by Tanya Wilde
She scoffed, but the slight upturn of her lips sent tiny prickles of pleasure along his spine. Damn mystery, that. “Why have you waited so long to marry?” he asked and at once knew the question had been a wrong one.
Her body stiffened, and before she could let go of his arm, he captured her hand and held it in place. “There now, no need to give these folks something to whisper about.”
“My life is none of your concern,” she said, her eyes burning with fire.
“I meant no offense,” Sebastian murmured, searching her face. Lady Anastacia gave nothing away other than rigid indignation, but even so, she had given away something of herself, something important. Something still to be deciphered. And while he was all for puzzles, for now, he steered the conversation to a safer route and, frankly, to the heart of his curiosity. “So you have set your cap on Averly.”
That dreamy smile returned. “Possibly.”
“He’s a mere boy,” Sebastian felt compelled to point out. At six-and-twenty Averly was still a fledgling.
“Only an ancient would say that.”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes on her. He wasn’t old. Averly was just . . . young. Seven years his junior to be exact.
“Lord Averly is a respected gentleman and well-mannered. He would make for an exemplary husband,” she finished.
“In that case, since you are dead set on a marriage built for boredom, you leave me with no other choice.”
She cast a speculative glance his way. “No other option for what?”
“To show you what a real kiss from a man can be like.”
And with that, Sebastian drew her in behind nearby shrubberies before she could protest. He silenced her gasp with his lips, slamming them over hers, not waiting for her to recover before his tongue found her warmth and began to dance. One day Sebastian would look back on this moment and mark it as either the worst mistake or the best decision of his life. He could live with both. For now, fireworks exploded inside him.
A taste, that was all he had wanted, and she hadn’t disappointed. She tasted of honey and of all the things he wanted but ought not to pursue.
When her hand lifted to his chest, his grip tightened around her, afraid she might push away. Instead, a soft sigh of pleasure escaped her. Then she kissed him back. For a second his heart stopped beating. Everything came to a halt. The world. His life. Time. All except her kissing him back.
Then his heart started back up again, drumming against his ribs at a furious pace. This was magic. Fever. Obsession. Possession. And for whatever reason, she needed to marry. Even though he shuddered at the mere thought, for the first time in his life, in the far depths of his mind, Sebastian wondered: Could he give up his bachelor ways?
The slight rustle of leaves and distant laughter pulled him back to the present, and he tore his mouth away from hers. Heated eyes locked with confused ones. They stared at each other in silence, neither certain what to say, before his eyes darted over her head.
Hell and damnation!
Sebastian hadn’t pulled her far enough into the bushes. Their marvelous, knee-wobbling kiss had been witnessed by all who ventured into the lower part of the garden. Before he could stop her, Lady Anastacia glanced over her shoulder and Sebastian watched, with a curious pinch in his core, as all color leached from her complexion.
He cursed.
Quite a few people stood gazing at them wide-eyed, but that was not the worse part of it. The worst part, if the utter desolation on Lady Anastacia’s face was any indication, was that Lord Averly stood amidst the crowd with two glasses of punch and a complete look of shock displayed on his face.
“Slap me,” he hissed and pushed her away from him. To protect her? To protect him? Hell if he knew. He just knew if she rejected him in front of their audience, this would go away for her. She stumbled, her eyes wounded when she glanced back up at him. Did the woman possess no form of self-preservation for her reputation?
Her eyes held a pleading note as she looked at him as if begging him to save her. It bloody well tied his stomach up in knots. And he almost did. For a moment, he almost did the right thing then and there. But then sensibility returned. He was not a hero. He was never the hero, but he was always the perfect blackguard.
They all knew it.
The moment he left her, she would cry out his villainy, and her reputation would be restored. That was the best thing he could do for her—play the same role he always played.
With good sense restored and the axis of his world put to rights, Sebastian remained true to character, turned on his heel, and stalked away.
From her.
From their bloody audience.
From society at large.
Rake, rogue, lecher—that was his role in this world.
Chapter 5
Ever since Anastacia had been a little girl, she had dreamed of long silk gowns and candlelit ballrooms, confident her prince would be waiting there. He would be tall, handsome, and already on one knee when she entered. She would then flutter her fan in the most flattering way, her smile shy and her eyes dancing with mischief. In response, her prince would laugh. Not rude or obnoxious laughter, but a light chuckle of merriment upon which he’d lift her into his strong arms and carry her directly to his copper steed. What happened then? Well, what one would expect of a fairy tale, of course. They would ride off into the sunrise and live out a picture-perfect love story, one where Anastacia would spend her days raising their daughter and two sons.
All that, however, seemed to disappear in a puff of smoke as the butler led her to the drawing room of her chosen prince charming, who had not appeared all that charming after her reckless behavior in the garden.
As for the Duke of Blackcress . . . Never in Anastacia’s life had she been treated in such a shockingly forward manner. He had caught her completely off guard with his brazen display of passion. She had wanted to fight him, had tried to wedge out of his embrace, but in a moment of insanity, when crushed against his rock hard chest, she had given into the kiss instead.
