A Duke For All Seasons (9 page)

    
Then sometime during their gasping, whispered pillow talk, he drifted off between one sentence and the next. In the relaxation of sleep, the hard line between his brows softened and he looked years younger. Arabella drank her fill of him now that he couldn’t catch her doing it.

    
If Sebastian were awake, he might see the wistfulness she tried to hide.

    
Physically, they were perfectly attuned. They both enjoyed the act of love in wide variety—tough and tender, heart-poundingly fast and tortuously slow.

    
When had she started longing for something more? Something from his heart instead of just his magnificent body.

    
But that wish was a receipt for disaster with a man like Sebastian. Anyone who felt he had to insulate his heart from involvement with a written contract limiting the scope and duration of a relationship wasn’t the sort to give his affection just for the asking.

    
For the sake of her heart, she’d do well to remember it and guard herself from the pain of their inevitable parting.

 
   
I’ll revel in the moment with him
, Arabella decided.
And be thankful for his protection of Lisette and his help in dealing with Fernand.

    
When the time came for their ways to part—and she’d take pains to see that she was the one who decided when that time had arrived—she would call upon her stage experience and make a dignified, dry-eyed exit.

    
So why did the sight of his sleeping face make tears gather now?

    
Sebastian stirred, so she rolled over quickly lest he catch her with glistening eyes. He spooned around her, pulling her close. His breath feathered warmly on her nape.

    
“You smell so good,” he said drowsily.

    
She snuggled into his embrace, pressing her bum against his groin. “It’s stopped raining.”

    
“Damn,” he said. “That means we ought to return to the main house before our absence becomes remarkable.”

    
“You’re concerned for my reputation?”

    
“Of course. As you’re so fond of reminding me, you’re not my mistress. You’re my lover.” He dropped a kiss on her shoulder and rolled out of bed. “As far as my household is concerned, you’re my guest. So long as we were caught in the lodge by the elements, who can say we did anything but wait here for the storm to pass?”

    
He strode from the room, heedless of his nakedness, and returned with their discarded clothing.

    
“They’re nearly dry,” Sebastian said as he jerked on his smallclothes.

    
Arabella followed his example and dressed quickly.

    
“Ready?” he asked as she pinned her slightly bedraggled hat to her head.

 
   
“Almost.” She crossed the room, stood tiptoe and kissed him. “I had a lovely time, Sebastian.”

    
“So did I.” He drew her close. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you. This may surprise you, but I’ve actually never done that with a woman before.”

    
“I can’t say I’m shocked.” She tugged on her riding gloves. “I expect you’re the sort who feels he must leave as soon as possible after the deed is done.”

    
His mouth twitched. “Guilty as charged. I always felt that if ever there’s a time for a woman to make excessive demands on a man, it’s immediately after the act of love.”

    
“Perhaps,” she said with a shrug. “Or maybe it’s because sleep makes a person vulnerable. You never felt you could trust your mistresses enough to sleep in their presence.”

    
Given the way she’d hidden the existence of the envelope from him at the start, she realized she ought not to have mentioned trust. A wall rose behind his eyes and she knew she’d taken a misstep.

    
“And you think I should trust you,” he said, weighing every word.

    
“You already have.” She patted his cheek, trying to keep the mood light. “Don’t worry, Sebastian. It’s safe to sleep with a lover. And I have no intention of making demands on you.”

    
They stepped out of the hunting lodge into the waning moments of the day. The sun broke beneath a layer of gray clouds and cut through the forest. Its final rays cast long shadows across the rolling hills. The air held a whiff of coming evening, cool and green and rain-washed. The horses were ready for a gallop, but Arabella and Sebastian kept them to a walk on the sodden turf.

    
They didn’t speak, but the quiet wasn’t oppressive. Bella resisted the urge to fill the silence, deciding they both could use a bit of time to collect themselves and determine how the afternoon had changed matters between them. She was surprised, and more than a little glad, when Sebastian reached over to hold her hand at one point when their mounts fell into a steady gait beside each other.

    
She’d spent enough time on stage to know that words were ephemeral, not always to be trusted. That simple linking of their fingers was more reassuring of Sebastian’s regard for her than a thousand sonnets.

    
When they crested the final rise, they reined in their horses so they could view the manor house framed by a golden sunset. A coach rolled to a stop at the front door of the imposing edifice. Sebastian swore softly, breaking their companionable silence.

    
“It appears my other guests have arrived a day early. Yes, there’s Granger. That’s my aunt and sister he’s handing down now. And there’s his fiancée and her mother. And Granger’s mother,” Sebastian said as the last woman emerged from the enclosed coach. “So much for a day in the country to ourselves.”

