Once a Wallflower, at Last His Love

by Christi Caldwell

  Instead… “She did not tell me,” he muttered.

  From across the room, perched at the edge of his leather sofa, Addie piped in. “No, I imagine she did not.”

  He paused mid-stride as the small girl’s words interrupted his musings.

  “It’s not done, that’s why.” From his seat beside Addie, Hugh, concurred. “Ladies writing and all. I’ve told her that.” He glowered at Addie who held her elbow out clearly poised to deliver another well-placed jab.

  “I was going to say because she doesn’t trust him after he abandoned her.”

  Sebastian winced. Out of the mouth of babes, and all the more honest and humbling for it.

  The boy shrugged. “Regardless, it’s not done. Ladies do not write and certainly not duchesses. Isn’t that right, Duke?”

  He opened his mouth.

  “Why, not?” Addie hopped to her feet, interrupting him. She planted her hands on her hips and stuck her face close to her brother’s. “Why can’t a lady write? Hermione writes more beautifully than anyone I know—”

  “You have to say that. You’re her sister.”

  “Well, you should say that because you’re her brother,” Addie shouted, coming dangerously closer to him.

  And Sebastian suspected dangerously close to walloping the quarrelsome lad. “That is enough,” he said quietly. Hugh was to begin at Eton within a fortnight, but why hadn’t he hired this troublesome pair a governess? “Shouldn’t you be abovestairs for your lessons?”

  Miracle of miracles, the two imps fell silent. Likely since they now faced the threat of returning to their lessons. Alas, the uneasy peace lasted no longer than the span of a moment.

  “You might have simply told her that you know,” Hugh suggested.

  Addie bounded over to Sebastian and yanked at his hand. “No, you can’t.” She shot a frown over her shoulder at Hugh. “He can’t. He promised and dukes don’t break their words.”

  “Dukes do whatever they want,” Hugh tossed back.

  Sebastian dropped to a knee. “I do not intend to break my word.”

  Addie smiled and it was Hermione’s smile, every bit as endearing. “Splendid!”

  His heart tugged a moment with longing for a babe with Hermione, one with his wife’s bold spirit and her devotion to family, and her sapphire eyes.

  “Oh, dear. You’re woolgathering,” Addie said.

  He grinned. “You are right, Addie. I am.” Didn’t all men hopelessly besotted with their wives wax poetic in their thoughts, words, and actions? He scrubbed a hand back and forth over his mouth contemplatively and then froze. All great tales bore acts of great heroism. Sebastian, where his wife was concerned, had never been that unwavering, valiant hero she deserved. He stood and drummed his fingertips together. His plan would require some level of assistance.

  Hugh and Addie cleared their throats and looked at him expectantly.

  “Hugh, Addie, I would like to enlist your help. Would you be willing to—?”

  “Yes!” Addie clapped excitedly interrupting the remainder of his request.

  He motioned the children over. “I’m going to need you to find something that belongs to your sister.” He proceeded to tell them precisely what he required of them.

  A knock sounded at the door. They all three glanced up guiltily as Hermione entered the room, a copy of a newspaper in her hands. She eyed them dubiously. “What have you done?”

  “Well, that is quite rude, Hermione. We’ve done nothing at all.” Addie gave a flounce of her brown curls and he applauded the girl her effortless ability to prevaricate.

  On the swift heel of that was the realization that, with her penchant for mischief and mystery, she was going to be the early death of their father—and by Sebastian’s regard for Hermione’s siblings—the death of him.

  “Hmm,” Hermione said. That single syllable utterance laced with skepticism. “You should both be above stairs…”

  They groaned.

  He shot a grateful look over the children’s heads. Hermione winked as though knowing just what he was thinking, and considering she’d spent the whole of their lives with Addie and Hugh, she knew precisely what he was thinking.

  Hugh and Addie filed reluctantly out of the library. Hermione closed the door behind them and leaned against it, a copy of The Times held at her chest.

  Quiet reigned, the silence enormous with the departure of her garrulous siblings.

