Chapter 12

12

The next night,Sebastian, Preston, Lord Richard, and Grandhampton were in Grandhampton’s favorite boxing club, Portside, near the docks. Wrought iron chandeliers with candles hung from the high, vaulted ceiling. Lamps sat on every table, of which there were many. A boxing ring stood in the center, surrounded by rows of benches and chairs for the spectators that would come later to watch the fights.

Sebastian assumed his boxing position with a training pillow on each of his raised hands. Before him, a shirtless Grandhampton swung his fists into the pillows, the muscles of his powerful chest rolling and moving under his skin, his hard stomach glistening with sweat. He puffed out short bursts of air as he hit the pillows, the locks of his dark hair sticking to his wet forehead.

The room was quite empty at the moment. Preston and Lord Richard boxed with a trainer in another corner of the hall together with other men, some of whom were clearly gentlemen while others were workers, sailors, cooks, footmen, and anyone who wanted to learn the skill of boxing. A couple of gentlemen sat at the round tables talking and sipping port. A barmaid rubbed the cups with a towel behind a long bar.

It smelled like old sweat, leather, and alcohol. Sebastian liked coming here with Grandhampton, even though he fenced with Preston more often. But there was something very satisfying about the simple act of using one’s fists to take down an opponent.

“Did you contact Lamb?” asked Grandhampton as he bounced on his feet in front of Sebastian, taking a few steps forward and back as he punched.

“The solicitor you recommended?” asked Sebastian. “Indeed I did. I have an appointment with him tomorrow.”

“Excellent.” Grandhampton delivered a punch into Sebastian’s pillowed right hand that made his bones reverberate. “Come to Tyche tomorrow night. I’ll introduce you and your case to the Bishop of London. He’s a friend, and he’ll agree to hear you quickly.”

Sebastian stilled, and the next punch, which landed in the other cushion, almost made him fall over. “Thank you, Grandhampton. I mean it.”

Grandhampton chuckled as he straightened and brushed his wet hair from his forehead. “Quite all right, old friend. You’re like our fourth brother. Of course I will help you. It’s nothing.”

He breathed heavily, then looked around with a frown.

Sebastian turned his head to look over his shoulder. “Is anything amiss?”

“No…” Grandhampton said distractedly. “No. It’s just…I believe someone may be following me.”

“You?” Sebastian narrowed his eyes. Would Sir Jasper hire thugs to follow Grandhampton, too? Why? Did he imagine the Seatons could be a way to get to Emma?

“Ah. It’s nothing. Just someone I saw on the street at night…must be two weeks ago or so. I don’t even know who it was or what I saw exactly. I just know that something wasn’t right. Since that night, I’ve caught movement out of the corners of my eyes at odd moments. I’ve felt eyes on my back.”

Two weeks ago…that was before the wife sale. So it couldn’t be Sir Jasper. “Quite ominous,” said Sebastian. “Did you say anything to Preston?”

“Yes, I told him, but honestly, I regret saying anything because there’s no real substance to it, just a feeling.”

“Can I do something?” asked Sebastian, puzzled but concerned for the man who felt like the older brother he’d always wished for growing up.

Grandhampton grinned and took his boxing position again, bending his arms so that his elbows were in front of his rib cage and his fisted hands were up by his face.

“You can…” he said and delivered a punch into Sebastian’s left cushion “…be my punching bag.”

* * *

The next day, when Sebastian came back home from the meeting with the solicitor—who was sharp, knowledgeable, and experienced—he was in a great mood.

He went into Emma’s room to find her sitting with her legs under her, reading. She looked up at him as he entered, and the look of happiness on her face made his heart soar.

He allowed himself a smile. He found that his mouth had started doing that in her presence, stretching into a smile that he couldn’t—and didn’t want to—stop.

“Good news, darling,” he said as he came and picked her up and planted a deep kiss on her lips that left him craving more. “Heavens, you smell good…”

She giggled, her sweet, beautiful giggle. “Is that the good news?”

