Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

S ebastian was nervous as he paced around his study, watching the clock on his mantel every time he pivoted. It was ridiculous. He didn't get nervous . He'd trained that sort of weakness out of himself. And even when he'd allowed himself that feeling in the past, it had never been about a woman. A friend, no less! Not even someone he was pursuing.

And yet, knowing Marianne would soon arrive to his home and they'd be alone again, he still felt this odd, fluttery discomfort in his chest.

"Why?" he grumbled out loud.

He had no answer for that. Nor for why he'd been thinking about Marianne so much in the last few weeks. Looking for her at gatherings, tracking her as she stood along walls or moved through crowds.

"It's only because you know Delacourt would be angry if he knew you were helping her with these odd requests," he finally said out loud.

That had to be true. He valued Delacourt's friendship above all others—they were almost like brothers. The worry about his friend's reaction could be the only thing making Marianne come to his mind so often. Nothing else.

"My lord?"

Sebastian jumped, for he hadn't heard his butler knock. He pivoted to face the older man. "Yes, Jenkins?"

"Lady Marianne is here," he said. "I've shown her to the parlor, as you requested, and told her you would join her shortly."

"Very good, thank you," Sebastian said. When his servant had excused himself, he turned to the mirror above the mantel, straightening and fixing himself before he headed down the hallway toward the parlor. His heart was beating hard in his chest. He scowled as if that would fix it, but of course it didn't.

Nor did it get better when he opened the parlor door and found Marianne standing at the fireplace, examining the line of miniatures arranged along the mantelpiece, a small smile on her face. When she turned to look at him, he saw her. Saw her like it was the first time.

She had a softly rounded face with fetching pink in the apples of her cheeks. Her brown eyes didn't yank a man in from across a room, but they were bright and kind. Her lips were full and a rosy color. And she had such delicate hands, which were currently fluttering at her sides as she drew a sharp breath.

"Sebastian?" she said. "Are you well?"

He jerked from the odd spell that had been woven over him and stepped forward, hand extended to her. "Of course," he said. "Welcome, my lady. It's a pleasure to see you, I'm glad you could escape."

She smiled as she squeezed his hand gently with both of hers, the warmth of her seeping through his gloves. "I wouldn't have missed it. I was terrified all morning that you would change your mind and send word for me not to come after all."

He wrinkled his brow. "And why would I do that?"

The flush of her cheeks darkened even more and her gaze flitted away from him. He oddly wanted to bring it back, make her hold his stare indefinitely as she cupped his fingers in her hands. "I'm sure you have far better things to do than to spend time with me."

He blinked at the statement. In this moment he could think of nothing he'd rather do than exactly that. Not one singular thing.

He cleared his throat. "You're my friend, Marianne. Any time I spend with you is more than worth the time, I assure you."

Her smile grew a fraction. "Thank you."

He pulled from her grip at last. "Er…yes…well, let's begin, shall we?"

He strode to the parlor door and she followed, falling into pace beside him as they moved down the long hallway toward one of the many other parlors that he had long ago outfitted as a practice space for fencing and boxing.

When he opened the door and motioned her in she did so, He followed her into the room while he tugged his gloves off and pushed them into his pocket. He heard her catch of breath as she looked around. He'd had many mirrors installed around the walls of the room so he could see his form when he worked on either sport and bright light sparkled in from the large windows across the room that looked out over his vast garden. A small boxing ring was roped off in the center of the room.

"Oh!" she gasped. "Is this what these sorts of places look like in the clubs?"

He shrugged. "The rings are bigger and there is more than one in the room, so more men can practice. But yes. It's something like this."

She pivoted toward him and delight brightened her face as she clasped her hands together. He found he liked delighting her.

"It really is something," she breathed. "Though I cannot picture fully what happens here."

"Then allow me to show you," he said, and moved toward her. He took her hand and turned it over in his own, noting how her short gloves fastened at her wrist. "Now, if we're going to do this properly, we would be wearing far fewer clothes."

Her mouth dropped open slightly. "Oh?" she croaked out and her nervousness was plain.

He smiled as he lifted her gaze to his. "But perhaps we'll just do this…"

And then he slipped a finger beneath her glove and gently unfastened the button.

