by Anne Gracie
“You wore a dress with yellow ruffles once,” he said. “And I looked at those yellow ruffles, at the way they cupped your breasts, and I wished my hands could be those yellow ruffles.”
His eyes were dark and intent. “I dreamed of it often afterward. But I never thought my dream would come true.”
“I always knew my dream would,” she whispered and pressed her hands over his.
“So beautiful.” He bent his head and kissed each breast lightly, reverently, moving his mouth softly back and forth in waves of silken pleasure. She watched his dark head bent over her in the silvered light, unbearably moved. And then his beautiful hard, gentle mouth closed over one damp, aroused nipple, and she arched as if lightning had flashed though her body.
He looked up, and his look burned through her with the same heat, and he returned to lavish his attentions on her breasts until she was arching and burning and shuddering.
“Sebastian,” she heard herself mutter. “Sebastian.”
She felt the cold night air on her legs and was warmed by his big hand smoothing up them, over her silk stockings, caressing the flesh where the garter was tied. Her legs were trembling, and at his touch they sagged beneath her.
His arm tightened as he supported her, half leaning against him, half lying on him. His eyes burned into her, filled with the sort of hunger and desire she hadn’t even known to dream of. Desire for her. Hunger for her . . .
His big, rough-skinned hands moved higher, circling and stroking until they cupped her so intimately she stiffened for a moment, as self-awareness asserted itself briefly, then flickered out as his fingers caressed her lightly, and sensation swamped her.
His fingers were long and strong and seemed to know exactly what to do, and she quivered and pressed against them, pushing rhythmically, frantically wanting more, more, more.
His mouth returned to hers, hard, hot, demanding. Half biting, thrusting, demanding, taking. No gentle angel kisses now but pure, passionate glory, blazing glory that demanded, even as it gave. He drove her, carried them both, to the brink; insistent, feverish, burning. Like being carried on a wave, out of control. Flying? Yes, and yet much earthier.
She clung to him as she felt herself spiraling, shuddering—
Rrrraoull! The scream shattered the night. Unearthly. Like a soul lost in hell. Rrrraoull! Then a crash.
She clutched him, dazed, still partially in the grip of the waves of sensation. “What is it?”
His head was flung back, his eyes closed, and he held her hard against him for a second, before he slowly, reluctantly released her. When he opened his eyes, he looked devastated. He swallowed convulsively and said, “I’m sorry. I should not—” He tugged her bodice up around her shoulders, tying the drawstring ribbons with shaking fingers. A grimace almost of pain crossed his face, and he said in a heavy voice, “I took advantage of your emotional state. I’m sorry. I should not have done such—” He looked mortified.
She stared at him, not quite knowing what to say, unable to fathom what had just happened. One moment she had been on the verge of something . . . momentous, and the next she was plunged back to reality, standing cold and shivering as if someone had thrown cold water over her. He finished tying the ribbons and tucked the ends neatly inside her neckline, his fingers—the fingers that had brought her to a state of mindless rapture—now barely skimming her skin.
Rrrraoull! An unearthly wail of torment. She shivered. “What is that noise?”
He sighed, heavily. “Cats.”
“Cats?” She was incredulous. “It sounds to me like children lost and terrified and hurting.”
He looked a bit embarrassed. “Well, it’s not children. It’s cats. On the rooftop.”
She frowned, doubting his story. “Are you sure it’s not children?”
“Positive.”
“I’ve never heard any cat make a noise like that. If it is cats, then someone must be torturing them. I’m fond of cats.”
He gave her a shuttered look. “No one is torturing them.”
“But they sound like they are in pain.”
He muttered something she could not quite catch. Something to do with knowing the feeling.
“I beg your pardon?”
“They’re not. In pain. They’re perfectly all right. Now, I think it’s time we returned to the others. They will be wondering what has become of us.” He started to lead her toward the door.
Rrrraourraouulll!
She stopped, worried. “How do you know those cats are all right? They sound in the most frightful pain.”