“No. The solicitor said you have a good case, even better with Grandhampton’s tips, and he will start making inquiries about the land to find proof that it was, indeed, sold before the marriage contract was signed.”

She leaned her head back and laughed. Her happiness melted him inside, and he chuckled with her. It was harder and harder to be the same sad man he’d been his whole life.

“I love coming back home to you,” he said.

Then he set her back on her feet and reached into the inner pocket of his tailcoat and took out a silver-plated box. “This is for you.”

She frowned and took it. “Sebastian, no.”

“Yes. Open it.”

“But I stole from you.”

“Because you had to. Not because you’re a bad person. Please. Open it.”

She swallowed and did as he asked, and he watched her eyes widen and light up in wonder. That was exactly the reaction he was after. He had found the brooch in the form of a white peony at Rundell, Bridge & Rundell.

“You mentioned that peonies are your favorite flowers, but they wouldn’t grow in your old house in Bedfordshire. So I thought, this way you can always have a peony to remind you of your grandmama.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her sweet, soft body against him. He put his arms around her and pulled her even closer. He breathed in her delicious scent, wishing he could just inhale her whole into his body and have her forever be his.

She kissed him, sweet and long, bringing his blood to boil. He wanted nothing more than to tear off her clothes and have his way with her, but he stopped himself.

“Wait…darling…I also want you to have this.”

He gave her a money purse.

“Sebastian, what is this?” She took it and opened it. Inside were coins and banknotes.

“So that you don’t have to steal again if you want to leave,” he said. “I want you to have everything, and to feel free. I want you to feel safe.”

She shook her head. “No. I cannot accept this.” She stretched her hand with the purse to him. “While this is incredibly generous, it’s also too much!”

“No, it’s nothing to me, and it’s everything to you. Please.”

Her big green eyes were luminous. Shining with her inner light that he had gotten to know and love over the past days with her. The inner light that had opened and warmed his cold heart.

But the more he smiled and the more he allowed himself to dream about her, the more the old, wounded part of him doubted she really could love him.

When she had invited the Duchess of Grandhampton to see her peonies next spring in Loxchester Hall two days ago, his heart had felt like it was about to burst. Because it meant she might consider staying with him forever.

But how could she? Somehow, sooner or later, he’d spoil this relationship, even though it was quickly becoming one of the most important things in his life.

Besides, more than anything, she wanted her freedom. And he cared about her enough that he just wanted her to be happy even if it meant she would leave him. If she must run away from him again because she really couldn’t love him, she had something to fall back on.

“Thank you,” she said, her smile like sunlight on his skin.

He smiled back. It was impossible not to when she was so radiant and happy. She touched his lips, mesmerized. “You’ve looked so happy lately. It’s a precious gift on its own, seeing you smile like that.”

His heart cracked open. He was a complete fool. There was no going back from this. He’d fallen for her like he’d never fallen for anyone. His whole being was in turmoil. Could he believe he deserved this happiness?

He didn’t know what love felt like…

Until now.

He loved her.

He’d die before he let any harm come to her.

He kissed her, and this time, it was different. He wanted to devour her, but also to worship her, this goddess of spring and sunlight that had come into his dark world and changed everything.

She was soft and warm in his arms, and he could taste the tea she’d just drank on her tongue. He sank his tongue into the depths of her mouth, licking, sucking, and gliding. How many times had he had her since she’d first allowed him into her bed?

Nearly not enough. A lifetime with her wouldn’t be enough.

He cupped her beautiful breasts covered with the awful corset he wanted to tear apart. He’d seen the marks it left on her body—why did women have to endure such things, anyway? Her body was delicious. Glorious breasts, not too big, not too small…just perfect for his palms.

He backed her up, and she bumped into the dressing table, which rattled slightly with various glass jars and boxes.

