A Wedding Wager (17 page)

She lifted her hips as he pushed her skirts up to her waist. She felt for the laces of his breeches, tugging impatiently as his hand found her core, a finger rubbing urgently against the little nub of flesh, sliding within her moist cleft. His penis sprang free, as hard and muscular as she remembered, and a laugh of delight escaped her as she ran her closed fist up and down the corded, pulsing shaft.

For a moment, he drew back, looking into her face with a slightly startled expression, as if he’d discovered
something he hadn’t expected. She stroked his cheek, reading his thoughts correctly because they were so much like her own. “
Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose,
my love. ’Tis always reassuring to discover that the more things change, the more they stay the same.”

That made him laugh, too. He slid down her body, burying his head between her thighs. “How right you are,” he murmured, his voice muffled, his teeth nibbling, his tongue stroking, his breath hot and then cool on her inflamed center. “How wonderful it is to find that the memories were not the fantasies of inexperienced passion.”

He parted her thighs, moving up her body, holding her hips on the shelf of his palms. As he entered her, he gazed into her eyes in the way she remembered so well. It was as if he would connect with her very soul, engage every part of her in this passionate union. And her own spirit rose to meet his as the joyous waves of pleasure peaked and broke, and it was as if the past three years had never existed.

They lay together for long minutes, before Sebastian moved indolently, kissed her mouth, and knelt up, fumbling with the laces of his breeches. He smiled down at her as she lay sprawled on the chaise. “I love you. I have always loved you. Since before I was born, I have loved you.”

Serena smiled, reached up a hand to run her fingers over his mouth. “You are absurdly extravagant, but I
love that in you.” She struggled onto her elbows. “Let me up, now.”

Sebastian slid off the chaise, standing up, adjusting his clothes. He held out his hands to her, pulling her to her feet and then drawing her against him. He held her tightly for a moment, then, as she drew back a little, released her but still held her hands, looking her up and down.

“What shall we do now? Are you hungry? Making love always used to make you hungry.”

Serena considered as she straightened her skirts. “I could drink a glass of that claret and nibble on a little bread and cheese, but first I would like to refresh myself. A bowl of water and a towel.” She passed a descriptive hand down her body.

“Of course.” Sebastian hurried to the door. “Come to my bedchamber.” He led the way up a flight of stairs to a narrow landing with two doors on either side. He opened one and with an exaggerated bow ushered Serena inside. “I’ll fetch water and a towel.”

He disappeared, leaving Serena to look around the square bedchamber. It contained a canopied bed, a dresser, a basin and ewer, and an armoire. A small fire burned in the grate. Again, it was a room that, while adequate, had no personality to it. A rather grimy window looked down onto a back garden, where a few desultory chickens pecked at the dirt below.

Sebastian reappeared with a jug of steaming hot
water and a towel over his arm. “Madam, allow me …” He poured water into the basin and turned back to her with an unmistakably lascivious grin. “Where would you wish me to start?”

“Nowhere,” Serena stated definitely. “Leave me alone, Sebastian, and find bread and cheese and claret. I will not be above ten minutes.”

He looked disappointed but acceded with good grace. “One kiss before I go?”

“One kiss,” she agreed. She resisted his attempt to kiss her on the mouth, turning her cheek so that his lips brushed her cheek.

He took her face between his hands, holding her head steady, and made to kiss her full on the lips, but she pulled violently away from him, rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand. “No …
never
do that. If I don’t wish to kiss you, I will not.”

He looked at her, distress and confusion in his eyes. “I didn’t mean … we’ve just made love, Serena. I … what did I do wrong?”

She took a deep breath. In the old days, she would have responded playfully. But she could no longer do that. “Nothing. You did nothing wrong. I just don’t like anyone to hold my head.” She tried for a smile, a light laugh. “It’s been so long, Sebastian, I have to get used to you again.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “As you wish … always as you wish, Serena. I’ll do something
about refreshments.” He left her, closing the door quietly behind him.

