Retribution (Sebastian Trilogy Book 3) (5 page)

Ruth looks at Sebastian, then me, with an expression that clearly seeks reassurance that I’m okay with that. I nod for Ruth to do as instructed, warmed by her deep care for me. He proffers his hand and I take it in mine as he leads me downstairs to his study, closing the door before seating himself at his desk. His hands steepled, elbows resting on the leather blotter, chin resting on his fingers, he regards me coolly. I inhale his incredible scent as I hover beside him. I have no idea whether he naturally smells this good or whether its manufactured but it should be classified as a highly intoxicating drug. My standing next to him, eyes closed, inhaling him, clearly irritates the hell out of him as he snaps his fingers to get my attention before pointing to the chair on the opposite side of his desk. Meekly, I sit. He can be so intimidating when he’s in this frame of mind.

“Is this about Scarlett?
”
I ask timidly.

Something dark flashes across his eyes. His mouth sets in a grim, hard line. “It is. Yes. She’s concerned about you, as am I. She’s told me about the hairdresser incident, but I will discuss that with you in a moment.”

My mouth gapes as I prepare to retort, but he holds a finger up, warning me to remain silent.

“She’s also told me that you have asked her to leave tomorrow.”

“We had an agreement, yes. Don’t forget, she offered to leave.”

“Because you have made her presence here so untenable, Elizabeth.
”
He runs a hand through his inky hair before stroking his stubble covered jaw with long fingers; he looks so hot when he’s mad but I try to focus, although it’s hard to read where he’s going with this.

“You don’t need her,
”
I reply petulantly. “You and I have discussed this and I thought you’d agreed.”

“I decide what I need, Elizabeth, not you. She’s been there for me, through incredibly difficult times. You have no idea. Now I see you like this, and it reminds me of Libby. Seeing things. Paranoid. Where the hell does it all end? Is it me? Is this what I do to the women I love?”

No, it’s not you. It’s her, fucked-up Scarlett
. “No. God no. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Sebastian—apart from my children, of course. I love you so much. I want to be everything you need. I just can’t be that while she’s living here too. Can’t you see that?
”
Rising from my chair, I step hesitantly around the desk toward him, unsure of his reaction but I receive no protestation. I place my hands on his shoulders and he spins around in the chair, his hands enfolding my waist. He pulls me close, between his legs. He nuzzles the soft valley between my breasts, his hands moving down to cup my buttocks.

“Fuck, I need you so badly,
”
he rasps. “But I need to have this conversation with you.”

My hands stroke his hair, pulling his head in closer to my heaving breasts, relieved by his softer tone. I decide to use my sensuality to get exactly what I want. “I need you too. Don’t fight me on this, please, Sebastian.”

“We’ll talk about it after the party, okay?
”
He pauses, waiting for my answer.

“But she agreed to go tomorrow.
”
I am trying hard to keep at bay the anger now boiling in my gut. I’m no match for Sebastian when he loses it and I can see he’s close.

“I will not see her homeless. Now, you’ve made your point. You’ve made me choose between you. I love you, but I will not be pushed on this. Do you understand me, Elizabeth?”

“Yes. Okay.
”
I acquiesce but she still has to go.

“Now, your health concerns me greatly, as it does Scarlett and Ruth. I have made an appointment for you to talk to a psychiatrist chum of mine for some bereavement counselling.”

This news completely floors me. We have not had a discussion regarding his ‘psychiatrist chum
’
and I certainly have not consented to discussing my painful loss with a stranger. My brow furrows and I return to my chair, putting much needed distance between Sebastian and the slap which my palm may deliver to his face at any moment. “Do I have a say in this decision at all? I mean, of course it’s absolutely none of my business whom you order me to see, it’s only my grief after all.”

“Don’t be facetious, Elizabeth. Trust my judgment on this, please.”

“So, I’m not allowed to have a virus without you immediately dragging me to a shrink?”

“A virus?
”
He arches his brow and shakes his head in that infuriating way that he has. “Remind me which virus causes one’s hair to transform into snakes? I’m fascinated. I’m sure you are a medical anomaly.”

“Temperatures can do that,
”
I say very slowly and sardonically as though talking to a child. “You know, you get ill and you get hot and then, when you’re really toasty hot, your body makes you see weird things. It’s in the medical journals and everything. Look it up. Google it.
”
His hands slap down onto his knees in fury but, as he rises from his chair, I make a swift departure. Reaching the safety of the doorway,my confidence soars sufficiently to throw one last punch
.
“And she goes. Tomorrow. End of.”

