Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

T he ten days since Sebastian had ridden away from Delacourt's home, feeling Marianne watching him with every step, had been the longest of his life. He'd had no concentration during that time, no ability to do anything for more than a few minutes before he was haunted by memories of kissing Marianne, of feeling her ripple around him in pleasure, of being comforted by her, laughing with her, watching her blush and blossom.

He dreamed of trying to find her, but she was always out of his reach. Or he'd get close and someone like Lanford or Delacourt would step into the path and then she'd vanish like smoke. The nights had been so very long, and they had revealed truths to him that he didn't want to see or hear or feel. They'd revealed how deeply he cared for Marianne. It was truly terrifying, because caring meant he could be hurt, that he could hurt her more than he already had.

In short, his stomach turned and his head ached with all the thoughts and feelings he normally so readily suppressed.

"My lord?"

He turned to find Jenkins standing in the doorway to the breakfast room, hands folded before him.

"Yes, what is it?" Sebastian asked, wishing his voice didn't sound so strained. It seemed he could no longer meter his reactions.

"You have a visitor, my lord. It's the Earl of Delacourt."

Sebastian nearly dropped the cup in his hand and slowly swallowed past a dry throat before he croaked, "I see. Please have him join me."

The butler left, and in the few moments Sebastian had to prepare, he set his cup down and paced to the window to stare outside into the garden. He'd assumed Delacourt would come to him at some point. They had resolved nothing at Garringford Corners, after all. And now his old friend had had more than a week to nurse his anger and frustration and betrayal.

But on the bright side, at least Sebastian would hear about Marianne. He would know that she was well after that last desperate parting when she'd stood before him looking so beautiful in her dressing gown and told him she was sorry. She who had done nothing wrong ever in all her life.

"I'm surprised not to find you on guard as I enter," Delacourt said as he came into the room.

Sebastian faced him and shrugged. "My jaw recovered from the last punch. If you wished to repeat the action, I'm sure it would do so again."

Delacourt stared at him for a long moment, seeking…well, Sebastian wasn't quite certain of what. He forced himself to remain still under the scrutiny until Delacourt turned to the sideboard that was laden with food Sebastian hadn't touched.

"Are you going to invite me to breakfast?" he asked.

Sebastian stepped forward with a flare of hope suddenly burning in his chest. "I-if you would like, I would very much love to have you. Please, take what you would."

Delacourt was quiet as he loaded his plate with all his favorites. Sebastian had to smile because they had done this so many mornings either before they went to fence or box or shoot. Or after a late night when they were both still half-drunk.

Once Delacourt took a seat, Sebastian picked up his teacup and took the head of the table near his right. Delacourt arched a brow. "You aren't eating?"

"I couldn't, I don't think," Sebastian said. "I'll admit, I've been picturing what this encounter would be like for over a week and breaking bread together was not how I imagined it."

"At first it wasn't how I imagined it either," Delacourt admitted with a shake of his head. "I think I've challenged you to a duel or slapped you in the face a dozen times in my mind."

Sebastian forced himself not to duck away from his friend's gaze. "And is that what you're here to do now, no matter how politely we've begun?"

"No." Delacourt chewed thoughtfully for a moment and said, "I've no intention of dueling you or fighting you."

"Not that I'm not pleased to hear it, but may I ask why?" Sebastian asked. "I'd certainly deserve it."

"Are you challenging me , old friend?" Delacourt asked before he sipped his tea.

"Never," Sebastian said. "If we were to duel, I think you'd have to shoot me. I would never be able to bring myself to fire upon you."

"That's nice to hear." Delacourt brushed his hands together and then leaned back, draping his elbow over the back of his seat with nonchalance. "I think it would be very difficult for me to shoot you, too. And even if I could, I wouldn't. Because Marianne would never forgive me."

"She would never forgive either of us if we physically hurt each other over her, no. And she's had so much loss lately." Sebastian frowned. "How—how is she?"

"She rallied quite well after you left the estate. Not a one of the gentlemen there ever would have noticed that she was not herself." Delacourt sighed. "None but me. And I suppose you would have known, too, wouldn't you? You would have seen the little shifts in her. The little flutters and frowns and distractions that add up to how her heart breaks."

