A Little Bit Sinful (26 page)

Their feet made a scuffing noise on the marble steps as he led her up the grand curving stairs and along a narrow corridor, stopping at a door in the center. “This will be your bedchamber.”

Eleanor raised her brow but said nothing. Of course it was necessary for her to have her own chamber, for appearance sake. But she had no intention of sleeping in it, unless Sebastian was there too.

“Where is your room?”

He pointed to the last door on the opposite side of the hall. “I sleep with my door locked. I recommend you do the same.”

“Goodness, life is dangerous in Chaswick Manor. I never would have suspected. Back home the servants rarely lock the outside doors, let alone the interior ones.”

Eleanor tried to smile, but his solemn expression stopped her. Sebastian was acting oddly. She felt as though he wanted to tell her something. Something relevant, something important, yet for some reason he couldn’t.

“Danger comes in many forms, Eleanor. You would do well to remember it.”

He reached out and smoothed a stray curl of her hair. The brush of his warm fingers on her cheek felt soothing, comforting. Eleanor closed her eyes and turned her face into his palm, rubbing against him like a contented kitten.

“But I feel safe with you, Sebastian.”

His hand abruptly pulled away. Eleanor’s eyes popped open. His face was a frozen mask of formality.
Goodness, what was wrong?

“Supper will be served at eight,” he said crisply. “I will fetch you myself and escort you to the dining room.”

“I’ll be ready,” Eleanor replied, but he had already turned and walked away.

Sebastian kept his strides long and even, fearing if he did not get away soon he’d march right over to Eleanor and demand she leave. Fighting the urge and
cursing himself mightily for the pang of conscience that was threatening to rip apart the very fabric of his carefully laid plans, Sebastian made his way to the stables.

Though the grooms had already brushed, fed, and watered his mount, he picked up a brush and started in on the horse’s hind flank. Normally a soothing activity, the task did little to even out his mood.

Sebastian’s gut churned. Eleanor was making this too easy for him. He’d half hoped she would take him up on the offer of a room at the village inn, but was not surprised when she refused. She trusted him. To keep his promise and marry her. To keep her safe.

He had played his part well, too well, really. She was besotted with him, so much so that her good sense had vanished. A sudden tightness in his chest accompanied a deep sense of guilt, because he knew that given the chance, he would in all likelihood do it again. Nothing would bring him any satisfaction until he exacted his revenge against the Earl of Hetfield.

Then why wasn’t he savoring the sweetness of victory that was finally within his grasp?

Scowling, he switched the brush to his other hand and moved to the horse’s left flank. The mount tossed his head and took a few steps away. With a sigh of disgust, Sebastian threw the brush into the corner of the stall. He paced the confines of the mews, wondering how he was going to survive the night with Eleanor under his roof, sleeping in a chamber a few doors away.

Sebastian’s mood grew progressively grimmer as
the afternoon turned into evening. He was silent when fetching Eleanor for supper, the sight of her freshly scrubbed face and pretty green silk gown putting him on edge.

Their meal together was tense. The food was not elegant or fancy, but it was well prepared and plentiful, a credit to the staff considering they had no advance notice. Yet neither he nor Eleanor did it any justice.

Though she politely thanked the footman as each course was served and repeatedly conveyed her compliments to the cook, Sebastian noticed Eleanor ate very little. Mostly she pushed the items around on her plate, rearranging them in new patterns.

Sebastian did not even bother with that charade. He neglected his food entirely, electing instead to drink his dinner. After commanding the footman to leave the wine bottle by his side, he never let his glass become completely empty. Occasionally he took the initiative to top off her goblet, but Eleanor drank little.

Sebastian continued to wonder why her wits didn’t return, why she didn’t confront him and question the lack of a vicar to perform their marriage ceremony. She was a clever, intelligent woman—she should be suspicious of him.

“‘Tis late. I’m certain you must be tired,” he said as the dessert course sat untouched on their plates. “I’ll have James escort you to your chamber.”

“I’d rather wait for you.”

