Chapter Ten

Dodds and Maggie brought the food, along with a small table and another chair. They moved about quietly, setting everything out, and then they removed themselves with a shared smirk and closed the door. Silence fell. It was, and Sebastian couldn’t help but smile at the thought, cozy.

His smile wavered. He wasn’t sure what he felt about that. He could not remember indulging in this sort of intimacy with any other lovers. Once they had extracted as much pleasure as possible out of each other’s bodies, they had said goodbye. Sometimes the women lingered, but he soon disabused them of any idea of staying. Seb had never had a mistress tucked away, like so many other gentlemen did. The thought of letting someone down, of being responsible for their safety and happiness, and then failing... of losing everything all over again. It brought him out in a cold sweat. Better not to become attached.

But despite living his life exactly as he had wanted it for years now, he still wasn’t happy. Lately he had felt a growing sense of dissatisfaction. Both the endless round of social engagements, and the women he bedded, had been reduced to a trickle. What had begun as a way to push aside his memories no longer did the job, and he wasn’t sure what more he could do. Was there such a thing as happiness? Or was it unattainable for someone like him?

Seb’s gaze rested on Catherine seated opposite him. She was wearing a silken wrap over her nakedness, but he could see the elegant line of her neck. Her dark hair had been twisted over one shoulder, to keep it out of the way as she ate. He watched as she reached for a cube of cheese from the platter before them, popping it into her mouth and sighing with pleasure.

Again, Sebastian wondered at this strange new version of himself. The intimacy of the moment was so comfortable, with none of the squirming in his stomach he usually felt. Nor the urgent need to get up and leave before he got too involved, to walk away and not look back.

Here he was, perfectly happy to lounge on his chair and sip the landlord’s very nice red wine while he nibbled on thick slices of grainy bread, cheese, and cold meats. Neither of them had said much since the food arrived, and Dodds and Maggie left them alone. It didn’t feel necessary to speak as their eyes met over the table and she smiled at him or he at her.

Perhaps his ease with Catherine was because he knew this to be a temporary arrangement? Or was it simply because he was sated, completely relaxed, without the energy to go anywhere? Better to believe that, he decided. Because if this woman had somehow slipped under his guard and pierced his heart, then he was in a great deal of trouble.

He picked up an apple and began to peel it. She seemed mesmerized by the adept action of his hands. Her eyes were as dark as the night outside, her lashes a perfect frame for their beauty, and something wrenched in his chest at the sight of her. He had never been much of a poet when it came to stringing together pretty words, but he wished now that he was, so that he could find some lyrical way to describe her.

Temporary, he reminded himself. That was the only word he needed to remember. They’d be parting ways soon and he would never see her again. And if they ever did meet, then he would pretend she was a stranger.

He supposed they were strangers. Although he now knew her body intimately, she kept a great many of her inner thoughts to herself. He did know she was brave—she must be to have lived through such an unhappy existence—and it hadn’t made her bitter. When she smiled it was glorious, her face lighting up, her eyes shining, and he could imagine her in a setting different from the one she had been forced into. One where she was happy and content. Which was all very well, but he would never see that. Their paths would diverge and they would go their separate ways.

He handed her a piece of the apple he had prepared. Catherine smiled as she took it. “What is your home like?” she asked.

“You mean Albury House?” Strange that it was still home despite all his years in London and the tragedy that had sent him there. He stretched out his legs, stockinged feet toward the warmth of the fire. “My grandfather built it, and although it is solid enough to keep out the winter gales, it has some whimsical touches. There is a garden on the roof, and you sit up there and look out at the view. I used to do that, even when the weather was bad. Especially when it was bad,” he added, with a smile. “There are a great many rooms—too many—but my grandfather hoped to have many grandchildren. Instead he had me. And now I am all that is left, or I will be when my father dies.”

And he had said far too much now. He glanced up and found her watching him as she nibbled on her apple. She was doing that thing again, reading him, all but seeing through his skin. It made him uncomfortable but at the same time it was rather flattering that she was so interested. Most women took him at face value.

“You said you were going to see your father? Does he live at Albury House? If it is just the two of you, you must miss him when you are in London.”

