Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 (24 page)

His mouth hardened on hers, his tongue tracing the soft curve of her lips before plunging inside to taste her deeply, hungrily. She wanted so much, more of him. She had never felt like that before, as if she soared up into the stars in truth.

She felt him press her back against the balustrade, his open mouth sliding from hers to trace her jaw, her arched neck. He touched the sensitive little spot behind her ear lightly with the tip of his tongue, making her laugh.

How wondrous kissing was! Why had she not known that before? Or was it only
him
that made it so wonderful? She reached up to twine her fingers in his hair and pulled him up to kiss her lips again. He went most eagerly, his kisses catching fire with a need that made her own burn even hotter.

‘Mary,' he whispered against her skin and the one word was so full of deep hidden meaning.

She pressed herself even closer to him, wanting to be nearer and nearer. Wanting so much of—she knew not what. She had fallen into the stars.

‘Oh, bravo, Sebastian! That was quick work indeed.'

The sudden sound of a gleeful voice felt like a shower of cold water raining down on the golden sunshine of that kiss. Mary stumbled back from Sebastian and would have fallen over the balustrade if he hadn't still held on to her arm. She physically ached, as if she had taken a sudden and sharp tumble.

She peered past his shoulder to find three men watching them—Lord Paul Gilesworth, Nicholas Warren and Lord James Sackville, who had been with Sebastian at Lady Alnworth's house. It was Giles who had spoken and he watched them with a most repulsive, artificial smile. Mr Warren, to his dubious credit, looked red-faced and appalled, while Lord James laughed.

Mary shook her head. This was surely a nightmare. It simply had to be. Only a moment before, she had felt more burningly alive than ever before. Now she felt cold, distant from the whole scene before her, as if she watched it in a play.

What had seemed such a sparkling, wondrous fairy tale had become something strange and ugly. She closed her eyes and prayed for delivery from that bad dream. She felt his hand on her arm and even it was not like before. Now it felt like a shackle.

When she opened her eyes, it was all still there. The men looking at her, Gilesworth looking horribly triumphant. She was trapped, frozen. After so many years of being proper, being careful, she had made one small misstep and been caught. It was a horrible feeling.

She waited for Sebastian to say something, for the appalling embarrassment to vanish, but that one terrible instant seemed to stretch on and on.

Then Gilesworth's words,
all
his words, crashed into her mind.

Quick work indeed.

Could that mean—was it really possible? Had Sebastian
meant
to seduce her into kissing him, for the amusement of his friends?

She swung around to look at him, horrified. He stared back at her, his face wary, unreadable. The man who had talked to her of the stars, who had listened to her confidences and kissed her so sweetly, had vanished.

‘Is...is it...' she stammered. She wasn't even sure what she was trying to say. Every word she ever knew had fled from her mind. She felt her cheeks flame with red-hot shame, yet at the same time she was frozen. She could only stare up at Sebastian. She couldn't see his eyes in the shadows.

‘You should be quite proud, Miss Manning, to have gained the attention of such a hero as our Lord Sebastian,' Gilesworth said smugly. ‘We weren't sure the two of you really had it in you to be so bold. But I see that for fifty guineas...'

Fifty guineas?
Were they
paying
Sebastian to kiss her?

Fool, fool,
her mind screamed at her. She had never felt so silly, so stupid before in her life.

‘Mary, no, please...' Sebastian began, his voice rough and hoarse.

But Mary couldn't bear to hear him say anything, for him to make excuses or, far worse, laugh at her. She felt like the sky, so beautiful with those shimmering stars, was crashing atop her.

She shook her head and pulled her arm free of his touch. What had felt so warm, so safe, now felt like ice. She couldn't bear to be near him a moment longer, to face the laughter of his friends. She spun around and ran towards the doors into the ballroom, hardly knowing where she was going. She heard Gilesworth's laughter chasing her.

Only when she saw the bright lights, the blur of the spinning dancers, did she realise she was in no fit state to face a crowd. Even if word of that kiss, that horrid bet, spread, she would have to hold her head up in a dignified play-act. She veered around to the side of the house and found a footman to direct her to the ladies' retiring room.