“Turn around,” he said. “I’m going to free you from these ghastly things…”

“Ghastly? Don’t you like the dress Madame Dubois made for me?”

She turned around and he could see her pretty face in the mirror, her lips swollen and deep pink from his kisses, her eyes dark and glowing with desire. As they should.

His own face looked almost murderous. Was it how he looked to her when he wanted her?

“I hate any piece of material that divides your body from mine,” he growled as he undid the hooks of her quite lovely pastel lilac gown.

While he worked on undressing her, he kissed her neck, inhaling the aroma of lavender and roses and her own unique scent. His erection pressed into her beautiful arse, and he was so impatient to take her, his fingers shook.

“Damnation,” he growled as he hurried unhooking them, a sound of tearing breaking through the air as he pulled one of them too strongly.

Emma half gasped, half laughed. “Sebastian!”

“I’ll buy you a new one. Hundreds, if you want.”

He pushed the dress down, as well as her petticoat, and there she stood, with her round, full, appetizing arse to him, and her legs in thin stockings, and the corset, even if he’d wanted to tear it apart. The view drove him mad. He loosened the lacing so that she could breathe better. He wanted her comfortable for what he had in mind.

“Argh, Emma, you have no idea how delicious you look,” he said, taking her arse cheeks into his hands and massaging them, enjoying the sight.

“Duke of Loxchester,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder, “what are you doing?”

“I want you to see yourself like I see you, Emma,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Turn and watch yourself as I take you. Watch how beautiful you are when you find your release.” He lifted one breast from under the corset and squeezed it with his hand, and with his other hand he went between her legs, found the soft curls there, and inserted one finger into her hot depths. She gasped, her head leaning back, her eyes hooded. “See what a treasure you are.”

With his other finger, he found her clitoris and started to massage it, while thrusting his middle finger back and forth into her wet, warm depths.

She gasped, and he could feel her tighten around his finger, could feel her growing wetter and wetter. She started to move her hips in the rhythm of his movements.

“Yes, just like this,” he said, watching her cheeks redden, and her full lips part. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back as she supported herself with her arms against the table. He found the spot inside her that he knew would bring her the most pleasure and started to rub it. A shudder went through her. His hand was drenched with her arousal.

“Open your eyes, darling,” he said, and she did that, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Just look how precious, how beautiful you are. With your cheeks flushed and your lips red and your eyes alive with desire.”

She looked at herself, and as he continued to pleasure her, she gasped a little.

With one hand, he undid his breeches and pulled them down. In two movements, he removed his finger and sank his full length into her. Heavens, she was so tight and hot around him. She felt so good. She arched her back, pressing against his hips, taking him deeper.

Without looking away from her reflection in the mirror, he began moving. He still had his fingers on her clitoris, and massaged it, as he knew that was what she liked best. Her neck was flushed and red, as was the top of her chest, her mouth opened as she moaned her pleasure.

“Do not look away,” he said. “I want you to see yourself finding your release. It’s a beautiful sight, darling.”

She did as he said, and he kept diving into her. Her pretty breasts bounced, his cock moved in and out of her, her round, firm buttocks pressed into him, driving him mad. Too soon, his desire for her, the animalistic burning, the need to fuck her, to have her, to own her overtook him. He took her hips in his hands and began pounding into her like an animal, the room filling with the sound of the slap of his body against hers, and their combined gasps and moans, and his wolfish grunts.

And then he felt her quiver and clench around him, and he knew he was close, but he held on, giving her this pleasure, fucking her until she cried out loudly and shook and trembled, watching herself orgasm.

Heavens, she was a beautiful sight, and with two more thrusts, he felt his own release taking him over the edge. He pulled out and held on to her as he came on her beautiful arse.

As he breathed hard, coming back from the aftershocks of their lovemaking, he wished that one day she’d want to carry his child and allow him to come inside her.

One beautiful day he could dream about.

But he doubted it would ever happen.