“Grimsley, my father’s butler, sent me a message. A very brief message. He said that my father was ill and needed me, so here I am.”

Did she know the details of his story? He was sure she did. Winstanton would have delighted in telling her, or maybe she had heard it in London. People loved to share scandal and his was forever being recirculated through the ton.

She was still watching him and something in her gaze told him she did know, or at least knew enough. “It sounds like your father may have asked Grimsley to write,” she said gently. “Perhaps he wants the past forgotten. Isn’t that what you want, Sebastian?”

She was no longer pretending ignorance. At least she wouldn’t ask him for his sad little story. He rubbed a hand over his face, pushing away the emotions that were building up inside his head. He rarely let them overwhelm him anymore—the regrets and the anger. But now, and he wasn’t sure why, he could feel that situation fast approaching. Perhaps it was because he knew he would soon be at Albury House, or perhaps it was because the woman opposite him had also suffered. But even if she understood, he couldn’t take the risk of letting her into his confidence, so he made his voice cool, polite, so that she would back off.

“I don’t know if he wants the past to be forgotten. He has held on to it for this long. The reason I am going home is because I am his heir, and once he is dead there will be matters to be dealt with.”

Her expression did not change, the kindness in her eyes, the empathy in her smile, but she must have read him correctly because he felt her take a step back. “Then I am sorry,” she said. “Being forced to stay here, having your journey interrupted, must be very frustrating.”

He stared, surprised, and then he grinned. “Not at all. This has been a most welcome interruption, Catherine.”

She colored and her dark lashes swept down, almost shyly. He knew that wasn’t the case, and he suspected she too hid her inner thoughts because it was painful to have them exposed.

There were two apples left on the platter, and she poked at their glossy skins with her fingertip. “It has been welcome for me, too,” she admitted. “I have no choice but to return to Winstanton, and although I love my son fiercely, I miss... company. Sometimes I even miss my husband, ridiculous as that is, considering how unhappy he made me. But at least he was someone to dine with, to read to when he was at his worst, and to sit with in the long evenings. His sister Ellinor lives there, too, but she doesn’t want to be my friend—she thinks my birth was too low for her brother—and when we do have conversations they are always about Jack.”

“Do your mother and sisters not visit?” It disturbed him how alone she was.

“They have their own lives, and anyway I prefer to see them in London. It gives me an opportunity to get away. I was able to socialize a little this time.” She looked up at him through her lashes, and her smile was wry. “My mother is trying to persuade me to marry again, but if I did I would lose Jack. She thinks it is as simple as taking him away from Winstanton, but it isn’t.”

“Do you want to marry again?” he asked in surprise. “I would think once would be enough to warn you off it.”

That made her laugh. “How right you are.” She turned one of the apples over. “Maggie thinks I should take a lover, and then I wouldn’t be so alone. There was no clause in the duke’s will about punishing me for taking a lover.”

“Ah. But I imagine it would be difficult to be discreet. Everyone would know, and then if you broke off with your lover, everyone would know that, too.”

Her fingers stilled and her eyes widened. “Exactly! If we fell out, it would be very awkward. Besides, I wonder now if I could be satisfied with a man who...” She stopped, bit her lip. “I don’t want to risk Jack hearing the whispers. I would rather be alone.”

Seb wondered what she had been going to say before she stopped herself. A man who isn’t you? Was it insufferable of him to believe that? Catherine had opened herself up to him just now, shared some of her private thoughts, and it seemed only fair he share some of his own insecurities.

“I don’t think I am made for the life of a country gentleman,” he said. “Respectably married, a pillar of the community? There are reasons why that sort of cozy domestic life would not suit me.”

Her voice had a mocking note to it. “Not enough variety? I cannot say I know a great deal about the lifestyle of a rake, but I imagine you would get bored very quickly if you were shackled to one woman.”

That made him laugh. It was on the tip of his tongue to admit to her that for a year now most of his nights had been spent alone in his bedchamber. That the reason he was here with her was because he found her a refreshing change. Instead he said the sort of thing she was surely expecting him to say. “Tell me you are not na?ve enough to believe marriage means spending your life with a single partner, Catherine?” He shook his head, and now he was mocking her. “Out of the bedchamber perhaps, in public view, but inside it? Certainly not.”

