Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

T he drink dangling from Sebastian's fingertips had been the same level for almost an hour, but he felt no drive to sip it. Just as he had felt no drive to fuck when he'd gone in nothing less than desperation to the Donville Masquerade and tried to find a willing lady to drive this haunting need into.

He'd found the willing party. Parties, actually. But he had not followed through, just as he hadn't the night he'd gone there with Delacourt. And now he was home, his mind swirling once again to the night before at the ball and his kiss on the terrace with Marianne.

He was beginning to accept the fact that he wanted her. Truly wanted her. Thinking of something else didn't help. Touching himself while he allowed every wicked fantasy didn't help. Nothing helped.

But he was still at a loss as to what to do about it.

"Sitting in the dark after midnight can't solve the problem, can it?" he muttered to himself as he slugged back the drink and set the glass on the edge of the desk.

He was about go upstairs to his chamber to continue his restless night and likely erotic dreams there when he heard the rap of something hitting his window.

He turned. Had he imagined the sound? Perhaps it was a bird hitting the glass or a?—

Just then a small stone hit the glass a second time and he wrinkled his brow as he moved to look down. In the dim light he saw someone standing down below in his garden. Not just someone. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized it was Marianne.

He squeezed those same eyes shut then looked again, trying to determine if the madness of desire had conjured her like a phantom. But she was still there and she lifted her hand in a half wave to him.

He opened the window and leaned out. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a harsh whisper loud enough to carry to her.

She shrugged and he saw her mouth move but couldn't understand what she was saying. He held up a hand. "I'll come down, wait there."

He pivoted and rushed around to a parlor that led to the terrace and the stairs down to the garden. As he did so, he tried to calm his suddenly throbbing heart. Perhaps this was just another heated dream.

If so, that meant he could indulge in what he wanted all over. And if it was real then perhaps a talk with her and figuring out what the hell she was doing here would allow him to get over this once and for all.

She met him at the bottom of the stairs and her face was flushed.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again.

"May I come in?" she asked.

He sighed. That would be perfect, wouldn't it? Taking her inside where his servants might discover them in the middle of the night? Where he'd have plenty of beds and settees and rugs to tempt him to lay her out across them and…

He cleared his throat and motioned to the orangery across in one corner of the garden. That seemed a safer option.

"We'll have more privacy here," he suggested.

She followed him, he felt her there at his heels. Rather like the hounds of hell finally coming to collect him for his sins. Only they were lovely hounds of hell. Ones he didn't want to resist.

He opened the orangery door and they stepped into the warm, humid air. It was late enough in the season that all the trees were blossoming, and she took a deep breath of the sweetness.

"Oh, it's so lovely," she said, stepping forward to touch a blossom on one of the trees. "I so wish we had an orangery here in London where I could?—"

Sebastian stepped forward and caught her wrist, turning her gently. "Marianne, what are you doing here? In the middle of the night? Unattended in my garden, throwing rocks at my window?"

She blinked and shifted, her discomfort as clear as his own. "I'm—I'm sorry. I was going to scale the wall, you see, and try to come in the window, but once I got here I didn't think the trellis would bear my weight. I didn't realize it was so flimsy. I don't know if this counts then, but I did want to see you and?—"

He stepped back and interrupted her. "You were going to climb the trellis and try to come in through my window?" he repeated in disbelief.

She nodded slowly. "Y-Yes."

"Jesus," he grunted, and ran a hand through his hair at that thought. "Well, it's a good thing you didn't. The fall would have killed you."

"Yes, that was my assessment. Honestly, we are so often of a mind. Anyway, that's why I threw the rock when I saw your shadow moving around in your study."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to remain calm. "You are talking about this as if it isn't something wildly unexpected and out of control. And you are avoiding my question, which makes me even more nervous. What are you doing here, Marianne ?"

She sighed and clasped her hands before her. "We—we need to talk about what happened last night at the ball."

He pursed his lips. So it had come to this. "I see. And you couldn't have simply sent a note requesting a meeting in a more traditional way?"

She tilted her head. "Well, I thought—I thought you might not see me."

There was a lilt of pain to her voice that tugged his heart far more than it should. He stared at her, this woman who had stood along a wall being unnoticed for so many years. She'd been dismissed over and over again, and so she had assumed he would do the same.

Why wouldn't she? He had already done so over the years, he supposed. He'd called her friend and had ignored any of her plight or pain or fear or desires until she threw them up in his face and made him see what had always been standing right in front of him.

"Why wouldn't I see you?" he asked softly.

She shifted and a slight flush entered her cheeks. "You ran off in horror after we kissed, didn't you? You didn't even say goodbye."

"Marianne," he began.

But now she was the one who held up a hand, demanding she be allowed to continue. He noted how her fingers shook, saw how hard it was to make even this silent demand and so he shut his mouth and allowed her to speak instead.

"I don't know why you kissed me," she said. "But I don't want it to change things between us. That it would make you turn away from my brother or from…from me is my greatest fear. I want you to know that I'm not angry. I also have no expectation that the kiss meant anything to you, nor that you would ever wish to repeat it."

He stared now, that hunger he had felt for her for over twenty-four hours returning as his shock faded. She was back to her normal clothing, her hair was not done so fashionably as it had been the night before. Yet she was just as beautiful as she had been made up. He still felt the drive to touch her, to memorize the way her breath caught and her pupils dilated.

