by Tanya Wilde
Sebastian wanted to press the matter of marriage but decided to give her some time to think while busying himself to get a fire going. He crouched before the hearth, laying some of the logs stacked by its side in the grate, all the while aware of her disturbing presence in the small, confined cottage.
Sensing her distress over the furnishings, or rather lack thereof, by the slight tap of her foot, he glanced over his shoulder. “Take whichever you prefer.”
He would sleep in a bloody tree if it made her happy.
Her gaze jumped to his. “Are you certain? They all look uncomfortable.”
“They all will be, but you should take whatever might be the least so. I don’t think the cot will take my weight, but we can place the pallet before the fire. It will still be uncomfortable, but at least it will be warm. What do you think?”
She tilted her head to the side, considering him. “Do you care? What I think, that is.”
“Of cour—” but then a realization stopped him mid-sentence. He had not given her much reason to assume he did care for her opinions, had he? To be honest, he hadn’t thought much of it, given that he’d be grappling with his sudden need to be a hero, his odd obsession with her, the loss of his rakehood, and the desire to marry. But her question was a fair one. He’d been forceful and commanding with her. He’d assumed much and asked little. In some ways, he’d been not much better than her monstrous uncle.
“I do care about your opinions, Anastacia. If that was not clear before, let it be clear now. I am a selfish man and stubborn to a fault, but I do care for your thoughts. And I will never take any choice away from you.”
She nodded at him, slowly. “I will take the pallet by the fire then,” she said as she turned away.
By the time he had the blaze going, she had managed to drag the pallet over to where he crouched, settling neatly upon it.
Sebastian wanted to join her, even if it was just to sit beside her, but controlled the urge. Wrenching himself away, he planted his behind firmly in the chair. The effort left him slightly dazed. And oddly shaken. Which annoyed him—greatly. He was supposed to be a rake. Notorious for his exploits and utter disregard for reputations. He had dueled so many men for tupping their wives that it seemed second nature to him.
One man in particular, a Scotish heathen, if memory served, had broken down his front door with an ax after Sebastian’s butler shut it in his face. He shuddered at the memory of servants screaming in the hallways as the man burst into his bedroom, ax in hand. His wife, shocked at the sight of her husband, fainted on top of Sebastian.
That was the sort of man he was. And he’d been brought low by a damsel with big blue eyes.
They sat in silence, staring into the flames. Minutes ticked by, and Sebastian’s eyes flicked to her face, unable to stray away for too long. Questions burned in his mind. Suspicion.
“You know why your uncle is so dead set to find you, do you not?”
Her shoulders sagged as she let out a soft sigh, her eyes never leaving the flames. “Yes,” she admitted after a moment.
Sebastian waited, straightening his long legs, taking on a relaxed posture when he felt the exact opposite inside. He crossed his booted ankles.
“My father had one last will drafted before his passing.”
Sebastian arched one thoughtful brow. “Not unusual,” he murmured.
“Perhaps, but in it, he left me all his wealth, down to the last penny. All that remained for my uncle was the entailed estates.”
Sebastian cursed. It would have been a significant amount of riches. “And your uncle manages your inheritance?”
She nodded. “Until I reach the age of twenty or marry, whichever comes first.”
He felt the color drain from his face. “You are not yet twenty?” he exploded.
Bloody hell!
She was a baby compared to his thirty-three.
Her eyes flashed. “I told you you were old, did I not?”
“Not that old.”
“It matters not. I turn twenty in three months’ time.”
“Why did you not just leave?”
“You saw what my uncle did to me. He promised much worse if I left.”
“That is why he sold you to Bloomington, is it not?”
“Yes. Apparently, they formed an agreement. Bloomington would get me as his wife, and in return, my uncle would retain my inheritance.”
“Bastard,” Sebastian growled.
Her uncle’s determination and relentless pursuit made sense now. But did she suspect the rest? Her eyes told him she did not. His suspicions only grew stronger with every addition to this story. In his gut, he knew them to be true.
It occurred to him then, rather belatedly, that Anastacia would not get the wedding she deserved nor the proposal. He might not be the best man for the task, what with his selfish nature and notorious past, but he could damn well give her at least one small thing. He could give her a real choice.
Holding out his hand he motioned for her to stand, which she did with a slight raise of brow, and only then did he bow down on one knee.
Her eyes rounded.
“Anastacia, I am no saint, and I might not be the husband that you deserve, but I do wish to marry you. Not because of the excitement, which is thrilling in its own right, and not because I long to play the hero. Not even because I want to protect you, which I do. Marry me, because from the first moment I glimpsed you in the crowd, you held me spellbound. It drove me to seek you out, to kiss you, to rescue you, and now it drives me to claim you. Marry me, so that you can remind me that I cannot command you to do anything, whenever I accidentally do so. Anastacia, do me the honor of becoming my wife, even though the privilege should not be mine?”
She looked at him, tears shimmering in her blue depths, her eyes searching the panes of his face.When she glanced away, Sebastian’s heart sank along with his spirit. She would not wed him then. It ought not have hurt this much, but her rejection felt as though she had twisted a knife in his chest.
