by Bec McMaster
Cleo's expression softened, and her eyes shimmered with the tears he could not shed. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, her thumbs stroking his cheeks.
He set his hands on her wrists. Not now. He couldn't.... He wanted the comfort she offered, but after the other night, he didn't dare touch her like that when his head was such a mess. She deserved better than for him to use her body to make himself feel better.
"Maybe later, Cleo." He sat back, and raked his hands through his hair. "I want to burn her fucking journal."
"I’ll fetch it for you." She moved to the pile of books Sebastian had set on his bedside table.
He stared leadenly at the wall, feeling empty within.
And it was only when it was too late that he realized what he'd tucked inside the journal, to keep it safe from prying eyes.
* * *
At first she didn’t quite realize what she held in her hand. Her mind moved slower than her eyes could perceive. A ticket… Liverpool to Manhattan… Mr. Sebastian Montcalm. A steerage ticket made out in her husband’s name. But why would he…?
A soft inhalation of breath sounded behind her, and Cleo looked up just as Sebastian turned sharply in his chair.
His gaze dropped to her hand.
To the ticket.
And the second she saw the expression on his face, it all suddenly made a great deal of sense.
"You’re leaving." The date was printed right there—a week. No, less than that. The room spun around her. She felt like she couldn’t gather her thoughts.
"Cleo—"
And suddenly time snapped back into place, an odd clarity pervading her thoughts even as her heart curled into a small, tight knot in her chest, oddly painful. "No," she whispered. "I think I understand. You never wanted this. You never wanted any of this. All you’ve ever been focused upon is the destruction of your mother, and—"
"I wanted freedom," he snapped. "You don’t know what it’s like… to spend the past fifteen years bound to Morgana’s will by that fucking collar. All I’ve ever dreamed of is escape. And… I didn’t know…. I hadn’t made up my mind yet, but—"
"Hadn’t made up your mind?" She shook the ticket at him, the heat of her anger suddenly scalding. All she’d ever demanded from him was the truth. It was her own damned fault she felt something more, but she couldn’t begrudge him that. But he’d lied to her. He'd let her believe there was something more growing between them. "This looks like it’s quite made up to me. You bought a ticket. Were you even going to tell me? Or your brothers? Or would I have just woken up one day to find a letter on the bed? Did you plan to help us with your father, or have you simply washed your hands of him—"
"It’s not like that."
"Then tell me what it’s like!"
A rap at the door interrupted. Cleo swallowed down the hot words she’d been about to spill. She couldn’t deal with this. Not right now. Not on top of everything else. And she was dangerously close to tears. The last thing she wanted right now was to betray how upset she felt.
"I won’t hold you to this bond," she whispered, setting the ticket in his hand as she strode past. "And if you wished to get an annulment, then I would not protest. Perhaps… perhaps this was all a mistake."
And then she fled, before her emotions could get the better of her.
* * *
Sebastian stared after her, the ticket clenched in his hand. He knew his wife, he knew she wanted to say more, and yet she’d closed herself off to him in a way she’d never done before. She’d even locked down the bond from her side, muting her emotions—but not before he’d felt the sharp slash of pain that rippled through her.
Jesus. She hadn’t let him explain.
And he didn’t know if he could explain, for he didn’t even know precisely what he wanted to do.
The ticket mocked him. The lure of escaping all this mess still attracted him. He could feel the pull of it even now, even in the face of Cleo’s distress; a fresh start away from his mother’s machinations; away from the guilt of Drake’s sacrifice, and the frustrating lessons Bishop was pushing him headlong into; away from responsibility, the concept of family, commitment, and a world he didn’t understand. One he’d never known, one where other people expected things from him—no, demanded them.
A world where Cleo existed, trying at every moment to connect with him, when she was the one thing that utterly destroyed him.
A world where he feared her disappointment, feared the loss of her affection, of never being able to measure up to the image of him that she’d somehow concocted—a hero who could save her, a good man, one who rescued kidnapped children and protected his wife of convenience. A husband who could offer her love, when he didn’t even know how.
But he wasn’t that man.
He’d killed people, mostly at Morgana’s will, but sometimes… sometimes of his own volition. He’d fucked women he cared nothing for, learning how to lock himself away from his body while it performed. He’d walked away from innocents, knowing any interaction of his would only earn them worse punishment from his mother’s schemes. He’d deafened his ears to screams and cries for mercy. He’d locked himself away, locked his heart away, and turned himself into something that lived and existed, and didn’t own hope or dream of anything more, because sometimes the most brutal thing his mother could do to him was allow him a chance to hope, only to tear it away.
It was the only way he knew how to survive.
Until suddenly he was free of his mother’s command, and a whole world had unfolded before him. Choices. The ability to make his own decisions, to imagine possibilities. A future he’d never had before. Escape.
And yet he’d found himself in a new set of chains. A wife. Brothers. Sisters-in-law. A father he’d never known, but had hated. A father who’d sacrificed his own life so Sebastian could know this freedom. Family. Family.
It was too much. It had been too much.
Sebastian stared at the ticket. Morgana had been captured. He had no reason to stay. But he knew events here weren’t finished.
