One Tempting Proposal (14 page)

Clayborne cleared his throat, a drawn-­out awkward sound, with none of the grace his daughter had managed.

“Yes, yes, a toast to Katherine. Finally a bride-­to-­be. We doubted the day would ever come. Many thanks for taking her off my hands, Wrexford. My suffering shall now be yours.” He raised his wineglass halfheartedly and then gulped the contents in one swallow.

He was the only one who drank. The rest around the table still held their glasses aloft or had set them down again. None could miss his snide tone or the insult to his daughter.

Seb glanced at Kat again, but she'd turned her attention to studying the pattern on her dinner plate. She deserved more than her father's dismissal. Seb feared she'd experienced it far too often. Any man who'd truly won her hand in marriage wouldn't stand for it.

“We can do better than that, surely, my lord.”

Her gaze locked on his and words welled up faster than he could raise his guard or make an effort to temper the emotion in his tone. “To the most intriguing woman I have ever met.”

Seb wouldn't take back the words, even if he could. Intrigue was only the edge of what he felt for her, and he'd happily admit it if he could avoid examining the rest. His admission earned him a glance of surprise, and he relished the tremulous grin just tempting the corners of her mouth too much to regret a word of it.

“High praise for my daughter, Your Grace, though I suspect you're acquainted with few women for comparison. There can't have been many to catch your eye at Cambridge.”

Clayborne's false joviality wasn't enough to cover the pointed dismissal of his daughter.

Pippa cut in the moment he'd finished speaking. “The number of women at Cambridge might surprise you, my lord.” She turned her gaze to Kat before continuing. “My brother knows his mind, and he never offers praise lightly.”

A moment of kinship passed between Kat and his sister, and the sight of it might have pleased Seb if Clayborne's cruelty hadn't already deadened his appetite. More than dishonesty and scheming, he loathed a bully. Ollie had been small for his age until a recent growth spurt, and Seb had spent their school years defending him. But fists and brute strength were nothing to the cleverer sort of bully who bludgeoned with words.

Sitting through the rest of the meal's courses was only tolerable because of the lively conversation between the ladies over their favorite art at the South Kensington Museum. Pippa preferred portraits of thinkers, scientists, both men and women, and Kat expressed a fondness for art that told a story, like the vivid landscapes of Mr. Turner and the bold realism of the Pre-­Raphaelite Brotherhood. Harriet joined the conversation at the last moment to declare the portrait of Lord Byron her favorite, and though she didn't expound on her choice, all of the ladies got a far-­off wistful look in their eyes and none raised a single objection.

Lord Clayborne was too far away to require Seb to engage him in conversation, and the man seemed, as he had in his study, more content to observe than offer any more barbs to injure his daughter. Seb couldn't muster an ounce of disappointment when Lord and Lady Clayborne insisted on departing shortly after the meal rather than withdrawing for after-­dinner conversation. Better yet, they allowed Harriet and Kat to remain, promising to send the carriage back to retrieve them.

“When are you going to show me
your
conservatory?” Kat asked as they sat together on the drawing room settee.

“I'm afraid we don't have one at Wrexford House.”

“For an intelligent man, you do have a tendency to be quite literal. I meant the place where you escape. You found my haven. Now I want to see yours.”

Seb didn't think she intended the request to be seductive, to sound like a siren's call, but his body responded as if she did, thrumming with barely suppressed energy. It was hunger too long unsated, desire too long denied. He flexed his fingers, wishing they were pressed against her skin.

It was precisely the wrong moment to lead her to a room where they'd be alone, where no one would see if he breached the line of propriety.

But she tilted her head as she waited for him to respond, and her emerald eyes glittered as she scanned his face, no doubt reading each illicit thought that crossed his mind. The woman was an irresistible provocation.

“Come with me.”

 

Chapter Fourteen

“C
OME WITH M
E.”
He demanded more than asked, and it sent an odd tremor skittering across Kitty's skin.