He closed his eyes briefly, sighed, and with a grim, mortified look on his face, ground out, “That’s what cats sound like when they’re copulating.”
Copulating? She clapped a hand over her mouth in surprise. And then she thought about it. And realized why he was so very embarrassed. If they hadn’t been interrupted by copulating cats . . .
He looked so grim and forbidding she could not say it. She allowed him to wrap her securely in her ruched velvet cloak and escort her to the door, his hand resting lightly in the small of her back, burning effortlessly through the layers of her clothes there like a brand.
Mrrrrraouwwwll!
A small sound escaped her.
He stopped instantly. “Are—are you all right?” He bent over her, trying to see her expression in the shadows. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done what I did. I-I lost my head, got carried—”
Rrrraaaoull!
“Damned cats!” he exploded.
“My thought exactly,” she murmured and giggled again.
He stared incredulously. “You—you’re laughing?”
“I know, I shouldn’t, I know . . . but you must admit, it’s funny. There we were . . . and there they were . . . and—”
Mmmrrrrraoull!
She giggled again, falling against him in her mirth. “Their timing was appalling, but—”
Seeing the look on his face, she sobered. She reached up and took his face in her hands. “Oh, please don’t look like that. I regret not a moment of what happened. Tonight was magic. Thank you for rescuing me from my own personal hell.” She kissed him softly on the mouth. “And thank you for starting me on the journey toward my own personal heaven. We didn’t quite get there tonight, but we shall . . . shan’t we? Sebastian?”
He stared at her wordlessly, his face somber and austere, a tiny muscle in his jaw working. He said nothing; he just pulled her into a hard embrace and held her there a long, long moment.
“Do you mean that?” he said gruffly.
“I do.” And it was a vow.
At her softly spoken words he hugged her hard again, burying his face in her hair. Then he turned her face up and gave her a deep, ravishing kiss, looked her in the eyes, and said simply, “I will make it right. I promise you.”
They found Giles and Lady Elinore sitting at the bottom of the stairs, side by side in silence. Lady Elinore jumped up. “How do you feel, Miss Hope? I am so distressed that you—”
Hope embraced her. “Thank you, but I am perfectly well now, Elinore. It was kind of you to wait, and in such an uncomfortable spot.”
“Yes, what are you two doing here?” Sebastian asked. Lady Elinore looked distinctly flustered.
“Minding your reputation,” Giles responded. “Mrs. Jenner and Miss Faith were all set to come storming out to see to Miss Hope, but I explained that Lady Elinore and I would remain with you at all times. Miss Faith persuaded the chaperone to return to the box.”
“Excellent,” Hope said. “Faith knows I cannot bear it when Mrs. Jenner fusses.” She gave a swift, self-conscious glance at Sebastian and added, “Not that there was anything improper in our trip to the roof.” She felt her color rising.
Giles arched a brow at Sebastian but said only, “Of course not. None of my business, anyway.”
Lady Elinore looked uncomfortable. “It will be noticed. It has been five and twenty minutes at least. We have missed most of the second act.”
/>
“I am so sorry, Lady Elinore. I know how much you enjoy the opera—”
“Oh that’s all right,” interrupted Giles casually. “Lady Elinore and I have been getting to know each other, have we not, Lady Elinore?”
Lady Elinore flushed bright red. She said to Hope, “I was worried about you.”
Hope squeezed her hand. “Thank you. It—it is a foolish weakness of mine, that’s all, that I cannot bear being confined in a small, dark space.”
“Nothing foolish about it,” Sebastian growled behind her.
His words warmed her. As did his hand resting on the small of her back all the way back to their seats.
“What does it feel like, twin?” Faith said in a wistful voice as they were preparing for bed that evening.
Hope turned quickly. Surely her twin couldn’t have felt that—what she’d felt in Mr. Reyne’s arms on the rooftop. “What?”
But Faith was folding her chemise and not looking for telltale blushes. “When you’re in love.” She looked up. “You are in love with Mr. Reyne, aren’t you?”