The kitchen is a scene of utter chaos. Caterers are preparing a four-course feast including pheasant and grouse and the aroma from the roasting fowl smells divine. Sebastian leads Ruth, Bella and I through the disarray and out into the garden. It’s a glorious June day. The warm sun on my skin is heavenly. Scarlett has prepared a picnic lunch of sandwiches and pastries, which is laid out on a tartan rug on the lawn. It appears that my outburst is, at least for now, forgiven and the conversation is light as we tuck in heartily, crossed-legged and giggling like children.

“This sandwich is yours, Mum,
”
Bella says, handing me a sandwich with the letter E written in indelible ink on the cling wrap.

“Why is that one mine?
”
I ask, unwrapping the tasty looking snack.

“Because Scarlett’s trying to get you well and said guacamole is good for you. She’s mashed some up with mayo and herbs. She’s really thoughtful, isn’t she?”

She’s really thoughtful, suspiciously so. What’s she up to? Trying to win me over so she can stay, I imagine. “Yummy. It’s delicious, but I can’t eat it all.”

“Eat. All of it.
”
Sebastian challenges me with his cool stare, eyebrow raised. “You need the energy to get through tonight,
”
he adds, more softly.

“He’s right, Beth. Much as I’m jealous as hell of your figure, you’ve lost weight and are white as a sheet. Be a good little girly and eat your sandwich.
”
Ruth winks at me in spite of the middle finger I extend. Petulantly, I do as I’m told and finish the sandwich.

“A toast to the birthday girl.
”
Sebastian hands us each a glass of bucks fizz, delightfully chilled and the orange juice so refreshing.

The little champagne bubbles go straight to my head, and soon I’m giggling at Sebastian who has a smear of mayonnaise on his top lip
.
“Loving th
e
’tash, Seb,
”
I laugh, placing my finger across my own top lip mockingly.

“Indeed.
”
He sighs, wiping his lip with the back of his hand. “Come on, birthday girl. We need to get you upstairs for a lie down.
”
He stands and helps me to my feet.

“Whoa!
”
The ground is moving beneath my feet. “I think you’re right.
”
I laugh. Ruth and Sebastian take an arm each and magically transport me to my bed, where I marvel at the breath-taking display of dancing fairies that pirouette across the canopy above me. They can’t see them, but then it’s not their birthday.

Chapter 5

Something shakes my arm. I swat it away and snuggle further under the duvet. “Elizabeth. Wake up.
”
Sebastian’s Grecian God-like face is inches from mine. It’s such a welcome sight, I smile and reach for him. “Come on sleepyhead, it’s seven o’clock. You have one hour to transform yourself into Cinderella.”

Holy fuck!
One hour? My hair…my dress
. Crawling from the bed, I pad over to the dressing table and stare at myself in the mirror. My beautiful up-do is in disarray and smears of mascara streak down beneath my heavy eyes. Major overhaul needed. “Oh shit,
”
I moan, “I look horrendous.”

“I’ll get Ruth to help you.
”
Sebastian tugs on a curl and lays it limply over my shoulder. “It won’t take much fixing, the pins are still in. Does Bella have some curlers?”

“No, but I have a curling tong. Please, can you ask Ruth to come quickly?”

Sebastian returns with Ruth promptly, takes his evening suit from the armoire and leaves us alone. Ruth is wearing a robe over her underwear but her hair and make-up are perfect. She looks stunning already. I hate her and love her in equal measure. She fusses over me, first cleansing my face, applying fresh make-up, and then fixing my hair, re-curling the errant curls. Forty minutes later, I am ready to don my gown. I have removed my bra and slipped in to new red lace panties and suspenders, which hold up black silk stockings. I feel like a vamp and a flush of excitement courses through me as I anticipate Sebastian’s reaction when I strip for him later.

The crimson taffeta rustles as I step in to the gown, pulling it up carefully until it sits above my breasts forming a most impressive décolletage.

“Do you think I should wear a strapless bra?
”
I ask Ruth, as I assess my remarkable cleavage in the full-length mirror.

“No. Wow. You’re perfect just as you are,
”
Sebastian purrs. My cheeks redden as I spin around to face him. He looks so hot, dressed in a black dinner jacket, matching dress trousers and crisp white shirt with black bow tie.

“Sebastian. You made me jump.”

Ruth fidgets nervously, undoubtedly sensing the sexual charge. She scurries off to her room to dress.