No man commanded her. Only her father tried, and she'd been bucking his control most of her life. She should have loathed Sebastian's tone of command, but she didn't. She loved the strength of his much larger hand enclosing her own, the heat of his palm, and the tickle of his fingers as he tugged her along. He'd snatched her away from Lady Stamford's ballroom like this, guiding her out into the garden. She'd done the persuading that night, but caught against the warm wall of his chest, he could have convinced her too. Convinced her to accept more than a fleeting kiss if they hadn't been distracted by this silly ruse between them.

“This is where I retreat each time I enter Wrexford House.”

When he turned up the gaslight and lit the study, Kitty could easily picture him behind the massive cherrywood desk or bent over the table covered with books and papers and scientific gadgets she struggled to identify. The dark blue wallpaper suited him, and the shelves of books matched the image she had of a devoted scholar. Then she remembered how recently he'd inherited his title and begun living in the late duke's residences. Perhaps the books lining these shelves came with the house, and the late duke had favored literature over science. Perhaps they didn't reflect Sebastian's taste at all. How strange it must be to step into another's life. He achieved it with more grace than she suspected she'd manage.

“What's all that?” Pointing to the cluttered table in the center of the room, she suddenly wished she'd spent more of her education on scientific study and less time on deportment and acquiring bland ladylike skills.

“The makings of a paper for the Mathematical Society. Believe it or not, all of that boils down to a few pages that will take me an hour to present and be as quickly forgotten.”

She might find the topic of his paper beyond the limits of the basic math she'd learned from her governess, but she understood devotion to a beloved task.

“I spend months tending a plant for a few glorious blooms. They're well worth the effort.”

She cast a wary glance at his face. If her father could be trusted as a guide, a man's pride was easily offended, especially when it came to his life's work. Perhaps his study of mathematics and her efforts to bring the family conservatory to life wasn't the most apt comparison. But Sebastian didn't look offended.

He nodded, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Yes, I imagine they are. Though I'm not sure anyone will say the same of my paper.”

Kitty blinked, then again, before narrowing her eyes. He continually surprised her. As if he worked at overturning all of her expectations. Could any man be so affable, or look so at ease pretending to be, if that's what he was doing?

“Is that feigned humility, Your Grace, or are you truly so self-­effacing?”

Crossing his arms, he tipped his chin and studied the ceiling as if her question required thorough consideration. It was a tactic she sometimes used with her father to avoid his chess game altogether. But she and Sebastian were locked in his study. He couldn't escape her questions or her curiosity about his true nature.

“Perhaps a bit of both?”

“So you are capable of prevarication after all.”

“I prefer to think of it as moderation. No man should be all one thing or the other. You have to allow room for gray.”

The duke couldn't have been more unlike her father. He turned Papa's philosophies on end.

“My father would say otherwise.”

“I suspect your father and I will often disagree.”

“That's something to look forward to.”

She stepped over to inspect his scientific equipment and a flash drew her eye. He stood, arms still crossed, leaning on the edge of his desk, a smile lifting his handsome face. Men smiled at her all the time, but not like this. It wasn't a lascivious grin or even one meant to charm. His look signaled contentment, pleasure, that he enjoyed her company and whatever she'd just said. She couldn't recall at the moment. His smile set her belly fluttering and brightened the room as effectively as it lightened her mood. Even the irritation over Papa's sarcasm at dinner melted away.

“You should smile more often, Sebastian.”

Kat bit her lip and he immediately stopped smiling, shooting her a guilty look, as if he'd been caught enjoying himself when she'd banned merriment of any kind. Is that what he thought of her? She'd spent years telling herself she feigned pleasure well, that she look amused when a lady should, but never too often. But honest and unfettered laughter was a rare indulgence, and smiles like his, pure and artless, never came easily for her. She stifled them or tried to smile naturally and then found that too much thinking drained the pleasure out of it all together.

