Chapter Eight

Seb had awoken to Dodds’ gleeful chuckle. “Rise and shine, sir!”

These playful moods of Dodds’ didn’t happen very often, but when they did Seb found it best to ignore them. As he washed and dressed, Dodds explained how he had carried bucket after bucket of hot water upstairs for the duchess. “I was puffing and panting at the end of it, but Maggie didn’t care one jot. She’s a high-handed one.” But his eyes were shining with affection.

Dodds was just as wedded to being single as Sebastian, so to see him this captivated by a woman was worrying. “We are going our separate ways once the weather clears,” he told his manservant, and then wondered just who he was reminding.

“Maggie says the duchess hasn’t had a happy time of it,” Dodds went on like he hadn’t heard. “Old husband, scolding her all the time.”

“He was one of the wealthiest men in England, I believe,” Seb said dryly. “Hardly a case for pity, Dodds.”

Dodds shot him a look. “That was the mother’s doing, marrying off her daughters to dukes. The duchess didn’t have much of a say in it.”

Sebastian shrugged, quickly tying his cravat from long practice. “She has a son, hasn’t she? She’s not completely alone at Winstanton.”

“That’s another thing. Maggie says the old duke has made certain the son can’t leave until he’s of age. Rough for a mother to walk away in those circumstances.”

Seb ran a hand over his jaw, satisfied the shave had been clean enough. He knew Dodds had a soft spot for Maggie and that he was repeating her side of the story. Who knew what the real tale was? When the memory of Catherine’s words niggled at his conscience, he pushed them aside. It was none of Seb’s business and he preferred to stay out of it. Didn’t he have problems enough of his own? With a final glance at his reflection, he left his room to go downstairs.

By the time he entered the parlor, the other guests were already seated. They all looked toward him, which felt awkward. The mother and father of the child immediately began whispering together, while the child’s wide eyes followed Seb to his seat. The older man and his younger companion were clearly not enjoying each other’s company. Only Catherine smiled at him.

His gaze lingered on her lips, remembering kissing them only a short while ago, and the sounds of pleasure she had made. It might be more difficult than he had thought to keep his hands off her. Catherine’s cheeks had pinkened as if she was remembering, too. She looked even more beautiful when she smiled, and it occurred to him that he had not seen her smile often. Despite her difficulties, Seb wasn’t going to pity her, and he wasn’t going to allow her plight to burrow its way into his conscience. He was no hero, and he certainly couldn’t make everything better.

“What is happening?” he murmured, taking the seat beside her on the far end of the table. At least they had some privacy here.

Catherine widened her eyes dramatically, the smile still lurking in them. “There is a delay with our dinner. The farmer who was delivering the beef for the roast beef has had an accident. Benny thinks we are going to dine on bread and water, and when you opened the door, he thought you were Mr. Rose come to give us the bad news.”

Just as she finished speaking, the innkeeper made a noisy entry to the room. “The roast beef will have to wait until tomorrow,” he informed them in a jovial voice. “Tonight we have meat pie with potatoes. Just waiting for the crust to brown. And there’s apple cobbler to follow.”

There was a cheer from the child.

Catherine leaned toward Seb. “I don’t know about you, but I am hungry.”

Before Seb could answer, Miss Querol spoke up in a friendly voice. “I’m starved! I think it’s all this waiting for the blood—I mean, for the weather to clear.” Her blue eyes sparkled at her near blunder. “By the time we leave here I’ll be as round as a ball. And in my line of work I can’t afford to be fat!”

Catherine opened her mouth, looked at Seb, and closed it again. Mr. Querol was already scolding his “niece,” who was unlike any niece Seb had ever seen. Wasn’t the neckline of her gown a little too low, displaying her buxom curves? When she caught him looking, she winked, and Seb bit back a laugh. Whatever the relationship was between those two, it was far from filial.

He asked of the room in general, “Is there any word on how long the weather will keep us here?”

That brought forth a great many theories and speculations from the other guests. The boy, whose name was Benny, announced, in a voice much louder than Seb thought necessary, that he wanted to build a snowman. His parents smiled fondly at him and reminded him that it was too late to go outdoors.

