A Wedding Wager (31 page)

He poked the fire into life and added more wood, then approached the bed, holding the branch of candles, hoping to wake her slowly. She still lay on her side, her cheek pillowed on one hand, the other rested along her
flank. He frowned, leaned closer. There was a mark on her cheek that he had not seen before. The shadow of an emerging bruise. He held the candles higher and saw her wrist, red and bruised against the pale skin of her hip. Quietly, he set the branched candles down on the night table so that they threw light on the sleeper’s face and sat down in a chair by the window, waiting for the light to do its work.

It did soon enough. Serena swam slowly up through the mists of sleep, aware of a flickering light against her eyelids. She lay still, luxuriating for a few more moments in the trance of half-sleep. Something was missing. Her back felt cold and alone. She reached behind her and encountered only emptiness. Startled into full awareness, she rolled over towards the light and blinked in sleepy protest as it hit her eyes. Slowly, her vision cleared, and she hitched herself onto an elbow, blinking blearily into the room. Sebastian was sitting naked in a chair by the window, the fire was once more ablaze, and the room was bright with candlelight.

“Is it time for you to go?” she mumbled.

“Soon enough, but we have time yet.” His voice was very quiet, but something in it alarmed her. He stood up and came over to the bed. He reached down and touched her cheek, then lifted her wrist. “How did these happen?”

Serena thought rapidly. It was her own fault for initiating this night. She should have known that in such close quarters, she couldn’t hide the marks. There was
absolutely no point attempting to lie. Not to Sebastian.

“My stepfather,” she said. “When I came in this afternoon, he was livid because I had not done something he wanted me to do.” She was not going to bring up Burford again. “He lost his temper.” She tried to take her hand away, to smile and touch his cheek, but he still held her wrist, and his expression was a mask of cold fury. “’Tis nothing, really, Sebastian.”

“What d’you mean, ’tis nothing?” he demanded, his face as pale as death. “How often has he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “This was the first time … oh, he hurt my mother, I know he did, but he’s never done more than threaten me before. He just lost his temper this time and forgot himself. If I had had my pistol with me, he would not have had the opportunity. I promise from now on, I will have it on my person at all times.”

Sebastian’s expression changed to one of stunned disbelief. “Your
pistol
?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “I acquired it from a good friend in Brussels who felt that I needed protection, living as we did.” She tried a reassuring smile. “There’s no need for concern, Sebastian, he taught me how to shoot, too. I know how to use it, and believe me, if I have to, I will.”

“I’m not interested in your pistol or your skill as a good shot,” he said, sounding harsher than he intended. “I will
not
permit you to stay under this roof another instant. Get up and put together the things you cannot leave behind. From now on, you are under my protection.”

Serena’s sudden pallor was a mirror image of his own. She swung off the bed, facing him. “Hear this, Sebastian. I have no need of your protection or that of anyone else. I can take care of myself. I will not move from one male roof to another at anyone’s bidding. Understand that.”

“Do you seriously think, Serena, that I am going to walk away leaving you to the abuse of that bastard? Now, do as I ask. Pack what you cannot leave behind.”

“No, Sebastian.” She shook her head. “I will not leave until I have ensured Abigail’s safety.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Leave the girl to her own future. If her parents are fool enough to hand her over to the general, then so be it. She and her future happiness are their responsibility, not yours. You have no right to meddle, Serena.”

“Meddle,”
she exclaimed. “How dare you, Sebastian? And how could you consign that poor child to such a future? You’re as bad as my stepfather.” She swung away from him with a gesture of disgust.

“What did you say?” His voice was so soft she could barely hear it. “Serena, repeat what you said.”

And she realized how anger had led her to say something unjust, something that put her in the wrong, leaving her at a disadvantage when she knew how right she was. She had known Sebastian would react like this if he saw what Heyward had done, and she’d tried to keep him from seeing it. But she’d given in to a self-indulgent whim, and this was where it had landed her.

She took a deep, steadying breath. “I should not have
said that. I beg your pardon. But you should not have accused me of meddling. I am not meddling, I am attempting to save some innocent from what happened to my mother, not to mention from the fate I’ve been dodging for myself for the last three years. Abigail does not have my strength. He will sell her to the highest bidder once he has run through her dowry.”

Sebastian took his own deep breath. “Let me get this straight. Heyward is coercing you into whoredom?”

“Crude but correct,” she said, face and voice expressionless. “But I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing so for many years now.”
And only failed once.
But that she kept to herself. It would do Sebastian no good to be told of the Spaniard’s rape.

“It makes no difference. I will not leave you here. You must come with me,” he stated.

“You have no right of command, Sebastian.” Her voice was strangely detached as she gathered up the coverlet, wrapping herself in its folds.

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, knowing that it was the wrong moment, that emotions were running too high for the proposal he’d been waiting to make for days now, but utterly unable to keep silent.

“Marry you?”
She stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Marry me, Serena. Let me look after you.”

It felt to Serena as if her head had been dipped in a bucket of icy water. She stared at him. “Look after me?
Assert
a right of command, you mean?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, you didn’t have to. You’ve been stamping around stating what you will and will not tolerate, as if I somehow belonged to you.” She waved a hand in abrupt dismissal. “You are in my bedchamber and not welcome here. Please leave. You may leave the side door unlocked. I’ll lock it again when you’re safely away.”

“Serena …”
He took a step forward, his hands reaching for her, intent only on compelling her to see reason, and then he read the revulsion on her face as she held out a hand to ward him off.

“Don’t come near me. Don’t touch me.”