It was thankfully quiet in the small sitting room. Mary ducked behind a screen to take a deep breath, to close her eyes and try to slow down her racing thoughts. As she smoothed her hair and straightened her skirt, she heard the door open and other ladies' gowns rustling into the room amid a cloud of laughter. She had to compose herself, then find her father and go home immediately.

The most handsome rogue in London.
Mary bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud in a rather bitter fashion. They were utterly right, on both counts. Sebastian Barrett was devilishly handsome—and a terrible rogue, with no concern for ladies' feelings. Mary was sure she should have realised that, should have realised that his attentions were all a terrible jest. Men like him had no interest in women like her.

She would never forget that again.

* * *

‘Mary!' Sebastian called, but she was already gone, vanished into the darkness of the evening like a fluttering pink butterfly. His own head felt cursedly clouded, hazy with the unexpected delight of that kiss, and he wasn't fast enough to catch her. He had started to tell her the truth, had
wanted
to tell her, and yet it all came much too late.

Gilesworth caught Sebastian's arm as he started after her, and tossed a heavy purse of clanking coins at his chest. Sebastian let them fall to the terrace stones as he stared into Gilesworth's smirking face.

How had he ever befriended such a man, even in his desperation to forget battle? He had let boredom draw him into a vile scheme and now he bitterly rued the day.

All he could see was Mary's face, pale and shocked in the moonlight as she ran away from him. For one perfect moment, as he held her slender, trembling body in his arms, he had forgotten the men he had lost in battle, forgotten his family and London society, and the terrible, numb aimlessness of life.
She
made him forget, made things seem new and bright again.

It was something he hadn't expected at all, something startling. That awakening to sensation again, with the soft touch of her lips, the faint scent of her sweet rose perfume. And it had been shattered all too quickly, snatched away, and he had little but himself to blame. He had taken Gilesworth's ridiculous wager, and now he had wounded the sweetest lady he had ever met.

He reached out and grabbed Gilesworth by the front of his immaculate evening coat, erasing the man's hideous smirk.

‘You will never speak of this to anyone,' Sebastian said, in a low, steady voice. He wouldn't let his burning anger overwhelm him now; he had to help Mary however he could and stemming any gossip was only the first step. ‘If I even hear that you have so much as uttered Miss Manning's name, I shall make you sorry you were ever born.'

Gilesworth's self-satisfied smirk vanished, replaced by fear barely masked by a scowl. ‘Now, listen here, Barrett. It was all just a bit of fun, and you—'

‘It is in no way a “bit of fun”, and I was a bloody, foxed fool to ever involve myself in such a vile scheme,' Sebastian said. Inside, the dark flood of self-disgust threatened to drown him, but outwardly he stayed cold and calm. It was the hard lesson of battle. ‘But it is over now. You will leave Miss Manning in peace. Is that understood?'

He swept a cold glance over all of them. Lord James swallowed hard and nodded, and Nicholas Warren looked red-faced and appalled. Gilesworth scowled, as if he would argue and force Sebastian to challenge him to a duel or something equally ridiculous, but when Sebastian's fist tightened in the twist of his coat, he sullenly agreed.

Sebastian pushed the man away and hurried to the house to find Mary. She was nowhere to be seen in the ballroom, and her friend Lady Louisa said she thought Mary had already summoned her carriage to return home.

Her smile turned teasing as she looked up at him. ‘But I am sure if she knew you were looking for her, she would never have left so quickly.'

Sebastian knew he had to neutralise any gossip now, even with Mary's friends. He smiled back at her, a careless, casual smile. ‘I had hoped for a dance with Miss Manning, but I see I was too slow. At the next ball, then.'

He bowed and left her, even though she looked as if she wanted to say something more to him. He found a footman near the duchess's staircase and the servant verified Lady Louisa's words, that Miss Manning had called for her carriage and departed in rather a hurry. Sebastian rushed to the street outside, but there was no glimpse of the departing Manning carriage, even in the distance.

