until noon as if she were the mistress of the house rather than the housekeeper. Mrs. Tremble would probably raise her eyebrows in silent disapproval while Mr. Stowe drew her quietly aside to ask for an explanation.
Well, I’d better quit woolgathering and get on with it, she decided, since delaying would do nothing but exacerbate the problem.
Tossing back the sheets, she leapt from the bed and flew across the room to the washstand. Pouring tepid water from the ewer, she made hasty work of washing her face and hands, and running a wet, soapy cloth beneath her arms and over her body. After rinsing and drying off with a soft towel, she changed the water for fresh, then brushed her teeth.
As clean now as the quick ablutions would allow, she hurried to the wardrobe and took out a neatly pressed, dark blue gown. Once dressed, she brushed her hair, then twisted it high onto the back of her head before thrusting in a sufficient number of pins to hold the heavy mass in place. With a quick glance in the small dresser mirror to make sure she looked presentable, she was ready. Drawing a reassuring breath, she turned and exited the room.
The servants’ hall was hushed as she made her way along the corridor a couple of minutes later. Hearing the sound of voices drifting from the kitchen, she forced herself to walk on, even though she would much rather have gone directly to her office and thus avoid the looks and questions she was certain to receive. Reaching the threshold, she went inside.
The conversation ceased abruptly, Jasper, Parker, Finnegan, Polk and Mrs. Tremble’s all turned their heads her way.
Do they know? she wondered with a lurching tug under her ribs. Do they realize I spent the night with Drake and the real reason I slept so late?
But then a warm smile creased Mrs. Tremble’s thin face, the cook setting down a wooden spoon before striding forward with her usual brisk efficiency. “Here now, what are you doing up, Mrs. Greenway? Mr. Stowe told us you were feeling peaky and would be spending the day in bed. I’m making a pot of strong beef tea and was going to have Parker bring you up a cup after a while. Sit, sit while I make you something else. A bit of leftover quince jelly from last night’s dinner should be light on your stomach and perhaps a dish of tea. Though if you’re still feeling light-headed, mayhap you ought to return upstairs to bed.”
The cook took hold of her elbow and steered her toward the nearest chair, hovering until Sebastianne did as instructed. “Won’t do no good having you faint again,” the older woman stated. “His lordship said you took a swoon last night, and he had to help you upstairs to bed.”
That’s one way to phrase it, she thought wryly, realizing that Drake must have told the staff, or rather told the butler, who’d then told the staff, that she’d fainted and he’d helped her upstairs. Although in actual fact, that was the truth. She had been rather faint after their lovemaking, and he had taken her upstairs to bed. He’d just apparently failed to mention that the bed was his own!
To her profound relief, she wasn’t much given to blushing; otherwise, she knew her face would have revealed the guilty nature of her thoughts. “I was just overly tired. Up too late after the party.”
“Well, it was a lot of excitement and hard work yesterday, and you up well before dawn,” Mrs. Tremble said, giving her a motherly pat on the shoulder. The other servants nodded their agreement as well. “I just hope you’re not coming down with the ague or something worse.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Sebastianne said quickly. “I’m fine, really.” Seeing skeptical looks on the others’ faces, she amended her remark. “Then again, maybe a tincture would do me good. I’m sure I have something efficacious in the stillroom. I’ll mix it up in a minute.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Mrs. Tremble declared. “Give the ingredients to Finnegan, and she’ll do it for you. Won’t you, Finnegan?”
“Of course,” the maid agreed with alacrity. “It’ll my pleasure, especially after the megrim draught
you made me that time. Helped me headache like nothing else ever has.”
Sebastianne’s chest tightened as a fresh dose of guilt washed through her, not only for her current lie, but for all the lies she’d told since the day of her arrival. Gazing at the open, trusting, caring faces of her fellow servants, now her friends, she wondered how she could continue deceiving them. They’d accepted her and made her one of their own. They’d been kind to her when all the while she was dealing them false.
Bile swelled in a slick wave inside her stomach, making her feel suddenly as ill as they all imagined her to be. Still, she said nothing as she let them fuss and hover. Still, she held her counsel and continued to play her part, however repugnant she might find the role to be.