A light touch settled on his knee and her eyes returned to meet his again. Hopeful. Accepting.
His breath locked in his lungs when the smallest of smiles lifted her lips.
“All right, Sebastian, I will marry you.”
Chapter 12
They were married the following day on a farm, which they discovered but an hour’s walk from the cottage. The owners were more than happy to send for a blacksmith, pressing upon him the need for discretion. They later also learned that two men, one lean and tall and the other big and plump, had asked around for two young lovers and kept a close eye on the blacksmith’s shop. Of course, this only added to the appeal for the portly man to steal away from his shop and aid the young lovers.
For the first time in a long while, hope had bloomed in Anastacia’s heart.
She entered the chamber her husband had secured for them at a roadside inn, her gaze instantly drawn to the bed. A flutter of anticipation pulsed up her spine. Sparing the fleetest of glances at Sebastian, face flushed, she turned to examine the rest of the small room thoroughly. Besides the bed, there wasn’t much else in the chamber, save for two chairs and a little hearth to provide some warmth.
Her husband’s shockingly heartfelt proposal had revealed three crucial facts to Anastacia. He was not like her uncle. He cared for her. And the moment she’d learned both those facts, she’d stopped fighting the attraction she felt for him—and it flared to life.
Which brought her back to the bed.
Honestly, how could anyone manage a simple thought with such an unbelievably big bed in the center of the room? Her heart felt as if it was about to burst in her chest.
Anastacia could not quite grab hold onto the exact emotion she was feeling, so she cast a sidelong glance at her husband, who was peering through the slip of curtain down to the street. She took her time in studying his broad back. Sebastian had saved her, but deep in her heart, she hadn’t believed it would work.
No one had ever outsm
arted her uncle.
Until now.
She turned to glance at the bed again and imagined herself tangled between the sheets with Sebastian. The image left her quite breathless. Eagerness. She certainly felt a healthy dose of that. And excitement. She recalled their kiss, his mouth devouring hers with wild abandon. Suddenly, a burning desire to be possessed, to be completely claimed by her husband eclipsed all else.
“You are safe now, Anastacia.”
She swiveled to face the duke, who was staring at her quite intently with those unearthly black eyes. His face was hard as granite and his features unreadable.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are safe with me.”
Anastacia blinked. Did he believe her averse to the act? The mere thought of it positively set her insides aflame. But he would not know it, would he? And since he was, after all, just a man, he’d believe her on the verge of hysterics.
Her eyes met his, her lips quirking in a small smile. “I still cannot believe it is over. He won’t stop, I’m afraid. I fear he will see us both punished for outwitting him.”
Her husband’s jaw hardened and something dangerous flashed across his gaze. “Not if I make it clear that if any harm befalls us, he is the one responsible.”
“How will you accomplish that?” she asked, curious.
“I am a duke.”
Anastacia fought the urge to roll her eyes. “So is my uncle, and he will never forgive you for this.”
“Love, I do not require his forgiveness, only yours.”
That brought her up short. “Mine? Whatever for?”
He took a step toward her, and another until he had closed the distance between them. His fingers traced along the yellowish bruise on her cheek. “For not coming to your aid sooner. For being an utter ass.”
He was, Anastacia realized, truly regretful, contrite even.
She searched within herself for any resentment or anger, but found nothing other than gratefulness and something else—a spark of sorts.
“There is nothing to forgive, not anymore,” she whispered. “All we can do now is look to the future.”
“Future,” his voice echoed, his eyes never leaving hers. “Fascinating prospect, that.”
“I do not know what to do next,” Anastacia admitted on a soft sigh, her eyes darting to the bed.
“I suppose you can do as you please.” His lips twitched ever so slightly.
Thoroughly flustered, Anastacia glanced wildly about. “I do not know what pleases me. That is, I do know what I want to please. No, that doesn’t sound right,” she muttered, clamping her mouth shut. How mortifying!
The look he cast her brimmed with amusement. “While I would like nothing more than to ravish you, my dear duchess, your virtue, if not your reputation, is safe with me until you are ready.”
Disappointment set in hard, nesting in the unsteady rhythm of her pulse. “But what of annulment?”
Surely that was reason enough to be ravished?
“It is your uncle’s word against mine, and I daresay everyone knows me as a man to take what he wants. No one will believe I haven’t seduced you.”
Botheration!
Anastacia wanted him to be wicked.
She glanced at the bed again. Perhaps since her rakish-duke husband had suddenly developed scruples, she ought to seduce him. The notion held great appeal. And while Anastacia adored him for taking her into account, she would rather not leave the matter of consummation up to fate and her husband’s reputation.
He seemed to misinterpret her longing gaze toward the bed with apprehension for he said, “I may be a devil, Anastacia, but I’m no monster. I like my woman willing and begging for my attention. You are hurt, and I have no desire to hurt you even further by relieving you of your chastity.”