M arianne could hardly breathe as she stared at her hand, watching as Sebastian slipped the little pearl button away from the loop of thread which held it in place. He seemed to move shockingly slow as he tugged each finger away and then removed the glove. At some point he had done the same with his own and his rough fingers glided across her skin as he did so.

She lifted her gaze to his and found him watching her closely as he did the same with her opposite glove. He folded them both and placed them into the pocket of his jacket. She swallowed because there seemed to be something so intimate about him taking a piece of her clothing and tucking it away into his pocket like it meant something. Even more intimate was that it was a piece of her clothing that he, himself, had removed.

"Don't be afraid," he said softly.

She shook her head. "I'm not afraid," she whispered in return, but it was a lie. In this moment, she felt afraid, but she didn't know why. It wasn't about the boxing, that was for certain, for she knew Sebastian would never harm her.

"You're trembling," he said.

"Not because I'm afraid," she said without thinking.

His pupils dilated and at last he turned away from her. He cleared his throat. "It's good you're wearing a short-sleeved gown—it will give you more mobility."

As he spoke he removed his jacket and carefully folded it over the back of a nearby chair. He unfastened his cufflinks and placed them there as well, and then began to roll up his sleeves.

She stared at he did so, revealing finely defined forearms lightly peppered with dark blonde hair. Good Lord, had she ever seen a man's forearm before? Were they all so…so attractive? She wanted to reach out and trace the skin there, feel if he was soft or hard, discover the shape of him.

"Hold your hands like this," he said, and lifted his fists so they partially blocked his face.

She tried to focus on what he was saying and doing and lifted her hands to copy him as best she could. "Like this?"

He stepped forward and adjusted her gently, lifting one hand, setting the other at a different angle. Then he touched her clenched fist, cupping it with his big hand.

"Your only problem is that you shouldn't trap your thumbs. Here, remove them."

"Why?" she asked as she tried to keep her breath while he helped her.

"Because if you threw a hard enough punch, you could break the bone and you definitely don't want to do that."

She winced at the thought. "My brother said boxing was violent."

"It's a combat sport," Sebastian said with a small smile. "So yes, it's violent. But in the best matches there is great respect. A desire to compete well with a good opponent. Friendships can be made in the ring more often than broken."

"Men are so odd," Marianne said with a sigh.

"Are we?" Sebastian laughed. "How so?"

"If I were to punch another lady, I doubt we would be friends," Marianne said.

He tilted his head back and laughed, the sound working through her body in unexpected ways. Ways that made her tingle. "I suppose not. I'm having a hard time picturing you throwing a punch at some lady's head."

"I hope not, as that is what you're to teach me to do."

He lifted his brows. "Oh, is that your true purpose, my dear? To rampage through Society, knocking out beauties left and right?"

She smiled, but there was a faint sting in her chest. "Can you imagine? I would be well and fully shunned then. They'd have every excuse to stop inviting me to their soirees."

"You think they don't want you there?"

"I'm a reminder that failure is a possibility for every lady," she said, and saw the flicker of pity in his stare. She recoiled from it. "Honestly, this cannot be an interesting topic to you, Sebastian. Won't you show me what to do next?"

He hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else to her, but then he nodded. "Of course."

For the next half an hour he showed her various punches, letting her practice the moves of them over and over in the air. Though she felt awkward at first, as she had always been taught not to move her body too broadly, never to take up too much space, as she became accustomed to doing so she found it…liberating.

He smiled after a while. "Why don't we take a break? Rest your arms before the next part in the lesson."

She shook out her tingling limbs. "That's likely a good idea."

He motioned to a sideboard along the back wall of the room and she flushed as she realized a tea set was waiting there. She'd been so wrapped up, she hadn't realized anyone had come in with it. He poured her a cup and she drank it greedily.

"This sort of exertion really parches a person," she said, watching him over the lip of the cup.

"Indeed it does," he murmured but didn't meet her eyes.

She cleared her throat. "I wanted to…ask you something."

He did look at her then. "About what you've learned?"

She shifted with discomfort. "Not exactly. You said something earlier and I-I shouldn't question you about it, but I find I must."

"That sounds dire." Sebastian held out a hand toward two chairs before the window, faced out to look at the view. She took one and focused on the green expanse outside rather than her companion. She didn't want to see his pity again.

"When I arrived, you told me you were my friend," she said. "But that…that isn't true, is it?"

"You don't think of me as a friend?" he asked, and there was hesitation in his tone.