Sebastian saw more, past the polite grins and inane conversation she'd perfected. The notion of him seeing beyond her façade frightened and thrilled her. He'd find fault behind her walls, surely. Such a decent man would disdain all the pettiness and the imperfection she kept hidden from view, but at least he would see her. Truly see her. She wanted him to. Stark honesty had never seemed possible with any man, but Sebastian was a different sort than she'd ever expected to meet.

She'd watched him too long. One of his eyebrows lifted and he no doubt wondered why she stood gaping at him like a fool. She turned away, desperate for any sight as appealing as his eyes. His cluttered table begged for attention, the glass and metal of various gadgets glinted in the light and books lay open, causing her to wonder why that particular page caught his eye. She approached the table and reached out to touch the one object with which she was familiar.

“I had a telescope once.” His was far grander than the child's version she'd treasured, but the excitement of potential discovery, what she might see through its far-­reaching eye, was as potent as when she was a girl. The instrument sat in a stand on the table, too far from a window where she might gaze up into London's night sky.

“Shall we move it over to the window?”

He read her mind, and understood her eagerness. She saw it reflected in his face, sensed it in his movements as he rushed around her to arrange a wooden structure in front of the long study window and then lifted the telescope onto the scaffold. When it was secured, he glanced at her over his shoulder.

“Are you going to come and have a look?”

Not only did he offer her a look, but he refrained from taking a glimpse himself first. Another mark of chivalry and restraint she couldn't help but admire.

Leaning in front of him, she gazed through the eyepiece and saw beauty, a sapphire blanket encrusted with diamonds. A bittersweet pang racked her body, a hollowness gaped in her chest, and a silly tear welled at the corner of her eye. She'd missed this.

She sensed him behind her, but he kept silent, allowing her to look her fill. Only when she lifted her head, swallowing down the irritating tear, did he speak, his voice low and gentle.

“What happened to it?”

Talking about the incident would bring back the memory, and then she'd lose her battle with that tear. But she couldn't resist the tenderness in his gaze, the curiosity in his tone.

“My father took it away.”

The look of disgust flashed so quickly, she might have missed if she hadn't been staring at him again.

“Why would he do such a thing?”

None of it had made sense to her then, though now she understood her father's motives. But knowing why he did it, even with years of distance, did not erase her memory of the pain. So many of his actions came down to his disappointment in her. She'd never been what he wished—­too tall, too opinionated, too boyish, too silly. She never succeeded at impressing him, never succeeded at pleasing him, but she'd exceeded at disappointing him. Could she count that a victory?

“Would you believe I was a bit of a tomboy? At first I think he enjoyed having a child who wished to learn to fish and ride and shoot. But then he didn't. He insisted I give up my boyish pursuits.”

The duke managed to look appealing, even with a frown twisting his features.

“Curiosity about the heavens and the celestial bodies is a boyish pursuit? Astronomy is set aside for men?” His voice boomed off the walls of his study and echoed through her.

“In his mind, yes. He wished for me to behave like a lady.”

“There is no doubt you're that.”

“My father has doubts.”

He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair before moving toward her. A zing of anticipation dipped into disappointment when he didn't reach for her. Apparently, he wanted to have a look too. He leaned down to press his eye to the telescope.

“I don't.” Despite the low timbre of his voice, the two words rang in her ears.

After moving the telescope a fraction to the left, he lifted a hand to urge her over.

“Have a look.”

The patterns emerged the longer she looked.

“Ursa Major.” Names came back to her, and she recalled the sky map she'd treasured and traced with her finger over and over. “And Orion's Belt!”

“You remember the constellations.” She didn't look up at him, but she could hear the smile in Sebastian's tone.

“It's all coming back to me. Oh, and there's Cassiopeia. I named my cat Cassiopeia.”

“Did you?”

“Mmm. I struggled to spell the word, but I loved the sound of it.”