Shit!
She smiled sweetly, setting his blood pounding into a dangerous rhythm. Her open expression was a seductive invitation he was finding difficult
to resist. Thank God they weren’t alone or else he just might act on his desire, pull her onto his lap and kiss her senseless.

He wanted her naked in his bed, where he could enjoy her at his leisure, taking her again and again throughout the night. With a curse, he drained his glass. The frenzied image rendered him uncomfortably hard, requiring a few moments and another glass of wine before he could stand and leave the table. Surging to his feet, he sailed past Eleanor.

“Sebastian, wait!”

At her cry, the startled footman quickly pulled back the heavy, high-backed chair, assisting a surprised Eleanor to her feet. Sebastian wanted nothing more than to continue on his way, but good manners prevailed. He could not allow her to trail after him like a faithful hound.

Reluctantly he stopped, turned, and held out his arm. She gripped it tightly, leaning in so close he could see down the top of her low-cut gown. The creamy white globes of her breasts were a glorious sight, a temptation nearly impossible to resist. Yet he knew somehow he must.

Sebastian wrenched his eyes away, taking a few seconds to compose himself. Somehow he made his way up the staircase and down the hallway. Eleanor chatted softly as they walked, her voice a throaty hum of seduction.

Sebastian did his best to ignore it.

At last they reached her bedchamber door. He swayed slightly as he stood in front of it.
Hellfire and damnation, I shouldn’t have had so much to drink.

Knowing his judgment was never at its best when
clouded with alcohol, Sebastian tried to hurry Eleanor into her room. “Good night.”

“Wait!” Her head came up, undisguised alarm leaping in her eyes. “Aren’t you going to kiss me good night?”

Sebastian swore, cursing himself for not anticipating her request. Naturally she expected a sign of affection. She believed she was going to become his wife tomorrow. Breaking his resolve he stepped forward, tipped her head back, and kissed her lips, hard and fast.

“There! Now once again, good night, Eleanor.”

She reached for him, but he avoided her grasp. “Shall I expect you in my bedchamber later?” she asked bluntly.

Bloody hell, she was killing him!
He slowly shook his head. “We are not yet husband and wife.”

“But we will be soon.” Their gazes met, clashing. “Please stay with me tonight.”

His mouth went dry, yet somehow he was able to snap, “I can’t.”

“Why?” She leaned closer and tipped her head invitingly.

Because I like you, I care about you. Because I harbor feelings for you that go beyond physical desire. Because you deserve far more than I am able to give you. Because I am using you to take my revenge against your father, perhaps even end his life.

It took a supreme act of willpower for Sebastian to keep his hands at his side. “We’ll talk about things in the morning,” he said gruffly. “Sleep well, Eleanor.”

With that said, Sebastian turned and walked away. Noble acts were supposed to make you feel
good, feel proud, feel strong, he thought. Pure rubbish. He felt awful. Frustrated, angry, even a bit depressed.

An acute sensation of regret formed in his chest, a feeling that he swiftly buried. He had brought Eleanor here to create a scandal, but he would not take advantage of her vulnerability. Staying in the house overnight, with only the servants as chaperones, was enough to ruin her. It would force the earl’s hand and achieve the necessary result.

He might crave her desperately, with a fervor that bordered on irrationality, but he would not add insult by seducing her and taking her virginity.

He owed her at least that much.

Eleanor felt as if she had just been slapped. She stared at Sebastian’s retreating back, her mind a jumble of confusion. What was going on? Why had he left her? Did he no longer find her appealing, desirable? Or was it something about being back in his boyhood home that caused this puzzling behavior? Whatever the cause, the result was sheer disappointment.

Eleanor slowly opened the bedchamber door and went inside, shutting it with a resounding thud. Sinking onto the edge of a chair, she rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to make sense of what was happening.

There was a sound at her chamber door, a soft knock. Eleanor’s heart quickened. With a sigh of relief, she raced to the door and yanked it open. “I knew you had to be teasing—”

She quieted instantly when she found herself standing face to face with Mrs. Florid.

“Good evening, my lady.” The servant dropped a hasty curtsy. “I was wondering if you required
any assistance, seeing as how your maid isn’t here and all.”

