Retribution (Sebastian Trilogy Book 3) (2 page)

Chapter 2

Sebastian pulls off his riding boots and pads across the kitchen floor in his socks, pulling me into a tight embrace.

“You smell of horses,
”
I protest, pinching my nose.

“Hey, I’m a simple country boy,
”
he purrs.

“Well, country bumpkin, we need to talk.” I’m determined to have this discussion and I’m not going to be distracted by his erection pressing against me through his jodhpurs.

“Talk? Can’t we do something more fun?
”
He grins impishly and grinds his hips so distractingly, but I will not give in to temptation.

“No. I mean it. We need to talk. You side-tracked me this morning. Please sit.” I indicate to the pew opposite mine.

“Since when were you the Domme?
”
he quips, grinning at me.

“Scarlett,
”
I say, and his expression darkens instantaneously.

“Not that again, Elizabeth, give it a rest.” He pulls away from me defensively.

“We have to talk about last night, Sebastian. I want to know what you’re going to do about her.”

He sits wearily on the pew and steeples his hands beneath his chin, avoiding my gaze
.
“Okay, look, I talked to her last night. You were very drunk and the whole thing escalated. She’s very sorry if she offended you and I have reminded her of her position here. You’ll find her more amenable from now on.”

“Do you have any idea of the terrible things she said to me?
”
I ask incredulously.

“No and I don’t want to know. I’m sure you both said things you didn’t mean and the main thing is that you both move forward from this. It’s home to you both, so you need to try to get along, is that clear?”

“I want you to fire her,
”
I state firmly.

His mouth sets in a stubborn line and he runs a hand through his messy black hair
.
“I will not fire her. You do not tell me what to do. She runs this house and I have no evidence that she’s committed any crime nor any misdemeanour, other than upsetting my very drunk girlfriend who, most likely, was equally offensive to Scarlett.”

“But—”

“No, Elizabeth. That’s an end to it.”

“She’s done something, Sebastian. Something very bad, I know it.”

“Enough.” He bangs his clenched fist down, hard onto the table; the impact makes me jump
.
“Scarlett is going to try very hard to get along with you, and I expect you to reciprocate. It starts tonight. She’s going to cook a special dinner for us both by way of appeasement and we will enjoy it and be grateful.”

“Yes, Sebastian. I’ll try,
”
I say with far more conviction than I feel. I will be vigilant. I don’t trust her and yet it’s so difficult to verbalise my concerns to Sebastian. He’s so controlling, and so loyal to her.

“I need to take you back to the chamber, my girl.
”
His mood changes to one of seduction but my thoughts remain preoccupied.

***

She’s baking a cheese soufflé. I can smell the delicious aroma from the Great Hall. Our paths haven’t crossed all day, deliberately on my part and I suspect on hers too.

“Go and help Scarlett bring in the entrée, Elizabeth.
”
Sebastian cocks an eyebrow, daring me to defy him. Thinking better of it I head to the kitchen compliantly.

“Good evening, Mrs. Dove.” Scarlett wipes her hands on a crisp white apron and smiles demurely as I enter the kitchen.

“Good evening, Scarlett,
”
I mutter sullenly
.
“Can I take in the entrée?”

She’s fussing over the soufflé, wiping the ramekins with a paper towel
.
“You’ll need the oven glove, they are fresh from the oven—boiling hot.”

I place the soufflé on a tray carefully, noting as I do, the skill with which Scarlett cooks. She is an accomplished chef, although not the tidiest and the mess she is creating makes me smile.
Not so perfect, are you?

The meal is divine and, much as it pains me to admit it, Scarlett has gone to considerable trouble to produce a feast of cheese soufflé followed by beef wellington. Conversation over dinner is stilted, lacking the easy banter to which we are so accustomed. The only discourse I wish to have is the one topic that is taboo, thus rendering any other dialogue trivial.

“I’ve given Scarlett the rest of the night off, so you will have to see to the dishes.” Sebastian is grinning devilishly.

“Gee, thank you, Sir,
”
I say, unable to hide the sarcasm from my voice.

As I clear the plates, he smacks my bottom hard. “Off to the kitchen, wench. I’ll have a brandy ready for you upstairs. Be there in thirty minutes.”

The familiar throb emanates from my groin as I wash up the dirty crockery. He has a way about him that makes me take leave of my senses and melt at his touch. I’m still angry, confused and troubled and yet all I want to do is feel him deep inside me.

The plates and pans are stacked neatly on the draining rack and all that remains is to wipe down the granite surfaces. The pestle and mortar have been left on the worktop, next to the herb stand. Placing them in the sink to rinse, I notice that Scarlett has crushed something other than herbs and spices. A white powder coats the ceramic dish.

Don’t trust her
. Running my finger gingerly along the surface and placing a little of the powder on my tongue, the mildly bitter taste is unfamiliar. I can’t see what she could have crushed. It is curious, and certainly a matter to confront Scarlett with in the morning. Now, though, my sexy man is waiting for me and I don’t wish to keep him waiting, especially with the threat of the chamber still fresh in my mind.

In our bedroom, Sebastian reclines naked against the cushions on the bed, sipping brandy, with the beautiful decadence of a Michelangelo painting. He smiles roguishly and nods toward a brandy balloon on the dresser, inviting me to drink. Clutching the glass, but not daring to move to him lest I break the spell of the moment, I instead lean against the wall adjacent to the closed door, and regard the vision before me
.
“Sebastian, the last time I drank brandy, I passed out. I was sixteen and we stole it from my friend’s parents
’
drink cupboard.”