Serena closed her eyes. She had to learn to forget that night, and she thought for the most part she had done so. That violent reaction had shocked and surprised her as much as it had shocked and surprised Sebastian. But he was not to blame. And she could never explain it to him.

“Mrs. Croft, have you been baking? What have you in the pantry?” Sebastian entered the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively at the wholesome aroma of fresh-baked bread.

The housekeeper straightened from the kitchen range as she withdrew a golden loaf from the bread oven, balancing the paddle as she slid it onto the kitchen table. “Why, ’tis hardly time for your dinner, sir. ’Tis barely five o’clock.”

“I know, but I have a guest who is sharp set. That bread looks wonderful and smells even better.” He picked off a piece of hot crust and popped it into his mouth. “Delicious. This will do very well. All that remains is to find something toothsome to accompany it.” He went into the pantry, peering at the offerings on the cold marble shelf. He selected a round of cheddar, half a cold chicken, and a pat of butter. “This will do very well. Where will I find a tray?”

“Lord love us, Mr. Sebastian, you go on back to the parlor. I’ll send Bart through with this.” Rather distractedly,
Mrs. Croft tucked a strand of gray hair back into the pins that held the fat bun at the nape of her neck. She was unaccustomed to seeing either of her employers in her kitchen and wasn’t at all sure that she cared for the visitation. She fetched plates from the Welsh dresser.

“No, I can carry it,” Sebastian protested. “Knives, we need knives.” He looked around vaguely.

“I’ll send Bart with the tray.” The housekeeper shooed Sebastian as if he were a buzzing fly. “You go back to your guest now, sir.”

Sebastian, somewhat surprised at how his presence in the kitchen discommoded the housekeeper, yielded with good grace. “Very well, Mrs. Croft. I’ll just fetch up a bottle of claret from the cellar.” He headed for the cellar door before she could object to that, too.

“You’ll need the lantern, Mr. Sebastian.” She shook her head. “’Tis black as pitch down there.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose it is.” He looked around. “Where d’you keep the lantern?”

“On the wall, sir. By the back door. And there’s flint and tinder on the dresser.” It would have been a lot quicker to have done it herself, she reflected, assembling food, knives, and plates on a wooden tray.

Sebastian carried the lantern high and made his way down the steep steps to the cellar. He examined the wine racks by the light of the lamp, frowning. Why had Serena reacted to his kiss like that? It seemed such an extreme response, particularly in light of the previous
half-hour. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said her response to him at that moment was revulsion.

Still frowning, he selected a bottle from the rack, dusting off cobwebs as he returned to the kitchen.

“Bart’s taken the tray through,” the housekeeper informed him. “I’ll pull the cork on that bottle.”

“No … no … I’m quite capable of uncorking a bottle, Mrs. Croft.” He looked around. “Just point me in the direction of the corkscrew.”

Mrs. Croft sighed and pulled open a drawer in the kitchen table. “Here you are, sir.”

“Thank you.” Sebastian bestowed his most dazzling smile upon her and left the kitchen with bottle and corkscrew.

Bart was arranging the contents of the tray on the small table at the window when Sebastian returned to the parlor. “Will that be all, sir?”

Sebastian cast a quick glance at the table and nodded. “Just put some more logs on the fire, if you would.” He drew the cork on the bottle, sniffed it, then poured a small measure into one of the glasses.

“Will it do?” Serena’s light tones came from the door.

“’Tis one of your favorites,” he said. He was smiling as he turned to look at her, but the smile was shadowed with a question. “
Un bon
Bordeaux from Nuit St. Georges.” He poured a glass and handed it to her.

She took its scent with an appreciative nod, sipped, and smiled. “Fancy you remembering.”

His eyes took on a smoky hue as he said quietly, “I remember everything about you.”

She glanced with quick warning at the boy making up the fire, and Sebastian turned aside to the laden table. “What may I offer you, ma’am? A little cold chicken, perhaps?”