“Come here. Let me tie you up.
”
He prowls toward me, his dark brown eyes smouldering, breathing heavily.

Tie me up? Now?
“I have to finish dressing,
”
I protest.

“Not you, unfortunately. The dress.
”
He grabs me by the waist and turns me so that he stands behind. Grasping the black laces tightly, he pulls each in turn with a sharp tug. It’s difficult to retain my balance.

“Stand still,
”
he scolds, his knee pressing into the back of my thigh as he attempts to steady me. “You’re too thin. This dress is far looser on you now, that’s why I’m having to pull so hard to lace you up.”

“Don’t you like me in it?
”
I ask falteringly.

“I’d like you better out of it,
”
he growls suggestively. “There,
”
he says triumphantly, tying the black sash. “Go and look in the mirror.”

Holy fuck!
They say that we all have one day when we look our absolute best; usually it’s our wedding day. In my case, I have to admit that I’ve never felt so feminine, so transformed, as I do this moment. My waist has contracted under the taffeta constraints to a circumference easily encircled by Sebastian’s large hands. My cleavage strains upward with the help of the boned corset, my décolletage pale and full
.
“Sebastian. I love it. Thank you,
”
I gasp.

He moves behind me, removes my choker and loops the necklace around my throat, fastening the catch at the nape of my neck. The diamonds dance around my throat in the fading sunlight, the redness of the sunset reflecting on the stones. The brilliance of the ruby compounds the effect that the necklace is ablaze with sparkling embers of fire. I caress the enormous gem, so perfectly matched to my crimson gown.

“You take my breath away.
”
He sighs deeply, his eyes burning into mine in the mirrored reflection, his hands resting on my hips. He kisses my bare shoulder, sending shivers tracking down my spine. “Have you any idea how much I love you?”

He loves me. My insides do somersaults. I’m the luckiest woman in the world.
If only Joe could have known you, you’d have been such a wonderful father to him
. “I love you too. I know you think I’ve been a little crazy recently, but I don’t mean to be. I do love you.”

“Hey,
”
he murmurs. “Crazy or not, my love for you won’t change. Now put on your mask. We need to go down and greet our guests. They’ll be arriving any minute.
”
Sebastian takes a gold hatbox from the top of the armoire and carefully takes out two masks. His is a simple silver mask, secured with elastic, which fastens around his head. He looks like the Lone Ranger; I giggle and he pouts. How I love Sebastian, the little boy. Mine is an altogether different mask. It looks antique although I can’t be sure if it’s old, or treated in a way to give the impression of age. It has a cream ceramic face, ruby red lips and painted Cleopatra style eyeliner with the eyes missing so that I can peer through. Black feathers tumble from the hairline of the mask so that, when I hold it to my face by the elegant handle, it appears I have feathers in my hair; it’s very dramatic and theatrical. Slipping on my black Jimmy Choo heels, which I suspect was another purchase made by Scarlett, I follow Sebastian downstairs.

Scarlett, dressed in a stunning black evening gown, with simple black diamante mask, hands us both a chilled glass of champagne as we wait in the hall to greet our first guests.

“You look stunning, Scarlett,
”
I tell her amicably, holding the flute to my lips, behind my mask.
Damn, this mask is going to prove tricky.

“Not as stunning as you look, Mrs. Dove. I’ll fetch the canapés.
”
She’s decidedly cool despite the compliment she pays me.

“Mother!
”
Bella calls from the top stair. Spinning round, I catch sight of Bella, gliding elegantly down the stairs in a pale gold long sheath dress which clings to all her curves. My daughter is a woman. When did that happen? She gracefully holds a gold mask to her face and holds out her other hand as though she is a movie star making her grand entrance on the red carpet. I have never felt so proud of her as I do at this moment. Ruth follows behind her in gorgeous emerald green 1950s inspired cocktail dress with black mask, her skirts rustling as she dramatically takes one exaggerated step after another, hips swaying.

“Wow.
”
Sebastian gasps. “I thought there was only one belle of this ball. You’re both almost as beautiful as Elizabeth.”

“Hey.
”
I punch him lightly on the arm. “I think my daughter and friend just upstaged me for that title.”

Sebastian indicates to a waiter to bring more champagne, while I head to the kitchen to chase Scarlett with the canapés.

Navigating past the numerous hired staff preparing the feast, I find her in the pantry. She’s concentrating on adding a sprinkling of fresh tarragon to a silver tray of smoked salmon blinis.

“Scarlett. The guests are arriving, please hurry with those,
”
I say curtly.