“What happened to Lucy?” Eleanor asked, referencing the chambermaid who had assisted her earlier with her bath and dressing for dinner.

“She has too many duties below stairs,” Mrs. Florid promptly replied. “But I can have her fetched if you would prefer.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. All I need is someone to unfasten the buttons at the back of my gown.”

Mrs. Florid entered the chamber and closed the door behind her. Eleanor could tell the housekeeper wanted to chat but in deference to Eleanor’s quiet mood restrained herself. She efficiently assisted Eleanor out of her evening gown, then soundlessly retreated at Eleanor’s dismissive nod.

Clad in her underclothes, Eleanor sat at the dressing table, staring at her reflection in the mirror. This was not how she had pictured this night. She believed Sebastian would be the one removing her clothing, lovingly kissing each piece of flesh as it was revealed.

Instead she was alone, disappointment her only companion. Broodingly, she walked to the wardrobe, pulling it open. Divesting herself of her remaining garments, Eleanor wiggled into her nightgown, then returned to her dressing table to see how it looked. The new gown, borrowed from Bianca, was too snug at the bustline, pushing the tops of her breasts up and over the already low bodice.

The sensual garment should have made her feel desirable, but with no one to admire her in it, what was the point of even wearing it? Sighing, Eleanor
began tugging the pins out of her hair, letting it fall to her waist. Lost in reflective thought, she untangled the strands with her fingers, then reached for her hairbrush.

Why had Sebastian left her alone tonight? For the past few weeks he had done everything humanly possible to catch her alone. Eleanor blushed at the memory of his ardent passion, his seemingly unquenchable thirst for her.

He had been clearly happy to see her this afternoon; his warm embrace and passionate kiss were sound proof of his ardor. So, what had changed? What was different?

Eleanor put down her brush and stared ruefully at her reflection. She could sit here until morning, questioning, pondering, speculating. Or she could discover the truth. She could ask him directly.

Sebastian’s preference to be left alone could not be mistaken, but she couldn’t let that dissuade her. Before giving herself a chance to reconsider her rash actions, Eleanor snatched the matching robe to her nightgown. Donning it purposefully, she tied the sash, then left her room. On bare feet she scampered down the corridor, stopping in front of Sebastian’s bedchamber door.

Trembling slightly, her hand grasped the brass handle. She half expected it to be locked, for he had earlier claimed that he would do so, but when she turned the knob, the door opened wide. It creaked slightly on its hinges, the sound echoing loudly.

Barely able to see, Eleanor blinked several times as she stepped inside. There were no candles lit, the blaze from the hearth providing the only light. The
flickering fire played over the dark tones in the spacious chamber, warming the cavernous space.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Eleanor turned at the sound of his voice. He was on the opposite side of the room, sprawled in an oversized chair near the fire, his feet propped on a footstool. He had removed his evening coat, cravat, and waistcoat. His white linen shirt was open, the top buttons undone, allowing a glimpse of his muscular chest and the dark hair that dusted it. Her heart began to race.

“I asked what you were doing here,” he repeated.

Eleanor took an involuntary step backward, her muscles tensing. He gazed at her with a clearly annoyed expression, his lean, handsome face conveying his displeasure. Eleanor thought he looked very much like a caged bear she had once seen at a country fair, angry and growling and ready to tear to shreds the first person who came near.

“You seemed a bit out of sorts when we said good night earlier,” Eleanor said, walking slowly toward him. “I wanted to be certain everything was all right.”

“Bullshit.” Eleanor halted. His gaze looked past her and he swallowed hard, closing his eyes briefly. “I do beg your pardon. That was unforgivably rude.”

“Yet totally honest, something I can appreciate despite the crudeness of the remark.” She took a few more steps, which brought her directly in front of his footstool. Laying her hand gently on his knee, she added, “But you are correct. Checking on you is not the only reason I’m here. See, we can both be honest with each other. I think that’s very important, Sebastian, don’t you?”

He twitched as if she had stabbed him with the tip of a knife, then turned his face away. He stared down at the nearly empty glass in his hand, gripping the goblet tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. “Well, I think that is an exceedingly bad idea, sweetheart.”