He stepped closer, his boots just brushing the edge of her skirt. In the quiet, her gaze focused far into the night sky, all of her other senses sharpened. She could hear him breathing, faster as he took another step, and savored his clean masculine scent. Bergamot and juniper, and something deeper and woodsy. Sandalwood, perhaps.

“Kat?”

His leg pressed against hers, and his breath had gone ragged.

“I . . . need to kiss you.”

Relief rushed her, as if someone had cut her from her corset or smashed a lock in the center of her chest.

She turned to take the kiss she'd wanted from that first moment when he'd chastised her during Mama's ball.

He didn't wait for her to turn. He pressed his body to hers from behind and dipped his head to kiss the slope where her shoulder met her neck. She'd never realized the spot was linked directly to her knees, but they buckled the minute he touched her skin with the heated tip of his tongue.

Reaching an arm around, he braced her body against his. A bulwark of tall firm male warmed her back and his long legs pressed into the folds of her skirt. She stopped resisting and let herself lean on him, into him, testing the feel of allowing a man to hold her up.

“You smell of lavender tonight. And vanilla.”

His voice turned raw, shaky, and she turned in his arms to face him.

“I didn't eat dinner. Nothing seemed as appealing as what you might taste like. I sat through the whole meal craving lavender scones.”

Suitors had compared her to Aphrodite or Helen of Troy, called her a goddess or an angel and all manner of ridiculous names, but none had compared her to a baked good. Kitty was on the cusp of protesting when he stilled her with a touch. His hands trembled when he caressed her face, and he met her gaze for a long agonizing moment before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

She protested with a little cry of frustration.

An almost kiss wasn't enough. She needed more.

Reaching her hand up to clasp his, she guided his palm to her neckline and pressed it to her chest. She wanted him to feel the wild thump of her heart, to know that whatever affected him, she felt it too. Her hands weren't quivering like his, but the rest of her body was.

“Are you frightened?” He whispered the words, his breath warming her skin.

“No.” She couldn't be afraid with him close. His nearness blotted out her fears, and it inspired something else—­a yearning so strange and new it left her breathless. Anticipation welled up, as if she was just on the cusp, teetering on the edge, and she craved the next step.

“Are you?” It could be dangerous to ask a man about his fears. Would any man admit them?

“A bit.” Apparently this one would.

She studied his eyes, burning with a kind of inner glow, and his mouth, tipping a bit at each edge as if he barely held back a smile. As she watched him, he moved his hand, slipping down, skimming the edge of her chemise, tugging until his fingertips dipped inside her corset.

She'd never allowed a man such liberties, and yet it wasn't enough with Sebastian. She wanted to give him more. Their hands tangled when she reached up to slip the ribbon on her chemise, and he mistook her, drawing back as if she'd scorched him.

“No, please.” He snapped his head up when she begged, tilting it as if uncertain he'd heard her. In this moment, with her body drawn taut as a bow, she didn't mind repeating herself. “Please. I don't wish for you to stop.”

The stiff line of his shoulders eased before he stepped forward again and reached for her, pressing her backside against the edge of his desk, and, finally, easing his mouth onto hers. Supple, warm, his lips teased at hers, coaxing her to feel—­not think, not worry—­just feel. He used his much larger frame to surround her, to shelter her. She'd never been so close to any man, and yet it wasn't close enough. Leaning into him, so near his heartbeat reverberated against her chest, she cursed all the layers of fabric between them.

He kissed her gently at first, tentatively, but when she grasped his arm, tugging him an inch closer, her breasts dragging against his waistcoat, he gave her more. Emitting a delicious moan, he caressed her lips with his, exploring her, teasing and tasting her languorously, as if they had hours for this kiss and the night would stretch out endlessly, but only for them. Only for this moment. When he lifted his head and they both struggled to catch their breath, the haze of pleasure cleared enough for Kitty to recall that they weren't truly alone in the house. Her sister and his were in the drawing room, no doubt wondering what had delayed them in his study.