  “Sebastian.”

  “Hermione.”

  She said nothing for a long while, just looked at him with that somber, searching way he’d come to expect of his wife. Then she held up the paper. “There was something quite interesting in the gossip column today.” He didn’t give a jot about the scandal sheets. Hermione pushed off the door and wandered close, the paper still aloft. “I’m not one given to reading gossip.” She paused before him.

  Sebastian leaned down to claim a kiss. “Good.”

  She drew back, that damned scandal sheet between them. “And yet there was something interesting in the pages today, Sebastian.”

  He sighed, resolved to the truth that he would not enjoy the pleasure of his wife’s arms until she said whatever it was she now danced about. “Oh?”

  Hermione held up the folded front page and jabbed her finger, rustling the page.

  He followed her slight movement to the latest salacious piece about a certain Lord C. “Ah,” he murmured.

  She tossed the paper to the floor where it landed with a thump. “Ah, that is all you’ll say?”

  Sebastian wandered over to the sideboard and grabbed the nearest decanter of brandy and an empty glass. He poured the French spirits into the crystal tumbler. “There is nothing to say, Hermione.” He’d not wanted to ever hear mention of the bastard who’d shattered her already fractured family, and he’d done a sufficient job of ridding the country of Cavendish.

  “Nothing to say?” she repeated, as though he’d just announced his intentions to unseat King George IV. Hermione bent and retrieved the discarded paper.

  “Having failed to heed the infamous Beau Brummel’s outrageous disrespect for the Prince Regent, a certain Lord C. fell from social favor after referring to the Prince Regent as…” Her shoulders shook. “A fat toad with an enviable purse.” She crossed over and dropped the copy of The Times onto the sideboard. “You did this,” she repeated, this time her tone more solemn.

  He downed the contents of his glass. “I might have whispered something into the Prince Regent’s ear about the slight.” He set the empty glass down.

  “How?”

  “I’ve my ways, love.” Ways which included sitting across from the cad at the notorious gaming hells and plying him with spirits until he was loose with his tongue and his already empty coffers.

  “Oh, Sebastian,” she said softly.

  Where most debts of honor were paid immediately, Cavendish had been unable to pay one very costly, very significant one—to him. A slight against the Regent however had proven the most costly of all Cavendish’s mistakes. Nay, that was not altogether true—the most egregious crime had been committed against Hermione’s sister. His mouth tightened with remembrance of the hellish story she had told of Elizabeth.

  Now, with Cavendish’s subsequent exile to France, neither Hermione, nor Elizabeth, or any of her family would have to bear the slight of his existence, but with the exception of the pained memories, they would unfortunately forever carry.

  When Hermione stepped into his arms, he stiffened. She wrapped hers about his waist and held tight. He inhaled deep the fragrant scent of lemon and honey that forever clung to her. “I was lost the moment you picked your blue gaze up from your dance card at Lord Denley’s,” he whispered into the crown of her silken curls.

  She edged back, her lips turned up in an inviting smile. “Were you?” And peered at him through thick, sooty lashes. He kissed the skin just under her earlobe. She giggled. “Th-that tickles.”

  “Does it?” he breathed against her neck.
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br />   She swatted at him, her shoulders shaking. “D-do behave. I’m trying to seduce you.”

  He hardened as those deliciously bold words blended with her sweetly innocent tone that roused all manners of wicked acts he would ask to do with her.

  Standing…

  Her legs wrapped about him…

  “Sebastian, are you listening to me?”

  “Er, yes,” he lied.

  She gave him a pointed look. He caught her in his arms. “Oh,” she said on a breathless squeak.

  Sebastian carried her over to the leather sofa and it groaned in protest as he laid her down and came up above her. Her legs hung awkwardly over the arm. She wrinkled her brow and peered over his shoulder and then back at him.

  “Sebastian?”

  “Yes,” he murmured, inching up her skirts.

  “I do believe this sofa is too small for…that.”