No reason, except a wife who was trying not to cry, right at this moment. "If you wish an annulment…."
He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his future, but he knew the answer to that one question at least. No annulment. Cleo evoked a thousand different emotions within him, including ones he couldn’t even name, and yet walking away from her, never seeing her again…. That knot in his gut was back, but the longer he waited....
"Is something amiss?" Bishop asked, staring through the open door. "I came to see how you were."
How you were....
"Shouldn't you be questioning Morgana?" he asked.
Bishop blinked. "I was just on my way down there."
A sharp knot began to untwist within his chest. Morgana was important. The demon was important. And Bishop was obsessed with rescuing his father.
It struck him then, what the man was trying to say. He'd come here first.
He... cared?
Another thought struck him. Bishop hadn't been happy to let Sebastian break into his mother's house. Watch your back, he'd said at the time, and Sebastian had thought it meant, don't fail.
But Bishop was still wearing the pink waistcoat—though he'd taken it off for the mission—and he was here, instead of trying to wring questions from the one person who might know how to find the demon.
Merde, he was looking at this all wrong.
"You are definitely not all right," Bishop said, his dark brows drawing together. "Do you want to go spar? Or hit something? It always makes me feel better."
Sebastian stared at the ticket. He'd made a ruin of this. These people cared for him. It felt... surreal. His feet were moving, faster than his thoughts. "Not now. I have to find Cleo."
Sebastian went after her, tracking her through the house. The library. Of course. It was where she always sought refuge, hiding in that bloody book she'd become absorbed in.
He stepped through the doors, taking
a punch to the heart when he saw her dashing away her tears, and resolutely opening the book to the page she'd marked. Duty gave her something to focus on, a means to sidestep the press of her emotions, and he didn't know why he hadn't seen how thin she was stretching herself. He'd been so busy trying to sort through his own turmoil that he'd barely given thought to hers.
"Cleo."
"You don't have to explain," she said, clearly trying to be brave. "I won't hold you to this—"
"If you'd give me a chance to speak," he said sharply, through gritted teeth, "then you'd know I want you to hold me to this marriage."
Dark eyes flashed to his.
Bottling his turmoil, he stepped through and closed the doors, locking them behind him. Then he turned and looked at her hungrily. Despite her reddened eyes and splotchy skin, she'd never looked more beautiful.
His decision had been made, perhaps long ago, before he even knew it himself.
"I never wanted to marry you," he said. "You were simply one more thing my mother forced me to do for her. Imagine my shock when I couldn't resist trying to see what sort of woman my mother was binding me to, and found you. You with your endless hope, and helpless charm. You with your belief the world was a happier place if only one strived for it. A woman who betrayed her father in order to help rescue me from a collar that bound me to my mother's will. A woman who fought for me every step of the way, pushing me to do what was right. A woman who argued there was something better within me, when I couldn't see it myself." His voice softened. "And now you're giving up? Now you won't even give me a chance to explain, when it's my turn to fight for you?"
Her chin tipped up, her lower lip quivering. "There's only so much of my heart I can give you without destroying myself."
"Well, that's too bad," he said, starting toward her. "Because I want it all."
Wariness filled her gaze. Cleo found her feet, pressing her bottom to the desk as he advanced. "It's not yours to give or take."
"No?" Lifting the ticket, he tore it into little pieces, dropping it on the carpet as he made his way toward her. Her eyes widened in shock, and he took a step to the side as she shifted to escape. "I think I already own it."
He'd known for a long time how she felt about him. Cleo had bonded him, so there was no way for her to hide the truth from him. And he'd learned to shield far quicker than she ever had.
She darted one way, and he caught her in his arms, dragging her against his chest. Cleo's arms were trapped between them, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. "Please. Please don't do this. Not unless you mean it. I don't think I can handle it if you were to toy with my affections right now."
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "So sorry I haven't been able to give you what you wanted until this moment. When I woke in chains after Drake sacrificed himself for me, I knew I was free of my mother for the first time in my life. Free of her sclavus collar. Free of everything that weighed me down. I’ve never known freedom before. I’ve always hungered for it, but I never considered what I would do if I ever actually gained it." He paused, sliding the mass of her hair in his hands and beginning to tug the pins restraining it free. "I wanted to leave England, and to leave this mess behind me. I thought perhaps I could strike out for the Americas. No Morgana. No demon. No…."
"Me," she whispered. "Our bond is just another chain around you. I’m so sorry, Sebastian—"
"If you hadn’t bound me," he pointed out, "then I wouldn’t be here to even wonder about my life. I was dying. You bound me to save my life."
"At the cost of your freedom," she whispered, still looking horrified.
He brushed her blonde curls over her right shoulder. "That’s not what I’m saying at all."
Cleo looked up at him. From this angle the green gown she wore hung just haphazardly enough he could see the smooth slope of her breasts and the lace edge of her corset. His cock pulsed, and Sebastian forced himself to swallow. Capturing her face in his hands, he drew back from her.