She took a sip of her wine, seeming to ponder his words. “I know faithful couples among the ton are few and far between, but there are some. If I had my time again and I married a man I loved, then I think, I believe,” she narrowed her eyes at his skeptical smile, “I could be happy with only him.”

He didn’t reply. He simply watched her, enjoying the way her hair fell in that heavy skein over her bare shoulder, and the swell of her breasts where the wrap had slipped lower. Her lips were reddened by the wine, and still a little swollen from their kisses. She was beautiful, yes, but there was more to it than that. She was endlessly alluring, and he had found her so from the moment she fell into his arms. He had expected, when he bedded her, that whatever fascination she held for him would vanish. It hadn’t, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.

One thing he was in no doubt of. He wasn’t tired of her, or bored with her, or thinking of ways to escape. Quite the opposite in fact. He wanted her again. It came as a sudden, fierce longing that swelled his cock and made it ache. Perhaps his desire was so strong that she felt the tingle in the air between them, or maybe she was full of her own desire. When she glanced up at him, her wine-reddened lips lifted into a seductive smile, and their gazes held.

Outside the door, he heard the Fotheringham family pass by. They’d evidently been to check on their horse and equipage, and Benny’s chatter in a high, excited voice, was interspersed by his parents’ quieter tones. He wondered what his life would have been like if he had had siblings, or if his mother hadn’t died like that. Would there have been a dynasty at Albury House? There was still time—he was only thirty-two. He could marry and father numerous children. And then what? Return to London and leave them behind? The thought made him want to squirm. What if he married Catherine and gave her another son to help her forget the one she could not take with her?

The idea shocked him, and not just because no mother would abandon a child and replace it with another. The shock was because he was thinking of Catherine as a prospective mate. It would never work for so many reasons. The notion that they might live together at Albury House in marital bliss was ridiculous and rather terrifying.

Now Querol and his dubious niece were passing by in the corridor. The woman’s voice was perfectly clear, especially when they lingered just outside the door. “You paid for my company, my fine sir. You promised me a trip to Scotland. Now the weather’s turned nasty you’re finding fault with every word I say. I should return to London, where I’m appreciated.”

“I don’t want you to go back to London,” Querol said testily. “I’d have you stay with me forever if you would only agree. I don’t know why you want to carry on living like that when you could be comfortable with me, Anthea.”

There was a silence, and then Anthea sighed. “We’ve been down this path. I know you think you want to keep me forever, but you’d soon grow tired of me. And then how would it be? We’d hate each other.”

“Rubbish.” But Querol sounded half-hearted, as though he’d had this argument with her before, and lost.

Her voice took on a cheerful note. “Let’s just make the most of our time now. Do you think you’re ready for another romp?”

Querol cleared his throat. “You know I’m not a young man anymore.”

“You’re as young as you feel,” Anthea teased. “And I think I can get Little Master Querol up and ready. I know what he likes.”

Querol made a sound suspiciously like a giggle. A moment later their voices faded and a door farther along the passage closed.

Catherine was choking with suppressed laughter, her hand covering her mouth. “Little Master Querol?” she said in a shaking voice.

Seb grinned. “Some men have pet names for their cocks. Didn’t you know that?”

She laughed out loud this time. “What do you call yours?” she asked, dark eyes sparkling.

His grin widened. “That is between me and him,” he said primly. Then he stood up, reached across the table, and held out his hand. With a lift of her brows she placed hers in it, and his fingers closed in a manner that was almost possessive.

The thought threw him, and the room seemed to rock queasily beneath his feet. She wasn’t his, he reminded himself, and he wasn’t hers. They were strangers, passing through The White Rose.

But the word “strangers” did not seem to fit them, not anymore. Their conversation just now had been satisfying if painful, the sort of conversation he might have with a valued friend. Someone he trusted.

Be careful.The warning sounded loud in his head, but for once he ignored it. His hand tightened on hers. He wasn’t going to stop just yet. His body was greatly in need of hers, and at this moment that was all that mattered.