Bart finished with the fire and scurried from the room. Sebastian cut a thick slice of still-warm bread, buttered it lavishly, and put it with a slice of chicken breast on Serena’s plate. He looked the question at her again, and she gave a rather tentative smile.

“Forgive me, Sebastian. I don’t know what came over me. I suppose it’s because men are always pawing me at the tables. ’Tis as if I am as much an attraction as the cards, and they have as much right to me as they do to play.”

He paled, a white shade around his mouth. “Heyward lets them do that?”

If you only knew,
she thought. She said with a careless shrug, “He sees nothing wrong in it, as long as it brings them to the tables. I just find it annoying.” She picked up the plate and took it to a fireside chair, sniffing hungrily. “Why is it that the simplest food always tastes the best?” She piled chicken on the bread and took a hearty bite. “This is so good.”

Sebastian accepted that the subject was closed, at least as far as Serena was concerned this afternoon, but he determined to revisit it soon. He smiled, nibbling on
a cold leg of fowl. “Anything tastes good when you’re hungry.”

“Oh, that reminds me … have you received a dinner invitation from Mrs. Sutton?”

Sebastian looked astonished. “Good God, no. Why should I?”

“Oh, you will,” she assured him. “Mrs. Sutton has set her heart on giving a dinner party to introduce Abigail to a wider society. But since she doesn’t know anyone from a wider society, she has co-opted me to make up a guest list from my own acquaintances.” Her eyes danced merrily as she saw his dumbfounded expression. “You are to be the guest of honor, sir. The people I invite are all to be those who will make you feel comfortable.”

Sebastian flopped into an armchair, still holding the chicken leg. “Is this some kind of jest?”

She shook her head. “Not as far as the Suttons are concerned. They wish to thank you for the service you did Abigail but were unsure how to go about it. They asked for my help.” She shrugged easily, took a sip of her wine and another mouthful of bread and chicken.

Sebastian shook his head in confusion. “But I don’t wish to be a guest of honor. I don’t know them at all.”

“A situation they wish to remedy,” Serena informed him with a tranquil smile. “Come now, it won’t be so bad. I will be there, and I’ll make sure some congenial folk make up the guest list. They won’t be high sticklers, you can be confident of that.”

“What of the general? If he’s to be included, Serena, I
will not accept. I could not break bread at the same table as that …” Words failed him. He drained his wine glass.

She nodded. “I understand that. Indeed, I will do everything in my power to exclude him. The less he sees of Abigail, the better. And the fewer opportunities he has to ingratiate himself with her parents, very much the better.”

Sebastian’s gaze sharpened. “Oh? Why is that?”

Serena hesitated, once again caught between the whole unpalatable truth and the need to give Sebastian a good enough reason. “I believe he’s making a play for Abigail, and he’s too old for her, for a start. And then …”

“And then?” he prompted, his gaze still sharp.

She set aside her plate and leaned forward. “After seeing the way he treated my mother, I’m not prepared to see Abigail become another victim. Besides,” she added, an edge to her voice, “it would be the sweetest revenge to deny him a new bride.”

Sebastian absorbed this for a moment. It made perfect sense, and in a way, it was reassuring to hear Serena bent on vengeance. She had lost none of her spirit after all. “Fair enough,” he said easily.

“I’m glad you think so,” she said with a sudden smile that illuminated her countenance, set her eyes dancing, and warmed him to his core. “Because I have a kind of a play … one that makes it very difficult for my stepfather to pursue Abigail … and it involves you, Sebastian.”

This made him frown, and a wary look came into his eyes. “How?”

Serena picked her words carefully. “Abigail is drawn to you already—her knight in shining armor. And I have formed the impression that as far as her mother is concerned, you are a much better catch than the general.”

“Me?”

“Yes, my dear,
you.
” She couldn’t help laughing at the horror on his face. “I’m not asking you to offer for her. She could solve your financial problems once and for all, but in truth, I don’t think I would like it one little bit.”