Even if he shouldn't.

"You think I wouldn't want to repeat it?" he asked, hearing the wicked drawl that always entered his voice when he was on the hunt.

She stared at him a long moment. "Why would you?"

In any other woman, that question would have been a playful part of a run and catch game. But Marianne meant it. She couldn't imagine he would want her. And that burned him down to his core. It made him want to be honest with her, even though he shouldn't. Even though it would only make this more complicated.

"All I've wanted to do since last night is kiss you," he said, closing the distance toward them at last. "Kiss you and kiss you. All I dreamed about was kissing you, and then much more."

Her lips parted, temptation in the way her tongue darted out to wet them. "You have?"

He nodded and then waited, watching her react. Her breath grew short, her gaze held his and she lifted a trembling hand to rest flat on his chest. He felt the weight of every finger and knew she likely felt the wild beat of his throbbing heart in return.

"Will you then?" she whispered, whimpered. "Please."

His own breathing ceased at the please. At the look of longing in her eyes that called so much to his own. He knew he wouldn't resist her, even if it burned the world down around him. He wanted to burn with it and her and there was no holding back anymore.

S ebastian felt so big as his arms came around Marianne. Just like before, his fingers bunched against her lower back, his head drifted down and she met his mouth with a hunger that she didn't fully understand.

Last night he had begun gently, but tonight there was none of that. It was as if they were picking up where they'd left off on the terrace. Like a breath separated one kiss from the other, rather than a night of tossing and turning and questioning.

She understood more now, so when his tongue met hers, she didn't hesitate. She lifted to him, tasting him as he'd tasted her and she reveled in the deep moan that escaped his lips when she did so. His fingers came into her hair, digging into the locks, loosening her pins slightly without allowing the hair to fall. He tilted her head and plundered more deeply as he backed her across the orangery to who knew where.

She felt the edge of a bench hit her knees and she allowed him to lower her to it. Only then did he part from her and stared down at her.

"Don't run away again," she said out loud, though she hadn't meant to.

"I should, but I can't." His breath was shockingly short and his expression wild. "I don't know what you're doing to me, Marianne. But I'm too weak to fight it now."

She hadn't even a moment to ponder the idea that she, a spinster, made a god like Sebastian feel weak. Before she could, he dropped to his knees before her and his mouth found hers again.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as the kiss grew as steamy as the orangery air. Now that he didn't have to hold her up, she felt his hands slide down her sides, her hips. He touched her thighs through the silky fabric of her gown and she sucked in a great gasp of air and pulled back.

"No?" he whispered, stilling his fingers.

"I came to you like a scarlet woman in the night," she whispered. "It's a little late for no now."

He shook his head and some of his wickedness turned gentle. "Oh no, my dear, there is never a moment that is too late for no. If you learn nothing else from me, take that lesson. No one should ever ignore your no. I'll stop if you don't want me to touch you like that."

She blinked at him, his handsome face even with hers, partially in the dark. He might look like a pirate, but he meant those words. This man with a reputation for wickedness had no intention of stealing anything from her. Which meant she had to give it.

Terrifying.

"Do it again," she whispered. "It only surprised me."

He made a low chuckle and his fingers bunched against her skirt again, stroking her thighs through the satiny fabric.

"Why does it tingle?"

His voice was taut with tension as he choked out, "Because it makes you want. It sets your nerves on fire. It makes you long for more, even if you can't name it. I can give you more, Marianne. So much more than I should."

She didn't think, didn't ponder, she just nodded. "Yes. Please, please, yes."

He leaned forward and briefly his forehead touched hers. His breath was rough, his hands clenched against her thighs, and she heard him whisper, "God help me."

But when he pulled back and met her stare again, there was no hesitation in him. He licked his lips and then he inched her skirt up a fraction.

"Sebastian," she whispered.

He nodded slowly and inched farther. Now his hands went under the skirts, touching her stocking-clad legs with his bare hands. She felt his heat even through the fabric and she dropped her head back against the hardness of the bench.

She didn't know what he would do. It didn't matter. She wanted this, wanted him. Perhaps she had always known it might come to this if she went to him in the night. Perhaps she'd wanted it enough to risk his refusal.

His hands cupped her knees and he murmured, "Look at me."

She forced herself to do so and watched as he dropped his head to kiss first one knee then the other. His mouth was steamy and warm through the stockings and she gasped.

He smiled up at her as he gently pushed her knees apart, making her sit with her thighs open. He inched forward into that forbidden space and her skirt bunched between her legs as he did so.

"I like kissing you so much, Marianne," he purred. "You taste like heaven. I want to see if I'd like it as much somewhere else."

Her eyes went wide. "Wh-where?"

He slid his hands into her inner thighs. Above where her garters were tied, below where her chemise was bunched. Bare skin to wickedly bare skin.

"You're so soft, so wonderfully soft," he murmured, almost like a prayer she wasn't meant to hear.

But she did hear it and it set her body afire all the more. This man wanted her. Truly wanted her when he could have anyone else in the country, perhaps the world. She certainly couldn't picture the lady who could refuse him.

His thumbs pressed higher, hitting the edge of her chemise and the drawers beneath. He grunted out displeasure and then looked up at her. "I want to see you, Marianne. I want to see you and touch you and taste you until you are weak with it. Tell me yes. Please tell me yes."