She caught her breath. "Well, no. I mean, yes, I see you as my friend. I have few enough of those, so I cherish them. I meant more that I…I cannot be your friend, can I?"

He was silent a long moment, just watching her through a hooded gaze that left his emotions unreadable. "You think me incapable?"

"No, not at all. I only mean that Finn is your friend. Your best friend. I'm just the annoying little sister who you are forced to be kind to. Aren't I?"

She wished she weren't asking the question. Said out loud, it made her feel so needy and pathetic. But she wanted things to be clear between them, perhaps because the last few times they'd spent together had felt so confused.

He leaned forward in his chair, and though there was a reasonable distance between them it still felt suddenly close in the large room. His bright blue eyes bore into hers, holding her steady and keeping her from turning away. "When we were all children, I suppose I once thought of you as the tagalong sibling who interrupted our fun and forced Finn to run after you, making certain you were unharmed."

She smiled, for she hadn't heard Sebastian call her brother by his first name in years.

" But ," he said, stressing the word gently, "that feeling faded swiftly enough. Soon I looked forward to seeing you as much as I did him. And as we've become adults, I promise you that I value your friendship as entirely separate from his."

There was a charged moment that hung between them and then he sat back, all casual confidence again. "If you don't believe me, please take the fact that I would court his wrath by inviting you into my lair and teaching you to throw a punch against his wishes."

She smothered a smile and looked around. "It isn't much of a lair, Sebastian."

He caught his breath. "Slander! I'll have you know I've worked hard to make it so."

"Please, you have pretty parlors and a lovely dining room. This room here is unusual in its purpose, but there's light and happiness in the layout. It all verifies what I've long suspected."

"And what is that?"

"You're not the rake you pretend to be," she said.

If she thought he would smile, he didn't. Instead, he moved forward again and this time his eyes smoldered when he held hers. "I promise you, my dear, I very much am."

She swallowed, uncertain what to say to him, but he didn't seem to require a response because he pushed to his feet and strode away from her back toward the middle of the room. "Let's continue, shall we?"

She pursed her lips as she followed him and watched as he positioned himself back where they had started. She looked toward the ring behind him. "Do you not use that?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Well, yes, of course. During sparring and if I host a real match."

"But we're not going to use it?"

He smiled. "I wasn't certain you'd want to climb over the ropes in your dress. Or be trapped in the ring with me."

She returned his smile. "I've climbed over plenty of fences in the country. I don't see how this would be much different. And perhaps I've learned so much from you in the last hour that you'll feel trapped in the ring with me."

His grin widened as he stepped toward the ring and pressed a foot to the lower rope and a hand to the higher one to open a bigger space for her. "I accept that challenge, my lady. Please, after you."

There was a flutter in her chest as she moved toward the slightly raised ring. She'd teased, something entirely against her character and yet always felt natural with Sebastian, but now she stared at the gap between the ropes and was uncertain how to proceed without dropping herself head over heels into the ring.

He held out a hand. "Or are you having second thoughts?"

"No," she muttered, and took the hand he offered. He gripped her firmly, steadying her as she stepped onto the narrow ledge of the elevated platform. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"I think if you just lift your skirt a little higher, you'll find it easier."

She glanced up at him. A lady didn't show a gentleman her ankles or calves. He would see both if she did as he suggested. "Will you close your eyes?"

He shook his head with a chuckle. "You think I haven't seen such things before."

"Not such things on me," she said with a playful glare for him.

He obliged her by shutting his eyes. "Go ahead."

She lifted her skirts, leaned on his hand and ducked under the top rope to slip into the ring. When she released his hand and smoothed her dress down, she said, "You may look now."

"I feel as though I've missed out," he said, ducking under the rope himself with effortless grace. "Perhaps next time."

"You're a cad," she said.

"Proudly so." He broadened his stance and lifted his hands up. "Now, show me if you recall what you've leaned today and punch my palms."

She lifted her brows. "You want me to punch you?"

"No, most definitely not. I'll hold my hands up, you try to hit them square in my palm."

She shifted with discomfort. She'd never struck another person in her life, palms or not. But Sebastian seemed certain, so she moved into the stance he had taught her earlier in the lesson and took a deep breath.

"Perfect," he said softly. "You are perfect."