Sebastian set his jaw at that thought. Marianne with a broken heart. Over him?

Delacourt leaned closer. "May I ask you a question?"

He nodded, still unable to speak.

"Were you truly willing to risk our lifelong friendship over a dalliance ?"

"Yes," Sebastian said, but it sounded wrong and so he shook his head. "No."

Delacourt's hands clenched on the table. "I think you'll have to make up your mind, Sebastian ."

He emphasized Sebastian's given name and he jerked his head up to look at his friend. They had stopped calling each other by those when they each inherited. It brought him to mind of long-ago times when they had first become close as brothers.

He cleared his throat. Aside from Marianne, the person he would want to discuss these sorts of topics with most was the very one sitting across from him. Not being able to talk over his confusion and upheaval over the unexpected connection to Marianne had been stifling.

"It…it wasn't a mere dalliance," he said softly.

Delacourt's cheek twitched, but he gave no other physical reaction to that confession. "Then what was it?"

Sebastian closed his eyes and tried to find the words for what he was too afraid to explore in his mind and his heart. He thought of every moment he'd spent with Marianne, not just in the last few weeks, but since he'd first met her. He thought of their friendship and how much it had meant to him even when he tried to play it off as unimportant. He thought of all the times he'd gravitated toward her to hear her opinions or receive her praise. Or even her gentle censure when he deserved it.

He thought of the first time he'd kissed her and the way it had felt so right. Almost like he'd never kissed anyone else before her, which was certainly not true. He thought of how she wound her way into his blood, keeping him up at night with thoughts of her.

"Sebastian," Finn said softly.

He opened his eyes. "I can't name it," he said at last. "I don't know."

Finn pursed his lips slightly, but he didn't look angry at that response. He got to his feet at last and said, "I hope you'll figure it out because you are both miserable and it's hard to watch."

Sebastian followed him to his feet and stared in confusion as Finn strode toward the door. "Finn, wait," he called out.

Delacourt turned back. "Yes?"

"That's all? You have nothing else to say about all of this? No warning me off your sister, no demands that I make things right?"

"As you both told me, you are two adults, well capable of taking care of yourselves. My interference to keep you from her clearly didn't work before. Perhaps it would be best for me to stay out of it now. I hope I'll see you for sparring later in the week. I have a few frustrations that have nothing to do with my sister which I'd love to work out. Good day, Sebastian."

"Good day," Sebastian repeated even though the words almost felt as though they had no meaning as Delacourt departed the room like he hadn't just set off a bomb.

It seemed like his friend was giving permission for whatever Sebastian might like to do. Might dare to do when it came to Marianne. The ban was lifted and for the first time in a long time, Sebastian felt…free.

Only he was left with a thousand questions about what step to take next. What did he want when it came to Marianne? More to the point, what could he provide to her after a life of bored dissolution?

"And how does one court a lady, at any rate?" he muttered out loud, and then froze when he heard the words.

Court her. Court Marianne. He'd never courted anyone because courtship had a natural end and it was one he'd always avoided. He didn't want to wed, at least not with emotions involved.

But now he stared at his hands clenched before him, these hands that had held her far too long ago, and he wanted to use them to take care of her for the rest of his life. He wanted to use them to please her and comfort her and support her.

Because he…he loved her? Could that be right? Could this feeling that swelled up when he thought of her, when he feared losing her, when he pictured a life whether it be joyfully with or painfully without her be…love?

He took a hard seat back at the head of the table. That thought was too powerful now. It felt so foreign and yet so absolutely fitting. So perfectly true.

The answer to his initial question became clearer now, too. To court a lady, or at least to court Marianne, he would look to the list he knew she was pursuing. He would give her what she wanted, help her fulfill her dreams and honor her friend. And perhaps in the process, he could also show her that he was a worthy risk to take.

Maybe he would show himself, too. Because in that moment he was afraid that perhaps he couldn't measure up to the remarkable woman who had changed his entire life and now was positioned at the center of it. And he so wanted to do just that. No matter what he had to sacrifice to get there.