Without a word, he turned away from her and dressed rapidly. “Good night.” He bowed to her averted back, heard her own low-voiced “Good night,” and went to the door. He let himself out of the house without incident and walked through the cool air of the predawn to Stratton Street, cursing himself for overplaying his hand and Serena for being a stubborn, willful, impossible woman and consigning General Sir George Heyward to the sharpest pitchforks in the deepest depths of Lucifer’s inferno.

Serena waited five minutes, then slipped out of her chamber and down the backstairs to lock the side door. She didn’t realize that she was weeping until a tear splashed on her hand as she lifted it to the bolt.

She stood for a moment, her forehead resting wearily against her hand still pressed to the door. Why did such a glorious night have to end in such a bitter debacle?
She and Sebastian were and always had been so perfect together, such a wonderfully interlocking fit … at least physically, in the ways of love. Maybe that was all they had. And yet she knew in her heart that it was not all. But she would never … no,
could
never give up her independence of thought, of action, never give up the right to act as she considered right for herself.

Marriage to Sebastian? She had never even considered it; their situations were so wildly different. Such a union could ruin Sebastian. He had spoken without thought, of course, out of anger, even, because she would not do as he wished. Out of frustration, he had simply fallen back upon the traditional attitudes about the way men and women should behave together. Marriage would give him rights he could not have otherwise. Husbands had the right of command, wives the obligation to obey.

How could she possibly have imagined they were a perfect fit?

“May I borrow the barouche this morning, Mama?” Abigail slipped into her seat at the breakfast table, fixing her mother with a cajoling smile.

“Good heavens, whatever for?” Marianne demanded, dipping a finger of toast into her teacup.

“I wish to visit Lady Serena before our dinner this evening.” Abigail had come up with what she thought was the perfect excuse for such a visit. “She said she would ask her maid to show Matty how to dress my hair in a particularly fashionable way, so I thought Matty could accompany me to Pickering Place. You will be so busy with preparations for this evening, I know you don’t have time, and it might be quite a long visit.”

Marianne looked doubtful, but her husband, delicately deboning one of a pair of kippers on his plate, said, “Oh, you may be sure Lady Serena knows what’s what when it comes to high fashion. I’ve never seen her looking anything but a perfect picture. You run along, puss, and take all the advice she’ll give you. Don’t want
to look a country dowd at your first party, does she, Mrs. Sutton?”

“I hardly think Abigail would look like a dowd when I have had the dressing of her,” Marianne declared with a sniff that told her husband he would have done better to phrase himself more diplomatically.

“No, no … of course not, my dear. Heaven forbid,” he blustered. “Meant no such thing, I assure you. But Lady Serena knows what young ladies in London are doing with their hair. Stands to reason a word of advice from her can’t come amiss, although your opinion is always the final one, my dear ma’am.”

Marianne looked a trifle mollified. “Well, I suppose it can do no harm, and there’s no knowing whom you may meet in Lady Serena’s drawing room. As it happens, I have no need of the carriage myself this morning, so you may have it for an hour, but I shall need you to rest upon your bed this afternoon. You must be in best looks for the evening.”

“Yes, Mama.” Abigail concealed her jubilation at the ease of her victory with downcast eyes.

She set off an hour later in the barouche, feeling pleased with her appearance. The dark blue pelisse lined and tipped with white fur was of the first style of elegance, and her blue silk cap beneath her fur-tipped hood was adorned with the most fetching velvet ribbons. As she had dressed, she had wondered if perhaps Mr. Sullivan might be visiting Lady Serena. And if not
that gentleman, then there could be others. Lady Serena had to have a large circle of acquaintances and gallants dancing attendance.

The Suttons had never been invited to any evening gatherings at General Heyward’s residence in Brussels, but Abigail knew they frequently held large parties. Her mother had once or twice expressed a degree of resentment at the lack of evening invitations, but her father had reminded his wife that as Abigail was not yet out, it would not be appropriate to receive or accept invitations to the kind of large gatherings held by the general and his stepdaughter. As for himself, he detested going out in the evening; a quiet time by his own fireside after a good dinner was all he required.

Serena would have been wryly amused at Abigail’s assumptions about her social life had she been in a different frame of mind. She had slept badly after Sebastian’s departure and gazed at her wan reflection in the mirror with less than approbation. Her eyes were heavy, slightly red-rimmed from the tears she had shed, and her head ached. To cap it all, the Suttons’ dinner party was that evening, when she would have to be at her sparkling best, as most of the guests were her own acquaintances. Sebastian would be among them, unless he decided after the previous night’s debacle to send his regrets.

Serena could not imagine what kind of meeting she and Sebastian could have. What could they say to each other in public? Indeed, what was there left for them to
say? Sebastian, for all his gentle courtesy, quick humor, sensitivity, and tenderness, was also stubborn, as she knew from experience. He would not lightly give up cherished opinions or change an attitude that he believed to be correct. And she had seen no inkling that he was persuadable in his conviction regarding the proper way matters should be conducted between man and wife.

She sighed and picked up the rouge pot. A touch on her cheekbones and a dusting of powder would hide the now faint shadow of her stepfather’s hand. Long sleeves were not exactly conventional wear for an evening party, but if she was to hide her bruised wrist, she had little choice. Unless she could come up with a satisfactory explanation.

She turned as the door opened, and Bridget came in. “There’s a young lady come to visit you, m’lady. A Miss Sutton, Flanagan says. He wants to know if you’re at home.”

Abigail here?
Serena frowned. “Is she alone?” Abigail on her own she could manage, but Mrs. Sutton was more than she could face at this moment.