She blinked at that statement. He meant her form, she supposed, but the compliment still hit her in a deeper way. She pushed her giddy, foolish reaction aside and swung, connecting with his palm with solid thwack .

"Very good, Marianne!" he crowed, sounding as excited as she felt. "Steady yourself a little more. Pivot your hips as you turn, that is what puts the power in your punch."

She adjusted herself and swung again, hitting him in the center of the palm again with a louder reverberation. He was grinning fully now, his blue eyes dancing. "Again!"

She did, over and over, each time gaining more confidence. Finally, she put all her body weight into the throw, hit his palm and her feet tangled, sending her forward with the momentum.

He caught her under her arms as she collided with his broad chest and tugged her a little closer to keep her from falling or knocking him down. It felt like everything in the room, even her heartbeat, came to a sudden stop as she stared up into his face, which was now mere inches from her own. To her surprise, he was looking down at her with the same intense focus. His gaze slipped to her mouth and a riot of sensation rushed through her body at that motion.

Sensation that only increased when he began to lower his mouth toward hers. Was he going to kiss her? Right here in the middle of the big parlor, with sunlight streaming across them like a spotlight, with his arms around her and her chest flush to his? She found her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation as she lifted her lips.

But he didn't kiss her. It felt like forever passed and then he gently set her back on her feet and steadied her as she opened her eyes, heat flaring her cheeks.

"You…it's easy to get excited," he said, his voice a little shaky. "And lose your balance. So you set your feet each time, careful of your environment so you don't make a…make a mistake."

She stepped back, hoping her humiliation wasn't clear on her face. God, he had to have known she thought he'd kiss her. She hadn't been subtle about it, offering herself to him like some silly wanton.

But of course that hadn't been his intent. She wasn't the kind of woman he wanted. She was just…Marianne.

"Yes, I see," she said. "You know, this has been wonderful. I've enjoyed it far more than I thought possible. But it's getting late in the afternoon and I must return home. I'm certain you have better things to do, as well."

"Yes, of course," he said, and moved to the ropes where he pushed them wide and offered his hand once more for assistance, though he turned his head away. This time when she took it, she shivered, for his touch meant more after what had just occurred between them.

Or not occurred. Nothing had occurred after all. Just her foolish imaginings.

She smoothed herself back into place as she reached the ground and forced herself not to watch him come out of the ring after her.

"Let me take you to the foyer and ask for your carriage to be brought around," he said, motioning to the door. She followed him, this time not walking beside him as they made their way back down the twisting halls to where she had begun her day. He gave his instructions to the servant there and together they stood, suddenly awkward as they waited for her vehicle to come up from the stable. She searched for something to say that would return their banter to normalcy, return their friendship so he'd know she wasn't upset or going to do or say something foolish.

"Are you…are you going to the Brighthollow ball next week?" she asked.

He blinked. "Er, I suppose so. I think I recall an invitation from the duke and duchess in the pile yesterday. I assume that means you will be in attendance, as well?"

"Yes. My aunt will wish it. She is obsessed with this new batch of ducal marriages that have flooded Society in the last year or two. All true love, it seems." She shifted and wished she hadn't said the last. "At any rate, I suppose I'll see you there then."

The carriage mercifully came and she clamored up as soon as the step was lowered, without waiting for assistance from either Sebastian or any of the servants. Sebastian stepped forward and closed the door himself. The window was open and he leaned in slightly.

"I look forward to it, Marianne. I hope you'll save a dance for me."

She nodded and he stepped away, tapping on the carriage side so that her driver would go. But as soon as she exited his drive, she sank down a little lower in her seat. She should have been more than satisfied with what she'd done today. She'd crossed off another item on Claudia's list and in the end Sebastian had returned to his normal self, at least in word.

But there was something that felt so off about everything between them now. Something had shifted when she'd believed he was going to kiss her, but he hadn't. She feared what that would mean.

She looked down at her hands clenched in her lap and realized for the first time that she was still not wearing her gloves. Sebastian had removed them. He'd put them in his pocket.

And he still had them. She shivered at the recognition of such an intimate thing. And then tried to push away all the meaning she wanted to ascribe to it, to the afternoon and to the intimacy of his holding her.

She was traveling down a dangerous road by wanting to see more in his bright blue eyes than playful flirtation. And if she wanted to remain his friend, she would have to control herself better in the future.