He would have to go to her home in the morning, at a proper hour, and make his apologies. He could only hope she would forgive him.

Chapter Four

‘O
h, Miss Manning! Thank heavens you're here,' Mary's maid cried, leaping out of her seat in the hall of the Manning house as Mary stepped inside. The floor was piled with crates and trunks. ‘Your father has been asking for you most urgently.'

‘My father?' Surprise and worry jolted Mary out of the dismal reflections that had been running through her head ever since she had left the duchess's ball. She had thought it was rather odd that her father would leave the ball early and send the carriage back for her, but she had been too busy chastising herself for ever trusting Sebastian Barrett.

She quickly handed her shawl to the maid and followed the butler down the corridor to her father's library.

She found her father standing in the midst of more crates, sorting his books and papers as more of the servants hurried around him taking paintings from the walls and draping the furniture in canvas covers. Candles were lit everywhere, casting a flicker over all the frantic activity. She noticed how tired her father looked and now concern replaced the hurt and embarrassment.

Mary was bewildered. It was nearly the middle of the night—what could be happening?

‘Papa? What is going on?' Mary asked, making her way between the uneven stacks of crates. She caught sight of herself in the looking glass on the wall, just before a footman threw a cloth over it. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks overly pink.

Luckily, her father did not seem to notice. He shoved a stack of books into her hands and vaguely gestured at one of the boxes.

‘I am very glad you're here, Mary,' he said. ‘There is not an instant to lose! We must leave in the morning. I've instructed the maids to start packing your gowns.'

‘In the morning!' Mary cried, even more confused. Had he found out about what happened at the ball, that she had disgraced herself? ‘Papa, whatever do you mean? Where are we going? Surely it is not so bad yet we must flee from gossip...'

‘Gossip?' Her father turned to peer at her closer, his arms full of more papers. ‘Is there gossip about Portugal? How very odd. The prime minister said haste and secrecy were of utmost importance, but I wouldn't have thought London society would care. Not yet.'

‘Portugal?' Mary's head was spinning. ‘Perhaps we should slow down for a moment, so you can tell me what exactly is happening. A half-hour ago I was at a ball...' Kissing Sebastian Barrett, but her father didn't need to know
that
. ‘Now you say we must pack and be gone by morning.'

Her father gave a wry laugh and leaned down to give her cheek a quick kiss. ‘You are quite right, my dear. It is all quite odd, but surely you have become rather accustomed to that in this strange life of ours.'

Mary nodded. Strange things
had
always happened in her life. New nurseries, new nannies, balls, receptions, new customs, new manners. She had been able to weather them all, thanks to her parents' example. But now she had no idea how to manage her own feelings. Her own mistakes.

Her father took her hand and led her to a quiet spot near one of the windows, away from the rush and noise of the footmen carrying away the crates. ‘I spoke to the prime minister tonight and he says it is most vital that I be in Portugal as soon as possible. The Portuguese have been trying to maintain neutrality between England and France, but Napoleon's diplomats have been making very threatening noises to Dom Joao. Lord Strangford has been made Britain's representative to the royal court there, but the prime minister wants someone with a great knowledge of the country to join him and advise him.'

‘As you do, because of Mama,' Mary said. She thought of the short time they had been in Portugal when she was a child, the sun and light of it, her mother's laughter. Surely it could be a refuge of sorts, somewhere far from England where she would make no more romantic mistakes.

‘As I do, yes. It will be a great challenge, I confess, perhaps the greatest I have faced in my career.' Her father sighed, his face a bit weary. He reached out and gently touched Mary's cheek. ‘I am sorry, my dear. We have barely settled in London and now I must drag you away again. Perhaps you would rather stay here, maybe with your friend Lady Louisa?'

‘Oh, no, Papa,' Mary cried. ‘I want to go with you, of course. I should love to see Portugal again and you will need someone to make sure you eat properly.'