    
“We’ve had quite a day, thank you very much,” Arabella said, arching a brow at him. “Though I do wonder at so many ladies in one place. Usually a house party is divided between the genders with more even handedness. This gathering seems a bit one-sided.”

    
“That’s because they’re here to plan Granger’s wedding, God help him.”

    
“Indeed. Then I’ll be delighted to suggest some suitable music for the event. Why didn’t you tell me?” She nudged her mount into a walk down the hillock. “I might have brought some sheet music with me.”

    
“So you’re infected with wedding pox too. I don’t know why I thought you’d be different.” Sebastian drew even with her. “Is there a woman alive who doesn’t become maudlin and starry-eyed over the prospect of a man being leg-shackled for life?”

  
  
“Do you think that’s how Lord Granger sees his coming nuptials?”

    
“No.”

    
“Then why shouldn’t we join him and his fiancée in their joy?”

    
“Because their joy will be so fleeting,” Sebastian said gruffly. “Don’t misunderstand. His Christine is a fine girl and no doubt, Neville is enraptured with her now. But no matter whom one marries, one eventually discovers one is married to someone else entirely.”

    
“That’s rather cynical.”

    
“No, it’s rather accurate,” he said stone-faced. “Can you name a truly happy wedded couple?”

    
“That’s not fair,” Arabella said. “Naturally, unhappy liaisons will garner more attention if the couple is indiscreet enough to make their differences public. No one knows the condition of someone else’s marriage except the parties involved.”

    
“And their children,” she thought she heard him say. But when she cut her gaze toward him sharply, he looked away.

    
“Well, I’m under no compulsion to marry, Sebastian. In fact, given my profession, it’s best if I remain unwed since the hours required for performances and rehearsals leave little time for the running of a household. And I can’t imagine exchanging singing for ordering menus and managing a staff,” she said. “But unfortunately for you, you’ll be expected to wed at some point.”

    
He responded with a sound that might charitably be called a grunt.

    
“I daresay you’ve been schooled on your duty to produce an heir and continue your line. The time will come when you must choose a duchess,” she said, determined for some reason to force him to admit it. “Marriage is not something you can ignore indefinitely.”

    
“No, it’s not. Someday I’ll have to entrust a woman with my name and my title and my honor.” Judging strictly from his tone, Bella would have guessed Sebastian was discussing a trip to the rack instead of the altar. “I’ll have to fill a nursery with heirs and hope to heaven there isn’t a cuckoo’s egg among them.”

    
“That’s rather odd. I wouldn’t have thought you’d worry about being cuckolded,” she said.

 
   
He snorted. “There’s never any dispute about a babe’s mother, but it’s the wise child, they say, that knows his sire,” Sebastian said. “I’ll have to marry eventually, but until the time rears its ugly head and refuses further delay, let me leave it alone.”

    
He dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and bolted down the hill as if he were fleeing an approaching horde of Huns.

“
By all means, parade your mistress before your male friends. Inciting the envy of others is but one of her functions. However, do not, if you value your sanity, allow her the acquaintance
of your relations.”

~ A Gentleman’s Guide to Keeping a Mistress

    
Despite the dour nature of its host, the house party was a merry and convivial group. Lord Granger and his fiancée were so clearly besotted with each other; their joy couldn’t help but radiate outward, covering the rest of Sebastian’s guests with residual happiness. Arabella already knew Lord Granger’s mother, the soon-to-be dowager countess once her son married, since she’d sung a recital at her home last winter to great acclaim.

    
She was pleased to be accorded the status of an honored guest by Sebastian’s aunt, Lady Moorcroft, a flamboyantly dressed matron with forcefully expressed opinions to match.

    
Sebastian’s sister, Lady Hermione, was a surprise because she was so unlike the duke. Where he was dark, she was light, figuratively as well as literally. A pretty blonde, she was at least fifteen years younger than Sebastian by the calendar and seemed ages younger by any other measure. Demur and sweet, her voice was rarely raised above
sotto voce,
and while she obviously respected her brother, there didn’t seem to be much affection between them. Though she claimed to have no talent for music, Lady Hermione was a dedicated opera lover and made it a point to include Bella in all her conversations.

    
Only Lord Granger’s demeanor was a little chilly toward Arabella, but she reasoned that any man as thoroughly enamored of his fiancée as Lord Granger was would naturally be reserved toward another unattached lady.
  

    
After a splendid supper, they retired to the music room.
 
Though singing was her forte, Bella acquitted herself well at the keyboard. She sat at the pianoforte, deftly playing snippets of pieces she judged appropriate for the ceremony and wedding breakfast for the bride and her mother to approve.

    
“The trick is choosing music that is romantic without being overly sentimental,” Arabella explained as she launched into a lush bit of Schubert and then segued into a sprightly Purcell tune.