Madness aside, it seemed that the only way to put an end to the duke’s attention was to give him what he wanted. With her no longer presenting a challenge, he had lost interest and had stalked off in complete indifference. If only there hadn’t been such an unforgiving audience, she might not be so despondent over it.
Being left alone with the consequences in the present, Anastacia had never wanted to go back in time so badly. If she could have traveled back to that moment, she would have never relaxed in his arms, so the kiss would not have gentled, and Anastacia would not have tested her tongue in small rhythmic movements against his. Without that, she would surely not have felt ridiculously pleased with the growl of satisfaction that tore from his throat and therefore never have entwined her arms around his neck. Yes, had that not happened, he would not have gripped her waist and lifted her up against him until her feet dangled in the air as his onslaught to her senses continued.
Had those series of events not happened, then her life would not be crumbling at her feet in this moment.
Anastacia refused to believe that this was how her carefully laid plans ended, that all her effort had been for naught.
“His lordship will be with you in a moment.”
She nodded, her hands running along her skirts. The silence that followed the butler’s retreat did nothing to calm her raging nerves. It did, however, clear her mind for sudden enlightenment to dawn: She stood in the drawing room of a man, a stranger in actuality, who had not pledged himself to her, wanting to explain her actions and beg his forgiveness.
Utter lunacy!
This was a man whom she had only met on three occasions so far. Anastacia would not be surprised if her very essence reeked of desperation. She abhorred this, simply did not want to do it. It was ludicrous . . . but she had to at least try and save her budding relationship with Averly. Did she not? What other choice did she truly have?
If she could convince Averly that the business with Blac
kcress was a sudden error never to be repeated, that perhaps she was vulnerable from his earlier declaration and caught off guard, or simply that she had never been kissed before and fell into shock, mayhap he would still be willing to consider her for a wife. If only she could marry, all of this would not matter.
Her stomach twisted uneasily at her situation. She did not like where one moment of passion had landed her. She needed to be more practical moving forward. Practicality would get her out of this mess.
“Lady Anastacia.”
She whirled, finding Lord Averly leaning against the doorway. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, though he regarded her with interest. A new gleam, one she hadn’t seen before, sparkled in his gaze as his eyes roamed the length of her.
Her heart dropped to her stomach.
“I must say, I’m surprised by you, Lady Anastacia.”
As was she, but she wasn’t about to voice that out loud. Up till that moment, she hadn’t thought much about her departure from the tea party. Honestly, what was there to think about? She had dashed off in a fit of tears without so much as an offer of explanation to her audience. The news of her blunder would have spread at a blistering pace, and there was little to be done about it. Her reputation was in tatters.
If not for her fear of her uncle, which was what had ultimately driven her into this entire situation, she may have held fast onto her better judgment. But her better judgment seemed to have all but disappeared.
Until this moment, she had hoped Averly would understand her predicament and aid her. But he would not. The answer was there, carved into the lines of his face. If she wondered at all what he thought of her now, the wicked gleam in his eyes told her.
Dreams. Puff of smoke.
“My apologies, my lord. Coming here was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” He pushed away from the wall. “First you fawn over me like some innocent school girl, and then you throw yourself into Blackcress’s arms. Rather unsporting of you.”
He advanced with another step, and Anastacia retreated, thus began the game of cat and mouse. One she did not care for at all.
“That is not what happened,” she said.
“No? Why then, after your stupendous display of hysterics, have you shown up at my home? Tut-Tut, did the devil not fulfill your every desire? I’ll be more than happy to oblige.”
Anastacia had a hard time deciding the real devil between the two men. Were all men such loathsome beasts?
She straightened, unwilling to beg for assistance. She had a Plan B and Plan C, after all. “I came to London in search of a husband, not to dilly-dally, my lord—a concept Blackcress could not fathom.”
“I see. And you thought I fit the role of your husband?”
She spared a quick glance at the door, nodding, feeling ten times the fool. “Of course. You are from a respectable family and your reputation amongst your peers is that of good standing. You were the perfect choice for a husband.”
“And what of Blackcress? Where does he fit into this little plan of yours?”
Nowhere, if she could help it. But by the looks of things, the duke may be part of Plan B. It all depended on what happened with Lord Averly—not insomuch as marriage any longer, but in whether he would give her the cut direct. If he shunned her, all of society would shun her. If he forgave her, even without a marriage proposal, Anastacia might stand a chance.
A chance at what? A surly voice whispered in her mind. A chance at making friends? Not being seen as a social pariah? None of that mattered if her uncle found her. And what truly mattered was winning her freedom.
“An unexpected element is all,” she admitted, seeing no reason not to.
Averly chuckled, but his tone sounded anything but soothing. “I must commend you, my lady, and I’m flattered indeed, but there was something of a problem with your otherwise grand plan.”
Apprehension stole over her. “And that is?”
“I’ve been betrothed to Lady Cynthia Sinclair since the day I was born.”
That brought Anastacia up short. How had she not known? It seemed like such a great detail to overlook. And if that were indeed the case, her plan had been destined to fail from the start.