  He caressed her lean calf and then trailed his fingers higher, ever higher. “And what exactly do you refer to, wife?” he asked hoarsely as he found the thatch of curls that concealed her center.

  “Oh,” she cried out. “Er, that is…I was saying.” Her words ended on a shuddery moan as he slid a finger deep inside her slick, hot passage.

  “Yes?” he pressed. He lowered his mouth to the top of her modest décolletage and caressed her with his lips.

  “Nothing,” she cried out once more. “I wasn’t saying anything.”

  Sebastian ceased his gentle stroking and she grappled with his shoulders, but he sat back on his knees. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it aside, and then released his shaft from the strict confines of his breeches.

  Hermione troubled the flesh of her lower lip between her teeth, and God help him he imagined all manner of things for her to do with those splendid red lips and—

  She rose in a flutter of bright, yellow skirts and he reached for her. Hermione danced out of his reach. She sank to her knees before the sofa.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice harsh with desire.

  She stroked the tip of her index finger around the crown of his shaft. It throbbed and pulsed with a desire for more of her touch. Wordlessly, Hermione wrapped her fingers about him and lightly squeezed. “Ahh.” His head fell back. “You are a temptress,” he groaned.

  A smile played about her lips. She continued to run her fingers up and down his shaft, first in a slow, tentative manner and then with an increasing boldness. Then she dipped her head and the tip of her pink tongue shot out. She licked the single bead from the tip of his manhood. “Hmm,” she murmured, in that contemplative manner he’d come to expect from his always inquisitive, bluestocking wife.

  He held his breath in agonized anticipation. And then she closed her mouth over him. Sebastian slid his eyes closed on a hiss, incapable of words, or the hint of coherent thought.

  “Hmm” she murmured around his length and the reverberations of her throaty question nearly undid him.

  He yanked her up and tore the tiny row of buttons down the back of her gown. “I said no more damned buttons,” he said between great, gasping breaths. He rolled her under his frame.

  “Did you?” she asked, and then a moan slipped from her lips as he touched his mouth to her breast.

  “I thought I did,” he whispered against the swollen, pink tip. Then he drew the bud between his lips and suckled.

  Hermione’s legs fell open in invitation and he settled himself between her creamy, white thighs. “What should I wear, husband?”

  He studied her; devoid of her gown, with her chemise rucked about her waist, modest garters exposed. “I find I rather prefer you exactly like this, Hermione.”

  A little laugh escaped her as he slid inch by agonizing inch inside of her. “I would be quite the scandalous duchess if I were to—” He plunged deep and her words ended on a grateful cry. She wrapped her legs about his waist and urged him on. Sebastian moved within her in deep, languid strokes. She took him inside her, matching him. “I love you,” she whispered and then he swallowed her scream of surrender.

  He joined her over the precipice and filled her body with his seed then collapsed atop her, their chests heaving from the force of their release.

  Hermione touched a finger to his lips. “Oh, Sebastian, I do love you.”

  His heart tightened. She’d loved him enough that she’d buried the secret of Mr. Michaelmas and surrendered years’ worth of work…and dreams. He didn’t deserve that sacrifice.

  “Generally, if a husband loves his wife, he would usually respond with ‘I love you too, goddess of my heart, mistress of my soul,’ but Hermione will suffice,” she teased bringing him back to the moment.

  Sebastian placed a lingering kiss upon her lips. “I love you, goddess of my heart. Mistress of my soul. Lady of my everything…” He wagged an eyebrow. “I daresay I’m not capable of the same romantic words as you, wife.”

  She patted him almost pityingly on his sweat-drenched back. “You’re doing quite well with your words.”

  “Most of those words which were borrowed from you.”

  She winked. “I did say them quite well.” Their laughter blended together and then Hermione shifted under him.

  He registered her slight wince of discomfort and rolled off her…remembering too late… He grunted as he landed with a hard thump on the floor.