“Oh,” Anastacia murmured, sparing another glance at the bed.
How to entice her husband into the large foundation? Perhaps once she was in it . . . between the sheets . . .
“You can sleep on the bed; I will take the chair.”
“But won’t you be uncomfortable?”
He laughed, a harsh sound not at all sounding like him. “I will not be able to keep my hands off you if I sleep next to you. I am still a man.”
Yes! That is the point.
Now, how to put that in words or actions?
“It will be all right, love,” he continued at her silence.
A brilliant thought occurred to her. Turning her back to him, she offered him a small smile over her shoulder. “If you will please, I cannot undress without assistance.”
His eyes flashed with surprise and something else—relief perhaps? It was gone before she could decipher it, replaced by steely determination.
At first, he said nothing, and Anastacia was about to attempt something else when she felt the warmth of his breath tingle at the back of her neck, followed by the gentle touch of strong fingers. A slight, hesitant caress grazing the base of her neck, then, a short while after, pulling at the laces with infinite care. The movements of his fingers were slow, as if he were savoring the act of undressing her. A wicked sensation, completely foreign, stirred within her.
When at last her dress loosened enough, one finger traced the slope of her back, and Anastacia closed her eyes as a ripple of pleasure trickled down her spine before he suddenly pulled away from her.
To her delight, she felt his fingers next at her hair, removing each pin, again with such languid actions, shivers feathered along her skin until each tendril of hair cascaded down her back.
She heard the soft hitch of his breath and glanced back at him, though no emotion curved the sharp lines of his face, leaving her to guess at his thoughts, his desires, his intentions.
Their eyes locked for a heated moment before she allowed the dress to slide from her body and slipped between the sheets.
***
Sebastian sat in the chair brooding—and as hard as a rock. He listened to the shallow breathing of his new wife, tormenting himself with the soft swell of her breast, every so often shooting her figure a glare. Hell, he was so hard it was painful to breathe.
Why in the blazes had he said her virtue would be safe with him? He muttered an oath. It was all he could do not to jump into the bed and have his wicked way with her delectable body. She would not say no. He was too skilled and confident in his seduction methods, which really was beside the point.
He forced his mind to other matters, such as her uncle and his rotten friend, Bloomington. He hadn’t wanted to admit it to Anastacia, but she had the right of it. Her uncle would want both their heads for this betrayal. And while Sheffield was a duke, so was Sebastian. As for his wife, she was no longer the woman living in fear of her uncle; she was the Duchess of Blackcress, powerful in her own right.
Sebastian protected what was his.
His.
He’d managed to avoid the parson’s trap for his entire adult life, and then along came Anastacia. Hell if he wasn’t the worst example of a rake. Worse, he lusted after his own wife like a hound in heat. Another thing he had never thought he’d do.
A soft sigh drew his attention back to the bed.
He scowled.
Damn if her sigh did not sound sensual and unfulfilled. He knew just how to appease that need. And with what.
“Sebastian?”
The unexpected sweetness of his name being whispered on her lips made his cock stand to attention again. He needed a drink. No, he needed a bottle—quite possibly more than one.
Christ, he was falling apart.
“Yes, love?” he forced the words out, not because they were hard to say, but damn if his entire body did not ache in the strain of not bolting to the bed and claiming her for his.
“I cannot sleep.”
Now, what the bloody hell was he supposed to do about that? His cock twitched. Fine, there were a few things he wanted to do, could do, like quench his desire, spill his seed so deep into her womb she would know forever to whom she belonged
. Once she knew that, being irrevocably certain of the fact, he would proceed to enlighten her on other ways of pleasuring the flesh. Like being wrapped up in her pert little mouth. He inwardly groaned—the image his thoughts brought to mind was enough to burn him up.
“Sebastian?”
Pull it together, man.
“I cannot sleep either,” he said in a low, much-too-raspy-for-his-liking voice. Because honestly, what else could he say? His mind had descended into the lower reaches of a gutter, and the smooth and detached rake inside him was nowhere to be found. If that wasn’t enough to cause alarm, Sebastian did not want to shock his new bride into a state of immobility on the first night.
The slight rustling of sheets caused his heart to miss a beat. His eyes narrowed on her, propped up on one elbow, her hair a mass of golden delight. He gripped the armrests.
“There is no need to stay in the chair,” she whispered, her sultry voice settling in his skin.
She did not mean that, he told himself. At least, not the version he had in mind.
“You can join me on the bed.”
Christ.
“That is not wise.”
There was a pause and then, “Why not?”
Sebastian raked a trembling hand through his hair. Hell, he was bloody shaking! What man worth his salt trembled?
“Because I want to possess your body more than anything in the world and I have no willpower to resist you.”
Another pause, a longer one.
Sebastian held his breath.
“Oh.”
One single word. His heart settled. And not in his chest.
“Now you develop principles?”
He shot a glare at the bed. What the hell did she mean by that?
“I much prefer your rakish charms, I think.”
“Anastacia.” His voice was clipped with desire. It was the only warning he would give her.