She turns and hands me a blini. “This one is for you to try, Mrs. Dove.”

Taken aback by her consideration, I pop the salmon treat in my mouth and savour the horseradish and crème fraiche. “It’s delicious, Scarlett. Thank you. Please bring them through.”

There are so many new faces, all hidden by the façade of a mask. Sebastian is the perfect host. Introductions are concise and jovial and, on the whole, our guests are delightful. I’m so very weary and nervous, but try extremely hard to remember names and to ensure the waiting staff top up glasses and serve canapés. Marcus and Becky arrive late, blustering in with profuse apologies. Their son Theo’s jaw drops when he spies Bella, and the two are immediately inseparable.

“Dinner is served. Please make your way through to the great hall. Masks may be removed for dinner,
”
our butler-for-the-night announces at eight-thirty. The gaggle of guests moves slowly to take their places at the expansive dining table, where white butterfly name cards indicate where they should sit. Sebastian and I take our seats last. I’m feeling tipsy already, regretting the second glass of champagne, and I pull the tablecloth accidentally when I sit. Thankfully nothing spills and nobody notices, except Sebastian who places a reassuring hand on my knee.

“Don’t drink too much,
”
he warns sternly.

I roll my eyes at him in exasperation.

“Did you roll your eyes?
”
he hisses, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I may have inadvertently done so,
”
I confess.

“I may have to inadvertently slap the eye rolling from your pretty face, then. Later.
”

The threat makes me wet with anticipation.

The man seated to my left is telling a tediously unfunny joke to which I laugh politely and slightly too vociferously. Ruth, seated to his left, is then subjected to endless dreary tales and I can hear her sigh, poor Ruth. Meanwhile, Sebastian captivates the table with light conversation and stories about his ancestors whom, by all accounts, were a colourful if debauched lot. I’m smiling to myself.
I see where you get your own kinkery from
.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please be upstanding for a toast to the birthday girl herself. Happy birthday, Elizabeth.
”
The butler urges everyone to their feet and the whole room raises a glass and sings a very out of tune version of ‘Happy Birthday
’
to which I blush hotly.

“Speech,
”
they all cry in unison.

“Say something, darling,
”
Sebastian prompts as everyone sits.

“No,
”
I whisper. “I can’t. You do it.
”
Taking a long gulp of white wine, I try to make myself very small in my chair, hoping the attention will move away from me, but Marcus pings his crystal wine glass with his fork impatiently. Sebastian glares at me, urging me to address the room.

Oh crap. How embarrassing. Whoa, I’m dizzy
. Standing shakily, I take another glug of wine to steady my nerves and the room falls silent. All eyes are upon me expectantly, except Bella who is staring into Theo’s eyes as he whispers something to her.

“I don’t know you all,
”
I start, hesitantly. “But Sebastian has told me a great deal about many of you.”

“It’s not true!
”
a man heckles loudly.

“I’m just so grateful to you all for coming this evening. I hope, in time, to get to know you all properly.”

The tiny silver stag on the candelabra steps down from his mount and leaps gracefully across the table, landing in a lady’s lap. I’m transfixed watching the shiny creature prance about while the lady seems unaware of it. I’m so very grateful that the stag has once again graced me with its beautiful display that I’m rendered speechless. All I can do is to watch in awe.

“Elizabeth.
”
Sebastian’s voice startles the stag; it stands stock still, sniffing the air, ears pricked forward.

“Uh, I was saying…sorry, thank you for the gifts that you’ve so generously given me and I’ll try to write to you all this week to thank you personally.”

The stag has returned to the candelabra where he melts back into the filigree base and is still. I avert my gaze.
Concentrate, Beth. You’re not going mad. You’re not going mad.

“Did anyone else see that?
”
I ask the room.

Sebastian is pulling me down onto the chair. He looks frosty, his eyes molten. The room is silent. “Elizabeth. Darling. Drink some water.”

“I don’t need water,
”
I hiss. “I told you not to make me stand up and do a speech.”

“You’re drunk and you’re embarrassing me,
”
he rebukes in a low growl.

Polite chatter resumes and the following courses are served without further embarrassment on my part.

Ten o’clock strikes on the grandfather clock in the hall, and we are all instructed to re-mask, then ushered through to the morning room, which has been cleared of furniture and a wooden dance floor laid. The room looks magnificent, the tiger lilies displayed in all their glory in tall vases on pedestals. Swathes of fabric in gold, burnt orange, red and black drape from the ceiling forming an exotic marquee over the dance floor itself.