He laughed. ‘And I confess I would be most lonely without you. But I can't help but wonder—are you quite all right?'

Mary was afraid the events at the ball could somehow show on her face and the last thing her father needed was more worries. ‘Of course, Papa. I must be a bit tired after the dancing.'

He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but the butler called him away with a question about the packing. Mary hurried out of the library and upstairs to her chamber, past several servants carrying out more trunks.

She paused at the window on the landing to peer out at the night. The sky was just beginning to lighten at the edges, a pale grey that would see them gone blessedly soon. Against her will, a vision of Sebastian Barrett flashed through her mind. Those jewel-green eyes, that had seemed so sad just before he kissed her. The rush of hot, burning pain when she realised she was only a joke to him.

She pushed the memory away and rushed on towards her room. It felt horribly like running away, but she was very glad of the sudden departure to Portugal. There, she wouldn't have to worry about seeing Lord Sebastian, facing what her foolish infatuation had led her into.

And, hundreds of miles away, she wouldn't have to face being led into temptation by him all over again...

* * *

Sebastian knocked on the Mannings' door again and listened to the hollow echo inside. He stepped back on the walkway and peered up at the house, his hat in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other. It looked as if all the windows were shuttered, the doors locked.

His heart sank. Where could they be? Surely it had only been last night he saw Mary at the ball and everything went so disastrously wrong. He
had
gone back to his lodgings and drank rather too much wine after he lost her in the crowd, but surely he had not lost
that
much time?

Even the wine hadn't been able to give him sleep. Just like so many other nights since he came back to England, he sat awake into the dawn hours, yet last night it wasn't the haunting thoughts of battle that kept him up. It was the memory of Miss Manning's eyes, the way she looked up at him just before she kissed him, so full of wonder that she made him feel it, too. Made the night seem new.

And the shadow in those same eyes when she realised the truth. When she realised the damnable cad he had somehow become.

The truth of what he had done, his appallingly ungentlemanly behaviour, had shocked him out of his hazy, pain-filled memories as nothing else could. He hated what he had become, how near he had come to hurting a sweet lady like Mary Manning.

As soon as he had pulled back the curtains to let the light of day wash over his aching head and carry away the cobwebs of the night, he had known what he had to do. He had to go to Miss Manning immediately, apologise and beg for her forgiveness.

Ask her to help him somehow find his way back into the world. After that kiss, the warm newness of it, he was sure she was the only one who could help him. And he had to erase those shadows he had created in her sweet, beautiful eyes.

But how could he make amends if he couldn't find her?

He knocked on the door again, only to be greeted with the same—no answer. Some of his eager certainty turned chilly.

The downstairs servants' door to the house next door opened and a maid appeared on the front steps with a bucket and scrub brush. She gave him a curious glance.

‘Looking for the Mannings, are you, sir?' she asked.

He gave her a relieved smile. ‘Yes, indeed. Though it seems I must come back later, since the door knocker is off.'

‘Won't do you any good, sir, as I think they left this morning.'

‘Left? For good?'

‘Oh, yes. Carts came and hauled off boxes and trunks before it was even light outside. That happened to the last people who lived there, too, but they ran off from the debt collectors. My master says the Mannings were just sent off to a new posting.' She gave a doubtful frown under the frills of her cap.

Off to a new posting. Already? How could that be? Sebastian felt the heat of an urgent need to find Miss Manning right away, before she left for good.

He knew of one person who always seemed to know what was happening with the Foreign Office—his father. Sebastian quickly thanked the maid and hurried back to his phaeton, set on going to his parents' house in Portman Square immediately. His father would be certain Sebastian had messed something up, again, and indeed he had.

But then he had to find Miss Manning.

* * *

‘It is good you are here, Sebastian,' his father said, barely looking up from the papers scattered across his desk as Sebastian knocked at his library door.

Sebastian was surprised and brought up short on his urgent errand. His father was seldom happy to see him at the family domicile. Even after he had returned from the battlefield and his father admitted that Sebastian's Army life had been a credit to their family after all, his father had spoken of little but his own work at the Foreign Office. ‘Indeed?'