A sobering thought, that.
“Do not fret over the oversight, my dear, ever so often time casts a veil over matters long outstanding. Even I forget I am betrothed at times.”
Anastacia wanted to be sick.
“But I do have a counter proposition for you, my lady,” he continued.
No. Anastacia wanted no part in any counter proposal. And she abhorred those cunning eyes poking holes in her person. She saw her hopes of his forgiveness in society disappear in the harshness of his calculation. It occurred to her that Lord Averly reminded her of a hyena just now. Hungry. Sly.
Untrustworthy.
“I’m all ears, my lord,” she murmured because she had to hear him say the words, needed to hear him condemn himself as the real devil.
“As I cannot marry you and you do intrigue me so, I propose you become my mistress. I will see to your every need, and you will want for nothing.”
“I am a lady.”
“Without any prospects after today.”
“Not entirely without prospects, my lord.”
“You were caught in a compromising embrace with Blackcress. Had your arms not been wrapped around his neck, I might have agreed. But Lady Anastacia, ladies do not get caught kissing lechers in gardens—only harlots do.”
Anastacia refused to burst into tears at the insult. Yes, she had made a mistake, but she needn’t be crucified for it. It was one mistake. And it wasn’t as if he was her moral superior, what with forgetting he was betrothed at times.
“That was the cruelest thing to say,” she responded.
He held up his hands as if to placate her. “My dear, you seem to have fallen on desperate times, and I’m only attempting to assist you.”
“By making me your mistress?”
“Is it not a fair trade?”
Money. He meant money. Anastacia almost stomped her foot in righteous fury but held back—barely. “I have no need for your riches,” she snapped. “I require the protection and liberation only a husband can provide, and since that is not something you can offer me, our business is done here.”
He shot forward to halt her escape.
“Now wait just a damn minute, Lady Anastacia. If it is protection you need, I can assure you of that.”
“Would I still have to become your mistress?”
“Well, of course, I would require something in return, but we do not have to call it being my mistress. We can call it something else.”
“A lady-love?”
“If that is what you prefer,” he agreed.
“I would still be trading my body for your protection. Mistress or lady-love, it is just another word for whore. Now let me pass,” Anastacia demanded, unable to believe his audacity.
Good breeding demanded he step aside at once, but his lips curled up into a snarl. “You will soon discover, my dear, that my offer is the best you’ll receive. Know that when you come crawling back, I won’t be so generous.”
“Ladies do not crawl, not even in the worst of circumstances.”
“We shall see, my dear. By now, word of your dalliance in the garden must have spread through the worst of the gossips. By morning, everyone of worth will believe you are a woman of loose morals, and you will be reduced to nothing. No one will have you—not even your friend, Blackcress.”
Anastiacia’s spirit sunk in dread, but she refused to cower. “I’m not without resources, sir, and by morning you will see that, as well.”
She exited, shoulders straight and head high until she was well beyond the front door. Only then did she let go of the breath she’d been holding. By morning she would be a pariah, but she still had a Plan B and C and D and E and however many plans it took to escape her wretched situation. She refused to give up.
In truth, she was terrified, and r
ightly so. This was one of the hardest things a person could do: to let go of dreams, however untrue they might be in reality. There would be no knight for her, so she’d have to simply save herself.
To that point, it mattered little whether she was innocent or not, whether it was one kiss or an entire affair, all society cared about was its juicy gossip. They would call her a harlot as easily as Averly had. However, they weren’t the ones to blame for this mess. No, the blame for this disaster could be placed solely at the door of the Duke of Blackcress. He was the one who had kissed her, ruined her, and then abandoned her to the wolves.
So by Jove, he would do what was right by her.
Chapter 6
It hadn’t taken long to track down the living quarters of her wickedly notorious Plan B. Ask anyone, and they could point you in the direction of his lair. Honestly, it seemed the entire island knew where the duke cradled his head at night. No doubt, Anastacia mused darkly, they all knew it for the sole purpose of avoiding that dark hole. She, on the other hand, harbored no such qualms.
In fact, she had burst through the front entrance like a woman on her way to war, leaving a startled butler in her wake. While she hadn’t intended such force, she also did not regret it.
This was war.
How dare the scoundrel ruin her and then leave her to fend for herself amongst the party guests?
Humiliation still clung to her like a foul odor. She recalled with glaring clarity the disapproving stares and the titters behind delicate silk fans as her indiscretion spread among the guests with shameless speed.
“Where is he?” she snapped in the direction of the disgruntled servant without stopping in her pursuit. “Where is that deplorable rapscallion employer of yours?”
The butler scurried after her. “Madam?”
Blackcress, apparently possessing the gift of sight, or perhaps just good hearing appeared in the hallway with a scowl on his face. “What the devil are you doing here?” he growled.
His waistcoat had been unbuttoned, and his cravat was missing. He was the perfect picture of a relaxed lord. This fact only fueled Anastacia’s fury. Fuming, she marched straight up to him and slapped him across the face, the blow of her hand connecting with his cheek echoing through the hall.