“Tomorrow then,” he said, pouting. He shot Seb a considering look. “Will you help me, sir?”

“Benny!” his mother said quickly, pink with mortification. “I do apologize, sir.”

Seb laughed. “Of course I will help. Tomorrow though, young man. At the moment I am famished, and the duchess here is faint with hunger.”

That was greeted with smiles and laughter, and when the food arrived shortly afterward everyone was quick to tuck in.

“There’ll be supper later for those who want it,” Mr. Rose announced when he returned with the pudding. “And don’t worry, we can keep you fed for the next few days. But if the weather doesn’t clear after that I might need to put you all on rations.” He laughed heartily. “It’ll be like being back in the army.”

Sebastian looked up with interest. “Which regiment? I have friends who were fighting the French not so many years ago. One of them was at Waterloo with Wellington.”

For the first time the innkeeper lost his smile, and the twinkle in his eye was replaced by something more serious. He began to regale them with stories of his time in the regiment and the places he’d seen, at the same time sensibly steering clear of anything that might offend the ladies or frighten Benny.

Finally, he said, “Do eat your pudding, sir. Before it’s all gone.”

Sebastian realized then that this may well be the case soon and hastily took a serving, pouring cream over the cobbler’s cakey topping. Beside him, Catherine dabbed her lips with her napkin. Seb wanted to lean in and kiss her, taste her, and he quickly looked away.

“Are you really going to help Benny make a snowman?” she whispered. “If you’re hoping he will forget then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. In my experience, children never forget.”

“I presume you’re thinking of your son.”

Her expression softened with affection. “Jack. Yes, he is a great one for insisting promises are kept. I promised him I would be home for his birthday.” Her smile wobbled and her gaze dropped to the table.

“When is his birthday?” Seb asked gently.

“Only a few days. He will be six.”

“Then let’s hope the road is clear by then,” Seb said bracingly. He couldn’t help but ask, “What will happen if you can’t fulfill your promise?”

Catherine grimaced. “There will be tears, I expect, and we will both feel terrible. And I will redouble my efforts to let him know he is the most important person in my life.”

“Why didn’t you take Jack with you to London?” Even as the words left his mouth, Seb regretted them. He remembered Dodds had said earlier there was some reason the son could not leave Winstanton, but at the time he had told himself it was none of his business.

Catherine fiddled with her napkin. “There were stipulations in my husband’s will.”

He waited but she said no more, and he suspected she was not keen to share the details. He might be her lover, but he was also a stranger. Or perhaps, like him, she just did not want to think uncomfortable thoughts. Time to change the subject.

“I swear to you I don’t plan to sneak away and hide from Benny when the time comes to help with his snowman.” He gave her his most charming smile. “Although you may need to give me some instruction. In that I am no expert.”

Her eyes widened at the suggestive note in his voice. “I will be happy to help,” she said firmly. “And I am an expert. In snowmen at least.”

She was flirting. That sly upward glance from under her lashes, and the tilt of her lips. Seb might have groaned aloud if they were alone. His gaze swept over the freckles on her nose, and his pantaloons became uncomfortably tight. He wanted to encourage her to flirt more, but at the other table Benny was whining about having to wait until tomorrow for his snowman. His father took a firm approach. “It is far too cold now, and almost dark.”

The boy wasn’t happy about that, but he eventually saw the sense in it, especially when he was promised a storybook at bedtime. The family left the room, with a smile toward Catherine and Sebastian. The Querols rose too, but only so that Mr. Querol could move closer to the fireplace. He seated himself with a groan, stretching out his feet on the hearth. Miss Querol, or whatever her real name was, set her hands on her hips and gave him a glare before she shrugged and left him.

The room seemed peaceful now with just the two of them—apart from the sleeping Mr. Querol. Sebastian leaned in closer and the flowery scent of her soap made him want to close his eyes and just breathe her in. Tip up her face and kiss her until she was breathless and begging him to take her back to his bed. Kiss her delightful freckles one by one. As she turned her head he noticed a small mark on her throat where he had sucked on her skin a little too hard.

He’d marked her, and it gave him a guilty thrill. As if she was his when he knew she wasn’t. Could never be. And for a man who was only passing time before the road opened, this way of thinking was very dangerous indeed.