The next few days passed in steady succession. As they did, Sebastianne discovered that it was far easier to slip unnoticed into Drake’s bedroom than she’d worried it might be. In her position as housekeeper, she knew that his valet was in the habit of retiring around eleven o’clock each evening, since Drake, with his erratic hours, had long ago ordered Waxman not to wait up for him.
Still determined to execute his duties to the best of his abilities, Waxman had developed an evening routine that included laying out Drake’s robe as well as his garments for the following morning; making sure the copper reservoir in the bathing chamber was filled with fresh water, along with more for the pitcher on the washstand; setting out clean towels, shaving equipment and soap; and lastly preparing a small nightcap that he left in a handkerchief-covered snifter on the side table near Drake’s reading chair.
One of the upstairs maids, generally Parker, came in next, to finish the last of her work before retiring to her attic room for the evening. She laid a fresh fire, drew the curtains, and turned down the sheets and coverlet on the bed. Drake’s room was empty and the household tucked securely in their beds by midnight.
Everyone, that is, except Sebastianne.
Each evening, she too went upstairs to her bedchamber as the house quieted for the night. Once inside, she washed her face, brushed her hair and teeth, and changed into her nightgown and robe. Perched on her bed, she would wait for the clock to strike one, then, without the aid of a candle for fear of alerting a potentially sleepless housemaid, she would make her way in the darkness down the stairs to Drake’s chamber.
Tonight was no different, she realized, as her slippered feet whispered over the plush Aubusson hall runner that led to his room, her heart crashing like cymbals between her ears with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. Arriving at his door, she let herself inside without bothering to knock.
The instant the lock click closed, a pair of strong arms enfolded her, a warm masculine mouth fastening over her own to stifle the gasp of surprise that rose inside her throat. She squirmed for a moment but not to get away. Instead, she drew him closer, putting everything she had into the embrace.
“I thought you’d never arrive,” Drake said between kisses, his nimble fingers working open the buttons on her robe. “I’ve been here waiting for nearly half an hour.”
“You know I don’t dare come any earlier . . .” she murmured, stroking her fingers across the angular plane of his smoothly shaven jaw. “One of the staff might still be awake.”
“Even if they were,” he pointed out, as he pushed the robe off her shoulders, “they wouldn’t know you were on your way to see me.”
“Is that what I’m doing? Seeing you?” She glided her fingers down his chest, pausing to slip them beneath the folds of his robe to caress his taut pectoral muscles with their swath of dark, curling hair. “It feels like something else to me.”
He gave a low rumbling sound that was half laughter, half torment, and lifted her high against him. His hands cupped her bottom with a familiar intimacy, pressing her flush against him in a way that left her in no doubt as to the extent of his readiness.
“Oh, it’s something else,” he agreed, “and I’ll show you exactly what in a moment.”
He kissed her again, circling his tongue against hers in a satiny, sophisticated glide that made wet heat pool between her thighs. Trailing his mouth along her neck, he found her earlobe and caught it between his teeth for a teasing nip. ”You’re a deuced distraction, madam, do you know that? Try as I might, I haven’t been able to focus on my work for days. Instead of experiments, all I can think of is new ways to touch you. Rather than numbers and theorems, the only thing I can calculate is the minutes and hours until I can be here like this with you again.”
Spearing her fingers into the short silk of his hair, she bent her head to dust slow, sultry kisses across his temple and cheeks, chin and jaw and throat. “It’s hard for me too. My mind has a way of wandering these days when I’m supposed to be inspecting linens and measuring spices. I added cayenne instead of cinnamon to the sweet bread I was making this morning. Aren’t you glad I caught my mistake in time?”
He met her gaze, his eyes smoldering like green fire. “It would have been a spicy surprise, but I’m finding lately that I like your surprises, spicy and otherwise. What do you have in store for me tonight?”
“Take me to bed, my lord, and I’ll show you.”
Smiling with clear promise, he did exactly as she asked.