‘Yes. Henry has been ill this week and there is much work to be done. Several people have been sent to new, vital postings and I must see that these messages go to them immediately. You can deliver some of them, surely? Find out from Henry if he has messages to send, as well.'

Sebastian was even more startled. ‘You want
my
help, Father?'

His father looked up, blinking behind his spectacles, almost as if he just realised Sebastian was there. ‘You're here, so of course you'll do. I told you, Henry is ill and your eldest brother is still in the country looking after the estate. You can make yourself useful, for once.'

Sebastian laughed wryly. That was all he
could
do, really, when it came to his family. Laugh—and go his own way. His world had been designated the dust and roar of battle long ago, far from the darker world of his father and Henry, the world of diplomacy.

The world of Miss Manning and her father.

He remembered his true errand at his father's library, to find out what had happened to the Mannings, and he brushed away his irritation. ‘So your diplomatic friends are being shuffled off to new ports, are they?'

His father glared at him. ‘You have never shown an interest in them before.'

Sebastian shrugged. He had to keep up his careless façade; he could never let his father see that something mattered to him, especially if that something was a respectable young lady. ‘These are interesting times, are they not? One never knows when the Army will be called out next. I met your friends the Mannings at the Alnworth ball.'

‘Did you indeed? Sir William has been sent to Lisbon. That idiot Prince Joao has been wavering in his alliance and must be brought back most firmly to England's side. The loss of Portuguese New World ports at this time would be disastrous. Sir William is the man for the job.'

‘To Portugal?' Sebastian said, his mind racing. Mary Manning would be well on her journey now—too far out of the reach of his apologies. He had to find her somehow.

His father waved him away and turned back to his papers. ‘I must finish this. Go see your brother and be on your way, Sebastian.'

Sebastian hardly noticed his father's curt dismissal, so accustomed was he to this behaviour. He thought perhaps Henry would know more of Miss Manning. They were rumoured to maybe make a match of it, after all, and Henry seemed much more the sort of man Sir William would want for his daughter—on the surface, anyway.

He left his father's library and made his way up the stairs to the corridor where Henry had his rooms. On the staircase, he was suddenly caught by the painted eyes of the ancestral portraits hung on the red-painted walls. A long line of them, all the way back to a Barrett who represented Charles I in Venice, who served England so well behind the scenes. Who excelled at saving their country time and again.

When he was a child, he always thought they seemed to sniff at him disapprovingly. They didn't seem to have changed much over the years.

He dashed past them and knocked on Henry's sitting-room door. ‘Come in!' Henry ordered, and when he saw it was his brother rather than a servant, he merely added, ‘Oh. It is you.'

‘Your brother, home from the wars,' Sebastian answered lightly. ‘Father is sending off messengers hither and yon, he wanted to see if you had anything to add.'

‘Just a moment, then.' Henry turned back to his desk. Like their father, he was tall and slim, with curling hair and spectacles over his faraway blue eyes. But Sebastian noticed suddenly that Henry also seemed pale, a warm wrap closely tucked around his shoulders despite the sunny day. Sebastian wondered with a worried pang if his brother was indeed ill, but he knew Henry would welcome no such queries.

‘Father says all your diplomatic friends are scattering across the Continent, gathering in reluctant allies,' Sebastian said.

‘I doubt he would put it quite like that,' Henry muttered. ‘But, yes. We must all do our duty now.'

‘He said Sir William Manning has been sent to Portugal.'

‘It is of vital importance now.'

‘So it seems. But I heard a rumour you might miss Sir William's daughter when she is gone.'

Henry gave a humourless laugh. ‘Miss Mary Manning? I had thought of her, of course. Our fathers have long known each other and she knows what a life such as ours entails. She wouldn't be too tiresome.'

Sebastian felt a flare of anger on the lovely Miss Mary's behalf—only to push it away, knowing he had no right.
He
was the one she should rightfully be furious with, of course. ‘I saw her at the ball last night. She was very pretty.'