"I bought the ticket one day when Lady E was pushing me too far. It was a spur of the moment whim. I don't even know if I was ever going to set foot on that ship, but it gave me... room to breathe when I didn't think I could cope with everything." He pressed his cheek to hers, breathing in the scent of her soap. "I wanted a new life away from all this mess. But I was dreaming of the wrong sort of life. The second you fainted at the Ascension Ball I knew I could never go through with it. There you were in my arms, helpless and in danger. I didn't know what was happening to you and it broke me."
He shuddered. "Cleo, you consume me in ways I've never known before. And you terrify me, for you ask me to be something I've never had to be. You want a husband, and you want a family, and those are things I've never wanted, until now.
"I don't know what love is," he whispered hoarsely. "You say you want my heart, but you don't know the truth. You have my soul. You've had it from the moment I first saw you, standing there feeding your ducks without a care in the world. You saved me. Time and time again, and I've never wanted anything in my life the way I want you." He clutched her close, breathing her in, trying to absorb the essence of goodness within her.
A soft cry came from her throat, and she slid a hand up between them, pressing her palm to her chest. "Sebastian."
"I choose you, Cleo," he whispered, hovering over her. "I choose us."
And then their mouths were meeting, his hands softening in her hair as he cupped her face and fused their lips together. He let his shields fall, becoming fully, irrevocably hers. The soul-bond roared to life within him like a flame given fresh air after being starved for so long.
He bound himself to her, knowing he could never hide from her again. Knowing there would be no annulment, no separation, nothing but a future, which they could forge together.
Their breathing harshened, becoming thick, ragged pants. He couldn't get enough of her. She was under his skin now, within his heart, their bond fusing them into one being, and the only way he could feel more complete would be to physically fill her.
Reaching beneath her, Sebastian captured her bottom and set her on the desk. Leaning toward her, he set both hands on the desk beside her hips, effectively trapping her. Their breath mingled, their gazes locking together. He couldn't look away from her if he tried.
"I want to be your husband in truth." Capturing her knuckles, he brushed his mouth to the back of them. "If you will have me."
Heat stirred pinkness through her cheeks. "You fool. I've been yours from the start."
And then she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and tipped her mouth to his, her body wilting in his arms.
His. Finally his. Sebastian's tongue drove into her mouth, his body screaming for sweet release.
He’d worried he might ruin this, earlier in their marriage, when all he knew of sex was pain and prostitution. But it was impossible to even think of Cleo the same way he’d thought of sex—of those other women his mother had forced him to service.
This felt new. Wondrous. A drugging sort of feeling that could consume a man, and make him whole again.
Sebastian drew back, gasping for breath, and their eyes met. Then his hand was sliding down the soft green silk of her skirts and capturing a handful of it, dragging it up. The brush of his fingers against her thigh made her suck in a sharp breath, and he could see every emotion she felt in her eyes; shock, pleasure, wonder, curiosity.
"Last chance, my love," he whispered, stroking his thumb up her inner thigh and feeling that delicious tension shiver through her.
"For you? Or for me?"
He captured her soft mouth in a kiss, sweet and gentle. "I made my choice, Cleo. Yes. The answer is yes."
She had no idea how very much he wanted to make love to her.
Or perhaps she did, for the walls between their bond were softening, and he was starting to catch a glimpse of her thoughts.
Oh, God yes. "Have we finished talking about it?" she breathed, and then that old flicker of mischief lit her brown eyes. "I swear I’m
going to die of curiosity."
His fingers found her, brushing against the warm cotton of her drawers. Sebastian kissed her jaw, nipping at her throat as he worked his fingers through the slit in her drawers, and found the lush, wet heart of her. The blunt tip of his finger stroked its way down her seam, earning a shocked gasp.
"Sebastian!" Cleo captured his wrist, but she didn’t push him away.
"Is that answer enough?"
He stroked her slowly, parting her wet folds, and staring into her eyes as if he could capture the moment.
She writhed, sinking her teeth into that fleshy lower lip. A certain sort of shyness came over her. It had been different the other night, in the dark, when she didn't have to look at him. He felt it too.
"Cleo." He stroked the soft little nubbin of flesh between her thighs and she moaned and rolled her hips, "Don’t hide away from me. Look at me."
Their eyes met.
Her beautiful, beautiful brown eyes wide with wonder and desire.
"Have you never touched yourself before?" His lips skated across her throat, nuzzling at her ear.
"No," she gasped. "I just cannot believe…. Oh, oh, that feels…. Ohhh."
And he knew how it felt, for she was writhing now, her thighs pinned wide around his narrow hips.
He had the sudden, distinct urge to kiss her between her parted thighs, to plunge his tongue inside her, to shock her well and truly. And he was smiling to himself at the thought, surprised at how very innocent she was, she with her Visions, who claimed she knew exactly what went on between a man and a woman in bed.
Easing a finger inside her, he bit her throat as he worked his way within her. He wanted her wet and aching. He wanted this to be perfect. She clutched at his shoulders, holding on for dear life, her hair brushing against the mahogany surface of the desk. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."
Sebastian tugged at the buttons on the back of her dress, his lips working their way down her throat. He flicked his tongue against her skin, earning a small moan. "Lie back."
"On Bishop's desk?" She sounded scandalized.