A long while later, Sebastianne lay relaxed and replete, her head pillowed against Drake’s shoulder, the sheets and counterpane kicked to the foot of the bed. A delicious glow suffused her, pleasurable pings and twinges dancing all over her body in the aftermath of their lovemaking. She smiled as he ran a broad palm over her hair, smoothing the tousled strands back into some semblance of order.
“I love your hair,” he said, gently combing his fingers through its length.
She angled her head meet his gaze. “Truly? I find it a dreadful burden most days.”
“But it’s glorious,” he proclaimed. “Like autumn leaves at their peak on a sunny October day.”
“How lovely, my lord, and most poetic, particularly for a man with your mathematical and scientific gifts,” she said, warmth spreading through her at the compliment. “But then you haven’t the care of my coiffure, have you? It’s thick and heavy and a terrible bother to wash and arrange, to say nothing of the grey in it, of which you must surely have taken note.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “I worry that all my color will have faded by the time I’m middle-aged, and that I’ll be left completely grey.”
“Silver, you mean,” he observed, taking a few of the strands between his fingers. Reverently, he stroked them. “If that should happen, your hair will look just as lovely then as it does now in all its burnished glory.”
She couldn’t help but send a skeptical look toward the ceiling.
Seeing it, he caught her chin between his fingers. “Don’t scoff. There are certain people who age gracefully, and I know you shall be one of them. No matter your age, my sweet, your beauty will never diminish.”
The glowing inner warmth expanded inside her once more, his words making her believe, at least for this moment, that his predictions really would come true.
If only he could be there with me when that day arrives, she thought. If only we could have more time, and there wasn’t any need to part.
Clearly sensing her wistful mood, he touched his lips lightly to her own, then tunneled his long, aristocratic fingers deep into her tresses. “Besides, I rather fancy the silver bits. They’re like strands of some precious metal woven into a tapestry of gold and red and brown. Lends you a rather regal aspect, I think.”
She couldn’t help but give a fresh snort. “Regal? Turning prematurely grey is called many things, but regal isn’t one of them. I shall have to remember to share that with Papa. He’ll find it highly entertaining. He grows weary of being told he looks ‘distinguished’ for his age.”
“Does he now? So your father’s hair greyed early as well?”
“Oh yes, he was already losing his original
brown by the time I was born. He’s as grey as a pewter tankard now. I suppose the boys will follow suit as well, as they mature.”
His hand slowed. “The boys being your brothers, I presume. Are they younger than you, then?”
Somehow, she managed not to stiffen, knowing he would have felt her alarm. Inwardly, she cursed, realizing she’d done it again. And here, she’d been so sure she could keep her promise not to discuss her family, especially after the last time she’d slipped up.
But she was so comfortable with Drake, too comfortable. Yet how could she be anything else when she was lying here in his arms with nothing, not even a piece of clothing, between them? That rationale wasn’t strictly true though, for as naked and vulnerable as she allowed herself to become when they were intimate, a world of differences still remained between them. A world of ulterior motives and lies that forced her to conceal her real self though she wished she had no need to dissemble.
She glanced away for fear of what might show in her eyes. “Yes, they’re younger. Still just boys.”
“You must miss them a great deal. I presume they reside in your home territory in the Lake District?”
That’s right, he knows—or rather he’d guessed, she reminded herself, thinking back to the first day they’d met when she’d come to the town house to interview for the housekeeper’s position. She knew that any hint of a regional British accent was slight due to her mother’s upper-class background. Yet somehow, Drake had picked up on the faint inflections left over from her time living in the lake country when she’d been a child. In fact, she’d spent the first eight years of her life in England, until Papa, who could no longer stand the exile from his native land, had decided to move her and her mother to France.
Ironically, her little brothers hadn’t even been born until their arrival back in France, and consequently, they spoke no English at all. The boys were both late babies—miracles, as her mother had called them—born unexpectedly after years of miscarriages and barrenness. When Maman died, not in childbed, but from a severe lung infection, Sebastianne had taken over her adult role, acting as both mother and sister to her young brothers, who’d been little more than toddlers at the time.
The Bed and the Bachelor Page 18