Hope hesitated.
“I know you let him kiss you. I could tell when you entered the box.” She sighed. “Oh, Hope, you were lit up like a candle from within, so beautiful, so happy. And to look like that after one of your attacks . . .” She smiled tremulously. “It must be love. Just like Mama promised.”
Hope nodded, and feeling suddenly teary, hugged her twin convulsively. “Yes,” she whispered. “I do love him.” She’d never said the words aloud before and hugged her twin again. “Oh, Faith, I love him.” She’d never felt with anyone what she felt about him.
“The real thing?”
Hope nodded. “The real thing.”
“And he’s the one in the dream?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. The dream doesn’t matter anymore. I love him.”
Faith’s jaw dropped. “How can you say the dream doesn’t matter? It must. It must be true.” She looked quite distressed.
Hope shook her head. She would never forget the magical sensation of waltzing in the moonlight in the arms of her dream man, but her big, gruff, darling Sebastian would never waltz like that, as if two could move as one. She smiled tenderly. “No, the dream was just a dream. But my Sebastian is real. Wonderfully real, and our love is true.”
“But I thought . . . if the dream—” Faith broke off. “He’s told you then? Said the words?”
Hope shook her head. “Not yet. But he will.”
Faith looked thoughtful. “I think I might be in love, too. I think Count Rimavska might be the one, Hope.”
Hope did not know what to say. Faith was dazzled, that she knew, but love . . . “Are you sure, twin?”
Faith gave her a half-rueful, half-excited look, then nodded. “I don’t know. I suspect so. He . . . he fascinates me. When I am with him . . . I feel . . . enthralled. On the brink of something terrifying, like a huge chasm and yet, I cannot help wishing to throw myself into it.”
Hope understood then. She had faced the same chasm herself with Mr. Reyne. And in his arms had thrown herself into it, happily, joyfully. Sebastian. She hugged his name to herself.
Faith looked at her mistily and heaved a gusty sigh as she climbed into bed. “Isn’t it wonderful? All these years we’ve dreamed of finally falling in love, and now, at long last, it’s happened. Both of us, at once.”
Hope smiled back. “At least yours is rich and titled. Lord knows what Great Uncle Oswald will say when I tell him I want to marry my Sebastian.”
Faith giggled. I know exactly what he’ll say.” She said in a gruff voice, “Shockin’! To waste a diamond like you on a cit, when there are dukes goin’ beggin’! Shockin’!”
Chapter Seventeen
The cause is hidden. The effect is visible to all.
OVID
SEBASTIAN CALLED ON LADY ELINORE FIRST THING NEXT MORNING. He was not looking forward to the interview. He had not treated her well. He hoped she would not become angry or distressed, but he owed her honesty, he’d decided.
She opened the door herself, ushered him into the small sitting room, and offered him a cup of tea. When he accepted, she went off to make it herself. Again he was made aware of her straitened circumstances. Outrageous for a woman of her standing to be forced to take a husband, merely to inherit what should be hers by right. Neither parent had done right by Lady Elinore.
Sebastian felt even guiltier. He had not done right by her, either. But he was resolved. He would not compound his error by prolonging the misunderstanding.
The moment she reentered the room, he said, “Lady Elinore, I’m sorry if this distresses you, but—”
She stopped him with a hand on his sleeve. “There is no need, Mr. Reyne. I know what you are going to say. You are in love with Miss Hope Merridew, are you not?”
Sebastian nodded.
“I’m very glad,” she said simply. “We might have made a convenient match of it . . . and a few weeks ago, convenience was all I expected.”
Sebastian raised a brow. The interview had taken an unexpectedly personal turn. “And now you don’t?”
“No,” she said quietly. “Now I want more, much more.”
He kissed her hand. “I’m glad, Lady Elinore. You deserve more. Shall we remain friends, do you think?”
“Oh yes, please. We are bound to keep meeting.” She said, adding with a faint flush, “I have become friends with Hope, you see. And I am also seeing quite a lot of Lady Augusta Montigua del Fuego. Lady Augusta has decided to join the board of the Tothill Fields Institution.”