  Hermione peered over the side of the sofa, her cheeks pink from their loving, and a quivering smile on her lips. “Oh, dear, I trust you’re uninjured?” She held a hand out to assist him up. Sebastian took her fingers and pulled her down atop him. She landed with a squeal on him, her luscious dark brown hair a silken curtain about them. She swatted at him. “Oh, that wasn’t well done.” She propped her elbows upon his chest and laid her chin in her hand. “There is something I would say to you, Sebastian.”

  He shifted her sideways, upending her resting position. “Is it a request for me to make love to you again?” He palmed her breast.

  “Er…well, no.” She paused. “Though I suppose I would be willing to again.”

  He chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare force such a chore upon you,” he pledged solemnly and dropped a kiss upon her breast.

  “N-no ch-chore, really. B-but…” Her lids fluttered closed. “Oh, dear, I-I d-do struggle to think w-when you do that.”

  “Then don’t think,” he whispered. He slipped a hand between their bodies and caressed her downy thatch once more.

  “B-but th-there is something I really would…should say.”

  Sebastian gently rolled her under him. He wedged a knee between her legs and parted them, then lay between her warm, welcoming thighs. “What is it?”

  “I-I’m…that is to say…” She moaned as he pressed into her once more. “I’m with child.”

  He froze, unblinking. A loud humming filled his ears. He wasn’t one of those old, deaf dukes, yet it had sounded remarkably like…

  “A babe. A child. A bairn.”

  Yes, that is indeed what she’d said. Sebastian surged to his feet. He hurriedly stuffed himself inside his breeches.

  She shoved up onto her elbows. “Sebastian?”

  He jabbed a finger. “By God, Hermione, why didn’t you tell me? I could have hurt you.” With something akin to horror, he picked her up and ran his hands over her arms. Christ, he’d yanked her down from the sofa and—

  She rolled her eyes. “Sebastian, I am not broken. I’m merely with child.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “How?”

  “Oh, the usual way,” she said dryly. Then, her smile slipped. “I imagine the night you…” She colored.

  The night he’d left. His heart tightened amidst the shame battering at his insides.

  “Are you not pleased? I’d thought…” Her words trailed off.

  Ah, God, how could she still not realize? He had been nothing before her. His happiness, his sole reason for living was intrinsically tied to her happiness. She made him want to be a better man for her, because of her… Sebastian s
wept her into his arms. “If I were more poetic with words, wife, I would be able to convey that I’m elated.” He kissed her lips. “Thrilled.”

  Hermione laughed. “More joyous than if the king had given you sole right to the sun, moon, and stars?”

  “What need have I of the sun, moon, and stars when at last I have everything I should ever need?”

  She tilted her head back to receive his kiss. “And what is that?”

  “Your love.”

  E

  pilogue

  The carriage hit another bump. Hermione winced.

  Her husband trained a glower on her. “I daresay this was a horrendous decision. You shouldn’t be in a carriage.”

  She sighed. It would seem in addition to walking, dancing, and climbing stairs, she could now add riding in a carriage to all the activities forbidden by her overprotective husband. If she didn’t realize it was merely born of love, she’d have clouted him over the head long ago.

  Another bump.

  Another wince.

  And another black glare.

  “I want you to meet my sister,” she said.

  “As do I, but not at the expense of you or the babe.”

  Hermione drew back the curtain and peered at the passing countryside. It was indeed going to be a long seven months. Very long.

  The carriage hit another nasty bump in the road and Sebastian cursed.

  Hermione let the curtain go and it fluttered back into place. “Do tell me, husband, what activities are permissible for someone in my hobbled condition?”

  On the opposite bench he bristled with annoyance. “There are any number of activities. Why…” He opened his mouth and then closed it.

  Hermione quirked an eyebrow.

  “Or…”

  “You didn’t provide a first. An ‘or’ requires something before it.”

  His mouth flattened with annoyance and he reached for the folded package on the seat beside him.

  Warmth unfurled through her belly at his thoughtfulness. “You’ve given me a gift.” No one had given her anything since before her life had been flipped upside down more than ten years ago.