“I feel sure it wasn’t a fine cognac such as this, Elizabeth. Swill the brandy around the balloon, put your nose over it, like this.” He demonstrates the technique, making me giggle at the vision of him—stark naked—giving me lesson on brandy tasting etiquette.

I swill the glass and watch the brilliant, deep amber liquid as it reflects the light from the chandelier above the bed. “It smells of marshmallows and old wood.”

“Taste it,
”
he says seductively.

“Wow.
”
The fire travels down my throat and hits my belly
.
“Spice…caramel…and fruit. Is that right?”

He’s beaming at me
.
“There’s no right or wrong. It’s your personal interpretation, but I’d say yes, that’s how I taste it too. Finish it.”

The fire spreads from my belly to my limbs; the delicious warmth saps my strength. He puts his glass on the nightstand and crawls off the bed, hips swaying. He reaches me, and he’s all meanness and seduction.
Oh God, what you do to me!

Pulling at the belt of my jeans, he tugs me toward him and, with skilled dexterity, strips me in a heartbeat, my clothes pooled at my feet. “Lie on the bed on your back,
”
he instructs coolly.

“Certainly, Sir.” Doing as he bids, I lie supine; the fire now burns in my nipples, my apex slick with my arousal. He pulls the belt of my silk robe free where it hangs on the back of the door. Oh Christ, my desire is palpable. With skill he binds my wrists with the silk belt and, pulling my arms above my head, loops the silk through the spindle of the bed frame. My legs part. I am exposed and yearning to feel his torso between my thighs. My breath quickens, my pulse races.

“Fuck me,
”
I plead.

“Fuck me, what?”

“Fuck me please.”

“Fuck me please, what?”

“Fuck me please, Sir.” My body writhes in anticipation and with raw need. He strokes his cock languidly, his eyes focused on my erect nipples.

“No.” He shakes his head slowly, his hand working his erection more fervently now as he stands beside the bed, the muscles in his arm straining, and the blood vessels along his enormous length pulsating.

“Don’t tease me. I need you,” I say urgently. My thighs squeeze tightly together now, the sensation between them almost unbearable.

“No. Don’t speak. Watch me,
”
he rasps. His breath catches as he pleasures himself, his eyes now fixed on mine, his skillful hand milking his hardness, which oozes the first delicious drops of nectar down his thigh.

He moves onto the bed, kneeling beside me, so near and yet he doesn’t stop working his throbbing member. “Oh fuck. I’m coming.” He quickens his stroke, eyes closed he arches his back, his erection jerking as he spills forth,ejaculating his warm, creamy climax over my quivering breasts
.
“Oh yes, oh fuck.” He expels the remaining drops, which bead upon my belly leaving me bereft and wanting.

A lone tear escapes and runs like a tiny sorrowful river to my hairline.
Doesn’t he want me?
A sob escapes my lips as I stare up at the man whom I love more than life itself and who just brought himself to orgasm rather than make love to me.

“Don’t cry,
”
he implores.

“Why? What’s wrong with me?
”
the tears flow faster.

He doesn’t reply. Instead his hand massages his warm semen over my breasts, my nipples slick with his pleasure. His mouth moves down to my sorely neglected folds and he sucks and flicks at my clitoris until I’m screaming his name.

***

The clock on the nightstand tells me I’ve slept until ten in the morning and yet I don’t feel refreshed. The brandy must have left me with a hangover; I’m so drowsy this morning. Sebastian has left a note on his pillow letting me know that he’s gone to London for a meeting and will be back late tonight. He’s taken Bella with him for a day out and given her money to go shopping. I suspect she’s meant to buy a birthday gift for me but will no doubt spend it on clothes and make-up instead. I’m glad she’s having a day away from Penmorrow. It’s not good for a young woman to be cooped up in this old house.

My thoughts turn to my party in just three days time. I’m so unprepared for it. I really must check on Scarlett’s progress with the food and flowers. Scarlett.
What did you do?
Perhaps it is grief affecting my judgment, or maybe I imagined our conversation and was more drunk than I thought. The powder.
What are you up to?
Stretching and yawning, I drag my weary body from the comfort of the bed, pull on my robe and head for the kitchen.

Scarlett is making porridge, the aroma from the creamed oats and honey fills the kitchen fueling my appetite
.
“Good morning, Mrs. Dove,
”
she says absently as she stirs.

“Scarlett.
”
The pestle and mortar have gone. Opening the cupboard, I see them clean and carefully put away in their place.

“Can I help you with something?
”
she asks.

“Actually, yes, you can. What were you grinding with the pestle and mortar last night?”

She looks surprised. A trace of emotion fleetingly flicks across her pale face, possibly guilt, perhaps something more sinister but it’s gone in an instant, her features now set in a cold stare
.
“Cornflour and rock salt. Why?”

“It didn’t taste like that,
”
I reply accusingly.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t believe you. You’re up to something and I intend to find out what, and when I do you’ll be history. Do you understand?”

She glares at me insolently, her mouth agape.

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten what you said to me the other night, Scarlett. This isn’t over. I want you to trust me on this. I have no idea what you’ve done or how, but you will regret crossing my family.”

She returns to stirring the porridge in silence and this unnerves me. I’d expected her to react and protest her innocence, but instead she takes two bowls and ladles the creamed oats before setting the dishes on the table
.
“I don’t know what to say.
”
She sits at the table and tastes the porridge
.
“We both said things the other night, Mrs. Dove, things that were spiteful that we didn’t mean. I want you to know that I’d never ever do anything to harm His Lordship. You do know that, right?”