“Lady Augusta?” Sebastian was amazed. He couldn’t imagine any odder pairing than the flamboyant, earthy Lady Augusta and this repressed little spinster, but Lady Elinore was full of surprises.
“She is very kind, you know, and very fond of children. She has plans for a number of them already. She’s an extraordinary woman, with a great deal of energy.” She dropped her head, a little embarrassed, and added, “She has taken me under her wing, as well.”
“Good heavens.”
“She never had a child, you see,” said Lady Elinore softly. She meant the children at the institute but, Sebastian thought, as he looked down at the small, lonely figure, Lady Elinore had never really had a mother, either.
Later, as he was heading home, it occurred to him that there was something different about Lady Elinore. He frowned, perplexed. Something about how she looked. Then he shook his head. What did he know? There was only one female who interested him: Miss Hope Merridew.
“I can’t see any ducklings,” complained Cassie.
“A few days ago I saw three,” Sebastian said. “Try around the bend there. Any ducklings, Dorie?”
She shook her head and went farther along, peering among the reeds excitedly. Cassie, too, went right to the edge, searching.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t join the ducks today, Cassie,” he said in a mild attempt at a joke. She pulled a face at him, unoffended, and Sebastian reflected how much had changed in a short time. Cassie was a different person from the hostile, angry girl he’d found only a few months ago. He was not sure whether or not she’d given up carrying her knife, but he wasn’t going to ask and make an issue of it. She would leave off the knife when she felt safe.
Dorie had not made such clear progress. She still secretly pocketed bread from the dinner table. And she remained nervous and clingy, particularly if they were out in public, among strangers. At least she also clung to him and Hope now, and not just Cassie. A child should not have to feel responsible for the well-being of another child. Cassie mightn’t acknowledge it, but she was visibly happier for being able to share the responsibility of Dorie.
Sebastian smiled as he watched Dorie search. She looked a little like a duckling herself in that yellow dress. The family of ducklings was a few yards away, and Dorie would discover them any minute. He’d received a note from Hope this morning, telling him that she and her sisters intended to ride in the park thi
s morning. If he wished to begin interesting his sisters in taking riding lessons, the opportunity would be there. So he’d taken it.
The thought of family outings on horseback did appeal, not the least at the thought of the wife who would be riding beside him. Besides, most gentlewomen rode, and he didn’t want his sisters to be exceptions.
Hope would tempt them, he knew. She could tempt anyone to do anything.
The thought struck him like a blow to the chest yet again. He was going to marry Hope Merridew. He could hardly believe it.
He hadn’t asked her yet, he would need to speak to her and her great-uncle. But after the night at the opera he knew: no other woman would do. He had never been a man for dreaming. Plans, yes. Plans dealt with actions and things of substance: those he had lived his life by. But dreams . . .
He would never have dared to dream of Hope Merridew.
He suddenly realized that Dorie was waving excitedly. “Have you found them?” he called.
She nodded vigorously, then placed a finger to her lips, telling him and Cassie to be quiet. They both hurried up, and sure enough, there was the mother duck with seven fluffy brown and yellow fuzz balls paddling importantly after her.
They fed the mother, and Dorie crumbled tiny duckling-sized crumbs, which she threw in the water for the little ones. Her sharp little face was lit with tender excitement. She needed a pet, Sebastian suddenly realized. Dorie had an instinct for looking after small things. It would do her good to have something of her own to care for.
He suddenly remembered the horses and consulted his pocket watch surreptitiously. Eleven o’clock, Hope’s note had said. It was almost that now.
“Have we run out of bread?”
Dorie nodded.
“Then it is time to return.”
The light died from her eyes, and he found himself explaining, “The mother duck will get nervous if we show too much interest in her babies.” He had no idea how mother ducks thought, but it worked. She and Cassie left the edge of the pond and came obediently back to his side. Again he marveled at the change in them.
